Enjoying Gardening
Looked out of my window this morning to see what my gardener was up to: He was up to much; washing the cars of folk who stay down the road, cracking a joke with the pump man and chatting with the watchmen on why the rains should come on time, and a lot of other things, except gardening.
Somehow or other my gardener hates gardening or so it seems.
I loved gardening and remember wonderful mornings spent as a child in the garden that I nurtured. There was a water shortage then and water used to be brought home by water carriers from a well which seemed to have enough for all the houses around. We paid two hefty gentlemen by the bucket and my mother would not have me running this precious water on plants when her three men and her cooking needed it more urgently.
So, I like a beaver dammed the water that flowed from our baths and regulated the same into my garden. There were papaya trees, and tomato plants with spinach creepers on bamboo poles. The papaya trees grew such abundance of their yield that most meals had some form of the fruit in them, so much so that my brother and I still quickly pass the plate when papaya is served.
Spinach was my pride. I would bend down and go into the creepers, which rested on poles and carefully pluck the best leaves for my mother. At meal times I looked at greens with pride and ate same with proprietary air..!
The tomatoes somehow never did me proud. They grew green and for the life of me, I couldn’t figure why no red or even a distant pink ever appeared on them. They tasted lifeless and insipid and the plants looked like they were perpetually sorry to be around, with lifeless fruit looking more like little disgruntled grapes than lush tomatoes. I never figured why they disliked me. Even now when passing a vegetable vendor I look at those red polished gleaming tomatoes and wonder which part of my green fingers played Judas to them..!
This was the garden in my backyard.
The water from the baths could not reach the front and even if it could, I’m sure I would never have been allowed to show the neighborhood our soapy suds from dirty bathwater. So I had to make front garden without water, which is like magician producing rabbit without hat. I managed with wild ‘Four o Clock’ plants that had flowers which legend said opened at four in the evening, mine I suspect opened at four in morning and closed at sunrise. I don’t much remember seeing them revealing themselves to me in bloom.
Cactuses however saved the day and from unsuspecting bungalow owner near my school, I cut bits of prickly over growth and brought them home. Weeks of patient staring and eyeballing finally yielded result as little green tentacle finally waved hello to me..!
Ah! But my gardener he looks with disdain at the garden, “Sahib!” he tells me, “it’s because I need job I’m doing this work! I was meant for better things!”
And I watch him from my window, “My friend!” I whisper quietly, you don’t know what you miss when you look down on your job..!”
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