heart and the spring

‘I know of a planet where there is a red-faced gentleman. He has never smelled a flower. He has never looked at a star. He has never loved anybody. He has apent all his time adding up figures. And, all day, he keeps on repeating, like you: ” I am busy with serious matters. I am busy with serious matters,” over and over again. And he swells up with pride.’ – The Little Prince

Spring is coming, winter is on its way out. You guess this from the way he dresses these days. No more sweaters & jackets – both. Either only a sweater or a jacket. Or a woolen shirt doubles up as the jacket, if the day is particularly warm. Little twisted logic. Last week he was seen wearing a shirt over a jacket. And he chooses the color as per the day of the week. Some astrologer imparted him useful tips on the subject.

Spring is almost here, winter is packing her bags. You hear this in the evening news. ‘The minimum temperature was five degrees above normal.’ Coupled with the newspaper, they really are the best source to know whether you should feel cold or warm.

There used to be another way of gauging the spring’s arrival. You looked around & saw the flowers blooming. Bright, rioting, colorful flowers. In the parks, outside government offices, in private gardens, on windowsills and even in cramped corners of overstuffed balconies, you saw spring’s signature all around.

Not any more. Now-a-days, spring is seen only in well organized flower shows. Or in precious parts at the florist’s. ‘This rose will cost rupees seven sir. No, you can’t take two for ten, I’ll lose my margin sir.’

The only alive, full of life flower I saw this season was in that art gallery’s lawn I went last Saturday with Apsy. A single orangish-red gladiolus. Looking slightly ruffled under the artificial light at night. Just wanted to sit cross-legged there and watch it. Apsy liked the idea, but one look at the smattering of intellectuals around us, we dropped the thought. You are supposed to behave a little maturely amongst ummm, matured people.

There was this rose bush also, trimmed a bit abruptly. So many buds waiting to flower, so little leaves to accompany them. And that white kid who liked our gladiolus very much. And dared to show his delight. Sensible. Unlike us. Children are same everywhere. Children are like flower buds, hiding so many springs within. That is, if they are not trimmed as per society’s whims and wishes.

No more flowers in our lives, no more innocence in our children. It seems an eternal winter has set around us. No more spring in our hearts. Or should I say, no more heart in our springs.

All of us have turned into that red-faced gentleman’s clones. Engrossed in our serious matters and important lives, we tend to overlook life’s little delights.

All I wish for is a piece of spring in my life.

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