Inspired by observations of Neem trees during the spring-summer transition in Chennai, where I live. A short write up is below the illustration.
2022: A few weeks back, my mother commented on how the neem tree in the house behind ours seemed to be “groaning” with flowers. I realised she was right, it did seem burdened by thousands of tiny flowers that eclipsed all of its branches, hunched down by the weight of its change with the seasons.
To me, watching the changes in trees is the best way to keep track of the changing seasons. Last year (thanks to the summer long lockdown) I watched a gulmohar tree on the street every day – from bud, to fiery flame blossom, to ordinary tree once again. Summer heat picks up, summer heat peaks, summer heat slowly dissipates.
The neem tree, however, seems to be content with flowering during the transition period. Silently, it picks up, growing with the change in weather from cool to hot, in the time when you’re not sure whether to turn on the a/c during the day or if you can suffer the heat – after all, summer hasn’t started yet, right? Inexplicably, day after day, the neem flowers multiply, the days get longer, until there’s a lingering sense of finality in the arrival of summer. A limbo of growth between the “real” stuff.
It doesn’t last. The flowers turn into tiny fruits, but the majority of them fall off and litter the ground of my neighbour’s yard. I watch his rooftop covered in a thick carpet of dying flowers. Everything comes to pass.
The last of the neem flowers still hang persistently on the tree branches, despite last week’s rains. Cuckoos and crows balefully watch each other from within its branches, ready to take on what they know the arrival of summer brings. Down the street, the gulmohar sports a single red bud, ready to capture my attention once again.