It took eight weeks of patience and perseverance to grow it. Like a mother doing rituals for her child, who will carry forward her culture, who is form of herself and her values, after she materially vanishes into the lap of mother earth, I watered, manured the soil, to grow this beautiful rose in my garden. It was tough, but the 8 weeks of character building. The rose that blossomed, wasn't any like other flowers, for it was my sweat and it was my fruit. With lots of care, felt between a mother and her baby, I tended it. I was hurt, when its thorns pierced, like a woman hurt when the baby in her womb kicks, but was happy for tomorrow there would be a rose blossoming, just like a woman who is realizing the motherhood. It rose, from a small seed, to a big shrub, spreading fragrance and beauty around, just like a baby that grew from embryo, to bring joys of no bounds to his/her creators, who endured pain to give him/her a life. It was symbolic. It was symbol of joy I got, of pain I took, of fruit I realized, when being patient and persistent. It was my joy, that I wished to share, but no one cared to take it.
But, the beautiful rose, was just a "r-o-s-e", to the people around, with "busy-life" and "high ambition". Said, they to me, "So what kid, it's just a rose ? Big deal ?", when I said, "There's a beautiful rose, that grew in my garden". Another gentleman, curiously staring at me from far corner, calls me, and when I say to him, "There's a beautiful rose, that I grew in my garden", inquired me, "What can I tell about rose ?". As I respond, "It's a flo . . " (intercepted), he cuts me, "it's a woody perennial of genus Rosa, a family withing Rosaceae. There are around 100 types . . . ", reciting wiki to the last line. These people in fine suits, sitting in back of chauffeur driven cars, wearing rolex watches, working on screen, with 100 and innumerable people, speaking language, that no third person, nor themselves could understand, seemed educated illiterates suddenly. These people know of hierarchy of rose, but do not have slightest idea about it. They don't know it's arresting and soothing fragrance that has ever been pleasing to anyone and everyone, it's shape, form, arrangement that always appealed. And, I pity rose, for it's to die. Not, that it lost it's fragrance or charm, but because people have forgot what "rose" is. And beauty depreciated to simple adjective. It's a sad, but a factual realization.
But then I wish the day isn't too far, when I hear of rose as a flower, beautiful and appealing with everything that is about it.
But then I wish the day isn't too far, when I hear of rose as a flower, beautiful and appealing with everything that is about it.
