Every year, around mid-Feb, there is a definite shift in my mood. It's not all in one direction, though. For some reason, every year at this time, I feel as though things are spiraling out of control, that I can't deal with people anymore, that nothing is worth the effort. At the same time, I feel a peculiar peace when I am (preferably) alone, near a tree or two. This is when spring shows up, scattering life all around. Trees have those adorable fresh green leaves that darken as the days pass.
Flowers start blooming, splashing colour across the otherwise rather dusty landscape of Delhi. It helps get through these few months of the year when I feel most non-social. Oh, Bouganvillea, in white and purple, pink and red. Such a joy!
However, that is all about spring. By the time summer hits, the green isn't tender any longer. It's heat-hardened, deep and usually covered by a layer of dust. And still, the flowers bloom. There are some flowers I always have associated with summer. No, Amaltas isn't it for me. Over the last twelve years, Gulmohar has, however, crawled in and made a place in my heart. The flowers are unusual and pretty; even the leaves are pretty in a delicate fringed way.But way back when I was a wee kid, it was Hibiscus that was the summer flower in my mind. I associated it with summer holidays, though I dimly acknowledged that it seemed to flower throughout the year. That wasn't important. The flowers were there in summer, so that proved my summer-flower hypothesis.
I also found it rather intriguing that it was called 'China Rose'. I couldn't understand why it would have another name when 'Hibiscus' was sufficiently fancy. I also didn't know that it came in any colour other than that deep, dark red. Over the last fifteen or so years, I didn't see it much around where I live now. But during a recent trip, there it was, red and summer and memories, calling out to me.
It's not like I don't like other flowers. But these are summer for me.
