Staying in touch with the trees to keep up with the times
And drawing lessons from them to carry along
My earliest memory of truly feeling alive amid trees is the time spent running and hopping around a small grove of eucalyptus trees at my grandparents’ home. I must’ve been 7 or 8 years old and I can recall swinging around each tree, while singing the timeless ‘Pehla nasha, pehla khumaar’ song. In the song, actress Ayesha Jhulka is dreamily pacing through woods, running around trees and falling onto a bed of hay. I would emote that scene, circling around the trees’ white lean barks several times, and gazing at their tops touching the sky.
The memory returned as I found myself surrounded by cypress and cedar trees in Taiwan’s Alishan National Area, a few weeks ago. These lofty giants have been standing there for centuries, and being in their company brought a sense of calm and dhairya — patience. There they were, standing tall, offering life to every organism around them, without moving an inch. They were in community with others, taking their own space, doing their own bit, and as a whole influencing the larger ecosystem.
Forest ecologist Dr Suzanne Simard has spent her life investigating and recognising how trees communicate in a forest and share resources with one another. Some experts believe that crown shyness could be a way to contain insect spread from one tree to the other. Their existence then embodies wisdom, their presence a prayer.
“As tall as cypresses, fair as the spring,
The image of their father and their king”
On and off, I’ve been reading Dick Davis’s version of Ferdowsi’s Shahnameh - the Book of Kings - where he imagined and quasi-documented Persian civilisation. Time and again, Ferdowsi makes references to trees in his storytelling that spans millennia. The cypress, in fact, is a marker of pride, beauty and glory. Ferdowsi compares the might and wisdom of princes to these ancient giants and effortlessly weaves their presence amid stories of kingdoms lost, found and regained.
“Of cypress stature and of mammoth might,
Two miles will barely show his javelin’s flight.”
Power underwent a change of hands in Persia within Ferdowsi’s lifetime. New rule brought new ideas and challenged existing ones, superimposing its presence. By constantly drawing attention to Persia’s natural world, Ferdowsi maintains a continuity and permanence of a land and civilisation that saw many kings come and go. The more I think of my homeland, India, the more I am drawn to the trees that have been etched in my memory. These are landmarks whose names cannot be changed, whose right to residence cannot be questioned, whose roots run deep and arms stretch far and wide, comfortably belonging where they are.
When I read about Palestinians and their relationship with olive trees, I am convinced that their souls are inter-twined. These trees are their humdard, their witness and guardians. One only needs to read Mahmoud Darwish’s poem The Second Olive Tree to understand that:
The olive tree does not weep and does not laugh…
She lives as a friendly sister of eternity, neighbor of time…
The olive tree is the color of peace, if peace needed
A color. No one says to the olive tree: How beautiful you are!
But: How noble and how splendid! And she,
She who teaches soldiers to lay down their rifles…
The trees I’ve grown up around are part of my belonging to my home, my city and the country as much as everything else. One of such trees is the litchi tree at my parents’ home. As a kid, I have spent countless hours playing under its shade. For years, an old woman and her husband, with their coal iron, a wooden table and bundles of clothes worked under the shade of that tree, right outside our home. It gave some of the juiciest litchis, which we’d distribute within our neighbourhood and still had our refrigerator stocked for weeks. Despite its age and having lost its ability to bear much fruit now, the tree stands firm and no one messes with the idea of ever cutting it down.
In an attempt to rekindle my relationship with it, I decided to climb it during a visit to my parents’ home last summer. The climb was easy, I managed to stay atop the tree for a good few minutes and observe its arboreal habitat. A squirrel’s nest lay confidently on one of the high branches, another jumped from one tree to the other, lines of ants headed in many directions, fresh spider webs glistened as sunlight peeped through the leaves. What a view that was, and I’d missed enjoying it for so many years.
For me, that litchi tree is a memory-keeper, totem of a place close to my heart. It has offered me grounding, respite even, from all the anxiety and worries that one feels about the reality right now.
An Indian friend from a religious minority recently told me of her decision to move abroad. “It’s not so much that I’m moving to another country, it’s more that I’m leaving India,” she said. Her words echoed a reality that many members of India’s minority communities find themselves in. Like her, many perhaps have no dhairya left to contribute to an environment that is increasingly hostile, and the will and chaah to grow roots there, is withering.
Finding solace in trees is then one way to keep that relationship alive. As long as trees from my childhood stand, home will always be a place that grounds me, keeps me together and helps me draw strength from it. Here I am, putting together all the learnings I can take from them. Feel free to add more 🌳🎋🌳
Learning to ground oneself
Growing in the direction of the light
Not taking oneself too seriously
Changing with the seasons
Extending roots in search of nourishment
Staying humble
Taking in only what’s needed
Letting go of what’s not
Being of service to others
Being generous
Taking space without apology
Learning to hold one’s ground
Being comfortable with one’s idiosyncrasies
Surrendering to winds, rains, storms
Creating love languages with those around us
Being vulnerable to change
Learning to make music with the wind
Doing your bit, one breath at a time
Not rushing
Making home for new friends
Accepting physical changes…
Mariyam Haider is an independent writer-researcher, spoken word artist and producer & host of Main Bhi Muslim podcast.
If you’re interested in reading more:
Suzanne Simard: Forests Are Wired For Wisdom (On Being with Krista Tippett)
The olive tree, symbol of Palestine and mute victim of Israel’s war on Gaza (Al Jazeera)
A Poem for Land Day: Mahmoud Darwish’s ‘The Second Olive Tree’ (Arablit and ArabLit Quarterly)