The speaking stump – Hindustan Times
Over the last decade I have clicked more than a hundred pictures of the neighbourhood Pithecellobium dulce tree, commonly known as Madras thorn or jungle jalebi tree. Pictures of happy squirrels, parrots and so many other birds enjoying the sour-sweet, bright red and green jungle jalebis(Manila tamarinds). The tree that stood proudly, laden with fruit, just outside the boundary wall of my house. An uneven brown stump exists in the place of that beautiful tree now.
Going through my old photographs, I came across the picture of an Oriental white-eye. The beautiful bird was resting its tiny head on the stump. It looked sad, as if it were mourning the loss of a friend. I imagined a conversation between the bird and the tree; the tree that was brutally chopped down to make room for an apartment building. I imagined the little yellow bird with the big, round white eyes being stunned to hear a heavy sigh emerge from the stump.
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“Are you still alive? I thought you were dead,” the bird said.
“Not yet, a part of me is perishing every day.”
“I’m so sorry. Did I hurt you?”
“You unknowingly scratched a nerve with your toe nail.”
“I really am sorry.”
“Don’t feel bad, I am used to it; it happens all the time. Yesterday, a colourful woodpecker was trying to create a hole in my trunk. Maybe it was looking for a place to start a family. Or perhaps it was looking for insects under my bark.”
The bird caressed the stump with her neck.
“How are you feeling?”
“Haha, you sound like one of those journalists who ask badly injured humans how they’re feeling!”
“I remember you as a green, tall, handsome tree.”
“I wasn’t that big. You’re being generous.”
“The taste of your juicy jungle jalebis is hard to forget.”
“I was a fertile tree. I miss the days when parrots partied on my fruits.”
“I once saw a squirrel desperately trying to grab one of your fruits from the next tree.”
“Squirrels are naughty and greedy. They were very fond of my jungle jalebis.”
“Not just animals, the security guard in the house next door used to take your fruits for his kids too.”
“How do you know he took them for his children? My fruits are known to have great medicinal value. Maybe his family was fond of jungle jalebis.”
“That’s true, I wouldn’t be surprised if the whole family feasted on them.”
“I’ve heard people talk about the refreshing beverage made from my jungle jalebis. That security guard was a nice man. He always plucked my fruit gently and never picked raw fruit. He always waited for them to turn red.”
“What do you mean? Is he no more?”
“You are funny! No, he’s not dead; he just doesn’t come to me anymore. He’s got no reason to visit a fruitless dying stump of a tree.”
“Do you miss those times? Are you angry with the people who chopped your branches so ruthlessly?”
“I especially miss the parrots; they would camouflage in my green leaves.”
“The lady with her camera next door, do you remember her?”
“Oh, she still stalks me; she takes pictures of birds that come to play and rest on my stump.”
“Some photographers just won’t give up an opportunity of getting a good click. But that’s because birds still visit you; we aren’t ready to leave you.”
“Not just birds, some squirrels too use my stump like I’m a dining table in their drawing room.”
“You aren’t too impressed with the humans and their lifestyle, are you?”
“Oh well, I’ve spent all my life here, amongst humans.”
“How old are you?”
“30 years at least, I can’t count beyond that.”
“Do you like them?”
“I’ve never had much interaction with them, other than the lady with the camera and the security guard. But I’ve seen the children from the house next door grow into adults. Do you have kids?”
“I am expecting. I visited you with my partner yesterday. We’re looking for a safe place to nest. But the trees are vanishing one by one and there are very few places to keep the little ones safe. Too many predator birds here.”
“Yes, I see black kites kill pigeons nearly every day.”
“Black kites don’t bother me. Birds like me are too small for them to bother with us. It is the smaller predators that cast an evil eye on us.”
“No one can live forever but it is sad when someone like me is killed before their time.”
“Are you alright?”
“I’m feeling a bit drowsy. Maybe it’s time for me to say goodbye to this world. May you find a safe space to nest; may you have happy, healthy children.”
“Goodbye, dear tree. Sorry once again for touching your raw nerve.”
The noise of a marble cutting machine snapped me out of my imaginary world. I looked at my watch. It was 9 AM, and construction workers had resumed their work at the site next door. The stump would be removed soon. The builder needs to create space for a car park.
Prerna Jain is an artist and photographer based in New Delhi. An extensive collection of her work can be found at her website www.prernasphotographs.com and at facebook.com/prernasphotographs. She is the author of My Feathered Friend.
Over the last decade I have clicked more than a hundred pictures of the neighbourhood Pithecellobium dulce tree, commonly known as Madras thorn or jungle jalebi tree. Pictures of happy squirrels, parrots and so many other birds enjoying the sour-sweet, bright red and green jungle jalebis(Manila tamarinds). The tree that stood proudly, laden with fruit, just outside the boundary wall of my house. An uneven brown stump exists in the place of that beautiful tree now.
Going through my old photographs, I came across the picture of an Oriental white-eye. The beautiful bird was resting its tiny head on the stump. It looked sad, as if it were mourning the loss of a friend. I imagined a conversation between the bird and the tree; the tree that was brutally chopped down to make room for an apartment building. I imagined the little yellow bird with the big, round white eyes being stunned to hear a heavy sigh emerge from the stump.
Stay tuned for all the latest updates on Ram Mandir! Click here
“Are you still alive? I thought you were dead,” the bird said.
“Not yet, a part of me is perishing every day.”
“I’m so sorry. Did I hurt you?”
“You unknowingly scratched a nerve with your toe nail.”
“I really am sorry.”
“Don’t feel bad, I am used to it; it happens all the time. Yesterday, a colourful woodpecker was trying to create a hole in my trunk. Maybe it was looking for a place to start a family. Or perhaps it was looking for insects under my bark.”
The bird caressed the stump with her neck.
“How are you feeling?”
“Haha, you sound like one of those journalists who ask badly injured humans how they’re feeling!”
“I remember you as a green, tall, handsome tree.”
“I wasn’t that big. You’re being generous.”
“The taste of your juicy jungle jalebis is hard to forget.”
“I was a fertile tree. I miss the days when parrots partied on my fruits.”
“I once saw a squirrel desperately trying to grab one of your fruits from the next tree.”
“Squirrels are naughty and greedy. They were very fond of my jungle jalebis.”
“Not just animals, the security guard in the house next door used to take your fruits for his kids too.”
“How do you know he took them for his children? My fruits are known to have great medicinal value. Maybe his family was fond of jungle jalebis.”
“That’s true, I wouldn’t be surprised if the whole family feasted on them.”
“I’ve heard people talk about the refreshing beverage made from my jungle jalebis. That security guard was a nice man. He always plucked my fruit gently and never picked raw fruit. He always waited for them to turn red.”
“What do you mean? Is he no more?”
“You are funny! No, he’s not dead; he just doesn’t come to me anymore. He’s got no reason to visit a fruitless dying stump of a tree.”
“Do you miss those times? Are you angry with the people who chopped your branches so ruthlessly?”
“I especially miss the parrots; they would camouflage in my green leaves.”
“The lady with her camera next door, do you remember her?”
“Oh, she still stalks me; she takes pictures of birds that come to play and rest on my stump.”
“Some photographers just won’t give up an opportunity of getting a good click. But that’s because birds still visit you; we aren’t ready to leave you.”
“Not just birds, some squirrels too use my stump like I’m a dining table in their drawing room.”
“You aren’t too impressed with the humans and their lifestyle, are you?”
“Oh well, I’ve spent all my life here, amongst humans.”
“How old are you?”
“30 years at least, I can’t count beyond that.”
“Do you like them?”
“I’ve never had much interaction with them, other than the lady with the camera and the security guard. But I’ve seen the children from the house next door grow into adults. Do you have kids?”
“I am expecting. I visited you with my partner yesterday. We’re looking for a safe place to nest. But the trees are vanishing one by one and there are very few places to keep the little ones safe. Too many predator birds here.”
“Yes, I see black kites kill pigeons nearly every day.”
“Black kites don’t bother me. Birds like me are too small for them to bother with us. It is the smaller predators that cast an evil eye on us.”
“No one can live forever but it is sad when someone like me is killed before their time.”
“Are you alright?”
“I’m feeling a bit drowsy. Maybe it’s time for me to say goodbye to this world. May you find a safe space to nest; may you have happy, healthy children.”
“Goodbye, dear tree. Sorry once again for touching your raw nerve.”
The noise of a marble cutting machine snapped me out of my imaginary world. I looked at my watch. It was 9 AM, and construction workers had resumed their work at the site next door. The stump would be removed soon. The builder needs to create space for a car park.
Prerna Jain is an artist and photographer based in New Delhi. An extensive collection of her work can be found at her website www.prernasphotographs.com and at facebook.com/prernasphotographs. She is the author of My Feathered Friend.
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