Life in a little courtyard

 

The champa shrub—though I prefer to call it a tiny tree—is squeezed between a wall and a domineering parijat. But even in the limited space the tiny tree with green stems and mossy-green long and sturdy leaves gave its best and sprung many lateral shoots. But the monkeys would love to break the green stems. Maybe they love the distinct juicy thudding sound when the stem or branch snaps. It’s quite distinct from the breaking sound of any other tree’s branch, which is high-pitched and tangy in feel.

So the plant grew slim and shot through the narrow opening between the parijat and the wall. It has a little canopy now, and in harmony with surprisingly plenty May rains, it’s redolent with seven bunches of lovely white flowers having a scented yellow core. They have a very gently, yet quite effective, wafting smell. Shaken by the wind the flowers keep falling through the day. Each time I pick a flower it seems like a gift. When I’m feeling lethargic I put a few of them on my palm and inhale the smell from close quarters. It changes the mood drastically, making me clear headed instantly.

The parijat has shed all its leaves. It looks forlorn with dry seedpods at the end of dead fringes of dried branches and boughs. A death before getting reborn. The hardworking champa has shown enough resilience in blossoming so many smiles despite the challenges it has faced. It deserves a reward. A reward for staying there as an optimist despite monkey mischief and limited space.

I clear a few dry twigs and branches on the parijat to give a little bit of extra open sky to the lovely sprinkler of smiles. Well, if you keep trying to bloom and grow despite the roadblocks, you reach a point where someone or something will be there to help you. But for that to happen you have to keep going and reach that point.