I must admit that this entry of mine is more of an after-thought than a genuine attempt to nail a contest. I am doing now exactly what I have been doing for years to meet assignment deadlines: Shove in my contribution at the very end and keep my fingers crossed!
Oh yes ... there is nothing genuine at all in the very concept of Me writing about Colors. It is similar to a situation whereby a deaf person writes music review for a journal! Oh don’t mistake me, I am not blind. By the grace of my manufacturer my eyes are pretty much in working condition. Logically speaking I am fully able to appreciate the power of colors. The question is whether I have ever done that.
“I remember that day I first saw you. You were looking gorgeous in your Blue outfit … Outstanding amongst all others …”
“Thanks … I will pass on the information to the person concerned.”
“What do you mean?”
“I was wearing pink that day; my friend Priya was wearing Blue… I think you meant her while appreciating.”
If only I hadn`t mentioned Blue, my situation would have been better. As she walked away I wanted to scream aloud that I didn`t give a damn about the dress she was wearing, I was smitten by her grace and nothing else. At that moment it didn`t matter. She was Pink, her friend Priya was blue. I turned purple.
I hate colors. They make me feel dumb every alternate day.
“Anirban , why do I have to remind you always not to use Red in your presentation Layouts? Our color is Green. Our competitor’s color is Red. I expect a little more loyalty from you,” my boss screamed at me one day in such a manner that some of the onlookers fancied I was caught misappropriating public funds.
I shouldn`t be blamed for being an avid Color hater.
To be precise I don`t hate colors because they irritate my eyes. I hate colors because they create stereotypes all around me by becoming indicators of associations. I hate colors because they are so powerful.
I hate colors because I am bad with colors. Maybe it is a sin.
If a child is bad with spellings and numbers, he invites sympathy and soothing lyrics like “kho Na jaaye ye taare zameen par”. To be bad with colors is a sin that invites scorns.
“Just look at him. He is so unaesthetic.”
“Imagine I saw him wear a shocking purple shirt. Someone should remind him of his complexion.”
“Don`t tell me you haven’t heard of beige and mauve. Such a chauvinist you are.”
I feel wanton amidst million colorful associations around me. I feel helpless when a salesgirl at a apparel outlets tells me, “You should buy this shirt. The color suites your personality so well.”
I feel disturbed whenever I see two girls walk past me dressed in Pink and Blue. I try hard to remember who was wearing what once they have gone past. I fail miserably. Consequentially I hate Priya more just because she was wearing blue on a particular day.
I hate colors because they cause Apartheids of different kind. The eyes of onlookers prevent me from wearing shocking Purple. My boss would perhaps gift his wife yellow roses on their anniversary as red is the color of our competitor. His wife may-not be pleased with yellow roses as they mean something else.
Colors dictate terms. I hate to be dictated. My memory is mine. It is not a photograph of events as it is. In my memory Priya and her Friend had swapped dresses. I still would fall for Priya`s friend and not her. I would like to tell the apparel stores sales girl that even the most dull color combination would suit my personality if I had any.
Despite all my shortcomings I would take flight with colors. And yes, fly high indeed. Higher than all remote associations that human mind can think of.
Colors are powerful dictators. Why not use them to dictate some terms to the world around me? All videos and pictures that were shot in black and white and have yellowed with age- I would like to attack with a palette of infinite colors. Let them all change beyond repair, beyond all stereotypes and beyond all apartheid. Let Julius Caesar die again in the hands of his killers who are decked in million colors. Let it look as if it is a consequence of a brawl happening during Holi! Let the 12 Angry men dressed in colorful polka dotted attire come back to debate the fate of a killer. Let Rhet Butler in a rose-pink suit, tell Scarlet O’Hara … “Frankly my dear, I don`t give a damn”.
Do I give a damn? May be I do.
I am still trying to remember which girl was wearing pink and who was wearing blue. I am trying hard to select for myself a color that would make all ‘women who come in and go, talking of Michelangelo’ confess, “You look good tonight”. I want to look good to the eyes of many for whom I am ‘the man who was wearing a sky blue shirt last Saturday’.
I am the being, camouflaged behind the color I sport. I am a sinner because all around me I look for people, for faces, for expressions beyond the colors of the wrappers.
For once I would like to recolor all wrappers beyond recognition. I will then try to recognize the faces. I bet I will still distinguish Priya from her friend. My company from my competitor. Myself from the man in sky-blue shirt.