Monologue of the 'jaam' tree

I am a java plum tree. They call me 'jaam gaachh'. You can see the plump man with grey beard living in the tin-roofed house next to me. He planted me long ago. Maybe 100 tree-years ago. One tree-year is equal to one month of yours or less. Anyways, I grew up here. The sky-high buildings around me were not here earlier.

I still get chill when I recall the day when the developer came to see the plot on the other side of the wall. I couldn't sleep that night. I kept thinking what if my owner sold this plot too and they cut me down? I almost lost hundreds leaves at the time in my anxiety.

But I escaped the danger. But it was not solely pleasant for me as the developers cut down the tall handsome coconut tree. I had a crush on the tree. The previous evening it said, “You are lucky plummy, I wish I was born on the other side too.” It broke my heart. I wept all night. The next morning, I saw a gigantic saw cutting the coconut tree into pieces. I became alone.

But I have friends though. My master’s pet rooster, spotted doves, the flocks of sparrows, the robin, myna families, the purple sunbird who sings really very good, the weaver bird and of course the bulbul family. The tenants of the buildings aren’t very civilised. They keep throwing plastic packets, leftovers, some transparent long tiny bags made of silicon and what not. On top of that every apartment has some small flower plants in small funny pots. They cut tree to make houses and then plant new plants at their balcony. Isn’t it very funny?

These humans have no sense of privacy either. The girl in the apartment 10/7’s fifth floor keeps staring at me. The other day Mr Bulbul was having some quality time with Mrs Bulbul. The girl fetched her camera and took a picture! When was the last time we the trees spread our branches into human’s house and violated their privacy? What is the use in boiling our blood? It seems voyeurism is their hobby. They poke their nose into others’ business, tap private phone conversations and so many things.

There is a community centre now where the coconut tree earlier stood. They have events every alternative day and play loud music till midnight. The sparrow families cannot sleep. Mr and Mrs Bulbul have a small child. The loud music and crackers startled it so much that it caught fever for three days. Since then the bulbul family shifted their house from my branch to the litchi tree. They visit me every afternoon though.

Last two years have been very good. I heard a new virus broke out in the world. People are dying. Humans are stuck inside their houses for a good amount of months of the year. Although I feel bad for them, it is good for us. No pollution, no honking cars and of course lots of fresh air. But I miss the kids playing cricket on the alley. Children are better than the adult humans. There are also good humans, I believe, like my master.

He sulks every summer saying, “I was told the 'jaams' will be very big and juicy. Look at them. So small and skinny like raisins. Tasteless!” How is that my fault? The seller from the nursery said that. Trees don’t lie. The master only says that every day. The other day when the house was flooded due to waterlogging after long rain, he said, “These people are only good at lying and making false promises. The city is not liveable anymore.”

I think he was talking about those people who hung up hundreds of posters from a string and tied those to my branches last year.

I love this place, anyways. A better neighbourhood. The seedling my master brought last week said, the place it was living earlier was very bad place as there were high traffic all day around, black smoke, dust and other horrible things. But I miss the coconut tree sometimes and recall the moment it said, “adieu”.