There is pink coleus, green shamrock and ivy, and bright red and yellow crotons sitting on my desk. The coleus leaves exude radiance when light passes through. Though they find their sustenance from water alone, they make flowers every now and then. Long shoots with purple flowers stand out against the backdrop of the coffee brown couch.
From the table where I sit, I can see many more plants. A white orchid that my friends gifted me is still in bloom, reminding me of the magic of friendship. From the library shelf, wandering Jews have created a little garden, their branches readily answering gravity, tumbling down in undulating waves.
Pothos occupies all sorts of places in this house, from bright coloured, painted bottles to pots of all sizes. They are the easiest, most effortless ones to grow – sunlight or dimness, water or drought, they thrive. They complain the least. Sometimes I think I want to be like them. And then I think, no. I don’t want to be like them. I am clear of my needs and wants, I make plans to achieve my goals and thrive in my own world. I thrive in the sunlight of desire.
From up here, I see Boston ferns – at least two pots. I see a few Pilea plants, too. They are effortlessly making tiny babies. Once I had to separate around ten babies from their mother. There are many more plants, and these days I have begun to think about the diversity of their appearance. Each leaf is different from its neighbour’s – in the colours, shapes, and patterns they possess.
I once read that the human mind is naturally inclined to liking the patterns in nature. When I learnt about the science behind the calming effect of nature on the human mind, I was not surprised.
As a child, one of my hobbies was to step out and wander. I have memories of observing the patterns on leaves, the shapes of bushes and how fallen fruit had a rather different taste after a few hours of being in the sun.
Perhaps my best memories are with nature. I gravitate towards the woods and trails rather than shopping malls and busy places.
When I moved countries, the hardest part was not getting my children acclimatized to new cultures and places, but letting go of my plants. Every time I moved, I painstakingly built my green world and realized that the process was equally pleasurable.
Our sweetest longings may be tied to pleasurable moments from childhood. The things that we seek for ourselves, perhaps tied to our past. Time flies, but in our effort to cling onto the past we try to make the transition to the present smoother by recreating snippets of yesteryears.
The worlds we create for ourselves today have elements from long-ago that we cherish.
Whims and fancies 