(it’s scientifically proven that colours evoke moods. feelings. changes. thoughts. watching them transform makes us transform. it’s as if we become the colours.)
I could be red of the blazing summers when I close my eyes and see the sun’s glare. That first sweater that my aunt hand-knit and pushed down my small, baby body. The illustration of a biscuit, crisp and mouth-watering, in the book my mother was narrating to me at that moment. The ‘Bravehearts’ issue of Amar Chitra Katha on Akbar The Great, his clothes red too. The first pair of wedged heels that I inherited from my elder cousin. My grandmother’s fat finger forcefully placing a dot of kum-kum on my forehead. My eyes following the tint of rouge on the Bharatanatyam dancer’s hands and feet. My first bicycle of which I fell a billion times. But I rode into the dawn. Dawns are red, aren’t they?
I could be yellow of my very first house in school. The sun at the top of its lungs in the summer, never letting us forget it. The small sparks of shadow that my shiny purse would make into the afternoon windows. The first torch that glowed yellow in the nights of no power, playing with shadows. That solitary sunflower that I spotted growing in the street and picked. The mango ice lolly that melted my mouth and turned my tongue into a not-so-secret shade. The round chips that I would hide from my parents to taste. The first firecrackers that I burst of which I was so afraid. But I lit them. Fireworks are yellow, aren’t they?
I could be blue of the first shower gel I made by myself, in the chemistry lab of the company my father works for. The sky that never becomes gloomy but instead turns bluer every time I look for it. The swimming pool whose slow waves I watch from my building window with nostalgia. My apartment that was blue like the pool when I was the smallest thing in the world. The Indian Ocean against Marina Beach where I was almost bitten by a crab, and where I almost caught a clam struggling in the sand. The Arabian Sea whose sweet, salty scent I already miss. The rain drawings of my sister where the entire place is flooded in blue raindrops. The cover of Ocean Vuong’s ‘On Earth We’re Briefly Gorgeous’, filled with autumn leaves. The album of my favourite artist that I stuck on that scrap book. The most beautiful moment in life is blue, isn’t it?
I could be purple of the first concert I watched on my huge TV. The hands on a programmer turning knobs and making white stars into purple nebulae held in the hands of thousands. The crop top my cousin sister chose for me recently. The house colour of my new school, a shirt I hated a lot. The huge Dairy Milk Silk bar I gifted myself on a cool, Valentine’s day instead of hiding myself. Scribbling an entire page purple for the pictures I’d printed. The highlighter I bought for my English and French notes: the verb ‘aimer’ highlighted. The anarkali I got as a gift, dazzling under the spotlight of the sun and the cameraman’s lighting. Long frills are purple, aren’t they?
I could be green or pink or black or white of the rainbow we all gathered under to watch it disappear after ten seconds. The pink of the anarkali I got when I turned eleven. The green of the trees that gave the neighbouring cats shelter. The black cat with a red colour that I saw once, mewling and hiding from me. The white of that kitten who approached me despite my fears, to assuage me. The green leaves of the pink bouganvilleas that I would pluck on my way to school to give my teachers. The blackboard and the white chalk with which I would scribble quotes from books on the former in free periods. Books are rainbows, aren’t they?
I could be every colour you like because you are me. Human. You’re curiousity, inquisition. Remember how we loved colours as children? We would pull the oil pastels through the walls because they were blank- like the pages of a colouring book. My mother drew the solar system on our yellow walls, and that’s how I learnt the universe: placing my hand on the dried paint of a planet. Don’t we all colour the world in our own tiny ways? Don’t we also create worlds with the colours of our minds? We do, and that’s all which is unique about us. We use existing colours to create new ones.
Because without blue and yellow, how would we make green?
Thank you for being here, dear reader. Until next time.
that was literally so beautiful! it made me want to reach out to my paints and brushes, and fill the blank canvas with colours to my heart’s desire, freely with no goal. ah, the feeling of doing so. it makes my senses all excited with anticipation. hope i'm able to gift myself that experience in this cold blue winter but “the most beautiful moment in life is blue, isn’t it?”