It’s been an age since I chatted about my little urban jungle, but ever since I tore a ligament in my foot last weekend, I’ve been spending more time than usual on our Delhi roof terrace.
Every evening, when the day’s heat dissipates a little, I head s-l-o-w-l-y & painstakingly upstairs, and then proceed to walk very slowly round & round & round, since I’m under doctor’s orders to walk – despite the plaster cast.
I can’t face walking on Delhi’s non-existent pavements (aka footpaths here) which are so encroached upon that one has to walk on the road. Given that I would have difficulty jumping out of the way of traffic, and given the pot-hole-y nature of many local roads, I have decided that it’s preferable to walk round and round our roof terrace.
And so, as I walk, I dead-head the plants, hoik out the weeds, and dodge the dogs who race around like lunatics – poor things, they are missing their long walks in the forest, too.
They’re probably more dangerous than the Delhi traffic, if I’m being 100% honest, since a day’s worth of pent-up energy gets expended in the hour we spend up on the terrace together.
(Am averaging 1km an hour at the moment… 🙁 )
After all the rain last week, the plants are looking amazingly good, and are growing like Topsy.
The tubs of lemongrass are growing like weeds:
The Xmas trees are thriving, bless them.
Years ago, I bought lots of teeny Xmas trees at Rs 30 or Rs 40 a pop, and they just keep growing. They are leggy and (between you me and the gatepost) not terribly attractive, but I love ’em, and every Christmas they get their moment in the spotlight:
The kumquats are ripening nicely:
And, excitingly, there are the beginnings of a fresh crop of lemons on That Lemon Tree.
The Lemon Tree has been a bone of contention between yours truly and the mali (gardener) and Bahadur for years.
Here – read an earlier post about That Lemon Tree.
The truth of the matter is, I know that deep down, everyone is jealous of my lemon tree and that’s why they tell me all the time that it didn’t grow from a pip.
There are roses growing – big fat, rather blowsy roses, that sadly only last for a day or so, but it’s a miracle they survive at all in the heat. So I love then & cherish them during their brief flowering :
And then there is my Easter Lily. Quite.
What word in its name does this dear silly Easter Lily not understand?!
All the other lilies flowered at – yes – Easter, and then this pretty creature decides to flower now.
I can’t honestly say that I’m enjoying this enforced inactivity one little bit – on the contrary, am counting down the seconds to when my cast comes off.
But this slow pottering around on the terrace, dead-heading away, is great fun.