I grew up in a home that had a garden in the back. Through ages two to seven, that was were I spent most of my time. I remember a jackfruit tree that always bears fruit in batches of four, my mother used to tell me that tree was similar to our family- each jackfruit was one of us, my father, my mother, my sister and me. In the summer, my father used to climb the mango tree every other week and almost always he used to come back with itches all over his body, the hairy caterpillar would not let him get the mangoes in peace. But the next week he climbs again, seeing my sister and I eat those mangoes was worth it. The garden had a well that I was sure had a demon living inside.

My sister and I, we never went near it by ourselves. A lot of dragonflies visited the garden too and my grandmother used to say that the presence of dragonflies indicates rain and it always rains. Six year old Anuja loved the rain, she still does but the monsoon in Kerala is always so beautiful. The smell of the soil and the sound of the rain hitting the roof of my house. My sister and I, we go out to dance, my mother shouting from behind. But we go anyway. I wish I could go back to the hibiscus plants and pluck the henna leaves to take it my grandmother. She grinds into a paste and puts it on my hands and the rest of the day I would just walk around feeling like a grown woman. The garden hardly exists anymore. The well has dried up, the mango tree rarely bears fruit and the jackfruit tree has been cut down. The rains are still beautiful but its more scary, the floods keep increasing year after year. I wish I could live in that house with the garden at the back again, the place I felt the most home at.