What’s your favorite flower? She asked in her usual tiny little voice.
Typically, my answers to her have always been pure
dismissal. Because that’s who you become when you are a mother, juggling hundreds
of tasks in a day. Every interruption is noise. So, you just do the bare
minimum to stop it. For all the other
times she has asked me this exact same question, I have replied each time differently. One time it was a Rose, another time Jasmine, sometimes Daisies or
Tulips. And on an even rarer time it was Hydrangea. Because that is what I could
see from the corner of my eye, at my neighbor’s yard. She never questioned my
choice. Simply listened and resumed her play. I never went back to change or
correct my answers ever. This was the routine. Has always been.
But today felt different. Not typical. For the first time
ever, in a long time, my head heard the question. Not just my ears. And I thought.
For a few seconds. Because I realized I had never really asked myself this
question. Sure, yes. I have been flattered whenever I received roses or tulips
as gifts. Loved myself a little bit more when I adorned jasmines on my hair. Admired the
beautiful daisies and hydrangeas my neighbors painstakingly tend to. But are
they ever really my favorites? Do they mean something to me? Have I ever felt
connected to them?
My favorites are Bougainvillea.
I never knew that until this day, when she asked, for the
millionth time maybe.
But why? Is it their vibrant color? Or the fact that they are deemed as the never-dying ones?
In Malayalam, we call it the ‘Kadalasu Poovu’, translating
to the ‘Paper Flower’. That’s how I have always known it. I was maybe 38 years
old when I learned its English name. Until then it was always Kadalasu Poovu. Maybe
that is why it never featured in my list of favorite flowers, ever. Because I didn’t
know how to say it to anyone who doesn’t know Malayalam. Or even the ones who
knew.
And I also never came across any flower shop selling
Bougainvillea bouquets. So I always steered clear of keeping this on my list
altogether.
But they are truly my favorite. I love everything about
them. Their color, the way they look so beautiful, all clustered together. But
most of all, because they remind me of my childhood. My childhood summers.
My maternal grandfather had the most extraordinary gift for gardening. The garden was always in full bloom. The path from the main
gate of the house to the entrance foyer would be lined on both sides with
flowers of every color, size and fragrance. Every evening, the grandkids would
join him in watering the hundreds of potted plants and countless fruit trees
around the yard. But my favorite was always the beautiful bougainvillea arch he
had created right above the gate. Climbing up the gates to sit on the top
railing, with the arch just right above my head always made me feel like a
princess. Like I was on top of the world. And everything and everyone else was
beneath me, at my beck and call. Even on the hottest summer day, sitting up there,
on the gate, beneath the arch, was what I loved to do. I never allowed anyone to
pluck the flowers. I guarded them fiercely, because they were my arch to royalty.
A few days after my grandfather passed away, the flowers started falling. I was aghast. Because I remembered how he always told me that these
flowers never fell. They just grew and grew until they grew no more. And slowly
then, the leaves fell. Then the stems. And eventually one day, there remained
only the steel arch, barren of any life that it had once held. I still climbed
the gate. I hoped against hope that my presence might coax the plant to grow
again. Until one day, the uncles decided to take down the rusting arch as well.
It was cited as a health risk. That is probably the day my heart truly felt
the loss. Not just of the beautiful plant it once held. But of the one man who
had made it beautiful.
That was the last I ever saw a live Bougainvillea.
It will be 30 years next year.
On the day my girl made me realize this, the pang of nostalgia
that hit me was bad. I did not want to forget my favorite flower ever. So the first thing I did was buy a potted faux bougainvillea for the house. It sits where I see it first thing every morning, stepping out of my room, with the beautiful eastern sunrise casting its golden glow on it. Exactly like
I had always seen it when I was younger.
Maybe one day, I will have a live Bougainvillea arch. Or at
least a living potted plant.
