In the middle of a bustling suburb in Pune, tucked away within a broad, quiet street lined with flowers, lies a patch of wilderness.
It’s a glimpse of what used to be, before the buildings rose up; brightness and shadows kept contained by corrugated steel.
Four trees, twisted by fate, prowl around each other among the defiant green:
Bougainvillea tangles into furious knots, warning greedy humans away:
And a young tree, full of foolish hope, dances along to the beat of the flowing creepers:
You stand entranced. Compelled almost to tears by all this primordial intensity. Till the spell releases you, till your gaze shifts, to the road, to sweet green innocence: