One boy's quest for a greener world, one garden at a time...so goes the byline of the book, and to that I would add, one garden's curiosity to extend itself, one spring at a time...
There was once a city with no gardens, or parks or greenery anywhere around. And all the people stayed indoors. Dreary is the word that comes to mind when you visualise this, and dreary is what the picture looks like when you open the book. Lots of factories, smoke coming out of their chimneys, the brown roofs of the houses, and in all, a dull set of monochromes in brown.
But Liam was the one little boy who loved to get out and explore. And one rainy day, as he was splashing through the little puddles on the ground, he stumbles upon a dark stairwell leading up to the tracks on a bridge. He climbs it to find a railway line that had long since been abandoned, and even more surprising....a little lonely patch of color. The only spot in the city where a little bit of green was trying to thrive and failing miserably at it.
So predictably, Liam becomes the gardener that this little patch needs and you see him watering, and overwatering, pruning and over-pruning and making a lot of other gardening gaffes. And this is the part of the book that gets truly enchanting. When the garden suddenly comes alive under his care and assumes its own little personality. A hint of that is given to us as the author descries the garden as waiting patiently, while Liam finds better ways of gardening. Just that one little phrase and you feel suddenly introduced to this cute little second character of the book, which will soon become the main character in point.
Weeks go by and Liam begins to feel like a real gardener and the plants begin to feel like a real garden. And I believe most gardens stay in one place, but let's not forget that what we have here is a very curious garden...that is quickly getting restless, and it lives up to its name, by spreading itself, pushing itself beyond its little virgin patch, to discover the rest of the tracks. The tough little weeds and mosses are the first to move, followed by the more delicate plants. And over the next few months of spring and summer and autumn, the curious garden explores every corner of the railway. At this point, the huge patch of mossy green covering pretty much the entire bridge and railway line is a tremendous treat for the green-hungry eyes. The couple of pages that follow are wordless and full double sided illustrations to allow you to simply take in all the changes that the garden has wrought on itself thanks to its curiosity and its thirst to know more....to find more.
But nature and its seasons asserts itself once more as the very next page is blindingly white with snow, and Liam misses his little garden so much. But instead of moping around about it, he sets about to educate himself instead, on how to become a better gardener, and preparing for spring. 3 cold months later, the snow finally begins to melt and Liam is ready to visit his garden. Winter has taken its toll on our little friend, but under Liam's gentle nudging, it comes awake. And what follows next is a veritable feast for the eyes and for the soul as you encounter once more, the indomitable will of this little garden to go beyond the boundaries of the railway tracks and its bridge, to every little nook and corner of a dreary city, livening up its landscape, spreading its curiosities and happiness to every living, breathing thing around! And the not so living breathing things as well, for our little garden loves old, forgotten things, like an abandoned car, and a boarded up window and the cracks in the sidewalk!
Humour is interspersed with the soul of this book as you see how plants pop up in unexpected places too, like an entire STOP sign covered with vines or the fire hydrant wrapped in these pretty creepers. The burgeoning personality of the garden is fully explored through the rich color illustrations of the book. But one of the most touching aspects is this....that the most surprising thing that popped up that spring were the new gardeners! You can now imagine the revolution that takes place within that city....how the garden has made its way even into the hearts of the people and blossomed there. No more time is lost as a city once dull and parched and brown, now is vibrant and teeming with the flora.
Every story, to have a successful plot, has to have a firm beginning, establishing a problem or the lack of something. And as it progresses, it has to suggest growth, for the character(s) involved. And the end, has to be such that it suggests itself to way even as you turn the pages, and leaves you feeling, that this is the way it's meant to be. It just feels right. The Curious Garden, made me feel right...right there on that first page, as I saw the lacklustre landscape before my eyes, and knew what the book could be about. But what I was unprepared for was the way it was laid out, for the way the garden was given its own character role and its own script to follow. No! Rather, it set its own script and led the story all on its own. And that is what inspired the author in the first place...this very trait of nature to self preserve and to redecorate, as the author subtly puts it.
An excerpt, in his own words : It often seems impossible for nature to thrive in a city of concrete and brick and steel. But the more I've travelled and the closer I've looked, I've realized that nature is always eagerly exploring places we've forgotten.
The story was born when the author came across an old elevated railway called the Highline, on the west side of Manhattan, which had been long abandoned. Without people and trains getting in the way, nature was free to redecorate and slowly, rusty rails and gravel gave way to wildflowers and trees.
"All of this made me curious : what would happen if an entire city decided to truly cooperate with nature? How would that city change? How would it all begin?"
Thanksgiving Wish by Michael J. Rosen paintings by John Thompson
Ages : 6-9
As we wind down to enjoy the coming holiday season, as we prepare to meet with family and friends, or just get warm and cosy indoors, here's a holiday story of a family's cherished Thanksgiving tradition, that we can wrap around ourselves like a soft blanket, and settle back into the comfy pillows to enjoy....
This is Amanda's story of Thanksgiving...her once a year trips to her grandmother Bubbe's house for the holiday, her most special holiday of all. The whole month of November, Bubbe prepared the exact same meal she had cooked, for as long as Amanda can remember. She cooked one holiday dish each day, alongside whatever else she was cooking for the regular meals. A tom turkey so heavy that more than one person was needed to lift it out of the oven, a stuffing made from her own braided challah , the tzimmes of prunes and apricots that stewed all day with lemons, the chicken soup with matzo balls so light, they floated, snowflake rolls, honey cakes and....well, you get the drift...
But Amanda's favorite part was quite something else, the part that came right before bedtime. All year, Bubbe would collect the wishbones from all the birds she cooked and dried them on the curtain rod above the kitchen sink. And just before bedtime, she would get out the wishbones in small, medium and large, for each of the grandchildren. What size of a wish do you have tonight? she would ask. Holding one end herself, and Amanda the other, to the count of 3, *snap* it would go. The one who got the bigger piece would have one wish granted, so long as the wish was never mentioned to anybody else. Amanda asked her grandmother once, what she wished for, but the only answer she got was that it was the same wish every time...and then one.....two....three....*snap*!
And then Bubbe died, as unexpectedly as anything you want to live forever dies.
For the next Thanksgiving, Amanda's family invited everyone else to their new home to continue the tradition Bubbe had set. And as it often happens during times of festivals and holidays, their loss of Bubbe was most keenly felt.
You never stop missing someone...Amanda's father tells her. You sort of forget how much you miss them, until something like Thanksgiving reminds you again. And then it's missing them, and its sadness all over again, until some other happier thing...like the fact that your cousins are coming tomorrow.
Truer words were never spoken.
What follows next is the story of what happens that particular Thanksgiving of Bubbe's passing. Does the family manage to make all the wonderful, memorable dishes that Bubbe always made? Will it turn out just the way it did with hers? Will there be hiccups along the way? What happens? What about that special wishbone wish that Amanda always loved to do? Will she get to do it this time too?
Let me just answer the last one for you. No one had been collecting wishbones the way Bubbe did, but there was just one wishbone after that meal, and Amanda earned herself the right to use it since she was the youngest in the family and hence had had the fewest chances to wish with Bubbe. And she made her wish after all. What her wish was, we'll never know. But don't you wonder what her Bubbe used to wish everytime I know I did. And when I found out, I knew in my heart, that nothing could have topped it.
This is a tale for the holidays. It is full of sentiment, emotions, memories, warmth, family, food, and all those beautiful ingredients that make a good story, grand. At points, it makes you think of your own grandmother and all the things that sets your relationship apart. The illustrations are beautiful and lifelike and capture human expressions and moods enchantingly.
So whatever you may be doing this Thanksgiving season....whether it be with your own family and its traditions and feasts, whether your table is not as full of people as you'd like it to be, but you still see the warm faces of your loved ones, or whether you are just winding down for a weeklong holiday of bakr-eid....or whether you don't really celebrate Thanksgiving in your part of the world...I hope this tale of Amanda and her family warms your heart, and prompts you to look around and feel what it is you are truly thankful about today!
If you ask me what I am thankful about, it is for the simple meal that we just had and the feeling of being comfortably full and satisfied. And since we're on the subject of food, I'll end this review with some trivia facts about the delicious food that Bubbe cooked...
1. Braided challah : A bread bakes in honor of the Jewish Shabbat, representing the idea of unity...how we tie everything together, bringing all the diversity in our lives together for a peaceful harmony and unity, much like the ideals of Saffron Tree. :)
2. Tzimmes of prunes : Tzimmes, a traditional Jewish dish made with carrots and honey, is often eaten on Rosh Hashanah--the Jewish New Year, when everything is sweetened with honey. While the main ingredient of carrots remains a constant in Tzimmes recipes, all other ingredients vary greatly from cook to cook.
3. Matzo Balls : They are dumplings made from ground matzo, a cracker like flatbread made of plain white flour and water, much like chappathis.
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The first 24 hours after someone leaves is the hardest I think, on those left behind. Because it is for the first 24 hours that there is no contact with them.
I have spoken to Pops and chatted with the siblings, but the person I need to hear from most is Amma. And she is still flying. At least for 2 more hours before she finally touches ground. Yes, despite all my thoughts on visa extension etc, we planned it this way so Pops would not have to be alone for a whole 6 months. And let's face it. Those first 2 months after I begun walking were my most crucial anyways. And she was there for it, lending all possible support, quietly but palpably. Whatever I write cannot be enough of an ode to her, for what words are there to describe someone who does their duty, day in and day out, waking at the same time every day, doing the same set of tasks wherever she is and never once raising her voice in irritation. Her kind of commitment just amazes me and shows me exactly where I lack.
The boys miss her too. Oh terribly, in their own ways. Winkie cried at the airport and begged to go with her. Thambi kept asking her sweetly over and over....Thathya come? Thathya come? And he held onto hersaree pleats the whole time she was checking in at the counter. In fact they both managed to bump up the sentiment quotient quite some, in that last 1/2 hour at the airport and made her cry too. And as for me, while I was sad inside, I realised that this here was my chance to show the equanimity of emotion which I always seek to achieve. Here is finally, some training ground to practice a sadhana of being cheerful even when it doesn't feel so. For God knows, there were a good many things to be cheerful about. I was walking and every day that I walked, I celebrated that sensation in my legs more....even through the sometimes achy muscles. I could climb, I could stand on one leg if I wanted to, I could go to the gym, and I could take care of my family again. 4 months is a loooo....ooong break from this active position taking care of the family and all its needs. I think a woman's strength secretly lies in her ability to look after her family to the best of her ability, doesn't it? and I was finally in a position to embrace that again. In many ways, that was a heady feeling.
But by nighttime I was once again a bit low. And as I was brushing Thambi's teeth, I told him...Amma sad. Patti plane la poitta. (Amma is sad, Patti has gone in the plane). Now he has this thing of not accepting a person's sadness and trying to make them smile by asking them to mimic a binaca smile of his own. And predictably, that is what he did.
Amma no sad. Ammachirucchi. (chirucchi = smile)
I refused to smile and continued the same dialogue. And he tried his same tactic over and over. Finally, I smiled. And I thought it would be enough to get him off my case, but it wasn't. What he said and did next, blows my mind away. Amma, Patti plane. (He leaves out the verbs and his sentences are made up of nouns). Ammachirucchi?...he commands me.
At what point did it enter his head that that first automatic smile alone wasn't enough?? How did he know to present the stark reality back to me in my own words, make me acknowlegde the fact that yes...indeed, Patti is gone, and then make me give him that same smile I gave him a moment ago? What sort of divine play is this???
It was terribly sweet and so were the repeat episodes for the next hour of the night, as I saw his teeth flash in the darkness, in the smile that I was to follow. If I thought I had learned about equanimity of emotion that day, all the times that I did 'chirucchi' were the points at which I sealed it! And no thanks to my little Guru!
Its that time of the year again in Winkie's Way, when we roll out the surprises. And if you haven't tired yet of the myriad different and not so different ways in which we strive to do it, then maybe I'll tell you about what's in store today.
R turns 36 and is truly kicking it back today. He has the day off and can be found lolling on the couch watching some 1986 flick called Platoon. His MIL works hard in the kitchen to serve up a simple, hot homecooked meal, the smells of which are already wafting in the air and tantalising our taste buds and our appetites. The boys are at school and the morning is very laid back. If R feels like it, he may end up taking a nice little afternoon siesta.
And then, after that cuppa chai, around the time that Winkie gets home, we will kick things up a notch. All the lethargy will have to be shunned for a high power treasure hunt, planted by yours truly. The man will have to work for his reward, and climb floors and hunt inside cupboards and crack some brain cells and maybe even take a little drive out to the post box or the gazebo in our community. At the long winded end of which, he will find what he has been looking for. Now don't hold your breaths for this one, cos it ain't anything fancy. Far from it. The prize is just a simple daily necessity, which he has been needing for a year without venturing to buy it for himself. Call it selflessness or laziness, for it could be a good confusing mix of both, but come Monday, he won't have to worry about whether his black shoes, the soles of which are long gone, flap uncomfortably in the back as he walks or worse still, reveal a flash of his white socks to those who walk behind him. Yup! He's getting shoes. Sorely needed, as you can tell. And comfy PJ's to wear around the house. And a freshly iced blueberry cake. And the birthday song sung quite ceremoniously by the little one who sings it every day of the week at least 3 times a day. And a day that we hope he will remember fondly, with a smile, as he remembers the quirks of each member of his family who contributed to it!
It is now Thambi's second month in school. And he has settled in fully. He has made friends who scream out his name as soon as they see him, in a rowdy way and he has placed his trust in UmaAunty who snuggles into the small of his neck whenever he lets her hold him. So everything is nice and peachy. Except that I never wrote much about any of that. Or put up his cute little artworks which were true firsts for him. I admired them when I saw them, kept the ones I really liked and didn't let the rest clutter our limited space...but that was it. I never took a picture and wrote a few words in caption, the way I had done 3 years before. And I wondered why.
Why is it that this beautiful second child who amazes me in every way, the one whose walking ground I worship, the one for whom I cannot keep track of how many times he has made me smile, or how many times I myself have angled my face to get to the small of his neck to kiss....why so many of his firsts and his milestones do not get recorded with the same alacrity and gusto as the first. There is no lack of love, of that I am certain. Truth be told, sometimes I think there's a little too much of it, even when tantrums and feet stomping rear their dismaying heads. So then why not? And I realise....its because its not MY FIRST TIME. Sad how it all becomes about you, isn't it!
My first time living in painstaking detail the first month of my child's school days was with Winkie. My first time bringing home handcrafted things and feeling the swell of pride, was with Winkie. I could go on....about the great many firsts that I savoured and experienced thanks to my first born. So when it happened that first time, I just had to write about it because it was such a new thing in my life. But when it happens a second time, some of that novelty has already worn off. Sad that it may be, but true it is. Atleast for me.
Also, I guess a big part of it is due to the fact that the focus of the blog has shifted from just reminiscences of my boys to a lot more of me as well. Sort of a natural progression I suppose, when you gather some momentum as a writer.
Does it make me feel guilty? No, not really. But I still do notice the differences, which is what makes me write about it I guess. Its not a line of thought I want to give too much credence to, at any rate. But now that I have paused to reflect on it....I want to take the time to show off one little masterpiece that his small little hands created. Bold, bright strokes, in a certain compliance of the lines bordering it and also a certain defiance of it, as the paint travels beyond its constraints. It may not be the first time a child of mine has brought home a work of art, but it is certainly the first time it is happening again. And it leaves me with a terrific impatience to get out the door and rush out to see him again..
At first it was because Amma was here and there was much to catch up on, and therapy to attend and walking to do. And then it became about ST's festival and gearing up my contributions for that. And somewhere in all that, it became all about Farmville! Yes. My name is Tharini and I am a Farmville addict. *hands raised and open palm*
And before I knew it, enough time had passed to put a distance between me and the blog. At first, I really relished it. Its nice to get away from something you have been doing a lot of and using that time for other things. It felt refreshing. And then, as time went by, a sort of inertia came into me. And with that a sort of insecurity. I felt like I had forgotten how to write...how to share bits of my life, how to connect to my thoughts through words. Everything I would have normally wanted to write about seemed jaded and 'been there done that' like. And of course, I also got quite busy as a farmer, among other things. :)
Now, with all your kind enquiries coming in, its like getting postcards, dotting the way and making the path back clear...clear enough to make me want to take it again.
Long story short, I am back. I want to write again. I want to tell you all about the boys and their little quirks. I want to dust off all the cobwebs from my mind and tell you what I see in it, hoping you will understand, like you have done many times before. I want to feel the rush of seeing that precious comment delivered to my mailbox and eager to know what it is you took the time to say to me.
Thank you guys...for always being the tether that helps me come back to something I know I truly love, though I stopped needing it for a little while. And what a roundabout way of saying....Hello again! :)
The Curious Garden
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