Friday, February 24, 2006

One rose

Valentines Day was just another day, she said to herself, and actually meant it. At work, it was the usual pally wishes doing their rounds, the usual jokes looking back at rosier days.

Till the time, around evening, when roses kept popping up at all corners, passing by, leaving a strange waft of envy behind them. As rose after rose went off in various directions, she wondered if she would've liked one. Moments later the workplace buzzed with "count na...", "all pinks, no red?" "annnnother?" "God, I dont believ this"... and so on.

At first, she almost liked the rose-spotting chatter around her. But the mind does weird things, and she felt its transition from neutral to observing, envious to sad. The last came and refused to go. "Why didn't I get a rose?" The whole idea is to feel good, and feel good in front of others, to get a rose and clasp one's hands over one's mouth and exclaim: "Who could it be?" And she wanted to do it too. She didn't ponder on who would send it, she was like the child eyeing the red fire-truck in the shop window. No matter who sent it or if it landed on her desk by mistake, she needed one of those. Wanted to hold it, smell it, to feel its softness on her lips, only caring that it was hers.

One rose would've done it... one rose to make her feel good as she went home from work that day, knowing still that it'd be OK soon, but it would've felt good