<p>Plucking a rose that had fluffy, rounded buds open on an unusual white base with vibrant pink overtone, I bent near its bloom and inhaled the perfume. The blooms of Zephirine Drouhin had a delicious old-fashioned rose scent. It intrigued me as a child. So, if I gifted this rose to someone, it meant I gave a bit of my heart to them. And, during school days, on every September 5, only my favourite teachers had this privilege.<br /><br />Today, I know it’s called Zephirine Drouhin, an old Bourbon rose from 1868. Back then, it was only a cerise pink-coloured rose that was sweetly scented, nearly thorn less and very pleasing. Every year, September brings along with it many such nostalgic moments that reiterate the value of teachers in our lives. They were such an integral part of our childhood that some of us named them “second mothers.” A school was, indeed, our second home.<br /><br />So, when every bit of our school memories brings a whiff of familial resemblance even to this day, there is no doubt that, that is where most of us actually blossomed. In that rose garden, with a combination of many different varieties, teachers created a sea of blooms. Thank goodness there were thousands of rose varieties; and more every year. For, teachers truly believed that every child was extraordinary, bright, and strong.<br /><br />On the other hand, the master cultivators of today are equipped with the best of technology and machinery. Everything is professional. And maybe that’s why thousands of rose varieties are being grown in a pot of “money plant.” Now, how can roses blossom here?<br /><br />But again, thank goodness there still are honest cultivators who muster around the garden, interposing an impenetrable barrier between the money plant and the roses, preventing the precipitancy of the new commander from hurrying onward to its unfashioned and often abortive experiments at education.<br /><br />The mystery surrounding the 7-year-old’s murder at Ryan International School in Gurugram rightly elucidates the title of a ballad song by Poison: “Every rose has its thorn.” So how many pine needles do we need to smother out these weeds or thorns? I don’t know. All I know is that it’s time to stop and smell the roses. Stop selling education; it isn’t a business.<br /><br />This Teacher’s Day, I sent my daughter with an artificial white rose stapled on her Teacher’s Day card. There was no colour, no scent. However, I’d like to believe that it is still not the end of the September Rose.</p>
<p>Plucking a rose that had fluffy, rounded buds open on an unusual white base with vibrant pink overtone, I bent near its bloom and inhaled the perfume. The blooms of Zephirine Drouhin had a delicious old-fashioned rose scent. It intrigued me as a child. So, if I gifted this rose to someone, it meant I gave a bit of my heart to them. And, during school days, on every September 5, only my favourite teachers had this privilege.<br /><br />Today, I know it’s called Zephirine Drouhin, an old Bourbon rose from 1868. Back then, it was only a cerise pink-coloured rose that was sweetly scented, nearly thorn less and very pleasing. Every year, September brings along with it many such nostalgic moments that reiterate the value of teachers in our lives. They were such an integral part of our childhood that some of us named them “second mothers.” A school was, indeed, our second home.<br /><br />So, when every bit of our school memories brings a whiff of familial resemblance even to this day, there is no doubt that, that is where most of us actually blossomed. In that rose garden, with a combination of many different varieties, teachers created a sea of blooms. Thank goodness there were thousands of rose varieties; and more every year. For, teachers truly believed that every child was extraordinary, bright, and strong.<br /><br />On the other hand, the master cultivators of today are equipped with the best of technology and machinery. Everything is professional. And maybe that’s why thousands of rose varieties are being grown in a pot of “money plant.” Now, how can roses blossom here?<br /><br />But again, thank goodness there still are honest cultivators who muster around the garden, interposing an impenetrable barrier between the money plant and the roses, preventing the precipitancy of the new commander from hurrying onward to its unfashioned and often abortive experiments at education.<br /><br />The mystery surrounding the 7-year-old’s murder at Ryan International School in Gurugram rightly elucidates the title of a ballad song by Poison: “Every rose has its thorn.” So how many pine needles do we need to smother out these weeds or thorns? I don’t know. All I know is that it’s time to stop and smell the roses. Stop selling education; it isn’t a business.<br /><br />This Teacher’s Day, I sent my daughter with an artificial white rose stapled on her Teacher’s Day card. There was no colour, no scent. However, I’d like to believe that it is still not the end of the September Rose.</p>
