In The Memory of Night-Blooming Jasmines

The last few days, Delhi has been flooded with rainfall. This aggressive yet relieving weather is pushing me towards nostalgia, which makes me write this. Today, I stepped out into my garden, trying to get a look at the weather, the plants and the waterlogging. Something, however, felt amiss. It took me 5 seconds before it hit me. My view of my society was no longer being blocked by the huge night-blooming jasmine tree, carrying the household name of Raat ki Rani.

This tree, which is no longer there, was planted in 2004. It was my Nana's favorite plant in the whole garden. Many of my memories of Nana and Nani have been captured in front of that tree. If you're familiar with the tree, you know why it's famous. Night-blooming jasmine, as the name suggests, blooms at night, leaving a fresh and strong scent that you will never forget. By sunrise, however, the tree drops all the flowers. In the morning, under the tree, there are thousands of small flowers, rejected by the tree, yet having served their purpose.

Over the next two days, new buds will grow and on the third night, the flowers will bloom again. I have been under that tree on many days, spread over years. Every morning, I used to pick up the rejected flowers (a couple hundred of them) and throw them in the air. Watching so many flowers in the air, as if it was raining flowers, gave me an indescribable pleasure. 

The tree was not low maintenance. The scent and the flowers bloomed through August, after monsoon, till New year's. Once January started, the blooming flowers would decrease drastically, and by February you'd barely find any. You'd have to take care of pests, wasps and parasites. The scent attracted many bees, so you'd have to keep your doors closed during the afternoon. 

But the first night the flowers bloom, you enter a different world. We would celebrate the blooming of the Jasmines very passionately. The tree was my Nana's proudest and prized possession. Last year around March we decided to take the tree down. In the absence of the flowers, the tree seemed barren. Perhaps this encouraged my father to remove it. It made sense, the tree's greatest lover was no longer there to admire it, and so, it didn't bloom at all. 

I miss Raat ki Rani, and I miss the small moments under the tree. I miss how it does not block my view anymore. 

(Photo: Pinterest)