I was at this botanical park in Ooty (Tamilnadu) in last summer. It was as fine a day as one can be in a Hill station; a welcome reprieve from the scorching heat of Chennai and even more so the frying pan called Rajasthan. (52 C is enough to fry humans right ? ).[/b]
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I was wandering around aimlessly, checking out vendors selling toys, caps and other locale-specific commodities. The eateries were too costly; when enquired they gave the rationale that they had to transport supplies from Coimbatore. Hungry and desolate I searched for a place to park myself and take some photos. It was then that I spotted the inspiration for this particular article.[/b]
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There was a butterfly buzzing around the garden , it was beautiful ; endowed with so many colours that I lost count before reaching halfway. I saw its plight which was a mixture of many actions clubbed together as it fluttered its magnificent wings : searching for nectar , seeking for it , wanting it and finally I saw a desperation of sorts as its flutter-rate increased somehow. [/b]
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It finally found what it sought for and its morsel for the day was on the platter. In this jeopardy; my mobile rung and I was distracted for a while. When I turned around the butterfly was no longer there. I looked up and down the mound containing the flowers where I last spotted it – to no avail.[/b]
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Dejected I went on to tour the rest of the Hill-station. By evening I came back and was stunned to see the butterfly –fluttering at the same spot where I had previously left his company. The butterfly was there , I was there , but something was missing. I failed to recognize it first but the flower bed that had nurtured the butterfly in the morning had been mowed down. I saw the butterfly fluttering its wings around the beds sans any flowers- whom he had formed a bond with. Those flowers had come to mean something significant to the butterfly ; it was as it was mourning the demise of its beloved. The colours on its wings seemed dull somehow. So did the sounds coming from all directions- as I gave my undivided attention to witness the next course of action the butterfly will pursue. [/b]
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For about 15-20 more minutes the butterfly hovered over the graveyard of flowers ; as if protesting against the gardener – for committing such an atrocity. Then suddenly it rejuvenated and went back to its routine actions : searching for ripe nectar , seeking for nectar and wanting it. [/b]
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I wish to think that the butterfly learnt the hard way , that the things we cherish today and in this very hour ; mean nothing to the omnipresent gardener called destiny. It will have its way with anything and everything. The flowers of our like – will be mowed one day ; wilt and their petals will fade away with the winds of time. [/b]
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If a vermin can be so intelligent so as to lean towards larger pastures when the existing ones are razed , why can’t we ? Flowers are to butterflies as goals are to us. If one goal is not scalable to us ; despite numerous and rigorous attempts ; we should move on to the other. : searching for new milestones, seeking for a milestone , and finally wanting to go an extra mile before we halt. [/b]
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I was wandering around aimlessly, checking out vendors selling toys, caps and other locale-specific commodities. The eateries were too costly; when enquired they gave the rationale that they had to transport supplies from Coimbatore. Hungry and desolate I searched for a place to park myself and take some photos. It was then that I spotted the inspiration for this particular article.[/b]
There was a butterfly buzzing around the garden , it was beautiful ; endowed with so many colours that I lost count before reaching halfway. I saw its plight which was a mixture of many actions clubbed together as it fluttered its magnificent wings : searching for nectar , seeking for it , wanting it and finally I saw a desperation of sorts as its flutter-rate increased somehow. [/b]
[/b]
It finally found what it sought for and its morsel for the day was on the platter. In this jeopardy; my mobile rung and I was distracted for a while. When I turned around the butterfly was no longer there. I looked up and down the mound containing the flowers where I last spotted it – to no avail.[/b]
[/b]
Dejected I went on to tour the rest of the Hill-station. By evening I came back and was stunned to see the butterfly –fluttering at the same spot where I had previously left his company. The butterfly was there , I was there , but something was missing. I failed to recognize it first but the flower bed that had nurtured the butterfly in the morning had been mowed down. I saw the butterfly fluttering its wings around the beds sans any flowers- whom he had formed a bond with. Those flowers had come to mean something significant to the butterfly ; it was as it was mourning the demise of its beloved. The colours on its wings seemed dull somehow. So did the sounds coming from all directions- as I gave my undivided attention to witness the next course of action the butterfly will pursue. [/b]
[/b]
For about 15-20 more minutes the butterfly hovered over the graveyard of flowers ; as if protesting against the gardener – for committing such an atrocity. Then suddenly it rejuvenated and went back to its routine actions : searching for ripe nectar , seeking for nectar and wanting it. [/b]
[/b]
I wish to think that the butterfly learnt the hard way , that the things we cherish today and in this very hour ; mean nothing to the omnipresent gardener called destiny. It will have its way with anything and everything. The flowers of our like – will be mowed one day ; wilt and their petals will fade away with the winds of time. [/b]
[/b]
If a vermin can be so intelligent so as to lean towards larger pastures when the existing ones are razed , why can’t we ? Flowers are to butterflies as goals are to us. If one goal is not scalable to us ; despite numerous and rigorous attempts ; we should move on to the other. : searching for new milestones, seeking for a milestone , and finally wanting to go an extra mile before we halt. [/b]
[/b]
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