THE RIDGE is the name of a strip of forest that cuts through New Delhi from north to south, set on the hills of an ancient mountain, the Aravalli Range. Until the 19th century, it spanned rugged, rocky terrain, later reforested by the British with the aim of creating a colonial garden. To achieve this, they introduced a tree from Central America called Prosopis juliflora, which quickly spread across the region, altering the landscape: the trees grew, and the hills became covered with shrubs and undergrowth. Slowly, the garden transformed into a jungle, protected by its own density.

One morning, I found a cluster of houses by the forest that I had never seen before. There, a fallen but still living tree stretched across the main street, blocking cars from entering an area full of small gardens. “We don’t move the tree; this way the road stays empty. In Khyber Pass,” they told me, “we love silence.” The men shelter from the rain and talk beneath the trees, under the large rocks where children play. I often returned to one of the houses, on whose rooftop two peacocks nested, unaware—just like me—that the neighbourhood was disappearing. There, nothing moves, and each place delivers its message through what it discreetly reveals: a luminous presence that lingers, a plant that rises and waits.

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Text: Pablo López

Voice: J. (AI)