Girish started the morning early, he had to get to work and get done with some pending tasks.
He walked along the society road still finishing up with the last of what was once a sandwich in a complete triangle. Just then his focus was broken by the sound of something crashing towards his right.
Girish looked at the broken flowerpot, the soil scattered, the plant alive, healthy and clueless, just lying there. Then came another pot and then another. Beautiful flowers which were growing with love and care, just laid there.
Girish looked up at the face of Mrs Parikh standing on her balcony on the second floor with tears in her eyes. It seemed Mr and Mrs Parikh had an argument again and as usual Mr Parikh had vented out his anger on the poor plants, because he knew the hurt and pain there would silence the voice that came from the other end.
It is truly one of the most out of place behaviour from many humans, be it in hidden or in open, that one place where they vent out their anger the most, cause the most maybe unintended pain or hurt is on the people closest to them, meanwhile wishing with all the selfishness that things would remain strong, things would not break, their delicate palette of emotions will somehow find their way, accumulated and undisturbed in their right place.
Written by Anuran Chatterji
Early Morning Memories 
One response to “The Delicate Palette”
This is a quietly powerful piece. The imagery of the falling flowerpots is simple yet devastating, turning a domestic argument into a symbol of how anger so often finds the most vulnerable targets. The contrast between the living, “clueless” plants and the emotional awareness of Mrs. Parikh is especially moving—it says so much without needing to explain. What stays with the reader is the uncomfortable truth you touch on: that we often harm what we claim to love most, while expecting everything to remain intact. Thoughtful, humane, and deeply reflective writing.
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