Easter lilies, that is.

It’s one of the joys of my Delhi Easter –  the flowering, bang on time, of all the beautiful Easter lilies, which go on brightening up my Easters, year after year.

And it’s one of my no doubt more tedious Easter rituals, wandering around the house saying “How do they know it’s Easter?  How DO they? No, seriously, I mean it.  How DO they know it’s Easter?” to anyone who will listen.

Never get a satisfactory answer, but the lilies are gorgeous.

Judge for yourselves:





And I could go one forever, because every balcony, every nook and cranny (or “nook and granny” as a delightful French hotel guidebook once wrote.  I swear it) so every nook,every cranny, every balcony is bursting with these fabby in-your-face bright red or pink lilies.

None of the elegant white that the internet showcases… and talking of the internet, this is what Wikipedia rather helpfully has to offer on the subject of how DO they know its Easter?

“It has irregular blooming periods in nature, and this is exploited in cultivation, allowing it to be forced for flowering at particular periods, such as Easter.”

But that doesn’t answer my question, since the mali –  dear old Bhola Ram doesn’t know when it’s Easter.  My dear Bahadurs don’t know when it’s Easter.

Ah well.  The mysteries of life.

And of Lilium longiflorum.


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