NOPE

 Have you ever thought about what could be the opposite of a green thumb?

If you are like me, someone who finds it hard to bring up and nourish even the smallest, hardiest plant, who regularly bite the dust in my presence, you would have often wondered about it.

Sometimes it was less water, sometimes it was more.- OR more sunlight and less..  At the very least, it appeared that the soil mattered

I am tired folks! Why can't these plants be like human children? We just give them food, education, air and space, and they grow. 

Wait! Maybe human children get a bit picky too, at times, but nothing compared to the plants! I tell you.

But the more they withered, the more determined I was. King Bruce, here I come! Watch out!

 I would get  into my garden each day and look at all the plants, talk to them, take care of them, tend them,  Now if you are imagining  a huge expanse of green, let me quickly correct the size in your thoughts. I had a small balcony garden with a few flowering plants, a couple of creepers and some succulents- That was what my green thumb would allow me

Anyway, I would get into my tiny garden and ask them, “What's wrong honey? Why do you look so sad? “  OR  a cheery “Hey, come, let's catch some good sunshine.”

Or if I was feeling a bit tart, I would go,”Darling,  Will you ever tell me what a  bit of color would look on you, other than green of course?”

And as I  talked, I would pluck a few leaves from this Indian herb, Karpooravalli, the mexican mint. Slightly firm and thick,  tasty leaves, with a distinct fragrance, they were an all purpose herb. You could make fritters out of it or relishes and they were a great remedy for sore throats and colds.

A friend had given the stem long back, asking me to just toss it into the soil and forget. That is what I had done and this one had defied my non-green thumb. It had survived and flourished wherever I moved, transplanted, transpotted , transported

“Just go ahead and do your gardening or whatever you are doing. I am good, I am fine,” it seemed to say.

And I didn't have to let it know that I loved it. Did I?

So that is why, when I saw a hint of brown on one of the leaves, I just plucked  and discarded the leaf carelessly and said, “Hmm. Now you too want to throw tantrums? Don't you know all the trouble I'm facing?”

A classic mother statement, as if the plant was somehow responsible for all the other troubles I was facing.I was quite sure that this soft guilt tripping would work. It always did

But then, as I came back and looked at it, I saw more leaves wilting, the brown spreading along the edges.

I quickly asked my father , an agricultural scientist. “Oh, that plant is a weed,” he said. “It will grow. Don't worry about it. Just don't water it too much. Maybe move it in the sun.”

I did both, but it seemed to be getting worse. 

So I asked the gardener,  who had come to work in the neighbour’s house( they actually had a garden, by the way). He said, “Oh madam, that plant, even if all the leaves and everything goes and the stem also goes, it will stay. Even if you don't water it for one month, it will stay. He he he. Just leave it!

Well, great, but that didn't seem to be doing any good. It seemed to be getting sicker and sicker. 

I could not just stand around doing nothing. So then I asked all the expert  agents  out there—not the real ones. Who has time to go looking for them? I meant the AI expert agents. With a lot of empathy, and understanding of how I felt, they gave me  a bunch of things to try and I tried them all

And I tried every possible remedy. I transplanted it. I repotted it. I watered it, stopped watering it, put some sprays, added some herbal remedies—every possible thing.

But then this plant was not getting better. I could not give up. As long as there was one leaf, surely there was something I could do.

And then finally, one day, I saw it come down to a wilted stem and a little leaf. The stalk had no life left even to hold the leaf, which seemed to be a burden for it.

I knew that the time had come to say NOPe to HOPE. I quietly plucked the little leaf and kept it pressed in my book, the way my mom had taught me to as a child. I plucked the stem and threw it into the compost

As I looked at the pot, I saw a few little saplings raise their heads, waiting for their turn to be cared for by the gardener without the green thumb

The plant I am talking about is my mother Jaya

And the “no” I finally had to say was to continue her cancer treatment, after a long and painful fight.

She passed away on 7th February this year.