My Corner of Hope

The hills were never meant to fall silent. They once sang with the soft beat of wings and the morning chatter of birds. The wind carried the scent of deodars and forest floor, and the sound of the leaves. Now those sounds are fading, replaced by the growl of engines and the echo of restless work. The mountains are weary. Their slopes are being cut open in the name of development, and the calm that once lived here is slipping away.

In the middle of this change, I have been trying to keep a small part of the old world filled with nature, alive. When I began, it was only a patch of land. Over the years I have planted a mix of trees close together so their branches could meet and form a green ceiling. I let herbs, grasses and flowers grow freely below, while doing away with tilling. I wanted the land to decide its own shape. Slowly the orchard began to turn into a living refuge. Some of the planted trees are now tall enough to provide me shade whereas the new ones still need some nurturing now and then.

Now the space feels alive in every nook and corner. Butterflies flutter around in the morning light. Ladybirds hide under tender leaves. Magpies screech from the tall branches. Owls come at night and watch quietly from the trees and at times jump around on the roof of my house. Blue Whistling Thrush wakes me up with its early morning melody. Small tits and finches arrive each day and fill the air with their soft songs. Many of them have nowhere else to go. They have been pushed away by deforestation, dust and noise. Here they find a sanctuary, a little peace, a place to belong and flourish again.

Each season paints its own picture. Spring hums with colour and motion, with flowers and blossoms all around. Summer deepens the shade and slows the air, the fruits add colour. Autumn lets the leaves fall gently to feed the soil. Even winter, cold and silent, carries a calm breath beneath the frost.

Yet beyond this small sanctuary, I see how much has changed. There is a growing disregard for the world around us. People seem careless even with their own surroundings. Piles of construction material lie scattered on the roads, blocking drains and turning the surface into broken tracks once the rains arrive. Vehicles are parked without thought, narrowing the way for everyone else. At night, blinding headlights shine into the eyes of oncoming travellers, as if no one remembers that the beam can be lowered to let the other pass safely.

The noise too has become constant. Construction carries on at hours when silence should belong to all. Heavy vehicles move around at late hours. Loud music and shouting spill into the open air. Garbage is thrown without care. Even words have grown rough. Many people come here from crowded cities to escape the dust and pollution, yet they end up creating small versions of the very places they wished to leave behind. The gentleness that once defined these hills is slowly slipping away.

While the hills deteriorate, I am trying to create a space that stays green and kind. Here the nights are dim so that the owls and insects can see. The trees grow thick to shelter birds and butterflies. Flowers bloom to feed the bees. I keep the air quiet and the rhythm slow so that life can breathe freely again.

Sometimes it feels like a losing battle. The noise and neglect beyond the orchard never cease. Yet every time I see a butterfly rise from a leaf or hear a bird sing before dawn, I am reminded that nature still endures. Each tree I plant is a small act of faith. Each flower that blooms is a quiet promise that not everything is lost. I sometimes think of this orchard as a small prayer for balance. Every tree planted is a note in that prayer. Every bird that returns is an answer. Even in moments of doubt, I believe that these acts of care matter.

I may not be able to change what happens outside my orchard, but I can keep this one corner alive. Hopefully one day, when all this restless construction comes to an end, the peace that once filled these hills so completely will return. It may come slowly, like the first light of morning, but I believe it will come. The hills will find their calm again, and life will sing here as it once did.

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