By Ratna Manucha
So here I am, walking past a row of government offices, minding my own business, when something catches my eye and makes me stop in my tracks.
Three sorrowful bouquets of flowers are placed atop a large plastic dustbin. Why they weren’t thrown inside defies all logic. Maybe the person who was tasked to clean up felt sorry for the flowers as they were obviously fresh then, and was suffering from guilt pangs just in case the wrath of the Gods fell on him for dumping perfectly good flowers into the bin, so he placed them carefully on top, facing the road in the hope that somebody who loved flowers would pick them up and take them home. But flowers don’t speak – nor are they mewling new born babies, puppies or kittens that attract the attention of passersby, and he probably did not take the hot May sun into account…
And this, dear reader, is why I sat down to give voice to my thoughts this morning. You’ve read about the saying, ‘the straw that broke the camel’s back’? Well, this was the episode that got me to turn the inner chatter in my head into words, as I have always wondered about the fate of those enormous bouquets once they exchange hands, especially if the receiver is someone in high office, or a bride or groom, all of whom are actually too busy to even cast a perfunctory glance at the flowers. Do they even have time to read the card accompanying the bouquets? That is, if there is a card in the first place.
Maybe other guests take them away or they are all binned. Either way, the person for whom they were meant has not looked at them or appreciated them at all and the giver has spent time and money in sourcing those flowers, and the florist has spent time in making the bouquets as attractive as possible, by spraying colour and glitter on the flowers and then to have them land in some obscure dustbin, which in all probability is filled with rotting garbage, is such a shame. It’s almost as if the poor flowers are sighing, ‘all dressed up…we took so long to get ready, the florist’s helper actually sprayed some geeky two-bit perfume on us too, as if our own fragrance was not enough… not to mention the ghastly silver glitter that hurts and pricks our petals and nobody even gave us a second look…all this effort for nothing.’
There was a time when gifting a bouquet spelt grace, dignity and charm. Not anymore. The bouquets are now prepared with dull monotony by an assembly line of mechanical boys. A snip here, a wire stuck into a wilting stalk there (ouch!), some cellophane paper wrapped around with determined fingers, a clump of greener than green leaves, twirling everything into a tight bunch and finally strangling the flowers with metres of cello tape, just to get that perfect look.
Our local florist had some flowers
Eeya eeya oh
And on the stalks he stuck some wires
Eeya eeya oh
Here a wire, there some cellophane
Everywhere some crappy green leaves
Eeya eeya oh…
Then line them up in a row, waiting to be picked up and handed over to the dignitary while the dignitary in question plays passing the parcel with the endless bouquets. A hands over to B who passes it on to C who thrusts it into D’s arms, who by now is already grappling with a couple of bouquets which had followed the same fate. By now they are all piled on to the nearest chair, in one inglorious heap, looking as sorry as a deflated balloon. If by chance they do make it into the dignitary’s car, it will be the driver’s lucky day!
Before you jump down my throat, dear reader, let me elaborate. Bouquets or even bunches of flowers are perfect for small gatherings where you know the host or hostess will appreciate them…by all means go out and get them flowers. But for large gatherings like weddings and official occasions, can there be some other ways to gift or welcome? Something that guests won’t leave behind on a chair?
And hence help to save the flowers from an untimely, ceremonial death.
(Ratna Manucha, columnist and author of 36 published books and numerous short stories and poems, lives, dreams and writes in Dehradun, her happy place.)
