Memories of a guava tree

Trees have their own lives, seasons, and their own epiphanies. I distinctly remember the observant and quiet Guava tree in our backyard — like a sibling pestering for fun, it swayed and lured us out of the sultry afternoon bed. Sometimes, when things are long gone from sight and become a thing of the past, we tend to miss them with an ache which can never possibly have an antidote. Back then, it was no big deal to climb atop the guava tree and perch there on a lazy afternoon. No matter how sweltering the heat, no matter how badly the knees got scraped, climbing was a ritual that had its own takers.

This particular tree had the split at the right height, the fork so rightly placed, that it made us as comfortable as any chair could. As children, it initially seemed a daunting task. Knowing where to land the arch of your foot so it wouldn’t slide, just how much thrust would be enough to pull you through to the next branch, and to locate that one perfect spot that holds you perfectly. We mastered these skills deftly.