Frankly speaking, I had never appreciated Wordsworth’s “Daffodils” much. I had never understood much of the poet’s sentiments as he wove verses about a particular species of flowers. But, that day, something of that sort caught me as I came across these dark pink flowers in front of the Snacks Bar in our plant. It was not only the flowers, it was the surroundings in which they grew that made me stop in my track and look at the flowers. We live in a grey and blue Aluminium Plant, dust being a natural covering for everything here. Even the leaves here have taken a sad greyish-green hue. It was because of the dominance of these colours that I stood captured by the defiantly pink flowers, refusing to give in to the drabness around. They grew among thick foliage of small green leaves, happy and in the pink of health, catching the sun in each delicate petal. I had somehow given in to the grey-blue scale of life there, had hidden all my colours to blend in, but the dark pink flowers sent a silent signal to the colours sleeping within me and I could feel the warm glow of happiness spread in my body, as it touched my lips and I smiled. It baffled me how a mere bunch of pink flowers had made me feel so good, had shown me how to grow, pink and proud, irrespective of everything. I do not know the name of these flowers, and even if I knew, I could not have written verses about them, but they are the ones which made me experience my first “Wordsworth” moment, as I stood humbled and inspired there, by a mere species of flowers.
