The Fallen Flower
by Asha Talukder
Fallen Flower
My dark hazel orbs gaze around the house that I used to call home. The cedar colored dirt had mesmerized me since the day that I stepped foot into this American style home. The house had been simple, a two-story house. Beautifully, the house was painted alabaster and numerous plants on either side of the petite house. Although many would call it rather an cheap house, I felt ashamed of saying that this was all that my family could afford. We lived in a rich neighborhood and trying to get money was harder than ever for them. Whenever I tried to help my parents, they would send me on my way, saying that this was no place for a young child like me to meddle with trinkets. I even offered to get a job which wasn't that bad for me, but they insisted that I was too young, too inexperienced and that I should focus on my grades for now. I had understood then and didn’t press on the subject again. I guess only my parents, Charlie and Milkie, will be working then and leaving me, Lopa, out of everything.
"Mere bachche, aap sahee kar rahe hain!" my mom cried, interrupting the fight with my sluggish brain. The words were easy to understand, translating to “My child, you are perfect,” but I had disassembled the Hindi words and pretended not to know anything. Her fatuous flecked shamrock saree that she wore, hurt my orbs and I couldn't dare stand how religious we were.
"Shut up!" I screeched. "I don't need your pity and your stupid Hindi language!" I knew how bleak the sentence I spoke was, but I put my heart and soul into it, considering that I did like how my parents were like this. They were supposed to be more American and just normal people. I stormed off, not thinking of the academic that I had just caused.
I retreated to my safe haven which happened to be my room and I just wished that the culture around us would just consume my family along with me. That included going to those stupid temples and praising the lords that I know didn’t exist. My parents seemed fond of all the people stealing their money and they never recognized it. It's good that they have at least a decent person in the family. If there was one thing that I had loved to do, it was to brag and the obsession of my family being Indian, haunted me. Just for once, I wanted to grow up in a normal American house that did things the American way, not this house that ran on conch shells being blown and festivals every other day! I didn't know if I would ever grow accustomed to the Indian way again after coming to America.
Suddenly, I hear the scuttling of my parents shuffling their feet around the tawny vinyl floor. Was this, yet again, another visit to the temple? In all honesty, I didn’t care anymore about where they went but I knew that I was unable to stay home alone. I quickly grope for my coat and head out the door with my mom and dad who looked astonished to see me.
The excruciating wait to get home had overtaken me once we had gotten to the temple that it had been the only thing that I had worried about. While my parents seemed to have fun and converse with people left and right, I had slowly taken out my Phone and slid in earbuds to drain out the chants and noise. I had glanced at my parents once or twice and seen them disapprove of me, and the look seemed crestfallen and forlorn of me ignoring our culture.
“Pardon me. I couldn’t help but see that you aren’t really into the Hindi culture. I mean, I could be wrong but, many other teens are much like you are and I wouldn't blame you,” I heard a woman utter with perfect articulation. She seemed more like a person born in the United States and who had been influenced by society very much that she had lost her accent completely.
“You can’t blame me” I reply after a moment of hesitation, yanking my earbuds off of my earlobes and carefully wrapping it around my Phone.
The moment of brief respiration before the unnamed woman seemed like longevity and when she finally inhaled, I exhaled and relaxed a bit, hoping that she could just hurry up so that I could get back to listening to my music.”Did you ever happen to hear of the tale of the fallen flower? Hm, well anyway, it started off with a young bride, not proud of the man that she was supposed to marry. So, everyday she ran down to the riptide where a bush of wild lotus flowers grew. Their natural taffy color appealed to her orbs and it’s wondrous scent sent her on a trip to forgot about reality. Every time that her fiance had committed a horrible treason, she picked off each flower until they were all gone and the bride wept like never before. The newlywed had gone frantic searching for her stress reliever and had found a final flower to take, but what she was unaware of the flower being cursed with pure evil. Ever-so-slowly, the bride became disgusted by the Hindu culture and shunned it until, at last, she fought with the evil. Legend says that now, the bride grew to be one of the Gods, but which God remains uncertain,” my company commented, taking her time to make the legend more into a story.
Quickly, I jerk my head with swaying movements, nodding to let her know I understand. This culture wasn’t really that bad and I had been missing out on a lot of fun activities to do. I saw that I had been like the marriage partner, unable to stay loyal to someone or something and I drowned my sorrows out. Rising up, I stand on my feet and join my parents to chant to the Gods. If they were out there, I want to make them know that the past was the past and I’ll do a much better job in the future of praising their holiness.
My dark hazel orbs gaze around the house that I used to call home. The cedar colored dirt had mesmerized me since the day that I stepped foot into this American style home. The house had been simple, a two-story house. Beautifully, the house was painted alabaster and numerous plants on either side of the petite house. Although many would call it rather an cheap house, I felt ashamed of saying that this was all that my family could afford. We lived in a rich neighborhood and trying to get money was harder than ever for them. Whenever I tried to help my parents, they would send me on my way, saying that this was no place for a young child like me to meddle with trinkets. I even offered to get a job which wasn't that bad for me, but they insisted that I was too young, too inexperienced and that I should focus on my grades for now. I had understood then and didn’t press on the subject again. I guess only my parents, Charlie and Milkie, will be working then and leaving me, Lopa, out of everything.
"Mere bachche, aap sahee kar rahe hain!" my mom cried, interrupting the fight with my sluggish brain. The words were easy to understand, translating to “My child, you are perfect,” but I had disassembled the Hindi words and pretended not to know anything. Her fatuous flecked shamrock saree that she wore, hurt my orbs and I couldn't dare stand how religious we were.
"Shut up!" I screeched. "I don't need your pity and your stupid Hindi language!" I knew how bleak the sentence I spoke was, but I put my heart and soul into it, considering that I did like how my parents were like this. They were supposed to be more American and just normal people. I stormed off, not thinking of the academic that I had just caused.
I retreated to my safe haven which happened to be my room and I just wished that the culture around us would just consume my family along with me. That included going to those stupid temples and praising the lords that I know didn’t exist. My parents seemed fond of all the people stealing their money and they never recognized it. It's good that they have at least a decent person in the family. If there was one thing that I had loved to do, it was to brag and the obsession of my family being Indian, haunted me. Just for once, I wanted to grow up in a normal American house that did things the American way, not this house that ran on conch shells being blown and festivals every other day! I didn't know if I would ever grow accustomed to the Indian way again after coming to America.
Suddenly, I hear the scuttling of my parents shuffling their feet around the tawny vinyl floor. Was this, yet again, another visit to the temple? In all honesty, I didn’t care anymore about where they went but I knew that I was unable to stay home alone. I quickly grope for my coat and head out the door with my mom and dad who looked astonished to see me.
The excruciating wait to get home had overtaken me once we had gotten to the temple that it had been the only thing that I had worried about. While my parents seemed to have fun and converse with people left and right, I had slowly taken out my Phone and slid in earbuds to drain out the chants and noise. I had glanced at my parents once or twice and seen them disapprove of me, and the look seemed crestfallen and forlorn of me ignoring our culture.
“Pardon me. I couldn’t help but see that you aren’t really into the Hindi culture. I mean, I could be wrong but, many other teens are much like you are and I wouldn't blame you,” I heard a woman utter with perfect articulation. She seemed more like a person born in the United States and who had been influenced by society very much that she had lost her accent completely.
“You can’t blame me” I reply after a moment of hesitation, yanking my earbuds off of my earlobes and carefully wrapping it around my Phone.
The moment of brief respiration before the unnamed woman seemed like longevity and when she finally inhaled, I exhaled and relaxed a bit, hoping that she could just hurry up so that I could get back to listening to my music.”Did you ever happen to hear of the tale of the fallen flower? Hm, well anyway, it started off with a young bride, not proud of the man that she was supposed to marry. So, everyday she ran down to the riptide where a bush of wild lotus flowers grew. Their natural taffy color appealed to her orbs and it’s wondrous scent sent her on a trip to forgot about reality. Every time that her fiance had committed a horrible treason, she picked off each flower until they were all gone and the bride wept like never before. The newlywed had gone frantic searching for her stress reliever and had found a final flower to take, but what she was unaware of the flower being cursed with pure evil. Ever-so-slowly, the bride became disgusted by the Hindu culture and shunned it until, at last, she fought with the evil. Legend says that now, the bride grew to be one of the Gods, but which God remains uncertain,” my company commented, taking her time to make the legend more into a story.
Quickly, I jerk my head with swaying movements, nodding to let her know I understand. This culture wasn’t really that bad and I had been missing out on a lot of fun activities to do. I saw that I had been like the marriage partner, unable to stay loyal to someone or something and I drowned my sorrows out. Rising up, I stand on my feet and join my parents to chant to the Gods. If they were out there, I want to make them know that the past was the past and I’ll do a much better job in the future of praising their holiness.