Dusty Trees of Delhi

The biologist I called to my house loves travelling by the Delhi Metro thus defeating the whole purpose of calling him over since I have to now leave my cosy cave to pick him up. He wants to save time, which amuses me even more. I am aware of the urban folk of saving time by metro and have witnessed enough false myths taking birth and becoming mantras for the evolutionary laggards to know that this too is false. By car is always the quickest despite the controlled chaos traffic, parking woes, its more comfortable, private and a must have dominion for a smoker like me. I knew exactly when he would call from the metro station and while he was stepping off from the train telling me on the phone that he reached, I told him to take the left exit and head for my car. I casually slipped my car into neutral, let go off the steering and pushed the breaks to stop exactly in front of the gate, at the same time when he was coming out. He got in and I can't recall how he introduced himself. I was once again humbled by this inexplicable ability of mine. Always on time. Weather, traffic, distance are irrelevant - I always reach on time. Never before, never after. And I have never ever used a watch. However, In a country like India, where cognition of time is blurred by the chaos and hyperboles with locii positioned millennia back, punctuality as a virtue makes no sense and is seldom admired. I have mostly been laughed at for my punctuality but still retained it just to experience the tick-tock of this intangible clock within me. I wanted to tell this biologist how I acquired this time surfing superpower from my grandfather who almost always missed the main rituals in an Indian wedding or other gatherings because of his strict time code. He reached on time and left on time, totally inflexible to the whims of the organisers, pagan gods or the hosts. I also wanted to tell the biologist about the malleability of time but there was no time left. Fifty feet from the station, I saw a tree, stopped my car and got out. It struck me while walking over to the tree that I should probably introduce myself to this biologist but I didn't assuming that he already knew - sound engineer, always keeps his sunglasses on and wants to meet a biologist. I was careful to blow the cigarette smoke away from the tree as I rubbed my fingers over a leaf and showed a 1-2 mm coating of dirt on my index finger and thumb to this lab-trained expert. Within fifteen minutes the enthusiastic biologist confirmed my worst fears - that even biologists know nothing of trees. The limits of scientific logic were always obvious to me but I am an admirer of its consistency in falling flat in this surreal world. The metro roared over us for the 5th time this evening but not loud enough to muffle down the childish laments of the biologist who felt sorry and helpless for these dusty trees and then like a true thespian began cursing his larger human family for the state of this tree. I excused his arrogance and offered a cigarette to the angry little girl in him, knowing very well that she'll refuse. I was finding it very hard to conceal the embarrassment this bio-freak was now causing through his eco-friendly rants in the presence of this humble and uncomplaining tree - which just happened to be the first one after leaving the station and had I not observed my dog pissing on a bunch of them today morning would have been spared the unsettling angst of this spoilt disciple of science. I paid the guy not for his insights but for his time and the emotional distress this little excursion had caused him. As I performed a U-turn in my car to head back to the station there was a temptation to explain to him the larger picture and the real purpose of inviting him here but I thought up of a better idea instead - to not say anything. The biologist , on his way out of the car asked me to call in case I needed further information on the subject of trees and dust which made me smirk and I replied -Its Okay. I'll call you after it rains.