| This week's newsletter was written by Rini Singhi, who moved from Jaipur to Providence, RI to complete a Masters in Nature-Culture-Sustainability Studies at the Rhode Island School of Design, with a focus on food (in)security and food systems.
GROUNDING FORCES ...
After a 3-month long semester, I found myself at home for the winter break. The winter sun in Jaipur was warmer and more familiar than the one in Providence. Mornings were filled with cups of hot ginger and cardamom chai and a customary walk along the path in our colony.
A scholar in botany, my mother was born with green fingers. As kids, she would task my brother and me to collect seeds, water plants and occasionally attend the workshops of her gardening group. All the tasks I reluctantly did as a kid now seem attractive to me as an adult.
My first morning back home we walked her usual path and partook in her usual act of pointing out all the trees, shrubs and flowers that were growing on both sides of the road; something she’d quiz me on every following day.
But this time, it became an elaborate affair. I hugged a tree, smelled the sweet harsingar (night flowering jasmine), was completely bewitched by the shaded bougainvillea, foraged some drumstick (moringa pods) from the neighbor’s garden, talked about weeds, took photos, and cooked with our catch of the day.
It seemed that the world she relates to, one that felt out of reach for me, is finally offering to let me in. Undoubtedly, this newfound appreciation was a consequence of my absence. An absence that made me populate my new room with plants when I was just longing to be outside - a common feeling resulting from isolation during the pandemic.
“Plants are happy when they are propagated in the rain; they survive better,” she said to me when - once, on a rainy day - I asked her to come inside. It was like when my grandmother let me in on her secret ingredient for potato curry: dry mint leaves. Both cooking and nature, as I understand now, embrace a beginner and an expert with the same rigor and vitality.
But for some it becomes a language, a two-way communication, developed over the years by incessant caring. An unconditional relationship, beyond expectation, but immensely rewarding.
We’d be so engrossed in what became our daily ritual, that we would forget about my father, who accompanied us on these walks. A reluctant audience to my mother’s nature walks (a Sunday excursion she hosted to acquaint people to urban landscapes), he would shout a tree’s name from behind, just to feel included. The deeply embedded connections of people in one’s close circle unknowingly seeps in, finding a place for itself in you.
Twenty-five years of my life are proof of the transformation of my father’s indifference to appreciation of nature. The bond she cultivated left its imprint on each one of us, translating into our own interests.
The layer of wisdom not only nudged me toward a possible path, but it also empowered me to find my own voice.
//////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////
We are thrilled and grateful to have collaborated with Rini through our Share Your Voice initiative, an ongoing effort inspired by the #sharethemicnow movement. If you are inclined to share your voice, let us know.
Cheers,
Tay + Dor
photo by Rini Singhi
|
