My Love Letter to a Tree

I spend a lot of time in forests admiring, praising and looking at trees, but I have never said a simple "thank you" to them.

Recently in Melbourne, the city council numbered and named all the trees in the city for a database, hoping that citizens would write in and inform them if any tree was dead or dying. Instead, they got hundreds of love letters to trees from the people of the city. Right here is my love letter.

When I was about six years old and cranky after a long walk in the morning with my father and his best friend, they pointed out a beautiful old tree to me and said, "You know, if you press your ears up against that tree, it will tell you a story about its day. It will whisper secrets of the years gone by, and all the birds and animals that came to visit, and it will tell you a secret that will be between just you and the tree. It's magic," they told me. They had learnt their special secret from the tree and now it would be my turn. I hurried off and hugged the tree, pressing my whole body against it, so that my ear could be flush against the trunk.

"Take your time" they said, "it is a special ear that hears the tree speak". I was hugging the Adyar Banyan, in the Besant Theosophical Society in Chennai - not the main trunk, but one of its many legs. Believed to be over 400 years old, it is also one of the largest trees in the world. It measures 238 feet from North to South and 250 feet from East to West. Over the years this tree had walked - yes, walked - dropping legs and hair and roots covering over 50,000 sq ft of space. It was a mini-forest on its own. Squirrels rushed up and down its roots and trunks. A few parrots were calling loudly from the top and I strained to listen to the tree's secret.

A light drizzle was falling and I could hear it strike the leaves, but could not feel it with the heavy canopy of its foliage absorbing the water. It was a beautiful music, and I closed my eyes to enable just my ears to act. I don't know if it was about being six years old and being able to buy into magic, but I could hear a gentle murmur, a shushing and light creak. To my childhood ears, it was like a thousand voices had gathered and were all whispering and I was excited to hear what they had to say. I can't say for how long I stood there with my eyes closed but I did learn my secret. That whisper is just between the tree and me. That is the whole point. But I also learnt a universal secret that I can share with others.

When I was 15 and went to Rishi Valley School, the central tree there was a banyan too, over a hundred years old, and it comforted me many times when I hugged it.

And when I was 36 and just married and went to Ranthambhor, there too I spent time with the glorious banyan near Jogi Mahal, and pressed my cheek and ear to the trunk.

Over the decades, I have learnt secrets from banyans, neems, peepuls, tamarinds, teak, gulmohars, the Indian coral tree, the rain tree, ghost trees and dozens of others in India; in Africa, I have hugged the camel thorns, the kokkerboem and the magnificent baobab. Every time the secret is the same, and it is different. Every time, hugging the tree brought me peace and immense joy.

Who has not looked on the flowering laburnum and laughed in sheer joy? Who has not watched the red orange burst of the flame of the forest and been inspired? Who has not stolen mangoes, climbed banyans and tamarind trees and then taken respite in the shade? Can you ever just look at a tree in its prime, with the wind in its leaves, or the light spilling through its branches, or the rain sweeping down its trunk and not be moved? How can one not feel protective of a young gentle sapling struggling in a storm, knowing it has a long way to go? But knowing that when the storms of life are done and one is ready to go, the tree will still stand there casting shade upon the people one leaves behind?

I can write reams about what trees do for us, the services they provide, from carbon sequestration, to the water cycle. I can go on about biodiversity, and how, because of them, we survive. I can point out all of the various reasons they need to be protected and not cut down for our own good - and I will over the next few days. For now it is just a love letter to a magnificent sentient being who just by the very essence of its being can fill me with calm and hope.

And the universal secret that the trees shared with me? How to ever feel lonely, if one has a tree to hug?

(Swati Thiyagarajan is an Environment Editor with NDTV)

Disclaimer: The opinions expressed within this article are the personal opinions of the author. The facts and opinions appearing in the article do not reflect the views of NDTV and NDTV does not assume any responsibility or liability for the same.