An ode to the Manjadikuru


       Taking the road that was once familiar and later forgotten, I re-discovered these red beautiful seeds - Manjadikuru, as we fondly call it. The moment I saw them lying on the ground, I squatted down and started picking them up one by one. They were scattered over and under the brown leaves along the dusty sidewalks of a long scary road.
Used only by footsloggers, this road offers a short cut to the busy major road ahead. Walking through the dark path bordered by rubber plantation on one side and a sprawling forest on the other, I lose count of number of times I have crossed this path as a young girl with my mom and sister. We had our favourite tailoring shop located right opposite the T point where this road crosses the main highway. This road looks every bit like a hazy locale sneering out of a nightmarish dream sequence.

Years ago, I wouldn't dare to imagine me or anyone else for that matter cross this path -alone and alive.  The shady stretch that extends half a kilometer hasn't changed at all after all these years.
 And the manjadi tree is still there in its full glory.

Admiring each seed, I greedily gathered my childhood treasures into a cotton handbag.
I have handpicked cartloads ( yes, literally!) of these as a child.
Each seed, dipped in the divine deep red varnish and carrying the fate of a million other manjadi trees, is a marvel in itself
You put them in water, press them into clay, stick them on paper, sew them on fabric- it lifts up any texture.

In this season of revival, I feel nothing fits the April Calendar better than the good old manjadikuru- 
the sunny drops from a forgotten dusty road.


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