Fried things are the best things to wake up to. I woke up smelling eggs, an omelet perhaps. It was not possible though since my cook comes in late on Sundays. Like a panther on the prowl I started poking around my own house. Have the corners been swept. What’s behind the dustbin. Tut tut, the dust rags are not where they should be.

I sometimes I think that my help must be happy when I’m lack-lustre, recharging to gain my strength back. I don’t blame them. At full steam, I would be afraid of me. This is my barometer for the days when I am getting better. But unhindered, I will tire myself out of my bouts of health too soon.

I peeked round back, the gardener was emptying flower pots with his little boy. Aha! In a few strides I was upon them. The sunlight was already climbing the few steps to the sliding doors of the sunroom. I sat on the steps mortified. Why are you taking out the marigolds, I asked with raised eyebrows. Baji, he said, they are no use, they will soon be wilting.

I looked at my flowers, they were struggling to last the season. I also saw all the tiny little buds which hadn’t had their chance, their run. “What about these,” I said. “Baji they are too small, they wont be good flowers, and they wont last long.” And yet they were giving so much. Telling the world to smile. Spreading joy in their tiny way.

Two beautiful marigolds, had already been wrenched out and tossed aside. Out of their life giving earth. The others, with their proud heads caressing the light, seemed resigned to the same fate. Believe me I don’t talk to my flowers, but I was overcome with sadness.

“I don’t care. Put them all back,” I said.

And so this morning I saved my flowers. And that makes me a very happy girl.