Raman was a 10 years old, school going boy who disliked
the domineering kids at school, loved his family and enjoyed playing with the
cars in his toy room. With a hefty hyper active mother, a lanky sullen faced
father and a petite over smart younger sister, his family of four was unique.
Raman appeared to be the only sane one. Being such different individuals the
only thing that was common among them was their affinity to this particular
colour. Their house was painted in this colour, the two cars they had were also
the same colour. Moreover their wardrobe was filled with clothes in this same
colour. Every time Raman’s parents visited school for a parents-teacher meet,
the four of them together made for a sight. Due to this, the kids at school
started teasing Raman. The churlish banter during his childhood days resulted
in hatred for the family’s favourite colour. The phrase that the kids shouted
used to scream in his head all the time.
As Raman grew into a 35 years old well settled man
married to a beautiful girl he met in college, he had moved away from the
figure of the colour that had shadowed his childhood. His house was painted in a
chalky white and He, now, drove a silver sedan. His wardrobe was full of
different colours except that one particular colour that had haunted his school
days. Had one of those despotic kids met the handsome Raman now, they would
have undoubtedly failed to recognize him.
However, even after achieving all he had dreamt of, there
were those killing nights when Raman was woken up by the screaming kids from
his childhood, pulling his leg. Ignoring the banter, all Raman missed in his
life now was the joy of a baby. He and his wife had been trying to have a child
of their own for the last 5 years. The doctors had given up.
One fine day, while planting a tree in his neighbourhood
Raman got hold of a stone which had a something scribbled on it. On reading it
closely, Raman realised that it is a riddle of some sort, the answer to which
might take him to a secret place. The riddle went like
“Down the street, in a place discreet
Stands a building, tall and alone
With barbed wire, it is barred
Something hidden behind your favourite flowers in the
backyard
The colour you abhor
Is the key to unlock life’s new door”
Out of sheer curiosity, Raman started a walk down the
lane. He reached a dead end but could not see any building there. He had lost
hope when he spotted an opening, next to the dead end, tucked behind a tree.
The opening took him to a never ending narrow lane which Raman thought would
take him nowhere.
After walking endlessly, a tired Raman, halted, closing
his eyes and bending down, rested his palms on his knees. He got back standing
straight looking at a dingy looking tall building. He saw the wiring done
around it and wondered what was so special about the building that it was so
protected. Not knowing how to get through that, he decided to walk back to his
place when he noticed a ladder, with the help of the ladder he jumped onto the
other side of the fence. With the pebble still clenched in his hand, he slowly
walked towards the backyard and saw rows of blossomed daisies (his favourite
flower) there. He was surprised to see such a well pruned garden at the back of
such a shady building.
After sauntering through various rows, at the diagonally
opposite corner, towards the end of the last row of daisies, he noticed a
yellow coloured door. YELLOW the colour that he once adored and now simply
abhorred. The colour suddenly brought all the ugly memories of school days
flashing in his mind; kids yelling “yellow yellow, dirty fellow, your mother
a buffalo”. He closed his eyes,
tried to relax and walked towards the door.
With a disgusting look on his face, he slammed the door
open and found a basket with a bundle of happiness.
He found a baby girl sleeping in that wicker basket,
tightly wrapped up in a pink blanket, her cheeks more red than an apple. He saw
a note hanging from the basket. With tearful eyes and a dry throat he read it “your
prayers have been answered; a gift for life”. He had never imagined that the
yellow coloured door that he made a face at would open up to so much joy. He delicately
picked up the little girl in his lap, kissed on her tiny little forehead and
with a croaked voice said to her “you will surely change my life”.
He got back to his place and shared the new found
happiness with his wife. Both Raman and his wife now felt that their family was
complete. That night, laying in his bed, with his eyes constantly on their
baby, Raman thanked the colour yellow for making his world complete. Since that
day all his grudges with the colour yellow and the bitter childhood memories
vanished into thin air.
It is best not to associate a colour with the past or bad
memories or some superstition. You never know when that same colour becomes a
blessing.
