Under the Linden Tree
A pair of worn-out slippers
With rather uneven straps
Some may call ’em Hawaii slippers
I call them fondly the Bata slippers
With them I went for an evening stroll
In shorts and Bush shirt
In summer
It is often difficult to walk
In bright sunlight, here
In the northeast
Either the profuse sweating
Or, scorched blackened skin
On the calves
Bothers me. Yet I need
My daily regimen of exercise
So, I have to go for walks
Early morning or late evenings
Or walk beneath the tall trees
In the cool shades
In those wandering
Times
Sometimes I am lost
In thoughts, chanting, or just
A vacant state
Then, suddenly, I felt …
Was it a gentle waft?
Or just air saturated with aroma
I stopped in my tracks
Stared at the tree tops
The overhead canopies
But
Nothing made sense
Only the clump of
Hanging green maple seeds,
Miniature walnuts around
“Where is the source of this floral fragrance?”
I walked back and forth
Beneath the drooping branches
Looked above and around
I could not locate
The source of the sweet scent
But
A return to the same spot
After couple of days
My eyes caught
The dangling bunches of florets
Slightly yellowish
With a few green cherry-like seeds
There, standing majestically
Like the Indian bullet-wood tree
Or “Bogada” or “Bakula”
Do you remember, darling
After the formal ceremony
We went for an outing
Near the King’s Garden
Next to the Agriculture university campus
I collected the redolent white star-like flowers
And made a garlands
And perhaps, one as a bracelet
Little did we know, then
It would usher into a life-long journey
Those Bogada flowers emit
Perfume for weeks
And then we got
A B&W photo
Years may roll down
The memory lane
Yet
That intense romance
The lingering sweet aroma
And the sweltering Indian summer days
Will stay with us
Linden and Bogada may belong to
Two different families
But today this
Lovely Linden
Aroused my youth again.
Copyright 2022 by the author
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