Reading · The General in her Labyrinth

Picture Courtesy: Shwetha Harsha ChutneyMix

I have a favourite tree. There is this tree I drive past, in Cubbon Park. Well, the tree is not *in* Cubbon Park. She (this tree is definitely a She) is on the footpath adjacent to the park, opposite the Chinnaswamy Stadium- Take a look.

Picture Courtesy: Author

You see? The tree is rooted outside the perimeter of the park, but has stubbornly grown into the park.

A friend told me that it is a Pongamia, which sounded exotic and alien to me. He then kindly told me it is called ‘Honge’ in Kannada. Honge Mara! Nammoorina Honge mara! It provides a nice canopy, has a long-ish life-span of 80-100 years and is drought resistant, in stark contrast to the ‘oh-so-thirsty’ Eucalyptus or the short-lived Gulmohur, who croaks at 30. As ‘local’ and native as a tree can get in Bengaluru.

I must have been 15 or 16 when I adopted this tree as MY tree. One afternoon, I was riding back home from the British Council Library, sitting behind my father on his trusty Rajdoot. That’s when I caught sight of this young trunk. Its twisty gnarli-ness was unapologetically part of the park, while still retaining its ‘outsider’ status. Back then, the green fence was not in place and the footpath was not quite cemented yet. Bengaluru was still Bangalore and less set in its ways: laid-back, mostly. The rebellious (?) teen in me immediately identified with Ms. Honge. And she has been around since.

Ms. Honge has since growed-up (as Kutty R says) from a shy sapling sneaking unnoticed into the park, to the tree she is today, cementing her roots firmly in the foot path, stretching her branches and pretty flowers and leaves, unabashedly into the park. The city grew bigger, and the park grew smaller, but the tree stayed put, inhabiting her Schrodinger worlds. The park authorities had no choice but to install the fence with an appropriately sized opening for Ms. Honge’s trunk and her leafy plume.

Picture Courtesy: Author

Meanwhile, I have growed-up - becoming a professional, paying my taxes, being popular with my mates, buying a paper or two every day, losing a parent and close family, greying at the temples, having my fair share of grief and joy. I am married and have added two children to the population. Lo, and behold! I am Auden’s citizen.

In a world of uncertainty and in the face of self-doubt, Ms. Honge stands in her gnarly glory; day on day, year on year, assuring me she belongs to the teenaged me, the youthful me, the middle-aged me and assuring me I am part teenaged, part youthful, part middle-aged. Still me.

I haven’t done much to nurture Ms. Honge as mine, except a murmured self-declaration in my head that ‘This tree is mine’ every time I pass her by. But then, there might be millions of Honges in the whole world, but you’re my only one, unique Honge.

Here’s a list of other flash essays by fellow Bangalore Substack writers-

Food and Belonging by Rakhi Anil

Ambiguity of Belonging by Mihir Chate, Mihir’s Substack

The Complexity of Belonging by Avinash Shenoy, Off the walls

#14: On Belonging, by Siddhesh Raut, Shana, Ded Shana

Where am I? By Abhiram R , Abhiram’s Newsletter

Across the Seven Seas, the Ocean Waits by Amit Charles, AC Notes

The Canteen, By Shruthi, Will you be my Friend?

Somewhere I Belong, By Meghana Ramachandra, One True Sentence

Happiness & a sense of belonging by Aarti Krishnakumar, Aarti’s Substack

Virtual Embrace by Shwetha Harsha, ChutneyMix

Belonging Is A Many Shaped Word by Priyanka Sacheti, A Home For Homeless Thoughts