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Roses are red, marigolds are orange — wait, that's not how that goes

Lindsay Houts Published: February 8, 2013

Day 10! We’re just about caught up. That’s kind of relieving. 

Flowers are big business here in Punjab. I think you could live QUITE happily as a wedding florist, in case you’re considering a move to India but don’t know what you might want to do.

When we landed at the airport in Delhi, we were greeted with marigolds and an enormous bouquet of roses and daisies. I thought it was a one-time thing, and even saved my marigolds because of it. HOW WRONG WAS I.

Sarah and I, all decked out. It's a sign of humility to remove theses almost immediately after they're placed around your neck, but I really like wearing them. They smell good! And who said I was humble anyway?
Sarah and I, all decked out. It's a sign of humility to remove theses almost immediately after they're placed around your neck, but I really like wearing them. They smell good! And who said I was humble anyway?

It’s a week and a half into the trip, and here’s my personal flower tally:

  • Bouquets of roses: 3
  • Marigold necklaces: 11
  • Bouquets of gladiolas: 3

We just had to see where all of these pretty petals were coming from.

If we’re getting choosey, I prefer peonies and tulips, but I can’t complain about roses and gladiolas.

Unlike the roses, marigolds are grown outside. I had every intention of running into that field and rolling around in them, but it was a big huge mud pit after the last two days of rain. If only I hadn’t left my galoshes at home.

We had tea with the growers (as per the usual), and played a traditional Punjabi flower balancing game.
OK, that’s a lie. It’s just a game Megan and Joe made up. But maybe the Punjabis will adopt it.

It was a lovely, lovely day.

Extra highlights:

I got to use my Angry American Lady voice at a shop in Patiala. The Rotarians pay for our meals when we eat out, but we ventured into a shop for a snack, and without thinking, I pulled out my wallet. I picked up some almonds, and the cashier tried to shortchange me by 500 rupees.

“I gave you a thousand,” I said, after I counted the stack of bills he’d handed to me.

“Five hundred,” he countered.

“I gave you a thousand.”

“Five hundred.”

“No. I gave you a thousand.”

He untwisted a 500 rupee note from his hand and pushed it across the counter, and that was that.

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