Dancing around trees

Last week, the newspapers were full of green fonts and headlines. My mother insists the ‘Environment Day’ is an Indian festival, ‘Van Mahotsav’, which must be celebrated by planting trees. She wanted me to step outside, choose a spot to dig, and pack the mud around a bougainvillea sapling. Easy enough, right?

But I scowled, and then confessed: I didn’t want to do it. I’m lazy. Also, I don’t want responsibility. If you plant a tree, you feel responsible for it. You feel guiltily implicated in its battle to survive. (Yes, yes, I know. We get the cities we deserve, etc. Mom’s already given me that lecture).

The same day, I discovered that Mumbai University now offers tree appreciation courses. And later that evening, a friend mentioned that she loves living in Thane because her colony ‘feels like a resort, since it has many trees’.

I was a bit saddened — to think that being around trees is such a luxury, the sort of experience for which we must take weekends off and pay hefty sums of money! And to properly appreciate this luxury, we must sign up for courses. The average Mumbaikar’s disconnect from trees, I thought, will soon be complete.

Then I wondered why I hadn’t realised this sooner. Hindi films, for over a decade now, have been reflecting this fact: trees are no longer a significant part of the urban consciousness. Think about it. When was the last time you saw a romantic song where a couple dance — or even just circumambulate in a skippy, dreamy sort of way — around a tree?

I’m not joking. I’m serious. Look up old romantic songs on Youtube. Many outdoorsy songs (up until the 1990s) included trees. Picnics were always happening. Romance was always brewing. People went cycling, just for fun. Grassy hillsides were meant to roll about in. Trees were meant to lean against, and sigh, or hug, or hide behind as you tried to surprise a lover. Leaves could be torn off when lovers didn’t know what to do with their hands. Flowers were pure metaphor.

Even urban love stories got a fair shot at cosying up to trees. Watch Dev Anand in ‘Abhi na jaao chhod kar’. Watch Sharmila Tagore and Shammi Kapoor in ‘Isharon isharon mein’ as they arch backwards, swaying, holding a fir branch. Or watch Amitabh Bachchan in ‘Kabhi kabhi’, lying under a tree with Rakhee. That was romance personified.

Our heroes and heroines are still dancing. But not around trees. About a decade ago, the trend shifted towards non-green scapes — bare skeletons of trees; grand buildings; neat, charming European towns; beaches; deserts, discos.

I understand that some of it is just rustling up of visual novelty. Gardens got boring. But some of it must come from experience. The city always manages to permeate the souls of artists. If the link between greenery and love has been snapped in the city, how can it be otherwise in films?

Of the few parks we have, many are earmarked for kids or senior citizens. It has become inconceivable that we should lean against trees, run around them or seek privacy amongst midst. And if romance cannot be conducted amidst trees, why are we surprised at endless, exhausting visuals of lovers writhing on the sand, or dancing through bazaars?

If we cannot love each other around trees, is it possible that we will learn to love them for their own sake? If a new generation of filmmakers has not soaked in the love of trees, how can we hope that they will capture and transmit this passion to the rest of us?  

Annie Zaidi writes poetry, stories, essays,
scripts (and in a dark, distant past, recipes she
never actually tried)