Dear Mother, Please don't make me pluck flowers, I don't like it at all. I will do anything you ask and with all my heart but not this. I do like flowers. I love flowers, but in the plants not in my hands. My entire is so sensitive towards the act that I can listen to every fracture that I make to them plants. I feel like a murderess, sometimes like a frustrated lunatic that's breaking living limbs for pleasure. I can hear them cry of pain. I've seen them looking as sad as I look to them. I hate myself losing the peace after a few plucks and uprooting them sometimes with no mercy in my eyes. Although I know what you make me do is for a greater cause,or so you think. But I don't think that God needs those flowers for himself. God made them, like he made us and he loves them as much as he loves us. Why'd he want his subjects to be killed for his honour? And if he's a parent to all the kinds he's made, what parent wishes the death of his children? I am not questioning God and his greatness, but our little understanding of him and his likeness. I don't remember reading it anywhere in the books that God asked for anything from humans than them being human. And even if you don't understand my reluctance to this, I know God understands me here. I feel ashamed of myself when you sometimes get angry that I am not participating in something done for God. But I can't offer more than my humanness to him and that never allows me to enjoy plucking flowers. I like myself to age like an old rose in the plant not like the young ones buried in the diaries and thrown from the temples. And I remember what you once taught me, don't do anything to anyone that you don't want to be done to yourself. I don't want to be plucked either. I can't and won't pluck them.
Yours , Anshika.
PS: Ever since my childhood, I wished to let my mother know what I felt about plucking flowers and have her appreciation for being so thoughtful. I never could.