Happy days and heavy weather
View(s):If a tree falls in a faraway forest, is there a sound? Philosophers are divided on the issue. Some say yes; because whether there are ears to hear it or not, wood meeting earth creates waves. Some say no; because where there are no ears, there cannot be sound. Of course, philosophers are a subspecies notorious for contemplating their navels, and have been known to die in deserts because – encountering an oasis – they ask “WHY is this water here?” instead of “WHAT USE is this water?” So let’s not waste time in idle speculation with those navel-gazers!
A tree fell on our balcony in the middle of the night just the other day. It had been raining heavily, due to the righteousness of our rulers, and the branches were wet and heavy. Not being able to bear it anymore (the weight, not our righteous rulers), the upper part of the tree fell with a loud sickening thud and crump as wood met concrete. Awakened rudely out of the arms of Morpheus, we rushed to investigate why the last trump had sounded so suddenly.
At first, it was not evident what had happened. We thought a troop (or, to give the proper collective: a parliament) of monkeys had decided to trip the light fantastic to the tune of the moon. Our four-legged friend who was by now rushing madly upstairs and downstairs and in my lady’s chamber was convinced it was a trio or sextet of cats from the lunatic fringe making merry, and the caterwauling from somewhere nearby almost convinced us. But we stout citizens of the republic are made of sterner stuff. Not dogs, nor cats, nor parliaments can make monkeys out of us. With baleful eye and un-trembling hand we wrested open the door to see what sin was crouching there.
It was the upper part of a large tree that lay fallen on our balcony. Its source and fountainhead was in a vacant lot right next door to our property. And fortunately for us, no human or animal had been harmed in the making of this midnight movie. In fact, there was sight of neither man nor beast – save our faithful hound, who by now put all thoughts of wicked cats out of his dizzy head and proceeded to sniff the freshly fallen branches like it was the most interesting thing on earth. Dogs have that knack of behaving as if whatever they are doing at the time is the most important thing in the universe.
To cut a long story short, I and my companion of twelve spring-times and summers tugged and heaved – and between us both we managed to extricate the deadwood from the grip of metal, our sleepy furniture’s cumbersome grasp, before we returned to the welcome embrace of Hypnos. But in all the time that it took us to cut and chop and chuck bits and pieces of fallen tree over our balcony into the outer darkness next door, not a soul ventured out of their warm dry beds to check out the ruckus or clarify why the knell of doom had sounded so alarmingly in our neighbourhood.
O tempora, O mores
We live in an age where personal safety and self-preservation are key. In the good old days, everyone knew everyone else down the street where you lived. (Today, we know the Kardashians better than we know the Karunaratnes, Kamalasabeysons, or Kamaldeens.) We practically lived in our neighbouring friends’ homes most of the day and a good part of the evening, too, and would depart towards our own domiciles rather reluctantly only when someone’s grandparents got grumpy at all the noisy goings-on and insisted that we retire for the night in the common interest. But apart from that, we skinned our knees and skinned our hearts together as a community, climbing trees to pluck the fruit of brotherly love. Not any more.
We live in a largely selfish and self-centred age, thank you kindly Richard Dawkins and his ilk (his “selfish gene” has been more influential than you think). People stay indoors after dark these days, pursuing their own private pleasures while the rest of the world anonymously pursues their own independently of their fellows. Anyone who knocks on our doors these days is bound to be a stranger, a tradesperson, or a travelling salesperson. And they are not always welcome with open hearts and hands and voices, either. Even the friendly neighbourhood postman is greeted with suspicion, because he may be after your money, your mangoes, or your maidservant; or maybe all three.
In the meantime, many trees are falling in our forest. It has been raining heavily all through the night for weeks and months and years and decades, and almost all the branches are weighed down with anxiety, burdensome livelihoods, crime and the callousness of authorities, debt, energy and education crises, etc., ad infinitum ad nauseam. It is a downpour unlikely to cease or desist anytime soon, for we live under righteous rulers who command the weather gods and appear to be in for the long run (in which, as Keynes suggested, we are all dead).
So we had better do something about the state of the nation ourselves. At least open the door, step out, look around, and see if some poor soul is struggling to pick itself up from where he or she lies half-dead, like a tree that falls in the forest with no sound in an uncaring cosmic environment. At least look out. It is the least you can do during the inclement weather which has become so much part of our lives that no one notices it has become the climate.
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