Eventually Everything Connects- Seed

Written by Saloni Verma

Akin to the beginning of all life forms, I began my life as an embodiment of mélange of hopes, yet a humble owner of miniscule physical dimensions. I was born in the pampered laps of fragrant petals where my existence was assiduously protected until inevitable gusts of wind blew me apart to a distant land and buried me inside an alien soil. Remaining firm through springs and storms, I never realized when I grew up into a proud and mighty tree with sprawling roots and spread out branches, sheltering hundreds of chirping families. I led a perfectly contented life in a band of similar trees, sharing warmth and solidarity through transcending canopies above me.

 However, soon the realization came that life is composed of a multitude of colors and mine was no green exception. One overcast morning, there was an aroma of immense chaos, floating in the thick air. Men had arrived with shining implements and had already started the work of uprooting our little village. My fall completed the process of demise of my family. I heard my assassins mocking at some puny laws related to forest protection and celebrating their easy victory in overcoming them. But what I was considering to be the end of my existence, turned out to be the beginning of a new enriching life.

 From the site of carnage, I remember being transported to a mucky lake. That stagnant lake was my new home for a number of wet weeks that followed. Gradually, my mighty trunk turned into a gloated mass of soggy sponge. It was then that I was pulled out of the lake, only to be rolled and ground under machines, where I felt like being masticated inside a cows salivating mouth. But all the pain was worthwhile, for soon I realized that I was being turned into paper that was used to enlighten countless lives.

 Soon I was a thick book consisting over six hundred pages. I embodied a great literary novel- often being called a modern classic- which narrated a heart rending tale of impoverished squatters. The author of my tale was the owner of an impressive resume that announced the names of the top most elite institutions of the world. The humble man of brilliant sagacity had chosen to write on poverty- a phenomenon to which he was a complete stranger himself- for an elite audience who were as intellectual as him unlike the real squatters with superficial intellect and base reasoning skills. In those proud days on the shelves of library, I got the chance to come across the nimble fingers and deep scrutiny of a plethora of intellectual scholars. However, over the years, my state got dilapidated as my edges got worn out and then I was sent to get recycled.

 After undergoing various phases of mastication like the previous one, I rolled out of the press in huge sheets containing uncountable tiny alphabets under flashy headlines and catchy pictures. Yes, I was a newspaper now and could be accessed by any passing commoner, provided he was literate. It was in this phase that I realized the importance of homogeneity within a community. My front page carried news about a reckless couple who were rightfully killed to maintain the honor of the family members for the man and wife had shown the shameless audacity to break the rigid and sacred caste norm that forbids intermarriage. They had shown the audacity to overlook inequalities between castes, they had shown the audacity to overlook stringent social hierarchies, they had shown the audacity to love unconditionally and hence, they had been punished appropriately.

 A couple of weeks later, I was piled up in a huge stack and dumped inside a large cellar. Subsequently, I was folded in awkward forms to become a handy envelope. After being used for intellectual purposes over decades, this made me feel rather hollow. However, I continued with my journey of enrichment and enlightenment. Soon I was transported to a retail shop. There, I lay in a large chest, next to our neighbors- the skimpy polythene bags. The shopkeeper preferred using those bags over us while packing the articles, thus making our wait monotonous. One fine day, I was chosen over those transparent bags to wrap a slouchy packet of sanitary pads, being further wrapped inside an opaque and sturdy black poly bag. This made me realize my importance. Those polluting, skimpy bags might have been in vogue while packing usual articles- for they were comparatively cheaper- but I had a unique importance because of my unmatched sanctity. I could be used to veil the modesty of an ideal woman. While those skimpy polythene bags blatantly revealed those shameful symbols of womanhood, I was used to uphold the sacred patriarchal pride.

Finally, I was dumped into a green garbage bin, and from there, I was taken to be treated with other degradable wastes to form manure for tree plantation. While waiting inside the compost pit, I often heard men complaining about the phenomena of deforestation and rising sea levels. To my surprise, I was transported- as manure- to the site that once supported our band of trees. The land stood barren now and was being replanted with commercially important trees. As I was smoothened over a miniscule seed, I blessed it with wishes for a life full of ventures similar to mine. As the residual life inside me was being transferred to a new sees, I thanked holy humans for my eternal enlightenment.


About the author

Saloni Verma

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