The Speaking Tree

The Lost Symbol,Dan Brown, 38 pages young, its paper-back cover arched backwards, lies face down on my pillow, like an angry child, unwilling to show its face.

The light from the afternoon-lamp, filters through the prism window, enveloping everything in its reach. The book, the pillow, and a part of my foot.

Feels good!

In this confused February, stuck between blowing cold and piping hot, it surely is the best part of the day!

The odd sounds of screeching tyres talking to the road, running feet that most definitely belong to weekend-happy children and a constant buzz of wood getting leveled by a machine saw, keepmy ears alive and I chuckle, thinking that if I had been a Saint Bernard, my ears would’ve lazily hung up in the air for a moment and lost interest instantly.

During all the piped-down-semi-commotion, three things manage to fill my gaze. The prism window, the electricity wires (I’m on the 1^st floor of a rented flat), and the huge trees outside. I intentionally narrow my eyes to the top shelf, moving my head back and forth, in-tune with the sway of the tress, like candles being waved on a concert night. Happy times for these serene giants, bathing in the warm sun and chirping carelessly like teenage girls on a Saturday morning beach.

What must they may be talking about? I wonder, as I crane to watch more of the show. Reminding me of the painted-green lady, up on the stage on a karaoke show. The nonchalant singer intoxicated by the flawless combination of the rousing music and the elfish air. As if the trees were on opium, hands on shoulders, dancers on a hillybilly night, elephants swinging their trunks on an afternoon shower.

The collective breathing and sighing of the leafy mammoths was like tourists on top of the Eiffel Tower, awed by the sheer beauty and the pristine décor of the city.

Another chuckle inside my head took me to a vision of the typical Mumbai ‘chawls’ where middle aged mothers hang out of their balcony and bend their necks at impossible angles to get a sneak-peak at the neighbors below. The thought took me immediately back to the trees outside, watching me.

I momentarily felt them looking at me, right through my window, into the room. Might they too think the same when they smile and frown at me, hear me whispering and kissing, thinking of metaphors about this ‘urban ape’. Spying on me?

What if it kept a secret account of me? Hidden there somewhere in that long and inaccessible trunk, passing on signals to the heavens above, like mini transmitters for the Gods. No wonder they sway in all directions, taking into account everything happening around them, taking notes about whose being good, bad and downright dirty!!! This is like giving an all new direction and meaning to the fact of ‘Being Good to Trees and they in-turn Being Good to Us’. Must I smile back when I look at them?

I smile sheepishly...not at them...but at having this thought in my mind.

Joblessness can make a person paranoid too.

Now that’s a discovery!

Photo © - Wingu