Summer blooms

  
Bougainvillea.

Summer bloom - 8

Hydrangea.

Little flowers clustered in a ball of colours, bringing the Summer alive with their pastel palette.

Photography Credits Go To Meenakshi Bakhshi.

Summer Bloom 7

🥝 Kiwi Flowers

Photography Credits Go To Meenakshi Bakhshi.

Monsoon -10

Monsoon-9

Selfie of flowers in rain.

Summer bloom 6

Gulmohar (Royal poinciana)

Summer bloom-5

Amaltash (Cassia fistula)

Canopy of a tree, an umbrella of flowers, drenched in sunshine yellow, quenching aesthetic thirst.

Spring Approaching!

Sunshine

Bloom

Winter Bloom 6

Chrysanthemum

Winter bloom 5

Chrysanthemum

September-2

The sky is getting clearer, clouds beginning to disperse with winds of change.

The wind is getting cooler, Sun beginning to shine more often over the mountain range.

Days and evenings not somber anymore, grays converting into vibrant landscapes.

Wetness drying up, no more downpours, colours popping up like lady's drapes.

Relief from heat, break from the rains. Seems like the Earth is ready to exhale.

September

Bunches of red, contrasting with greens of leaves.
Little flower umbrellas, sheltering insects from grieves.

Cool September breeze, giving respite from the heat.
Making flowers blossom, getting ready for Autumn greet.

Veteran leaves turning yellow, saying goodbyes, ready to let go.
Magic of Autumn hiding within each fold, forests waiting to transform in motion slow.

History

History, peeping coyly through the windows of far forgotten forts, palaces and temples.
Doubtful of how it is remembered, how it is twisted, how it is altered to attract and serve tourism.

Looking with pride at the palaces and forts standing their ground for centuries.
Awed by the river that once embraced and blessed all, now swallowing sins of people. Worshipped, for soul cleansing, while choking her.

Remembering the tenderness with which the sculptors chiselled each design. Caressing, worshipping each goddess they carved out of stone.
Recalling the rustle of the silk skirts of Queens, following their feet. Soft, tender, adorned with heavy tinkling anklets.


The reverbrating sound of the brass bell at the entrance of the temple. Recollecting the fragrant, colourful flowers she offered  with her eyes closed and soul awake, pure, in reverence.

Remembering the blinding reflection of swords shining mercilessly in the first light of the Sun.
The Sun, the sword's metal and water of river turning into gold alike.

How it was, how it is remembered now. How was it written by whom? How it was kept true and intact, how it was changed!

History, like an old lady remembers helplessly, peeping through the windows of palaces, forts and temples.

Design 29

The visitors.

🐞🐝🐞

 

I am visited by butterflies, when I walk into the garden.
Yellow butterflies flying off little yellow flowers as if the whole bunch just grew wings.
Urging me to raise my arms to touch them but in vain.

I am visited by a tiny 🐦bird, when I walk into the garden.
Little black bird residing on the tall green bamboo🎍, chirping as if the bamboo found its voice.
Startling me everytime it flies away.

I am visited by ants 🐜🐜🐜, when I walk into the garden.
Tiny red ones, building anthill in a quiet corner as if  the garden were their kingdom, protecting them from rain.
Stinging me, sending shivers up my spine as soon as I step on the grass.

I am visited by strange small white  frogs🐸, when I visit the garden.
Jumping to hide in the hedge, making it shake as if the hedge acquired dancing feet.
Making me jump back, petrified their predators🐍 may follow soon.

I am visited by droplets of water falling down from wet leaves.
Creepers bowing, shaking off their flowers on me, greeting me in the mornings.
Reminding me I am alive and awake, when I visit my garden.
                  🐝
                         🐝

🐞

                                                                                          🐞

Summer Bloom 3

Pomegranate
A flower, a fruit, a flower inside of a fruit, a fruit inside of a flower!

Summer Bloom 2

The brighter the Sun, the brighter is the fuscia. Colour intensifying with the intensity of the Sun as if sunlight flows in the veins of the bougainvillea.

Summer Bloom

Champa (Plumeria)

Inconsequential Actions

Someone stole my pomegranate flowers.
I had been counting days, one day at a time, for the tree to be blessed with flowers. That day arrived when the buds appeared on the branches as tiny orange teardrops. Slowly growing bigger and opening up like little butterflies with delicate wings. But the tree discarded them.They were not strong enough to turn into fruits.
The wait began again, a few months' time, slowly, one day at a time, weeks , months and the orange beads of joy appeared again. This time higher in number.They opened their wings again and yet again the tree discarded them.

The whole year had gone by, never ever had this tree been bare for so long. Miracles of the nature took charge, seasons changed and the tree was once again ready for blooming. Finally three flowers held tight to the stems,  the stems bowing gently in their honour, supporting the growing weight. My spirits soared high, the wait was over. The flowers started swelling up like a pregnant belly, the delicate petals were starting to be engulfed and protected by a hard shell, half flower half fruit. I was going to be a proud caretaker.

It was a beautiful morning, I went to water the plants and there it was! A bare tree,  as if it had suffered a miscarriage. I looked for the flowers on the ground as they never fall far from it, but they were nowhere to be found, it seems someone had plucked them.

How inconsequential the act must have been for that person? Just a fancy for orange flowers!
The same thing is true in life too, someone's hard-work, life's achievements, joys, pain rendered inconsequential in seconds by the inconsiderate action of another person.