The scene begins with the tramps of about a dozen pairs of feet disturbing the silence of the surroundings. The noisy crescendo becoming louder and audible every next second. The haste of these legs lies in getting hold of a lone runner, who prevails at a distance of a few yards and is vying venomously to somehow conquer back his speed demon, commonly called a bike; parked a few more yards away.
Phew! I hope that you are not mistaken into taking this situation as a shot for an upcoming action flick or merely an advertisement, broadcasting the launch of a new range of footwear, for this is a tale….truly un-commercial, truly humane!
The above mentioned scenario has evolved over the past years of my life, with me going great guns for the fugitive flight every time on being chased by the mob of my mates, to escape a colorful splash. A boyous-bicycle having supports on either side being replaced by a better and a blazing bike; the cargo half-pants giving way to long, lanky denims; the small and slow steps turning into bigger and faster strides and my once meager momentum attaining a massive might- things, events and incidents seem to have changed, except my fear of being painted red and blue, for every year, I re-do the running rampage in one form or the other!
Though I love adorning my canvas with (mostly my course notebooks) with colors and caricatures, but I generally don’t prefer them to be smeared all over me. The mystery behind this behavior, alien to most of the masses, including me, still stands unfolded.
To thousands, the Gulaal may enthrall, but it’s really not my size of ball! The fear of being rendered colorful grips me and scares me to death. Comes the day of demise and my room is re-born as a military base, with latches, locks and keys serving as the barricades. I dare not to step out of the talismanic boundary, no matter who’s who is banging from the other side of the Line Of Control.
The mere sight of the people, garnished with somewhat Rainbow colors (which could easily beat the loudest of the make-ups of a winner of a beauty pageant),honking out loud on their gas-guzzlers, sends a shriek up my sleeves. The survival on such a day seems so scarce. And if you have a pack of rowdy friends at your disposal, then finding a silver lining among the colored clouds is as possible as Newton’s laws of motion going wrong, and that too in an inertial frame! Moreover, I’ve been a witness to many victims falling a prey to conflagring yellows, raging reds, solitary whites, oceanic blues and haunting blacks, and mind you, these are the memories which I won’t like to remember for long.
Nonetheless, the reasons for this allergy could be dated out to my inherent instincts of losing the fairness and pureness of the skin or to me being an introvert (one of the rare and precious benefits of being one). Going organic all the way may be sufficient for the former, but my success rate against the latter seems to be bleak and barred. This might eat up a bunch of years of my life, or even more. I may have to be on the less populated side of the bifurcation for some more time.
Till then, my fear, frivolous to many continues….
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