The Marigold

Gayatri

Gayatri didn’t wait a moment after entering the front door. She quickly went upstairs to her terrace garden. What she saw shattered her. The plants looked pale, in desperate need of care. The Marigold plant had dried up, with just one small leaf peeking out as if it were trying hard to survive with a faint hope. She immediately sprinkled water, along with a few drops of her own tears. She knew the chances of its survival were slim.

For years, she had nurtured and cared for all the plants. When Sudhir was alive, they both shared the same hobby. Each plant was a poignant reminder of the sweet and bitter moments they had shared as a couple. From choosing the plants and sowing seeds to watering them regularly, their divided responsibilities were the most exciting part of growing the garden together. There were roses, hibiscus, and jasmine, and finally, the most precious of all—the Marigold. Even after Sudhir's passing, whenever she approached the bright yellow flowers basking in the sunlight, she was reminded of his hearty laughter. This was the last plant he had planted before leaving her. Whenever thoughts of him rose from her loneliness, she would visit the terrace garden to catch a glimpse of the marigolds. It was the only living remnant of their nearly 60-year bond.

Her daughter, Pritha, was a busy neurosurgeon and one of the best in the city. She was divorced and lived with her daughter, Tanvi, who was an aspiring musician. Both were engrossed in their lives and hardly paid any attention to Gayatri. After Sudhir's death, Gayatri spent most of her time alone in their large house. The occasional phone calls with her sister, who lived in Jaipur, were her only means of communication. Other than the rare meals she shared with her granddaughter at the dining table, she hardly saw their faces. She often didn’t even realize when her daughter came home at night. The three of them lived separate lives under the same roof. Most of her time was spent in the garden or with her poetry books. Sudhir had also shared this passion for poetry with her. From Ghalib to Wordsworth, they read every poet’s work together in the evenings. Their hair had greyed, their bodies aged, but the romance never faded.

Those marigolds, the most shining reminder of their love, which she had nurtured with care, now stood gasping for their last breath. Unable to contain her grief, Gayatri let her tears flow freely. It had only been a month since her trip to Jaipur for her sister's grandson's wedding. Both Pritha and Tanvi had prior commitments, so she had to go alone. She had instructed their house-help, Surekha, to water the plants every day. She understood that she could not rely on her daughter and granddaughter for that. If her family paid no attention to her, why would an outsider take the trouble to care?

Tanvi

"Wasn't Nani supposed to return today?" Tanvi thought as she entered the house. She had just auditioned for a new album, and it had gone well. She felt she should celebrate this small victory with someone, and the only person who came to mind was her Nani. They hardly spoke due to her busy schedule, which made Tanvi feel a sense of guilt. Her nana and nani had taken care of her since childhood, especially since her mother was rarely home. However, as she started college and focused on her hectic schedule of shows, her bond with her nani had faded. But not today. For the first time in a while, she had some free time for herself and her family, and she was determined to reconnect with her grandmother.

Not finding her grandmother in her bedroom, Tanvi knew exactly where to look. She hurried upstairs to the terrace and saw her grandmother standing in front of the plants. Was she crying? If so, why? She should be happy; she had just returned from a wedding. Tanvi approached her, asking, "Nani, how was your trip? Is everything alright?" She could see her nani's tired and tearful expression as she helplessly pointed toward a dried plant. Tanvi was aware of her grandmother's love for gardening, but what she didn’t realise was the emotional connection tied to the plants, especially the marigolds.

She could not find her grandmother in her bedroom, so she knew exactly where to look. She ran upstairs to the terrace to see her grandmother standing in front of the plants. Was she crying? Why? She should be happy; she had just arrived from a wedding. Tanvi proceeded towards her, " Nani, how was your trip? Is everything fine?" She could see her nani's tired and teary look, helplessly looking at her, pointing towards a dried plant. She was aware of her grandmother's fondness for the garden, but what she was not aware of was the emotions that were attached to the plants, especially the marigolds. 

The Conversation

As Tanvi gently held her grieving grandmother, Gayatri, she noticed tears streaming down her face. "Oh, Nani, what happened?" she asked, like an older sibling trying to comfort a younger child by fixing a broken toy.

"Beta," Gayatri replied, "this marigold plant is the only living thing I have that connects me to your Nanaji. This was the last plant he planted, so whenever a marigold blooms, it reminds me that he is still with me. But look, it is dying now; no one has watered it." Gayatri said, visibly upset.

Tanvi pulled a chair over and urged her grandmother to sit. "Grandma, I'm really sorry I didn’t take care of the plant. I regret becoming so distant that you couldn't rely on me to help care for it. I didn’t realize how important these plants are to you. But today, let's strengthen our bond. Together, we can revive this plant by providing it with the proper care it needs. With your love and my attention, I’m sure it will revive once again."

A faint smile appeared on Gayatri's wrinkled face. This was what she had always dreamed of after Sudhir's passing—someone to take her hands and say, "Don’t worry, I’m here for you." Today, this dying plant became the catalyst for that miracle.

3 Weeks later

Gayatri and Tanvi were enjoying their evening coffee on the terrace, which had become their daily ritual over the past few weeks whenever Tanvi was available. They sat in cane chairs, chatting over their coffee as the pinkish rays of the setting sun glistened on the freshly bloomed marigolds.

This post is a part of Blogchatter Blog Hop