It was not ours. The lemon tree.
We saw it occasionally, when we were visiting my sister in one of those hyper-populated, pulsating suburbs , which a big city tends to grow its tentacles into.
It was large , gnarled and old . Lemons grew prolifically and in huge sizes. They sat like small melons , meditating amongst the thorns, waiting to be picked, bending the old tree double under their sheer weight and numbers.
The old tree was cursed with fertility. Like an old maid whose womb has no respite.
The lemons were seedless, large , juicy and yellow. They grew without having been ever watered or cared for.They ripened and fell in rotting numbers , in difficult -to-reach places .. On high branches and on the neighbours barbed wired wall top. Some , I suspect must be rolling off to the "other side " too. The tree had so much generosity to unburden.Such wanton largesse !!
The fridge is forever stocked with the yellow citrus orbs .
Citrussy flavours creeps into everything that is cooked. From biryani to poha, lemon cakes and lemonades.It creeps into the wardrobes as small bundles of dried fragrant leaves .It pervades the washrooms in pots and jars of homemade face -packs. The gift of nature is packed and parcelled, DHL-ed and couriered to various corners of the globe .
Some sit in my fridge too. A rapidly vanishing bottle of lemonade and a jumbo pack of the ripened balls .
One tree has painted us all , in various shades and fragrance of lemon.
Last I heard , a burglar lost a part of his "lungi" as he hastily made his escape . No one knows the extent of damage the thorny branches must have inflicted on his exposed flesh. But I suspect, they will be numerous and painful.
We saw it occasionally, when we were visiting my sister in one of those hyper-populated, pulsating suburbs , which a big city tends to grow its tentacles into.
It was large , gnarled and old . Lemons grew prolifically and in huge sizes. They sat like small melons , meditating amongst the thorns, waiting to be picked, bending the old tree double under their sheer weight and numbers.
The old tree was cursed with fertility. Like an old maid whose womb has no respite.
The lemons were seedless, large , juicy and yellow. They grew without having been ever watered or cared for.They ripened and fell in rotting numbers , in difficult -to-reach places .. On high branches and on the neighbours barbed wired wall top. Some , I suspect must be rolling off to the "other side " too. The tree had so much generosity to unburden.Such wanton largesse !!
The fridge is forever stocked with the yellow citrus orbs .
Citrussy flavours creeps into everything that is cooked. From biryani to poha, lemon cakes and lemonades.It creeps into the wardrobes as small bundles of dried fragrant leaves .It pervades the washrooms in pots and jars of homemade face -packs. The gift of nature is packed and parcelled, DHL-ed and couriered to various corners of the globe .
Some sit in my fridge too. A rapidly vanishing bottle of lemonade and a jumbo pack of the ripened balls .
One tree has painted us all , in various shades and fragrance of lemon.
Last I heard , a burglar lost a part of his "lungi" as he hastily made his escape . No one knows the extent of damage the thorny branches must have inflicted on his exposed flesh. But I suspect, they will be numerous and painful.
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