You open your eyes and look around. What do you see? Colours, shining, bright and vibrant, pleasing to thee. Be it pink, blue, grey, or red, all our writers have got a favourite from the entire set.
Chromatic Musings beautifully presents how colours represent, associate, and link to different aspects of our writers' lives and how it means something to them.
The Pumpkin Cake
written by Rishika
It was finally the month of October and the colour orange seemed to be everywhere. From the leaves on the trees to the pumpkins in the fields, the fall season apparel; there was an abundance of orange all around. After all, orange was the colour of most of the Halloween decor. However, as the days went by, the orange seemed to grow brighter and more vibrant. Everything was filled with a new sense of excitement and energy. The colour began to take a life of its own.
There was a girl, R, who loved Halloween more than anything else in the world. So much so, that she decided to have a Halloween-themed birthday party, complete with orange costumes! She spent weeks planning her party, inviting all of her friends to dress up in their favourite orange costumes. She had everything ready – from the decorations to the food, everything was orange and spooky! On the day of the party, she was so excited to see all of her friends arrive in their costumes. As the party started, everyone began having a blast. She cut her Halloween-themed birthday cake and blew out the candles on her pumpkin-shaped cake, surrounded by her friends and family who were all wearing their costumes. Later that evening, everyone gathered around to play games. They even had a scary story contest, where everyone took turns telling their horrible life choices and how it has been haunting them for the rest of their lives. As the night went on, all gathered around to further share their scary stories. The lights from the pumpkin-shaped paper lantern danced around them, casting shadows on the walls.
As the party came to an end, they decided to stay over for a Halloween movie marathon. All dressed up in costumes, they grabbed some snacks and settled in for the night. From Pennywise and IT to The Conjuring, they started their movie marathon and munched on popcorn, watching their favourite horror flicks. It was a dark spooky night and everyone was in the mood for some scares. The creaks and groans in the house added to the atmosphere, making them all jump at the slightest noise. After the final movie, they were all on edge and a little scared to go to bed. They stayed up late, chatting and trying to shake off the feeling that had settled over them. They huddled together for comfort. When they left the house the next day, they all agreed that it had been a fun and memorable night filled with scares and laughs. They made plans to do it again next year, already brainstorming ideas for even more creative costumes.
R couldn’t stop smiling as she thought about how much fun she had and how grateful she was to have such amazing friends and family. The most unexpected things can become the most beloved traditions. And for them, the colour orange would forever be associated with the love and joy they shared that night. It was a night of laughter, fun, and spooky thrills that brought them together and created memories that would last a lifetime. The memories of that Halloween night would stay with them forever.
Rishika
An aesthete surviving on very little energy somehow manages to keep up with her blog, despite not meeting the deadlines and finding it difficult to elaborate her ideas into 1000 words rather than a single meme.
Read more of Rishika’s work at https://rishikaah.wordpress.com/
Once in a Blue Moon
written by Karthik N
“…and Birbal caught the thief red-handed” read the line from one of Amar Chitra Katha’s innumerable Akbar-Birbal stories. I looked at the picture below the line many times. The guy’s hands weren’t red at all. How was he caught red-handed? Queries to my mother regarding what it meant were of no avail. “It means he got caught anta. Ashte. Now, go. I have work to do.”
This was, what I now realize, my first brush with ‘colour idioms’. Unfortunately, my mother never gave me an answer and so, I was still in the dark about what these things were.
I remember that morning as clear as day. We were 15 minutes into our 3rd grade Social Studies class. Mrs. Pavithra was about to close the door when out of the blue, Nischay came to the door, huffing and puffing. His blue shirt was soaked with sweat and it looked like he could fall over at any time.
“Why are you late Nischay?”
“Ma’am… The bus ma’am… It stopped working suddenly while we were coming ma’am… Then somehow, driver uncle started it again and now only I reached school, ma’am”, he wheezed between sharp breaths.
For 15 seconds, both of them looked at each other, never uttering a word. Then, she shouted, “Now, I have to bring out a red carpet for you or what? Get inside and go to your place. Fast.”
Call me dumb, but this sudden colour mention confounded me like Houdini’s escape tricks. Sensing a golden opportunity, I raised my hand and asked her, “Ma’am, why did you say red carpet ma’am? I don’t see any carpet here”. The entire class erupted with laughter. My face turned beet red as I shrank back into my seat, not waiting for an answer. After the laughter died down, she asked everyone if they knew what ‘red carpet’ meant. She was greeted with silence.
The faces of my classmates turned green with envy as Pavithra ma’am explained how the red carpet is meant for special and royal people and praised me for asking my question. I was mighty pleased that day. I had finally begun tearing through the red tape that surrounded this grey area of English.
As I read more and more, I slowly began to uncover the true colours of these idioms. I learnt that I was not particularly green-thumbed, but I wasn’t a burdening white elephant either. It took me watching Zindagi Na Milegi Dobara on the silver screen to understand how joyous it is to paint the town red. While I was sometimes beaten black and blue in high school, I still look back at those days with rose-tinted glasses.
The world of colour idioms doesn’t seem so pitch black anymore. With almost nobody using them, the few I come across stick out like black sheep. Be it white lies at a black-tie event or red flags given the green light. These idioms add a touch of playfulness and creativity to our everyday conversations. Whether you’re white as a sheet or in the pink of health, these words spice up regular interactions and make them pass with flying colours.
Karthik N
Having clocked more than 200 hours on Marvel’s Spider-Man, I know NYC like the back of my hand. But I still struggle to decide to take right or left to reach college every day. Be it the names of Zoro’s swords, the secret to Ed’s alchemy or Madara’s end goal, I’m the guy for you.
Read more of my work at https://writingsforlayman.wordpress.com/
Not a gender reveal
written by Seba
It's cherry blossom pink season in Bangalore, and the streets couldn't be more pink. Every time I enter college, especially on Wednesdays, I witness several friend groups dressed in various shades of pink, referencing the movie 'Mean Girls' where the saying goes 'On Wednesdays, we wear pink'. Pink as a colour is frequently linked to femininity, romance, and love. It can be used to describe a character's surroundings or attire in literature, suggesting softness, kindness, or sweetness. It also represents the concept of naivety and innocence in youth. Unlike the older times when pink was only referred to as 'girlish' or 'Barbie's colour', it has become a fashion trend for men to match pink with nude colours, especially in a place like Bangalore known for fashion styles. Like Kareena Kapoor in 'Kabhi Khushi Kabhie Gham', all dolled up in pink and glitter, it reminds me of some girls in our college-going all out and looking dazzling.
On the other side, the colour sky blue is frequently linked to tranquillity, peace, and quiet. Sadness or melancholy may also be associated with the colour blue. 'Having the blues' or 'feeling blue' are expressions of melancholy or depression. It can be used to indicate the vastness of the ocean or a wide sky. Sky blue, one of my favourite colours, gives me a sense of peace and calmness like the vast clear sky. With Bangalore's unpredictable weather, on days with blue skies, there's a feeling of feel-good vibes and hope out there. Moreover, it might represent the idea of paradise or spirituality for many.
A vivid image of these colours comes to me when I accompanied my father to Ulsoor Lake. The view was spectacular and worthy. It seemed as if I were looking through a water painting simulation, with the colours in the sky merging into a fusion. All colours of pink, orange, purple, and blue leave their trace, leaving us with the notorious Bangalore sky. I was basking in the beauty of what seemed like pink cotton candy clouds. The sunset will always have a particular place in my heart, as will that precious time with my father. When I think of the colour blue, one of the first things that come to mind is the café 'Paris Panini' and its logo. It's a deep sea blue colour, and the food packaging is very minimal and cute. Their 'Chicken pesto mozza' sandwich is unquestionably my go-to comfort meal. Not for the gender reveal, but for the reasons stated, these two colours will always be among my favourites.
Seba
A girl who loves binge-watching TV series and painting once in a blue moon. Good at overthinking and still figuring it out in writing.
Black
written by Kyathi
Compared to other colours, black has a distinctive quality. I have several stories attached to it.
Black is undoubtedly a favourite colour for a lot of people, including myself. We all have a strong attraction to anything that is black, except for black bodies. But why? In my opinion, black is a colour that is more than just gorgeous. It becomes even more stunning when it contrasts with a person's deeper skin tone. We are born with our colour, we do not pick it. So, why all the criticism and pointless remarks? An individual who claims that being fair is lovely may not have ever looked at the beauty of dark skin through their own heart's lens.
If the sky wasn't dark, not even the stars and moon would shine with such beauty.
I am not surprised that people think of black as an unlucky or unholy colour because we all currently belong to a generation that criticises everyone, even without any justification. How long does it take to criticize a certain colour? But we all forget that we often perceive things differently from what they actually are. There is a quote. “We see things how we are, but not how things are." Before judging or criticizing anything, we all should remember that our criticism will indicate what kind of person we are, not what the thing being criticised is.
In fact, I personally had an experience when it was my cousin’s housewarming ceremony. We were all ecstatic and eager to see their newly constructed house, so we all prepared extremely well and hurried to the location. Others were more interested in my stunning black lehenga, which was beautiful. Rather than looking at me, they were busy discussing and examining the colour of my garment. No, my dress wasn't the issue. It was the colour of my dress. But it wasn't the colour that bothered me, that was the individuals around me. Everyone has different viewpoints, and that is totally acceptable. However, telling someone that their viewpoint is the only ethical standard that should be followed is unquestionably wrong.
I realised then that I was the most famous one among my cousins. My fame, however, was not a result of my abilities. I became well-known for my ignorance of fundamental moral principles such as the notion that the colour black is unholy.
Amma used to always tell me to not apologise for anything or to anyone if we didn't do anything wrong or if we knew in our hearts that we hadn't done anything wrong. My heart felt certain that I had done nothing improper.
As time went on, I began to realize that everyone had their own flaws, including myself. It wasn't the colours that were impure, it was all about how people thought, all of it was in our heads. If everyone could for once choose to focus on the good aspects of situations, perhaps the world would look to be a better place to live in.
Kyathi
I like dancing and love to explore everything that is new. I am imperfect in lots of things, but I never give up on anything easily.
Bright white monotony
written by Anahita
I sit on the wooden bench with the back of my palms shoved under my thighs. They're pressing onto the flat surface, yellowing and pinking at the edges. There are distinguished shades of colours in general, at least everything would lie between a spectrum of a lighter shade to a darker shade, but how to differentiate between shades of white? It’s a colour that covers or is spotted on most surfaces, at least to some extent. Things like purity, peace and all things fragile and innocent are usually linked to this lifeless shade although it never made any sense to me. The white wall in front of me has consumed all my attention. It seems completely blank but the harder I stare at it; the grainy texture of the wall seems to form some sort of shades of white. The shadows and crooks seem to be moving and it takes the form of my scooter. The white Vespa with its gleaming body, just cruising smoothly through the roads of Bangalore. I've always thought the scooty was a very pretty colour. But combined with the greens and pinks of Bangalore summers, there's just something magical about it. These extraordinary canopies form moving greyish shadows on the front of my scooty. I've tried to pin a colour to these summers ever since I moved here. But more than a colour like blush-blossom pink or dainty-yellow flowers, it's always a feeling of slowness that comes to mind- not in a sense that drags monotony along with it but more like a stream that gleams and glitters in the sunlight, while your feet slowly dangle on its shallow ends.
Many of my friends associate Bangalore with a city of greens. But after difficult contemplation, I've decided that Bangalore is a city of whites instead. Every morning handcuffed to the routine of attending classes, out of habit I glance towards the temple right opposite my college, the size of a tiny balcony. If you have the time to pay any attention to it, you’d see pieces of white coconuts with brown backsides and the faithful exit it with white powdered lines running across their foreheads. , I see men with wet and carefully combed hair either on their way to or back from the said temple clad in a white lungi and starchy white banyans.
On every second curve of the broken road, you’d see small temporary stalls with steel carriers. Upon opening the heavy lid and under the colourless steam, you’d see heaps and mounds of idlies carefully stacked making it seem like something in between clouds and a ball pit. The old woman with the faded sari would place three of these on a place lined with banana leaf and topped with a generous serving of sweet Karnataka sambhar. A little ahead of college and if you're a little in on the college “cult” they would tell you about the Yellamma Dasappa hotel or YDH but popularly called by its favourite dish – the Open Dosa. Two dosas served on steel thattes with a dollop of fresh white butter is heavenly with every bite. The butter melts and makes your fingers shine with grease, while the white dosa is sprinkled with red chutney podi. My new rented apartment’s walls are also a bare white.
After a few weeks of settling in and making peace with the fact this is my “home” I've started liking these ivory walls compared to the teal blue ones back in my Mangalore home. My scooty and the porcelain plates are the fragments of “home” I've brought along with me to this new city. The old buildings lining the sides of brigade road are also different tones of white, though none of them are spotted with things such as paan spit and other stains, if you stare long enough the white separate and become different tones. Flowers are sold on every cross of this city, coffee colored baskets filled with jasmine, marigold, and other flowers whose names I never bothered looking up. During the early hours of the day, BBMP workers dot the streets, sweeping away the remnants of the previous day. The women would wear their hair in neatly oiled braids with streams on bright white jasmine clasped with a hairpin.
I've grown accustomed to the whiteness my current life brings; hours of staring at empty white word documents that glare back at me every third day, the new alien dancing sunshine spots on my Vespa and its now matching helmet, the glitter on the lakes of this city that seem a translucent white, the food that always seems to be tinted or has accompaniments that are tinted white. As monotonous as the colour seems on most days, there's comfort in this monotony.