That One Tree

There's this one tree in my village, a mango tree, but I've never seen any fruit growing on it. It's the only tree left in that place. I'm not sure how, but it somehow survived when they were building the dam that now surrounds it. Although I'm not sure if it's technically a dam, lake, or pond, we all refer to it as a dam.

This tree witnesses the seasons—the beauty of spring, the heat of summers, and the cold winter breeze. During the monsoon, it stands surrounded by water from all sides, and as the monsoon ends and winter begins, it becomes even more stunning, especially on those days when rain comes uninvited.

I feel a special connection with this place. It's ironic how beautiful a relationship you can have with someone or something if they are incapable of having a disagreement with you and carry no expectations. Maybe that is the reason why we like admiring people after their death. Well, mostly we do.

I haven't found a place more peaceful than this. There is something magical about this place—what is it? I don't know, neither do I want to know. That's the thing about magic; you can't understand it. If you can dissect it with your logic, it ceases to be magic.

I am sitting on the shore of this dam, feeling the gentle breeze on my face that fills my heart with joy, unaware of the true depth of the dam. Yet, it appears shallow to me, not because it actually is, but because the void within me is so deep that it makes everything outside seem shallow in comparison.

I feel like this tree is the only one I can share everything with—the plans I have for the future that I don't want to share with anyone else, my feelings about that one girl I have a crush on, that I know can never be mine, my insecurities that I wouldn't want the world to know, the emotional meltdown I am going through that I can't share with my family, and the problems that I don't want my friends to be bothered with (yes, I do have friends; maybe the world is not as bleak as I imagine it to be). Perhaps it's because the tree lacks a moral compass to judge me, or it doesn't have other friends to bitch about me, or maybe it simply doesn't care at all.

Well, I don't talk to the tree about any of these things. In fact, I don't talk to the tree at all. Although, sometimes, I imagine having conversations with that tree. However, I often can't talk to people. It's not as if I don't want to talk; the thing is, I don't find anything to talk about. My mind just goes blank. I attempt to find something relevant to talk about, but more often than not, I end up saying things in a way that I wouldn't prefer.

However, one thing I truly enjoy is traveling to new and unfamiliar places, places where nobody knows me. I hope to find a sense of freedom in anonymity. These moments allow me to escape preconceived notions others might have about me. In those places, the people I meet fade away, and it's liberating.

As I stand in the presence of the tree, it feels as though it gazes at me, as if it enjoys my company, or at least, I like to believe so. Sometimes, I would prefer a beautiful lie over a harsh truth that can shatter everything apart. Perhaps, that's why Ghalib wrote: "हम को मालूम है जन्नत की हक़ीक़त लेकिन दिल के ख़ुश रखने को 'ग़ालिब' ये ख़याल अच्छा है"

When I'm here, I try to think about things. Although not much significant comes out, I have no problem with that. There are some things that you don't expect much from, but their mere existence gives you solace. Sometimes, my mind goes blank, and sometimes it flows freely. I love both—the peace and serenity of an empty mind and the wandering thoughts that create a world of their own (like at the time of writing this). In those moments, the probability of what might or might not happen becomes irrelevant.

And as I gaze at the sky, I often see birds flying, a beautiful sunset, or the moon spreading its light on the water when I stay out late. Whenever I look up, it gives me hope. Maybe it's because I started finding possibilities in things that dwarf human existence—mountains, oceans, the sky, other galaxies, the universe, or even death. Some people may find it strange, but it works for me. These things inspire me to live my life to the fullest. But am I currently living my life to its fullest potential? No, not yet, but maybe someday.

It seems as if we are all living superficial lives, paralyzed by the freedom of choice to the point that sometimes it becomes almost impossible to choose. There are days when I have so much to do that I become overwhelmed and end up doing nothing. It's on those days that I realize how the lack of options can be a good thing.

My phone suddenly rings, shattering the flow of my thoughts. The ringtone acts like a stone thrown into calm and serene water. It disrupts my tranquility. Oh, it's my brother calling to ask when I'll be returning home, and I must go. It's getting late now. The moon has been sprinkling its light on the water for almost an hour. It's one of those days when I get to witness this beauty. I'll leave my thoughts hanging for now, but I'll come back.

I'll return from exploring places, trying to find human connections as pure as the one I have with you, and striving to do things that can leave an impact while earning enough to fulfill my ambitions. Basically, I'll try to do things that will make my life worthwhile—or at least that's what I would like to believe. So, till we meet again, oh tree, stay there and be the witness to the cosmic beauty.