The fruit that connected 10 and 60

I've grown up in a joint family, and my years spent with my grandparents are probably one of the most memorable ones. My life would have been incomplete without their love.

I was quite a mischievous kid and Daadi (my grandma) was my partner in crime. In times of potential smack sessions from Ma, I would run to Daadi for cover and hide behind her. As an adept negotiator, my Daadi would swing into action and wheedle Ma out of her rage. I re-appeared promptly after the storm passed and Daadi pushed a candy into my mouth. A modest battle won!

A ten-year old and a sixty-five year old had a lot in common. I went temple-hopping with her and catching up with peers. She would take me out to play and accompany me on errands. She was always the first one I hugged when I returned from school and the bond I shared with her was incredible. Among other things she liked, she devoured fruits - especially custard apples and so did I.

This visit, rambling in the garden back home I spotted a custard apple that sent me into flashback. I remembered days when Daadi would keep a watchful eye on the ripening custard apples and shoo off squirrels and parrots that nimbled away the fruit in no time. Disappointed with her failed attempts to rescue, she picked the remaining semi-ripe ones off the tree, wrapped them in newspapers and set them in our flour container in the kitchen. It took about two days to ripen, and ten minutes to eat. Besides, she used to make some great custard apple milk shake.

The custard apple (also known as bull's heart, sitaphal, shareefa, aata) tree we have at home is not too tall, about 10-12 feet. It prefers a warm and humid climate and needs good care during the oppressive summers of Northern India. The fruits have high nutritional value and considered useful in treating anaemia.

I dedicate this post to my Daadi I couldn't be with when she breathed her last.

Way into dad's garden

I traveled last week with my husband to see my parents and was desperate for the train journey to end. Many months since I’d been home and met them. I had spotted my dad waving at me amidst the jostling crowd. Had I seen him earlier, I would have been ready to jump off much before the train came to a final halt. The sparkle that I saw in his eyes cannot be found any where else. We hugged, and soon he moved swiftly to lug my bag as if I were a school girl. It’s amazing how parents stay just the same for you.

Ordinarily, I never let my parents know when am going to be home because that would mean they would be up at an unearthly hour to arrange things and pick me up from the station. No matter what I age, they’d still treat me like a kid. Besides, arriving uninformed also meant that I’d take a 30-min rickshaw ride as against a 5-min car ride from station to home at 6.30 am. Therefore, those 30 mins allowed me to soak up on the new, old and the extinct sights of the town. When with my husband, I flaunt my town, its history and it’s green cover. It’s usually a monologue as I pass by familiar sights while he nods approvingly.

Look at that, the tree has grown so much! I love this palm. Damn! The tree has been felled. I can’t spot the teak. Look, he’s added so many plants. This creeper has been there forever. I never get this kind of a bloom. How long does a gulmohar tree last?

I belong to a sleepy, rusty, chaotic and religious town ‘Allahabad’ that means ‘God’s creation’. Natives had large houses until sometime back when the real estate scenario changed, people moved and so did the density pattern change dramatically. Nevertheless, it’s still a green city compared to many I have visited so far.

On my way home, I pass by the 19^th century Gothic style All Saint’s Cathedral standing tall with its lush green cover.

Company garden (I have no idea on the history behind the name) follows soon after and is a popular walker’s paradise and usually a beautifully landscaped garden with orchards and flower belts.

Hidden in the green cover, is the public state library built in

1864 that is a treasure house of old manuscripts and journals.

As the road turns towards my house, the University of Allahabad can be seen. The buildings are known for its classical architectural designs and have strong Victorian and Islamic style architectural influences.

Closer home, the residential areas have large patches of green, sprawling lawns and a wide variety of plants. This time around since we drove back home in a car and were busy talking to each other, I did not get a chance to see much.

Once I reached home, I stood for a minute at the gate to look at the house, my home for 20 odd years before I left to chase my dreams and build my nest. At the gate, I was welcomed by a robust large multi stemmed shrub blooming with flowers. They are popularly known as Land-lotus (Sthal Padam) or Confederate Rose, Cotton rosemallow or Hibiscus mutabilis. The plant is about 14 feet tall with large, bright green leaves. It is in full bloom starting late summer until end of fall. The flowers open pure white and change colour during the course of the day to pink and dark pink by evening. It is propagated by cuttings during fall or spring. While I stood watching the flower in admiration, Ma appeared at the door and I rushed to hug her and forgot about everything else.

There is more to come.

Pictures: All from the web except the flowers.

I'm back from my home town

For those of you who had been wondering where I am, am just back from a holiday. I visited my parents, and it was a walk down memory lane. I've often mentioned that my dad is an avid gardener and this holiday was an occasion to sit with him and learn more.

I'll leave you with a picture of our lemon tree while I settle down and get back to writing more.