The Tecoma Tree's tantrums

The golden trumpet flowers in bright, blasting yellow fall gently, in dozens and even hundreds every single day, right outside our house. My mother wakes up every morning to this wonder.

Rock bees, bumble bees and honeybees sweep in and out of the flower. The flower peckers and sunbirds hang upside down on the flower, clinging to the moving branches with their tiny claws. We could hear them every day.

The tree disappears

One day, the tree vanished. Not a leaf, not a branch - nothing was left. Passers-by always plucked flowers from this tree, much to my disgust. I never liked anyone touching these gentle flowers, not even for offerings to the divine. This itself is the creation of the divine, and by letting them be where they are, you are doing a favour to the worshipped.

A few days passed by. I saw the empty space. I wondered what the tree thought. Why did it want to go away from that place?

How do plants make decisions?

The tree re-appears

One day, all of a sudden, I saw this plant slowly coming inside our house compound. I am assuming that the plant had already spread its roots inside and was waiting to get in.

This is where my question about plant intelligence comes. On what basis? Maybe my Tecoma tree did not like the dust and the frantically speeding bikes, the people who touched it unnecessarily, or the people who did not treat it gently. They would ruthlessly pluck flowers in bunches- not waiting for them to be fully pollinated- they never cared, even.

The Tecoma Tree

The plant grew so fast. Before I realised, the plant turned into a massive tree. Sometimes I can only see flowers, not the green leaves. The flowers are so delicate that if you gently whisper next to them, they will fall like a feather. Every day, in the morning, we see a carpet of bright yellow. I sweep, I sweep more, and they shed over and over again. I pick up some of the dropped flowers and offer them to the deities. I even mulch the massive quantity of leaves and flowers every day.

Does it not get tiring? People ask me this. The local people give unwanted advice, cut the branches- or yes, even words like cut the tree because it keeps shedding flowers.

I stay calm. I have no heart to chop them when they were fully flowering. The tree came on its own free will. They completely offer themselves to the birds, insects, and lizards. Also, humans like me.

Sometimes, it does get tiring. But there are days when I leave the leaves to dry, flowers to find their own space in the garden. The dry leaves and flowers have visitors too- the garden lizards and calotes. Birds too. They pick these lizards.

I saw calotes often, but had not seen them in a long time. One day, I saw a calotes outside while walking. In my mind, I told that chap, "Why are you not visiting us anymore?"

As if the calotes heard me mumbling, the next morning, I saw one chap on the bark of the tecoma tree, capturing insects with its long tongue, swallowing them in an instant.

Nature listens to you. They come to you when you call them.

Sometimes, after I clean some 2000 flowers, another 10000 fall so fast. Now, I try not do this task as a clean-up measure. I gather these flowers delicately and put them to rest. Sometimes, this yellow carpet is also a treat to the eyes when left alone in a mess. Mess is beautiful. Wilderness is also a beautiful mess. You can witness drama, rivalry, predator-prey interactions, joy, play, music, and everything by just watching the tree.

A few days back, a yellow-billed babbler was hanging upside down on one branch of the tree. I wondered why. I saw a fluorescent green caterpillar (of a butterfly) in its beak. The yellow-billed babbler swooped down to the ground with its catch, slowly eating away the insect. Some other babblers tried snatching them, but this one did not let them take his hard work. He moved far away and enjoyed his meal. It was a meal that came from perseverance.

Sometimes, a cat came and scratched itself on the tree bark, sharpening its claws. The tecoma takes any visitor. There are days when I sit under the tree, and a rain of yellow flowers showers on me.

Once, a small honey bee built its hive on the tree, and I told my gardener not to touch it. They never bothered us. None of these creatures bothered us.

For me, every day in the mini forest is an unfolding of drama and adventure. These are lessons from nature that I imbibe. This witnessing not just calms you down, but it tells a story- a story that you can actually internalise and apply in life.

By just watching the tecoma, I meditate, I learn, I absorb. This, for me, is a tree of life.