The beautiful rolling hills of England; her valleys and her plains, have been our home for the past several years. The greenery that surrounds you gives such a sense of lushness and plenty-ness that it quenches the thirst of the barest soul. I love Britain—quirks, crooked spires and all. But this love wasn’t a love at first sight—it was a love grown out of habituation, visualization and understanding. It was a love that sprung forth out of integration and assimilation, out of friendships formed and handshakes exchanged.
My first impressions of Britain were far from appealing. I despaired at the sameness of everything, the monochrome facade of the buildings – the sandstony walls that hemmed in every narrow street giving it barely enough room to breathe. My despair owed a lot to preconceptions gained through reading Enid Blyton from my very early days and from watching films that portrayed a very idyllic and romantic view of Britain.
Where was the beautiful sun creeping through the blinds, where were the colours in this beautiful land,where were the sky scrapers one would expect to see in a developed nation? Instead there was this persistent drizzle masquerading itself as rain and a grey sky imposing itself on all life beneath. No skyscrapers anywhere to be seen–the tallest building that I saw in my little town was all of three stories high.(okay–here I’ve discounted the spire of the local church–forgive me.)
Just as monochrome as the architecture, were the attire of its people. I had never seen so many ‘black wearers’ in my life maybe except at funerals! It seemed as though the grey skies hypnotized an entire nation that they felt compelled to match it in black. Black with a bit of white thrown in—all in just slightly differing shapes and proportions—this was how the working population dressed,give or take a few.
These are but a few things that struck me totally in a bad way. I despaired beyond belief – unable to fathom how I would live the rest of my life here. The only solace to my ‘dull monochrome’ weary eyes were the flowers. Oh! What wonderful and beautiful flowers adorned the paths of this land. They came in very size and shape and in bright and vibrant hues—one would be drawn to forgive every grey blemish in the joy that their riot of colours bestowed. Even the leaves of autumn seemed to cry out in colour, glorifying their creator!
And there, through despair, regrets, joy and flowers, my first days in this land I was to call home began.
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