Jacaranda

                                                                                  

 

Date: May 1, 2030

It has been seventy-six years since my family has stood elegantly on the ground of Tribhuvan University. Since 1959, the year of its establishment, the university has held us as one of the precious beings, giving space in many parts of the institution. I am the specific one on the left side of the English Linguistic Department. If you ever want to see this old periderm, cortex, and phloem composition, please come to know my name. Someone took a photo with me in 2025 and posted it with the caption Blue Mimosa. Back then, I wished to shout at the top of my voice, “Hey listen, I am Blue Jacaranda, an exotic plant, brought to Nepal in the late 19th Century by the Ranas”. Today, I question the need to fuss over this identity crisis when my existence itself is in question. What is the use of correcting captions when no one is uploading my pictures anymore? 

Trust me, I wasn’t always a whiner. I used to take pride in my Sapphire encrusted crown of branches, medically enriched leaves, and strong trunk. The sense of power with these possessions, unlike now, wasn’t alien to me. That sense of power I associated with humans; humans who leaned on me. Among the many people who rested on my trunk, my favorites were the students of the university: students who read Hemingway, students who hurriedly completed the botanical diagrams, students who prepared for civil service examinations, and students who scribbled poems lusted by natural beauty in the campus. Where must all of them be now? Will it be stupid of me to assume that they remember me as much as I remember them? 

The joy of being surrounded by people couldn’t last forever. The gradual loss of people leaning on me began in 2022, the year of unprecedented pre-monsoon and storms. Earth here drank gallons of water in late April, quite satisfied with the quenched thirst. But when rainfall continued up to October, some days destructive and some days merely drizzle, I heard people saying, “Indra Dev, stop it now”. Little did they know Indira Dev had just begun. The same pattern of weather has been going on for eight years now, only with more acidic precipitation and increasing storms every year. These changes immediately affected paddy and maize in fields in Kirtipur while slowly eating away my roots and petals.  

“We’re hurting” my petals complained when brutally beaten by hailstorms. They fell onto the ground and completely dwindled. Fragrance turned into odor when the purple scarf turned into an old torn carpet. From blooming for a month to slowly blooming for half a month, for a week, and now not blooming at all, my petals have made a tough journey. They shivered at dawn due to polluted dew. They screamed when splashed onto with acid rain. They cried when people feared poison in them. From being made into tiara to not even being trodden, my petals withered inside out and have left me all alone, bare and ugly. The valley hasn’t seen a shade of purple for the past two spring. I wonder where those kids who cried with joy when petals fell on their heads are. “Sign of good luck” they said.  I wonder where that zestful girl, who made tiara out of my gems is. Reminiscing of the days when I was considered a symbol of good fortune and wisdom gives me momentary satisfaction only to augment pain of abandonment. 

Amidst mourning the loss of my precious petals and people, I have borne false accusations too in this period. The experts concluded that my roots didn’t let flowers grow in nearby gardens. Well, I know that I take a little more space than a normal tree, but to say that I killed lives around me, the same lives that I befriended, is a baseless claim. I myself am devastated not to see marigold, camellia, poinsettia and many other flowers in the garden. Dashain and Tihar without marigold and globe amaranth are as melancholic as caged birds who do not chirp. Why am I being blamed for this while the real issue is acid rain and soil pollutants? I am furious that humans didn’t see this coming since 2022 and now I have to not only bare the title of a malicious being but lose my friends here.  This rage I often show by killing people with my branches during heavy storms. If I am to be accused, let the accusation be true in some way atleast.  

If you find this old man interesting by any means, get yourself a Jacaranda bonsai. Students in Kirtipur cannot afford bonsai, so let them see me through your social media posts. Remember to write the correct caption while uploading my miniature, will you?

The anger arose also from the death of my family. Jacaranda in Ratnapark and Durbarmarg bid us farewell the previous week. Previous year, the funeral of Jacaranda in Satdobato and Pulchwok was equally mournful. Demise of my friends and families in the city have left me with no spirit. We the ones in the forest are expected to live a couple of more years, but I have no hope for me. I might not make it for a year with the chemicals my root has to drink and the sour shower I take for five months a year. Please pay a visit to me soon.