Flowers

Sound of water coming from a clogged tap, the cricking ceiling fan, an old radio set playing a forlorn song – amidst all this she woke up. She went out through the back door and drew some water from the well. Thereafter, stealthily entered into her world. Undressed the tiring of the long night and proceeded towards the inner sanctum. Quietly took a long bath and draped herself in a red sari , applied vermilion in the by-lanes of her hair.

The child observed the white morose floret blossoming into a vibrant red flower every Thursday. Enchanted, she put on those red into her own. A red liquid on her feet, vermilion on her forehead and red bangles on her hand.
The dying flower passed on her traits to the budding one.

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