What I owe
An Inquiry of our indebtedness towards the gardeners of Lalbagh.
As I continue to consume, discard, hoard, clutter and rush, I pause.
And look into my malnourished consciousness.
Every single day, as I walk or wait under a tree, I am aware of
undeservingly becoming the recipient of the blessing.
The blessing of a conserved space and it’s Spirit.
The unheralded guardians of this genius loci sow, toil and nurture, for the ones yet to inherit it.
With all humility and magnanimity.
They heal my acrid being.
With every column of mortar rising in my city, a tree dies,
but the dryad cannot afford to die, for she, has chosen something larger.
I dwell on and remind myself of the gratitude I owe them.
This series of images is in honor of every gardener of every space as Lalbagh.