A wasteland full of life

Castor plants, often dismissed as invasive weeds, are botanical marvels. The seeds have many uses and the leaves host numerous butterfly species, says Subhashini Chandramani

Subhashini Chandramani

One summer afternoon, I was working on my laptop in the living room. It was peak summer, late in the day, and the world outside had fallen silent. Birds and squirrels had disappeared into the shade, escaping the scorching heat. There was no sound but the hum of my thoughts — and, now and then, the sharp thud of small objects landing on the roof of our car garage next to the living room.

Curiosity piqued, I went to investigate and found the surface littered with what looked like tiny bugs. On closer inspection, I realised they were seeds. They were ejected with surprising force, a ballistic dispersal known as ballochory, from the castor oil plants, Ricinus communis, growing in the vacant plot behind our home.

For years, I’ve observed this vacant plot — a place many would dismiss as an eyesore. It’s where the local pourakarmikas dump neighbourhood green waste, and at first glance, it seems little more than a breeding ground for bandicoots, rats, bugs, and beetles. Yet, when you look closely, this so-called 'wasteland' tells a very different story.

The castor plants, often dismissed as invasive weeds, are actually botanical marvels. Castor seeds yield a range of useful products — from oil used in medicines and lubricants to organic fertiliser made from the leftover seed cake. The seeds are nutritional powerhouses for ants, which collect them for their colonies. The castor’s leaves host numerous butterfly and moth species — Ariadne merione, tussock moths like Orgyia postica, Olepa ricini, and others. During the flowering season, the plants hum with visiting pollinators.

What strikes me most about this plot is how it thrives without any human care. While I spend hours watering and tending my garden, this wild patch flourishes without intervention. It preserves locally adapted plant varieties that have evolved to withstand our changing climate. Watching it closely, I see the cycle of life unfold: leaves fall, creatures leave droppings, plants wither and decay — all returning to the soil, building fertility in perfect rhythm. What we dismiss as untidy is actually nature’s most efficient design.

In the middle of this seemingly forgotten space stands a banana grove, planted years ago by a watchman who once cared for the property. Though regularly attacked by skipper caterpillars that devour the leaves, the grove persistently regenerates, creating a small thicket in the wilderness. Around it, dandelions and ground-covering plants appear and vanish with the seasons. Cluster fig shrubs, draped with Ipomoea, Thunbergia fragrans, and Tinospora cordifolia vines, create hideaways for the red-whiskered bulbuls to nest.

My perspective changed entirely when a pair of Indian Grey Mongooses appeared. As green spaces shrink, creatures like the once-familiar Slender Loris of Bengaluru have quietly faded from view. To watch the mongoose family make the “empty and messy” plot a safe haven away from human interference was heartwarming. And while they stayed, they naturally controlled the rodent population.

This plot doesn’t exist in isolation. Birds nest in the branches of neighbouring raintrees, butterflies drift in and out pollinating the plants, and the mongoose family likely travels under the cover of darkness to nearby patches of green. One morning, I spotted a kingfisher perched on a dead branch, far from a water body! It was only then that I realised these birds don’t just hunt fish but feast on insects too. These scrappy little plots create invisible corridors through our concrete maze, connecting larger natural habitats. Without them, our urban wildlife would be stranded.

Doesn’t calling it a 'vacant plot' now feel a little unfair? It’s alive in ways we rarely pause to notice. As our cities expand, if we create designated wild spaces within urban planning, it could help preserve biodiversity that’s rapidly disappearing. They are necessary breathing rooms in our increasingly concretised landscape. In my next column, I’ll share the delightful array of pollinators that visit a garden.

Motley Garden is your monthly kaleidoscopic view into a sustainable garden ecosystem. The author believes gardens are shared spaces where plants and creatures thrive together.

READER QUERY

I have planted about 8–10 hibiscus plants. We have a good water source and recently added manure, but we still get very few flowers. How can I improve the yield?
Srinivasa from Chitradurga

Hibiscus plants respond well to seasonal care. Before the blooming period, prune the plants to encourage fresh growth. Feed with potassium and phosphorus-rich manure, and water well during their blooming season. With this rhythm of care, your hibiscus will reward you with an abundance of blooms.

Readers are welcome to write in with their garden queries and stories at [e-mail], making this a shared journey of discovery.