The Girl Who Sells Roses

She is not yet in her teens. Always appears at the same place every Sunday, always wearing the same skirt and jacket. Her face presents a panaroma of a tough, unforgiving life. There is a humility in her voice which is not too hard to percieve. Her hair is plaited perfunctorily, perhaps no one has told her how to do her hair to attract the boys. But wait, she is the girl who sells roses. Red Roses.

On one wet Sunday afternoon, this little angel ran up to me and beseeched, "Sir, please buy a rose. Only for Rs. 15". And .... with a slight shake of the head, I smiled... at myself. An act which had eluded me since ages now. Its tiring smiling for others, you see.

I am no stranger to roses and their colors. Now, I wish I could explain to her some selling tips. She has her target segment correct. Men. What she really lacks is a critical understanding of an intrinsic feature of the product she is selling. When men want to buy red roses, they never find any; and when red roses find them, men dont want any.

If I speak to her, "Darling, what do I do with your lovely red roses?" will she understand me? I would be alarmed if she does. Its not her age to understand. Innocence is the most precious bounty that experience snatches away as we grow old. But what if she has 3 young siblings to educate, what if she has a terminally ill mother to take care of, what if she has a drunken father to escape from? "Darling, what do YOU do with your lovely red roses?" will I understand her? I would be alarmed if I dont. It's my age to understand.

If I see her again, I shall buy a red rose bud with a long stem and two leaves. And I blesss this little girl tonight, as I remember her. For she made me smile. For she should grow up one day to sheepishly accept a red rose bud with a long stem and two leaves from a nice, worthy lad. For she shall always be to me the girl who sells roses.

May God Blesss Her.