Love of Gaia!

The love of the sky,
Descending down as rain,
Gratefully she catches,
And holds in her bosom.

She grows trees dense,
On her rich brown skin,
That sunlight may not steal,
Her precious hoard of love.

Li’l by li’l she sweats,
Her grace flows in streams,
To quench all athirst,
To see her children beam!

Know These?

Wild Malabar plums from a tree in our garden.

Though the fruits of ഞാറ (pronounced njara in Malayalam), Syzgium Jambos, are small, and not very fleshy, they are sweet and medicinal, particularly in treating diabetes.

It is a relative, or perhaps an ancestor of the Malabar plum/Java plum/Black plum (Syzgium Cumini), commonly known as Jamun or Jambul in English, or ഞാവൽ പഴം (pronounced njaval pazham in Malayalam), which is the commercially cultivated variety. The njara seeds and fruits are used in the manufacture of ayurvedic medicines.

Birds love to feast on these berries, but the tree produces such a bumper crop that there are always plenty left over. This attractive evergreen tree has small, dark green leaves, and when it blooms, it is surrounded by a cloud of wild bees for over a week, and their buzzing can be heard from quite a distance. Definitely, a must for your garden!

A Cascade of Joy!

Dancing down the rocks,
A cascade of joy,
Hurrying to get home,
To the oceans ahoy!

The Love That Sustains Thee!

For over 200 rains and summers,

Lived here have I,

Never once hurting a human,

Nor even a fly!

By the side of a dirt-track,

Perhaps linking two towns,

Was I thrown by a traveler,

A monkey or bird, perchance!

The rich red mountain earth,

Didst pull my roots in deep,

The warm sun and chill mist,

Brought my trunk up steep!

The mountain breeze didst spread,

My brown branches abreast,

Whilst the sweet rain and dew,

Fed and filled me with love, the best!

Happily, grew I, as seasons rolled by,

The storms made me stronger, by and by!

Weather was kind, and I bloomed,

In fragrant exuberance of joy!

Bees drank my love, and blessed,

My boughs soon laden with mangoes,

So juicy, tart and sweet,

Delight of birds, monkeys, and man-kids!

Tarry, many a wary traveler did,

Quite awhile in my bower of shade,

Refreshed by ambrosia, gladly shed,

Left, light hearted, a spring in step!

The faster the wheels of time turned,

The quicker my brethren burned,

Ere long, the track turned road,

A grand highway, was it termed!

With roaring, spitting chainsaws came men,

Unprotesting, shading ‘em till end,

In silent agony, we fell,

Giving in to broaden their whim!

Knowing what’s born is meant to die,

Wouldst I happily give my body,

Without once asking why,

Yet in my last breath, must ask!

When thou takest me from my world,

Man, will thou plant more of me,

That I may live on through my offspring,

And bless thee and thine, with joy of living?

In days of yore,

I had not to wait,

I was beset by squirrels and birds,

And mischievous, snotty-nosed kids!

Happily, didst I watch,

As they sucked my honeyed juice,

Laughing and dancing,

Threw my seeds, far and wide!

For thus lived I,

Though my old body died,

Death, just a siesta,

A new birth, my fiesta!

Then all that didst change,

For every season, an auction,

The pickling companies won,

My tender mangoes in brine!

No more seeds to mature,

Nor a single fruit to ripen,

The birds, hungry, search, not find,

And alas, in me, ends my kind!

Man, realize ere it’s too late,

The love that sustains me, sustains thee,

See, my body be not wood, nor money,

But the love that sustains thee!

The Bridge and the Flow!

Every moment, every day,
Offers life, a choice,
What will it be?
Would you just be on your way,
Or rather jump down and play?

My Wayanad!

Where mountains secretly kiss skies,
Behind velvety curtains of mist,
Where the rich red earth holds love,
In hands cupped, as water fresh, so clean.

Where ancient evergreen trees,
Exude life for all to breathe,
Where the fresh cool mountain breeze,
Whispers song-like in your ears,
And soothing body and mind,
Caresses, wiping gently, your tears.

Where the cheerful brilliant sun,
And abundant monsoon rain,
Rejoice to laden trees with fruit,
And to fill paddies with grain.

Where animals, birds, and fish,
Of every which shape and hue,
Roam free in dense forest green,
And dance in skies and streams.

Where the people are innocent more,
Often quite childlike and good,
Where hate crimes are unheard of,
The cunning of cities unknown.

Where aborigines, their life do spend,
With nature, in close rapport,
Collecting delicious honey wild,
And rare potent herbs of old.

Where nature waits to greet each soul,
With blessings of lightness, joy,
God brought me here to Wayanad,
Oh Lord, I’m grateful, I’m glad.

These pictures were taken at Banasura Sagar Dam, Wayanad.

Say No to Weedicides!

Here in the garden, we never use pesticides or herbicides. If the place to be cleared is small, a sickle is used. If it is larger, a weed-cutter. Using a weed-cutter may be hard, dusty, hot work, but it is easier on the environment, for the chemicals that we use contaminate not just the air that we breathe, but stay in the soil for years, poisoning the food that is grown. They are leeched out by the rain into the ground water, the rivers, and the seas, poisoning the fish, most of which comes back to our tables as summons or subpoenas to the hospital!

As many of these chemicals are systemic, our bodies are unable to flush them out. They get deposited in the intracellular spaces, causing constant irritation to the cells that leads to cancer. The increasing renal disease in the world is chiefly due to chemicals in food. Every form of life on our planet suffers. Say no to pesticides! Say no to weedicides! Say yes to good health!