Alisha’s most cherished childhood memories sprouted from her backyard — a tiny, enchanting world teeming with wonders. Thinking of it now, she is nostalgic, conjuring vivid images of a place that once felt infinite. She can almost see it: the potato plants stubbornly rooted in the soil, the twisting bottle gourd vines that her mother miraculously incorporated into every dish, fiery-red and green chilli plants where she dutifully plucked a single chilli for every meal, and the slender okra stalks swaying in the breeze. However, reigning over all was the mango tree — the proud giant of the yard and a silent witness to her childhood. 

What a mango tree it was. Alisha drifts for a moment, her eyes misting over with the tears of a feeling she can’t quite name — a mix of gratitude for those treasured moments and a deep ache of longing for the time that has slipped away. She remembers climbing the tree with her elder brother on blazing summer afternoons, their bare feet gripping the rough bark, sunscreen be damned. Their sole mission: the mangoes. She’d stay below, holding a makeshift quilt trap fashioned from sheer sibling ingenuity, ready to catch the golden fruit her brother plucked and tossed down. Never mind if a mango hit her square in the nose or if she stumbled — what mattered was keeping the mangoes safe from the earth’s gritty embrace. 

After their triumphant mango haul, they’d sit cross-legged on the grass, greedily devouring their loot with sticky hands, ignoring their mother’s rule about having lunch first. Patience? Who’s she? The siblings’ gleeful disobedience was a summer ritual, punctuated by laughter and the occasional scolding over her brother’s scraped knees or the duo’s muddied clothes. 

Her backyard wasn’t just about mangoes. It was a tapestry of moments: her mother meticulously tending to roses, sunflowers, and marigolds; the birds chirping songs of joy as they pecked at the sweet mango flesh; the serene simplicity of lying on the grass and gazing up at the sky through a canopy of green. It was a sanctuary, a place where peace wasn’t just an idea but a palpable feeling in the air. 

Now, Alisha sits in her stark apartment, peering through a small window at the uninspiring side of a neighbouring building. Snapping out of her daydream, she pulls the curtains shut, suddenly self-conscious. She doesn’t want to seem like a creep staring into someone else’s life. A glance around her room only deepens the ache within her. The white walls, the narrow bed, the plain desk — it’s all so cold. Even the beloved family photo on her desk, taken in that very backyard, now feels like a cruel taunt. 

Gone is the scent of roses carried by the breeze, replaced by the sterile air of the city. Gone is the boundless freedom of her backyard, traded for the constrictions of adulthood. Alisha sits at her desk, her thoughts wandering back to the swing under the mango tree and the board games she played with her father. 

She’s struck by the irony of life: to nurture the home she loves so dearly, she had to leave it behind. 

Is she unhappy? No. But she wishes she could turn back time, even if it is just for a moment. She wonders what has changed. Was it the weight of responsibilities? The pull of ambitions? Or was it simply the inevitable passage from childhood to adulthood? It seems a question that eludes an answer, one she doesn’t linger on for too long. 

Instead, Alisha picks up her phone, engaging in the daily ritual of calling her mother. Her mother’s voice is the balm that soothes all her aches, much like the warmth of those lazy afternoons in the backyard. As they chat, her mother excitedly shares plans for the spring harvest, listing off vegetables and flowers she hopes to grow. Alisha closes her eyes, imagining the vibrant garden coming to life again. 

With a bittersweet smile, she whispers, “This too, I will grow through.” 

The backyard may be miles away, but its essence remains rooted in her. Its lessons of joy, resilience, and connection are woven into her being, a reminder that even in the bleakness of her current reality, the comfort of those memories will forever be her refuge.