Perhaps it is alright to feel the grief over humans trying to survive wars and the pandemic, and take up space on the internet writing about the trivial joys like the birdsong in the mornings, finding worms under garden stepping stones, the leaves finally coming back from the winter death, fresh humus from the compost bin from our Fall/Winter collection of scraps, to naming creatures we find in our garden after our best friends, that there is a word called Aman Cara meaning a soul friend, …… In a turbulent world, I think downsizing our delights is the way. I have kept a journal that I write into after I work in my garden. Some entires :


I am living in and writing myself into my own novel. I observe the environment deeply for world building. As I move through the day and do certain actions, I fit a tad better into the pages of my own book. Every bird that comes to drink at the water bath, is a potential character. One has to know their characters. So I observe. What is its essence ? Did it come here because there is no other vegetation around or did it come here for the comforts our yard provides her ? How does the heroine, me, conduct herself through the story ? Lately, the animals have become less scared of me. We look at each other and go about our work. Georgia Okeefe famously once asked “who has the time to observe a flower” and hence she painting them to force us to see. Gardeners who journal can learn to see. Only after I started painting our bamboo, did I observe the many configurations of leaves as they sit on the stem. As I later discovered, there is a whole discipline of Sumi-e brush painting dedicated to the ones who spend their lives perfecting how to draw bamboo in an act of meditation. This world has a lot of pleasure to provide to the humans who pursue depth and slow travel. How slow? Tree time. That’s how long it would take for me to master painting bamboo.


“What did you do last weekend ? We went to Paris. And ate at ****** and stayed at ******. We then met someone (with generational wealth) and spontaneously went to their country home in ******. Too much fun …I am so tired since we got back. And so busy. What did you do?”

“I removed some weeds, read about flood protection and did a write up to share my finds with our neighbors, turned the compost, built some support for a vine, tried to figure out the name of the surprise plants that seem to sprout on this land using iNaturalist, painted a bird in an effort to remember it, took a nap outside, read a few more pages from the book Ecological Gardener, did some time travel to learn how the Native Indians lived on this exact piece of land, drew some garden designs that might work, … till I overwhelmed myself. I need to get out of the garden. I need some boredom and less stimulation.”

So tiny and incomplete, this understanding. But enough to live for. I learn one more tree / one more plant / one more bird / one more insect / one more weed / some more geology, … by the day and feel satisfied.

“You have to do Paris.”

My happiness and joy is tied into the health of my local ecosystem.


I wish I was born into an indigenous way of living. It’s a hard life, but maybe a good life ? I sometimes wish I was my great-grand-ma’s peer. I wish I am as spiritual and wise as she was. I wish for a pathway in life that takes me there but am terrified of the hardships that made her. I am not an orphan nor did I ever experience poverty. I have not been reluctantly wed off to a much older widower at age 13 whom I didn’t want to marry. I do not know the pain of seeing several of my children die. I do not know war, patriarchy and hunger the way she does. Yet, she was an environmentalist. They way she blossomed into an elder : protective, tough, just and beloved, warms me. She is our banyan tree and I am one of her aerial roots. The hard life chiseled her. Such woman should be in charge of the world, not the grifters with pretty words we seem to fall for. I think of her when we feed the birds. She would give an offering of rice to the birds first, before she sat down to eat her meal. She cared for the land well into her senile years. She thought of life beyond her own children, at every meal, every day, all of her life in-spite of not having the luxury to do so. Can I become a native to this land like she once was ? The land my house sits on was once a Yrgin Native American village. To be precise, it was a swamp grove with the native village built in the willow groves. (They were eventually driven out by squatters who came during the gold rush, after loosing a court battle. The Spanish missionaries who once lived alongside them employed the natives to help alter the land they once lived in symbiosis with. ) Decades of ranching irrevocably drained out the water shed. A farming community subsisted on the water for a while. Out of farms was born a segregated suburb from world war 2 profits. Our house is made with logged old growth redwoods, which horrifies me to learn. I benefit for it all by owning this house. This land currently sits on a flood zone and a liquefaction zone. Should I move and save my neck ? Should I stay, gather our neighbors and get the government to build adequate flood control measures ? Which other personal activity does this time and energy come from ? What does it mean to be a native of this land ? There is a gold rush mentality in the Silicon Valley : get rich, do nothing for the place, become a NIMBY opposing any measure that will make you less rich and comfortable, displace natives, take your gains, leave preferably to a tax free state with less regulation. Will I become a native or a gold digger ? How do I balance wanting to be a native with wanting to live in lots of kinds places over my lifetime ?


All the things I deemed essential in my youth, have proven needless with time. I spent a lot of time outdoors in the sun with muddy nails and dirty feet. A younger me would have covered up, slathered way more sunscreen way more diligently, thought about stylish garden clothes, thought about having the perfect body, …. I transitioned from a young vain woman to an older woman very quickly. Aging no longer bothers me. I am not attached to my bottle of SK-II like I once was. I have let go of a lot of my own style lessons. Yes, I know what fits and looks good on me. But does it give me pleasure ? Not anymore. What I shed, the next generation seems to pick up, polish it and obsess over it. I ought to be careful as to what I learn in the first place. Bad inheritance is a not to be my legacy. As I clean the rotting plants from fall/winter crop, I think of my own body slowly creeping towards death. The old should die and make the soil rich for the new. Old ideas like patriarchy, neocolonialism, … should die with our generation. I was outrunning my age for a long time but it finally caught up. My back hurts from being hunched over. I have cuts and bruises from reflexes that don’t match my activities. Texture of my hair has changed and I am balding. The weight gain seems sudden. I have very little energy for too many aspects of society. “Take up the space and do what you set out to do.” That is all I will tell myself today. In lieu of the lives we lost last year, I can say with certainty : aging is a privilege. I bet Maanasa would have asked for all the wrinkles possible and embraced declining organ functionality to be alive to see her children grow up, to do her research, to age along side loved ones…. I immediately saddled up Mina and we go on an extra walk, to celebrate being alive.


The desire for a pair of coveralls is back. With work from home, I seem to interact with humans in blue collar work wear more than humans in white collar work wear. Today, I saw a man jump out of his truck, wearing cowboy boots and overalls. He changed into steel toed boots, put on a hat and started work. The men seem to look good in helmets as opposed to how I have always thought my bike helmet looked stupid on me. One of the men was wearing an antique turquoise bracelet that made me wish I was wearing mine. And then, there was a woman worker, who jumped out of an excavator to greet my puppy. We were both enamored by her enough to ask her to visit us at home to use our bathroom over the portable potty on the street. My influencers wear the same overalls everyday, are as classic as classic can be and aren’t trying to sell me random stuff. The overalls I tried on in the flea market are too big to be practical or as expensive as Patagonia’s version when when they do fit while sporting the perfect hipster-ish paint splatters. I need to pair of my own.


My father visited us. I tried to get him to spend time with me away from the constant background noise of breaking news and in the garden. He spent most of that time complaining about the garden tools I own. That we have any tools at all ! He ranted : the hardworking peasants in India do much more without owning rakes, spades and gardening gloves. He had similar complaints about my owning a dish scrub with a handle and oven mitts. According to him, the hardworking women in India don’t need them and produce wonderful food. He called out my wet mop for having a pole. “Women in India have a strong backs from bending over as they mop the floors”. That line did it for me. A threshold was crossed and words flooded out of me. Only someone who never never mopped a floor with just a cloth rag can say that because they don’t know the pain. According to me, we value lives of certain people so little that we do not try to make lives of the poorer women and the peasants better. Why cant we have some tools as long as they don’t harm the earth, to make the chores that fall on the shoulders of women a tad more pleasant ? Older men have all the influence in the world when it comes to decision making. Will he buy the required tools for his employees ? I think not. He will over work them in the name of grit, hard work and work ethic. Frugality of tools for them, luxury McMansion for him. Sigh ! So, I sat down with him and had a very long conversation. I shared every fact I could remember from the book Invisible Woman. I told him about how regressive Indian movies are, towards woman and it’s influence in our life. I told him about how my precious time is demanded to serve the folks higher on the patriarchal ladder, while they lounge around and browse at their screens. I told him about how women in my mothers generation are only remembered for the food they make and every other quality is not cherished. I complained about how I interrupt myself from deep work because I was taught to constantly scan the environment around me to tidy up after messes that the male/female man-children make in my house. I told him about how I can sit / sleep on the floor in what-ever-conditions because the they grabbed the most comfortable seating always and they now praise me for being a good Indian girl who can sit on the floor/sleep anywhere. He stayed silent for a long time. He told me he never thought about any of this. Oh Garden gods, please bestow upon me the patience to have better conversations without bursting into flames.


Solar calendar, is for the life’s rat race. A day to keep track of birthdays, the day to buy your valentine presents, the day rent is due and for the passing deadlines. Seasons are for the traveler who rejoice in pleasure of observing changes around them and live accordingly. Lunar calendar, is for the soul. A way to rejoice for no other reason but a full moon, to celebrate the full moon by sitting in the garden at night, miss it once its gone and long for it till it appears again. It comes back, with certainty, as long as I am alive.


We live in a working class neighborhood with *mostly run down small homes and non-tech immigrant population. One can always spot an extraordinary thing of beauty that the resident has saved up to splurged on. When splurges are seldom made, they really stick out. That one cherry tree that was planted and taken care of fills me with gratitude as I walk by. They are providing me with beauty and making walks more pleasurable in a world built for cars. That fountain holds the promise of water splashing and distracting me from the noise of traffic. That fresh coat of paint on the exterior makes me dream of picking up my paint brush. That single flower blooming by accident and not mowed down inspires every gardener to let the wilderness be. As we walk around, the little accents always stand out over decrepit backgrounds. We know that a very careful consideration has been made. Life should have fasts and feasts. If we have one and not the other, a poverty of spirit can creep up. ….. I used to want to live in an eco-village. This is one and I never really realized it. Most folks live a low carbon lifestyle and hardly waste anything. If trash cans are full, it’s because they contain soiled diapers that need to be disposed. If there are trucks parked up front, its a vocational requirement than toxic masculinity at display in car form. Package delivery trucks dont spend a lot of time on our streets. Repair is the way of life here to keep old things functioning. There are no vain renovations except for the recent onset of fixer-upper-folk who are making the neighborhood unaffordable. None of the homes are above 1000 sft and families of 4 live inside. This is not instagram version of minimalism. There are no white lime washed walls inside mansions with objects sparsely displayed but copiously filled into cleverly designed storage, but our ecological footprint is low. I am at home here and there is a lot to learn from our neighbors. We need a new definition for eco-village that include us. It has to change from citizens checking out of the society to live by themselves in car dependant forest cabins with a view, to walkable urban dense communities that are low-carbon in nature by design.


I am sometimes exhausted from my daily travels. We walk and take notes. We notice plants and the conditions in which they seem to thrive. I need to know them better. Need to learn about the soil under. Need to see them as they grow by the season. When this land floods in the future, how will these plants cope ? Where can I go to read about immersive, regenerative, soul stirring, funny, acceptance centered, garden writing ? The quick garden tips and how-to’s are too shallow. The scientific literature too cumbersome. Judith learner Lowry’s books are the answer. I want to host a dinner party + a book club for humans who are understand this feeling. Novella Carpenter of Farm City, Rebecca Burgess of Fibershed, Alex Harris of Birds of Lake Merrit, Susi the neighbor who knows the wild animals in our neighborhood well, Mary Austin of The Land of Little Rain, Etel Adnan of Journey to Mount Tamalpais, Sylvia Linsteadt of The Lost Worlds of San Francisco Bay, …. What would our conversations be like ? We would bond over our common dislike for monoculture. We would give a land acknowledgment before we start drinking. We would reminisce about days of abundance of water. Read some poetry. Talk about our travels close to home. Talk about our love of walks and walking. Share our adventures. Praise our animals for being the most trusty companions as we do our work. Talk about writing. Plot climate action. Get emotional. Drink some more. I would cook a big pot of dal and rice for us.


Need water. But not as a flood.

Same prayer as the one on my greatgrandmother’s lips through life as a farmer’s wife, farmer’s widow, a farmer, farmer landlady. Everywoman in my family has prayed for the same many times in their lifetimes. Every one of us tried to make life choices that would make our lives independent of income from farming, and yet we pray. When I call home, the elders ask about our well being. “Job okay ? Eating okay ? Mina okay ? My health is fine. ……. We had one good rain this month”. It spills out because it’s a shared prayer of wellbeing embedded in our bones. We were once indegenous people, have urbanized and can never fully forgot. It’s in our cultural DNA.

Rain. Come make our world better.

The water wars that are starting amidst California’s drought scare me.


Our compost bin is a popular destination for the birds, waiting feed off the insects/worms attracted to the decay. The cats are watching the birds. Puppy is watching over them all. We are an ecosystem with our roles cut out. The roots dont get pulled out after the plants die. The stem and leaves go into the compost bin. The soil structure is not to be disturbed. We add fresh compost on top and plant again. We add unfinished compost as mulch. That’s an honorable death for the plants we grow for food. What’s the human equivalent of leaving with roots in when its your time to die ? Is it raising environmentalist children ? Is it creating legislation that form the roots of societal behavior ? Is it building a co-op that challenges the CEO-worker pay structure and economic inequality ? Is it working in a B-corp that will continue to do the good work after you are gone ? What is the human equivalent of regenerative farming ? What is a B-corp blog ? Who can I have such conversations with ? Everyone is too busy.


He wants to call a gardener. That man brings a tiller, destroys the soil structure we tried to build, laughs at me when I mention no-dig gardening, has the sole aim to do the task in the least amount of time. Land should be worked by people who love it the most. Land should never have become a commodity to be held as a financial growth asset if we were to make citizens stewards of the land. The mention of a gardener starts a ticking an unrest in my head. The race begins. I run and start to do the work that is meant to be outsourced. He wants to make the call to the gardener tomorrow ? I wake up early and try to do the work before any call is made. I have to outrun him. My back is breaking from being hunched over but at least the birds visit while I am at it. A pot of tea awaits. Robin Kimmerer reads Braiding Sweetgrass out loud as I work in her melodious voice.

They asked her, “What is this all about, this notion of sustainability? What are they talking about?” She gave them a summary of the standard definitions of sustainable development, including “the management of natural resources and social institutions in such a manner as to ensure the attainment and continued satisfaction of human needs for present and future generations.” They were quiet for a while, considering. Finally one elder said, “This sustainable development sounds to me like they just want to be able to keep on taking like they always have. It’s always about taking. You go there and tell them that in our way, our first thoughts are not ‘What can we take?’ but ‘What can we give to Mother Earth?’ That’s how it’s supposed to be.”

Braiding Sweetgrass, by Robin Wall Kimmerer.

Her words give a voice to what my great grand mother would have taught me and conducted her life by. Her words turn me into that sizzling soil on a hot day absorbing it’s first rain after a long drought. Her book is full of lessons I wish were taught in families and school. I often tear up. I nod. I pause to listen to some words again and again. They sometimes knock the wind out of me and I turn to goo. They make me take my gardening gloves off amidst the work, to be more naked. There is an exquisite mind-body space that is entered when inspiration, motivation, skill and being in the groove of work intersect. Runner’s high. Meditator’s high. Duende. Yogi’s high. Smoker’s high. Coder’s high. Her words sends me into a gardener’s high : Doing and being become one.


Sitting in my garden at night, puts me at ease and melts the day away. Time seems to become a non entity. The history had many phrases for it. You must cultivate your own garden. Everyone will sit under their own vine and under their own fig tree, and no one will make them afraid. Then, the answer to a big question came to me one night. I have always ask myself “why climate?” I dont have children of my own. I am relatively privileged and can ride out some of the climate harm. I don’t plan to live for too long. I have want for few things and am not running the rat race. On the other hand, climate work is a thankless job. You loose most battles and we are loosing the war. The ones who enjoy burning fossil fuels and consumption seem to be having all the fun. They have more time to tend to their own needs. They will constantly brag about their vacations, their mansions and stuff they bought. Taking public transit is less pleasant than driving. There is no tangible personal return for living a low carbon lifestyle. There is one great return for doing climate work though : friendships and community around the cause. But that can be found around any other cause. Why is climate my dearest cause ? The answer : I owe it. I get so much joy and pleasure from being outdoors, the civilization we built and the ecosystems we are a part of. I owe it. It’s a debt of gratitude. My mindset used to inspired by the Buddhism. “Renounce and recluse at individual level. I am doing less harm and that is enough for now. If more people do the same voluntarily at their own pace, problem solved !” But that sort of hyper individualism does not solve this problem at all. Buddha lived in a different time when harm from invisible emissions on a global scale couldn’t not have been conceived. ( Vegans concentrate on not eating a chicken but are not talking up arms to reduce emissions causing the biggest mass extinction of animals in our lifetime. Pro-lifers who scream about abortions aren’t voting for universal healthcare, minimum wage, affordable housing, free college, climate, … either ! ) At peak Buddhist popularity in India, citizens who would otherwise care were checking out of the society and minding their own minds. The society was getting worse with power grab from the ones who were aggressors in the first place. Bhagavad Gita offered an alternate philosophy : Do not leave the fight and go live in a forest. Stay in the civilization and work towards collective change. You may have to battle near and dear. It is going to be hard, painful, soul searching, but that is the way. “You have the right to work, but for the work’s sake only. You have no right to the fruits of work. Desire for the fruits of work must never be your motive in working. Never give way to laziness, either. Perform every action with your heart fixed on the Supreme Lord. Renounce attachment to the fruits. Be even-tempered in success and failure: for it is this evenness of temper which is meant by yoga. Work done with anxiety about results is far inferior to work done without such anxiety, in the calm of self-surrender. Seek refuge in the knowledge of Brahma. They who work selfishly for results are miserable.” Atomic Habits, Stoic Philosophy, and few other schools of thought advocate a similar mindset without the references to deities. As I changed my philosophy, I have found peace. Show up to CCL and do my tasks. That is it. I have time to think about all of this, as I work in the garden. We may need more urban community gardens for thinking, conversation and ideas to evolve.


He has garden lust. His light is on. He is okay spending money in sums he seldom spends on anything, to get the expensive stone garden basin we both want. He is eager for an end product for a process which in its reality is a journey to no where. The romantic meets The deadline. Sparks fly! “I want a straight path here with circles around the trees” is met with “we should let the vegetation claim the place and observe the path our puppy takes through the over growth. That should be the path we pave. Animals intuitively know the best routes”. “What !” Bhoom ! We bicker. We are disappointed in how the other thinks. I am on tree time. He wants it done by summer. Lawn mowers and leaf blowers are cigarettes in my book. They should stay the fuck away from our lands. We bicker again. “It doesn’t matter”. “It does. Running this leaf blower for 30 min is akin to driving a car for N miles” “what’s wrong with that” “The lawn has to go. We are in a mega drought. It’s ugly monoculture that needs maintenance for no benefit to anyone but the McMansion gods”. Anger and love collide in confusing ways over a garden that we both worship and use as a retreat. So be it. Talking to him about garden plans trains me to have better conversations on climate without getting angry. I can use all the help I can get.