My Jungle Garden: Blog post by Dr. Rosalind Pallivathucal

Every morning, I walk into my garden with a cup of coffee, and my roses remind me of one thing—nothing beautiful comes easy. People think growing roses is simple. It's not. Roses need patience, attention, and sometimes a little stubbornness. Maybe that's why I like them. Now, if you ask my daughters, Leena and Letha in Irvine, they'll tell you they love their mother. They'll proudly say, "Our mom is a hardworking doctor." But ask them about my garden, and immediately they'll say, "Amma, this is not a garden... this is a jungle!" Apparently, because I don't believe every plant has to stand in a military parade, my garden has lost all respectability. According to them, a proper California garden should have neat rows, perfect lawns, and not a banana tree waving at the roses.

But here's the funny part. While my own children tease me, complete strangers stop outside to admire the garden. Some even ask if they can take pictures! Typical, isn't it? Even the Bible says a prophet has no honor in her own hometown. In my case, not even in her own house! Maybe it's because I'm from Irinjalakuda, on the Thrissur side of Kerala. Gardening is in my blood. I grew up watching my uncles coax life out of the soil. Back home, a garden wasn't supposed to look like a hotel lobby—it was meant to feed you, surprise you, and make you smile.

People often ask me why I became a doctor. My usual answer is simple: *God made me a doctor.* Looking back, I sometimes wonder how it all happened. When I was growing up, in many upper-class Syrian Catholic families around Irinjalakuda, the expectation was very different from today. Many believed that daughters from "good families" didn't need to work. Becoming a professional was often seen as unnecessary, even beneath the family's social standing. If a girl studied, a B.A. degree was considered more than enough before marriage.

Professional men, especially doctors and engineers, often preferred to marry non-professional women who would become homemakers. In those days, that was simply how many families thought. I still remember hearing about one of the first lady engineers from nearby Kattur, and her cousins who became doctors. They were highly educated women, but finding husbands wasn't easy because there were so few men willing to marry professional women. Those stories stayed with me. They reminded me that education alone didn't always change society overnight. Things were changing slowly, and different communities often had different traditions. In my childhood, it seemed that many girls from families in the Nasrani and Jacobite communities who pursued professional education had somewhat greater opportunities to marry within professional circles, because there were more professional men in those communities who welcomed educated wives. Times have thankfully changed, and today's young women have far more choices than we ever imagined. Perhaps that's one reason I treasure my "jungle." I never liked fitting neatly into rows. Whether it was becoming a doctor, moving halfway around the world, or planting bananas next to roses, I've always believed life is richer when it grows a little wild.

So along with my roses, you'll find bananas, jambakka, grapes, curry leaves, and whatever else decides it likes California weather. My daughters call it chaos. I call it biodiversity! After spending years as a doctor taking care of people, I find that plants are much easier. They don't argue, they don't Google their symptoms, and they never ask for a second opinion. So yes, my garden is a little wild. But so is life. And honestly, I wouldn't have it any other way. .

Now living in Irvine, California, Dr. Rosalind Pallivathucal looks back on an extraordinary medical career spanning over 50 years. Her life of compassionate service, professional excellence, and dedication to healing remains an enduring inspiration to all who know her.