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Flowers between the pages are forever

By today, the roses of 'love' (would) have wilted. The weather isn't too kind. But, in some homes, they would have found a place in a dog-eared book with yellow pages. Old school romantics would smile at this thought. New age lovers would be clueless. (How do you press a flower in a Kindle? I know not.)
Pressing flowers between pages of heavy books is a ritual as old as 100 years. Not very long ago, every home in India used to have a big, fat book called a Telephone Directory. It was the chosen spot for keeping safe the floral treasures. And then there were dictionaries and encyclopedias too or photo albums (with butter paper between each page). I know of a place where many flowers are lying safe. 
My aunt and uncle had a home library. On good behaviour days, we were allowed in. The books were categorised under heads on the shelves of tall, dark wood bookracks. To reach the books placed on the topmost shelf, we were required to stand on step pews or pester our taller cousins to oblige (always in return for something, say, fetch them a glass of cold water or sacrifice the last piece of a chocolate bar). I spent many weekends in that library, even when I didn't know how to read. My favourite corner was next to a stand that held copies of Reader's Digest. I'd be in the middle of counting the alphabets that made a big word like 'phenomenal' when the petals of a dry flower would fall from in between the pages. I'd squeal in delight. We'd all huddle up around the 'said' book. We'd wonder, who put it there and why. We'd act mischievous - transfer the coarse, brittle pieces from one book to another. It was our little game and we had to approach the process 'delicately'.
Over the years, many copies of Reader's Digest were added to the rack. A few piles lay on the floor too. The flowers never stopped to appear. It was magical. I once asked my aunt if she knew where the flowers came from, she said it was a secret that she wasn't allowed to share. Perhaps, she wanted me to find for myself. As a teenager, I did hide a wilted rose in the pages. It's been years I visited the library. But, I know for a fact that when I return, I'd find the flower(s) there. May be not on the page (and book), I left it at, but it will be there.
Today, we call dried flowers potpourri and books have become 'paperless', but there are some love tales that continue to live in pages. A Romeo Juliet tale waiting to be heard from the pages of a book titled so. And there's a silver lining too: Greeting cards are disappearing; fortunately, flowers are still blooming (trending). I can only hope you've preserved your tale.
- purva@khaleejtimes.com