Flowers and Superpowers
Summer afternoons were meant for storytelling. My sister and I, and sometimes visiting cousins, would sit with our grandmother, soaking in her tales. Intending perhaps to both keep us awake and out of trouble through the sweltering afternoon heat, she took us to magical places filled with heroic, mystical and superhuman creatures. Well-read beyond her education, her stories came from near and far. Most of them were Indian, religious and mythical, but sprinkled in between could well be Dickens or Dumas, all suitably edited for a child’s ears. We were equally enthralled by the exploits of D’Artagnan as we were of Abhimanyu and Ashtavakra. Her religious stories, in particular, seemed to be filled with holy saints and impious rogues: the former had to be persecuted, the latter only to repent, to be granted miracles and appearances by Gods. My sister, in her pre-teen maturity, found these stories unbelievable, and would argue about the logic. I, on the other hand, was only too eager to swallow any story, however implausible it may have been. Through these tales, I was transported to a happy world where miracles and magic co-existed with the mundane and monotonous. It was probably during one of these afternoons, that I got my superpower.
The story was that of Malavika, a princess, forced by circumstances to masquerade as palace help in another kingdom. Within days of arriving at the palace, she falls in love with the king, and he with her. The Asoka tree within the palace grounds had not bloomed as yet, and Malavika possessed the curious ability of touching the tree with her foot and getting it to bloom. With this, she persuaded others that she was indeed of royal birth, and ended getting married to the king. There are many more details to the story, which I have since read for myself, but what I remember most from my childhood rendition, is the description of the tree five days after it was touched by Malavika. The Asoka tree bloomed like never before, its branches bent low, heavy with gold and orange flowers, the blossoms glittering in the sun, rendering the tree visible from a distance: an image still etched in my mind.
To get a tree to bloom like that, all by touching it with your foot? That seemed like a very respectable superpower, although I was more than disappointed with how it had been employed (even as a six or seven year old, I could tell that using it to marry a king was lame). Knowing no royalty, desiring to convince none to marry me, and bound by no storybook rules, I almost immediately adopted this power as my own, and allowed it to run loose. The superpower had moved from Malavika to someone who better understood and appreciated its magnitude.
We lived on the second floor, and right below our balcony was a little Parijat tree, which would drop its fragrant flowers each morning for all to enjoy. When my mother complained that an elderly neighbor had plucked all the flowers early that day, leaving none to scent the ground, I flew down from the balcony (this superpower apparently led to others) and set the tree abloom with a tap of my foot, filling it with the sweet white pinwheel flowers and their bright orange stems. I can still recall the warm glow which filled me, as I inhaled the heady, if imagined, fragrance that rose and permeated our home. And of course, the equally pretend good deed of making my mother happy, gave me a halo to compete with the pious saints of my grandmother’s stories. Sometimes I touched trees with my foot, sometimes I got all fancy and flitted about with a wand. My powers made the mile-long walk home from school exciting, since there were all sorts of trees I could try my magic on. The Silk Cotton would not just come into bloom at my command but drop its shiny red flowers right into my hands, so I could feel its thick, fleshy wax-like petals. The Copper Pod could all at once provide me with a yellow carpet to walk on, and a yellow umbrella of flowers to walk under. The giant Rain trees that stood on our street would fill with their delicate wispy flowers, waiting for me to blow on them and watch them spread through the neighborhood. I knew no boredom since all around me was magic waiting to happen.
As I grew older, my power waned with lack of use. Still, I could summon it as I needed. Overwhelmed with teen angst and awkwardness, feeling like teenagers do as if I belonged nowhere, I could set the Gulmohar tree that stood just outside our living room ablaze, and be comforted by its blossoms, four orange petals and one strange multicolored one, together creating a perfect flower. Still later, in college, as I waited in the sweltering heat for my bus, I would glance back at the campus, and there the Jacaranda trees would burst into bloom. Their blue flowers enveloped me in their coolness, and made the cruel heat somewhat bearable till the bus arrived.
As I grew older, I worked to hide my quirks and foibles, thinking like most people do, that becoming an adult meant becoming more practical and sensible. Yet, every now and then, my superpower would quietly exert itself, allowing me to smile at nothing. Each time, it brought color to my life, and gave me permission to be silly, if only to myself. I am no longer the child that went flitting around changing trees at whim, and do hope that I have become more graceful and accepting of the seasons. At the same time, I am comforted during cold and white winters knowing that within me is the capacity to set everything abloom. Just that knowledge brings me to a better place, if only for a short while. You may call it escapism; I still think of it as my superpower.
Malavika and my grandmother together gave me something far greater than just the ability to set trees abloom: they gave me the power to imagine the miraculous and picture things as they could be, regardless of how they are now. Through them I learned to look for the magical in the outside world, while free to both embrace and laugh at the silliness inside me. Although what came spontaneously to me as a child, may now require more effort, I know I can not just see a garden when faced with barren ground but imagine a riotous one, teeming with life and color. The power to imagine is the only superpower I will ever possess, and perhaps, the only one that I need.
