One’s childhood, whether happy or hum, is a moment of great magic. The things of life are still fresh and experiences have a way of speaking to us more directly than at any point thereafter.

To me, no thought of those tender days can escape the image of the Wild Badam Tree — loud giggles, deep secrets, boyhood battles, peskiness, the horror of finding a bruise stare at me when I fell down for the first time, baby licks of romance, curious manoeuvrings with the adult-world. She was witness to it all.

As we approached the cusp of youth, and growing-up began to dribble its dizzy din, her trunk remained a spot to lean back on and ask those big and amusing questions in life. At times, patterning the floor with sunlight and leafy shadows, she would talk back; at other times, when she had just about had enough of us, she’d unleash her pods to crack upon the earth, inviting every kind of insect to feast at her feet and chase us away.

Years hence, while growing up, I never saw much of that tree again. However, the innocence of heart that bloomed in her company stayed with me.

The intensity of a vulnerable heart is great. The conversations it can have with life are deep and immense.

This blog is an attempt to share a few of these reflections, from my private diary, with you.

A walk back beneath the Wild Badam Tree…


Welcome to The Junglee Badam!

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