Today, for the first time, I bought a flower for myself. A carnation. It is not of peach colour. Not even aboli. I do not know the exact colour name. It is pinkish. Rather light red. I thought to myself, wondering about the colour, that, being a girl, who is so fond of flowers and all earthy elements, I should look up, rather learn the exact names of the colours. That strange but lovely shade was perhaps the only reason I got it. There were other flowers too, in that not-so-little shop. There were my favourite roses, lovely purple lillies, pink-white gladiolus (whose name I learnt today) and colourful and ever-ready jerbera. I entered the shop just like I enter any other shop, on whim. Yes. I blatantly walk into any shop I see on my way; even if I do not want to buy anything; and when the shop-helpers speak their "Yes Ma'am....??", I say with a pretty smile, "No, thanks. I'm just checking out." And I do check out. Stuffs. Stuffs which I hate. Stuffs which choke this planet. Stuffs which I stuff in my bag and closet. They are just so many. But these days I do not care about them. I just buy. Buy like an indifferent shopper. A careless freak who cares not for money or resources or anything like the decorated "higher quotient".
So as usual, in my constant pace, I entered this flower-shop and thought to myself why not buy myself a lovely flower today. I must say that more often than not when I am walking, I do such little things which make every walk of mine memorable. There was one time when I was returning from some mall totally distorted in my thoughts and ended up writing 'Distortions', the article which Young Lady admired for its flow. I will never forget that evening when I walked back to my temporary house just like I will never forget this evening when I walked back to my another temporary house. I started at 6:02 pm from the signal where my work-place bus, or shuttle as they choose to call it, drops us. I had a friend for my company for about 200-300 meters. Then we parted, as I, in my usual mood, decided to enter one clothes-shop. I found nothing. Just stupid clothes and socks which I thought I would buy but didn't and mirrors on every alternate walls. I just can not help looking into those mirrors and adjusting my hair-line, sometimes on left side of my head and sometimes on right side. I keep shifting. The hair looks bouncy that ways and I look more, if I may use the adjective for myself, sexy. In the same city-girl, independent attitude, I checked out that place in hurry and immediately came out, giving an impression of I do not shop from such cheap places. That - I am from Mumbai attitude exudes from me at such times. I like that.
With these carefree and live-in-the-moment feelings I asked the youth in the flower shop, the names of the flowers. I only knew roses for sure. But this time they did not attract me as much as carnations did. Perhaps it was the shape of the flower petals along with the colour which made me buy that flower. Those beautiful random petals with their criss-cross edges looked so lovely in the pale lights of the transparent shop. While on my way back home, I repeated the name in my mind - car-ney-shuns. Do not know why but my mind exclaimed - how suitable it sounds! I looked at that lovely stem which had five slender leaves curving their way downwards and thought, how unlucky they are! They never get displayed. When I got the flower, the second thing which came to my mind was I do not have a vase to keep it. A vase, I thought; it hides the slender, suave, stem with slender, suave leaves. It is only from the stem, formed from the xylem and phloem, that the flower receives it's nutrition, I thought. And yet it is not adored or appreciated for anything. Instead, they are cut to suit the length of the basket in which the flower is to be placed. How sad! The youth in the shop asked me how long the stem should be. As I didn't have any vase, I just pointed out to half-hand length, "Keep it till here" I said.
Ten bucks isn't too much for a lovely flower, I thought and planned to buy some other flower from some other shop the next time my fancy tickles for it. I may buy mogra from the gajra seller, the poor lady who daily sits with a small basket besides the busy street, and then from another shop which was smaller than the one from where I got my carnation. My carnation, my first flower, for myself. What a passionate pleasure it is!, to hold the flower in hand and walk down not the aisle but the uncouth roads with no foot-path but broken concrete slabs barely covering the gutters. I am so scared of walking over such broken gutter lids. One wrong step and you will be covered with the filth of the city. But I had a carnation in my hand. I had to be careful. And I was. Like I always am.
Holding it close to my body with my hand half-folded, I walked the remaining one third of my journey. It was already around 7 pm. I was near my house thinking aimlessly about the flower, about myself. I am like this flower, I thought, in a very poetic, or lets say - filmy manner and tried hard to find similarities between me and the flower. This flower is none but me. It grows tender, beautiful, blossoms in it's youth, attracts every one and be a flower. Just that. Pretty much like me and my pretty face, my tender youth, attracting every one I speak to, with my expressions, with my features. This flower has no aim. Pretty much like me. I feel lost, with no aim. I am just living in the moment like this flower. In the moment. And when the moment passes away, it will grow pale, so will I. Was I under the Dorian Gray spell then?? Perhaps yes. Perhaps no. Perhaps I had just chosen to ignore the "higher quotient" and just wanted the flower to touch my face. I wanted to feel its criss-cross petals on my sensitive lips and eyelids. I just wanted to walk. Walk with my carnation.
So I missed the first short-cut which I usually take when I return daily. I kept walking. My glucose levels started kicking my brains and I thought of CCD lounge first. But I did not have enough money. I shouldn't spend much. I have spent a lot, a hell lot in this month alone. I should be more careful with my spending. Where did the judicious and economical virgin hide herself?, this I asked myself and scrapped the idea of CCD and settled for some chocolate. Not Choco pie. I had it yesterday only. I must have something else. So I went to the same shop from where I got Choco Pie last evening, ummmmm..mmed... for few seconds and asked for KitKat. Arranging and adjusting with a cell, a handbag, my carnation and KitKat, I started walking, trying to open the cover to eat it immediately and enjoy live-in-the-moment feeling. No. The reason I ate it on the road was that I have room-mates who might think I am impolite to not have got anything for them. And I do not want to share my KitKat. So I slipped my cell into my bag, held my carnation in left hand, carefully opened the cover of KitKat, broke it into half in classic style and ate it while I was walking.
Towards my house there is little darkness of which I took advantage and bought the flower close to my face, felt its baby-soft petals kissing my skin which had been breathing carbon-monoxide all this time. I almost felt that the touch of my carnation will revive my skin to its youthful radiance. The mild fragrance it had, of the roses from the shop, made me think of its uselessness. Pretty much like my life. But who cares? Does the flower know how useful or useless it is?! What does it strive to attain? Ultimate beauty? It just comes into existence, blossoms and dies. If this is aimlessness or uselessness, then we all are aimless and useless. We come from dust and mix in dust. And in between keep doing something stupid like fight for freedom or walk for almost 1 hour 15 minutes all the way from work-place to home. We do it consciously choosing our paths according to our likes. Then someday hug the cold brown dust.
My room-mates were not at home when I reached. I felt so contented that I immediately started writing this stupid article, thinking that the Young Lady will like its flow and will connect with it while reading it. Nothing encourages you more than appreciation. Who encourages the flower to be so beautiful? I kept my beauty in a small earthen pot I had got from a sweet shop, the shop where I went out with my new set of friends for the first time and had rasmalai in that earthen pot - matka. Now, my carnation stands still, with support of the wall, in one corner of my room. It looks at me. Calls my name. Asks to be held in hand once. Just once. And I can not resist. I am signing out now to hold my carnation in my hands. Once again.
So as usual, in my constant pace, I entered this flower-shop and thought to myself why not buy myself a lovely flower today. I must say that more often than not when I am walking, I do such little things which make every walk of mine memorable. There was one time when I was returning from some mall totally distorted in my thoughts and ended up writing 'Distortions', the article which Young Lady admired for its flow. I will never forget that evening when I walked back to my temporary house just like I will never forget this evening when I walked back to my another temporary house. I started at 6:02 pm from the signal where my work-place bus, or shuttle as they choose to call it, drops us. I had a friend for my company for about 200-300 meters. Then we parted, as I, in my usual mood, decided to enter one clothes-shop. I found nothing. Just stupid clothes and socks which I thought I would buy but didn't and mirrors on every alternate walls. I just can not help looking into those mirrors and adjusting my hair-line, sometimes on left side of my head and sometimes on right side. I keep shifting. The hair looks bouncy that ways and I look more, if I may use the adjective for myself, sexy. In the same city-girl, independent attitude, I checked out that place in hurry and immediately came out, giving an impression of I do not shop from such cheap places. That - I am from Mumbai attitude exudes from me at such times. I like that.
With these carefree and live-in-the-moment feelings I asked the youth in the flower shop, the names of the flowers. I only knew roses for sure. But this time they did not attract me as much as carnations did. Perhaps it was the shape of the flower petals along with the colour which made me buy that flower. Those beautiful random petals with their criss-cross edges looked so lovely in the pale lights of the transparent shop. While on my way back home, I repeated the name in my mind - car-ney-shuns. Do not know why but my mind exclaimed - how suitable it sounds! I looked at that lovely stem which had five slender leaves curving their way downwards and thought, how unlucky they are! They never get displayed. When I got the flower, the second thing which came to my mind was I do not have a vase to keep it. A vase, I thought; it hides the slender, suave, stem with slender, suave leaves. It is only from the stem, formed from the xylem and phloem, that the flower receives it's nutrition, I thought. And yet it is not adored or appreciated for anything. Instead, they are cut to suit the length of the basket in which the flower is to be placed. How sad! The youth in the shop asked me how long the stem should be. As I didn't have any vase, I just pointed out to half-hand length, "Keep it till here" I said.
Ten bucks isn't too much for a lovely flower, I thought and planned to buy some other flower from some other shop the next time my fancy tickles for it. I may buy mogra from the gajra seller, the poor lady who daily sits with a small basket besides the busy street, and then from another shop which was smaller than the one from where I got my carnation. My carnation, my first flower, for myself. What a passionate pleasure it is!, to hold the flower in hand and walk down not the aisle but the uncouth roads with no foot-path but broken concrete slabs barely covering the gutters. I am so scared of walking over such broken gutter lids. One wrong step and you will be covered with the filth of the city. But I had a carnation in my hand. I had to be careful. And I was. Like I always am.
Holding it close to my body with my hand half-folded, I walked the remaining one third of my journey. It was already around 7 pm. I was near my house thinking aimlessly about the flower, about myself. I am like this flower, I thought, in a very poetic, or lets say - filmy manner and tried hard to find similarities between me and the flower. This flower is none but me. It grows tender, beautiful, blossoms in it's youth, attracts every one and be a flower. Just that. Pretty much like me and my pretty face, my tender youth, attracting every one I speak to, with my expressions, with my features. This flower has no aim. Pretty much like me. I feel lost, with no aim. I am just living in the moment like this flower. In the moment. And when the moment passes away, it will grow pale, so will I. Was I under the Dorian Gray spell then?? Perhaps yes. Perhaps no. Perhaps I had just chosen to ignore the "higher quotient" and just wanted the flower to touch my face. I wanted to feel its criss-cross petals on my sensitive lips and eyelids. I just wanted to walk. Walk with my carnation.
So I missed the first short-cut which I usually take when I return daily. I kept walking. My glucose levels started kicking my brains and I thought of CCD lounge first. But I did not have enough money. I shouldn't spend much. I have spent a lot, a hell lot in this month alone. I should be more careful with my spending. Where did the judicious and economical virgin hide herself?, this I asked myself and scrapped the idea of CCD and settled for some chocolate. Not Choco pie. I had it yesterday only. I must have something else. So I went to the same shop from where I got Choco Pie last evening, ummmmm..mmed... for few seconds and asked for KitKat. Arranging and adjusting with a cell, a handbag, my carnation and KitKat, I started walking, trying to open the cover to eat it immediately and enjoy live-in-the-moment feeling. No. The reason I ate it on the road was that I have room-mates who might think I am impolite to not have got anything for them. And I do not want to share my KitKat. So I slipped my cell into my bag, held my carnation in left hand, carefully opened the cover of KitKat, broke it into half in classic style and ate it while I was walking.
Towards my house there is little darkness of which I took advantage and bought the flower close to my face, felt its baby-soft petals kissing my skin which had been breathing carbon-monoxide all this time. I almost felt that the touch of my carnation will revive my skin to its youthful radiance. The mild fragrance it had, of the roses from the shop, made me think of its uselessness. Pretty much like my life. But who cares? Does the flower know how useful or useless it is?! What does it strive to attain? Ultimate beauty? It just comes into existence, blossoms and dies. If this is aimlessness or uselessness, then we all are aimless and useless. We come from dust and mix in dust. And in between keep doing something stupid like fight for freedom or walk for almost 1 hour 15 minutes all the way from work-place to home. We do it consciously choosing our paths according to our likes. Then someday hug the cold brown dust.
My room-mates were not at home when I reached. I felt so contented that I immediately started writing this stupid article, thinking that the Young Lady will like its flow and will connect with it while reading it. Nothing encourages you more than appreciation. Who encourages the flower to be so beautiful? I kept my beauty in a small earthen pot I had got from a sweet shop, the shop where I went out with my new set of friends for the first time and had rasmalai in that earthen pot - matka. Now, my carnation stands still, with support of the wall, in one corner of my room. It looks at me. Calls my name. Asks to be held in hand once. Just once. And I can not resist. I am signing out now to hold my carnation in my hands. Once again.
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