Bangalore, Apl - Sep 2020

My dearest Pongam Tree,

I haven’t written a love letter to anyone for a very long time and so I hope you will forgive me if this letter comes across as too gushy, overwhelming; maybe even a tad sentimental and silly. I still don’t know if you’re the kind of tree that enjoys this kind of one-sided attention of love and unabashed neediness. I am known to generally shun these when they are directed at me by other humans. When it comes to you, my dear Pongam tree, I quickly realised that I have turned into a sentimental gushing fool. And I’m giving this to you at a time when I’m the one who needs it the most. The cliche’ of recognising the value of something only when you no longer have it. Please don’t let my friends (who you meet occasionally and also tend to gush over you) know about this love letter though. I’ll be mercilessly teased. It’s taken many years to cultivate my ‘I’m not the sentimental lovey-dovey type’ persona. So far I’ve gotten away with it.

I often wonder if you are uncomfortable with my constant unwavering gaze of love and protectiveness towards you. I never did ask you, did I? I wonder how you would let me know if you are. I see you growing taller, wider and more flush with flowers and fruits with every passing year that I’ve known you. When your branches touch the electricity poles that have been built perilously close to you, I worry. Any spark or tripping of the electricity often results in branches hacked and I worry. And the hacking is often merciless and lopsided (pun completely unintended I promise). How I wish I had the bureaucratic power to insulate these exposed wires, so they can’t touch and spark you or the animals and birds that visit you every day. I silently scream when uninterrupted, cheap and badly designed electric poles and distribution systems for humans are valued more than just allowing trees like you to spread and grow. For you to be able to continue to provide shade, joy, food, a home to so many and for me. For me to continue to stare at and have conversations with.

But I digress. This is meant to be a love letter, not a letter to express anger and angst against human foolishness and callousness. Ironically, I suspect that this anger, angst has increased my capacity to love you more.

I immediately said yes to renting the house I now call home, as soon as I saw you. Some of your branches were almost carelessly caressing the balcony of the living room and the windows panes of the smaller study room. I was intrigued and captivated. Your presence made the house perfect! My previous apartment was devoid of non-human life, with no trees in the vicinity. Just concrete blocks of tall apartments with feeble attempts of greenery in the guise of heavily manicured lawns, exactly spaced-out topiary and pruned Almond trees. A city apartment complexes' idea of greenery. We have a long way to go to demonstrate to them the joys of wild nature right?

It’s been two and a half years now since you’ve been part of my life. I don’t know as yet if I’m a part of yours. I want to badly believe that I am. I give you no choice when you witness happy uncensored laughter with friends and family who visit, through the numerous movies, phone and video calls with them. You have also been the only one to see me at my most vulnerable; during times of uncontrolled immense sorrow and tears at the loss of loved ones, of partners moving on. I used you as a balm and crutch during those times. Used being the operative word. I didn’t need to touch or caress you during these times. All I needed to do was look and stare at you. And stare I would for hours. Solace from just this simple act of staring. Humans should stare at trees more. The coffee table, chairs and floor mattresses at home are constantly moved around and “adjusted” (I am a half Kannadiga hudugi after all) to get better views of you. I don’t give you the option to break away from my gaze or shuffle away in embarrassment or disgust. I’m so sorry about that. Oh! how I took advantage of your fixed nature. Acts of selfishness, I realise now. But I’d like to believe that you don’t mind.

I digress again. The urge to write this letter to you at this point in my life is to let you know how much of peace, comfort, entertainment, joy and love you have given me during this enforced lockdown from a virus that’s roaming the world. The only reason I’ve managed to retain any bit of sanity during these long days of humanless contact and isolation is because of your presence in front of me. For me that’s the most moving and powerful part of this relationship with you - you just need to be you and nothing else. No one needs to impress the other, no give-and-take, no negotiation, no adjustment, no unwarranted relationship advice, no arguments, no doubts and no unrealistic expectations. The only expectation I have from you is for you to be where you are, to grow, to thrive and to continue being alive. And if you want your branches to grow a bit more into my balcony and study windows I really wouldn’t mind. In fact, I’ll throw a party.

Of course, it has helped immensely that you attract so many different birds, wasps, bees, bugs, beetles, mantids, spiders and squirrels, as a landing platform for some and home for others. I’ve discovered recently a parasitic mistletoe plant as well that’s using you. Some of these creatures occasionally stop by and visit my home and the plants in my balcony, only because you are so close - and what a delight that's been! How does one even begin to measure your value monetarily or otherwise for these services that you provide to me and the world around you! Doing so would strip away my rational and irrational connection and love towards you. Last month was extra special when you and your branches were a loving and stable home to a family of Drongos. I felt like it was a gift that you were giving me. Through an entire month, I had a perfectly unobstructed view from my balcony at a safe enough distance to not disturb the birds. From the time the drongo family nested, laid the eggs, to the time the chicks hatched and finally fledged, I had a bird’s-eye view. Things like this, I would like to believe are certainly not unplanned and most definitely not random.

I know of course, that I can’t be in your life or stare at you forever. I’m a bit of a rationalist that way. This place you are in front of and is my current home is rented after all. And when I leave or I have to leave, I’ll tell myself and you that I’ll come and meet you whenever I can. Without, of course, ever knowing if that will be possible. I will remind myself that like all love stories and relationships, we have to take what we can get. Enjoy the times we have together at this moment in time. Whatever will be, will be. For now, all I can say is that I love you immensely with all my heart. Thank you for being a part of my life. I can’t wait to see what new adventures and stories you have in store for me, and I for you. Until then.

With warm tree-hugging hugs, awe and admiration - VK

Thanks to Harini and Seema who reminded me that it’s fine and fun to publicly love and gush about the trees around us. As people who do research, science and in our quest to be “neutral” observers we often forget to allow ourselves to be irrational humans sometimes. #letsmaketreehugginggreatagain

John (who also helped with much needed edits) & Chetana of Spiders and The Sea for their friendship, company, laughs, over the last few months and encouraging me to share this piece, and being invaluable additional support branches.

All pictures were taken by me from my home balcony or study room (with Mittal's Canon PowerShot) during the COVID-19 lockdown months in Bangalore.