I saw this banyan tree on my first walk in Lisbon soon after arriving here its turmeric yellow letters of leaves scattered everywhere. If this had been India I told my husband there would have been a saffron shrine flowers incense burning at its feet red and orange thread wrapped around the width of the its trunk. It would have been a place of worship and worshipped. But there was no shrine here save the presence of an abandoned old-school TV and graffiti desultorily scribbled across the walls. Like other migrants it was surviving living here making itself home in this new land withstanding the vagaries of the weather and indifferent populace. But did it too imagine the life it might have led in its home? I picked up a leaf to take home with me hoping to communicate its yearning for home to its cousins back in India its family of trees that it existed too somewhere in a distant part of the world.