I became immersed in nature because of my parents. I must have been 6 years old when my mother Indurani let me choose the lotus flowers from a medley of violet, pink, yellow and white variety of colors from the vendor Haribhav who came to our doorstep. Ishrat Bungalow was colored in green oil paint and the only green house on the street.

Bapa bought the vacant land adjacent to the bungalow to fulfil my mother’s dream of a garden and replaced the rocky land with rich red soil. On one of our walks back from the beach my mother Indurani bought 15 coconut palms. I remember counting the number of steps to ensure the coconut palms have enough distance to grow well. It did not take long before the seng tree bordered the street facing the swing and the gulmohar tree to the right of it.

Morning walks were to the beach: watching the sunrise in its splendid array and playing with the sand and ocean. My father would take us to the forest lands surrounding suburban Bombay or to the Aarey milk colony, Powaii or Vihar lakes.

My love for writing was inspired by my mother Indurani. She opened an account for me at Mrs. Menezes’s Book Store near St. Teresa’s Convent where I went to school. Most afternoons in my lunch break I would browse through the books to see if any new books had been added to the collection. I enjoyed Enid Blyton’s collection of adventures, HG Wells, Alice in Wonderland, Aesop’s Fables, and Little Women by Louisa May Alcott. When I delved into the novels of Charles Dickens, I loved The Tale of Two Cities, Oliver Twist, and the Pickwick Papers. Solving murder mysteries by Earl Stanley Gardiner and Agatha Christie became our favorite pastime. I could get whatever books I wanted because she never said no. “Ilm sabse badi daulat hai,” she said, “Wealth of knowledge is the utmost.”