it's a pleasure to teach the students of Advertising and Marketing (ADMA) in XIC this year. For their first written assignment I asked them to write an essay, describing a tree to a blind man, using the five senses. Here are a few essays:
DESCRIBING A TREE TO A BLIND MAN - USING THE FIVE SENSES.
------------------------------------------------
Starting at the roots, they grab the ground like you'd wrap your fingers around a large ball of dough.
The trunk is wide and uneven, like three people huddled together, trying to stay out of the rain under just one umbrella.
There are knots on the trunk, like grandfather's knobbly knees. The bark on the trunk is rough and crumbly like the underside of a tandoori roti, and it smells a little like one too. The gash in the trunk, with sap oozing out, is like blood when you nick your finger, and probably just as painful for the tree. The sap smells and feels like sticky caramel toffee when it's fresh and the dried drops are like little misshapen glass marbles.
The trunk is tall, twice your height and then starts to branch out like its stopped raining and the three people under the umbrella are going their separate ways.
There are as many leaves as the hair on your head, each as large as your palm and shaped like it too. They feel like freshly starched laundry if you crush them in your palm and smell like a freshly mown lawn. The low-hanging leaves are dark and rough like your daily newspaper and when they move it reminds me of Dad reading it at the breakfast table. The younger smaller leaves are smooth and light, like the satin tablecloth on the dining table.
by Viren Fernandes
-------------------------------------
A large old tree, in the beginning of Autumn
There is a slight nip in the air, and right in front of us is an old, large tree. Take off your shoes, feel the leaves on the ground and the crunchy sound, like lightly crumpled pieces of paper. You step on them and they crackle and crinkle, from solid into dust.
Can you smell the moisture in the air and feel the dampness between your toes?
Now lean forward the touch the trunk. The tree is wider and maybe three times taller than you. The trunk is coarse, like the lines and wrinkles on an old man's face. It has an uneven surface. Run your hands along the bark, feel the flaky nature of the exterior, it crumbles and peels, with a crackling sound. This is the skin of the tree, much like yours. The slowly flowing thick liquid is the sap, it smells sweet but not like ripened fruit , just softer. It's thicker than saliva and is to the tree what blood is to you.
Leaves are shaped like your hands, wide at the base, tapered at the top. New leaves are soft, like old leather shoes, velvety and soft to touch. The older leaves are like thicker paper, feel the soft powdery feel of dust on them. Tear them and hear them rip, like thin cloth. Old leaves on the floor are signs of decay.
The new leaves are like new life. Brown is the colour of decay and aging. Green is the colour of life. This tree is both living and dying. New leaves are light, new to life, like infants. The leaves are veined, much like your palm, with one thick line down the middle.
The tree is like you in many ways. Your feet can be compared to its roots planted in the ground. It's branches are like your arms and the leaves grow on extensions like the fingers on your hand.
And at this time of the year, the tree droops like an old man with a wrinkled face. He has been around for a long time and will be.
This is a tree in autumn, a large old tree biding its time.
by Aranyaka Mohapatra
--------------------------------------------------------
Behold! The night blooming cereus, queen of the night. A tree unlike any other, the phoenix of the plant kingdom. Her tender yet scaly stems jut out from the raw earth and climb haphazardly towards the night sky. She stands moderately high and quietly elegant in the twilight. The small, rounded leaves a dark shade of life-affirming green, radiate a soft, soothing sensation to anyone blessed enough to bear witness to its mute rituals. For tonight is when the queen bestows upon us its thin, plate-like flowers that only bloom once a year. The white flower, with its bright orange stem is an unusual oxymoron to the darkness that surrounds the tree.
Breathe in the sweet seductive fragrance that steer your emotions, like the captain of the ship. Standing here around her, you can't deny the aura she emits. The feel and fragrance of the majestic night queen is a nocturnal wonder - something that will remain with you forever.
by Srikant Kanchi
-------------------------------------------------
I walk with a blind man across a sea of soft cottony grass, velvety and complete, with the sun complementing its existence.
As we walk in holy melancholy towards a large thick tree that has stood the test of Autumn's might I first make him feel the shadows of the large tree sprawled across the lawn. As we get closer I would get his bare feet to feel the dried leaves that autumn took away from this majestic being. I would ask him to run his hands through the rugged bark that bear witness to years of solitude, joy, anger, pain, ecstasy.
I would ask him to smell the aroma of its wood and feel its texture; run his hands through the earthy green leaves that add to the beauty of the tree. I would ask him to feel the sap of the tree and tell him that it is almost like what blood is to us. I would make him experience the dust on the ground and dead leaves crumbled in his palms. The wind whistling past the majestic being through the rustling of its leaves, almost like a wind chime to the earth.
I would ask him to smell the dampness of the earth and life of the tree in its sap.
I would ask him to taste the ruggedness of the bark that is insipid, with a hint of aged sap and dirt.
by Sheldon Abranches
----------------------------------------
Imagine a person with both the legs bound together, like it is just an extension of the body. Hands stretched out, only with a hundred other hands emerging from everywhere.The hands are called the branches and instead of hair there are leaves. The outer skin, thick, rough and layered, like dried up wounds. This is called the bark. Lush, dense hair growing on the hands and all over the top.When the wind brushes past it sways and moves with a rustling sound.
The tree smells of mud and freshness. Each tree has its own unique smell.
A tree is not very different from people, except that it is stationary and contributes much more to the world around it.
by Ranjani Raghupati
-------------------------------------------------------------------
DESCRIBING A TREE TO A BLIND MAN - USING THE FIVE SENSES.
------------------------------------------------
Starting at the roots, they grab the ground like you'd wrap your fingers around a large ball of dough.
The trunk is wide and uneven, like three people huddled together, trying to stay out of the rain under just one umbrella.
There are knots on the trunk, like grandfather's knobbly knees. The bark on the trunk is rough and crumbly like the underside of a tandoori roti, and it smells a little like one too. The gash in the trunk, with sap oozing out, is like blood when you nick your finger, and probably just as painful for the tree. The sap smells and feels like sticky caramel toffee when it's fresh and the dried drops are like little misshapen glass marbles.
The trunk is tall, twice your height and then starts to branch out like its stopped raining and the three people under the umbrella are going their separate ways.
There are as many leaves as the hair on your head, each as large as your palm and shaped like it too. They feel like freshly starched laundry if you crush them in your palm and smell like a freshly mown lawn. The low-hanging leaves are dark and rough like your daily newspaper and when they move it reminds me of Dad reading it at the breakfast table. The younger smaller leaves are smooth and light, like the satin tablecloth on the dining table.
by Viren Fernandes
-------------------------------------
A large old tree, in the beginning of Autumn
There is a slight nip in the air, and right in front of us is an old, large tree. Take off your shoes, feel the leaves on the ground and the crunchy sound, like lightly crumpled pieces of paper. You step on them and they crackle and crinkle, from solid into dust.
Can you smell the moisture in the air and feel the dampness between your toes?
Now lean forward the touch the trunk. The tree is wider and maybe three times taller than you. The trunk is coarse, like the lines and wrinkles on an old man's face. It has an uneven surface. Run your hands along the bark, feel the flaky nature of the exterior, it crumbles and peels, with a crackling sound. This is the skin of the tree, much like yours. The slowly flowing thick liquid is the sap, it smells sweet but not like ripened fruit , just softer. It's thicker than saliva and is to the tree what blood is to you.
Leaves are shaped like your hands, wide at the base, tapered at the top. New leaves are soft, like old leather shoes, velvety and soft to touch. The older leaves are like thicker paper, feel the soft powdery feel of dust on them. Tear them and hear them rip, like thin cloth. Old leaves on the floor are signs of decay.
The new leaves are like new life. Brown is the colour of decay and aging. Green is the colour of life. This tree is both living and dying. New leaves are light, new to life, like infants. The leaves are veined, much like your palm, with one thick line down the middle.
The tree is like you in many ways. Your feet can be compared to its roots planted in the ground. It's branches are like your arms and the leaves grow on extensions like the fingers on your hand.
And at this time of the year, the tree droops like an old man with a wrinkled face. He has been around for a long time and will be.
This is a tree in autumn, a large old tree biding its time.
by Aranyaka Mohapatra
--------------------------------------------------------
Behold! The night blooming cereus, queen of the night. A tree unlike any other, the phoenix of the plant kingdom. Her tender yet scaly stems jut out from the raw earth and climb haphazardly towards the night sky. She stands moderately high and quietly elegant in the twilight. The small, rounded leaves a dark shade of life-affirming green, radiate a soft, soothing sensation to anyone blessed enough to bear witness to its mute rituals. For tonight is when the queen bestows upon us its thin, plate-like flowers that only bloom once a year. The white flower, with its bright orange stem is an unusual oxymoron to the darkness that surrounds the tree.
Breathe in the sweet seductive fragrance that steer your emotions, like the captain of the ship. Standing here around her, you can't deny the aura she emits. The feel and fragrance of the majestic night queen is a nocturnal wonder - something that will remain with you forever.
-------------------------------------------------
I walk with a blind man across a sea of soft cottony grass, velvety and complete, with the sun complementing its existence.
As we walk in holy melancholy towards a large thick tree that has stood the test of Autumn's might I first make him feel the shadows of the large tree sprawled across the lawn. As we get closer I would get his bare feet to feel the dried leaves that autumn took away from this majestic being. I would ask him to run his hands through the rugged bark that bear witness to years of solitude, joy, anger, pain, ecstasy.
I would ask him to smell the aroma of its wood and feel its texture; run his hands through the earthy green leaves that add to the beauty of the tree. I would ask him to feel the sap of the tree and tell him that it is almost like what blood is to us. I would make him experience the dust on the ground and dead leaves crumbled in his palms. The wind whistling past the majestic being through the rustling of its leaves, almost like a wind chime to the earth.
I would ask him to smell the dampness of the earth and life of the tree in its sap.
I would ask him to taste the ruggedness of the bark that is insipid, with a hint of aged sap and dirt.
by Sheldon Abranches
----------------------------------------
Imagine a person with both the legs bound together, like it is just an extension of the body. Hands stretched out, only with a hundred other hands emerging from everywhere.The hands are called the branches and instead of hair there are leaves. The outer skin, thick, rough and layered, like dried up wounds. This is called the bark. Lush, dense hair growing on the hands and all over the top.When the wind brushes past it sways and moves with a rustling sound.
The tree smells of mud and freshness. Each tree has its own unique smell.
A tree is not very different from people, except that it is stationary and contributes much more to the world around it.
by Ranjani Raghupati
-------------------------------------------------------------------
No comments:
Post a Comment