The colour of Joy

In a quiet village nestled between emerald hills and golden fields, lived an old painter named Arun. His cottage was small, his clothes were worn, and his meals were simple—but his heart was vast, and his smile could light up the gloomiest day.

Arun had one peculiar habit: he painted only in shades of yellow. Sunflowers, saffron skies, lemon pies, golden birds—his canvases glowed with warmth. Villagers often asked, “Why only yellow?” He’d chuckle and say, “It’s the color of happiness. I want to fill the world with it.”

But one day, a little girl named Mira visited his studio. She had lost her dog, her best friend, and her eyes were heavy with sorrow. Arun sat her down, handed her a brush, and said, “Paint what you feel.”

She dipped into the darkest blue and painted a storm. Arun didn’t stop her. He added a streak of yellow lightning, then a patch of golden sun breaking through the clouds. Together, they painted sadness and hope, grief and healing.

As days passed, Mira returned often. Her paintings grew brighter—orange laughter, green curiosity, pink dreams. Arun began using new colors too. His studio bloomed with emotion.

One morning, Mira asked, “So… what’s the real color of happiness?”

Arun smiled, eyes twinkling. “It’s not just yellow, my dear. Happiness is every color you feel when your heart is open. It’s not the absence of sadness—it’s the presence of meaning.”

And from that day on, the village knew happiness not as a single hue, but as a canvas full of stories, painted by every soul who dared to fear.