The inevitable happened. I saw this coming a month back. But, hope is something else altogether. Who would want to give up on that? I clung to it desperately, praying, that some magic would rub off on those rough edges and I will eventually see a glimpse of life. Unfortunately, that remained in the deep corner of my heart.
Finally, I garnered enough strength to set my eyes on that lifeless form. There was nothing left. The pinwheel flower plant that occupied a quiet corner of my garden patch for the past decade, had to be removed and there was nothing I could do about it.
When we moved into our present home, the garden was a drudgery. I had previously not tended to anything green and I simply didn’t want to invest myself in anything either. But, after a couple of plunges to the ground, there appeared a little patch that caught my attention. Who knew then that I would soon strike a bond with every single creeper, shrub, plant, tree and anything else that sprouts on this ground. It was at that time that this little plant was introduced.
It was just over a foot tall with thin stems and leaves that were over two inches long. “What is this plant?”, I had asked one of the gardeners who had walked in. “They are popularly called pinwheels. Some of them call it crepe jasmine”, he added. I didn’t want to announce my ignominy. So, I picked up my phone to google what those flowers would look like, “small white flowers that look like wheels”, he looked at me eagerly. “They are sturdy and they last”, he added as he patted the ground around the plant.
Sturdy, it was. It was also quiet and plain. It didn’t burst out with growth. It took its time — slow and steady. It grew more leaves. It sprouted small thin branches from where fresh green shoots lifted their tiny heads.
I marvelled at its strength because, unlike its twin who swished and prided in growth on the other end, this little sapling was on its own. I often thought, this fella could be a poet because it stood on the edge, in a spot from where it got a perfect view of the entire patch. Yet, it stood in a manner that called out as controlled and deep.
Over the years, our sapling sprouted more branches and leaves. But, there was just one problem. There was not a single bud on the crown. “The twin’s head is almost a sea of white. Why doesn’t this have even one dot?”, I asked the hassled gardner.
“Every plant is different”, he announced as his eyes studied the twins. “Maybe it needs some nourishment”, I pronounced. True to my word, he added every coloured granule present in the little cupboard in the backyard.
The first bloom stared at us on a cold wintry morning. “It is not even the season”, I announced as if I knew everything there is to know about gardening. But, that little fella, strutting its one white head in the warm gleam of the first rays of sunlight was a moment to cherish. A thin droplet of dew clung dearly to one of its edges and I saw the silvery sheen that delicately enveloped the floral curves.
I stood rooted not wanting to move, not wanting to shake the moment, take in the silver dust that sparkled in the moment. I couldn’t pocket it. So, I did the next best thing. I captured that little bloom in my camera. When I looked down, I noticed for the first time, a small rainbow sloped gently from the foot of the plant.
This past year, the now mature plant simply refused to mend its wounds. Every known remedy from Google yielded little to nothing. Around two months ago, I knew that it had reached the dreadful end. Yet, day after day, I scratched the stump of the plant to check for life. The arms of the plant snapped with a resounding thud and it stood resolutely still.
“Maybe some birds will use it as a little lounge chair”, I joked and I found reasons to keep the dead wood till I found a desperate plant that needed a home.
Today, after pulling it out, my garden corner doesn’t look the same. It has a new plant which is trying to make that patch its home. But, I will never forget the little plant — the plant that was home to a small rainbow.
— Sudha Subramanian is an author and writer based in Dubai. Twitter: @sudhasubraman
