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“Seasons passed by. I always loved to watch the trees in our garden. With the first rain, the leaves would drench themselves. Slowly they would grow tired of the rain and droop. So would I, grow tired of waiting for him to look at me, talk to me. Slowly the leaves would dry up, and fall to the ground. It resembled a naked and shameless woman, trying to woo her husband. And the season would change, and the leaves would shoot slowly trying to gain the lost vigor. It would start blooming and look in its best form. The tree would be so overwhelmed by its own beauty that it would call upon the butterfly and birds. It would make everyone happy. But has anyone wondered how it feels? It feels like me.” — Ranjani Ramachandran
Seasons passed by. I always loved to watch the trees in our garden. With the first rain, the leaves would
drench themselves. Slowly they would grow tired of the rain and droop. So would I, grow tired of
waiting for him to look at me, talk to me. Slowly the leaves would dry up, and fall to the ground. It
resembled a naked and shameless woman, trying to woo her husband. And the season would change,
and the leaves would shoot slowly trying to gain the lost vigor. It would start blooming and look in its
best form. The tree would be so overwhelmed by its own beauty that it would call upon the butterfly
and birds. It would make everyone happy. But has anyone wondered how it feels? It feels like me.