Kaw Caw
Tale of a
tree
It all
started with Mr. Khazanchi deciding to plant a neem tree at the edge of
his plot some thirty years ago. Pamposh was coming up and no one could foresee
the shape this Kashmiri Colony would take in due course. There were 150 plots
and each was allotted to a Kashmiri Pandit. The optimists thought it would
always stay that way.
With Batta
neighbours on all sides, one could make believe that one was still in Malla
Pora, Bana Mohalla, 2/3 bridge, Srinagar, Kashmir.
The years passed. The neem tree grew
and it developed a huge trunk. Mr. Khazanchi had its branches lopped from time
to time. Naturally, he tried to save his own house from the arboreal invasion.
The tree was allowed free play across the road and it slowly and gradually
developed a definite tilt towards us. To the extent that it crossed the service
road and started wafting scented breezes into our drawing room.
At first, we
did not mind. A neem tree is, by all accounts, a useful neighbour to
have. Its tiny twigs can be made into daatuns. Its leaves are bitter to taste
and can be used as an antidote to diabetes.
Ayurveda recommends that its leaves be chewed and digested every morning.
But you can
have too much of a good thing. When the branches enter your bedrooms and the
tree drops its leaves every day, it adds to the litter in the house and makes a
mess of your interiors. So whenever the inroads became too intrusive, we called
the horticulture wallahs, gave them something as chaipaani and
had light pruning done.
Thus
historical events led ultimately to the survival of a sole fat low-level
branch, with which the horticultural department was not prepared to tinker. I
suppose even chaipaani has its limitations. When we found the bottom
line of horticultural honesty, we made out a case for lopping of the obtrusive
branch and had it forwarded to the Forest Department.
This low
level branch proved to be a great hazard to life, limb and property. Because it
was low, no truck which had stacked material in it, could cross. Suddenly, at
the most sensitive point in the Sunday afternoon siesta, the bell would ring
its shrill summons. Both I from the ground floor and my son from the first floor
would come out running, dishevelled and sleepy. The truck driver would express
his apologies but could we please move the car parked on the side of the road,
so that the truck could bypass the low-lying branch? After the tenth such interruption of the
holiday siesta, we decided to photograph the branch from various angles and
made out a forceful case for lopping
off the branch.
I was told
that an official of the Forest Department had inspected the spot but he was not
convinced.
Soon
thereafter, the matter became more serious. One day, there was a huge
turbulence in the air. The trees shook up and down, as if acted upon by a
veritable tsunami. As my son took out his car, the neem tree lost one of its
huge members, missing my son’s car by millimetres. We were shaken up by the
incident, which could have had serious repercussions.
And now the
coup d’ grace! A water crisis hit Pamposh, with the motors conking out every second day. The Jal Board sent out its
tankers. One such tanker, filled to the brim and thus made much heavier, took
the detour and raced its engine while
standing on our ramp. When it left a few minutes later,
the ramp had collapsed and been converted into a deep ditch. We engaged the services
of Mange Ram contractor and he presented an estimate for the repairs. Several rounds
of negotiations later, the tanker’s momentary romp on the ramp had cost
us a hefty sum of Rs. 13,500.
Now the Lakshmi
Rekha had been well and truly crossed. I spoke to my
neighbour Shri Shakdher who also happens to
be the General Secretary of the Residents’ Welfare Association. We motored
up to the Shooting Range where the Forest Department is located. We were lucky
to have an audience with the Deputy Commissioner (Forests), who promptly
permitted the lopping of the low-lying branch so guilty of misbehaviour.
What tilted
the balance in our favour? Was it the tale of woe I narrated to the officer? Or the story of how we had, in the Fifth Central Pay Commission, equated
the Indian Forest Service to the Indian Police Service in all respects?
Or was it my visiting card which was a proof of
my past?
Whatever the
reason, the tree is no longer a menace
to our life, limb and happiness.
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