Geetanjali Krishna / New Delhi Feb 11, 2012, 00:57 IST
They say our very own Saint Valentine, Vatsyayana, said roses abloom in a garden arbor were a sure shot way to awaken love in the heart of the beloved. But now that Valentine’s Day is on our heads again, I find myself surrounded by people who mindlessly buy bouquets on bouquets of red roses with nary a thought for where they are grown, or, for that matter, the people who tend them. A chance visit to Chanakya Puri’s Rose Garden opened my eyes to this. The garden was a riot of roses of all hues, making me wonder what the big deal was about the plain old red ones. It epitomised the notions of traditional Bollywood romance — roses kissing coyly, birds chirping, bees buzzing contentedly and all. Vatsyayana would have been happy here, I thought. A gardener was sitting quietly near a blooming bed, and I ambled across to discuss matters of the heart with him. Incredibly, the tender of this garden of love seemed oblivious to the beauty of his surroundings, and indeed, to the roses growing there.
“With the right amounts of cow-dung,” he said prosaically taking out the romance from the roses, “and, of course, judicious pruning, watering and lots of sun — growing roses is quite simple!” He seemed to have little idea about the fuss over red roses and Valentine’s Day. “All I know is that this is the season for roses, come any other time and you’ll find the garden quite bereft!” he said. They all looked the same to him, he said, looking at the expanse of beauties blooming in front of him. In fact, none of the exotic varietals required any extra work, he said. “They’re all the same, really!” he said, trying very hard to convince me it was all in his day’s work. Finally, he directed me to his personal favourites, Oklahoma and Black Beauty, and returned to his job of loosening the soil in some of the beds.
Later I called up R N S Tyagi, rose enthusiast and treasurer of Rose Society of India that maintained this rose garden. He told me that this garden was over 30 years old and housed over 150 rose varietals, both Indian and imported. “It was set up to educate people about the varieties of roses available and inculcate in them a love for this beautiful flower,” he said. Each bed was carefully labelled, something that I appreciated tremendously, wandering around the rose beds reading all those labels.
There were roses understandably named after Lady Diana and Mother Teresa. But Christian Dior? I wondered why. A fiery red and orange cultivar was aptly named Out of Africa. Another was called Charisma, puny yet full of character. I wondered who christened these flowers. Why would someone call a rose Happiness? “Actually, the garden has cultivars from India and abroad,” explained Tyagi, “which is why some of their names sound so unusual.” I stopped at a bed of roses called Bharat Ram. “The deceased industrialist loved roses and was a long standing president of the Rose Society. On his death, a new varietal was created in his memory…” Tyagi said. What a fragrant way to be remembered, I thought.
As I walked in the garden, my thoughts strayed once again to the Valentine’s Day tamasha to which we’re all soon going to be subjected. Senses assaulted by advertisements for cosy dinners for two in mall food-courts, hot-air balloon flights with one’s beloved and amorous getaways to five-star hotels, I reckoned I’d be happier with a walk in the Rose Garden any day, not just on February 14 — accompanied by the mali!
This refers to the opening statement: They say our very own Saint Valentine, Vatsyayana? Geetanjali may please note that our own Valentine is Kamadeva (Eros for Greeks and Cupid for Romans) and not Vatsyayana, who described 64 different sexual poses, in the book Kamasutra, which is now a condom brand name too.
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