Hullabaloo at the balcony garden

A balcony fixture.
| Photo Credit: Getty Images

It all started with my deciding that our balcony could do with a few more flowering plants. We already had an anthurium which seems to have survived my ham-handed attempts at looking after it for over six months now. My niece who had come home the other day — the one with the green thumb — taught me how I could extend my lucky streak by clipping out a few shoots, which had started sending out adventitious roots, from the mother plant and keeping them in a glass bottle preparatory to transplanting them in a separate flower pot.

I found a tall wine glass, filled it with water and kept the shoots there. Even after four days, they seemed to be doing well. Hence, I decided that it’s time for transferring them to a more permanent abode. There was an old flowerpot filled with mud that was lying around unused. I tried to resurrect it, and was attempting to loosen the soil in it, when I heard the sickening sound of brittle plastic cracking. The pot had sprung leaks all along the sides and was quite useless for the purpose I was trying to put it to use. Therefore, the first item on my check list this morning was to fetch a new flowerpot from the friendly neighbourhood nursery. Getting the guy to load a medium-sized one filled with loamy soil in the boot of my car, I hastened home. My dodgy back precluded any brave attempts by me of hauling the stuff home.

That task had to wait for the maid to arrive and complete her chores around the house. Anyway, by around noon, the flowerpot had been safely deposited in the balcony and all was ready for the master to get down to work! I took the wine glass to the balcony preparatory to removing the shoots from it for transplanting. Next, the bed had to be prepared for the shoots to find a hold. This meant transferring some soil from the pot to a container. Sitting on the floor I looked around and found this mug which I had left behind from the previous day’s exertions. Unfortunately, it had some water in it. Unthinkingly, I tipped the water into the now useless old flowerpot which was partially filled with mud. Muddy water gushed forth from one of the places the plastic had chipped and formed a large blob on the freshly mopped balcony floor. “Quick, get me a rag cloth,” I told my wife. She rushed to my aid with one and I quickly mopped up the muddy puddle. I then started looking around for the wine glass and set about transferring the tender shoots from it to the little hollow I had scooped out, when to my horror, my hand touched one of the newly developing roots and it broke. Cursing under my breath at my clumsiness, I hastily placed the shoots in the hollow to prevent further damage and filled it up with mud from the mug. While I was at this, the water-filled wine glass suddenly decided to get in the way of my elbow and it tipped over, spilling its contents on the floor.

Luckily, I was spared a dressing down from the wife because the wine glass didn’t break! The soggy rag cloth came in handy to partially mop up the fresh puddle on the now ruined-beyond-recognition floor. The anthurium finally in place, I staggered to my feet. Bending down to dust off the clods of earth from my trousers, I was shocked to discover a large ink stain near the pocket. Somewhere along the way I had inadvertently shoved a pen with its cap open in my pant pocket where it now nestled, leaking away. Fearing my wife’s wrath, I slunk into the bathroom to change into a new pair of trousers and try and resurrect the old one with the help of some concentrated liquid bleach. As I write this piece, I suspect they are beyond redemption. (Psst: My wife doesn’t know!)

But I am proud to say my shoots of anthurium are in place in their new flowerpot. I do hope they survive! Fingers crossed.

srinivasan.bhashyam@gmail.com