Yet Untitled 124 - 20 years in Mumbai
There's Time, and there are the Trees
Dearest Yet Untitler
I’ve been here a long time.
On Nov 15, it was twenty years for me in Mumbai. In four years, I would have spent half my life in this city. Like many of the trees I‘ve come to know here, I’ve also sunk deep roots in this place.
Mumbai does not let me rest. There’s always a next day to plan for, the next step to take. I have to go away from this place to rest. Even when I rest here, it’s the kind of rest that should prepare me for the probable exhaustion that lies ahead.
To be a tree does not mean to rest Despite a tree being stationary It constantly breathes and gives us breath: Silent watcher of our story.
There’s promise in Mumbai, and ambitions are high, like the concrete towers that populate it along with the souls who live in them.
I run into Mumbai’s hard, jagged edges all the time. I also run into trees all the time. I see them doing their work and they see me doing mine.
Two lives, seeing each other, both working against their own set of improbable odds.
Always in motion: here, I’m always mid flight.
Looking for a perch, no branches in sight.
I fly again, away from the sea,
I'm most happy when I find a tree. 
It’s easy not to like Mumbai. But here I am. Not really making to leave. These branches are almost bare But look at this! A red blossom, hanging onto some leaves.
In a city bereft of seasons other than wet and dry, things other than cold suck the life from trees.
Stuff like this makes me think afresh about what sucks the life from me.
Deceit, hate, anger, the absence of of civic sense, not to mention duplicity...
"How do you keep standing in the face of it all?" was my question to the tree. 
Instead of replying, the tree inhaled and exhaled a shower of leaves, They showered on the weary man with the trash can at his knees. With two flat boards made out of ply, he scraped and scooped them all Dreaming of a picture seen, of red leaves in the fall.
I spied a life, I stalked their love While hidden behind the leaves. I wondered whether by watching them I'd meet love in my dreams.
I turn to trees, I ask for things, Utter clumsy apologies. The trees stay quiet, then in reply Throw petals at my pleas.
I speak to trees and I’m told I’m strange. I don't mind this so much, For twenty years, being rooted here I've seen even stranger stuff!
The trees are going, there are less every day It pains me much, I swear Sometimes, I'm close to telling myself That I'd be better off elsewhere.
But 20 years is a long long time Your bark (your girth) grow thick. Now rooted like my fellow trees, I'm unable to quit. You may have to cut me down Before you get me to move If you do, my trees will cry And shake their boughs at you!
Thank you for listening!
Write back, wish me Bon Anniversaire if you please, or share something about how deep your roots go in the place you’re planted.
Lots of Love
V
Such a beautiful piece Vas - loved it!
Reading this reminded me of the song Roots by The Melodic, the first line goes 'roots aren't something you lay, but something you take on your way' :)