The Art of Leafing: A Leaf’s Quiet Journey Through Life, Purpose and Letting Go

A. Kasinathan

Who am I? Where am I? What is the purpose of my life? What lies ahead for me? Will it be relatively easy? Or would I not be so fortunate? These and some more such questions engaged the mind of the hardened mature green leaf.

It realised that despite its photosynthetic nature, it could no longer manufacture food for the tree as efficiently as before. While this inevitable aspect of nature did trouble it often, it did seek solace from the fact that unlike the younger leaves in the upper tiers of the huge tree, it no longer had to worry about existential issues as before. In fact, it was now living in the shade and shadow of the younger lot in the terminal.

The Anxieties of Youth

A few months back during the severe dry season, as a young leaf it had been occupied with more critical survival related matters. Would I be able to receive adequate nutrients and water to pass through the summer ? If so, would it be enough to ensure that my growth would not be adversely affected? Would I get as much as the neighbouring brethren? If so, is there any way I could get something more than the others to help me store for a future rainy day?

The now ageing leaf was content that it no longer was afflicted by what appeared earlier to be the only possible questions in its life. It had come through all this and much more and found itself lost more in philosophy as reflected in the opening scene.  The leaf drew a certain degree of satisfaction that it had now got a decent sense of the Art of Living.

It now realised to its immense relief that the Art of Living was in its art of leaving. It massaged its ego in this new found wisdom and regretfully wished that this knowledge had reached it a little earlier in life. If only it had known that it would be reasonably provided for its sustenance and growth, it might have been able to spend its nights better giving out carbon dioxide in a more relaxed manner.

Discovering Purpose in Service

As it dwelled on such intense thoughts, it saw a bird building a nest on the branch it was attached to. The leaf suddenly realised that this was a responsibility it had to discharge for the lives of the feathered creature and its future offsprings would considerably depend on the support the leaf and its neighbours would provide. It worried whether it would be up to the task at this advancing age. But again, it felt may be, just may be this was the purpose of its existence for the remaining days. Seeing the larger purpose, it drew on its reserves to do what it must.

Over the next few weeks, the chirping of the tiny nestlings woke the leaf each morning, filling it with a deep sense of achievement for having contributed, in its own small way, to the wonder of new life. Even as it revelled in this newfound glory, reality soon intervened when some of the growing young birds dropped their refuse onto the unsuspecting leaf under the cover of darkness. What a return for the support system to which I contributed, it moaned to itself. As the rays of the morning sun pierced through the dense foliage and touched it, an altruistic feeling engulfed the leaf. Perhaps, this also is part of my larger and remaining purpose.

The Grace of Letting Go

A couple of months down the line, it could feel yellowing was setting in.  It knew for certain that it had moved on in life. aND, it was only a matter of time before the furious monsoon rain would provide the deliverance. And it expected neither to rise to blissful heaven nor to descend into burning hell.

It knew its time would eventually come. The wind and rain would give it the final push, and gravity would gently carry it to the ground below. Within a few hours, or at most a day, the gardener would sweep it off the dusty road and consign it to the waste yard. There, for one last time, it would slowly decompose. True to its nature, it would transform itself into organic manure and enrich the soil.

For several months, the leaf listened to the Mullah’s calls to prayer echoing from the neighborhood mosque through blaring loudspeakers. In the early hours of the morning, the temple’s deafening bhajans answered them. Yet it understood neither. Instead, it remembered a not-so-young human who had once sat beneath the same tree and sung, “Zindagi ka Safar hai ye kaisa safar, koi samjha nahi koi jaana nahi.” (What kind of journey is this journey of life? No one has understood it. No one has known it.)

As the song played out in its mind, a burst of wind and rain felled the now ready leaf to its ultimate destination.

A. Kasinathan is an Honours graduate in History from St. Stephen’s College and holds an MBA in Human Resources. He spent 36 years in plantation management, human resources, and general management. After retiring, he turned to writing to reflect on life’s many contradictions. Through his essays, he explores the subtle intersections of nature, philosophy, and the human experience.