Returning Home to my Garden

Gardening after eight months, it moved in me something I had left unattended for so long.

Were they excuses or reasons that made me put it aside? Not something to think about now.

The plants and trees to whom I belong, as always, made me feel better about myself.

Made me feel less bad and assured me with their steady growth that they had taken good care of themselves in my shadowed and passive presence.

My worries of having lost touch with the farmer in me were gently brushed aside when I picked up the spade and worked on the garden the way I used to.

The soil spoke to me of its days,

Of its fight with the stubborn sun,

And of its gratitude to the person watering it.

The snails told me of their slowly busy ways,

Of saving themselves from the dry land,

And of the need to delve into the depths of the pots.

Kaalu Bhaiya (Indian Robin) joined me again,

And protected me against the many insects,

She also took along with her my dear earthworms to feed her babies.

The earthworms wriggled in annoyance at having been disturbed,

And I bowed to them in gratitude, for never quitting their relentless earthly job of tilling inside my planters.

The dying leaves and branches seemed to be happy to see me back in the garden,

And I then put them to an easy rest in the bigger garden’s soil for a good, useful sleep.

To thank each of their effort and to apologise sincerely, I fed them nourishment. And as always, we listened to maestros playing their instruments in ecstasy, and to the gentle words of Kabir.

The plants that had given up on my absence and had wilted away in anger and sadness, their pots I emptied (like I did my worries), and to them I added compost and mixed them all along, (un)paving the way for new plants.

A quote by Gayla Trail, “ As I work on the garden, the garden works on me”, seemed quite true today. The plants and trees unburdened my mind of the thoughts I had about being a superficial nature lover, and instead filled it with hope and the possibility of becoming more involved with the garden, like in the good old days.

The conflicts in my head about troubling the plants by enclosing their roots with a lack of space and freedom were solved by the promise of taking good care of them, and in turn, they would become the torchbearers of optimism and “vitamin green” in the concrete jungle, for both the animals and the troubled minds they shelter.

I then became light enough to think of why revering nature becomes easier than showing faith in Ammi’s god. While I was just cleaning and tending to my garden, Nature answered with Her immediate generosity by untangling and calming my mind. Nature then is my faith and my sublime!

~ Bavishya

(Written on 30 April 2026)