It was pouring with rain outside. Some of the first of heavy drops down the land. Front in the hallroom, I leaned back onto my mother’s lap while she on one of the grey plastic chairs we had in the house. In the chair beside was my uncle, dad’s second younger brother who stayed with us. The three of just sat there, watching in silence, the lightening and streaming. Among the rain fallen grasses I saw something in orange, which looked like a rose. I got to my feet, leaving the door opened, leaving my mom and uncle puzzled, out onto the bed of wet soil, drenching, wondering, hurdling across the random bushes and small rocks. As I reached closer and as I began having my doubts, my running descended down to foot steps, I learned that it was just a clump of leafy petals which only looked like rose but not actually one. When I got back, my mother asked me where I went to. My uncle was waiting to know the same. I explained them but they didn’t seem to understand the intensity.
When I was little I used to be fond of roses. There were these pink shades of domestic rose plants fenced in our ground but they didn’t allure me as much the kind of roses Shaku, my friend wore to school everyday. They’d be in various colours, big in size. White. Red. Pink. Orange. Yellow. Sometimes mixture of all of them. They belong to cross breed, my mom would say. They will require well maintanence and nourishment, our rock soil here wouldn’t let them grow gracefully, she’d continue. Elder cousin brother Sukan had a decorous garden with every kind of rose, blend of orange and yellow being the biggest of them all which had covered my tiny round head when placed in the centre with a hairpin. My mom was fond of flowers too. She even liked Jasmine, I only liked it’s fragrance. She’d keep them dipped in a glass of water so it lasted for days, something she learnt from her mother.


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