There used to be a patch of land behind my house. It was rugged and sun-cracked, overgrown and overlooked. I used to watch it from my balcony through the rain, trying to look deep into the pores of the damp earth, as if in doing so, I could see the travails of the water seeping underneath.
I wanted to run my fingers through the damp soil and wait impatiently for tiny shoots to push stubbornly through the soil. Back then, I believed that what I was doing was not something important or worth mentioning. Who would be interested in the scuttlebutt on nature, by the way? So, I kept things to myself and named my soil-gazing activity “time kill”. Perhaps it was simply one part of the backdrop of my life, a part of my growing up.
Years passed, and life moved on. My small city expanded, and so did the ambitions of its people. The patch of land, visited by owls adorning the silhouette of the trees during the nights and giggling squirrels in the daytime, was transformed into a gigantic wedding hall. Signboards and neon lights came up, followed by black and blue pandals, with tandoors tailing behind. The patch of green became thinner and tinier. The building zoomed. Quietly, the greenery vanished without much ceremony, and a stretch of concrete and artificial grass soon surrounded me. The faux grass created a momentary illusion of nature in reach. Once, while attending an event there, I bent down to touch the pasted grass. The artificial plastic greens felt lumpy, cold, and lifeless. I shrank away. It was a sad moment, and I barely remember going to the balcony again. It was a small change in this “happening” world, so I chose to ignore it.
Then followed the much-awaited renovation of my home. Cement bags lined up on the porch, and again, another patch of greenery, this time my own, struggled to keep up with the changing times. It looked back at me, scared that the family’s growing needs might lead to its disappearance. It kept looking back with broken dignity, trying hard to please me and hog the limelight in the new plan of things. But deep within, the soil knew that bricks, mortar, and cement were the latest fad. And so were acrylic sheets and plastic louvres. For grass, cheap lookalikes were readily available in the market. However, after several discourses, we vouched to safeguard the green patch and gave it a breather.
I had lost companionship when I lost that other patch behind my home, to the wedding hall. The conversations I once had with that piece of earth often return to me in fragments. They settle down with me under the shady mango tree in my garden and remind me that restoration is not always loud like the cement mixer whirring outside my house.
Sometimes, life is all about remembering. A hand that quietly reaches back toward the roots. A small gesture of care and a belief that what seems lost might still be waiting to be restored.
The earth does not demand apologies or charity. It waits patiently, stubbornly, and hopefully to convince all that restoration of nature is not a grand gesture. It needs partnership, and one thousand silent promises to ourselves to watch out for any tiny seed finding its way up through the broken ground. And assure that somewhere, the future quietly takes root.
We often think of environmental degradation as a headline. A crisis happening somewhere far away. But the truth is more intimate. It is as close as the dying soil beneath our feet, the mango tree that forgets to flower, the long silence replacing the birdsong. We have started seeing land as real estate, not a living system.
The environmentalists hoot, “We are Generation Restoration.” But before we restore, we must reckon, how we came this far, chasing growth, and razing the only ground we stand on.
As per the United Nations Convention to Combat Desertification (UNCCD), 2022–2023 report, desertification now threatens over 40% of earth’s land. In India alone, more than 30% of land is degraded, according to the Indian Space Research Organisation’s (ISRO) 2016 National Report. A silent and deathly crisis worsened by monoculture, unsustainable grazing, chemical-heavy agriculture, and reckless urban expansion.
With soil we are also losing on time. Having decided not to turn its back on us, the earth still offers us a chance. This is evident in the determined wild patches of grass in abandoned parking lots and in resilience of the native seeds. The earth is allowing all communities to compost, reforest, and restore it.
With a cup of tea, I move towards my humble lawn. I decide not to feel despair, preceding shaken faith. I feel an urgency for partnership. Restoration is after all an act of survival.
The land remembers and waits. Will we remember, too?
Published – June 22, 2025 02:45 am IST