Its the beginning of the monsoon season. Nature's palettes are drippy, wet greens, new neon lush greens that merge, coalesce, under monsoon gray skies. It's season, to go in search of the Nag Lingams- flowers where the monsoon passions burst forth, in a brilliant show of colors, fragrance-a flamboyance only secretly displayed and rarely seen - a revealing of a different heart, red, passionate, with a touch of fuchsia, regal pink, with an undercoat of shimmering, shaded, yellow satin. The tree itself stands silent, tall, solid, with a covering of dark, variegated brown, almost, nondescript in form. It's in this season, that its inner self is revealed, unique, dramatic, but still held close to itself. The first sure give away is the fragrance, rich, deep, heavy, exotic and mysterious. The tree is beheld first on the floor it has now painted- in impressionistic hues of reds, pinks, and raw silks of yellow, brown...a glance upwards takes one to dizzying heights all along its long trunk, now covered with hundreds of flowers-waxy, full, deep, dazzling- allure of a temptress, seductive and sure - ensnaring the blue monsoon, with her heart of red and gold.
2 comments:
there's a story by chudamani raghavan called "counting the flowers", and the nagalingams are the central symbol of the story... you should read it! :)
thanks a lot!I'll be sure to look that up-have come across so little on the flowers myself, that I just let imagination speak :)
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