Phool

They begin at the open markets by the temples. Sacks and sacks of marigolds. Merchants crouching beside domes of orange, threading them into garlands. From there they are taken to task - adorned on Shiva, Ganesha, Lakshmi, across temples and mandirs, staggered on holy steps and sprouting from blessed braids and auspicious necks. As the day closes, the flowers wilt. This signals the end of their devotional tenure. Too sacred to be considered waste, they are cast into the Ganges.

Consider that the industrious performance of worship in India means that over 1000 tonnes of flowers are cast into the Ganges every day. Floral pollution is oxymoron for two reasons - - - first, that nature is it’s own polluter, second, that beauty is waste.

Pan to Kanpur, where the disposed flowers are gathered and separated by colour, their buds and stems cast aside for compost and the petals dried on large tarps. Once dried they are powdered and mixed with essential oils to create a clay like texture. Reborn as incense, the flower returns to devotion by burning.

We are satisfied with this environmental conundrum. I am satisfied of the coherency of reincarnation. I am thinking about the fate of flowers. Devotion and beauty and devotion again.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7DR-NG5H-9Q