My early childhood was completely interlinked with the coconut tree. Most of the activities were around the coconut tree. Every forty-five days, or so, there was plucking, sorting, de-husking; every part of the tree was used. I was especially fond of watching the de-husking of the coconut. A man would do it efficiently with an iron bar attached to the ground, de-husking two coconuts per minute. The fallen dry leaves were used for cooking purposes, the middle part of the leaves was used to make brooms, husk, the shell, everything was used. I remember, we used to see this huge white bellied woodpecker, which flew in every day and would go at a tree like a hammer: thack, thack, thack, thack! I’d run to the window to catch a glimpse of it. The coconut trees were also nesting spots for Black and Brahminy kites and I remember their calls ringing out, especially in the mornings and evenings.

My grandmother told me once that each tree gave us more than 250 coconuts a year. But, even so, some trees did not yield coconuts and were given for a year to the toddy tappers, because that rejuvenates the tree. The toddy tappers would come every morning and gracefully climb the trees. I remember once, when I was about seven or eight, I tried to climb one, too. With ropes attached to ankles and hands, I shinnied up a tree. I went up ten feet and then lost my balance completely and fell down. My entire front, the chest, the thighs, were scraped badly. I didn’t want to tell my parents because I knew I’d get a shouting, but, finally, I had to explain the torn shirt.

The other thing about coconut trees were the civet cats. They came at night, to drink toddy out of the pots. They’d clamber up the tree and enjoy the toddy and then we’d hear them on the rooftop, creating havoc, like drunkards. Though it’s very difficult to see them, I remember seeing them a couple of times. They’re very beautiful, with a thick tail. My grandmother had about that time put aluminum sheets around the trunks of coconut trees to prevent anything from climbing up and eating the tender coconuts. The damage to the tender coconuts was reduced but it never stopped. After a couple of years, we realised that bats were opening the tender coconuts and drinking the water.

I also remember the lightning during the rainy season. Every year, we would lose at least one coconut tree to lightning. These were pre-mobile-tower days, so the coconuts would become lightning conductors. The lightning and thunder in Kerala can scare you. The lightning is so close that you can hear the spark: checkacheckacheckachek. And the thunder after that is immediate. Even the furniture shakes and moves with the thunder. In the morning, we’d go out and see the dead tree, and the dead birds around it. All the cousins would make graves for the birds and put flowers on them. The strange thing is, looking back now I don’t ever remember any of these trees ever being watered. I do remember, though, that we had a fence made out of a tree called gripushp (Gliricidia) and many other shrubs. It was a green fence, and every year, just before the rains, small circular pits were dug around the coconut trees and the twigs and branches of gripushp would go into the pit as manure, along with wood ash from the kitchen. All of this would be covered with a layer of soil. The gripushp was cut down to about two feet, but after the rains it was back to being ten feet tall.

After the coconut, the most significant trees were the jackfruit trees. We had four or five of them. When the jackfruit starts, it just starts. Each tree would be like a tractor load of jackfruits. They’d start from right below, about one foot high … these huge, big, big jackfruits. My grandmother was a jackfruit expert. She always knew what to do at what stage of its life. We’d use the small ones as a vegetable, and the medium ones were used in a dish with sardines or mackerels. The dish is called puzhuku. These days you will not get it anywhere in Kerala, except in some homes or toddy shops. I remember all of us sitting to cut the ripe jackfruits with coconut oil applied all over our hands, and the flies hovering all around. And the sweet jackfruit that we used to have dipped in honey was heavenly. The discarded parts of the jackfruit were taken to a tabela where my kaka used to keep some cows. I still remember him telling me, ‘half-a-litre increase of milk after cows eat jackfruit.’ Of course, all the cows were named after the children of the house and we made sure we took the jackfruits to our favourite cows.

Climbing the jackfruit tree was an art because all of them were covered with pepper vines. The children were not allowed to climb them. There used to an amazingly slender bamboo ladder, on which a person would go up and cut the jackfruit and then lower it with a rope, using a branch as a lever.  I also remember that whenever a visitor came home, he was given a huge jackfruit to lug back with him!

Then there were the mango trees. They were huge. A single tree would take one full day to harvest. The bamboo wouldn’t reach some parts and then one would have to climb up and shake the branches while people stood below with stretched bedsheets, shouting instructions. Once, I remember, a mango hit my head and I almost fainted. The pickling, again, was one big social thing. All aunties, uncles … everybody sitting, cutting together, and filling those big white jars with the brown lids. Jars and jars of mango pickle called kadumanga, made only in Kerala. I remember climbing the mango tree and chatting away with friends and cousins. We always remembered to carry a bit of salt to dip our mangoes in.

The banana trees were all over the place. We had about twenty to twenty-five varieties of bananas in our one-acre home. I don’t get to see so many varieties anymore. Small ones, which were called Anni Poovu, and which we ate a dozen at a time. There was a red variety, and the long one called Nenthram. It was almost a meal by itself. I remember my mother making very nice cutlets from banana flowers. You know, I don’t remember anyone buying any bananas, or coconuts, or jackfruits or mangoes.

The other trees in the house were asafetida trees. Our house was of the old variety and it had many doors. Outside each door there was an asafetida tree to keep the snakes away. There were a lot of rat snakes, really huge ones… about six feet long. So, we walked with heavy footsteps all the time. There were stories that if a rat snake hit you with its tail you’d be paralysed, but I don’t remember anyone being hit by its tail ever. During the rains, the green vine snake was the one to watch out for. They were also all over the place. The rat snakes were always moving away from us, but the green ones were very unpredictable. They’d be falling from a mango tree, or appearing on a branch suddenly, and it was said that they go straight for the eyes. So, my grandmother planted all the asafetida trees to prevent us from getting paralysed or going blind!

Arjun Dahanu was a farmer and food activist. He passed away in 2020.