It is said that being in nature cleanses your mind, body, and soul. As someone who lives in one of the most congested cities in the world, my access to nature is limited to small, boundaried pockets of greenery.
I am fortunate that one such pocket exists in the residential gated community in which I live. Parallel to the parking area is a small but pleasing garden. The garden adds much needed color to the otherwise pastel color buildings that surround it.
Not many people walk here, though. Most people prefer walking on the cemented walking track, including myself. I don’t know why. No one is barred from walking in the garden. Also, doesn’t every city dweller wish for serenity and freshness? Then why do we still choose to walk on the stony path?
Anyway, one afternoon, I decide to take a walk in the garden. I was inspired after reading a travel-themed short story written by an Anglo-Indian writer, Ruskin Bond, who has spent most of life in the valleys. His stories have the power to infuse one with a feeling of peace and appreciation for the world.
The first thing I notice when I step into the garden is that the grass is moist. I immediately feel calm and grounded. The garden is lined with trees and bushes that are adorned with different varieties of flowers. I recognize only the common ones like roses and hibiscuses. There are many whose names I don’t know. I have deep respect for, and perhaps some kind of grudge towards, people who can effortlessly describe nature’s offerings. I can’t write about nature’s beauty even if I want to, because my knowledge and vocabulary to describe nature is negligible.
In the midst of all this color, I spot a lone tree. I don’t know if I can call it a tree, because it did not have any leaves. Is a tree without leaves still called a tree?
This tree did not add color to the garden. No one would take photos of it, definitely not with it. It had nothing to offer, and if it disappeared from the garden, no one would notice. I felt sympathy towards the tree. A tree without leaves is like a man without an identity…
…and maybe that’s why it was there.
To tell us that a tree without leaves, is, in fact, a tree in its truest form.
With nothing to hide and no one to care It stands alone; brown, beautiful, and bare
Leaves are a part of the tree, but they are not the tree. The leaves of our identity (status, wealth, etc.) are what we have, not who we are.
Our leaves protect us. They give us some kind of standing in society. But to truly understand who we are, we would need to shed them. And that’s frightening, because what would happen if all trees shed their leaves?
We would not be able to differentiate between them.
Oh, nature, you really do have the power to make us all philosophers…
tanvi's digital journal 
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