The impressively beautiful, flame orange and sun-kissed Canna flower , epitomizes simplicity and grace. It’s foliage variegated and inflorescence unpretentious. And growing them is no calculus! Just plant a couple of cuttings in your green patch, tick a few days off the calendar and there they are- En masse- in all their splendor, doing the foxtrot in the mellow sunshine. And then there’s the petite rose begonia and the splendidly simple periwinkle, selflessly flowering almost all year round. What more can I ask for?
But, unfortunately not everyone adores the periwinkle or the canna flower. My mother, for instance, a psychologist turned bonsai enthusiast, very often argues with me that the periwinkle is an obstinate and fussy plant and uses this as an excuse to root out all the periwinkles growing in our backyard! I presume she’s being a little snooty.
I have encountered the same arrogance towards the Indian marigold, growing wild in little nooks and crannies in our backyards, found in lively orange and red hues. Why this unwarranted hate, I wonder? Is it because they are woven into garlands to adorn the necks of our sassy politicians? or because they don’t effuse that delicate fragrance?
Sometimes, wild flowers convincingly pin down their more spectacular ‘pedigreed’ garden siblings to shame. Wild button roses, for instance, intoxicate my soul, while the more sophisticated hybrid ones fail to do so. I am reminded of my maternal Great grandmother, Biji, we called her fondly and her passion for flowers and untamed wilderness. Her old palatial bungalow, ‘petlands’ in the garrison town of Dagshai is a testimony to this fact. The front garden was a zig-zag maze of flower beds-iris, impatience, cosmos, petunias, masses of sweet peas, lavender, plox et all. This civilized wilderness was analogous to a zen garden-transported you to a state of trance.
The image of this garden is perfectly etched in my memory so that today, when my troubled soul hits the trench, I just shut my eyes and find myself in the midst of the mighty deodars, sitting in the company of rambling buttercups and cosmos. it just soothes my agitated mind.
At the end of the day, I am no floral connoisseur. I am just another bumbling bee, buzzing from one flower to the next, in search of luscious nectar.
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