We Madrasis are resilient, patient, tested and tried. Nothing fazes us. Neither the cash crunch nor the recent cyclone. Probably that is because from time immemorial, we were born to wait. Outside hospital corridors ,schools, colleges, pension offices, ATMs and banks.
Not a murmur escapes our lips as we wait in the serpentine queues. Instead, we exchange recipes, mobile numbers and help people fill out the zillion forms. Take the recent Cyclone Vardah for instance. We witnessed the fury of nature as the winds uprooted precious trees leaving behind a threatening trail of mud, slush, electric poles and wires.
The next day, as the city limped back to normalcy, people helped each other out even as Corporation authorities plunged headlong into their tasks with a missionary zeal. We had a precious mango tree in our backyard. Tall and majestic, its willowy branches seemed to reach out to the sky.
Some of its lower branches extended into the neighbours’ terrace as well. It was definitely the proverbial example of a “neighbour’s envy and owner’s pride”. My father-in-law had produced this hybrid variety of “Banaganapalli” by grafting. The sweetness of its fruit was legendary.
The tree used to produce at least 2000 mangoes every year and we used to give it to friends, neighbours and relatives. People who tasted it would shyly come forward and ask for a few more. Parrots and squirrels would perch comfortably on its branches and savour the fruit all through May and June. This tree was their favourite resort with boarding, lodging, free meals et al.
They were unperturbed when my children photographed or videotaped them. This tree had withstood the 2015 December rains, the tsunami and the earlier cyclones. But alas! The recent cyclone took its toll on this living monument in a big, bad way.
Its gigantic roots were uprooted, its branches shattered and a large portion of the trunk slanted on to the neighbouring house, striking fear. Even as we are planning to cut it down to its base, condolence messages were passed on from people fortunate to taste the fruit.
Perhaps the saddest of the lot will be the animals who would miss the fragrant summer nesting place. Gone are the sprinkles of flowers, the bed of tiny little mangoes as well as the huge red, ripe ones nibbled to the core by our furry friends and feathered creatures. The tall coconut trees nearby will mourn the loss of their sad companion, whispering soft tales of living and dying while my husband and I will watch an empty space that will rekindle embers of memories that have a special place in our hearts.