Wednesday, November 3, 2010

Flowers are dead; People are beautiful…

 

“Just put them in a wrap and tie it with a ribbon; Five carnations in a bunch. If they are small, make them six. See its that easy!” These words greeted me on my first day at work.

It was a bright summer day in Glasgow, and the flower shop located at the West End of the city. Everyone loves flowers, and I knew that my boss had a thriving business. West End was ‘THE PLACE TO BE’ to have good fun! And my boss had been there for 40 years!

I too loved flowers. Perhaps the reason why I chose to work in the flower shop. Maybe I loved them too much to be able to work with them.

How could you bend and pluck and skin off parts of something you so dearly love! And that too do it with speed and elegantly. But at the Flower shop I learnt the biggest lesson of my young student life.

I learnt that people are like flowers. Your relationships are too like the same.

I had a variety of flowers and could try my imagination picking out combinations for customers. It was always a pleasure to have people who knew flowers. They would tell you; these will die out too soon, or these would be good for the window, and these for the bed.

The long and tiring days were the wedding nights! It was always a challenge to make six dozen bouquets and all must look the same, pretty and elegant. My boss could do it with his eyes closed; perhaps the reason why he was so good at it. And maybe also the reason why he could do days on end without rest when he had back to back orders! It was the first time in my life that I had met and seen a person doing what he loved to earn a living. It showed me how different your life and lifestyle can be when you do what you love, when you are with people who love you for who you are!

People when given due respect and attention become beautiful.  Flowers when left standing too long decay and rot. I was poor at my job; but I learnt to love the people. The flowers died, but the people came back.

I passed my exam. And i miss the flower shop.

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