A stream flows gently by, and the clouds cannot quite decide how much leave they should give the Sun today. The wind is making ripples in the water below – gently, from the falling of leaves that are too tired to hold on any longer, in the receding twilight of their lives.

I watch, mesmerised by the scene, quite content with my life. It is one of those moments when all of life seems to be rhythmically, harmoniously at peace. Bulbuls, mynas and parakeets abound, and the occasional kingfisher streaks through the air, its bright blue plumage stark against the green of the foliage. I spy a shy waterhen at the edge of the stream, hiding behind tall reeds. I think back to the day I saw a pair of pond terrapins here, lounging on a log, picturesque over the tranquil stream.

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I am shaken from my reverie by the arrival of very purposeful-looking people. In a flash, they come and take over the scene. Today is a day of tree-planting, and the people are here this cloudy morning to take hundreds of saplings from where they were born to where they were always meant to be. They are here now because the monsoon is coming, bringing with it the torrential rains these parts receive for months on end.

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