The hibiscus flowers
Do you love May as much as I do? If the months of a year were akin to a class of 12 kids, I could imagine May flaunting the “best kid of the year” badge pinned with a shiny yellow star as bright as those chrysanthemums that bloomed during the month. It is believed that if a person gifts you with a bunch of chrysanthemums, it signifies that he/she is your secret admirer because these flowers symbolize hope.
Isn’t it confounding how the tiniest things about nature can amaze us, fill the void in us and enrich our soul making us feel complete?
The number of things we can adapt from nature is myriad. By spending quality time with nature, one can learn things that may seem simple but are indispensable like “appreciating small things” like a cold breeze, a butterfly, a seashell, a cup of tea in the rain, a good conversation or just a sweet smile.
It was 5 a.m. and the dawn was breaking gradually with golden sun rays touching the grass as if they were mildly kissing those dews. I watched the surreal sky with a gradient from red to orange to the clear blue sky. With no tall buildings covering up the sky from the children who played in the park, the flowers were blooming blue, yellow, red and purple all along the way across the bridge.
I’m not a morning person. But that day was different, the air carried a mix of known smells that relived me with a hundred memories of my childhood.
It was my hometown!
I had returned after one whole decade. I came out dressed warmly in a white sweater with a capital “B” in green embroidered on the front, cargo pants and my favorite blue shoes.
The last visit that I can vividly recollect was when the whole family had gathered on a “Shivaratri”. It feels as if it was just yesterday when I was watering those hibiscuses in the backyard with my grandpa. They were so blood-red, big and mystical that if you ever stared at them for a couple of minutes, they’d hypnotize you. And my grandpa would water them every single day.
Have you ever met someone who’s aged over an eighty but, bear the sheen in their eyes with passion for life as much as an eight-year old’s?
It definitely amazes this 20-year-old who complains of backache, as to what secret my grandpa carried all those years to stay so full of zeal and purpose for life, which only grew with every impending sunrise! I always remember seeing him reading something, anything. Sometimes a book, a magazine or the newest inclusion in Land reforms. He served as a government employee under Land reforms from almost the time I can remember until his last day.
Things around were not the same anymore since his last breath. The village had new water pumps and borewells. Now, the women didn’t have to fight or line-up green and yellow buckets at 4 a.m. to get drinking water. Houses were made of cement and bricks which stood bold and gallant against fierce winds during winter. People no longer gathered at our house to listen to the cricket commentary from the old radio as they used to in 2009 when Sehwag said he was supporting Sri Lanka in the ODI series as he was crazy enough to believe that India lost a match whenever he supported us, in an interview by Ravi Shastri.
Shiny tractors from “Bharat Benz” and “Mahindra” now replaced the hardworking oxen in the fields on sunny days. The roads that led to our farms was a narrow path just enough to keep two feet together. The path carved out by people, walking on and on for years on the green grass which housed a hundred ladybugs. Now, there were firm cement and tar roads with street lights every hundred meters.
The old tire that hung from the old banyan tree was forgotten next to the new park with teeter-totters, geodesic domes, metal slides, and swings.
It seemed like change was the only constant.
The distant sound of the train’s whistle enfeebled the vision of a small carefree kid who ran with a kite in her hand. The sound of her sparkling laughter was akin to the sweet sound of bells at Christmas. So warm and innocent that faded with the heavy rumbling of the approaching train.
I was now 21 with a faint curve on the lips, creases under the eyes and a gleam in the eyes filled with a hundred words that the mouth could not express. After I got inside the AC coach and was happily seated, I drew the curtains and took one good glance at my hometown. I realized how everything, everyone had changed.
But amidst the countless changes, there was one thing that was still the same. The blood-red hibiscus was still blooming, red and beautiful as ever. Alluring monarch butterflies sat on the greenest petal, feeding on the sweet, sublime honeydew for almost a forever. The large, conspicuous flowers seemed at peace. Their ethereal beauty seemed to be an object of joy for everyone from toddlers who plucked the leaves, school-going kids who dissected the petals to old aged people who sat and stared at them indefinitely. The flowers just continued to take the praises yet be as humble as ever.
They seemed to have learned the secret. The secret from my grandpa.
