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| Diary |
Magazine | 01 Jun 2009 |
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| Delhi Diary by M.S. Gill |
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The fleeting Indian spring is gone and summer is upon us. But the trees continue to offer surprises every day. There is a Chorisia Speciosa (floss-silk tree) opposite my porch. I hardly noticed it till I saw it produce green banana-like dangling fruits. I wondered what they were. As the summer heat cooked them, one by one they burst open, revealing a tightly packed ball of wool. Gradually they loosened and little balls began to fly away with the wind. Each carried a single seed at the heart. With the help of the wind the Chorisia was going to spread its seeds all over New Delhi, leaving it to the monsoons to sprout and grow them.
I salute the unknown superintendent of gardens under Lutyens and his successors who planted such a variety of trees. Outside my office is a giant Ficus Retusa (Indian Laurel), rising hundreds of feet to form a vast canopy. It is home to numerous birds and monkeys. There is a huge doomna, a honeycomb of desi bees, up on a branch. The monkeys and birds go close to the bees, but do not disturb them, nor are they upset by them.
Rants and Raves
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Near my back verandah are two Lagerstroemia (Rani Phool) trees. They were bare a month ago. Now they are covered with long pale green leaves, home to parrots, mynahs, bee-eaters, and a bunch of seven sisters. The Lagerstroemia have burst into purple flowers with a yellow centre. The whole day they are surrounded by honey bees pushing into the yellow centre of the flowers to suck out the nectar. Like loaded air cargo freighters, they then slowly fly away, to deposit their load of sweetness in the hive on the Ficus Retusa tree. I had first thought of finding some traditional honey collectors to climb up, smoke out the bees, and bring down the hive. But when I see the industry of the bees, I do not have the heart to touch their hive.
In my back lawn, there is an ancient Kigelia (sausage tree) which has suddenly burst into life. Every morning, it drops its silky, burgundy-coloured flowers with brown and yellow stripes at the back. In a hollow in this tree live a pair of petite tree owls. Every evening at quarter to seven, when the sun is down, the light is soft, and the air cool, I walk up and say hello to the lady owl who is always sitting outside her house on a curving branch. She takes no notice of me. Mr Owl soon joins her but he appears intensely curious, craning his head forward to stare at me, then pulling it back and fluffing out his chest.
Rants and Raves
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My lawn is also home to a pair of brown lapwings. When I first approached them, they flew up twittering loudly and dived aggressively at me. I understood their anxiety. Years back, in my Akbar Road house, a pair had attacked me, diving around my head to keep me away from their two chicks, which I spied in the grass. Apparently, lapwings lay their eggs on the ground and are fiercely protective of their little ones.
In the trunk of the Lagerstroemia, there is a nice tree hole which provides plenty of accommodation. A pair of parrots took up residence there to have their babies. All through winter, the lady parrot would poke her head out to take in the sunshine in gentle relaxation. I think parrots make the most faithful marriages. While she stayed with the eggs, just coming out for a bit, he did the guard duty, sitting on a nearby branch. My wife was anxious to see the babies but alas they all flew away one day without saying goodbye.
Rants and Raves
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The monkeys who hang around the Central Secretariat area always go by our garden. They look hungry and sad. In this election, the people of Shimla demanded a solution to the monkey problem from all the candidates. To protect the city elite, the government rounded up the monkeys and dumped them in some villages where they destroyed crops and harassed villagers. In Delhi too the privileged have had large numbers of monkeys removed and put in the forests around the Bhatti Mines. There are no berry and fruit-bearing trees there so I’m told the monkeys now devastate all the neighbouring farms.
Yesterday, a bull monkey walked slowly into my garden. I tried to frighten him away with a stick, but he contemptuously and casually strolled away and climbed the boundary wall. After some time, I found him again in our little attempt at a vegetable garden. I went up with my stick. He stared at me with a baleful, light-brown, human eye full of the sorrows of the world. I saw he was hungry, trying to eat grass and leaves, not his usual food. I felt ashamed, backed away and left him in peace.
Rants and Raves
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