The woman watched while he carefully tamped down the soil around the seedling, firming the soil as tenderly as a gentle doctor might probe his patient’s delicate stomach. His movements were precise, efficient, yet his demeanour was unquestionably relaxed.

            Not a hair on his head was out of place, yet it appeared unbrushed; there was not a spare gram of flesh on his slender frame, though he was wiry rather than undernourished; his face bore few lines or wrinkles, but the blue-gray eyes suggested many years of living, probably hard rather than healthy. He clearly loved his trees. Continue reading THE TREE PLANTER →

Goanna blinked its leathery lidded eyes, keening its senses to the source of the noise as they had approached, and flicked a pink forked tongue at the air, trying to determine the identity of the intruder. The male he had already seen from a distance for a few years, now and then, but this colourful flower he brought with him was a new curiosity for the reptile.

“Take a look at that monster”, exclaimed the young woman, leaping back several steps, in case the advance of Goanna was a warning she should heed. Continue reading GOANNA →

Selvi wasn’t a woman blessed with luck. As if being born a girl in India doesn’t carry enough burden. Selvi was a slip of a girl-woman, and shy, not feisty enough to employ a sharp tongue that may have given her antagonists some reason for respect. Continue reading Selvi →

What a delightful young man Paneer was when I met him 23 years ago. Bright eyed, intelligent and personable, he seemed to be the kind of person one might identify as the “future of India”. He had joined the fledgling reforestation project I was involved with in Tamil Nadu, and had proven himself to be exactly the callibre of man needed: to take responsibility where it was given; to be trusted with any task required, and at the same time to have that gift to inspire those who worked with him to reach for their best potential too. What a find. Continue reading Paneer – he would have died for a drink →

Chikoos are a non-descript fruit; many foreigners would walk past the motley, brown-skinned food without a second thought. Not this gringo; I’d run a mile for a kilo of ripe chikoos.

Though it looks like an unappetising potato, appearances are deceptive. Beneath that thin skin is an exquisite taste sensation – like a cross between a perfect pear, and sweet brown sugar. No fruit salad has ever tasted quite up to scratch without chikoos since I first discovered them.

I may run a mile for chikoos, but I’d definitely think twice before buying a kilo in the midst of a religious procession again. It could cost lives. Continue reading SOME PEOPLE WOULD KILL FOR A CHIKOO →

Must be getting soft in the head, old mate, he muttered to the kelpie at his feet. What would she want with a pair of rough diamonds like us?í

Jack tossled the dog’s floppy ears, smiling at the raucous laughter of a kookaburra further up the ridge. The dog, warming to the calloused hand’s ministrations, rolled back onto his master’s laceless boots and implored that the massage include his belly as well.

  Continue reading BROTHER’S WIDOW →