If one insists that my lot in life is a bed of roses, then allow me to agree. It is however not what the conventional context suggests. In this bed of roses, I’ve had to dodge the edge of thorns that emerge when least expected. I’ve had to tread on the stems and swerved along the leaves. The blooms, constructed by petals upon petals were hard fought labours. Toil that required patience, skill, efforts and strokes of serendipity. So if one asks, it is a bed of roses, leaves, thorns and stems. As in any flower bed, it required care and upkeep to retain its decent state. The flower bed is sane and so is the person who tends it.