I often visualize myself prancing into the backyard to pinch sprigs of basil to embellish my pasta meal or to temper my chutney with homegrown curry leaves. Sounds romantic, doesn’t it? This is what an overindulgence in cook shows did to spur my yearnings for a backyard garden resplendent with banana plantains, papaya, lime, moringa and a wide assortment of herbs exuberantly bursting out of their planters as they bask in the warmth of the striking sun.
While I can paint breathtaking images of a scenic setting, my backyard was in stark contrast. My attempts at befriending the world of foliage initially hardly bore any fruit. Within a short span of time, my exotic dreams of a lush verdant space thriving with every possible shade of vibrant green shockingly shrunk to nothingness. I struggled to maintain a handful of sickly indoor plants! In fact, at one point their growth was hardly of concern. I was desperate for the plant to just be and not die on me. Let me explain why.
Initially I tried engaging the plants in pleasant conversation. Tragically, it turned out to be a one-sided affair. On many instances, I succeeded in boring many innocent, naïve plants to miserable ends. But catch me sitting idle as a mute witness! I then resorted to keeping a watchful eye on their well-being. Every time I noticed the leaves wilt, I would drown them in copious water. If the leaves turned any shade of yellow or brown, I would over sympathize and water them further. Eventually the rotting roots could withstand the torture no longer and the plant would eventually succumb to the maltreatment.
Annoyed by my incessant queries on plant maintenance, a hapless and equally disengaged salesperson once tried to sell me the idea of taking home a faux plant! I was offended, but not ridiculed enough to give up my pursuit. I could have reprimanded her for her bitterly blunt yet true remark but gauging from my track record, many a soothsayers might have advised the same. Every time I brought home a healthy-looking plant, it would be a matter of time before it would droop, shed leaves, grow sparse, reduce itself to a weak, limp stem and finally accept its ill-fate.
Aghast at my repeated failure, I stared at my blood-stained hands convinced that my rocky relationship with plants might indefinitely ensue. On several occasions, the plants attempted to communicate their needs, but I failed to respond appropriately, and often my impatience got the better of me.
I relinquished the sweet moments that I could have savored while sowing the seedlings, repotting, and watering the plant, pruning, and nourishing them, as well as watching them sway in the warm summer breeze. Frankly, the fault lay in me. In the relentless chase to instantly fill my home with beautiful blossoms and the richness of green foliage I had disregarded the gleeful moments that adorn the journey. The habitual desire for instant gratification had completely bought me over.
I realized that plants, like all living beings, require space to thrive and blossom, provided their needs are attended to. Raising two teenagers, for me, was a lesson well learnt. Too much indulgence in them could give reason to despair, yet too little engagement might later be a cause for concern. Plants, I believe, are more forgiving. They allow you the liberty to err and learn.
Following a series of unfortunate mishaps, I now quietly spectate as the seedlings sprout. I allow them to take their own time to develop shoots, stretch, uncurl, and sprout fresh, new foliage. Tending to plants has built my tenacity to patiently wait for what I desire and to brim with optimism at what new beginnings might have on offer. In return, the plants are more trusting and allow me to trim them for propagation of plant pups and to manipulate their stems for fuller and healthier growth.
After a tough period of experimenting, bruising, and hurting, we (the plants and myself) have finally made peace with each other. I gratefully soak in the richness and cheer that radiate from my garden’s seasonal blossoms and variety of greens, while refraining from overly fussing over them.
At last, we are in full bloom.
Seema Nambiar is a freelance writer
