India, Nov. 16 -- It's been a melancholy start to the month. Somewhere Death did knock, somewhere Death did mock. The 10/11 blasts rent the air of an already beleaguered metropolis with a new pollutant --- emotional smog of fear and terror. In tinsel town though, Death was in two minds at "Garam Dharam's" door, daunted perhaps by Sunny bhaaji's 'dhai kilo ka haath'. The one cheer on this clouded landscape perhaps is the riot of myriad posies and memories heralded by winter blooms. As William Blake philosophises, "In seed time learn, in harvest teach, in winter enjoy." An Instagram promo caught attention the other day, for it had to do with a bonanza on blooms. Its marketing USP did the trick. Winter blooms were on sale at under Rs.99. A hard-to-resist narrative. Dianthus to dahlias, driving Digital India's doorstep delivery. Excitement was rife when the bloom basket arrived to the bleating of the bell. Online nurseries are to kitchen gardening what Blinkit, Instamart & Co are to Digital India"s kitchens. Yet at the back of the mind there nagged a feeling, something was missing. Memory lane mapped itself out on the mindscape. What was missing were the sights and smells of real nursery visits. Childhood was a canvas called 'garden'. Childhood was a trip of trundling off to the sarkari kitchen garden nursery near Bal Bhavan, in tow with a parent on a cantankerous Lambretta. Childhood was a schooling in scouting for suitable saplings. "Pick posies with the maximum budding mouths," parental wisdom would waft across flower beds. "Don't go for the looks. Select saplings with stout shoots and robust roots, not necessarily the lankiest and leggy ones," further flowed forth parental guidance galore. Pottering in the plant nursery was not just about shopping for winter blooms. The trip was about tutoring in Life's lessons. The sarkari nursery would present a riot of colour, chatter and commotion. Posies of all hues, plant lovers boasting all sorts of P's and Q's. Dianthus to dahlias, pansies to petunias, sweet peas to salvias, lupins to larkspurs, calendulas to chrysanthemums. Such sheer joy soaking in their palettes and patinas, tints and textures. Once the winter blooms were picked and procured, the story didn't end there. An appointment was put in place with the pesticide staff for their customary home visit. A couple of weeks later, the pest-control chap would pedal in with his contraption of cans, hose pipes and metal sprays. The bloke bore a countenance as stiff and severe as Trump's tariffs, a tongue as tarty as the assortment of acids in his repertoire, and a woodpecker nose protruding and programmed to sniffing pesticides as though he were a perfumer. Much clanking and clanging of the cans with chemicals later, the garden would be rid of any bugs and pests. Childhood was then an idyllic boulevard where humankind didn't have to grapple with other kinds of pests and poisons, such as Death in doctor's robes or newer weapons of chemical warfare Ricin. Gone is much of that garden life, gone are most of the gardens. Garden life can now be bought off the shelf. The sights and smells of winter gardens now come bubble-wrapped, in crisp but boring brown bags. If garden life has gone virtual, so have gardens shrunk into shelves. Portals are the new prism for posie life. Urbanising India's garden life has now downsized into a new visual vocabulary -- tray gardens. Seeing the growing number of kids and Gen Z tweeple that tray garden workshops are luring, it is a telling commentary on the times. Gone is that gallivanting in plant nurseries, lost is that cherished childhood, much like the maltas and sharifas that Gen Z may never know. Childhood of Digital India is now condensed into a terrarium. Childhood is a new Masterclass in miniature garden. The curious case of 'How Green Was My Trolley'....