At Sahyadri Study Centre

There's a rose on my table. I thought it dead when I picked it up from the ground. I brought it to my room and put it on the bedside table.

Next morning I realized it the rose was not dead, it was dying.

How does a rose die? How does it say goodbye?

Its green pedicel, which holds the petals together, enters a formal silence.
Modest wrinkles appear on the petals which come off at the slightest touch.
And a strange thing happens - the flower gets suffused with an upward intensification of colour.

This particular flower was blush pink at the time I found it. Its companions, who can be seen swaying amongst the thorns, are blush pink still.
As this fellow withers away, a lovely rouged pink sun seems to rise in each petal. The former blush pink fades into white and settles down at the bottom.

Then the room is taken over by another surprise.
 

The fragrance of a rose thickens most dazzlingly as it nears its end.

Overwhelmed, I go to the garden over to the rose beds and say: 'One of your mates lies dying in my room. It's marvellous how...'
The roses nod or, one may say, continue to softly swing - little bees zoom, buzzing right into their hearts.