The white lily

All through the evening she saw several faces around her. A few of them were loquacious, some others sat along the edge of her dwelling and whispered to one another after long minutes of complete idyllic silence.
She heard them talk of things she had not known before.
She was a white lily.
She had been a listener for months now.

” I think we could do away with democracy. Don’t you think? China is doing so well as an economic system.”
‘Haha. And you believe that is how we could work in our nation. A nation where people can rise to protest against abolition of net neutralisation…

These conversations could be heard each day. Several hours of the day. And she enjoyed all of them.

She learnt a magnanimous set of things. When she was born she could hear faint voices. Murmurs of worldly things emanating from the sides of the bushes. Now she was a grown woman. From days of not knowing what China meant to moments wherein she could correct the pronounciation of Xinjiang for all the conversationalists around her…she had come a long way.

Today, however she was much intrigued by a bizarre wish to talk. ‘I have been listening to things for ages now’, she observed. Some person to talk to would be so cool.
She had observed a pair one day, talking on the relevance of duality in nature. She could agree to both the parties and felt dejected. No conclusive evidence of an absolute theory.
For all these months she had been thinking that all the people have figured everything out. Evidently, it wasn’t so.

She began to think and make notes. Scribbling for days she almost had her leaves withered to the size of a plum.

This is how she met her friend these days. Morning glory. Lily called her a part time friend.
“Why do you leave at night?”
“Well, I sleep. I like sleeping. Why do you stay up all night…what do you do?”
“I think.”
“I like inviting bees and butterflies to my place. I have to be fresh for them. Besides, they have started to call me an invasive weed. I like the name. Badass”, she glories in satisfaction.

Well. This way she could speak to the butterflies and bees. Often they were unnerved, busy with their dessert.

All along the Lily’s side now, were several glories. They catered to flying wing-ies all day…and to each other’s snores all night.

Several days later, while scribbling her way to understanding the concept of quasars…she bent her head away towards the moonless sky. Too dark tonight.

A flash of light beamed on her stalk. Relieved she began to scribble.

“You could write something about twin quasars too”. Startled and elated too, she stared back into the darkness. A jewel was all she could see.
“It’s a wondrous concept you see. Gravity bends light and an image of the quasar is formed. Quasar is in fact light. Just outside the event horizon of a black hole. ”

She gasped…well, visibly too.

“You stay up in the night too?”

“Nope. Not too. Only. Don’t be addled. I am moonflower. One of these glorious glories…only I prefer being alone.”

“So, you sleep in the day?”

“Yep. All day.”

“Wow. But…you look like them. Amaaaaaazzziingg.”, she beamed in happiness. “So…what about quasars?”

They laughed and talked all night. Focusing on discussing images of one of the brightest light sources in space…they elated their hearts to complete degree of satiation.

“Gravity has a particle nature to it then, I should believe.”

Smell the sweat of heated discussions in the broth of epiphany. Its exhilarating.

“I wonder how they always manage to grow so quick”.

“And you are all alone. No intent to proliferate or are you…”

“Hahahaha…careful lady”, he grinned. “I am a moonflower..just like them. Nonetheless, I like staying alone.”

“I don’t want to proliferate too. I don’t know, albeit, how to do so. I have been closing my petals against the wind all these days. Humans once described the process of pollination. I don’t like it.”

“Bravo. I don’t like it too. And such a classic idea…close oneself to the wind.”

“It’s tiring, moony. I am withering because of it. Look at my leaves. This further accelerates the process of drying of petals. Pollination is inevitable.”

“Not if you think closely. We are two now. I sleep during the day. I could stay inside you. You could enclose me. Vice-versa for the night.”


Both the flowers scribbled their way to ideas. Lily collected data in the day. Moonflower compiled conclusions at night. Two hours of the evening they chatted their way to ideas. A splendid veneer developed on each of their leaves. Beauty was being created.

Some days later, a kaleidoscope of monarchs passed by. Moonflower was pleasantly attracted to them. He made conversation about their ideas…their splendid colours and ornate patterns. Days later he came back to Lily. Withered and sullen in her stalk, she was singing her heart out beneath the moonless night.

“Hey. These kids are awesome. They have been to the Galapagos. Wow. I had always wanted to see those iguanas.”

She turns. Drooping visibly.

“They gave me this.”

A thin thread of smooth fluorescence forming carved outlines of meshed sapphire. A thread bare from a monarch’s wings. He puts the thread across her stalk and ties a knot. Water on her sepal glistened in the night.

As days closed to months and then years, the flowers began to take notice of the aging of their stalks. Their leaves were withering too. I don’t want to dry to death, each exclaimed.

Days later were found manuscripts of scribbled thoughts on wilted leaves fallen off before aging. The patterns follow a symmetry hard to comprehend. Each vein being produced by another and the pattern continues. People are still trying to decipher the smallest of that symmetry. The fractal amazement.



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