Gulmohur

There is nothing good about summer in Nagpur. The temperature soars to 48/49 degree Celsius and the killer heat waves continue claiming lives. To add to the torture, there are regular power-cuts which mean you are deprived of the comfort of air conditioners or coolers. However, I love one thing about this season: trees of Gulmohur (Delonix regia)  heavily laden with flowers. The beauty of an avenue with Gulmohur trees lining up on both sides of the road is very refreshing. Not only they look lovely to the eye, they provide much needed shadow too. I was discussing this with a friend when she said something that made me wonder how different people’s memories associated with the same thing could be.

For my friend, Gulmohur in full bloom brings back tense memories because “they mean it is exam time”. How true! Though now she is far away from exams and is well settled in life, Gulmohurs bring back scary memories of exam time.

This is the wonder of mnemonics: theory of association.  Or may be it is just example how veritable human perception can be.

Another friend associated Gulmohur with some nice memories too. He said, “They remind me of happy times… there’s a picture in my head where there is a small group of expecting mothers walking the road between rows of Gulmohur trees.” The picture dates back when he was young and lived in a colony of mostly young couples. Many of the ladies were on family way around the same time. Forced to stay indoor in the afternoons of his summer holiday, he spent time looking out the window recording sun’s progress towards the west. He saw the bevy of would-be-moms returning home from work every day; and that’s what left a lasting impression in his mind.

For me, Gulmohurs translate into approach of holidays. Back in Andaman, as the blooms started covering u

p branches of the Gulmohur tree, we’d know the summer vacations have arrived. I remember returning from school with friends through the road covered with gulmohur blossoms and discussing nothing but the progress of packing suitcases for the holidays or who is leaving for mainland by which sailing. (The Andaman administration arranged for special “teachers’ sailings” for all teachers whose hometown was in mainland India.) There would be boasting from whose who were flying to Kolkata or Chennai and pity for those who were not visiting homeland for some reason. (Though their number was pitifully less!)

There is another memory associated with these flowers. That of my father’s. 

Once happily reached in our hometown Burdwan, Baba and I would go for morning walks to his alma mater, the Burdwan University. The campus is huge and beautiful with a green canopy provided by trees. We’d walk through the roads strewn with various shades of red; courtesy red 

earth and flowers of Palash (flame of forest) and Gulmohur. The morning walk was not for health, it was for heart— it strengthened my bonding with Baba. He would narrate anecdotes from his college and university days, lines from Tagore or sometimes we’d sing Tagore’s or Kazi Nazrul Islam’s songs… his deep baritone combining with my immature, soft voice.

The Gulmohur flowers may not be fit for gifting; they may not be made into garlands, but the memories they evoke are fragrant enough to leave a lingering smile on my face.

The photo on right: Burdwan University Campus