The dotted purple hue...

The clinking of her anklets, the pitter-patter of her tiny little feet and the rolling incessant gush of laughter filled the air, as the little child played peek-a-boo with her newly found friend. A neighbourhood lad, who had known the evils of school and assignments, of tears and fears, of pride and envy, of victory and failure, of attraction and repulsion, of right and wrong, known enough to revel in the innocence of the child. The little child, Manjhi, hardly two months past her second year in this world, saw the world from behind those black, rusty railings of the balcony. Sometimes, licking the iron, sometimes the wall, swinging at the railing, she would call out to the passers by, and then suddenly shy, she would duck to hide.

The Sun was hurrying across the sky and in his great hurry, had forgotten some of his rays behind, who were now stumbling all over the sky to find their way back home. The stumbling rays, left a trail of bright orange on the inky sky that slowly dulled and lightened to dissolve in the engulfing deep darkness. Little Manjhi and the lad, unaware of the happenings of the world beyond that small balcony, were busy in their play, which had now graded-up to “Hide and seek” from “Peek-a-boo”. The little child, in her innocence, had found a great hiding. Covering her eyes with her spread-out fingers, she hoped the lad would not see her… as we often do in our grown-up worlds, closing our own eyes, pretend that others cannot see through us.

Every few minutes, the child would look around to spot her mother, who had now moved to the kitchen to finish her evening chores. She ran to the kitchen and hugged her mother from behind, swinging, with her arms around her neck, placing her own cold cheeks on her mother’s soft, fluid cheeks that were always warm with the heat of the kerosene stove… a warmth that comforted her, that protected her, that shielded her from the cold of the exterior world, like the warmth of the womb. She felt secure and overjoyed at that very touch and as her mother kissed her cheeks and ran her fingers through her curly hair fondly, the joy reached a stage of exaltation that expressed itself in a dance of celebration. Holding an end of her mother’s saree, and pulling it over her own head, she danced round and round, as a peacock that spots a cloud, or a cuckoo in spring that sings aloud. It was her favourite saree, her mother was wearing, a dark purple synthetic smooth, with big dots of a colour, how do you call it?... light earthy?

And then suddenly reminded of her friend, she ran out, hopping and skipping all the way… resorting to her mean coquetry to soothe her upset friend. She screwed her lips, and knitted her brows to show her feigned displeasure, and the honest lad fell into her trap and cheered to cheer her again. Just then as they resumed their game, the sun it seemed came back, an orange hue seemed like it grew in their close vicinity. Yet it was not the orange of before, somehow dark and deep, it had a suppressed fury that seemed to seep deep. A strange heat engulfed the air that made them breathless and the dark inky sky seemed now to grow jet black. The twosome trying to ignore this change, continued their game, yet a kind of unpleasantness definitely overcame.

The suppressed fury of the orange light exploded into a deep red, no… yellow, also a blue mixed red and orange… whatever the colour, but with a sooty black trail… The flames now quite high, engulfed the entire house and in vain did the neighbours run to put it out with buckets of water. There was chaos, commotion, screams, wails, orders being given and above all a hum of the fire that enjoyed all this attention bestowed upon it. The entire neighbourhood blackened, all colours merged, dissolved into that darkness… and so did the dotted purple smooth synthetic, that melted, yet stuck around her mother faithfully.

A heavy silence followed, a silence that seemed to scream louder… All the darkness and colours turned white, as if erased thoroughly with not a trace left. The frightening whiteness of cleanliness, an irking smell of purity, men and women dressed in white, white beds, white sheets, like white shrouds… and amidst all this the one red light that seemed to catch everyone’s attention. As time passed, the bright red turned dull and everyone in a mass moved towards another room fitted with a tv that had gone blank and tubes like hose pipes fitted all around, where laid the lady clad now in white. Manjhi did not recognize her, she clung on to her father’s finger… The man in the white coat came and gently ruffled Manjhi’s hair and asked her, “beta bade hokar kya banogi?” and she promptly replied “wohi jo aap hain…” For whenever she wore her father’s white shirt and hopped around the entire house with a toy stethoscope, her mother would fondly lift her and say “Ek din meri beti bhi Doctor banegi” and while she said this, her voice would turn husky with pride and a strange silky satin smoothness would mix in her voice, that enchanted Manjhi. This time she waited for that velvety voice to spring from somewhere, from nowhere… and waited till she fell asleep…

Suddenly, there was a loud screeching ring of the telephone and the young lady sat up in her bed as if jerked to consciousness. Was it a dream, or shadows of some deep buried past, that has been rising from the underworld, ever since her childhood, for the last twenty years, finding expression in her dreams every night… she wondered… She did not know any figure in that dream, did not recognize any trace of anyone that belonged to her life. Yet there was a faint memory of a dotted purple hue… But she never asked her Grandparents about any such thing, for it would cloud their already cloudy eyes, knit their already wrinkled brows. Everytime she ventured to ask any questions relating to the past, her lips somehow got sealed in a way, as if it was painful for them to part. And then too pained to utter a word, she would fall quiet. Thus she lived with sealed lips, amidst a myriad of questions, unanswered, incomplete, staring at her… Was it a dream or shadows of some deep buried past? She still wondered…