6th May

Years ago, on this day, I lost a watch my parents had gifted me for my birthday. I was newly married and had stepped out alone to run a quick errand just a few streets away from our home.

When I returned, the watch was no longer on my wrist. I retraced my steps, asking shopkeepers and passersby if they’d seen it. No one had. I came back home in tears—it was a watch I truly cherished.

Later that evening, the husband came home from work, and I told him what had happened. He said gently, “It’s okay, let it go. That was all the runa you had with it.”

I was furious. How could he be so calm, so dismissive? He replied, “We can always buy another watch. Maybe the person who found it will cherish it. An unexpected find might have made their day better. But you know—I lost my father on this day. And I cannot buy another father.”

And every year since, I remember those words—a quiet, sobering reminder of how fragile life is, and how grief teaches us what truly stays.

The language of light- part 1

There’s no way you can walk past the Red Vein Mallow, Abutilon pictum, without stopping to admire it. Those red veins are rich in anthocyanin pigments — not just pretty decoration, but visual cues for pollinators. Red flowers attract nectar-feeding birds like our sunbirds, and butterflies too, who see red vividly and glide in for their feast.

You’ve probably noticed hibiscus flowers also have a bright red centre with radiating stripes.

And you must have noticed the Gulmohar, Delonix regia, with its single petal that is speckled red — this is called the banner petal, a speckled landing pad to guide sunbirds and bees alike.

Another flower is the golden Canna lily, which also lays down its speckled dots like a trail of breadcrumbs, leading butterflies, bees, and birds deep into its throat.

But here’s the twist. Honey bees are blind to red. They see ultraviolet, blue, and green. Red appears to them as a dull, dark grey. How do they navigate?

Curious, I shone a UV torch on the flower and the hidden map revealed itself. Of course the bees have compound eyes and they still see a polished version, But this gives us an idea of how different the world looks for them.

The red veins turned into dark landing strips, and the muted yellow petals brightened just enough. This is what guides the bee straight to the nectar.

That yellow comes from carotenoid pigments, which not only attract pollinators but also reflect ultraviolet light, lighting up the petals like beacons in the bee’s world. Bees also follow scent trails and textures, reading the flower like a multi-sensory map.

It’s the same with the radiating stripes of hibiscus flowers — what’s invisible in red to us becomes a vivid path under UV for the bee.

So why be red, when it could be any other colour? Because the flower speaks many languages and caters to everyone’s needs.

It calls to us humans, who find red powerful and attractive — and so, we care for the plant.

It lures birds and butterflies for nectar and pollen. And for the bees, it lays down a secret trail of light and shadow — a map written in ultraviolet ink.

The Earth Remembers

Basale Soppu- Malabar spinach

There was a Malabar spinach and a guava growing next to the coconut tree. When we brought down the coconut tree in November, these two seemed to disappear too. Or so we thought. The roots of the guava were still intact; they sprang up again about a month ago. If that was a surprise, the spinach followed soon after, pushing through the soil. The seeds had lain safely buried in the earth, and the soil had remembered to send them back into the light, to see the sky once more.