My father’s neighbour called.
It was a call ostensibly to invite me to his son’s wedding that was to take place next month.
That done he said, “Please tell your father to cut the tree. It may fall on us anytime.”
I was mystified. I asked, “Oh, has the tree been affected? Is it in danger of falling?”
“No,” he said, “But you know, it stands between his house and mine. Now it is December and the leaves are falling. It is always better to cut the tree.”
The tree in question is a Nagalinga, a beautiful old tree, whose flowers have a tiny ‘lingam’ each, ‘protected’ by a many-headed ‘naga’.
“Why should we cut the tree then?” I asked.
His reply foxed me. “Your poor father has to clear the fallen leaves every day.” Unsaid was the fact that the leaves also fell on the roof of his completely built-up to the compound-wall tree-less and cemented enclosure, which constitutes his home.
Why this tree paranoia?
This is not new to me.
My neighbours, where I live, have often forced me to prune the branches of my frangipani, the branches that extend over their drive-way. While I would never cut the tree, we have, from time to time, ‘pruned’ those offending extending branches so that their driveway is not ‘infested’ with leaf-rubbish.
And contrary to the neighbour’s anxious concern, my ‘poor’ father has never once complained of having to sweep up the fallen leaves, despite his advancing age.
I told the neighbour, “We will not cut that tree. It’s because of such tree-cutting that there was a Vardha at all.” And I hung up.
Yes, tree-fall has been the outcome of Vardha’s passing. But is the solution, a mass and indiscriminate tree-cutting, because this may happen again and the trees may fall?
I thought of the oncoming wedding that would surely leave a giant footprint of of plastic and non-biodegradable waste. And I have nothing more to say to him.
