The Colour Of Every First Time

The first times are the spring of April drawn in my skin with the most precious brush so that it can never fade away the colours once stained. It can never steal the resplendent moments once lifted to my heart and soul. The first times of my life are very much stubborn to let go of the colours I can never give a name. The first times love to touch its coloured edge and mention the stories of my first step to school where I sobbed like I was taken for an isolation and there was nothing more painful than the separation from my parents. The moments are still crafted colourfully in the expensive happy painting stores of my mind to savour the colours when nothing feels right and I still want to see one of my colourful 'first times' and this first time comes as a saviour. I remain indebted as I can't name the definite colour it sprinkles to appease my 'nothing feels right' syndrome.

The first times still have treasured the tints of my mother's kanjivaram saree which I wore carefully at the first vasant panchami celebration on my school to flaunt it before everyone with the urge of having awestruck feedbacks and some sizzling heartfelt compliments. The first times do not get washed away ever after the several strokes of washing machine my saree went under process till now. And, I still am unable to praise it with a specific name. The first times paint the igniting shades of excitement for my first ever trip to Darjeeling. They open the pages of their collection and bring out the photos that enthral my mind taking me to the wildest chime of the monasteries cocooned in the lap of mountains. This first time has the most vivid memories tucked in its nature book that simply brushes away my soul with the wilderness of serene. I am too stunned to remember the specific name of colour.

The first times colour the luscious lips of my lover in a pleasant rainy evening and insists me to go down to the memory lane and get washed away with the nostalgia of another past rainy day when raindrops didn't stop me enveloping my lips with him. The kiss was redolent while the lips felt like warm petals. Excitement. Constant lub dubs of hearts. Pleasure. Divinity. Anxiety. Sin. And everything that were in the list of forbidden wishes, done for the first time. This first time has the blush hues of my cheeks when I grin stealthily remembering all my mischiefs. The words of my shyness still lack the ability to name the colour of this 'sinful' first time. Every time when I think about 'the first times', I come up with a completely colourless mind to perfectly tell which colour they truly belong. I feel all the first times are blessed with the invincible power to never let us guess its true colour but the feel of their vibrance. The colour of the first times may be named as solace, else solace has another name as 'first times'.