Green charade

In the compound of the block adjoining my apartment's building, there are neat corner patches of earth between walls and all the claustrophic cement. This whole patch of buildings, cement, gardens and drains on the hill-slope was a lush green jungle, a few years back. 

Am dealing with the guilt pangs of living here. But the housing society's idea of greenery irked me more. The corner patch closer to my home window (I live on the 4th floor and look out of the windowed cage or caged window, whichever way it sounds better) had an enviable garden till recently.

Hibiscus, almond, banana, tulsi, ornamental plants and many other shrubs that grew irregularly, but made the place look dense. Watching the plants from my windows gave me some welcome respite from the mundane white and pale pink between the many home walls. 

Every late morning, a man in his 60s clad in a red dhoti would come with his kalash, worship some chosen plants, pour water over them, circle them or do pradakshina as one would call it, and soak in the morning air.

Often an elderly lady from another flat would come by, admire the banana plants bunch, and make sure they were watered before she moved on for a walk. Once in a while, children used it for their hide and seek games too.

A couple of months back, the society hit on a brain wave. Out with the trees, plants and shrubs, only those ornamentals bordering the corner garden were spared. And the almond tree that grew lean and mean by then. They uprooted the banana plants' bunch and would have left them to die, but for the emotional woman who cajoled them to shift the plants over to another green patch.

The rest were gone.

They levelled the soil, and grew grass on it. Made it a prim and proper looking lawn. But then, no one was allowed to venture into the green green grass. They were allowed to only look at it, not feel it. Sigh! What a farcical idea of greenery! Two weeks ago I was secretly amused at the sight of children on the lawn.

No. They were not shoved away by the eagle-eyed security guards. But were busy chatting up. Seated on a newly fixed swing, they spoke for hours, much to the delight of my husband and me, who went back in time to our schoolday chats with buddies.

In a day or two, the iron swings were given a fresh coat of green paint. Greenery, huh! As if it was not enough, they dug up the earth again and removed them the next day. So it is now two patches of watered brown earth between ornamental plants and dried up grass, that no one can take delight in.

Turning green. Wish people saw sense in the real meaning of going green, rather than make it a fashionable excuse for elitist facade.