For oft, when on my couch I lieI grew up in Jayanagar in a Bangalore where the emotional equivalent of Wordsworth's daffodil was the Gulmohar - every street and avenue was lined with these trees, including parts of the Lal Bagh garden that I used to frequent. So, it came as a very rude shock to me when I could not remember the Gulmohar in bloom even though I've spent many years climbing many a tree and playing a kind of kiddie game with their buds. I was sure they were yellow and in my "inward eye" "flashed" images of avenues of yellow Gulmohars. I was pleased as punch to have remembered those halcyon days of yore. All until I looked up Google for images of the Gulmohar and to my bitter disappointment I found them to be a deep red. I was so convinced that they were yellow (if you prefer Freudian symbology - my ego tried to protect my id by actually conjuring up images that would satisfy/placate the id's drive) that when they turned out to be not so, the distance between my home, my past, my memories and the present seems like an uncrossable and unfathomable chasm - a schism that makes me unsure of where I am going because I've forgotten where I came from.
In vacant or in pensive mood,
They flash upon that inward eye
Which is the bliss of solitude;
And then my heart with pleasure fills,
And dances with the daffodils.
The flowers are but the tip of the iceberg - there have been many such instances.
I am depressed.
And if you are too, then allow me to "flash upon that inward eye" images of the Gulmohar.
P.S: The same goes for a hundred other flowers like jasmine, marigold etc etc. Images of Gandhi Bazaar and 4th block jayanagar flash!!