Creativity is overflowing. Behind the doors of one’s own home, a search for liberation results in finding pleasure in simplest joys. Perhaps, that is the only positive aspect Coronavirus has given to the society.  Brutally honest art is filling desks, floors, walls and balconies. If I was not living in a city, I would have changed the word balconies to courtyards or to backyards. A door opening into green spaces is a common sight in the villages. In the city parts, which I call home these days, space is limited. So, my kitchen garden is on the terrace of the house I live. Until recently, its beings belonged to my mother. I was handed over the responsibility to water it daily and to take care of it after the Coronavirus lock down declaration.

Couple of flowering plants, creepers hugging water pipes and potted vegetables; this is what she achieved in the last few months. A part of what we ate, the plants get to eat too. If we drank tea, they get the black matter.  If sandwich is for breakfast; dear plants get to eat egg shells and vegetable peels. There are days when I wake up in the morning listening to my mum getting all excited on how a tiny tomato is born after days of taking care of the slender, about-to-fall plant or how green glowing worms are eating her potted curry plants. Like any other career oriented women who has a project to complete or a client call to make or a boring presentation schedule, I reply  “mmmm mmmm” to her narrations. The joy of gardening never really entered in my heart. Potted muted greens and water drinking blooms, what is so fun in nurturing them?  I am wrong; this lockdown gave me a different approach to taking care of a garden.

The first week of lockdown, I realized plants feel thirsty very often. If I don’t water it well, all of them die. The second week I learnt that even if it is raining, some of the potted plants need water, as they are growing under the concrete roof of the house, this means:  whether neighbors wonder why she is carrying an umbrella and watering the plants or not – I still have to water. The third week, I got to learn even a leaf growth is so exciting. Like in a maternity ward, I wait for the happiness to be born. If it’s a birth of a flower, I am super excited to see its petals opening up slowly to smile shyly. Forth week, it becomes an addiction to check who has got injured, who hasn’t eaten well or who is fighting with whom (*refers to Creeper that has the tendency to ruin the peace of the plant growing in a separate pot kept next to it) or who requires an extra support. I realize it is a nursery than a garden. Like children waiting behind the short desks for their teacher to arrive, these plants wait for me. I can see them swaying their body to the tune I sing or to my monologues. Perhaps, it is even conversations. Just that I don’t realize it.

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