“We’re talking about a life here!” With hands on her hips, Jane stood in the middle of the room, eyes and voice livid. She was addressing the lawmaker, her father, who sat smoking his pipe, cradling the arm of his couch.
“Calm down, Janet,” he spoke in a gruff, unperturbed voice, “Don’t strain yourself.”
“But,” she protested, “I’ve known Marigold all my life. They can’t slaughter her just because she’s growing. It’s unfair. We have to fight them!”
Her gazed at her teary eyes. “Don’t lose hope, yet. We’re in the right. The council may still reprieve your mango tree.”
Some moments in life, though fleeting, last a lifetime as memories. The first ray of light that breaks through the darkness, walking out like her majesty from behind a veil, to cast her arms of sunshine on the world anticipating her gaze; the fleeting, half-hidden moment before she reveals herself to us—that’s a memory that would sit forever in my mind. Like a longer-lasting flash, the sun rose from the depths of the night to the heights of the day—all in a matter of minutes. On the Kangchenjunga mountain, we waited from 4 am for the sun to show up. Because no two sunrises are the same and no two seconds during the rise are alike. If that’s not evanescent, what else is?
Sometimes you need to stare long before you realise that the our world is more majestic than we think. I had such a moment of awe and eye splendour in Thekkady, a part of Kerala. It was the green mountain, called so because its greenery lasts throughout the year.
It wasn’t just any mountain, though. It’s home for some of the tallest trees, mildest deer, and wildest elephants. Not to forget the freshest of lemongrass. You could reach out and snatch the grass off its root (Evil, I know. I was appalled when our host did it, but was also glad later.), and the lemony scent would fill the air with all its natural glory. None of the perfumed, lemon-flavoured car fresheners would come anywhere close to it. That’s the beauty of our earth—human creations stand no chance against it.