At our farmhouse
Papa often tells the story of when I was 15 years old, bringing this neem tree from our farm and lifting it in my hands. Dad told me this when I was 10-12 years old. I used to wonder how such a big tree could be lifted with hands, but that innocent heart later understood that people are not born young; everyone has a childhood. The neem tree was like a 1-2 foot child to my father at that time.
However, as far as I can remember my childhood, I have seen it growing like a huge entity. Some twigs that used to be weak now hold strength. Even today, when I close my eyes, I remember those missed scenes from Sundays. It brings moisture to my eyes. All seven of us siblings, including cousins, used to come to the farm with family members, and even our grandparents joined us.
Our tasks were minimal, and even if there were any, we managed to find free time to play. We would climb onto this tree and attempt to find a spot to sit. Although not everyone dared to climb, I never hesitated. We'd sit on both sides of a branch, our legs dangling, while we held onto the thin branches with our hands. Hearing the sound of the wind as we rode on the branches gave a delightful sensation. And I would chat with the breeze at the top. Ah, those days... I might not be far from here today, and though I visit this place frequently, memories of that time and those innocent thoughts still touch my heart, causing my eyes to well up. We didn't have a camera back then, but the images in my mind are clearer than the 48 megapixels of today when I close my eyes.
Perhaps time doesn't change; it moves at a constant pace. We, however, change. Not everything changes as our form and perspectives evolve. If we treat today like we treated those days, nature and time will respond to us similarly, just as we expect.
