Nature's own museums

Cities and Canopies is a fun, simple read because it conjures up a wistful nostalgia for a simpler time when people and trees coexisted in harmony

One theme common to almost all of the world’s mythologies is that of the Tree of Life, a sacred tree that holds within its boughs the essence of human existence. Across India, too, trees have traditionally symbolised life, creation and immortality and treasured for their life-giving and life-affirming qualities. Today, however, despite the growing sense that urban greenery is critical to the quality of the lived experience in the city, trees are giving way to roads, housing developments and malls. This ever-expanding urban sprawl has sharply eroded not just the tree cover in Indian cities, but also the deep-rooted connection that we once had with trees. This is what makes Harini Nagendra and Seema Mundoli’s love letter to trees, Cities and Canopies, timely and important. With a mix of anecdotes, botany, recipes and history, the book has the air of a rambling nature walk with many pleasurable detours and not much of an agenda.

 
Native and exotic, floral and evergreen, sacred and haunted — trees are the most visible signs of nature in cities, as well as repositories of our collective memories and shared histories. Imagine, for instance, what the roughly 600-year-old banyan tree, Thimmamma Marimmanu, in Andhra Pradesh would have witnessed in its lifetime… As Mss Nagendra and Mundoli write: “They are our roots: their trunks our pillars, their bark our texture, and their branches our shade. Trees are nature’s own museums.” Unlike good museums, however, Cities and Canopies, in which chapters on common urban trees such as the banyan and neem alternate with short essays on all things arboreal, seems somewhat disjointed and lacking a tight narrative flow. The reader ends up flitting like a bird going branch to branch and tree to tree, finding tasty nibbles but no dinner. By themselves, however, the nibbles are tasty indeed. The book, peppered with gorgeous monochromatic illustrations by Alisha Dutt Islam and all manner of botanical, cultural and historical factoids, is an enjoyable romp for tree lovers.

 
One of the most interesting chapters in the book, Talking to Trees, offers insights into the secret ways in which trees talk to one another. It describes an early study of the Sitka Willow by David Rhoades and Gordon Orians in 1983. They discovered that when the leaves of this willow were attacked by caterpillars, the tree made its leaves more unpalatable by filling them with poisonous chemicals. The scientists were surprised to find that neighbouring trees more than three meters away, which had not even been attacked, also reacted in the same way at the same time. This suggested that they had received some sort of warning signal from the tree under attack. At first, other botanists accused Rhoades and Orians of anthropomorphising their findings, but subsequent studies have shown that trees, not just of the same species, but even different ones, are capable of communicating and cooperating with one another in myriad ways. Such research has immense implications for urban planning in India. Can trees planted in a row along a city avenue communicate with each other? Could hoary old trees act as central communication nodes of an invisible network that operates through their root systems and underground fungi? These questions raise significant concerns for the urban predilection of replacing “over-mature” trees with young saplings. In doing so, urban planners could unwittingly destroy intricate tree communication networks that have developed over the years.

 

However, the exigencies of modern existence often result in pitting tree protection against urban development. To argue in favour of more sustainable city planning that includes space for people as well as trees, the authors go back to history. Whether it was in the era of the British, the Mughals or even Emperor Ashoka, trees used to be treasured for the shade and coolness they provided. Today, they offer the best antidote not only to air pollution but also to the urban heat islands that have been created because of excessive traffic and human activity. As one turns the final page of Cities and Canopies, one is left with the sense that even though trees often outlive men, they are fragile and impermanent. Yet their well-being and ours is inextricably linked.

 
Quite expectedly, Cities and Canopies faces the real danger of ending up preaching to the converted. Its luscious cover and meandering contents will instantly warm the hearts of tree and nature lovers. Only someone who has spent childhood climbing trees would truly appreciate some of the references made in it. Would it also appeal as much to younger readers at whom it is seemingly directed, who have been brought up on a diet of online games and instant gratification? Would they find suggestions on how to devise games with gulmohar sepals or tamarind seeds useful, interesting even? Perhaps not as much. That said, Cities and Canopies is a fun, simple read, not just because it examines how trees have formed an inalienable part of our collective sub-conscious — but because it also conjures up a wistful nostalgia for a simpler time when people and trees coexisted in harmony.

  Cities and Canopies: Trees in Indian Cities
Harini Nagendra and Seema Mundoli
Penguin 256 pages; Rs 499