I climbed up tamarind trees, too

In this opinion piece, the writer worries about tamarind trees being chopped down in order to construct buildings and roads:

men come with axes and saws for the slaughter of these trees. They bring heavy bulldozers and earth movers — construction equipment powered for destruction — to gouge the ancient roots out of the earth. Trees that stood for centuries are brusquely despatched in a matter of hours. 

How terrible!

Until I read that essay, I had no idea that the tamarind tree, like us humans, is also from Africa!

Its name, derived from the Arabic ‘tamar-ul-Hind' or the ‘the date of India', finds mention in written historical accounts of India going back centuries. There is irony in this, for the tamarind is native to Africa and not a species that grows naturally in India's forests. Despite being alien to India, the tamarind has not run wild and become an invasive pest, becoming instead what biologists call a naturalised species. Embraced by a deep tolerance and cultural acceptance into Indian cuisine and culture, the tamarind is today a familiar and inseparable part of Indian life and landscape. 

I now imagine that the humans wandering out of Africa brought along the tamarind seeds because they were so much in love with the tree and its fruits, and that love is what I experienced as a child.

All my years till I completed high school and went off to college were in the same house at Neyveli.  One of the many charming aspects to it was the number of trees in the compound.  I forget the precise count, but, as I recall now, there were six tamarind trees, eight mango trees, one cashewnut tree, and a couple of trees that did not yield any edible fruits.  It was a jungle out there, come to think of it.

By the gate was a giant tamarind tree.  It was huge.  As my sister recently recounted, kids were brought up with ghost stories in which tamarind trees were almost always the favorite "hang out" for the spirits.  Even in the best of the lighting, the compound was in semi-darkness at best, and some of the trees were in utter darkness.  Most of this old tamarind tree by the gate was in the dark.  It is, therefore, easy to imagine that some of the school friends coming over wanted to get past the tree as fast as they could.

But, we kids were never afraid of that tamarind tree.  After all, we did not know any better.  The tree was always there from the time we remembered the world.

That particular tamarind tree, more than the other ones in the compound, had blossoms and fruits that were phenomenally tasty.  Yes, the blossoms.  I drool now for that taste.  Oh the money I would pay now to grab a few and eat a mouthful of them!

And then came the fruits.  The tiny green ones were wonderfully tasty.  I would pay even more to climb up a branch right now and taste a few.

The tiny green ones mature and bulk up to become the tamarind fruit that is an important ingredient in every Tamil kitchen.  This tree's fruits were a tad sweet, in addition to the usual sourness that made one shut the eyes in response.  It was sheer ecstasy for the kid that I was to enjoy this naturally sweet and sour taste.

Had I known that I would live this far away from tamarind trees, I would have eaten a lot more blossoms, tiny young ones, and the big brown fruits.

A few years ago, when we visited the old home after more than twenty years, the jungle had become even more dense and green.  It looked fantastic.  The few photos that have survived the ten years since, well, there is nothing of that old friend by the front gate.  I do have one where I can spot the green of the Tamarind tree in the rear of the compound:

The man in the photo was the gardener taking care of the property.  It was a German consultant who lived in the house, and was away when we visited.  There is a good probability that the German had no idea about how to enjoy the tamarind trees.

I suppose this is what life is also about: we have no idea about the wonderful stuff we have.

Sometimes we are aware of them and we enjoy them.

Other times, perhaps all too often, we abuse what we have--like cutting down tamarind trees so that we can build roads :(