Flowers

As far as annual gigs go, the flower show at Delhi University epitomizes unfailing regularity. It is one of those things by which I set my annual watch. There are few other things that remain unaffected by demonic dictatorships and dabangg displays of discontent in this place. And as such the flower show is a beautiful static oasis in the midst of what sometimes feels like a swirling quagmire.

The flower show is an institution. Regular classes are suspended. Individuals and colleges compete for the much coveted prizes in myriad categories ranging from best garden displays to best floral arrangement. The college gardeners live for it. They wear their honours with pride. And the entire university comes by.

Everyone loves it. I mean what is there to not like? Who does not like botanical sex organs?! Flowers as far as eyes can see. If only they were a little more into local gardening and fragrant flowers. But there still are the amazingly huge roses. Exotic lilies. Orchids, gladioli, ranunculae, birds of paradise... It's beautiful. And the entire university comes by. (I've said that already, haven't I?)

Indeed in my younger days the people were as much the main attraction as the flowers. Professors we loved, professors we hated, old crushes, new heart-breakers. And flowers all around. Yes me and my friends were the most jobless set of people once. Things changed with time. Best friends got separated by geography and lifestyle. People got jobs. But the lure of the flower show remains the same. It's a memory mill, the flower show.

Anticipation has been replaced by faint hope. It's just for the flowers now. Mostly.