Laburnums

'We are going to Singapore,' said one little Lady. A second piped: 'We are going to London. A third said quietly: 'Uncle, we are going to InOrbit and Bhaubali.' Rama and me laughed. Stretch around IC Church and Mandapeshwar CHS lay empty. None stirring to koyals, inaugurating the morning at 4 when not even the gods stir. Stillness dripped from koyal notes. Do bird music have music rules, ragas and saptaswaras; or are they repeats? Koyalling went on and on as Rama celebrated May Day from a balcony in arm chairs, running to bird calls, crowing of cocks, at Alleppey, in the 70s. And she lost it all in Bombay, after marriage. She knows more about flowers and fruits than me. She has an organic timer in her. And today rejoiced in an empty Borivili when all the gods and goddesses took to loud speakers and silence broke as glass. Shreya and Chiyu were at imagica, leaving Aji to her imagination as thats what we live with alone. By 6 after a cup of coffee we started out from Dakhi's home on a walk. IC Church was bare as we stepped into the quiet. We stayed a silent minute, stepped out, strolled into a blissful the gold of Laburnum anaygyroides atop the grotto, blessing the dead in the graves and living outside. 'Konnapoo' glistened Rama, as she hugged the tree with more golden chains of yellow flowers than leaves. Apparently, laburnum is a foreign citizen from France to the Balkans. Out of the church and into empty St. Francis Assisi ground; no footballs, no kids, all in foreign lands and Bhaubalis. At one side stands a Laburnum in yellows, alone. As Rama walked, me went up and stared. We chatted after a time. Me and laburnum became one like a dream and its dreamer. Sure trees think and talk. None admires me, why, o, why, the laburnum chirped. Me patted her off-white trunk in trust. The tree nodded and told me of a Jesuit father looking after her some 30 years ago. He read a Psalm every morning, watered me roots, and signed the Cross, the tree said. That's why me am still around when two house sparrows landed on the branches to join the adda. Please do not harm this tree any, wrote down the Jesuit father in his dairy before he left for France. Its a lucky charm. Sometimes, he writes a letter and me replies. Now it is long since a letter came. For this May Day, the laburnum is breakfasting with the sun and sparrows and talks of the many brothers and sisters on Karuna Road; at least there are about 10 in the area relishing the karuna of the public. On the slow walk back, looked at a koyal atop a mast tree, twinging its throat.