My roses...

I got up today and stepped out to pick up the newspaper. It was a beautiful, crisp winter morning – the kind of morning when you can’t help but take a deep breath and immerse yourself in the scent of freshness. Next to the pillar of my front porch grows a rose bush that I had planted 12 years ago when we first moved in to this house. She had brought forth a half dozen roses of a red so stunning that it brought a smile to my face. I gently tug at a stem bringing down the rose close so that I can inhale her scent. It is subtle but all-pervading and I don’t want to let go. This is also the only rose plant I have with hardly any thorns. I love it because it is my one success story when it comes to flowering plants. I love it because it is a rose plant like no other.

I think back of myself as I entered my shiny new house all those years ago. I was excited. I was also pregnant and very skinny. Despite being tired nearly all the time (I never fare well in pregnancies) I took delight in choosing things for the house. I planted a drumstick tree in the backyard, a little mango sapling and curry leaf plants. There were days when I couldn’t do more than lie down after the incessant throwing up. All through it I felt it was the house that gave me strength. Within its walls I was safe and through its windows I would watch and see how my garden prospered.

When the baby came, she was a delight. She slept through the night from the moment we got her home and grew up with her brother in as much harmony as one could expect. They played by the rose plant running barefoot on the grass. I still have a picture of Mahi as a baby smiling next to a huge rose that seemed to be smiling too.

My rose plant is like another child to me. She is always there – in any season. I cut off her withered blooms inexpertly. I don’t feed her well but I do water her. I stroke her. I talk to her. In turn she gives me such joy with her mere presence. I have been told she is lanky and not bush-like. She climbs too high. She tries to peek in through the bedroom window. She looks awkward. But I don’t want to cut her too much. To me she is tall and stately and every single branch ends in a rose that is nothing less than perfect.

When you love someone or something, don’t try to change them or it. Leave them be to grow as they like. Watch them blossom. If they love you back, you will never feel the prick of thorns. If they don’t, then you move away but you never stop loving them for a moment. Let them grow without you. Stay away from the thorns. They will only draw your blood to grow stronger.

My roses are as red as blood itself but they are the red of unselfish beauty. I hope they bloom for me as long as I am able to see them.