When did I first get hooked to this almond tree? Or, for that matter the interest in plants, trees, and seeds?
As a young boy surrounded by three girls, I got the most attention from our aunt and grandmother. When I got the mild harmless jaundice grandmother took care of it with herbal medicine. Every time I got fevers, chills, or cough she did wonders with her skilled medical expertise. It would be black pepper decoction, little globules of jaggery, or the extract from the garden “Bhangra” (Bhringaraj) – a miraculous herb, the Eclipta prostrate. Thus, every time I ran high temperature due to a virus or bacterial infection she would come to my rescue. Whole night she used to check my pulse and temperature (just with touch) and offer her miraculous healing home made golis from one of her bottles. For young children, getting the temperature under control quickly and boosting appetite promptly yields rapid rewards. Most children recover due to their own innate immunity prowess if kept in clean isolated beds. Our grandmother did all that and much more for her grandchildren.
Grandma had her own unique difficulties even while living with her lovely daughters. She wanted to spend time meditating and exploring the Hindu sacred texts and the treatises on Brahma Sutras. She slowly started giving up on many comforts like food, clothes, and physical comforts. The lady totally abhorred eating in metal plates. In her younger days she had enjoyed eating in fancy silverware. She had seen all those glitzy things and now she wanted no part of all that “paraphernalia” – (iron alloy) metal tumblers, (German silver) metal plates, washing, and wiping, etc. It would add only more work and distraction for her. She barely ate one meal a day, skipping the night meals. Occasionally she would indulge in making a cream of rice dish for dinner and that too she shared with all her grand children. So, we as little children wanted to help her some how. But how? How to help her without a paisa in the pocket?
There were two big almond trees (Terminalia catappa) in our backyard and they’re always full of leaves. With a sickle attached to a long bamboo pole we used to cut small branches and select all nice flat leaves for grandma. Then with small toothpick-like 1” pins (from coconut leaf or grass brooms) we would join five or six almond leaves into a 10” circular plate. About two-dozen plates would take care of grandma’s plate problem for two weeks. It was a fun activity for all the girls and me. That solved the problem of dish washing for the elderly lady; this was decades before the ‘Earth Day’ dawned on the modern intellectuals from the West. It was one of those chance encounters with the tree that made me got hooked to the almond tree. It was beautiful to watch during the winter months, December through January – all the leaves turn bright red and fall off one by one. Around the same fall time I watched its cherry red smooth elliptical fruit. The birds loved the fruit for its tarty sweet pulp but nobody could get to its white kernel. That is the favorite hobby of idle children like myself.
I used to spend hours under the trees’ canopy looking for all nice plump red half eaten fruits lying around the tree bases. Then it was a big operation: First you collect lots of fruits and then try to crack open the hard outer shell. Both hands and my half pants would get stained with red juice and all the labor was for the lovely yummy white almond kernels. Occasionally a finger or toe would get crushed while beating the fruit and that closed the session for the day. This is not the almond of the northern cold climate. But it is widely seen in the south, Maharashtra, and other parts of India.
When we moved to the village I got lucky with lots of games and outdoor distractions. There were more than twenty tall coconut trees in the backyard leading to the big canal. While going and coming from the canal I would dreamily walk under the coconut trees listening to the early morning (twilight) calls of owls. Some seasons I watched with wonder the lovely hanging nests of “the golden sparrow” (weaver bird). Those hanging nests often have four or five bedrooms lined with the soft silk cotton fibers or the waspy seeds of jilledu (Calotropis). In one of those intricate layered hidden bedrooms for its chicks – there you could get a glimpse of a parent’s love. When the glistening chicks finally come out – that’s a great miracle of creation. But now and then the harsh cyclonic storms would tear up the nests from coconut leaves and scatter them. I could not save those abandoned eggs and often I would return home crestfallen.
Watching my nimble hands and curiosity, mother slowly introduced me to planting, seed gathering, and growing from stem cuttings. We had a small piece of vacant land close to our outdoor bathroom. There I would play in the soil with a kitchen spoon or dosa steel spatula, digging little canals, and inserting little seeds – all for fun in the evenings. There was no TV, no radio, and on some cloudy days nothing to do. In one of those playful acts I must have tucked an almond seed deep into the soil. Probably I forgot about it for two or three months. Some time in the rainy season I watched the almond seedling sprout and stand courageously like a NCC (scouts) cadet. Little by little I tended to it gently making a little mound around it and watering it gently. Mother also got excited and could not believe it. The almond seed has a very hard kernel (exterior). Slowly the tiny plant grew into a luscious green 4’ tall seedling. (Photo from the Internet)
Then one evening I came home from the school. Throwing the books on the front bench, I hurriedly went to the outdoor coconut leaf woven paneled open-air bathroom. After washing my feet, hand, and face I was perusing my little patch of garden with small intricate waterways. Everything seemed ok except for a (square) foot of disturbed soil. There was something amiss. At first, I could not figure it out. But soon something tugged at my heart – oh! I spotted my missing four feet tall almond sapling. “Amma, what happened?” I screamed from the front yard. She quickly came out with a glass of cold water and hugged me. She settled on the front steps and nestled me into her lap. “Our neighbor’s mother (a rich landlord) asked for the almond plant and I could not refuse. We’ve the big almond tree anyway in our yard,” she went on explaining while combing my curly hair with her coarse work-hardened fingers. How could she impart a sense of decorum and community feeling into a little kid? How could she communicate the terrible exigencies and hardships of a frugal bare bones existence in the village? Through all our trials of want and sickness, only her childhood friendship with the farming community and select group of friends saved us; they extended invaluable moral support through father’s heart attack episode. Looking back now I understand her helplessness to explain life’s difficult situations in simple words. She did not want me know the bitter painful truths; her hard task was to protect my innocence and precious childhood. That day I could see tears in her eyes. The landlord’s family was very kind and helpful to us on many occasions: Lots of times I collected fragrant double gardenia flowers from their front entrance. Whenever I approached their premises with a pail for buttermilk or butter, they always acceded our urgent requests. They let us wander through her multistory palace and play in their backyards. At least twice, the same lady sent us a platter full of dal, rice, ghee, tamarind, and vegetables when we’re hosting a famous astrologer from Anakapalle (AP).
Perhaps mother had a vague prescience. In another six months we would again move to a nearby coastal town twenty miles away. Losing an almond sapling is a small thing in the big scheme of things. I had to learn losing and putting the sensitive broken heart together again and again many times. Copyright 2025 by the author
