Desicritics Category: Culture: Gardening

The Dividing Roots Of Religions

Deepti Lamba — Mon, 8 Dec 2008 10:19:07 EST

She came over to ask for Neem leaves. We started talking about the death of my Neem tree due to the Jamun tree pushing at it. We talked about gardening, snakes crawling into our homes, children and somewhere in between we got talking about religion.

It wasn't a topic I wanted to talk about. It makes me impatient. She told me she was a Muslim and asked about my religion. I replied- Buddhist. She smiled, nodded and said that I was a Hindu.

I didn't get into the semantics and merely shrugged. She became more chatty and continued talking about her Hindu friends and I stared at the bamboo rhizomes that were growing under my cracked cemented walk path.

I wasn't interested in hearing about her secular inclinations, I wasn't interested in her exchange of gifts on Hindu Muslim festivals nor was I interested in hearing about her getting bored to tears in Gulf, her hating the burkha nor was I was interested in her horrified reactions against the Mumbai tragedy.

She was barking up the wrong tree. I was already on her side. I had already faced half her shit post 9/11 in America when people who recognized that I wasn't a Hispanic or 'Native American' decided I was a Muslim.

I had to wear my religion on my chest as if to ward off others 'righteous' anger. I told them at the airport security checks - "No, that lady in burkha isn't my mother in law. I am a Hindu. Are you done checking my six month old? Yes, I know its for safety that you have special checks. But why is it that whenever we travel we always get the special security checks?"

Things did get relatively easier a couple of years down. But there was always that fear in the back of our minds when we traveled. We didn't discuss politics when we stepped out, our phone calls were also censored and we maintained a polite front even when a jackass passed a racist comment or snubbed us in a queue.

We had friends who treated us no different whether they were Republicans or Democrats but fear had nestled deep within my heart. And the sense of insecurity plagued me constantly. We tried to keep a low profile. The attitude that if we kept our heads down and didn't stand out like sore thumbs things would be fine was ingrained in us.

By the end of our five year stint I was eager to return home. Between the yellow, orange, red alerts my poor heart had done enough palpitations wondering what shit would be dished out to us if terrorists did some shit on US soil.

I was ready to return home and feel like a majority upper class Hindu all over again.

After nearly three years of returning home I found myself trying to make a defensive Muslim lady comfortable in my garden. I didn't talk about the apprehensions I suffered while in US being similar to her feelings. There was one big difference between her and me.

To me, my country was a haven I willingly returned to but for her there was no sense of security in her own homeland; not that she said it to me but her loud proclamations of being a moderate secular Muslim made it clear to me.

She took some curry leaves and lemons, grumbled about the death of the Neem tree and politely declined my offer of tea.

I closed the gate behind her and wished we didn't talk about religion and politics. It made both of us pussyfoot around each other and maybe it kept us from becoming good friends.

Original Fiction : Daddy

Deepti Lamba — Fri, 4 Jul 2008 15:03:48 EDT

“Daddy” She tried to get his attention.

“Hmmmm?” He did not turn to look at his daughter who knelt down on the grass along with him.

“Daddy?” She reached over and touched his bent waist.

He sighed and stopped pulling the weeds. Brushed his hands against his jean clad thighs and turned to look at his daughter.

“What is it, Kelly?” Tendrils of her hair waved gently in the Mid Western wind. It had been a cool day and the winds had yet to pick up pace. A bird sang above their heads on the maple tree. Her song was sweet and it caused much melancholy in his heart.

He reached over and tucked the hair behind his daughter’s ear. A smudge of dirt marred the perfect skin of her ear. He looked at it and remembered his wife kissing Kelly’s ears when she was barely a few minutes old.

“Daddy?” she gently held his hand. Her eight year old hand was engulfed in his strong grasp. She missed her mother.

“Daddy?”

He smiled at her whimsically “What is it pumpkin?”

She bit her lip and tried to hold the tears back from her eyes. She didn’t want to hurt him. But she had to ask him.

“Daddy, is Ma really in heaven?”

He closed his eyes and bowed his head. His gentle Melissa was gone forever. He tried to be patient with their daughter just as Melissa had taught him to be.

Put the anger and grief on the back burner. She would have said. He could actually hear her say the words in his mind.

How he missed her sweet warmth.

He looked at his daughter and tried to smile.

“Yes, sweetie she is in heaven.”

“But daddy!” She chewed her lip just like her mother used to do when she was under tremendous stress; the same gentle chewing of the lip between the upper and lower teeth when the biopsy reports said she’d live less than six months. His brave Melissa was gone leaving behind a grieving husband and a confused daughter.

He shook his head and went back to weeding the earth with renewed vigor.

Tears fell from his eyes, tears he didn’t want his daughter to see.

She sat back on her haunches and watched a little ladybird crawl up her arm.

The beautiful black spots on its red shell reminded her of the times she had gone ladybird hunting with her mother in the fields, she remembered the times when they had sat together and eaten berries freshly plucked and slept under the same maple tree.

Her chest tightened and she could breathe. She was swept up in a maelstrom of grief but couldn’t reach out to her father. He no longer smiled; he couldn’t look at her in the eye. Grandma told her to give him time. He will come around she had said as she hugged her little body against her ample bosom till she couldn’t breathe.

Grandma hugged her too tightly nowadays but her father couldn’t bring himself to touch her.

“Daddy!” She tried again, a little more hesitant this time. Had she done something wrong?

He brushed a hand across his eyes. Jesus, he didn’t know how to comfort his daughter.

Throwing the weeds aside he decided to take a breather and talk to the only precious thing he was left with.

“Tell me honey.”

“Daddy if mama is in heaven why are we here?” She blurted out. Apprehension made her shiver. She had finally asked her father the question that had been plaguing her for a while.

“Here? Because this is your mother’s grave.” He told her trying to keep the impatience out of his voice.

The harshness of his tone made tears spill from her eyes. He cursed himself; she was so fragile.

She brushed her tears away just like he had a few minutes ago. So much pain, how were they to deal with it?

He tried again

“Honey, I come here because it makes me feel close to your mom.”
She crawled up to him and snuggled in his lap. She was again a five year old wanting comfort from her father. He hugged her close to his chest while his heart broke.

“But daddy it saddens me to come here. I miss mama even more.”

He rocked her silently and watched the sun go down. So many memories lay under the maple tree. The leaves of the tree whispered gently along with the breeze. The sky turned molten giving the few fluffy clouds a silvery- gold sheen.

The lights in the farm came on. Melissa’s mother must have made lasagna. She was trying to fill in a gap she never could but bless her heart she was a rock of Gibraltar he and his daughter had leaned on. She had held the family together.

He buried his face in his daughter’s hair and drew in the clean fragrance. His mother in law had given Kelly a bath. He had been neglecting his daughter. His grief had made him selfish. He hadn’t been there to comfort Melissa’s mother either.

He gathered his daughter up firmly in his arms and tried to speak in a lighter tone “Tell you what we will talk to your mom during Grace before dinner what do you say?”

“Will mommy hear us Daddy?” She looked up at the gaunt face of her father.

He gave her a reassuring smile

“Sure she will honey.”

She laid her head against his shoulder and he walked towards the porch of the farm house where Melissa’s mother waited for them.

Book Review: Practical Gardening Books

Deepti Lamba — Tue, 1 Jul 2008 11:18:08 EDT

When it comes to good gardening books there are numerous to choose from and I tend to gravitate towards those which have more practical tips to offer rather than just glossy pictures.

Last week I picked up four gardening books that I've poured over from page to page and even re-read. These are must- haves for anyone who is remotely interested in gardening and is still at the beginner or intermediary gardening stages.

Panty Hose, Hot Peppers, Tea Bags And More For The Garden

The book is as creative as the title. Old household items can be used in the garden and some even add that extra creative touch to the garden like putting an old teapot near a pond for a toad to reside in. The book provides tips on how to get rid of weeds, harmful insects and on how to keep pets away from ponds, seedlings and expensive plants. Just about any thing can be recycled and it gets the mind ticking in the right direction.

Constructing A Garden

This book is a slim read but with useful information on the planning, designing and maintaining of gardens. Ideas are provided for landscaping of formal and informal designs and even the placements of plants around ponds.

Different kinds of mulches and paving materials have been discussed along with the right kind of methods for pruning, sowing, propagating, division etc have been shown with pictures.

What makes this book handy is the specific details provided for those without any prior training in gardening.

Both these books are available at Strand (Bangalore). Another book which is a pleasure to posses is-

The Cook's Garden

Nothing satisfies the soul than to eat what grows in one's garden. Since I am still a newbie when it comes to growing vegetables this book has been of great help. Apart from providing information as to which herb, fruit or vegetable should be grown at which season the book also provides handy recipes and preserving techniques.

The pictures provided are pleasing to the eye and the information encourages us to put our gardens to use rather than just please the eye.

Another book that can bring the family together is-

Fun With Gardening

This book comes in handy to get small kids excited about growing vegetables and herbs in their backyard. It provides imaginative ideas like having a little water garden in a Tupperware or designing a little potted desert with cacti along with growing potatoes, bulbs etc.

This book is also available at Strand. As it happens there are some Indian gardening books available at Blossoms but are more detailed, informative but less exquisite to the eye.

These books have helped me get better acquainted with nature and provided hours of relaxation.

Little Deaths in the Garden

Deepti Lamba — Thu, 5 Jun 2008 14:51:41 EDT

Last year I had written about killing a mole who had been eating my vegetables, roots of my other expensive plants and making horrid little holes all over the garden. I rammed down stones in the holes but mole was an exuberant destroyer. I went psycho and killed him with lethal pesticides. I even put of a picture of a dead mole on my site.

Till date I get nasty wayward emails about my 'shameful' behavior. One even mentioned that I should have called Animal Control and gotten them to remove the pestering pest. Yeah right!! If I called the animal control guys they would have laughed me off- Excuse me, can you take the mole out of my garden?

The snake that cohabited with us when we came back from the US decided to bid me a firm sayonara after we had a run in with each other. The villagers poured in to look for the snake but he had decided to part company. There was no more free loading and the trespasser left without any sort of harassment from my side but the mole was another story.

He enraged me and so was killed with poison. I got hate mail, but hey I am the type who doesn't believe in street dogs either. A menace is a menace and needs to be dealt with - dogs should be killed humanely; moles - well, they, along with the rest of their plague-carrying relatives do not have my sympathies.

Of course other species of nature are most welcome in my garden like spiders, butterflies, dragon flies,chameleons, earthworms and of course lady birds. The crow living on the mango tree deterred me from getting a Koi pond. Crows love fish and I'd have to kill it or cut the tree and I am not ready to do either for a bunch of fish.

Killing seems to be a natural part of gardening. Pesticides to kill aphids, boric powder to deter ants who run away with seeds, list goes on.

For a long time I believed I was the only one giving in to her nasty psycho killing streak but on reading the New York Times article - Peter Rabbit Must Die I breathed a sigh of relief I wasn't the only one but one amongst the many.

The article ended with a weak:

There is also the approach offered by Catherine Wachs, a gardener who runs the Right Brain Design advertising company and lives in Larchmont, N.Y.: “I do what the Bible says: Leave the corners of your field unharvested for the poor and strangers among you.”

They are not human strangers wanting to eat your fruit but pests who destroy the entire crop! And most of us love our tomatoes and cabbages. Think we are crazy? - dig your fingers in dirt, sow some seeds, watch them bloom or watch the vegetables grow and then feel the blow when the devastation happens overnight. If the gardening bug bites you so will the call of the wild come to your aid. Its as simple as that.

What's In A Rose?

Deepti Lamba — Sun, 24 Feb 2008 05:27:05 EST

What's in a Rose? I never much cared for Roses. As a Delhi-ite I used to cry off visits to the President's Rose Garden which continue to remain popular for Delhi visitor, nor did I care for the loving attention with which our old neighbor tried to cultivate a 'Black Rose' and after years of trying when she finally managed to have a 'dark maroon rose' I was dragged to see it and saw half the neighborhood oohing and ahhing over it.

I snorted and returned home. Who cared? There were better ways of entertaining oneself than paying homage to a shoddy little flower.

But my attitude came to bite me when I bought my first rose bush and it died on me. Disease-ridden and not getting proper nutrition the roses on it shriveled and its death jeered my sensibilities - I sucked at gardening.

I bought books and read up on roses and spoke to as many Rose lovers as I could. I had joined community of rose admirers. Part of being a Rose lover is trying to lay one's hands on different types of Roses but unfortunately most nurseries, despite their promises, are unable to offer wide varieties of roses.

My roses are the run of the mill kind but I am quite proud of them. Given the right weather conditions, plenty of sun, healthy soil and right kind of nutrition the bushes are blooming quite well but like any hobbyist I want more variety and seem to have been bitten by the bug to produce a Rose so dark that I would have my entire village come and gawk at my pride and joy.