Chapter 2: Plant response to elevated CO2 - DRUM - University of ...

We sat under the sun, looking at a long line of ants going from one end of
the lower step to another. It was always like this in Agaas – the insect factory. Big
black ants and small red ants. Dragonflies and grasshoppers. Bees and wasps.
Mom said it was the farm soil. We watched the squirrels go up and down the
tree trunks, and the dogs rolling on the cool mound of black soil. “Lekar Prabhu
ka naam…” we played Antakshari with our outstretched palms on our knees,
facing the sun. By the time we reached songs beginning with Pa, it was getting
difficult to sit still without moving our hands. We shifted our bodies a little while
trying to keep our hands still. The henna had almost dried and I couldn’t resist
checking. It was turning dry and flaky when we saw Megha coming in our
direction. “Mehendi, mehendi!” I yelled out, but she wasn’t impressed. She
brought my hands closer to her nose and sniffed.
“It’s not Mehendi!”
“Of course it is!” Pia and I exclaimed.
“There is no fragrance!” Megha said resolutely.
Eager to prove her wrong, I scratched off a tiny portion at the base of my palm.
There was no orange undertone. Impatiently I scratched off more, it was just a
dull green of the leaves. I glanced over at Pia’s hands. They bore no color either.
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