A tree by no other name

A tree by no other name

The Hindu

Most of the exotic trees that one gets to see in Bangalore are imported. In these summer months, how can one not enjoy those lovely blooms?

The ever-hospitable Bangalorean embraces the outsider, and that goes for trees too

DISAPPEARING SPLENDOUR The growth of the city has been the cause of many a casualty in the Gulmohur community

April is the prettiest month. When summer blossoms go out of their way to wish you good day, courtesy demands that you return the greeting. A silent acknowledgement will do — I don't expect you to go around shouting "Hello bauhinia" or "Fare thee well plumeria". In fact, I don't expect you to know their names at all. Even those who have been in Bangalore all their lives are acutely botanically challenged.

Many people know five local languages but can't name five local trees. I don't blame them, you know. Bangalore's trees, like its people, are largely imported. One is not too familiar with the regional language equivalents for the titles of these grand visitors who landed here centuries ago from Brazil, Mexico, Argentina, Malaysia, Indonesia, Madagascar, Central Africa and the Caribbean. Therefore, rather than learn convoluted Latin names by heart, one starts talking loosely about "those dark red flowers" and "the pinky-purply little ones".

Don't you think it high time you stopped identifying trees by the colour of their flowers? Let me attempt a primer for your benefit. I shall strive not to sound like a textbook. No, Latin names as far as possible and only the most common trees. That's a promise.

We shall begin at the red end of the spectrum. The growth of the city has been the cause of many a casualty in the gulmohur community. Please do not call it flame of the forest for that is another tree altogether (and one that is harder to find than a needle in a mall). You may refer to it as mayflower although it blooms in April. In Australia it is known as flamboyant, which is a brilliant description, but in India, gulmohur is the name that best suits its scarlet abundance.

The rain tree is another that is being edged out of the city because of the space it occupies. Like the gulmohur, it too has compound leaves. Compound what? Sorry for sounding like a botany lesson, I meant the tamarind leaf pattern, twin rows on a central stem. The rain tree's flowers are separate, pink, and look like powder puffs. Its trunk can achieve an awesome girth and its towering canopy spreads as far as you'll allow it to go.

A tree usually found on road-dividers is the ashoka: floppy leaves on branches around a mast that tapers to a point like a Christmas tree. Roadsides are often lined with trees that bear a large, cup-shaped, orange flower. Its colour might remind you of the saris women wear during St. Mary's Feast in Shivajinagar. It's a foreigner called the African tulip and I don't need to tell you where it hails from. Since it migrated centuries ago it has acquired a local name, neerukai ("pss-kai" in schoolboy slang), because the bud squirts a liquid when pressed. Its pod when dry sheds a whole load of papery seeds, much to the dismay of house-proud citizens.

A tree with light green, feathery, compound leaves is the Brazilian jacaranda, currently much in evidence in the city. It has a habit of shedding all its leaves and showing off clusters of glowing violet flowers. Yes, some trees could be sued for indecent exposure. Take the shameless Tabebuia argentea which removes its spear-shaped leaves, strips down to its bare branches, and reveals bunches of a yellow so shocking your eyes are almost blinded. Why am I breaking my promise of no Latin names? Because the Tabebuia comes in other colours too, and only the yellow (argentea) has a household name: the tree of gold. For example, the Tabebuia rosea displays mounds of pink flowers that are the colour of bleached cotton candy. Oh all right, you can simply refer to the whole lot as trumpet flowers. Happy now?

Peltophorum pterocarpum. No, I'm not swearing at you, just giving you the Latin for a tree that is also called the haldi gulmohur although it belongs to an entirely different family. This is the copper pod tree, which has papery yellow flowers on spikes studded across rich green foliage. I rather like its other name: the rusty shield bearer. One look at its spikes, buds, pods and winged fruit will tell you what inspired the allusions to rust and copper.

If you're not reeling under an information overload, here's a short and sweet name for you to remember: cassia. The pink and red varieties are the most popular. You must have noticed this attractive foreigner with fat compound leaves and sprays of tightly packed flowers that lie across the branches like garlands. The flowers have a habit of gradually fading to white, so there are varying shades of pink and white in each garland. Looks good enough to eat, really.

The ever-hospitable Bangalorean embraces the outsider, and that goes for trees too. Take the Indian cork tree, which was imported from Myanmar 200 years ago. We have made it our very own by giving it a name as aromatic as the white flowers it bears. It is the akasha mallige. The jasmine of the sky. See the little shrub with serrated leaves that look like those of the neem? It shall grow into a stately giant and burst into fragrant showers that shall perfume the very heavens.

But all the perfumes of the akasha mallige cannot wash the stain from the axe-murderer's hand.