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

– cry. I stared and stared at the older people till Mom tapped me lightly on my
head and told me to help Pia’s Mom. I was proud of being told to serve water,
replenish napkins, light incense sticks and check on the oil in diyas. But by the
time the prayer meeting was over, Pia and I were quite forgotten, so we played
Saapsidi till someone spotted us and scolded us. Outside we could hear the men
preparing to carry off Pia’s Dadi, balancing her on their shoulders, and so we ran
out and watched them from the verandah. The men marched off to the
crematorium in a white line, moving slowly, chanting along the way. “Mom, can
I go watch?” I asked eagerly. She closed her grasp tightly around my wrist.
When she was comforting Pia’s Mom her grasp loosened and I motioned to Pia;
we slipped out. We knew where we wanted to go and made off at once to the old
mango tree at the end of the compound wall.
On its branches hung low dried fruit that no one had picked. We kicked
off our chappals and I climbed, one foot securely lodged on the branch the other
in Pia’s hands – joined like a yogi’s – one on the other, pushing me upwards. I
climbed on the brittle branches which creaked slightly under my weight. No
birds chirped here, no insects climbed up its shriveled bark. The tree smelt of old
dehydrated leaves and abandoned nests. My arm stretched down and it was
strange it didn’t fall off when I pulled Pia up.
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