Now, of course, for those who don’t know me, and mostly nobody knows me, I am not a biologist, botanist, zoologist, or even a naturalist. I am also not Charles Darwin’s descendant or from Henry Thoreau’s bloodline any more than most of you are. And yet in more ways than one, I feel that I share with them the same sense of wonder, awe, and curiosity toward life, which made them the legends that they are. It is this near epiphany that tempts me to narrate the evolutionary tale of my humble pond.
For those who do not follow my life because there is nothing to follow, let me tell you a few months ago I trotted through wild shrubbery, thorny bushes, cow dung, and broken glass bottles to pluck wild lilies from a natural lake. Wading through murky waters, I clutched those aquatic beauties with their roots in a very optimistic attempt to replant them in my small pond at home. In the first few days, the lilies tricked me with their floating leaves and blooming buds. I got rightfully excited believing that they appreciated my full care and half knowledge. This unfounded delight made me jump the gun and introduce a few guppies in the pond a tad too soon.
To my profound guilt and dismay, neither the fish nor the lilies survived. The lilies wilted and decayed slowly, crumpling my heart every morning, but the sudden loss of all the fish at once crushed me deeply. I felt like a murderess who took away lives for her amusement. Seeing them float lifeless on the surface wrenched my soul. Over heartfelt prayers and moral remorse, I buried them in a corner of my garden.
But I didn’t doubt my pond’s propensity to prosper life. Every tabletop and corner of my house is adorned with plants in glass jars and bottles. And it never ceases to amaze me how their roots sprout in the water below, while smaller leaves shoot up in the air. Through instinct and some study, I gently lowered some of these greens, like Syngonium and dracaena, into the pond. What was more fascinating was how the laws of physics were integrated in the simplest of acts. Depending on their weight, the law of buoyancy decided which of my modest plants would float or sink. With some indigenous methods, I found ways to balance physics with botany.
As days went by and the plants eased into their new home, they turned it into an Airbnb homestay with new guests moving in and out. A whole new world of insects popped up, like the pond skater, the backswimmer, and water bugs. It is astonishing how life intuitively attracts life in nature. My garden has never seen these visitors before, but they found their way to it. It is one of the most bewildering and beautiful phenomena that I have witnessed.
This flourish of nature made me audacious and wiser, and thus, joined the water lettuce with the arrowheads. I moved the pond in dappled light under the shaded grace of our glorious badam tree. The lettuce bathed in the tree’s generous spirit and its fine root hair grew denser, as new leaves saw sunrises and old ones withered with sunsets. But I soon realized that the skaters and swimmers weren’t shady creatures. And so, they left for sunnier abodes.
However, salubrious air and sweet rains arrived with other guests in tow. I cannot recount my thrill at spotting a tiny, solitary water snail tucked below the Syngonium leaf. Momentarily, I assumed the brownish-grey bobbing blob to be plant rot, but then it swam up and rested against the pond’s wall, stealthily going up and down. The soft, delicate head protruded out just to tell me, ‘Let me be,’ as it retracted back into its shell. Yet, another life, another creature finding its way through space, water, and air without any apparent source, simply mesmerizes me. And if you pause longer in quietude, you’ll even observe an army of minute black specks marching along the water’s rim.
The plump snail and the anchored greens added more vigour to my nerves that finally gave me the courage to bring in new residents for the pond once again: two petite and iridescent guppies. To avoid feeling lonely, my resident snail discovered his kin, another tiny snail clinging to the dracaena. Every morning, as I go up to the terrace with my furry friend, I steal a quick glance at the magical pond holding within intricate patterns, vibrant colours, and dynamic workings, reminding me of the phrase, “God is in the details.” Later, when I sip my masala chai, in the eclectic symphony of the flitting Woodpeckers, Treepies, Mynas, and the migrant Asian Brown Flycatcher, I see and hear life. And as the curled-up, autumnal leaves float down, squirrels swing by, and the guppies catch the glint of sun in their graceful fins, I feel life. I feel the oneness of prakriti and prana, of the creation and its vital force. Life in meditation. Life in flow.
The emergence and evolution of life began billions of years ago and since then it has been studied by scientists and celebrated by artists for eons, but only when it touches you does it become true. Your irrefutable truth.
