A fragile renewal

[Text and photo by Mayank Austen Soofi]

The skeletal tree used to stand here, in the middle of the grassy expanse, facing the centuries-old stone monument. Now the spot is a muddy brown patch.

Delhi’s Lodhi Garden is full of extraordinary trees, but this dead tree was special. Though leafless for a long time, it had continued to stand, lending the park a heart-touching beauty. The tree fell on its own accord two weeks ago. A dispatch on the loss appeared on these pages a day after.

This evening, we are back to the place. Not to mourn, but to investigate what happens after a much-loved city landmark vanishes. What replaces the gaping loss? How does the affected place adjusts and evolves?

A spindly wooden stake is standing on the precise point where the tree was. A barely perceptible leafy vine is wrapped around it (see photo). The vine is looking extremely fragile; no doubt it is the summertime heat that has made the tiny leaves turn papery dry and brown. Hopefully, the young plant will regain its green in the monsoon rains (expected this week!), and will one day grow into a shade-giving shelter. The optimism gives the muddy patch the vision of an ancient site aspiring for renewal, the new awakening being the vine around the stake.

Meanwhile, park people in the vicinity are absorbed into a variety of distractions: monuments, flowers, birds, dogs, mobile screens, aloo chips. Some in the crowd might be thinking of the absent tree. A few might have even noticed its replacement. Or, maybe nobody cares.

This raises a question. For how long do citizens actively remember their city’s beloved but vanished landmarks? Do you, dear reader, ever find a moment to recall the eclectic shelves of Fact & Fiction bookstore in Basant Lok Market that shut a decade ago? Or the Kit Kat dhaba in South Extension 1 that served super-tasty rajma chawal, with sacred bhajans playing in the speaker?

By the way, has anybody noticed that the historic Rivoli cinema in Connaught Place has been lying shut for weeks?

Talking of Connaught Place, a massive banyan used to stand in A Block, just outside a fancy coffee shop. It fell three years ago during a vicious storm. Today, a young peepal tree is growing from the soil.

In Lodhi Garden, the newly planted vine is poignantly stressing on the absence of the fallen tree. The sight vividly resonates to these lines by poet Emily Dickinson:
To fill a Gap
Insert the Thing that caused it—
Block it up
With Other—and ’twill yawn the more—
You cannot solder an Abyss
With Air.