They say where flowers bloom so does hope.
The line has stayed with me since I was learning about growing daffodils a few months ago. And when recently Miley Cyrus won her first Grammy for her record-breaking song, I felt elated for her and the song because they well deserved it. It was indeed a song of hope, conviction, resilience and self love. No wonder why it was titled, Flowers.
There is a thing about flowers that mesmerises me, which I am sure I must be sharing with many others. Older generations had more charm for these little things of beauty. They would pause and reflect, appreciating the beauty and soulfulness that flowers had to offer. The younger generation doesn’t have the time, I think. They only find it valuable on anniversaries, birthdays and on Valentine’s Day, of course. Or maybe the thing with flowers is not about your age or time that you can spare, but rather your inclination.
The love for flowers was certainly passed down to me from my paternal grandmother. Her gardens were extraordinary. She had one that was encircled with divinely fragrant pink roses with the view of one of the most scenic snow-clad mountain ranges across it, that I have seen so far in India. While the others back in the plains, would come alive with resplendent colours – orange marigolds, purple pansies, red velvets, colourful dog flowers, roses, dahlias, chrysanthemums. Each flowerbed nicely docked and well cared for. On the other hand when things were passed down to my mother, she went in for perennial evergreen plants. Easy and convenient. Flowers were only for the flower pots. You know…the inclination I mentioned earlier.
But flowers are not just about how they might make your garden or house look vibrant. I feel they are beyond that. I remember my mother and I going to a bazaar in Patiala to shop for something when we spotted a young man seated on the grassy slope of a drainage canal, while his sheep and goats were grazing around. There was a hospital in the background and then the drain, paralled by a metalled road and then the shops opposite it where we were standing. But the man was in absolute oblivion. He was oblivious about the unpleasant smells and sounds around him. Seated with a leg folded, the other extended out, head gently thrown backwards, and with a flower in his hand, he smelt it again and again. Yes, this chap ever since stayed in our memories because of the stark paradox that unfolded in front of us. It was sort of as if nothing around mattered. It is all transient. What really mattered was the inner sense of bliss which that flower in his hand had transported him into.
{{/usCountry}}But flowers are not just about how they might make your garden or house look vibrant. I feel they are beyond that. I remember my mother and I going to a bazaar in Patiala to shop for something when we spotted a young man seated on the grassy slope of a drainage canal, while his sheep and goats were grazing around. There was a hospital in the background and then the drain, paralled by a metalled road and then the shops opposite it where we were standing. But the man was in absolute oblivion. He was oblivious about the unpleasant smells and sounds around him. Seated with a leg folded, the other extended out, head gently thrown backwards, and with a flower in his hand, he smelt it again and again. Yes, this chap ever since stayed in our memories because of the stark paradox that unfolded in front of us. It was sort of as if nothing around mattered. It is all transient. What really mattered was the inner sense of bliss which that flower in his hand had transported him into.
{{/usCountry}}Indeed, flowers have that potent power where they can brighten your dark days, uplift the fallen heart, cheer you out of despair or increase the joy of that already joyous existence. As my little girl, who has now taken the love for flowers after me, rightly said on smelling a rose one day: “Mama…it smells of happiness.”
harleen.gurunay.majithia@gmail.com
The writer is a freelance contributor