In the shade of the Siyambala trees

Standing separately, yet out of one’s view , coupled at the top. Like secret lovers holding hands away from prying eyes. There were two Siyambala trees in our school backyard.

The more mature branches holding each other with a devoted grip while the newer sprouts can only manage a gentle feel. Like the lovers’ finger tips touching each other tenderly.

Apologies , I am digressing.

At a time when Chaminda was still a fashionable name.( And there were couple them in any given class) , we played in the shade, climbed the trees and hid in leafy branches. Threw branches, bricks , pieces of broken furniture at the Siyambala fruit. (If you can call it a fruit.). Siva picked up the fallen from my throw and I have runaway with drop from his throw.

We shared our lives & dreams, listened to some one’s hypothesis about women, collectively counseled another on what should be his next stride towards approaching the girl that he fancy, scrutinized yesterday’s match (be it with the willow bat or the oval ball), shared one lunch packet and filled our bellies from the tap. All in the shade of the Siyambala duo. These memories run through my fibers like the roots.

What is it that makes us bound to these time lines . What makes these experiences leave that distinct aftertaste in our minds ?

I beg to differ from the clichéd notion of good times and good memories.

I wonder , whether it is because life seemed like a one big exploit at that time. Or is it that we remember how off beam we were on many things. Or is it like somebody just avowed , there is actually a time warp amid those trees and once you get caught , you travel back and forth through the line (or waves or whatever it is as per your belief) of time , yet you can never come free.

Reading this , if you know them trees , if you have sung " we would learn of books and men and learn to play the games", before me or after. Would love to hear of your Siyambala tree memories too.