Spring is the season of flowers galore. Flowers in well cared for gardens, flowers in the busy main roads and flowers growing modestly in the sides of little lanes. Like most plant lovers in springtime, we too, fell for the charms of a petite ‘mogra’ priced at a modest Rs. 50.

We brought her home and having no more place in our already overflowing little garden, planted her in a small stretch of mud at the side of our house.

We watered her religiously and whispered sweet nothings into her branches and urged her to grow into a mighty flowering superplant. When she would not oblige us with flowers, we took advice from relatives and neighbors and aerated her soil, sprinkled tea leaves around her, fed her organic manure, sprinkled soil enhancers and after many flowerless weeks, we began to despair and watered her with our tears, entreating her to give us a glimpse of the bounty she was hiding. Our tears must have touched her heart, [or the salt content in the soil might have been improved by them, you never know] and she presently graced us with two tiny little blossoms, which we cooed over like parents over their firstborn. That was followed by two more, then that doubled, and tripled, until we lost count. The little plant finally became a Flowering Plant. We were elated and gazed at the lovely white flowers day after day, reveling in their beauty. Our Puja room was decked up in full glory, and smelt like heaven. Life had never been this good.

We stepped out of the house one morning, and found our beloved plant bereft of all flowers, standing green and naked, forlornly. We were devastated, and wondered how a healthy, happy, well cared for plant could betray us in this manner. Our loss was talked about in whispers over compound walls and cups of coffee. We sat near the gate, gazing at our beloved flowering plant, wondering what on earth was wrong with her. One day, feeling especially glum and discouraged, I woke up early and strode out of the house. Lo and behold! An old, bent woman was plucking the flowers and putting them into an enormous plastic cover. She gave me a grin and pointed towards the plant, now devoid of a single flower, and said “Nice flowers. I take for my god.”

I was speechless as I watched her hobble away, calmly unaware of my despair.