In the early days of knowing each other, Jean-Paul Sartre would often refuse to go for walks with Simone de Beauvoir to the countryside, saying he was “allergic to chlorophyll”. The French philosopher was actually ignorant of the joys of nature; he’d rather spend time with his lover in the library or the bedroom.
There are many who are impervious to the pleasures plants bring. But for others, watching and caring for greens is a way of life and recourse to inner well-being.
“Say, you come upon a field of daffodils or are walking through the sal bithi (sal forest) in Santiniketan, soaking in the beauty. Although a passive engagement, it could be powerful enough to feel a stirring within… which could be anything from joy to healing to calmness,” says Chandana Baksi, a Calcutta-based psychotherapist and mental health trainer.
Few things boost our emotional well-being like gardening does. Here the engagement is proactive; you are the caregiver, the nurturer — you sow, cut, prune, spray, dig, arrange, scoop out, flatten, mix, and uproot — it’s an endless and a most rewarding process. Plants have a way of giving back, as those in the know would say; you feel blessed and heal yourself in the process.
Several scientific trials have revealed the beneficial effects on mood and mental health of even simply observing nature. In a Japanese study, viewing plants altered EEG recordings and reduced stress, fear, anger and sadness, as well as blood pressure, pulse rate and muscle tension. A later Japanese study found that it was more beneficial physiologically to view a green hedge rather than a concrete fence. A pioneering randomised study by the environmental psychologist Roger Ulrich in the 1980s found that views of plants and trees from post-operative wards improved the mood of patients and reduced analgesic use, surgical complications and length of stay.
A friend wrote to me recently as she watched her potted plants sway with the rains, “It’s impossible to tell which is making me more ecstatic — the rolling thunder and blowing sheets or the frenzied dance before my eyes. My babies have put up quite a show, moving in tandem in their finery, spectacular and synchronised, and drawing into that universe my immediate and distant worlds... I wonder if I ever had an individual existence.” What she was experiencing was sheer rapture from immersing herself in the world of plants. The delights we derive manifests in a myriad of ways, some of which we may not even be conscious about.
“Every person has a need to be nurtured, but it isn’t always possible to have an external nurturer,” explains Baksi. “This is especially true in these times of lockdown. The expectation to be nurtured is often not a realistic or mature one. One way of overcoming this is through self-care.”
Perhaps a more significant means through which one fulfils this need, as Baksi stresses, is by nurturing others. And what better way than caring for plants? “You seem to get a vicarious pleasure of being nurtured by nurturing another,” she says.
Social media is replete with posts showing people taking a more active interest in things green. Behind all those photographs of blooming bougainvilleas, showy hibiscuses and sharp-looking chillies are stories of an improved state of mind — or at least a desire to work towards it — and healthier blood pressure, heart rate, stress hormone levels and so on.
“Working with soil takes care of a lot of pent up stress and even aggression,” says Baksi. Also, the physiological changes plants exhibit — seedling to young shoot, stronger and leafier branches, buds turning into flowers — give one a huge sense of achievement, shrishti korar anondo. “The same may be true of painting or sculpting, but with plants there’s a certain mutual acceptance. These are living things and are in some way ‘allowing’ you that space,” she explains.
Each person has a unique manner of relating to plants. “They allow you to personalise the meaning of your engagement,” says Baksi.
For me, the power of a few quiet moments with my plants is real; there is a heightened awareness, a meditative practice so to speak. The vitality, resolve and complex workings I see seem to replenish all that boredom and despair had taken away. Almost like magic, the darkness softens making way for positive emotions.
It works something like this. The air is hot and humid, and it seems like the new leaves have freshly bathed in fluorescence. A leafy, sweaty smell hangs around, sometimes broken by a buzzing wasp. What might be going on inside those leaves that make them face the sun haughtily? The nodes and little bumps along the stems speak of the years gone by. Those ants there — they are like fine dots, gliding along the stalks, climbing over the sepals, then all the way back to the earth.
The possibilities for the mind if trained to weave through the chlorophyll are endless. Every inch of green then becomes a miracle, and every step you take, happiness.
