Archimedes, Take This: You Don’t Always Need A Lever To Move Things Around!

It is part of the routine morning walk – collecting flowers on the way, from plants jutting out over the peripheral fences/walls of apartment complexes lining the streets. No trespassing committed. And no one minds it’s only a few flowers.

The flowers are for offering at the temple and also for pooja at home, supplementing more fragrant ones like roses, jasmine, tulsi, sampangi, etc. bought from vendors.

Pinwheel flowers (Rajanigandha/Nishagandha) are the ones most commonly found at these places.  In season, they follow a cycle of about 3 days of blossoming in profusion followed by another 3 days of the next succession of buds to mature. Surprisingly the cycle seems to occur fairly synchronously across plants growing in different apartment complexes!

This was the first day of the blossoming cycle with just a few flowers peeking out here and there on the bushes. Even those ones and twos could not be missed out on the days when the collection ran thin.   

A heavy hand reached out to the thin stem of a solitary pinwheel flower appearing on one side of this bush. What followed…well, plucking was not to be!

The hand withdrew like it touched hot coals.

It wasn’t any muscle or machine power that caused the hand to go empty, moving back to where it belonged. Nor any ready-to-strike insect lurking around.

It was a mere butterfly…that flew in and settled on the lone flower, folding and unfolding its wings, uncoiling and sinking in its proboscis quite unmindful of the hand and its human.

What option then did the poor hand have but to get out of the way?

Since then the collection process stood modified to leave as much behind on the bush as was being taken.

End

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Source: amazon.in and thoughtco.com

Moments In The Morning (A Vignette)

A glorious morning to make one happy to be alive.

The rose bushes swayed a little in the gentle caress of a breeze.

The butterfly deftly balanced itself over the rose: ‘OMG, the man is coming to us here with his basket.’

‘Let him,’ said the rose unruffled.

‘Let him, eh? You very well know why he is headed here.’

‘Yes, he’s going to pluck those of us in full bloom – me included.’

‘And you’re not worried? How could these humans do that? Can’t they enjoy the beauty, letting you live and look gorgeous on the stem?’

‘Listen, don’t grieve for us. In any case we have only a couple of more days to go before we begin withering away. At least…’

‘What ‘at least’?’

‘If the man takes us with him, yes, that’s end of the road for us. But we go out in glory….you know we’ll adorn his deity, god…in the crown!  What better way to…’

The conversation ceased suddenly without goodbye’s said. A teary butterfly took off swiftly, getting out of harm’s way; for, the man was already up on the bush.

With his basket almost full up, the man was set to go when he spotted it.

As his fingers closed around, the butterfly made a valiant attempt to distract him.

To no avail.

All the same, buzzed by the flying insect, he lost his balance for a moment and the rose fell back into the bush.

Could see it lodged deep inside the bush on a bed of thorns, a few petals shed in the fall.

Like the great Kuru, Bishma?

‘So be it,’ the man walked god-wards, the loss tinging him for a moment.

The butterfly never in its life returned to the bush.

End