<p>December night has lost its charm, its lovely chill absent from the air, but that doesn’t stop the Pala tree (Alstonia scholaris- Indian Ghost Tree) from blooming. Even as seasons falter, caught in a haze of disarray like a mind in the grip of dementia, flora clings tenaciously to its rhythms, striving to preserve a fragile balance.</p>.<p>Returning from a late-night dance performance at the neighbourhood temple, I was walking home when a sudden power outage plunged the area into darkness. The patches of clouds, unusual for a December sky, had veiled the moon. Only the little circle of glow of my phone’s torch traced a narrow path on the pocket road ahead. Strangely, I found myself rediscovering the long-forgotten joy of walking in darkness. Modern technology has robbed us of this primal delight. High-mast lamp posts, glaring headlights, and relentless LED decorations saturate the night, leaving no space for the genuine experience of nocturnal stillness. Walking alone through a dark, silent lane is unmatched; a rare opportunity to reconnect with nature. As the darkness surrounds you, your senses sharpen, attuned to the rhythm of your footsteps. Familiar sights, the outlines of houses, the lush foliage, dissolve into the night, swallowed by inky blackness, leaving only silhouettes in the void.</p>.<p>All of a sudden, a delightful aroma enveloped me; the heady scent of the full-bloomed Pala permeated the air. Somewhere nearby, the elusive tree, unseen in the darkness, burst into bloom. Yet, its ethereal fragrance was unmistakable, like Shelley’s skylark, an unseen presence that captivates the senses. Folklore weaves tales of the Pala tree as a refuge for Yakshi, vengeful spirits of women, claiming that its blossoms emit a scent of love and longing. I stood in the darkness, seduced by this enchanting fragrance, pausing to indulge in a lungful of the intoxicating air.</p>.<p class="bodytext">They say recent Decembers have been the warmest on record. Yet, the Pala blooms, procreating without the romance of chilly nights, like a poet penning verses through writer’s block. It is hard to imagine this ravishing scent divorced from the cool ambience it seems to demand. Still, as human activity strains the planet, nature battles to sustain its balance, holding on until it can no longer retrace its steps.</p>.<p class="bodytext">The electricity snapped back, flooding the street with harsh yellow light. Air conditioners hummed back to life, reclaiming the night with their mechanical rhythm. I resumed walking, my brief communion with the dark broken, yet the lingering scent of the Pala reminded me of nature’s quiet resilience.</p>
<p>December night has lost its charm, its lovely chill absent from the air, but that doesn’t stop the Pala tree (Alstonia scholaris- Indian Ghost Tree) from blooming. Even as seasons falter, caught in a haze of disarray like a mind in the grip of dementia, flora clings tenaciously to its rhythms, striving to preserve a fragile balance.</p>.<p>Returning from a late-night dance performance at the neighbourhood temple, I was walking home when a sudden power outage plunged the area into darkness. The patches of clouds, unusual for a December sky, had veiled the moon. Only the little circle of glow of my phone’s torch traced a narrow path on the pocket road ahead. Strangely, I found myself rediscovering the long-forgotten joy of walking in darkness. Modern technology has robbed us of this primal delight. High-mast lamp posts, glaring headlights, and relentless LED decorations saturate the night, leaving no space for the genuine experience of nocturnal stillness. Walking alone through a dark, silent lane is unmatched; a rare opportunity to reconnect with nature. As the darkness surrounds you, your senses sharpen, attuned to the rhythm of your footsteps. Familiar sights, the outlines of houses, the lush foliage, dissolve into the night, swallowed by inky blackness, leaving only silhouettes in the void.</p>.<p>All of a sudden, a delightful aroma enveloped me; the heady scent of the full-bloomed Pala permeated the air. Somewhere nearby, the elusive tree, unseen in the darkness, burst into bloom. Yet, its ethereal fragrance was unmistakable, like Shelley’s skylark, an unseen presence that captivates the senses. Folklore weaves tales of the Pala tree as a refuge for Yakshi, vengeful spirits of women, claiming that its blossoms emit a scent of love and longing. I stood in the darkness, seduced by this enchanting fragrance, pausing to indulge in a lungful of the intoxicating air.</p>.<p class="bodytext">They say recent Decembers have been the warmest on record. Yet, the Pala blooms, procreating without the romance of chilly nights, like a poet penning verses through writer’s block. It is hard to imagine this ravishing scent divorced from the cool ambience it seems to demand. Still, as human activity strains the planet, nature battles to sustain its balance, holding on until it can no longer retrace its steps.</p>.<p class="bodytext">The electricity snapped back, flooding the street with harsh yellow light. Air conditioners hummed back to life, reclaiming the night with their mechanical rhythm. I resumed walking, my brief communion with the dark broken, yet the lingering scent of the Pala reminded me of nature’s quiet resilience.</p>
