Perhaps because of the rain the park was empty. Krishen struggled to control the playful beagle as it ran after some birds. He loosened the leash and then reeled the dog in. “It’s like flying a kite,” I said.

He chuckled in agreement. “Oh look, that’s a Krishna-kadamb,” he pointed out a tree which had small ball-shaped flowers. He handed me a field magnifying glass that he fished out of his pocket.

I felt the stickiness of the kadamb stamens and examined the flower. “Why the Krishna-kadamb?” I asked.

“Because this is the one associated with Krishna in Brindavan. But it’s actually the Kaim (Mitragyna parviflora).”

“So what about the other one?”

I asked. “Well, that has a larger ball of flowers and different leaves too, but it’s native to the forests of the Northeast. It gets mistaken for the kadamb of Krishna.” I was glad I was walking with him. Ten minutes into the walk and one mystery had been solved. Just the previous week my mother-in-law was complaining that everything had changed since she was a child. The vegetables didn’t taste the same any more and even the kadamb’s flowers didn’t grow to the size she remembered. Obviously, what she remembered from her childhood was a different kadamb.

“And here is a Krishna-siris. Doesn’t it look beautiful?” It did, and I said so. It had a feathery canopy and its round yellow flowers glittered in the rain-washed sunlight. After half an hour of walking, as I was getting into my car, I said, “Thanks for the walk...”

... contd.