This evening I scooted upstairs for a half-hour walk on the roof of my apartment building. It's only four storeys, but high enough to escape the worst of Bangalore rush-hour pollution, to enjoy the sunset, and to be eye-level with the treetops. Just inches away from the parapet, is a gulmohar tree (flame of the forest). It has beautifully exotic petals and bits and pieces that are probably called anthers and stamens (basically floral genitalia). It's flamboyantly vermilion, but short-lived. A brief flash of can-can dancing. Last evening, Navaz, in her sermon on haiku, referred to it frequently, and mentioned that it only blooms briefly during the summer. This evening, my father, walking me to my car, noticed that the wind had changed direction, and predicted that the monsoon was slowly blowing its way into India.
Gulmohar on fire.
You sing out - the rains approach! -
And die when they do.