Gentle, gentle reminder
The boy spent a lot of time in the park. Unlike other kids, he didn’t like screaming his throat out or indulged in stupid games. Being a loner had its perks as well as disadvantages. The perks began and ended with him. The disadvantages began and never ended with his harassers. Bullies appear in all sizes but the worse ones are generally considered innocent.
Anyway, going back to the park, the boy had a favourite hangout spot: the mango tree. He couldn’t climb it; not that he was interested in conquering it. With his back against the bark, he either sketched or read his comics or listened to his walkman or more often than not, fell asleep. His parents knew he liked going to park and were also aware of the place they could find him in case of an emergency. He was seldom away from the dried leaves falling beneath the tree.
It’s easy to believe why he felt one with the massive wooden creature. Firstly, it was always there for him; be it rain or sun or wind or hail, it never went away. Secondly, our boy needed someone powerful to look over him, someone who wouldn’t feel threatened by others. Maybe the fact that he didn’t have siblings and couldn’t make friends played a natural role in this unnatural attraction. Third and the most important reason was his adherence to silence. He didn’t like gabbing much and thus admired the tree’s absolute silence.
The only thing missing in this beautiful story were mangoes.
Yes, even though the mango tree was beyond mature to bear fruits, it never did. Perhaps it was a rebel and thought generating fruits was a futile endeavour. And for whom? The birds that are leaving the city? Or for the monkeys and the squirrels who rarely show up with their shiny teeth? Or for the ungrateful humans who would only throw stones? All choices considered, the mango tree was a mango tree for namesake. We could have called it a guava tree and it wouldn’t have mattered.
Except that it did.
One night, while having dinner, the boy’s dad asked him in jest, “How is your useless mango tree doing?” To which, the boy reacted with a thumping, “Why useless?” The man had to explain how we are known by what we do, not by what we could have done—no matter what. To his narrow understanding, a mango tree should be able to grow mangoes. Hearing which, the boy’s eyes widened with amazement as his mind lapped with several thoughts. Simply put, his tiny world was moving toward the range of implosion.
The following day, he hurried to the park and hugged the mango tree. His arms would barely cover a fifth of the tree’s girth but he held on for a while. And then, with his face still pressed against the trunk, he whispered, “You are a mango tree.”
A year later, the boy grew up a bit and learned to crawl out of his shell. He was far from popular in his school but he did manage to make a friend. As a part of the ongoing evolution, his visits to the park practically stopped. On the other side of the story, the mango tree couldn’t wait for his little friend to come see its flowers. For what they were worth, it was only a matter of time before the sweet-smelling fruits made their debut.
As it turned out, the boy never visited his old friend again. However, there was no heartache involved because it weren’t for the boy’s reminder, the mango tree would have never realized its true potential. So, it remained grateful to him and patiently waited too. The only sad part being the amnesia that follows the wand of time. The little boy would grow up into a fine man without ever learning what his innocence once accomplished.
