Childhood Recalls

In memory of a tree

There was this tree, a rather huge one by our childhood standards. It ‘stood’ in the small grassy playground at one end of the colony. I say ‘stood’ because it was just upright without any movement even when there was a gale blowing. Its branches formed a pyramidal shape reminding me of the Christmas tress we see in our kindergarten books. I always had a burning desire to climb up to its top.

Now this approximately 50 feet high tree meant a lot to us i.e. my friends and me. Not that we had the zeal of environmentalists or something like that but purely for our selfish childish reason. It was a haunt where we could retreat from the world of our elders whenever we felt like. When we got a scolding or a spanking or were under a potential threat of getting one, we would simply run out and climb this tree. It did not matter to us whether it was a rainy day or night.

Sometimes we friends just climbed it for fun particularly in spring when dozens o sparrows and pigeons had built their nests on its branches. It was fun watching those nests with eggs and little birds that had come out of them. At times we got angry pecks from the mother birds on our foreheads and elbows. But that was a part of the game. The tree was a dormitory of a maternity hospital for these birds where evenings seemed to be the visiting hours. The noise of chirping was tremendous during the evening.

We used every part of this tree in a particular way. When we played hide and seek or wanted to have ‘confidential’ discussions or play with the birds, we would climb its branches. When it came down to playing a game of cricket we used its think base as our wickets. All that we had done to mark the wickets was to peel off the bark to a particular height. The tree never complained.

Then, whenever one of its branches cracked or hung down after heavy rain or snow, we used it for the famous ‘Tarzan swing’. In fact, we thought our skills to be better than that of Tarzan. My friends who were a bit elder to me looked at the tree a bit more rationally. For them the huge hulk of the tree blocked the breeze from entering the ground facilitating an uninterrupted game of badminton.

Then all of a sudden our tree went dry. The birds residing there migrated. Its branches started cracking when we climbed it. It had turned into a skeleton ever since the people from the electricity department tampered with it by running various wires around it and putting a transformer right next to it. Our elders used to say that it was ‘dying’ but we kids felt it was being ‘murdered’. Finally one day it was hacked or what we felt ‘buthereced’.

Fourteen years after the ‘slaughtering’, the same playground appears to be a corpse whose soul vanished with the fall of the tree. The present generation of kids plays cricket there but they have to pile up bricks for wickets. Their game of badminton is interrupted regularly by strong gusts of wind. In frustration they exclaim, “There would have been no problem if there was a huge tree over here.”

I just smile on listening to them Besides, they don’t even know the art of climbing trees because they don’t even imagine that there was a tree right where they stand desiring for one.

It is only we friends [now grown ups] who pay homage to the departed soul by remembering it whenever we get together on festivals and remember our childhood.