My Very Own Peach Tree

Kung-Fu Panda leaves in the audience a renewed love for a certain black and white, bamboo loving endangered species, an increased fascination with a gravity defying, nerve paralysing, quick silver martial art, a craving for Chinese food and a desire to have your very own peach tree – at least figuratively (though a real one wouldbe just so much fun!).

But we do have that figurative tree to go to. I go there to be with the million and twenty five thoughts in my head. I go there to think; sometimes to stop thinking (it can be such a trial!), I go there to cry (a good bawl is just so helpful sometimes); to talk to myself (no one needs one more reason to call me cuckoo). I go there to breathe. I go there when I want to concentrate; when I need a break. I go there when I'm happy (to jump around in peace); when I'm restless. I go there when I just want to be!

My peach tree: one corner of my building terrace that looks onto empty grounds and lovely Gulmohar trees (yes I live in Bombay and trees do exist as do empty spaces); sometimes it is that tiny space between my bed and study table where I can scrunch up and sit. When I was in college, it used to be my window where I would sit with my feet resting on the box-grill for hours on end (or at least till my posterior got numb). Many times my tree is my shower. And I know that for a lot of people the peach tree is their porcelain throne. Well, each to his own I say.

So in a way, everyone has their own peach tree. It may not be as pretty looking as Oogway's tree, nor would it be laden with succulent fruit, or blooming with flowers that shed their petals at opportune moments. In fact, barring those who have access to lone trees in the middle of nowhere (like those in Forrest Gump ) none of us really even have trees. But we do have our windows, and showers and terraces that we can stake claim to as our very own......