It stands as the clasp of the necklace that the rippling ponds and the trailing lane create together. It stands alone, weighed down by clusters of caressing, crimson flowers. Much like an exquisite belle, beholding her own beauty in the surrounding waters and shedding petals from willing branches.
It is a Shimul tree, awash with the shades of the season. The city, despite its growing share of despair, anger, fatigue and monotony, has opened its doors to spring. And Shimul, Palash, Ashok, Kanchan — Krishnachura and Radhachura are yet to join the festive fare – are unwinding in the dappled sunlight across the city after the still, grey winter months. Bougainvilleas, in an enviable colour palette and radiating from practically every household, as well as Oleanders, Frangipani, Amaltas or Allamandas suddenly dazzle us at unexpected street corners, bright as paintboxes, surreal as dreams. Even if all of them are not uniformly prominent – there’s one plant near our house which offers slight, deep-pink flowers and till date we have not deciphered its identity – yet all of them are pretty, all of them add to the delightful panorama unfolding across the cityscape.
And not just the divine blossoms. Spring is filling up the canvas of the city with sundry other elements. We don’t need to strain our eyes to locate them. There, beside glorious displays of Palash stand nameless trees, each of their branches sprouting fresh leaves. From soft pink, to pastel green, to smoky red – the leaves and tendrils are expressions of longings. Longings to join the fest around. Simple, quaint plants – most of them might just be non-flowering – are slowly unclasping the buds, and mint-fresh leaves shove their heads out, merrily bathed in the sunshine.
Looking up at Southern Avenue
During other times, most of Kolkata’s roads, streets, bypasses and lanes are nothing more than humdrum stretches. Not every street has the luxury of being a leafy, verdant Southern Avenue, with the Lakes gleaming like a pearl on its side. Yet, come spring, and these thoroughfares shed their tattered skin. They look up to the trees towering on both sides. Layers of dust seem to disappear under explosions of colour. Brilliant-hued petals dot the sidewalks and drop into vegetable carts, fruit stalls or near chaat kiosks.
The other morning, while trudging along the regular trail, an unlikely threesome drew my attention. Here was a solitary pond; daily users were yet to gather around it. In one corner, half submerged in indifferent waters, three slim mauve-pink flowers raised their heads. Next to them stood a scarecrow figure. Some kind soul seemed to have ensured that no birds pecked at the delicate blooms and hence planted the decoy there. The scarecrow stood facing the rising sun, its shoulders popping up the large pot-head and a grimy white cloth hung from its stick-body. A most commonplace glimpse, yet most tender. To extend the near-mirage, a pale blue-winged bird suddenly took off from the reeds. Was it a kingfisher? Hence the halcyon blue? Or was it a lone nightjar in flight? I debated in my mind and watched the rare spectacle for quite some time.
A parrot flies over a palash tree
Most remaining waterbodies in Kolkata look full of life these days. Tiny insects skim the surfaces; aren’t those small organisms some fishes or frogs or newts tracing zigzags and wriggling out their small heads? Spend a little time near these pools. They seem to breed fascinating lives and you can come home richer by assorted narratives.
Competing with the cacophonous city – and beating it hollow to a great extent – are singing, chirping birds. They hide among trees and rise in lilting choruses from Shyambazar to Shakher Bazar, Rajarhat to Gariahat. All around us we can hear them. Bird-watchers and experts can identify these ethereal calls. Most of us possibly can’t. Still we can confidently claim that cuckoos are filling up our waking hours now with their feverish notes. At times it seems as if one whole tree bursts in frenzied, passionate songs – simply because we cannot spot the birds anywhere. While stirring in sleep at night, one can hear them calling and responding, weaving a magic choir out there. Other songbirds, or simply those twittering around, can be heard repeating shrill notes the whole day – in bushes, around unkempt shrubs and hedges, or while resting on flowerpots, and roosting on slender stalks.
A divider is coloured with petals
If balcony gardens look inviting to butterflies, one wonders how many are clustering around the big trees in bloom. Small white and yellow butterflies, a few with brown-bordered tips, an occasional spotted beauty – they flit in and around nearby plants, always dreamlike, always busy.
Does it seem too idyllic a picture? It just might. But one cannot help but be overwhelmed by the profusion of life, beauty and allure in nature almost at every turn now, as if poised on the cusp of a mighty change. And in Kolkata this sudden ‘light’ of spring means quite a miracle – something that, though fleetingly, dispels the grey, the colourless and the bleak.
Basanto eshe gechhe! Dol Utsav is on its way. Soon, all these colours will merge with the breeze carrying fistfuls of abir.
Let’s relish the extravaganza while it lasts.
