I remember lessons in gardening in the two-year COVID period that weighed upon all the knowledge I had garnered about tending to plants in all my years. The period of isolation helped forge and foster many a new relationship, this time with the colour green. Amidst the chaos in human life, peace lent a helping hand in the form of petals and leaves. I often read of people turning towards gardening in this maddening world, and about rooftops and balconies becoming home to vegetables, flowers, and fruits.
In moments of solitude, I was pulled in by a gardening WhatsApp group where my gorgeous friends gracefully embraced me. At first, I almost refused to be inducted, wary of receiving endless “Good Morning” and “Happy Anniversary” messages on my already overloaded phone, but then to my surprise, this group of gardening enthusiasts thrived wonderfully without them. Soon I was able to view the blossoms in my friends’ and strangers’ gardens.
The roots of many worldly men and women’s interest and passion in gardening can be traced to the onset of the pandemic. A new opportunity was available when all social activities were purged and days and nights merged into isolation. All pursuits of society — work, entertainment, exhibitions, marriages, feasts and travel — suddenly came to a halt.
In times of the COVID peril, nature appeared as a saviour for many women, the elderly and the work-from-home generation. Good things come by when we leave room for them, and during this break from the regular clutter of life, the muddy patch of my humble backyard rose to glory. My eyes opened to the sights of bamboo-fenced nurseries, riotous in colours and fragrances. Plastic planters burst with blooms. I would eye them longingly while on my way to work, for in this period of gloom and sorrow, the gaiety and youth of flowers were infectious.
My neighbour, a retired couple, dug up an ever-ignored strip of land outside their home and soon transformed it into an oasis of marigolds and sunflowers, both gleefully competing for space and sun! When the land was taken over by plants, hanging flowerpots stole the scene, and hose pipes sprung into action.
Infectious activity
The zeal of my neighbours was as contagious as COVID itself, and the virus of gardening infected others soon. Eyes glinted, lips curled in smiles and pretty flowers bloomed across verandahs. The cracked soil in long-forgotten pots were now moist with love and care.
Kitty groups converted overnight into nature enthusiasts, and baskets of brinjals, chillies, and tomatoes became the pride of photo galleries. Garden and farm counsellors rose to prominence with practical solutions to all garden-related concerns.
My gardening enthusiasts WhatsApp group has members from Uganda, South Africa and several other countries, in addition to those in India. I soon visited farms, patios and balconies in Delhi and Pune through images and videos. An enthusiastic member from Raipur, Chattisgarh, sent a sackful of dried and edible hibiscus in pretty packets through a family passing through my city. With recipes! Invaluable composting tips were generously offered by unknown ‘friends’ from Delhi to whom I sent photos of my poorly composted kitchen waste. They taught me, through an online demonstration, that my compost material was too dry and had an inappropriate ratio of garden and kitchen waste. So finally, life was exciting again, filled with hope that our ways could be amended! Like the compost pit, ingredients in life, too, seek balance and proportion.
I belong to that tribe of nature enthusiasts whose tool is the pen rather than the pruner, so there were ample opportunities to create poetry while getting my hands and feet muddy. The focus of my writings shifted to ecology, environment and conservation. The consciousness is too sharp to ignore.
A friend reintroduced me to forgotten rose water apples, my childhood favourite. I yearned to store them forever. The flowers and fragrances along my way still entice me to splurge all my time and energy on procuring more plants and tending them to sparkling health and growth. The hoarding is not over. Hey! I just heard you say, “Hedonistic!” For a change, I do not feel the guilt.
As the environmental biologist Robin Wall Kimmerer, in Braiding Sweetgrass, says, “To love a place is not enough. We must find ways to heal it.” Love is discovered. Healing awaits.
alka28jain@gmail.com
