The big tree

The big tree is being cut down. A lot of children cry. They hug the trunk and their shrill voices cut through the heavy afternoon air. I look down from my first floor window and see one particularly enthusiastic child swinging on one of the branches. The people that the BMC has hired to bring down the tree are standing at a distance and chalking out their modus operandi. I can imagine the children’s distress, the tree is nothing but magnificent.

Moreover, the plan to bring down the tree isn’t well thought out, evidently. They can’t possibly have thought of cutting down such a huge tree on a Sunday afternoon with no protest from the residents. Sunday afternoons are a time when mothers stop bothering their children about food and homework and such; and the children rush out in the sun to play. I consider going down myself, if nothing else to reason with the officials, but from what it appears, a lot of like-minded people are doing that already.

Some concerned residents approach the BMC men and ask them something. From a distance, it looks like a very grave conversation. One of the officials makes hand gestures which indicate that the road has to be widened. The residents are unimpressed. One of them points to the tree and says something to the official. From his gestures, it looks like he is pointing out the tree’s grandeur to the BMC official. It is the official’s turn to look unimpressed. He has heard too much of this intellectual rubbish.

As the people flock around the man talking animatedly to him, I see that the enthusiastic child has fallen off the branch. It must have been a couple of feet of the ground, but that’s all it takes. The child starts howling. The child’s mother tries to pacify him. The other kids are confused and join in the crying. The adults try to calm the kids down – but the floodgates have opened. They bawl and shriek and the BMC officials have had enough. “ Chalo, hato!” one of them shouts and raps his stick on the pavement for effect. The children don’t budge; they surround the injured kid and keep making a racket.

“Chalo!!” The official shouts again and grabs one kid by the collar. He has tolerated more than he bargained for. The child screams as if pinched. The adults try to intervene but the official screams at them as well.

After 20 minutes of stern words and raps with the baton, the crowd begins to disperse. Just as the BMC official rounds up his men and gives them instructions, there is another intervention. In the middle of an unassuming October afternoon, it begins to rain. The official slaps his forehead in disbelief. It will be hard to work; the others chime in, as the rain gathers force. They walk towards their vehicle in frustration, cussing the children. Just before they drive off, they see the children have returned. They run around their beloved tree - the blues and yellows of their raincoats are in sharp contrast with the wet brown trunk. They laugh and play and give the BMC officials condescending looks.

The tree stands there, not sure what it has done to deserve such love from these 6 year olds