Two days after I explicitly wrote about the lonesome house at the other side of the street which belongs to an elderly Tibetan couple which rests behind the silhouette of guava and pear trees opposite to the house I have rented, it was a holiday, hence I decided to wake up late to compensate all the sleepless night prior to which I had invested in preparing slides for a presentation on wildlife and human welfare. And as I was sleeping that morning I could hear people shouting and repeated thuds as though someone was hammering a blunt wedge on a dried log. There was surely a commotion outside and even before I woke up from the bed that day, I cursed people for interrupting my sleeping hours with their noise. I tried to cover my head with the pillow and sleep again, that didn’t work. Finally with my squinting eyes, I lazily extended my hand and fumbled the corner of the curtain, drew it apart to see what was happening outside. My jaws dropped at the sight of it. The guava and the pear trees which I wrote about just two days back were being cut. Two young men were cutting the branches of the trees and the two young girls dragging it to the backyard to be chopped down to fine storage-able length. That fine morning I felt like those elderly couple had read my write up and they didn’t like a bit of it and as a sign of protest they are cutting down the trees for I am a forestry student. Otherwise why would they even cut those trees? Because those two girls spent more time in the shadows of those trees playing the hand-patting-game? Or because they see me as a thread to the existence of the whole Tibetan colony and since they have nothing to do all day, they decided to watch all my moves clearly by cutting down the trees and not through the small spaces between the trees and leaves. Whatever be the reason, but I didn’t like them cutting down the trees, not because I am forestry student and I am by default the guardian of the trees and plants but because my veranda is nakedly exposed to them and now I cannot disguise myself to be reading a book in the veranda and actually watch them. But I keep a little light of hope burning in me to be at good terms with the elderly couple one day and ask for sure why did they actually cut the trees. Until then, I guess, all I can do is weave some obvious conclusions and think about a new way to watch them.