The Year The Vishu Refused to Bloom

I was introduced to the Vishu tree a long long time ago. I had not seen one until I saw it on the cover of PCM's The Children Magazine - a popular magazine published in Kerala. I used to read the magazine as a child until I grew older and then became hooked to the Reader's Digest. It was a Vishu special issue. Vishu, like many regional festivals, is one of the major harvest festivals celebrated widely in Kerala. 

It is marked by the blossoming of the beautiful yellow flower of the Vishu tree, every petal of which shines bright in the summer months. Ever since I learnt about it, the Vishu tree started becoming my favourite tree to spot as I roamed the streets during summer holidays. Though in Bombay, back then, there were very few spots where this tree could be seen. Perhaps there are even fewer such spots now. There was the one near the railway station, you could only see it when you were standing on the footboard, living life on the edge. And then there was one by the flyover, you could only see it from a BEST Bus, but not from a rickshaw. 

However, the most important feature of the tree was that it was only striking when in bloom. Otherwise it would stand silently in the shade of the more magnificent trees, minding its own business, until it was time for it to put on a show. Every year on Vishu, the flowers are sought after and families break a bunch in bloom and take it home for worship. It is sold at Rs. 300/kg in the markets and shoppers bargain for it. Vendors smile at you and relent, finally selling it for Rs. 250/kg. It is a festival after all and it is only that day, that anybody buys these petals. But for me, I have been content to watch the flowers sway in the summer sun. 

Many years later, I moved cities. But I never forgot about these yellow beauties. They always stayed on my mind, like a joyful warm memory which lingers on forever. I have no idea why, even though I had no connection to the tree - religious or otherwise. A mere fascination to watch it bloom and then fade away. A reminder of how good things are eventually meant to come to an end.

Every year I waited for summer, for it brought forth, what the spring didn't - vishu flowers. I had already identified a local vishu tree. A young one, standing close to the open railway tracks, which bisected this town into two parts. Incidentally it was in the compound of a Kerala food joint which served Thalaserry biryani in claypots on Sundays. I always wondered if the owner -  one Mr. Shaji would have planted it, lovingly when constructing his PG cum Restaurant or it was a strange coincidence that the tree had found its way here. Though, in any case, he had ensured a steady supply of the golden petals on the auspicious day to adorn the small krishna idol which he sat on a shelf behind the cash counter. But on other days, it swayed a bit more each time a train passed by, and watching the gentle sway of the flowers was the highlight of my summer afternoons. 

One summer, not too long ago, this tree didn't bloom. It did sport a few flowers and then all of a sudden it was bare. As if it had changed its mind mid-bloom. The tree seemed to be on strike. What could be the reason? I wondered. Climate change perhaps. Or had Shaji done some digging around and disrupted the roots? I was perplexed. I wanted to find out more. But I couldn't. I was not sure what I would say to the tree. Would a pep talk help? They say you can kill a tree if you hurl abuses at it continuously. Had Shaji been doing that? Or even if he were, could I reverse it by whispering sweet nothings to this sweet tree, now bereft of its golden adornments? Perhaps it was lonely and sad. 

The gloom that had overtaken the tree came over me too. In the absence of the bloom of the tree, my appetite died. I would look forward to the appams at Shaji's with some hot kadala curry but I gave those up. I stuck to eating nothing. It was me being a teenager all over again. Ignoring the most important meal of the day. My jawline appeared, cheekbones grew hollow but my jawline was back, I consoled myself. 

A natural loss or absence of appetite means your body doesn't protest. For it is in sync with your mind. No dualities. One unified system colluding to deal with the gloom. No headaches, no pangs, no cravings. The body turns very simply to its reserves. And reserves I had a few, especially around my midriff. Those tough to shed areas around your hips, the love handles. It is strange that how the fat has got nothing to do with love, except maybe love for sloth and for food. 

Without the golden bloom in sight, I grew more irritable than before. Snapping at everyone. And then regretting it the next minute. Could a tree affect one's mood so much? Who'd have thought that. But here I was, losing sleep one night and then oversleeping the next. Mountains of unwashed clothes began to form. One on the designated laundry chair and then on my study tables, sometimes on my bed. The monster of laundry kept on growing until I ran out of clean underwear. The cleaning lady complained at first and then gave up trying to maintain a semblance of order in the house. 

Old habits die hard. But it is easy to kill them when you are not feeling it. A good routine of sleeping, writing, reading, eating, cooking, bathing, shaving turned topsy turvy. Pleasure from small things disappeared. Dopamine doses delivered in micro quantities through a small screen soon became a staple diet to keep going. Books were replaced by ultra short videos. Focussing on things became painful. Shutting down seemed more welcome than starting up. The world became a strange place. People became even stranger. Friends turned into aliens and allies became foes. Anger and anxiety took turns to visit, sometime they came together. Remorse and guilt were not behind. It was a party then. 

The year the Vishu refused to bloom, the summer became intolerable. Imaginary thoughts took over and I began gravitating towards the Vishu tree. I wanted to speak to it to understand it a bit more. But perhaps all I wanted to understand was myself and my thoughts. 

One day it rained. Unseasonal rain, battering everything in its wake. I walked through the warm rain. Through puddles and broken roads. On one side of the road, the open railway track seemed inviting. A gush of warm air blew past as a train whizzed by, unbothered of the slippery tracks. It released many emotions and stirred many thoughts, of escape and release. 

But right then, a flash of lighting dashed through the skies and a loud clap of thunder followed. I was jolted back from the storm in my brain. Another jolt pierced the sky, lighting up the scene, and in that glorious light, I glanced up and saw it standing there. 

It stood still, its slender form, steady and stoic, even as strong gusts of winds kept blowing through the lanes of this neighbourhood. The Vishu tree which had refused to bloom. It seemed magical, almost surreal to watch it stand so valiantly in this downpour. I jumped away from the tracks and ran towards it.  I stood there until the rain had passed, next to it, my hand on its trunk, knowing fully well that my face was not moist only because of the rain.