I gaze at the tree first thing in the morning when I open the curtains in my rented accommodation. After years of abuse and being gaslighted in my unhappy marital home, I found the courage to escape and make a fresh start. Since this life-changing move, I have befriended the tree that stands right outside the window. It is as bare as some lives are without shelter and protection of loved ones. And though the city is peopled with acquaintances, I have reposed trust in this tree with whom I have started sharing stories of my troubled past. Relieving myself of the emotional burden has been like walking on eggshells, but the stolid tree has given me some grounding. There are no nests on this tree. It does not harbour life in a way that others do. There are no little ones hatching from eggs; it is not a witness to the incessant cycle of life and death. It’s only a temporary shelter for those seeking respite from long journeys, those who have traversed difficult paths and need a breather. And thus I have spotted hornbills, mynahs and kites perched on it. The tree must have communicated with them. While spring blessed Kusum, Pilkhan, Chakrasia and Jarul trees, this nameless tree initially did not sprout leaves, making me feel sad for its fate. Was it dying or already dead, I thought, with only the façade of life sustaining a hollow trunk with gnarled branches? Perhaps like a fake family being there only for the photo ops while severing all the nourishment to the loved one. This tree has become a reminder of my past and yet I do not delude myself into believing that life is bereft of love. It is a symbol of someone who has been deserted and in turn has detached oneself from the cycle of life. No wonder I was amazed when a tiny leaf sprouted recently. This, indeed, is not a tree of spring; it’s one which lives on its own terms. And since then, more foliage has appeared on branches — soft and light-green leaves. A harvest after a long spell of drought. The tree might not have a dense canopy like the others in the locality, but it’s alive in its own way — telling me that resilience is the perennial bloom, not the outward manifestations. Akin to hope, leaves will appear in seasons benign. Standing tall amidst the vagaries of life, resolute in the face of indifference, the tree outside the window has finally heralded its own spring. The writer is a Hoshiarpur-based veterinary officer
