Mixed Fiction
Where are my colours? [Source – Pixabay]
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I was coming back. In the bus, people sitting attuned in silence, hypnotised to the bone, were no different from me until I looked outside the window with sleepy eyes, swaying without a reason. I wasn’t asleep. Whatever was passing was in a rush and I was in a deep slow-motion, so nothing matched.
A thought came to me and I started pondering over it. Gauged a bit about the thought and would have done more, written a few lines, but I forgot; whether I just forgot the thought or to pen down the thought or both, I don’t know.
It is really funny, the party lights seem to be dancing just because they are in a party. But in that sullen room where a solitary sullen bulb glows, no one dances. Rich place for getting scolded and for discussing the future. Who listens when the elders talk? Who listens when anyone talks?
My mind keeps running a never ending tape that I have to adhere to. Yet another thought that I wanted to work on, but I didn’t because of two reasons – I couldn’t find a pen and then I simply forgot to. Hah!
Could it be that while you are walking all alone, nothing changes in you, you are naively, accidentally, mistakenly moving with tranquility and when you are a part of a loud ‘what’s up-oh that-like really?’ crowd everything changes in you, you are then surrounded by absolute confusion and fear?
Changes that crawl and form a labyrinth inside, of which you stay completely unaware.
It can happen. I completely forgot that it can.
What I remember though is that I should make a card for my uncle and auntie. There is no occasion, but then cards aren’t meant only for some special, grand celebrations alone.
“Where are my colours?” Yes, I remember that and so one day I began. I half did it; learnt a good lesson though. Here it is in parts – 1) even if you are not a 10 year old, you can still spill water and make a fabulous mess and 2) (the best one) the comfort of your bed and using water colours is not at all a good combination.
Soon million tiny things around wage a war against you without even moving and you are certainly helpless. You’ll then not find the scissors, the only clean brush, pencil or eraser and as soon as you get up to take a stand, things fall and laugh at you.
My hands… they are muddy green and bluish… am I an alien?
Using water colours mean getting your hands dirty. Oh! This didn’t bother me when I was a kid. I very often made cards for all my friends, getting my hands dirty was never a problem. I guess, I just forgot this.
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