My
marigolds put up a brave face against harsh January to keep the banner of life
and hope flying through their smiles. Now the beginning of February has better
prospects for more smiles. They aren’t showy and fragrant like fresh jasmine or
magically alluring like dew-laden rose, but still they have enough in them to
bring some traces of halcyon days among this gloomy winter. With their virtues
and valor, they lit up the corner in my garden with their subdued smiles. An
almost sunless January couldn’t subdue their smiles. It’s a world where we have
decimated smiles in the wilderness across the planet. Our civilizational
pursuit of El-Dorado has seen us fluently frittering away the pulsating
aesthetics that mother nature had decorated along our path.
A
few flowers remain, that too in the little gardens of almost obsolete people
who still love flowers, who still somehow try to hold onto the majestic sinews
of mother nature. Somehow wading through the broiling, intriguing corridors
laid across the monochromatic hues of the modern landscape, they carry a
fistful of earth and a flower smiling on that. Their rarity means they have
become a treasure in their own ways.
My
neighbors peep over the walls pretty greedily. This little clump of yellow,
maroon and orange marigolds is drawing them like nectar-hungry drones. Any day
I prefer my marigolds for the honeybees only. It’s soul-pacifying sight to see
the bees gathered over the table of frilled petals for a sumptuous sociality in
lazy, hazy afternoons. The flowers open their hearts to the guests with an
unerringly courteous smile. A month away from the spring, it seems like a thin
ration line for the honeybees. But the human bumblebees want the nectar of
God’s blessings by offering flowers at the feet of idols in the temple. It’s
symbolic ritual by the way. I thing the Gods will be happier if you offer them
your love and smiles and leave these few remaining flowers for the starved
honeybees. Sadly, we have taken our materialistic pursuits to the extent that
we won’t leave any corner for them at our house.
There
seems to be an impulsive scheming going around. The consumer culture is
galloping by leaps and bounds with intriguing ingenuity and flawed imagination.
The consumer culture is compelling, thrilling and free-flowing in its
hypnotizing sway over our senses. The Godly courts are under heavy bombardment
of demands by the citizens. We are always seeking more of the consumer items
that would give us an edge over our neighbors. And flowers come to our mind
when we set out to appease the Gods to turn the tables in our favor.
Well,
my simple request to people is please forget about flowers on the altar if you
don’t have a place in your balcony, garden or whatever space available that can
have a flowery smile. My little bed of marigolds is rapidly vanishing under the
reaping tool of faith. I feel sad for the bees. Isn’t it better to have lively
flowers at homes—that makes them temples in themselves—instead of dead flowers
at altars?
