Is it possible for a tree to mean a lot to you?
About twenty years ago, during the sinner vacation of my third grade, I noticed a tiny little shoot growing in the backyard of our home back in Ramakrishnapuram. My dad told me that it was a Gulmohar tree. Not entirely sure why, but I felt I was responsible for nurturing the tree. I watered it every morning and then again every evening. Soon enough it grew into a big tree offering plenty of shade. My bond with the tree only kept growing stronger. My favorite thing to do on a Saturday Morning was to grab a copy of the "Young World" or my favorite Indrajal comic, climb the gulmogar tree and park myself on my favorite branch and life went on a leisure place.
When friends came over to play cricket at home, the trunk of this tree gladly transformed into the wickets.
When the orangeish-red gulmohar flowers bloomed during Spring, it filled us with happiness as it gave our home a very unique look.
Anyway, a few months ago, I learned that my parents had to cut the tree in order to renovate our house apart from a couple of other reason. I can't really explain the feeling of sadness that crept over me to hear the fate of my silent, stationary friend. Gone are the times when families enjoy the shade of a big neem or a banyan tree in their backyards as our lives revolve in our concrete jungles.
Farewell old friend. Farewell dear Gul-mohar tree!
(This one was long overdue)
