Three roses

The rose garden in Rashtrapati Bhavan used to be called Mughal Gardens. The day before I booked a visit with The Family it was renamed the Amrit Udyan. Doesn’t a rose by any other name smell as sweet? Let me go with roses, not names.

I’m completely naive when it comes to gardens. All around me I notice people stopping at their favourites and reeling off the name of the cultivar, talking about the soil and the humidity needed to get the best blossoms. I listen, and the words drip past me. All you need, in order to grow the best roses, is to be the President of India, and have a huge garden and staff.

She does have the best roses I have seen in a while. I do like the spotty white one, although the rose-tending-to-purple is pretty eye-catching too. Interestingly, not one of these three had a sweet smell.

By I. J. Khanewala

I travel on work. When that gets too tiring then I relax by travelling for holidays. The holidays are pretty hectic, so I need to unwind by getting back home. But that means work.

21 comments

  1. Pingback: Your Pink photos – Denzil Nature

  4. I can relate to not knowing flowers. Other than the very few that I am familiar with, if there is no small plaque by the plant telling me what it is, I’m oblivious.
    I downloaded a plant identification app on my cellphone that analyzes a photo of the plant I want to identify. Most of the time, it appears to be wrong and even I can tell that. 🙂

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  5. That pink rose — the photo — is amazing. There is a rose in my front yard, a famous kind of strange old pioneer covered wagon rose, a Harison rose. The flowers are small — maybe a little bigger across than the first joint on my thumb — and fragrant, the stems are thorny enough to keep princes away from Sleeping Beauty. I love it. It grows wild all over the American west marking where some settler tried to put down roots. The rose’ roots stayed. It grows wild all along the Oregon trail.

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      1. It wants to invade my yard — it sends out canes, but out there in the wild country it pretty much stays to itself. German irises, also, particularly where wild irises grow, sometimes define a rectangle where someone had long ago built a cabin. The cabin and people long gone, only the flowers from the rhizomes some immigrant brought over from their home country. It’s a difficult thing to mentally sort out — invasive plants, yes but also very human — and humane — evidence of migration.

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