The autorickshaw drivers were preoccupied when my father and I walked out this afternoon to the busy road in front of my parents' apartment building in Bombay. As we tried to hail an auto, the driver waved us off, gesturing vaguely above him before pulling over to chat with a fellow auto driver. I noticed other people looking up.
A ladder was leaning against a tree, and a rope dangled from a branch. Someone had been trimming the tree to prevent branches from breaking off in the monsoon rains.
The tiny leaves of this large, old tree filter the sunlight, offering a refuge to the auto drivers who line up along the road, to the owners of the tiny shops on the sidewalk, and to those of us who venture out into the muggy warmth that is Bombay in June.
Yet, until today, I hadn't quite noticed the grandeur of this tree. I'm glad everyone was looking up when I walked out this afternoon.
A ladder was leaning against a tree, and a rope dangled from a branch. Someone had been trimming the tree to prevent branches from breaking off in the monsoon rains.
The tiny leaves of this large, old tree filter the sunlight, offering a refuge to the auto drivers who line up along the road, to the owners of the tiny shops on the sidewalk, and to those of us who venture out into the muggy warmth that is Bombay in June.
Yet, until today, I hadn't quite noticed the grandeur of this tree. I'm glad everyone was looking up when I walked out this afternoon.
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