Garlands

 The garland has lived many lives.

Once, it rested nervously in a bride’s hands, heavy with flowers and expectations. It waited for the exact second when two people would pretend not to smile, while secretly hoping the other drops it first. In weddings, the garland is a ritual. A promise. A public announcement that two lives have agreed to walk together, whether they are ready or not.

Another day, the same garland hangs quietly around a photograph. No music. No laughter. Just silence and folded hands. Now it is not about beginning, but about remembering. Around a neck that no longer moves, the garland becomes a goodbye, placed with trembling fingers and unsaid words.

Sometimes, the garland is lighter. It welcomes guests at the door, resting briefly on living shoulders, saying you matter enough to be honoured. A smile, a bow, a moment of belonging.

And then there are the gods. The garland circles a deity’s neck daily, fresh and fragrant, an offering of devotion. No expectations. No fear. Just faith placed gently in flowers.

Soft petals, carrying the weight of everything we feel but cannot say.