The life mission of one of them (it was either 'worst', or 'it really cannot get worse than this') was to surreptitiously overwater the plants she has specifically been told not to go anywhere near to determine how long it took her to successfully finish them off. My brand new powderpuff plant was the worst affected - all her pretty raspberry like buds withered and fell, and her glossy leaves were good only for starting a bonfire.
I watered her faithfully, aerated her roots, chased away the pigeons that tried to make a nest at her feet, and gave her space. Gradually, she sprouted new leaves and even gained a few inches. No buds though, not even the hint of any. Her cousins in the building compound flashed their beautiful blossoms, but not her. 'Maybe she's not yet recovered from the trauma', I told myself. 'Give her time to settle down, and even if she never flowers again, her foliage is pretty enough to gladden anyone's heart.'
Today, in one of my rare cleaning moods (well, let me as well admit it - it is my mother's birthday today, and in my mis-whatever way, I thought cleaning up would be a good substitute for the gift I did not get her), I washed down all my plants.
And guess what I found -
Yes, two powderpuff flowers and a bud.
I have seen prettier flowers, but the sight of these bedraggled flowers filled me with joy.
No adversary is too powerful, if you have the will to conquer it. If this fragile little plant knows that, why do we find it so hard to articulate it to ourselves?
Happy Birthday, Amma!!!
The Sun will Shine!!!!
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