It was British horticulturist Gertrude Jekyll who once said that the love of gardening is a seed once sown that never dies. Gardening has always been my favourite pastime since ages and I must count myself lucky to be born in an era when Bengaluru was filled with parks and gardens earning it the sobriquet ‘Garden City’. There were umpteen mango and guava orchards, vineyards, and jackfruit and tamarind groves. We seldom shopped for fruits as friendly neighbours would share the bounty from their gardens.
Gardening was a family activity and our late father
M N Jayaraman taught us the finer points of raising plants when we were still young and playful. “Water them, keep them happy and you would be rewarded,” he would remark. He manufactured his own compost in the simplest possible way. A large pit would be dug up, filled up to the brim with dry leaves and wet waste, and finally topped with mud.And presto these would be transformed into rich manure a few weeks later.
We would be pleased as punch when a seed germinated or a cutting developed fresh green shoots. The dry twigs and coconut shells were not discarded and these would be piled up in a corner to fuel the water boiler. My father would source exotic plants from nurseries, friends and relatives and keep adding to his collection.
The evening primrose, spatika and jasmine that gave off a heavenly aroma were his favourites and he would take extra care in looking after them. He also raised fruit trees that were rare like mulberry, citron, passion fruit and rose apple. The cactus that grew in the pots would be dressed with empty eggshells to make them look gorgeous. The drumstick tree would be covered with a thick blanket of caterpillars during the monsoon and we would be told to keep a safe distance.
The growing-up years were also a time for indulging in mischief. My brothers and I would go around knocking down mangoes with a stone or stick from the neighbours’ gardens and quickly do the disappearing act. Pomegranates that intruded into our compound would also be pocketed much to the chagrin of the owner on the other side of the wall.
Many of the gardens of our childhood have since vanished and in their place stands a jungle of glass, metal and concrete. How we miss the Bengaluru of yore!
N J Ravi Chander
Email: ravichander244@gmail.com