3 min readApr 27, 2026 06:20 AM IST
First published on: Apr 27, 2026 at 06:20 AM IST
Earth Day just went by, a time when many schools turn their attention to environmental awareness. It reminded me of a conversation I had last month with an enterprising biology teacher at a government school near Kota. A few months ago, Divyendu Sen got his students involved in an ongoing project, Tree Talk: Every Tree Has Something to Say.
More than a hundred trees across 85 species have been tagged with QR codes hanging from their branches. Each code opens to an audio recording in Hindi and the local Malvi dialect, recorded by the students, offering an introduction to the environmental and cultural value of the tree. A Casuarina equisetifolia tree, commonly known as Australian pine, for example, greets you with: “Namaste, I am a Casuarina tree. My leaves look like needles, but these are actually tiny green branches. I grow very fast and can thrive in tropical as well as arid regions…”
I was intrigued. What triggered this idea? Though the school is surrounded by expansive gardens, few knew the significance of the trees that provided this diverse green cover, Sen told me. Using their teachers’ or parents’ phones to scan the codes, students could learn in an immersive way.
With every year I find myself more drawn to the grounded stillness of trees. I often linger over the symmetry of branches or the way skylight filters through leaves. Tree-staring offers lightness. A conversation with my grandmother from decades ago, when she told me about being a part of the Chipko forest conservation movement, floats into my head. I think of the lemon trees that lined her garden, where she would send us to pluck a few gondhoraj lebu to squeeze over fish curry. A lemon tree we planted recently now grows with fervour on my terrace — a tiny one compared to what she had, but one that connects me to her.
After a time, I find you begin to identify with one tree or another, depending on the season. It reminds me of writer Sumana Roy’s meditation in How I Became a Tree, where she wonders whether trees are freelancers or salaried employees and concludes that they perhaps are daily wage labourers, their work bound to the rhythm of the sun.
On our way back home from the bus stop, my son and I catch up as we walk under the canopy of aged, deeply-shaded trees. It feels like our “tree time”. Time hangs loose. Empty of people at that hour, the gardens feel full: Of swaying branches, squeaking squirrels, birdsong. We listen. I offer my son little tidbits about the trees we cross. We talk about why the giant Indian almond tree just outside our condominium turned flaming red for a few weeks at the start of spring. We talk about the banyan tree, whose new, tender leaves emerge copper-coloured, protected from pests and harsh sunlight before deepening into green as they mature.
It is simply nature taking its course. But it holds lessons in resilience: To stand tall no matter the season, to adapt without breaking, to protect and nurture through change. It is the quiet wisdom of trees we can reclaim, pass on, and keep alive.
Bhatt is an author and writer
