The magic of trees

A picture can speak a thousand words. Come June, and I am reminded nostalgically of my late grandfather’s avid talent in painting trees whose flowers are in full bloom during this season.

Contrary to the opinion of most artists that oil paints are more forceful and vibrant, my grandfather instead used water colours. Yet, his paintings were stunningly beautiful and captured awesomely verdant trees in natural surroundings in mellowed, pastel hues. The paintings captured the imagination and conquered the soul emphatically.

My father, who is now no more, couldn’t paint, but instead captured the beauty of trees by photographing them! One could easily see that love for trees was alive and kicking in our family, as is evident from my grandfather’s paintings and my father’s photographs.

I was amazed at the propensity with which my father pursued the art of photographing trees, akin to Salim Ali pursuing birds or Ruskin Bond searching mountains. My father used his Nikon camera to take pictures of these summer trees against famous landmarks, like the Vidhana Soudha, the High Court, the Cubbon Park, Central library etc.

Shortly before my father’s death in 1998, when he was working at the National Law School of India University,  I was with him he alerted me to the view outside his office room. There was one particular Jacaranda tree, with its beautiful lavender coloured flowers.

The image of this tree “flashed across my inward eye,” as had happened to Wordsworth when he wrote about the daffodils. This tree had one errant branch alienated from the other
branches and it appeared to reach out, like the Statue of Liberty’s hand upholding the torch.

Like the Statue of Liberty, this tree also appeared to say to the huddling masses “to breathe free” in a spirit of independence. It, therefore, generated an image reminiscent of this particular law school’s motto of honing skills among lawyers to make them sworn to a profession of seeking justice and being independent. My father “shot” the tree.

A month after I witnessed the beautiful symbolism of this tree, my father fell critically ill with a series of complications. On December 29, 1998, two days before he died a painful death at St John’s Medical Hospital, he asked me in the dark hospital room whether I could adjust his bed so he could see the warm sun and trees that he loved so much. With tears streaming down my face, I did so, and as he sighted one of the trees, I asked him, “Doesn’t that tree look like the Jacaranda tree outside your NLSIU room that you had photographed so carefully?” Since he couldn’t talk, he nodded his head. Two days later, he died.

Yet, his love for the beauty of trees lives on in the lovely photographs he took – with the care, expertise and the passion of a professional. Now, with June rapidly approaching, I get enthused with tree-mania and I skim through the realms of pictures he took. My father’s pictures will always speak a 1,000 words and more.