Tend

A reflection on friendships, grief, and the quiet work of care — for plants, people, and oneself.

Photo by Caitlin SteinLocke on Unsplash

The bugs have begun to infest. Ants are crawling all over my basil, karipatta and lemon tree. Aphids which are these disgusting white sticky bugs are all over my areca palm. This palm, I’m a little obsessed with. The way it sways seems like a personal message for me; to learn how to relax. It’s spotted with speckles of white and looking quite diseased. For weeks I have talked to it, put seaweed concentrate and hoped the boost would be enough. A friend almost convinced me that if a plant is weak, perhaps it’s just natural to let it die.

Yesterday a therapist who I’m having a first conversation with to gauge whether we are a good fit, asked me if I had a support system and whether I had any history of trying to hurt myself. Instead of immediately flying off the handle, I just answered her question without imagining judgement. Yes and No.

I recently learnt, I have a support system which could actually support me. All I needed to do was to allow entry. Not just for the frivolous moments that are absolutely necessary for the dark cloud that looms around anyone who’s trying to keep up with the news, but for the really ugly thoughts that occupy my headspace. The aftermath of trying not to be dependent on people and lowering my expectations to null has been that I am in a state of constant gratefulness. Acts of kindness continue to shock me and I am still unclear on why I deserve anyone’s affection. So maybe the answer to the second question is I do have a history of mental flogging. One that I am impatiently trying to move past.

I can barely look at myself in a mirror. Every time I spend more than a minute adjusting my hair; I can feel a voice screaming about how unproductive it is. I re-read my writing and think it’s shit. My organisation skills are wanting. I can never get myself to do paperwork in one shot correctly. Nothing is ever good enough. After giving myself permission last year to not put down a list of goals that had to be achieved and practising yoga asanas almost daily, these manic monologues have quietened down. Ever so slightly.

I want to take it a little further. It’s time to examine my little garden of green. Identify what is eating at it, not serving it any longer and what just needs a little love and care. I wiped down the aphids 2 weeks ago and washed the cloth I used. But they’ve come back.

I don’t know how to write this without sounding bitter or sad. But I’ve lost a lot of friends in the past 5 years. Some to politics, where it astounds me that one can love a hate mongering, pocket lining politician to the point of abandoning dialogue and friendship. A lot to marriage; and then eventually children. You are expected to show up for all their milestones. To remember 3 or 4 events in their life annually, participate in them enthusiastically but not expect any kind of reciprocation to even understand the life you’re trying to lead. Almost like nothing about you is worth celebrating. Birthdays are missed and things you are excited about ignored. There’s simply no space for you. Like a plant that’s outgrown its container.

I grew up with a silk cotton tree right outside my childhood home in Delhi. Every year it would celebrate my birthday by covering the terraces and the front of the house in a bed of flaming red flowers. Even during the boards and the stress of how it was going to determine the rest of your life, it provided cheer.

Photo by Expressive Capture on Unsplash

We woke up to a loud sound one night. It shook the house but it wasn’t an earthquake. A storm had uprooted the silk cotton. One more storm and it would break through the terrace and my parents’ bedroom. The forest department was contacted frantically. My father and sibling were pragmatic. If it needed to go, it just had to. My mother grieved its loss. The front of our home looked bare and naked. In due course, a mulberry tree was planted in its place. It yields so many fruits, that there’s an endless supply of mulberry jam and frozen mulberries to drop into cocktails and desserts year round.

With losses of relationships, for the most part I’ve just let them die. Confrontation is unlikely to ever be my strong suit but I’m finding myself in spaces this year where I have to choose between that and a slow fading death where I carry the hurt, let it eat at me for years and decimate a version of myself that existed in relation to another person. I chose the former. The complete lack of regard from the person on the other end was eating me up. The anxiety of the possible loss of a decade long friendship, if I brought up the issue was ubiquitous. A friend asked me a question which I’m still mulling about. Did I think the person on the other end had nothing to lose if I exited their life? Isn’t maintaining and growing something a shared responsibility?

So how does your garden bloom when there’s rot, aphids and ants weakening the roots of what were once sturdy plants and trees that provided you shade and comfort?

This is the 5^th place, I’ve made home. I’ve been fortunate; to have found a support system here quickly. But it is because both parties have put in the time to nourish the soil on which one has planted the seeds. Full of the goodness of dried leaves and kitchen compost with an occasional seaweed concentrate. It helps that the place I now inhabit takes the individual life less seriously and pushes folks to rely on others no matter how deeply uncomfortable it makes them. But what of the relationships of before with people who I will never inhabit the same physical space with unless there’s intention? Plans to travel together, to get on regular calls and to be interested in a life far away from yours both literally and metaphorically requires effort. It means disruption of schedules and doing things that are inconvenient. The thriving ones are effortless. Plans to meet or chat come together seamlessly. They’ll talk to you on the way to the gym, fixing lunch or doing the dishes. In the nothing time of airports. Fly to your layover spots. To your apartment because they want to know what your daily life comprises of. Come spend a weekend in city that you are in for work. Cancel the first half of their day so that you can discuss how much you love-hated Apple Cider Vinegar and how tired they are.

Sometimes mis-communication or the lack of communication can begin to feel like a rotting. Then it's up to the two people to decide to deal with the aphids by dousing them with insecticide, grappling with the dirt excavating ants who’ve made a home at the root when you weren’t paying attention and be willing to get bitten in the process. You can change the soil and If one’s lucky, the plant revives. And then if it doesn’t, maybe it’s time to stop watering the plant, say goodbye and bring a mulberry sapling home.

PS - Going to be writing monthly now. Will alternate between fiction and personal essays. If you have ideas on what you’d like to read, please email me back !