Heart and Soul: Garden of happy memories

Part of the writer's lush and well-tended garden, at dusk. Photo: Dr Kannan Pasamanickam

As a garden, I have had two owners. My first owner never cared for me – he let the lalang grow wild and his huge Alsatian dogs roam uncontrolled, to urinate and defecate wherever they wanted – I felt so dirty.

Then I was sold to the present owner Dr K, and his family, who have looked after me with love for the past 30 years. I will refer to Dr K as my master. Together, we have accumulated a treasure trove of happy memories.As soon as master became my owner, I knew I was going to become a beautiful garden.

He bought a lawn mower and cut the grass every fortnight. He attempted to plant a coconut tree at one of my corners; I was filled with mirth because his frisky puppy would pull out the tree every time master turned his back. The tug-of-war between them continued until master finally conceded defeat.

I watched when as a young man, Dr K planned with his supportive wife, how to beautify me. Every weekend, he would go to the nurseries in Sungei Buloh with his two young children to buy different types of plants. When they returned, I would chuckle to myself as I overheard the children grumble to their mother as to how they were squeezed into one corner of their small car because the rest of the space was taken up by plants!

Once home, master was eager to quickly get the plants into the ground because he was impatient to see them grow and flower. Rain did not deter him – he would don a raincoat and continue planting. Absence of light, once night fell, was not an obstacle – he would switch on the garden lights and finish planting.

My beauty grew over time as roses, lilies, heliconias, jasmines, orchids, bauhinias, Thai and Chinese ginger flowers, bottle brush, passiflora and frangipani adorned me. Master learnt about the peculiar needs of some of his plants, by trial and error.

When the Chinese ginger repeatedly died, his wife’s intuitive advice to locate this plant in one of my corners which received sunlight for part of the day and then shade, resulted in success – the plant grew to heights of 3 to 4 feet, bearing beautiful large bright red flowers.

When he despaired because his curcuma plants withered and died after producing beautiful purple and blue flowers, he learnt that this was the natural cycle of the plant, because three months later, shoots grew in the same location, developed fast, bearing flowers again. The joy on his face when he saw the new flowers was so rewarding to see.

I also witnessed master battling the insects that competed with him for his plants and flowers. He was particularly devastated when aphids destroyed the water lilies that were rewarding him with beautiful ruby-red flowers.

A variety of birds visited me daily. Some built nests in the plants, laid their eggs and raised their young.

Recently, with encouragement from his birder friends, master started to photograph and identify these avian visitors to his garden. These included the Black-naped Oriole, Yellow-vented Bulbul, Blue-tailed Bee-eater, Brown Throated Sunbird, Magpie Robin, White-throated Kingfisher and Little Heron. I witnessed the last two helping themselves to the Japanese carps in the garden pond.

I was host to the games master used to play with the children when they were young. I witnessed master teaching his son to cycle; the moment the boy managed to balance himself on the bike without falling, is etched in all our minds as the young lad with a look of glee exclaimed, “Pa, I think I can survive in this world!” – very optimistic words for a seven-year-old.

The daughter too, had her memorable moments. One day, aged three, she plucked a flower, held it to her nose as though she was enjoying its fragrance, gave a coy smile and strutted very self-consciously like a lady, past her parents as they stood in the garden.

Master’s wife used to organise garden parties for her daughter and her friends who used to sit on the grass among the flowers and enjoy their cakes and pastries.

Upon coming home, after a long day at work, master loves to sit in the swing in the porch and gaze out at my plants and flowers.

About three years ago, master took ill and needed to be hospitalised, followed by several weeks of convalescence at home. His wife knew that spending time in his garden would be therapeutic. So, she insect-proofed the porch by constructing an aesthetically pleasing barrier made of wood and fine netting – this enabled them to enjoy the sights of the garden without being annoyed by mosquitoes.

During his recuperation, master spent many hours in the porch – reading, writing and taking naps in his favourite rattan divan chair.

The sound of running water in my pond would lull him to sleep.

A large door in this barrier opened out into the garden. On sunny days, after the grass had been cut and the plants trimmed, I would look extra beautiful. The mosquito population would also have decreased substantially. On days like this, master would leave the porch door open, to give him unobstructed views of the garden.

On other days when the sky was clear, late in the evening, the rays of the setting sun would stream into the garden; my plants would capture and reflect the light. The view through the open porch door would be absolutely stunning.

Seated on his swing, enraptured by God’s gift of nature, a flood of happy memories would engulf master. He would relive all the momentous events that occurred as his garden evolved. He would recall the challenges he faced, the joys of success, and the pain of failure as his garden grew.

I have, with some sadness, watched master age. He can no longer spend long hours toiling to beautify me – his joints creak and his muscles ache with the effort. But, as he has told many of his friends who have come to admire me, he has no regrets.

Every time he looks at me, he is filled with joy. Creating me has been a labour of love for him, which I have repaid many times over with a feast for all his senses and filled him with happy memories.