On a noisy, dusty road leading to the highway, I chanced upon an alien object – an Italian basil plant, lush and in full bloom, growing without a care in the world. This plant that I have struggled to grow in a pot at home despite offering so much love, protection, good vibes and juju, has never managed to survive, was somehow growing magnificently in the backdrop of slums where no one watered it, the sun beat down on it and the fumes of pollution fanned it constantly. It was thriving and how!!
I am no poet but the sight of this basil plant sent a wave of emotion in me and the next thing I knew I had lines and verses forming in my head pretty much like how you watch AI respond to your query, line by line… only this was my Actual Inference and not the much hated AI.
(This image is AI generated though)
Here it is, my Genovese, Bombay
What brings you here, Genovese basil?
What made you send your roots
down this dusty Bombay asphalt?
Whose hand let your seed slip on this busy road?
Did a bird carry it off from a fancy pizzeria’s back door?
When did you find home and call this place your own?
Why does no one notice you, half-wild on the curb?
Where do you mean to grow, and to what delight?
Which plates of fine pasta go without you tonight?
Maybe this alien soil preserved you, let you survive.
Or maybe you’ve lived past your prime, untapped, ungarnished!
I’ll pass your ‘aangan’ every day. I’ll say hello, wish you well.
I’ll take your picture and put it on the gram,
hoping they find the same voyeuristic charm.
This happens to many of us – planted in alien soils, no one recognizing our potential, spending a life time undervalued and underutilized. What is the purpose of such an existence? Is existence an end within itself or does having a purpose alone fulfil life’s meaning?
Is it the planter’s lack of attention that was at fault or the plantee’s for not protesting at being dispersed in a place that did not serve his dreams or goals?
How does a diasporic export feel in an alien land? A soul that is rich in flavour, perfume, value and utility but in the alien land – of little use. And then everyone around you looks down upon you.. “what a nuisance this plant is.. growing tall and flowering plain white flowers and that potent scent sends my head in a tizzy.” Little do they know and recognize the Genovese Basil that is a prized heirloom ingredient in some other piece of soil.
This post is a part of Blogchatter Half Marathon
Oh, this is a pattern with plants. Extra attention makes them dramatic and whiny. Let them be, and they’ll thrive in their natural style despite the adversities.
Great poem!