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Terrace Flowers

No. This is not any piece of literature but simply a fleeting thought which came to my vacant mind this morning. The walls and ceilings of the house in which I live have been whitewashed. Ceilings are now a milky white and walls are light yellow in the kitchen and light pink in the living and bedroom. Actually , the room in which I spend my indooe hours is sky blue. Pink, though liked by many does not appeal to me.

Anyway, let me begin the wordweave which may or maynot be very pleasurable to read. I am however certain that dear Amate will give this a glance. Thank you in advance dear friend for eternity. True or not I leave for Amate to decide.

It was around 7.30 warm and balmy Kolkata morning. I climbed up to the terrace taking the dusty stairs for a look at the flowers growing in small clay pots. I was very very disappointed! Off the 20 odd shrubs, more than 6 had dried up and shriveled. The earth in the pots were cracked and dry. This made me very very sad. Our maid servant has been entrusted to watering the pots regularly. It was obvious that she had not done her job. I don’t really blame her. She has to look after her family and her daughter’s family and son who live close by.

Do flowering shrubs cry? Were their lips patched and dry thirsty for water? They look sad and crest fallen indeed. I carried a big plastic bucket of water and a small mug and watered all the plants including the shriveled ones. Can you believe me Amate!! The flowers and shrubs actually smiled at me. Now they look nice and beautiful.

From tomorrow I’ll water them every morning and evening without depending on anyone. Maybe , if I do them a good deed maybe they’ll love me in return. I’ll carry a few pots to Poet’s Island for you all to see. Blue flowers with white and yellow streaks, bright red ones, yellow ones and so on.

This is all what I had to scribble.