Garden of Flowers

There exists a garden of flowers. The garden contains each and every possible kind of flower. It is a colourful assortment like an artist's pallete, of all the flowers for one’s visual delight and olfactory pleasure. The access to the garden is controlled by a huge gate. People enter the garden through that gate. Those who come here wonder at the marvellousness of that garden. Each person enters the garden with an empty basket in hand. They run around, soaking in the seasons and the colourful flowers. They lie down on the flower-beds to enjoy and relax. Some sit and talk to flowers. Some play around with flowers. Some uproot flowers. Some cut off whole flower-beds from their roots. Some even plant new flowers and tend to each flower every day. Some quarrel over flowers. Some fight over flowers. Some build walls around their loved flowers. Thus everyone interacts with the flowers in their own way. People spend days and nights, sunshine and monsoons among the flowers. The garden presents to them, the freedom to do whatever with the flowers. Thus flowers get loved, uprooted, watered or talked to by different persons.

After having their ways with the flowers, the people inside have to leave. All their baskets are filled with flowers and plantlife. People have collected the best looking flowers, the most beautiful-smelling flowers, the most-exquisitely coloured flowers in their baskets. Everyone is happy and pleased at the collection of flowers in their baskets. Some look at other's baskets and compare their collection with others. Some want to go back again and collect more flowers.


They all approach the gate about the time they had to leave the garden. But the gate follows one rule. People continue to gaze at the door waiting for it to open, but it won’t. It is because the gate opens up only when all the flowers are removed from the baskets. No person is allowed to take any flower with himself in a basket. People get dejected after knowing the strange rule which the gate followed. They had no idea that their otherwise busy and totally occupied day would end like this; like this with just an empty basket with no flower at all in it. They looked down upon their basket with sadness. Everyone’s eyes turned moist and tearful. They all had developed great attachment with the flowers while they were in the garden. So, after undergoing great pain and suffering, they eventually had to throw away the flowers. Their agony was equivalent to their attachment with the flowers. The act of emptying the baskets caused immeasurable wailing and crying amongst them. Those who had thrown off the flowers earlier helped others to empty their baskets. Thus each one gradually emptied their baskets thoroughly and then the gate opened for them to exit.


People often ask me the meaning of my alter-name, “Brassic”. I smile and tell them, “It is an American Banker’s slang word for those who have are bankrupt; those who are insolvent; those who have nothing left in their hands”. I too am in that garden of flowers. I too have a basket with me. I am not carrying any flowers in that basket. But, neither is the basket empty. Because I am carrying the scent of those flowers with me, for eternity through the gateways of time.




Image from here.