On the passing of a trinity

[Text and photos by Mayank Austen Soofi]

In other news, semal flowers will no longer be seen in this park. The little municipal garden in Hazrat Nizamuddin West is reeling under a gaping loss. A few days ago, at around one in the afternoon, during a light shower accompanied by a moderate wind, a gigantic semal tree in the park fell. As it fell, it trampled upon two adjacent semal trees, causing them also to fall, a passer-by says.

The secretive park lies in a corner of the posh neighbourhood, beside the busy Mathura Road, and for a long time has been among the best places in Delhi to enjoy the semal in bloom. During the months of March and April when semal flowers start to show up across Delhi, the three trees in the park would dress up with hundreds of them. Their collective red would then be seen from afar, including by the hurry-hurry citizens walking along the Mathura Road paves. (Each time the adjacent traffic lights turned red, it would appear as if the lights were trying to mimic the red of the park’s semals.)

Nobody was close to the trees the day they fell, says a guard whose cabin lies just outside the park. During the next few days, while the authorities were occupied with hauling away the fallen semals, some of the foliage lay abandoned by the roadside, the green leaves slowly browning.

This afternoon, nobody in the vicinity is able to pinpoint the exact age of the trees. One says: “more than 300 years old.” One says: “very, very old.” The venerable Rameshwar Arya, a shoemaker, who has his stall outside the next park, says that “the trees were already here when I first arrived more than 50 years ago.”

In March this year, the park trees were in full bloom. Every inch of the ground was covered with flowers, making it impossible to discern that the park is actually without grass. Many semals that had detached from the upper branches of ther trees couldn’t reach the ground, and were stuck on the low-tiered branches. The flowers covered a shed of the neighbouring building. They lay atop the ledge of a boundary wall. At night, the park would look like a bed of smouldering coals—see one of the photos.

As the spring gave way to summer, the park was stripped of its red. But the trees remained dense with leaves, making it impossible for the harsh sun to penetrate much through the thicket. Most afternoons the park would be empty except for a couple of peaceful community dogs enjoying the cooling shade. (The next-door Mother Dairy booth would see more humans.)

Now a great part of the park stands exposed to the sky. It will be nice to lounge here in the winter, and be directly under the soothing dhoop. When the spring will arrive, new semals will bloom across Delhi, but not here.

PS: The park still has two neem trees, and two circular groves of palm plants.

No more, just memories

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