Your tree...
I am still not sure if the tree that you planted is a Rudraksha or not – since I have been told that it is mostly found in the cold Himalayan terrain and is difficult to grow in a desert state. Not that it matters anyway. It must be nearly four years old — and I have forgotten its planting date, since I never knew that it would remain as a memoir — and has started bearing fruit. The flowers it bore for the first two years after you left it here were few, when your memories were very strong. The tree blossomed in all its greenery. While I took little notice of its growth, your images were still very fresh in my mind. I could see the back of your palm and the nerves lining it, your feet, then small and shriveled with age and illness, your hair and stooping back. I clearly remembered the way you spoke too. I had my complaints against you but nobody would listen. At the same time, I used to look at the tree and wonder if it is going to survive the onslaught of the changing seasons. It d