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People tend to forget most of their childhood as they grow older. But no matter how old they become, somethings cannot be forgotten. It can either be the joyful times that made their childhood livelier or, a sorrowful memory that helped in forging an iron heart over time.

It will be a lie if I tell that my childhood was just the latter.

It was pretty much in the middle.

To be honest, it was wavering all the time. It was neither in the middle nor at some point, you could point to. Like a boat caught in the middle of the sea. There was enough breeze just to move it back and forth but never enough for the shore. Nor did the boat stay at the same place.

That should've been the situation back then. Obviously, I didn't notice any of this. After all, I was like any other kid enjoying his time of oblivious euphoria. No one would say I was at fault. Negligence isn't to be blamed on a child, but the parents they say.

I wonder about that. I can only imagine where everything fell apart when everything seemed alright to me back then.

If I could’ve been of any help. If I had observed more of everything that happened around me. I tried asking that question to myself for a long time. Then I grew tired of it.

I came out of it.

Everything was changing finally. Like a rose stem cut off from its original plant. The stem was growing into another one of its own. And when the bud appeared, the skies changed suddenly.

The plant dried out. The buds that were supposed to blossom withered away, leaving the bees a buzzkill.

But first of all, do bees enter roses? I don’t know if I’m making any sense. It was all a long time ago.

I couldn't help but think about the old times on my way to the hospital. It is going to take some time until I reach there. I wish time just stopped, and I stayed at this same place forever.

I thought that this day would never come. Instead, I tried to make some reason out of the past. 

Created a story of my own. And continued living on what I believed was the truth. When deep down, I was searching for answers. Now that I have a chance to find my answers, I'm afraid that the truth on which I traveled till so far might turn out to be a lie.

On the other hand, if my bus were not stuck in that one place, I wouldn't even be thinking about such things. I would have already reached the hospital. I know that I'm contradicting myself, but time is a strange thing. 

So is my mind.

It was around five years ago. I was half as tall as I am now. Even a little less than half.

Maybe just a bit more than a third?

I was like any other kid running around the alley, playing, going to school, smiling and worried about nothing.

A blissful period.

My mom was still studying. Even for a kid like me back then, her actions seemed more innocent. She placed her trust in people very quickly. Everywhere she goes, she keeps talking about how grateful she was to a particular friend at her college, or how sweet the lady at the market was, about some humble person who gave her a seat in the bus while coming back home. Irrespective of strangers or acquaintances or friends, she always appreciated others. She saw the good in every person.

Thinking now, one would become more reserved or cautious while growing up without parents. The outside world can be scary, and one might not know who to place their trust in.

Well, that's how I would turn out to be.

But mom was completely opposite. Maybe the lack of compassion in her early life is the trigger that made her this way. To never be afraid to show love.

She was just pure.

And that’s how she met him.

As far as I know, mom used to buy flowers in dad’s nursery often. He was the only one running the whole place.

 A daily customer happened to fall in love with the store owner?

That's how I see it now. She, however, would refuse it till today. Mom loves us both more than anything. Even after all that happened, she still loves dad. She still believes that it is partly her fault things turned the way they did.

We were a small family. Just the three of us. Mom was studying to become a teacher. Dad was taking care of his flower nursery.

Unlike mom, dad had parents, but I rarely saw them. When I asked about them, he simply grumbled that they didn't like his life choices and demanded he should've aimed for a better job. I'm sure there were other reasons, but the answer he gave was more than enough for a seven-year-old kid. I wasn't bothered about it either.

Dad considers his flowers as a part of his life. Me and mom, both know how much it meant to him. Naturally, I started liking them too. I used to visit the nursery every day after school, and from there, we both walked home. The place smelled so good that I could spend the rest of my life inside.

 I finish most of my homework in dad's nursery. After that, he would take me around and show all the different kinds of flowers he cared for. From the intricate methods of seeding, maintaining temperature, finding the right soil, and the variety of uses and what each flower represents, he keeps on speaking about them.

If someone asked me when my dad’s eyes shine the brightest; when he’s with family or with his flowers? I would be stumped for an answer. 

He never allows anyone to caress his flowers. Until I was born. My mom used to say that it took even longer for her to be awarded this privilege. When I won't stop crying  being a child, dad used to carry me over here and stay until I become quiet in the presence of the fragrance of flowers.

Even though he had a vast knowledge about flowers, the limitations of the place we lived in made it very difficult to grow any of the exotic flowers that generally can't be found here. Instead, dad had a lot of books about them. He used to show me pictures of one every day.

Just like that when he was showing me pictures one day, I came across this flower.

It was white, with the petals rounding themself. Almost like a paper fold. That portion was called the spathe. From within the petals emerged the spadix, which was yellow in color.

It had many details about the variety of colors, origin, uses, and how it can be grown. After dad saw me too much focused on this page, he came closer to see it.

I asked him what did that flower mean?

 He replied that that particular flower symbolizes many things, but the white ones are connected to purity and innocence.

The name of that flower was Calla Lily.

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That was when I got this idea. I asked dad if I could give one of those to mom. Generally, the white calla lilies are used in bouquets, or at weddings. But the whiteness of purity and innocence reminded me of mom. After listening to my request, dad came up with an interesting task. He asked me if instead of giving a bunch of flowers, will I be able to grow one myself and give her as a potted plant?

Me being a 7-year-old was so happy after hearing this idea of growing a plant on my own! And it was a secret between us. 

Right away, I went to buy a small pot to keep it indoors. After a few days, dad somehow landed his hands on a flower bulb. It was just the roots that had to be planted in the soil. Dad told me that this flower was my responsibility and also to wait for the right time.

As soon as I got the bulbs, I filled the pot with soil and planted them inside. Indoor Calla lilies are supposed to be exposed to the sun indirectly. I found a window corner in the nursery and placed the pot behind it. It usually takes three to nine weeks, depending upon the conditions to grow, said the books. I was waiting patiently. Every day I watered and took care of it without fail. Day by day, the stem slowly grew out from the soil, and the buds began to appear at the tips.

 It was around four weeks by then and winter holidays started. Slowly the flower began turning yellow and turned into a withered pile. All my enthusiasm hit rock bottom when the flowers didn't bloom anymore.

I thought the plant died. Sobbing over, I took the pot and showed it to dad.

He then had a look at it and saw me give an apologetic smile. I was wondering what he was doing as he took a pair of scissors, cut the stem below and threw off the upper part of the plant. He also removed the soil from the pot and separated out the roots. It felt like he was tearing up what I have made until now. But he did that all in a very gentle manner, so I stood there in confusion, rubbing my eyes.

I was wrong.

Calla lilies tend to freeze during winter. This is the case of dormancy. But I still remember the way he chose his words. He said,

“It is not dead. It is sleeping.”

So, when they are sleeping, they should be taken care of. That the soil is to be dry and the stem is to be cut, to regrow again. Usually, they can be kept in pots after cut, but since I noticed it pretty late the bulbs were stored separately from the soil in a darker place to make them dry out.

He said,

"Calla lilies keep on growing for a long time. But they also need to rest like us humans. So, they sleep during winters. Once winter passes, they are ready to bloom again."

You can say he cared for them from the words even though he told me it was my responsibility. Now I understood what he meant when he said to wait for the right time.

I failed, but he didn’t let me lose.

 Those were the times which I call the good old days. The more I think about all of this, the more confused I get. Just a hint angry as well. 

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Winter was almost over, and it was two months since the new year passed. I went to the nursery to take back the roots that were stored, from the room.

I took out the roots which became fully dry by now. Then fill the pot with soil and planted them inside. Back to square one. The same steps.

Behind the window.

Avoiding direct sunlight.

Watering only if the soil is not wet.

Maintaining moisture.

Lots of patience.

It was around the third week this time that the buds began to appear. The buds opened to form a white layer leaving the yellow spadix to emerge from its inside.

I wanted to wait until the first bloom before giving it to mom. Now that it has happened, I was delighted and excited about surprising her.

It was the day before I originally planned to take it from the nursery. Dad asked me to take the plant to school and take it home from there tomorrow. The school was in between home and nursery. He said there was some alteration work pending in the nursery and a few workers are coming tomorrow to do a lot of changes. And thus, it will be a busy day tomorrow, so it is safe to take my responsibility with me. 

But before I took the pot outside the nursery, he asked me a question. And said that if I failed to answer, I would not be allowed to take it to school or give it to mom.

“What? Why? Is this a question about flowers?”

“Yes.”

“But you know I’m still learning. What if I don’t know the answer?”

“It has choices. You can always choose.”

"Yes, but what if I answered it wrong? Why, daddy?"

“Anyone who has learned the patience and love to nurture a plant is susceptible to it, irrespective of age.”

“Success-table?”

“Eligible.”

I remained silent processing what he just told.

“Ok. Here’s the question.”

………..

“Would you rather pluck a flower causing it to stop receiving nutrition and let it die in a few days, or not pluck it, letting it get old and wither away naturally?"

………..

………..

“Hmm….”

How am I, a seven-year kid supposed to answer this question? And what did it have to do with taking the flower I had to mom? Indeed, that wasn't exactly what was running inside my head at that time. The mind thing is something I developed in recent years. Back then, I was just trying to understand the question.

“You can take your time. There’s no hurry.”

In a worst-case scenario, I could answer anything and cry really bad to get away with it. I am sure dad isn't that evil to stop me from this. After giving a brief thought, I tried to answer honestly.

“Umm...I will not pluck it.”

“Why?”

"You only said to choose, daddy. I did that. Now, tell me if I'm right or wrong.”

I still remember the smile he gave me. Even then, I was ready to spit some saliva and spread around my eyes to enact my final resort.

“You can go.”

I mean, I was pretty surprised back then. I didn't understand what was running in his mind. Even till now. I am still stuck over that question. I did ask him for the answer at that time.

“But daddy, was my answer correct?”

“It doesn’t matter.”

“Aghh. You are just messing with me. Tell me if I was right please...”

I was such an annoying kid, now that I think. If I happen to encounter my younger self now, I’m sure I would just end up slapping me for no reason.

After that, he replied that he would say the answer when the time was right. He also continued to say,

“If ever the right time comes, that is.”

It seems funny that he did a lot of foreshadowing. I didn’t have any idea back then.

I took the potted Calla lily to school and gave it to the gardener to keep it protected for a day. The next day, after school was over, I carried the plant back home. I didn't go to the nursery as I didn't want to disturb dad. 

Since I went by walk, it was a little late than usual. I reached home and rang the bell, keeping the pot beside the door so that mom would not see it.

On this side of the door, I was bouncing with joy and anticipation; the other side seemed instead filled with sadness. My mom opened the door swiftly with teary eyes. Seeing me, she rushed forward and hugged me tightly.

 “I’m sorry that I am late, mom. But you see-“

She kept on crying while tightly wrapping her arms around me. My eyes were set on the plant which was behind her. I tried to remove her arms and moved past her to take the pot.

“Mom, do you know what this is? This is a flower called calla lily. Dad told me that it means purity and innocence, and it reminded me of you. So, I grew one to give it to you as a surprise. Of course, dad helped too. Hehe..."

She didn't even respond after that. I understood that I was late. But something else was bothering her.

That’s when mom came closer to me and uttered these words,

“He is not coming anymore…”

As she said these words, she again began to tear down all over. I stood there, completely unaware of the real weight of what she just uttered.

Before asking any reason, I was so focused on calming her down.

As she wept away her tears in agony, a strong wind blew against us, making the flower pot to fall down to its side.

Meanwhile, five years later, at the present time, I am at the entrance of the hospital to visit the person who abandoned us.

To be continued….