To self-actualize, one writes different things...
Written in one vacation-time, this write-up was published under Spice of life, Hindustan Times, Chandigarh, Dec. 6, 2011
Golden Blossoms
When I was a
teenager in the ‘80s, the yellow blossoms of the amaltas caught my attention
during a visit to Chandigarh. As our rickshaw threaded its way through the road
dividing Sector 22 and 23, I watched spell-bound as the yellow blossoms smiled
back tree after tree. The lush grove on both sides of the street put up such a
captivating sight that I wished I could pen down their beauty. The sight remained
etched in my mind and on returning home in Hoshiarpur, I couldn’t stop singing
praises of the amaltas.
My grandfather was quick to notice my fondness
for the blossoms. A nature-lover as he was, he procured a small sampling and
asked the gardener to plant it. Amaltas was not commonly grown in those days. My
joy knew no bounds as I dreamt of the sapling’s transformation into golden
blossom tree! But to my disappointment, the gardener did not share my
enthusiasm. He told my grandfather that this was going to be a big tree, we did
not have a suitable place to plant it. I thought the house was spacious enough,
but the gardener rejected every corner I suggested for the amaltas. My grandfather
sensed my anxiety and thankfully put his foot down. The gardener was told to
plant the amaltas near the gate. Not to be cowed down, the pushy gardener came
up with another excuse. He said that when the plant would grow, it would tear
apart the boundary wall of our neighbor, a retired colonel and a world war like
situation can emerge. Nevertheless, much to my relief, my grandfather rejected the
warning and sternly asked him to plant the tree. I tasted victory finally!
I
waited for years for the sapling to grow into a tree. One day, a few bunches of
yellow bead- like blossoms appeared. I watched them in awe. My grandfather
would also stand beside and admire the flowers. It was a dream fulfilled. I
must admit that the gardener was right to an extent for the tree did crack the
neighbour’s wall as it grew. But I don’t know how grandfather handled the
situation as no crack appeared in our relations with the neighbour.
Grandfather
died as I grew out of my teens. As destiny would have it, I landed a job in
Punjabi University Patiala in the ‘90s; I was pleasantly surprised to find
lanes on the campus lined with amaltas trees. I took a liking for the place
instantly as I read a poem by Bhai Veer Singh on a board hung from an amaltas tree,
eulogizing its beauty. My love for the amaltas has not faded with time. Whenever
I go home on a visit, I get misty-eyed as I look at the tree that still stands
majestically, and firmly, near our gate.
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