Plants go to Plants

I cringed every time the doorbell rang mid-morning. 

We had newly moved to this rented apartment and I used to diligently separate our wet and dry waste  for the cleaners to take away. In two separate containers, I put it outside the front door in the mornings for them to collect. My conscience had rested peacefully about this waste-disposal system till one day I saw them nonchalantly dump the wet and dry waste in the same collection box. It was a perfect combination for production of unfriendly gases in the landfills. 

That settled it. I had a compelling ambition to compost our own wet waste and reduce the dry waste we generated. 

In the beginning I just started out by drying the scraps of fruits and vegetables in the block of sunlight that flooded the window sill. When the pile grew bigger, I moved it to a large cardboard box. I read up a little about composting and started adding a little soil to the heap. But the experiment was not successful. 

When I found out that moisture is important to the composting process, I stopped drying the green scraps and started mixing them with brown waste such as newspaper and hardboard. Then, after a few unfortunate stinking episodes, I figured out a 1:2:1 ratio of greens, browns, and soil to harvest an earthy-scented compost. I agreed with those who say that composting is an art. 

Around the same time, I started growing a garden in the living room window. I found an excellent idea for preparing plant food on a gardening blog which would also make the greens easy to decompose. I chop the scraps of fruits and vegetables and let them sit on the kitchen counter all day in a large bowl. To this bowl I add the water used for rinsing rice, dals, and vegetables. At the end of the day, I sieve the nutrient-rich water and use it for watering plants whereas the rest goes into the compost pot. 

In the learning process, I realised that onion peels makes the compost smell awful so I compost them separately in a shoe box. Citrus peels make the compost too acidic and does not let the microbes do their work. I save these peels and make homemade disinfectant by adding vinegar to them. 

Any useful seeds I come across are saved for our farm which we plan to visit when the pandemic restrictions are lifted. 

Presently, I have two compost pots sitting in our laundry area which gets some fresh air. One is an active bin where all the daily green scraps are deposited while the other one has unrecognisable bits of what was once vegetable peelings, random paper notes, bills of purchase, and so on. 

I must say there is something truly philosophical about composting. Every morning, when I stir the compost piles, thoughts of mortality and the circle of life make a prominent appearance.  The very sight of 'what was' turning into 'what is' gives an immense spiritual uplift to my day and I decide to make the most of it before its gone.  

Interestingly, composting has also reduced the size of dry waste we disposed. Most of the dry stuff that can be decomposed, rests in the compost bin in shreds.

Our plants have been looking livelier since they started getting their daily organic tonic. 

Nowadays, the cleaners do not ring our doorbell anymore because they know that we will put out our small bundle of dry waste only once a month.  

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My friend, NP, is a wild child. She is also a botanist with a Ph.D. When she had come to visit us in our Vasai home several years ago, she sat eating a banana while dangling her legs out of the window to admire the greenery. Throwing the banana peel straight outside into the garden, she said: "Plants go to plants."

Yoga at Sunrise

Ket came alone on the first day. 

We spread out two mats and began our practice with the elementary question - What is yoga?

As the days went by, we were joined by friends, their friends, and family on certain occasions. Ket, Thao, Bindu, Hamsa, Sofia, Sarah, and Nalanda were regulars. Learning the Sanskrit terms for each yogasana and pranayama was a challenge they took on readily. 

This introduction to an ancient practice that unifies the body, mind, and soul, led us to a new bond of friendship with like-minded people. We just let our bodies lead us easily through the sequences without force or competition. Achievements were celebrated by personal happiness alone. 

Like children we went through the various phases of learning - beginning, developing, and mastering. While Thao's flexible body took up most challenges easily; Bindu, Sofia and Hamsa found solace in pranayama. Ket, Nalanda, and Sarah would surprise us with the length of time they held certain poses.

"Just breathe" I would remind them from time to time, as they folded themselves into a fluid kapotasana or a still ekpadasana. I was proud of their willingness to learn and dedication to the practice. 

We had started our class in the living room of our old PDO house where the girls drove up the hill as the sun rose in the Eastern pinkness, after dropping their children at school.  When it was time for us to move  house, our move came with a silver lining. 

The white bungalow that we had rented the year before we left Oman, had the perfect studio for a yoga class. A rectangular room with a french window framed by a brick wall on one side and complete whiteness in all other dimensions was one feature of the house that attracted us the most. 

Practicing shavasana in that room with the birds chirping on the frangipani and lemon trees outside was an experience in ultimate peacefulness. 

Om shanti!

A Pot of Love

"Have you taken your water bottle, handkerchief, keys?"

"Yes. Bye, bye!"

"Accha, bye! Go safely and return safely."

That was always the way we parted with my mother-in-law. She cared so much about each of her children that she remembered all the minor details of our needs. 

It is now more than one year since she left for heavenly abode. The only thing that I have in this apartment to remind us of her is a sturdy copper water pot that once belonged to her. 

Every time I scrub it, I tenderly run my fingers against her name that is engraved on it along with the date. It says - Teresa Lemos 12-04-1994.

A few weeks ago, the fresh water supply to the building was suddenly cut. There was some urgent electrical maintenance work in progress and the overhead water tank had run dry. 

Usually, I stock bottled water for such emergencies. But with the supplies coming in erratically due to the pandemic, this time I had just one bottle left. 

Oh well, we were in a real fix. 

Around noontime, when pangs of hunger started stirring, I went into the kitchen hopelessly wondering how to cook without any water. I stuck my head into the freezer and found some sambar. Now that was a saving grace. 

But how to cook rice to go along with it?

It was then that the burnished copper pot of freshwater beckoned. It was full to the brim! Usually I fill it up around noontime but by some divine intervention, this time I had filled it up the night before. 

With a huge sigh of relief, I quickly rinsed the rice and set it to boil. 

Our Mummy had come to the rescue. Like always, she had looked into the finer details of our living and provided the necessary. 

A mother's love continues to live on, doesn't it?

Lehini's Lockdown Musings

This post about lockdown blues and a hopeful future is from Lehini Nair, a ten-year old Malaysian girl who is presently living in Muscat. 

Coronavirus thrives on our lives. 

People say stay strong but I can’t stay strong any longer.

I just want to break the walls and feel life again, play with my friends, and live life without feeling like I have lost it.

I want to feel the wind in my hair, brushing against my skin with nothing holding me back, not even the virus. I just want to break free and go back to see my family.

How we learn now is not how I want to acquire knowledge. I want to see the world and faces outside, not be held captive in a house. I feel like I have been punished without even doing a crime.

But in some ways this will be an experience that will be shared with generations to come.

There’s also some things about it that are loved. It taught me to be grateful and adapt to whatever that might happen.

One thing I have to say is - if we are all in this together, we can beat the virus and live life like normal children ... feel the earth and the essence of our loved ones and mates.

First Day of School

On a sunshiny day,

Hands tightly clasped.

Mom and Dad 

Strong and straight

On either side.

The Gift from Purple Shamrock

In my hometown, they call it the 'Butterfly plant'. The first time I saw it was in Uncle Joe's garden. Owing to the exquisiteness of the shape of its leaves, it is a thriller in every home garden. Botanically it is called Oxalis Triangularis and the common name is Purple Shamrock. 

Three beetroot-coloured triangles are joined at a central point at the end of each stalk. In the night, the leaves fold up like an umbrella. 

I had brought a sapling with just one leaf from my mom's garden last December. This apartment is too tiny to have a gregarious garden. The sapling surprised us by shooting up new leaves in quick succession. The brilliant foliage stood out in contrast to the other greens in my fledgling garden.

Then Mother's Day came. On the Purple Shamrock, a tiny flower greeted me. 

A sapling with one leaf from my mom's garden chose to express its floral beauty in our small apartment on Mother's Day. Immediately I sent a picture to mom. She replied with a Marathi poem. 

All excited, I forwarded the picture to some friends. Hamsa wanted to know the name of the plant. So I searched it up. She posted it on her digital profile. It is still there. 

Yesterday, in my news feed, I found a piece on plants related to zodiac signs. 

Mine is Purple Shamrock. So is Uncle Joe's.

And so is Hamsa's daughter's - because we share the same birthday. 

Like wide-eyed girls, we marvelled at the incredibility of it all. 

Simple joys!