India, July 20 -- Earlier this month, Chandigarh turned green with intent. Van Mahotsav arrived as it does every monsoon-ceremonial, celebratory and full of saplings in waiting. Schools, institutions, parks and roundabouts became sites of sudden forestry. By day's end, over one lakh saplings had been planted across 253 locations. Photos were taken. Certificates distributed. Mud-caked shoes went home triumphant. But once the applause fades and the rain recedes, an old question returns with new urgency: What happens after the planting? In a time of erratic monsoons, shrinking water tables and concrete appetites, trees are no longer just a moral good. They're a climate strategy, a public health tool, a social equaliser-and a mirror. The way a city treats its trees tells you what kind of future it's imagining for itself. The timing of tree plantation during monsoon is not arbitrary. Moist soil, lower transpiration and natural irrigation make it the ideal window to root new life. But what happens when the monsoon misbehaves? Climate change has made rainfall less predictable and more punishing. One year it arrives late, the next it floods the plains. This volatility means plantation drives can't remain seasonal performances-they must become climate-informed interventions. Did we plant native species that can survive heat waves and lean spells? Did we match species to site-specific soil conditions and shade needs? Or did we chase plantation targets & photogenic numbers? In an age of shifting rain patterns, we cannot afford to plant trees with the assumptions of the past. What we need is a deeper, slower, wiser forestry-one that thinks in decades, not days. Saplings are hopeful. But mature trees are powerful. A fully grown tree cools the air, retains groundwater, hosts biodiversity and buffers noise pollution. Its shade becomes habit. Its absence leaves more than a gap-it unravels a rhythm we didn't know we relied on. Yet, we often cut first and plan later. Road widening, pavement repair or "beautification" projects have seen the removal of heritage trees with minimal public notice. Ironically, these losses barely register-even in a city designed with green lungs. Tree preservation doesn't photograph well. It doesn't deliver instant headlines. But it's where real climate action lives- in protecting what's already doing the work. Every felled tree is not just biomass lost-it's memory, habitat and future undone. And what of the saplings we do plant? Most don't die from heat or rain, but from neglect. Left unwatered, untended and unguarded. Chandigarh is experimenting with smart solutions-QR-code tagging, digital inventories and resident adoption models. These are good signs. But no app can replace care, continuity and community memory. Also crucial is design. Are we building for trees, or around them? Are pavements porous? Are roots suffocated under cement collars? Are bylaws flexible enough to integrate trees into built environments, rather than treat them as interference? To grow a tree is to commit to inconvenience-the kind that leads to slower traffic, softer temperatures and longer shade. Chandigarh was conceived as a city of gardens, boulevards and scale. Its trees were not decoration-they were design. But in today's heat islands, they are also defence - against floods, against smog, against loneliness. This monsoon, as saplings take root in city soil, we must ask the harder, more beautiful question: Are we planting trees or merely planting seasonal spectacles with hashtags? Because to truly grow trees in the age of climate crisis is not to follow tradition. It is to practice urban resilience, policy patience and public imagination. And that's a long-term relationship-not a monsoon fling....