Down a long-forgotten memory lane

In the busyness of my morning at work, I chanced upon some color pencils sitting neatly in a stand. I found myself reaching out to them – to just hold them and treat myself to the feast of colors. Not that I don’t get to see colors but one of the little pleasures I have afforded myself is to write on paper with pens and pencils of various colors whenever I find them.

It was not the grown-up thing to do. But something in me gathered those pencils and came back to my place quietly. I arranged them in the VIBGYOR order and then in random manner and tried out all kinds of permutations and combinations. This unofficial playtime of mine triggered off memories of my fascination with colors. My dada got me my first paint box at the age of 3. I remember being taught to dip the little brush into a cup of water and dab it into a color cake. The newspaper was my first canvas. I painted with fervor. Food was immaterial, parents were forgotten. I had to turn that black and white newspaper into splashes of red, blue and all the colors of the rainbow.

Later as I grew up I indulged my growing fascination for colors, fantasized about days when the whole world would be awash in one color a day of the week or people turning color according to their moods!

And, yes, I have borrowed from my happy memories of colors to color up my life and I’m so much happier because of that!