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Aranya Das

Abstract Drama Others


Aranya Das

Abstract Drama Others

October Is My Favourite Colour

October Is My Favourite Colour

4 mins 314 4 mins 314

He asked me about my favourite color that day. But I kept staring at his brown eyes and no doubt, it was the second most beautiful pair of brown eyes I have ever seen, apart from the ones I see in mirror. Everyday.

We were walking back home and he was supposed to accompany me till the next crossing. It was a bright day with the sky so blue that you could use it interchangeably with the sea. The golden brown color of the sunburned leaves scattered around was constantly trying to draw my attention towards them. The color of the leaves was somewhere in between his partially shaded mocha lips and the golden sun rays falling on his caramel skin. His lips turned one shade darker because of the cigarette stains that got inked over the years. I was wearing a mustard-colored kurta paired with red cigarette pants and ruby danglers. I was saving this dress to wear in front of him. He clearly did not notice my perfectly ironed dress and emotions, suppress. He casually asked a question to break the ice after the cold conversation we had that day. I was not sure how to answer his question. He was busy looking around. Or probably pretending to look around. I looked at my palm, foggy.

It had salty dew drops on it as a result of my condensed emotions collected on my cold skin. I rubbed my palms against the viscose rayon I was wearing. It did not help much. I had been racking my brains since he asked that single question. I was not sure if green was my favourite color any more, because I was falling for the fall. And that is for sure. I was learning to embrace the present and let go of the grief and greed - the grief of not being with him and the greed of his surplus love. He was not looking at me. We were silently walking towards the point after which we were supposed to part our ways. I switched from witnessing his sun-kissed skin to the answer to his question. That five-minute walk could be a mini replica of a century. Minutes were stretching and the silence shouted at the top its voice.

 What exactly is my favourite color?

His brown eyes.

His mocha lips.

His caramel skin.

My mustard kurta.

My red cigarette pants.

My ruby danglers.

The colorless sweat drop.

The blue sky.

The golden leaves.

The reap of my spring hope.

The lustrous sky.

Cooler air with tincture of earthiness.

Cozy evenings.

Cocoa colored leaves pirouetting.

I realized that the moment was my favourite color when he asked the question. That day was my favourite color when we met. The season was my favourite color depicting the impermanence of life and showing us how alluring death can be. How fascinating death can be.

 Withering hopes.

Decaying expectations.

Shrinking dreams.

Fading wishes.

Drooping attentions.

Wilting affections.

Collapsing emotions.

 But all of these come to an end so that new seeds can be planted in the next spring. Autumn has a kind of grace no other season can compete with. The golden leaves make our paths shine- the path which leads to the coldest of all seasons. Autumn can be the mosaic of all the seasons. I saw my hope planted in spring, burning in summer only to over-drench in monsoon to finally rust – rust to the extent of resembling coffee – in autumn. It is preparing itself to rest in winter only to rise again in the next spring. I wanted to let go of my dead things, beautifully. This autumnal air is indeed nostalgic and my birthday month is the doorway to this season that awakens my soul. Autumn shows us how beautifully we can let go of things and it is the first step to welcome spring.

I came back from my world tour of thoughts when the beautiful walk ended. I looked at those brown pair of eyes again. He was about to hold my hand because he knew crossing the roads is something I am scared of. As soon as his hands held mine, I looked into his eyes and said with a weak smile, “October is my favorite color.”

He smiled and I crossed the road, alone.

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