Rewilding, Unwinding

I stopped walking when my eyes sensed a change in colour. Heavy backpack, hot uniform, small black shoes; my eyes observing them and the ground they walk on, as always. I looked at my feet to find an inch of skin peeking from underneath dark black shoes, adorned with little marks of time. Perfectly blending with the worn black shoes was the newly laid tar road, the glossy black stones reflecting too much light for my liking. Tightly held together under my feet, the stones gradually fell apart to completely disappear. The brown soil followed, merging with the air somehow to the pleasant petrichor. I took a step ahead, burying my old black shoes half an inch into the dark and wet soil. The frustration of incomplete satisfaction ran through my body; I hated tar roads for their imperviousness. Soil was different – wet soil, especially – in which my feet buried themselves a little with every step. I would be thrilled by the sight of the brown-black soil peeking through my toes. On soil, I become the Earth, I would always think.

My left leg ached to meet this welcoming soil, but in my childish ways of amusement I waited for the frustration to overwhelm me. Within seconds, my eyebrows arched subconsciously, and with a sharp breath my foot left the dazzling road to meet good old soil. I’m a little shorter now, I thought, a little closer to the earth. I smiled unknowingly as I walked ahead, hands resting on the lower straps of my backpack. In front of me, I could see a fifty metres long pathway, surrounded by untouched wilderness that hid creatures unknown to me. Just two steps behind me around the tar roads were colourful cars and the familiar cacophony of schoolchildren. Now, here, two inches deep into the soil, I could only see the wonderful marriage of brown, green, and yellow, all fused into one chaotic blend. I could only hear the sounds of other beings (How is it that two-inched crickets manage to stifle the chorus of the mighty human?) – of beings, rather, and not of the other being.

My breath slowed its pace, my limbs freed themselves from muscular locks, my face relaxed and now sported a wider smile, and with each step, I went deeper into the soil. Unaware of this, I followed with my eyes a little bird of blue and white, with a brush of orange down its rotund neck. Four years later, I would know this little bird as the Tickell’s Blue Flycatcher; I would identify it instantly from its metallic call piercing through the drizzle. But for now, this strange, pretty bird was my new friend, a new discovery adding to a small list of colourful friends.

Just as my new friend disappeared into the dark shadows to the West, a sharp and excited sound startled me from the East. Just two metres away from me, perched on an idle rock, was another creature – this one much more familiar – known to me as the Magpie Robin. Maggie, I thought as my teeth peeked through my lips, hello friend! The bird, black and white in the perfect places, bobbed its stiff tail in reply. It was halfway through its next brief song when a mechanical horn called from somewhere behind me, and my little friend flew away further East into the sky. The guilt of my betrayal only bothered me until it turned into thrill – at the sight of a commonly feared creature crossing the pathway a few metres ahead of me. The creature was long and dark, and its movement was slow, as if it was enjoying my rising fear. Not knowing what to do, I took a step back and froze.

The Earth, however, had different ideas. Something in the soil seemed to push my feet ahead; that creature is a part of the earth, it seemed to say, and so are you. Propelled by this wisdom, I took a few steps ahead, still shuddering with fear. The body of the feared creature narrowed down into a long tail, and it disappeared into the tall grass of the wilderness to the East. I walked past the point of its crossing, my eyes never leaving the last spot I saw the creature. Snake…., I thought, snake snake snake! My heart threatened to fall out of my chest. My mind foolishly delved into creative imaginations of the worst possible situations. Four years later, I would know this creature as the rat snake. I would laugh at its innocence. I would marvel at its “territorial dances” with intertwined bodies. I would realise that its slow movement was not to inflict fear, but due to fear of the mighty human that stood a few metres away from it. But for now, it was only a terrifying creature that I was sure was out to get me.

When my mind’s creative imagination exhausted itself, I felt more at ease, the trepidation now turning into excitement. Just about where the snake had disappeared, an aroused frog began to call out to nearby females. Good luck, friend, I thought as I walked ahead.

Above me, I could see spots of blue peeking through the beautiful branches of the trees around me. I felt drawn to the patterns that these branches made, looking like something out of a mehendi pattern. Just where one ended, the other began. How do they never meet each other, I thought in awe, surely this is the work of a genius designer. Four years later (or more), I would know this mysterious phenomenon as a form of crown shyness, a wonderful mechanism through which trees promoted their own and each other’s growth. I would discover that these intricate superpowers were a result of their own evolution through the years. I would realise that the wonders of nature never needed a genius designer with human-like characteristics to be understood. But for now, the trees and all things around me were a part of nature’s marvellous design.

As I walked on, I saw climbers engulf an abandoned scooter, the choreographed movement of ants around the glossy corpse of a beetle; I heard the shrill call of the kingfisher as it flew, its splendid blue wings painting over the green background; I smelled the distinctive scent of petrichor, flowers, water, and rot, all mixed together; I felt the heavy water droplets falling on my shoulders as if to deliver a message from the leaves above. The wilderness around me entered my body from all directions, and soon enough, I felt myself melting into what lay beyond me. The boundaries of my being released themselves into the wild, and I began to feel invisible, camouflaged into everything that wasn’t me.

But just as I was beginning to transform into thin air and fragrance, my left foot hit something that sucked me into myself. Suddenly, I felt taller, higher than what surrounds me. I looked at my foot; again, collecting themselves through the brown soil, right under my foot lay closely packed black and glossy stones of tar. I looked up to see bright colours – cars, buildings, and clothes that cover human beings. Sigh. Slowly, I raised my right foot, happily buried an inch deep into the permeable soil, and kept it on the surface that my fellow creatures made. Taller. Higher. Again.

I looked back at the world I had walked through; a single pathway wide enough to fit three humans, passing crookedly through the understory of vegetation much older than me. Thank goodness this path exists, I thought. How else would I experience what I do when I walk through?

I turned and continued walking back home, the wilderness in my mind and bits of the brown soil under my shoes. My muddy, earthy footprints faded a little more into the black tar road with every step I took, and then disappeared entirely.

I could see spots of blue peeking through the beautiful branches of the trees around me.

A little more than four years later, I sit in front of my window and bang my fist on the wall in frustration. How could they do this? I look at the patch of wilderness that lies East of my house. Where a huge, old tree once stood, I can now only see the sky that always hid behind it. This was home to an entire family of green bee-eaters, I think, not to mention all the more familiar birds and animals that also called the place home, and the insects that even I was blind to. Why would they do this? What was the point? Why do humans destroy nature just for them to “enjoy” it? It makes no sense to me. For days, I rage at their doing. One day, filled with indignation, I decide to visit my old favourite lane.

I walk through the earthy passage, expecting to experience what I always do. But today, I notice things. I notice that the path looks wider; four people could easily walk together. I notice that the edges of the path are not ragged – they are straight, as if that was meant for them. Right next to the path, I see a tree stump, extending slightly into the pathway. And suddenly, I see another one a few metres ahead. And another.

And then it hits me.

 

Four more years later, a little boy looks back at the path he just walked through, the one to the East of a small house. Just getting out of his daze, he sighs and smiles. Thank goodness this path exists, he thinks. How else could he experience what he does when he walks through? He walks away, leaving the wilderness behind. His muddy footprints fade a little more into the black tar road with every step he takes. And then they disappear.