I’m a tree — a Banyan tree, massive, overarching, sprouting and sporting many variations of green, with my extensive canopy, with leaves and branches and figs, and aerial roots. I’m a Bombay tree, planted over 500 years ago. One of 2.73 lakh trees in the maximum city of Bombay, trying to survive in the minimum city that has become Mumbai.

I’m in Dadar East, at Kings Circle. In Virar and Versova. And Bhayandhar and Bhuleshwar. In New Bombay and Naigaon, in Shivaji park and Santa Cruz. I am spread all over the seven islands — I have stood in parks, and leafy neighborhoods, I have overhung roads, shrouding lanes, we have defined areas. There was a time when Bombay treated us as hallowed and valuable, we were “heritage”, a cherished tourist attraction. I have provided shade, and shelter from the rain and sun, from thunderstorms, and offered quiet and oxygen. I have provided a constant cover —  you never hurt us, no one wanted to injure us, we were protected, we were respected, we were revered, the only irritants were urinating dogs and pen knife graffiti “Sanjay luvs Pushpa”.