The Prelude
Try to recall something that you know exists in the world around you and assume that it will last forever. A thing which doesn’t necessarily have a physical form; it can be as simple as a feeling and yet resplendent. This story is about such a “thing” in my life which has now become central to my happiness.
Years ago, my parents decided to retire from their busy lives in New Delhi, India and go back to a small little village called Edavilangu(10°14′30″N 76°10′0″E) in Kerala, India. It was where my mother was born. The decision was made by them years before I had left home to join my new husband in Surat, Gujarat. They acted upon the decision a few months after my brother decided to move countries for a “better life”. It was a decision they had waited to action until they were done performing their duties as parents. It was ty pical of any Indian middle-class family that moved thousands of kilometres to survive to move back to where they ‘belonged”. A usual myth of eventually living where they belonged.
By then they had of course moved on to become grandparents – a story for another time.
The House
In preparation for the move, they had built a house for them to live in post-retirement thus fulfilling a lifelong dream of a middle-class migrant family in India. They had plans- my father had his plans and my mother had her plans, and they had plans together. And then, they moved into their new house in the year 2009. But then they were quick to realise that it was just a house without the children who had been their focus for over 30 years.
And so it happened that they began to live alone, among their own, waiting and hoping for the happy times they had once planned. Mother Nature kept them company, with countless plants growing and ageing alongside my parents.
It was as if the plants were in cahoots with my parents, preparing each season with their displays of happiness and yearning for the return of the family—my brother and me. Each plant blossomed, bore fruit, and expressed its joy and anticipation in many forms.
And my father, with his great love for life despite all that he had seen, yearned for more and wished for greater happiness for those around him and for himself.
He had discovered an unwavering ally in his quest to reunite his children with the home to which they rightfully belonged. After all, even the most delicate plants require a companion as tenacious as a weed, one to stand steadfast by his side—and perhaps to persevere in his stead—to secure their eventual return.
And, so he chose the Jasmine Plant (Murraya paniculata) as his steadfast companion in the execution of his eternal plan.
The Jasmine Plant (Murraya paniculata)
The jasmine plant stands as a timeless testament to nature’s artistry, its flowers delicate yet commanding. In axillary or terminal panicles, they bloom—a dazzling white, fragrant and showy, perfuming the air with their grace in the seasons of March to May and August to September. The fruit follows- an ovoid berry ripening to a vivid red, guarding within it up to two densely pubescent seeds, a promise of the life that endures all year round.
Its bark, a smooth blend of brown and white, whispers of resilience, while its dark green leaves, dotted with minute oil glands, glisten like jewels in the sun. The leaves spiral alternately, each imparipinnate leaflet crafted with care—ovate to ovate-elliptic in shape, their apex acute to shortly acuminate, and their base elegantly oblique. The margins remain entire, unbroken as if drawn by the steady hand of nature itself.
A plant of beauty and persistence, the jasmine embodies both vitality and subtlety, a companion to the eternal rhythms of the earth.
And I wonder, why was the jasmine plant called a weed? Was it simply because it is invasive, depriving every other plant around it of the sunlight needed to survive? If so, should we humans call ourselves the weeds of this world? I concluded it to be the hasty whim of an overzealous plant taxonomist, yet the tale of tomatoes once being classified as a fruit lingers—a reminder of nature’s playful defiance against our urge to categorise.
The relationship between jasmine plants and snakes often comes up in folklore, myths, and traditional beliefs. Jasmine, with its sweet fragrance and delicate flowers, is often associated with purity and beauty. In contrast, snakes can symbolise danger or mystery. This juxtaposition may explain why stories connect them, highlighting contrasts in nature.
In the tapestry of Indian traditional rituals, jasmine flowers weave a story of elegance and reverence. These delicate, fragrant blooms hold profound symbolism, cherished as offerings and adornments in sacred practices. In the sanctity of weddings, jasmines grace the venue, their sweet aroma mingling with an air of purity and beauty. Symbols of love, sensuality, and fertility, they embody the essence of auspicious beginnings.
Beyond celebrations of union, jasmines find their place in religious ceremonies, their intoxicating fragrance believed to cleanse the air and summon positive energies. The pristine white petals whisper of purity and spiritual enlightenment, a reflection of the divine feminine energy revered in many traditions. In their simplicity lies their power—a timeless emblem of love, spirituality, and the transcendent connection between humanity and the divine.
My father, the ‘weed’, and me.
My father feared only the snake in his lifetime. Yet, he chose the jasmine plant as his ally in his eternal plan to reunite his children with the place they truly belonged, fully aware of his existential dread of the snake and its fabled alliance with the jasmine.
I suppose he willed it so deeply that he risked it all, though he was never one to gamble.
So he tended to the needs of the jasmine plant that lay rooted near the entrance to our home, ever extending beyond the gates to catch a glimpse of our arrival just moments before my father could, as if to tell him that his wait was finally over.
He tended to the needs of the jasmine plant so that, when it came time to bloom, he could show my brother and me how beautiful it looked, how wonderful it smelled, and how deeply he wished to share that moment with us. The days that felt most special were those when the flowers had fallen overnight, as if the plant had prepared itself in anticipation of our arrival, ensuring it would never miss us.
My father would wait each morning to call me, letting me know he was ready for my visit. Like an eager child, he would share his happiness each morning, always with a smile—one that grew wider as the time of my arrival drew nearer. He stood ready, accompanied by his faithful companion, the jasmine plant.
And then the phone calls stopped in the year 2021. A virus took him away.
I took him with me to my home and then back to his, in different forms. When I arrived at his home in May 2021, I saw the jasmine plant had stretched its reach, as if seeking him upon my arrival. The plant seemed to wonder where he was—her friend, her companion. His ashes lay far from the jasmine plant, leaving him unable to pick a flower or inhale its fragrance.
I walked up to the plant at night, and it was still in bloom—its blossoms lingering a little longer than usual, gesturing with its leaves and falling petals, carried by the wind as if urging me to show him once more. I felt a warm touch across my shoulder—it was just a cluster of soft flowers that had fallen onto me, surprising me, as the wind had ceased.
Then it happened again, and I realised it was no longer just a jasmine plant. It was him; he had chosen to remain in this new form, becoming one with his faithful friend—the jasmine plant—continuing his patient wait for us to return home.
I sat with my mother beside his empty chair, a silent sentinel that no longer bore his presence yet seemed to yearn for his return. With us waited the jasmine plant, its blossoms still and resolute, sharing in the quiet longing of the night.
About Prasanth:
Writer by Accident. He stumbled upon writing, which has let him express his thoughts and feelings in a way that makes sense.
About Prasmi:
A die-hard nature lover. A firm believer that nature is a refuge or asylum for us humans and it’s up to us to reach out and embrace it in all its totality.
