In a patch of Deccan wetlands, I see the cattails of my Hoosier youth. Half a world away, and nature grants me continuity that culture can't provide. I am transported to my youth by a common landscape. Indiana -- India, names almost the same, but ever so different... except the cattails.
It's called Hatiyan-ka-Jhad because it looks like a huddled herd of elephants -- not only in its corpulence but also with its rough, gray skin. So rotund at its base that it's hard to figure how its slowly slimming upward taper can come to twiggy ends, and not be a mile tall. The branches are overly muscular, like a bodybuilder who got carried away, moving from strong and vigorous into the domain of science fiction mishap. It has its own mythology -- multiple creation tales about how its seed got from Madagascar to the middle of India half a millennium ago: tales of fakirs and royal envoys. It's even been said that the Forty Thieves, the ones who tormented Ali Baba, used its hollow as their cache cave. But it refuses to respond to "Open Sesame" -- so I guess we'll never know.
the knotty tree stretches wide to reach light -- strength from warped fibers
There was a man who lived in the jungle -oh! A fig took root in the roof of his bungalow. 'Twas a spotless hut, 'til the door grew shut, and the place was overcome by a fungal growth.
in the night forest, light catches two flowers: Fuchsia in fuchsia
an old fig tree,
gnarled and knotty,
grotesque but strong
cockscomb flowers stand like brains on a stick; nature echoes strangely
firecracker flowers pop amid a twiggy scene with explosive shapes
a web of fig roots drapes in wild tangles, & a sapling - straight & green
a prickly pear patch stands free of bird and beast; i wonder why?
Tiger Riding for Beginners 