*Money Plant: it is supposed to make you rich.
I seldom get time to have a walk in my big backyard. The backyard of my ancestors home at Dariyabad in Allahabad. Situated at the bank of river Yamuna, my native place is the biggest home, spacious and airy, the eight rooms single storey residential premises had been built, using Lakhori Bricks at the center of a big garden.
After my dad, the house is taken care of one of our relatives who are in their 70s. A couple with no children, and I understand that maintaining covered area is too much for them but they were doing it. As well as both of them are feeding all those birds whose ancestors were feeded at the same courtyard by my grand, great grand father.
Last week, I visited that abondoned house. And, I spent time there, looking for everything which reminds me my childhood. My five years old daughter Grazie was with me.
Boundry wall was hidden behind the guava trees. The trees which was planted by my dad and some of them were sowed by myself. I would love to search the tiny guava plants while getting back from school. I have planted dozens of those plants, they were grown and nearly fifteen big small guava trees made me smile as I found real Guavas hanging on.
Safeda, Surkha and Gulabo are some of the species I had planted with lot of anticipation.
“Dad, here I found apple trees.”
Grazie was calling there. I ran there, it was Gulabo, rarest magenta color guava. I saw it for the first time.
We tasted Crispy Surkha; Juicey Gulabo and White Safeda. “Apple-Guava O’ God, its fantastic.” was the Grazie remark.
We called a local boy to get the ripen Guava off the tree.
And yes, a lemon tree was looking yellow because of its fruits, my mom had planted it. And used to take care of this lemon tree for she liked fresh lemons so much, specially Nimbu ka Achar.
The fragnance of Malti flower, a climber flower tree. This one in our backyard is ageless, full of red white bunches of flowers it has seen my dad’s early days my childhood, and it is still intact.
Nostalgia !! But, there was one more thing for my surprise.
“Why socks are hanging on tree dad.” Grazie enquired. We moved ahead, when I saw a tiny bird on that socks.
When I scrutinized closely, I felt a surge of excitement. Oh, my God, those were the nests of Baya.
The little Baya birds were so rare even in my childhood days. Grazie was lucky to witness those weaver birds.
I raised her, enabling her to see the architecture of nest. Those were just perfect, it was engineered with particular straw. Weaving was simply great that even Chinese can’t imitate a Baya’s weaving capability.
Abondoned house with no human interference was making most of it, giving mother nature full freedom to let the things go on, naturally.