The monotonous music of the alarm, woke her up from sleep and sadly from the dream as well. It was quarter past 8 and she had to rush to work. She was surprised to see her face in the mirror while brushing her teeth. For a moment, she thought she saw couple of flowers tumble down her long black tresses. She laughed at the thought and was concluded it must be the dream.
'Some dream!' She said to herself.
She loved to have a long hot shower in the morning. She would simply stand beneath the shower, hear the water drops fall on her shoulders and make noise as they came down on the floor. She closed her eyes today for sometime to hear them better. She was not absolutely sure but she could smell a familiar smell as she did that at the shower. She kept hey eyes closed and concentrated some more. It was the smell of flowers!
Some of which she saw in the dream. She again attributed it to the dream and came out and dressed up to go to work. She got in her car and put on her favorite music.
'May be I should get some flowers at last! They have been tempting me since early morning.' She thought and looked out to spot a vendor. There were many flower vendors near her place. She could recognise the flowers - if the Gladiolus have long stem, he would have got it from the small boy near the metro station. Purple Gladiolus were only found at the store near the market. Once she jokingly told him 'Are there only two clours of Gladiolus?' and he got her Gladiolus of seven colours. 'Your T Nagar only has five, I must tell you' he said while handing the flower bunch to her in front of her office next morning.
Gerberas were hard to tell, but if they were really big yellow ones, he would have got it from the shop near the police station. He never got her roses. None of them liked them. Orchids were found in the big flower store of 'Ferns and Petals' right under the flyover. He never told her where he got the exotic Magnolias and Poppies. She would conclude, he would have picked them somewhere else, may be near his office, on his way back.
But, today, she could not find a single shop open. She took another route, where she had seen some flower vendors. It was as if all the flower vendors were on strike. This route was bereft of any colour or fragrance of any flower. She was nearing her office and desperation bordering of despair. Finally she spotted one shop as she took the final turn for her office. But, the flowers were so dull and pitiable that she felt like crying.
She stopped her car a few yards before her office and cried. There was only his face, his hands and the many kinds of flowers that came to her mind at that moment. She finally wiped her tears and went in to her office.
She was back at home early. The few moments of longing, of memories, of flowers, of him stayed with her throughout the day. She tried to shuffle between watching TV, reading a book, making coffee to avoid those thoughts, but could not. She sat down in her sofa in the balcony, her face in her hands and looked at some Bouvardia flowers on the tree outside. She thought she heard her doorbell ring. She smiled and ignored it and kept looking into the blank spaces between the beautiful white flowers reflecting the moonlight.
The doorbell rang again after five minutes.
She ignored it again and kept looking at the moon, the tree and the flowers. After and hour, she had the urge to go to the door and check. She ran to the door and opened it. There was a note on the latch and there were a bunch of beautiful flowers of many colours, wrapped in a white foil and inserted carefully to the handle of the door from outside.
She opened the note "For Meera Nair. On Diwali, for your continued support. With Thanks - M/S Arun Industries'.Meera Nair, used to be her flat mate, who had left for the US couple of weeks back after marriage and used to place orders with Indian factories such as Arun Industries, on behalf of her clients.
She held the flowers close to her, slipped into her bed with them, closed her eyes. There was only his face which shone through the darkness.
A drop of tear found its way from her eyes to her lips, and she silently whispered 'Thank You!'.
photographs (c) Parthajeet Das, Soumya Mohanty, 2012
