Review: Trees of South India by Paul Blanchflower and Marie Demont

“The trees that were just there looking all green suddenly seem different, with different leaves, patterns, and colours, thanks to this book,” reads a Goodreads review of Pradip Krishen’s Trees of Delhi: A Field Guide. Another admirer says, “I am thankful that we live in the same times as Pradip Krishen.”

Published in 2006, Kishen’s profusely illustrated book was revolutionary in many ways. It helped move trees out of the confines of botany and build their reputation as marvellous creatures that amateurs could appreciate. While flowers have largely gotten their due, the book went beyond them to discuss the leaves, branches, and other parts that make a tree distinctive and can aid in identification. Krishen shared anecdotes and wove narratives around Delhi’s flora, with an arch-villain to boot — invasive species, which have replaced much of the city’s native species. He also worked on projects to restore native vegetation on degraded lands in Jodhpur, Gurgaon, and Jaipur, all of which have become major attractions.

Many books and websites have followed in Krishen’s footsteps, with the latest being Trees of South India: Native Trees and Shrubs of the South Indian Plains and Hillocks. Auroville Botanical Gardens has published the tree-identification guide and Krishen has written its foreword.

Auroville is an “ideal township devoted to an experiment in human unity” near Pondicherry in south India. Its early settlers planted trees to restore the eroded soil, eventually succeeding in foresting the barren land. The botanical gardens there, established in 2000, sought to conserve tropical dry evergreen forests. This type of forest, found in patches along the Coromandel coast, is now endangered.

Trees of South India focuses on native plants from the Coromandel coast to the foothills of the Western Ghats. So, while it might not be representative of the entire region, it covers large swathes, including metropolises such as Bengaluru, Chennai, and Hyderabad. Amid this territorial expanse, there are significant variations in terrain, rainfall, and soil type.

The book’s photos, some taken over 25 years ago, are stunning. Its neat layout, with brief descriptions and handy symbols for leaf type, flower colour, etc., make for a visually appealing and handy guide. The introduction has information on forest types in the region, sacred groves, the legends associated with them, and the rewilding initiatives in Auroville.

Befittingly for a collective, the author credit on the book’s cover goes to Auroville Botanical Gardens. However, the author’s note is by Paul Blanchflower and the “About the Authors” section also mentions Marie Demont, both long-time residents of the township. Blanchflower emphasises the collaborative nature of the book, including their debt to Father Mathew (1930–2004), one of the many Jesuits who contributed to botanical research, taxonomy, and conservation in India.

The guide has another Auroville flourish too. Along with the plants’ English, Hindi, and Tamil names, the authors have mentioned the “Mother’s spiritual name” (The township’s founder, Mirra Alfassa, is known as “The Mother”). So, the red silk cotton tree also has the appellation “solid steadfastness in the material consciousness” and the seaside clerodendron “perfect planning of work”.

Flowery names aside, the book makes India’s awe-inspiring (and rapidly depleting) biodiversity come alive in its pages. While its geographical ambit might be south India, many of the trees it lists — mahua, jamun, and tamarind (native to Africa) — flourish in other parts of the Indian subcontinent as well. Even if you don’t fancy craning your neck to gape at trees while thumbing a book, it might be worth skimming through it for glimpses of rare plants and flowers.

But what about people among whom plants don’t inspire any lofty emotions? Those who can appreciate them for the oxygen they generate, the shade they provide, or the fillip they give to property values. But beyond that, they can think of better ways to spend their time than what might seem like watching grass grow.

To them, I would show the well-documented physical and mental health benefits of “spending time around trees”. Granted, tree watching might be an acquired taste. However, among such tastes, it is an easy one to acquire. Large mammals might not grace one with a sighting during a safari, birds and butterflies might be too flitty to recognise, and insects could be camouflaged (Insect watching is a thing too, no less thrilling than the aforementioned activities). But a plant is always obvious and steadfast, giving one time to take in its majesty and identify it.

I still remember coming across an olive tree in Delhi’s Lodhi Garden and quickly recognising it using Krishen’s guide (lately, many trees have name tags that the garden has helpfully put up). I felt an indescribable joy in putting a name to its face, realising what made it different from others around it, and being privy to the world it engendered. On trees, I have encountered leopard claw marks, aromatic resin, intricate nests such as those of weaverbirds, moults of various shapes and sizes, a snake hunting a frog, avian abundance, and of course, fruits, among other fascinating things.

Beyond the benefits to the individual, there is another reason for us to forge deeper bonds with trees. In the foreword to Trees of South India, Krishen writes, “We are in the midst of a whole new surge of exploration of the natural world around us”. He attributes this to “a growing sense that the natural world, especially in India, is under siege and shrinking fast”.

In my experience, it works the other way round too — ecological explorations can also inspire conservation. Indulging in the joys that nature can provide might seem like garden-variety environmentalism, but it can be a stepping stone to more concrete actions to protect the environment. People who directly experience the benefits of nature and ecosystems, whether urban or forest dwellers, are more likely to save them. That’s a green lining one can take hope from amid the pervasive climate doom and gloom.

Syed Saad Ahmed is a writer and communications professional.