A friend of mine gave me a bunch of pink carnations. They are still buds, but a little sunburnt by the surprise burst of sunlight that we have in Istanbul today, after an endless monotonous convoy of cloud-filled days. It’s the middle of May and we are still shivering in HeatTech layers. But wherever we turn our wind-slapped faces, we find a vision of springtime blossom. In this city, large flowerpots are crammed with geraniums, pansies, and happy, short-stemmed flowers. Tulips paint themselves all over Istanbul—near hedges, intersections, as well as roadside flowerbeds. In parks, they’re arranged in tidal waves announcing—with velvety elegance—that their origins are Ottoman. The Judas trees imprint their pink and purple blooms near the Bosphorus. But, most transformative for me is the kiss of the wisteria. Even the dullest, oldest stone house turns into a fluffy romantic fable when wrapped in a cascade of this delicate mauve spray.
Flowers are truly the ultimate symbol of beauty. Their design, symmetry, and fragrance cause such a delight in human hearts. They say that even looking at a leaf or a green field from a window can speed up healing of any sort. How powerful would it be then to remain in the deep ecstasy of enjoying the beauty of a full flower? To tuck a head into the fragrant interior of magnolias… or fall asleep to rose-scented dreams with a bunch of red roses by the bedside table? And to awaken to the Easter lily that has opened its pretty redhead with a gentle shake.
New seasons are like large canvasses of hope. It is time to see flowers as mirrors of ourselves. One must find in their plump petals our youthful energy, in their sturdy branches our own hard-earned resilience, and in those tender, green leaves our ability to regenerate. And most of all, to bloom as fully as we are capable of! The sun, the wind, the birds, and bees, even the Gods in heaven dance and clap in glee.
Anupamaa Dayal
This fashion designer is about happy clothes and happy homes for happy women