Are We Taking our Trees and Thickets for Granted?

(LIFE column in Khaleej Times dated 29 March, 2022)

Several years ago, there were two mango trees, a jack fruit tree and five coconut trees in the little yard around our house in Kerala.

I say that in the past tense because the jack fruit tree barely lived till its prime before it was felled. The mango trees lived longer, feeding us and other creatures for a few years before they too were axed down. I vaguely remember a dead stump sticking out where one of the mango trees stood, but now even they are gone. As if realizing how redundant they had become, they probably decided to withdraw deep into the annals of the earth. Their spirits must be still alive, looking for an opportunity to sprout somewhere. Or are basil, jasmine and hibiscus that now abundantly grace the periphery of the eight cents of land their repeated incarnations?

It is strange how we never realize the scope of a seed when we plant it in the earth: how big a sapling will grow, how far its roots will travel and in what ways it can impact us in time. That we were nourishing danger with every inch the eight enormous trees grew, that their roots were extending a vice grip around the modest structure of our house was not known until the cracks in the walls and the floor were revealed in time. But then, trees are bohemian souls. They know no frontiers - neither above them nor below. You can't stop them from finding their way, you can’t restrain them. All you can do when they become footloose is hack them to pieces.

So, when they began to threaten our safety, we took the extreme decision to eliminate the jack fruit and mango trees first. Two of the coconut trees too became things of the past in due course because coconut trees were ruthless in their rooting, they said. They are slender but strong. They can carpet bomb the base of our building and reduce it to ruins.

The taming of the trees over, the house that once feared it might crumble unceremoniously one day began to look sturdier, but the backyard was ripped of its sprawling parasols. Summers dared to beat down on us more severely. That spot where I used to sit and scribble my early writings more than three decades ago looked bare and full of piercing glare. I condoned my remorse with the thought that anything that brought more distress than joy wasn’t worth keeping in life.

It is preposterous that in the years that followed, two new hybrid coconut saplings gained acceptance in our compound. Then why on earth we axed the other two, I still can't fathom. Part of man's nature to behave arbitrarily, I presume. We will never get rid of our habit to act in haste and regret at leisure. Nevertheless, I was happy that the old souls had found their way back in our soil.

What was supposed to grow fast and fructify took a vexingly long time to mature, thanks to the electricity board which found one of the trees clashing with the power lines. Man-nature conflict in its barest form was in full display. Month after month, the fronds that sprung out of the tree’s heart were chopped mercilessly and unable to witness the repeated torture it was subjected to, we took a hard decision to relieve it of its pain. They call it euthanasia when it is done to humans. How does one describe it when it is done to trees? For that matter how does one explain the chopping down we had indulged in earlier because they posed a genuine threat? Capital punishment? Murder? Or an act of self-defence? I have always struggled to answer questions of moral nature like this one.

It was during one of my vacations that the ‘problematic tree’ was brought down. I refused to watch the violence with my eyes but with every blow that echoed in my ears, I made a resolve. I shall not allow another tree in my compound to be axed. I may not be able to grow a forest, but I shall not aid the elimination of another canopy on this earth.

The other four coconut trees are still around, causing occasional inconveniences. Every time there is a discussion on their nuisance value, I veto any suggestion to bring them down. They are now permanent fixtures in our landscape. Last week, before I left for Dubai, as I slurped up tender coconut water to drench a parched throat, I squinted up and said, ‘thank you,’ to which the trees swayed in gleeful acknowledgment, happy to be alive and serving us with manna and more.

Why isn’t there any discussion on the mental health of the aged?

(Published in Khaleej Times dated 15 March, 2022)

For better or for worse, the word depression has been in vogue for a while now. Something that had been a condition talked in hushed tones is now slowly emerging from the shadows, and it is a healthy trend.

We are becoming more cognizant of what drives us up and what drags us down. We are not afraid of speaking about our deepest fears and quaintest thoughts. We are seeking help when required and not hunkering down. We have regularized mental health as a subject of importance and our dialogues around it have got constructive. The toll that life conditions are taking on us as we manoeuver through the complexities of adolescent and adult lives is being duly evaluated and we are making efforts to fix it in appropriate ways.

Yet, for all the strides we have made in this regard, one thing still remains ignored. One segment of people are hugely left out in our mental health conversations: our old folks. How often do we engage in discussions about an old person’s emotional and psychological state as they grapple with their waning capabilities and losses? Do we even consider geriatric depression (if I may label it so) as a genuine issue that requires tackling?

As decades fall by and the muscle power crumbles, as the pace of life slows down and one gets dislodged from the centre stage of the world, there will be unspecified changes happening inside us. The gradual winding down of faculties would have repercussions in the mental realm too. Add to it a slow attrition of social engagement, support systems and diversions, old people are more susceptible to volatile mental conditions than younger ones. Yet, no one talks about it. It is as if growing old, getting wobbly, infirm and disoriented is par for the course.

Not all people are equally designed to handle the deterioration that comes in the fading years. I know a number of energetic people with relentless enthusiasm for life, and many others who stoically accept the downsides of old age, but a great majority of people are not wired that way. A dull, unspoken sense of sadness is a constant in many people, which manifests as illnesses of different kinds. And because ailments are commonplace, the angst that accompanies them is often glossed over by all. It is as if some things are inescapable in life, and mood disorders which includes irritability, prolonged silence or fretful behaviour are therefore normalised in this stage of life. It is never linked to the fluctuating inner space of the individual who spends his days trying to find a purpose during the wrap-up years, battling physical maladies and burying emotional upheavals.

If many of our adult-life concerns are linked to worldly pursuits, if our mental disorders are consequent on our ambitions and aspirations, geriatric depression happens because of a complete lack of motivation to live. The sad part is that it is not even recognized and acknowledged by those surrounding the afflicted. For once, let us agree that depression is real even for those we think are past all serious businesses in life and start discussions about ways to provide our old people a happier mind space.

No, just because one is old, it is not OK for them to endure insecurities silently as if that is how senility is supposed to be. There must be some psychosocial mechanism that gauges old age mental health and offers counselling and treatment to those affected.

Quality of life is not the privilege of the younger lot alone. Those who have laid down their arms after a lifetime’s battles deserve to spend their autumn years free from fear of isolation, rejection, mortality and other hardships that escort old age. We must discard our practiced attitude of ascribing their troubles to the intransigence of time. We must create an awareness about how preparing for old age includes building sustainable support systems around us that will recognize loneliness, illnesses and anxiety as veritable conditions that need to be addressed.

For this, we must first concede that each of us deserves to live happily till our last breath irrespective of age and living conditions. The reasons for psychological turmoil in a 15-, 50- and 80-year-old may be different, but the impact they have on their mind and subsequently on their life is equally bitter.

Depression, like death, is a huge leveller. Turbulence is endemic in human mind, and to think that it unsettles only the younger brigade, to think that the old can be easily left to wallow in their sadness and fear would be preposterous, for some day, we too will be in their shoes wondering why the world has become so grey and blue.

Dear woman, be the queen of your life by choice

(Published in Khaleej Times dated 8 March, 2022)

Usha must be in her mid or late fifties. I credit her with bringing the filter coffee close to my house in Kerala. However, her freshly ground coffee powder shop isn’t the reason why she is part of my column today. She is here because of the backstory that led her to become an entrepreneur. She is here owing to her resolve to carve a niche for herself at a time when life threw curve balls at her and left her stranded in the wilderness. She stands out in my mind as I pen this piece on Women’s Day because she essentially represents the idea of a strong, emancipated woman to me today.

Allow me to take a peek into the backstory. The business venture was Usha’s late husband’s initiative. Just two years into it, fate designated him to death, and the business faced imminent closure. Enter family, friends and the society that coerced Usha to shut shop. How was a woman who had no prior experience or exposure carry forward something as complicated as a business?

Following their advice would have been the easiest thing for Usha to do, but she chose to do otherwise. She put her best foot forward and decided to dedicate her life to establish her business firmly. She didn’t need unsolicited counsel or aid from anybody. Her grit and passion was enough to see her through the bumpy roads. She walked over her deterrents, learnt the ropes of the trade herself, and today, four years down, she describes herself as a happy and fulfilled woman who defied every norm, broke every social expectation and secured her space in a world that still takes sadistic delight in running down a self-made woman.

Usha’s story takes me back to a doctrine that I staunchly believe in: when the challenges from outside mount, find the strength within to tackle the adversity than to battle it. With due respect to all those who raise their voice against atrocities unleashed against women, with immense regard to the stalwarts of feminist ideologies, I must aver that the din around us has got so loud that it often signifies nothing on the ground.

The real change for a woman has to come from within, from the core of her existence that will push the boundaries set by history. It has to inspire her to take positive action towards establishing her own authority in life. And this strength emerges from a sense of fearlessness and freedom that serve as our bolsters when faced with difficulties.

Fearlessness and freedom. These are our prerequisites. It is the absence of these two fundamentals that is setting women back by four steps for every two steps of advancement they make. A majority of women do not even know where to seek and find freedom and fearlessness in their lives and they continue to suffer in silence, condemning themselves to their conditions. Slowly, as time passes this tendency to surrender than to act in one’s own favour, this inability to stand up for herself despite a yearning saps a woman of all her innate energy.

Let us face the truth. The world and the societies that we fashion out of it cannot be expected to be inordinately kind to us. Compassion will fall in our lot if we are lucky, but we cannot depend on alms and handouts to thrive in a society that inherently loves to denounce the ambitious, mostly out of envy and habitual spite. Ambition in a woman is often viewed as aggression, aspirations are considered as wanton cravings. Never will this world allow a woman freedom and fearlessness of its own accord. It must be won, by persistent pressing, by putting ourselves on priority, by knowing that we have the choice to pave our way to the future.

We have come a long way from the days of Sati that thwarted a woman’s dreams about her life, but we still carry the blots of old societal patterns that make us second-guess our newfound beliefs. The onus to be fearless in making choices that guarantee the best avenues in life, to allow ourselves the freedom to adopt measures that will fulfill our aspirations, to make ourselves robust enough to win fairness without compromise is on us and us alone.

Between lambasting an intrinsically biased world and emboldening ourselves, between expecting others to grant us a life and carving our own individual existence, let us firmly choose the latter. It is only when we realize that we are in the driving seat and that we have the option to steer our lives any which way that we will become the monarchs of our own domain. Know this. We can be the queens of our lives by our own choice.