


Hello Friends, 𝗜 𝗮𝗺 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝗿𝘂𝗯𝗯𝗲𝗿 𝘁𝗿𝗲𝗲 𝘀𝘁𝗮𝗻𝗱𝗶𝗻𝗴 𝗼𝗻 𝗡𝗼𝗿𝘁𝗵 𝗠𝗮𝗶𝗻 𝗥𝗼𝗮𝗱, 𝗞𝗼𝗿𝗲𝗴𝗮𝗼𝗻 𝗣𝗮𝗿𝗸, 𝗣𝘂𝗻𝗲 I have been here for the past fifty years — steady, silent, and offering shade through summer, monsoon, and winter. Pedestrians walking down the road would often pause under my shade for a moment’s rest. As they walked through the dappled light filtering through my dense leaves, I could sense their relief. I often heard them say, "Oh God, how cool and soothing this feels!" One day, someone placed a red stone near my trunk, smeared it with vermillion, and turned me into a deity. Since then, I was no longer just a tree — I became a place of faith. An old man would sit under my shade every day with his shoe-polishing kit. I became his home too. But today... today I am deeply restless. A few months ago, someone came and marked a number on my trunk in white paint. They did the same to the trees around me. Officials kept coming and going. I overheard them... "The road needs to be widened, and this tree is an obstacle." In fifty years, have I ever troubled anyone? Has anyone ever been angry with me? On the contrary, when I was planted here, it was the same old Municipal Corporation that cared for me, watered me, nurtured me. And now they say that I am "in the way," and so I, along with others, must be removed. Some wise citizens requested the officials — "Can’t you plan the road around the trees?" But someone retorted, "For traffic, these trees must be removed!" Then others said, "Replant me elsewhere. Uproot me carefully and replant me on some distant hill." But is it really that simple? Today, some workers arrived, supposedly to prepare me for replantation. They ruthlessly chopped off all my branches, leaving me bare and exposed, with just a few scattered leaves clinging on. Tomorrow, my deep, strong roots — rooted in this soil for fifty years — will be cut away. In just a moment, I will be separated from the earth that has been my home. Then, with my few remaining leaves, I will be lifted by a crane and taken far away, to be replanted on a hill somewhere, they say. But who will care for me there? Will I get water regularly? Will my roots ever find strength again? Only God knows. In this desperate situation, with my few remaining leaves, I will try to breathe... And if I cannot survive, my death will simply be recorded as a "failed transplantation." The contractors, the officials — all of them will move on, absolved. What will happen next, no one knows... But dear people, I ask you this — could you not have found a way to let me live here? Hundreds of my brothers, sisters, friends, and kin are about to face the axe. Just because we do not bleed like you, do you think we do not feel pain? Nevertheless, I am forever indebted to those who planted me, watered me, cared for me, and loved me all these years. Today, as I struggle for survival, I promise — I will fight. And if I survive, please come and visit me on that faraway hill. — Your Tree @MAHA_UDD @MahaDGIPR @AUThackeray @MNSSachinK @DrRajBhosale @AjitPawarSpeaks @supriya_sule @PuneRivers @ultra__sonic @PKarve_Samuchit @AngadPatwardhan @ameetgsingh @RupeshKesekar @RohanAaron1 @navipeth @KatYogesh @RahulAsks @_prashantkadam @Meghnarbhandari @pulse_pune @shrikaleLokmat @brizpatil @eeshwari_jedhe @vandymini @mhemachari @jbaphna @each1save2 @vata_foundation @SaxsSathya @gtitli @DevakiKunte @MeeraRotti @vata_foundation @Wangchuk66 #pune #KoregaonPark



























