As promised

William Wordsworth had his daffodils,Sylvia Plath had her tulips(except if memory serves me right,she hated them);humble ole' me has always been smitten by the gorgeous gulmohur.
Now,I cease to operate on technicalities when I'm in love but Ambiguity would have informed me that the gulmohur also goes by the name Delonix Regia.I remember the time when she was holidaying in Bhutan with family and was terribly home-sick and motion-sick and sick of the eucalyptus trees;and how she felt better when,at the Indo-Bhutanese international border,she spotted gulmohurs,resplendent on the Indian side.They reminded her of home,she said.
Apart from mangoes,the only other blessing that the oppressive Indian summers bring with them are the blooming of the gulmohurs.
There is nothing like that gaudy daub of red to break up the insipid monotony of concrete.A blatant,shameless,look-at-me RED.The best kind actually.And what makes me value this stunning visual more is that its out there for our pleasure only 2 months out of 12;being banished once the monsoons make an entry.This is a shot I took from outside Puff the Dragon's building.Try not to judge the camera quality of my cellphone.

How about we zoom in a bit..

Theres nothing like having your Monday morning blues vanish at the sight of the lovely reds,scattered on either sides of the train tracks,as I commute to college.The red interspersed with the green actually have the power to lift my mood several notches and I'm left with a generally fuzzy feeling that as long as the gulmohurs continue to bloom,there must be something right in this insane world of ours.