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The big little tree

There’s this big little tree 

That I see. 

This is about that tree. 

This is also about me. 

The days I wake up early, I go for a walk. Past my building blocks, past the market and shops, past the towers. Till I reach the road. 

There are many like me, who use this road. It’s a wide stretch that leads to a small hillock. Most people just walk till the hillock and turn back. Some climb up the hillock, I am one of them. 

The hillock leads to a small temple. People reach the temple, bow their heads and turn back to the road. I don’t reach till the temple. Just before it, lies a patch of barren land. Wild trees, bushes and garbage (of course) live there. People avoid it, I go there, to avoid people. 

I found a small clearing. I sat there and saw the city wake up. I saw the road, the huts, the buildings, and the skyscrapers. I saw them stand tall against the sun. But the sun kept rising. I knew in a while it would be far about me, far above us, far above the city. 

That’s when I saw it. The tree. 

In wanting to see the big picture, I had missed it. When the magic of the waking city waned, I saw it standing close by, right before my eyes. 

It wasn’t really much to look at. Not a tall Palm or a thick Ashoka, nor was it a wise old Banyan. Nope, not the famous ones – just an ordinary everyday tree. 

And yet it was a big little tree.  

Though it looked quite weathered, the young tree stood strong and proud. It’s playful leaves clung to the sturdy branches. The branches held hands with the stems and they all piped down strong into the ground. Where the roots were at – deep within. Not so easy to let go now. 

The big little tree had survived the worst – barren soil, harsh weather and bad terrain. It may not have blossomed, yet it stood tall and happy. With the little it had, it would be fine. It will survive. 

As I walk down the hillock, I smile. The rest of the day lay ahead of me. Places to be, people to see. I smile unmindful that people may see. Because right now, all I think of – is the big little tree. 


Published by appamprawns

soni writes about children and people in controlled spaces, in his quest for appam stew. homi writes in the hope of being able to buy prawns to make patiyo.

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