Category: Nature

For as long as I can remember, I have always lived next to a tree. Growing up in Kathmandu, our 100-year-old house had a courtyard with only one tree, a tall and slender tree perched on rectangular mound of bricks sheltering a variety of plants and an ancient well. When spring came it turned into a green umbrella with white and yellow flowers that looked like white frostings on green carpet. I learned later that this was a jasmine tree or parijaat in Nepali.

As kids, we spent countless hours playing under this parijaat tree. Occasionally, the green moss on the yard would be speckled with the white and yellow of the parijaat flowers. Our grandmother, the matriarch of the household would immediately dispatch one of the servants to carefully collect the flowers. Next morning, soft and pure parijaat flower would be offered to the household deities.

In this house, I shared a room with my sister and my parents, a long rectangular room that was partitioned into two by a wood panel. My parents slept and entertained on the larger front half and my sister and I shared the smaller second half. The second half was also used as a study room, a wardrobe, a storage room, a nap room, and anytime we needed some space and privacy. Our room had a thin bedding on the floor and three large dressers lined up against each other on one wall. There was a floor to ceiling window that covered half of the wall, overlooking the courtyard and the green of the parijaat tree.

I spent countless hours sitting cross-legged on this bedding finishing my homework from school or preparing for multiple exams. My mother, my sister, and I, all three would congregate on this bedding in the evenings talking, sharing, laughing, crying, and sometimes just working silently. Some of our most joyful and most difficult times happened here, all overlooking the courtyard and the silent and stoic parijaat tree.

The tree was our silent companion that witnessed our challenges, our heartbreaks, joys, and wishes. Fast forward a decade, the house and the courtyard are abandoned and slowly falling apart, but my mother tells me that the parijaat tree is still alive and sprinkles the yard with flowers from time to time. My heart aches for this tree like it would for a long-lost friend.

I left Nepal and moved to the US and eventually to Baltimore for a job. I lived in an old brick house and my rented room overlooked the trees in church next-door. I spent hours sitting on the window, hunched over my books and computer, all the time aware of the silent and beautiful presence of the trees next-door. Alone in this city, navigating the ups and downs of professional and personal life, and missing my family, I often turned to these green friends. No judgement, no advice- just the green, earthy, and soothing presence and a compatible silence that calmed my mind and warmed my heart.

Yet again, I find myself in another east-cost city, with a family of my own this time. Our neighborhood is green and situated right next to a trail. When the weather allows, I find myself automatically gravitating toward this trail. The tall green trees invite me to take a walk, feast my eyes, calm my mind, and luxuriate in the silence. Days when I feel like the walls are closing-in around me and I am sinking into despair, I make myself a tall mug of tea and hike through this trail. I let my mind wander and come into a timeless communion with my green friends. Immediately, I feel a sense of quiet and calm rise inside me.