Easter lilies are so special. They almost always bloom on April 14, which we celebrate as 'Vishu' or New Year's Day. There would be a vase full of them in my mother's 'Vishu Kani'.
My mother remembers that when I was very young, I'd pluck all the buds which were just about to open. She and my father would be waiting to see the flowers and all they got was headless stalks.
I must have been a monster of an infant. Thank God for parents who brought me up anyway - and passed on their love of flowers to all of us.
What joy to go around a new garden, checking what plants there are! And what joy to see Easter lily leaves, to know that there will be flowers in March or April. Those few days when they bloom are enough to keep you going through the year.
Our garden at Moraghat Tea Estate had both red and white lilies. The reds bloomed first and then the whites. Once the flowering was over, we planted the bulbs out in rows - something we carried on doing for the fifteen years we lived there.
The nuns from St.James School and Holy Cross School at Binnaguri would drop in to collect lilies from us to decorate the church on Easter Sunday. We shared our bulbs with them too and in time to come, they had enough lilies in their own gardens. I did miss their annual visits!
Our next bungalow was at Bhatkawa Tea Estate, and my garden there didn't have a single Easter lily! I moaned about it for all the three years that we were there. You don't find Easter
lilies in nurseries, you get them
from friends. My friend in the neighbouring garden didn't have any in her bungalow either, and between us we knew no one in the district on whom
we could descend to beg for bulbs.
There are several Easter lilies in the garden where we now live and I'm grateful to the people who must have planted these. They bring back so many memories.
A good way to start another New Year, giving thanks for life, for family, for friends old and new.
Delhi, in the seventies, we used to look out for sunsets in the monsoon
and post-monsoon months of August and September without fail. In a big
and dry city like Delhi, rain was incredibly energetic. It was always a
bonus; it brought high spirits, and it spelt romance. Spells of rain
never lasted too long, and when they ended by evening, we got the
additional treat of a sunset to enjoy and remember.
curfew for a young girl like me in those days was lighting-up time. As
soon as the street lights came on, I had to be home. What lovely late
evening twilights we had. The light would fade slowly and grandly out of
the sky, lingering until the clouds and trees were dark silhouettes. In
my imagination, those banked up clouds on the horizon, black and purple
masses, were mountains. The return home at the street light hour was
followed by prayers in the back verandah. The puja was in the store room
that opened off it. The back verandah would be lit only by the fading
daylight and the storeroom was beautiful in the dark. It was comforting
and yet exciting, and there were many smells that filled it: the sharp
smell of the scrubbed brass villakku or the smoky smell of burnt oil
wicks, the scent of goodies stored in big biscuit tins, and agarbatti,
which dominated, and then took over my senses with its calming effect so
that my troubles -- homework undone or a test the next day-- would be
washed away. Only the comfort and the safety of my parents' home would
It was remarkable that one could connect to nature in such a profound way in the heart of Delhi.
was a long time ago, and the habit of enjoying a few quiet moments
gathering one's thoughts at the end of the day remains. On some
evenings, the day seems to die, and it has a melancholy feel. On other
days, there is only a feeling of peace. Today, I was sitting outside our
house and looking at the Bhutan Himalayas, purple and black masses
against the Northern sky, and I dreamed they were the clouds of my Delhi
childhood. One peak stood out sharply defined, perfectly symmetrical,
and in the foreground, a gulmohar leaf swayed in the silent breeze. It
could have been a calendar picture of Mt.Fuji with a leaf etching in
It rained all afternoon after an incredibly hot and sticky
morning. The thunder was deafening and it was a really dramatic, high
intensity storm. It cleared the air magically. By four o'clock, the sky
was washed blue and the hills stood out in clear relief. I walked down
to the National Highway -- a straight road leads to it from my house -
at about five o'clock, with my head turned right to see the hills. They
were silhouettes; I couldn’t see the trees on them at all, but I could
see the ranges layered out distinctly. Where the sky met the hills, it
was a lighter blue than anywhere else; almost whitish, and luminous. The
silence that settled around this spectacle made me imagine it was a
pre-dawn scene, as if something big was about to happen soon.
from my walk, I sat outside on a swing, with our patient and undemanding
dog Simba at my feet. There was a gentle breeze blowing. Birds had
returned to their nests and fallen silent. A truck rumbled past on the
highway, but it wasn’t an unwelcome sound.
The sound of children
playing somewhere in the distance was missing today. It is a typical
evening sound. Once I was among children who played in the evenings out
in the open, watching anxiously for the lights on the lampposts. Then,
as a young adult, I remember sitting and daydreaming on the front steps
in the evening and listening to a sad song about a lonely man watching
the children play. I sit alone now and the children who played in this
garden when they were little have left home. Home and childhood may seem
very far away to them too. The complete tranquility and simplicity of
those childhood years is lost for ever, but at moments such as these,
one can recapture traces of it. Published here in my blog in 2007
After two cold, windy and rainy days, the sun showed up at around noon today. We always tread carefully on the lawn because there are creatures that bite and sting, but I didn't notice what was there until the mali pointed it out to me.
I was not the only one who'd come out to enjoy the sun!
We thought that the frilly bit was where the head must have been, but when the malis turned the skin over and unfurled it, this is what we saw:
The snake mush have been over five feet long. Look at the head :
All the revulsion I'd felt at the sight of the skin was gone.
When the drought is over and we've had some rain we get to feast our eyes on these signs of moisture. It's a surfeit of flowers and new leaves everywhere. No need to plan out beds or plant seeds like the cold weather, because what's already in the garden starts blooming. There are lilies, hibiscus,hydrangeas, magnolias and gardenias. The grass is green again.
Thank you to the person who planted these hydrangeas. They're pink and lilac in one border and blue in another.
Almost like a forest floor under the mahogany trees.
Delicate blooms of bougainvillea.
Heady and intoxicating, the fragrance of the magnolia blooms - alas, I can't capture that!
Gardenia - what I choose to call myself on this blog.
There are many fellow creatures celebrating life out there. I captured the most eye-catching of the lot.
The season of storms is here again. A biggie hit us last Saturday night. I
was in the verandah trying to make a phone call when a huge gust of wind blew
everything out, including the lights . We could barely stand against the force
of the gale, but I tried to save pot plants and the odd unstable table here and
there. Branches snapped unseen above us and came flying about at top speed. I
retired from rescue operations and went indoors, much to the chowkidar's
We woke on Easter Sunday to see the lawn littered with branches, twigs and
leaves. The bungalow has five magnificent mahogany trees, and everything that
the wind blew down was from these trees. They are the most striking feature of
the bungalow and when seen from certain points they seem to frame and define the
house. They're old trees, and I'm glad to think they will probably be around for
a long time.
All through the cold weather, my chair was placed under the mahoganies.
When the leaves began to fall, I was told that seed pods would fall too, and it
wouldn't be wise to sit there any more. I saw little cone like pods high up in
the branches. Soon falling leaves covered the entire compound. The lily beds
underneath the trees were like a forest floor. With leaves fell the hard outer
segments of the pods. They looked like extra large dried orange peel. Our
bungalow boys said they made excellent fuel for fires. The inner segments of the
pods were beautiful and we scooped up handfuls to fill up our pot pourri
The branches were bare in the space of a week, and within another week,
buds formed and new leaves began to appear. It is amazing how leaf fall, bud
break and the appearance of new foliage are all compacted into such a short span
of time. With new leaves, new birds came into our garden.
The bottle brush above
the lily pond attracted a kingfisher that dazzled our eyes everytime it swooped
and dipped into the water. A barbet, almost the exact colour of the new mahogany
leaves, sat pecking at the trunk of one of the trees.
The seed pods remained hidden until the storm blew them down.
at the design. How effectively the seeds are contained, and how well protected
they are until they mature! Mohan has collected and distributed a good number
I'm waiting now to see the flowers. The trees have put out buds and so have
all the orchid plants growing along the trunks.