Tropical Island Green – A photo essay

There should be a colour called ‘Tropical Island Green’.

It is not the green of the palm tree fronds lining the fashionable walkways of a desert metropolis nor is it the colour of the monsoon washed leaves of the tree clumps leading a precarious existence on the borders of the pulsing thoroughfares in a growing city. It is definitely not the green of trees from higher latitudes. There, even in spring and summer, the tree imbues a tint of wintery cold from memory into its life sap, sombering the verdant tones of the leaves that dance oblivious in the wind. And although I’ve never been, I also don’t believe the green I’m referring to can be found int he deep jungles of the Amazonian forest. There the vegetal life force, despite encroachments, must still be heavy and portentous for the leaves to sparkle.

Coming to think of it, the green that I’m referring to is not just a colour but an experience. It is a playful vibrance that finds a resonance in our humanity. It reminds us and remonstrates gently with us that before we stood apart, biped, before our minds turned to craft with stone and metal, we were also once of the trees. That the hands that now grip cold objects that drain our lifeforce once touched the branches that thrummed with life. That once we looked to the green for succour and sustenance.

It is a glimmer of this tropical island green that I glanced at from the windows of our aircraft as it slowly descended over the primeval looking tree covered slopes of the Andaman islands. As we came closer to the city, the green was dotted more and more with the metallic blue rooftops that signified human habitation. And when we stepped out of the airport, we were immediately overwhelmed with this green, a hot and humid wave of verdure that seemed to emerge from everywhere at once. Even the open concrete spaces, freshly doused with rain reflected only shades of green.

We drove through the road that snakes through the forest. The trees seem to curiously contemplate the road, not yet regarding it as the existential threat it actually is. Here, the trees continue to grow because it is the only thing they have ever known to do. In this lush garden, the air is green and even the brown stain of pollution from cars and other human infringements seems to wash away easily.

A place such as this gives me hope. That the trees can take back what we have grabbed from them. That when the tide turns, the trees, endowed with a patience that can carry them through millenia, will once again claim this earth that is rightfully theirs.

I wrote this essay soon after my visit to Andaman and Nicobar islands. Something about how green everything was, inspired me to put down my thoughts on paper.