JAMSHEED RASOOL
It was a wet Wednesday in Srinagar. It was as if every thing was hell bent on keeping people indoors. From concertina wires to the hard rain, everything just whispered “stay indoors, stay safe”.
Today every one was yawning, not willing to move out of home. First cup of Tea. Second cup of Tea. Third Cup of Tea and then you would tell your mother, ” Make it a bit strong”.
It was a sort of Day when you would turn off the tabla played on Youtube and just listen to the sound of rain. But rain brings sleep and sleep brings wrath of the boss. One has to move Office. One has to work.Sleep does not give bread. Sleep gives dullness. But outside it is equally dull. So one has to make a choice. One always goes for the softer option, does not one? One always takes the bus to the Office at lal Chowk whether it is windy, stormy or muggy.
It was that day when Office seems like a nightmare. Not many smiles on arrival.”Just keep that dripping Umbrella out of the Room,” said one angry mate wearing a dull grey-colored shirt wet with rain. The colour just was not there. Only the girls had colored Umbrellas outside. I could not resist saying,”Girls add colour to life,”. A female colleague inside the office, otherwise very colourful, flaunted the white colourless notebook-an obvious warning that I had to write something on it. What would I write on a colourless day, I begin asking myself? A feature, hard news, or a Chennai Express review( that is more embarrassing than writing a picture story).
I turned to social networking sites. We have Broadband here. There was no one out there who could be said to ‘on line’.Every one was colourlessly ‘offline’. How many can afford a broadband. Mobile Internet connectivity is a threat to peace in the state.
It was then I turned to the window watching people run helter-skelter. Drenched in rain a mother with a child in tow was having a hard slog to cover both souls in a grey colourless Umbrella. My gaze swept across the entire Regal Chowk. That raida waala who wore the ‘reddest of red’ shirt was not there. Nor were the gaudily-clothed South Indian tourists. So where was the colour.
The haakh I had with lunch was not green any more. It is boiled a bit longer for my grandmother and had been forgetfully(rather deliberately) put in my lunch box to ensure my day remained colourless.
“Green colour is missing'” I said.
“You would never change. You are reminded of green colour on every 14th august,” said a senior pal given to fits of sarcasm.
“so can I be asured you would not be bringing saffron Kehwa with you tommorow,” I said quietly.
As I looked above it was all dark and wet. I gazed upon the road again. Dull. scary. And utterly monotonous.
A vehicle stopped just somewhere there on the road. A few girls came out of it wearing not so colourful clothes. But there was something in their hands which was colourful. It was a flag. A green Flag(at least it had some colour). They pinned the flag to the fence of a park. It had a crescent. It had a line of white colour as well.
I shouted at my colleaques that a colourful flag had been hoisted. They all laughed together. It was on internet even before it was on my lips.
“Girls really do add colour,” my colleague teased me again.
“They do, I agree,” I said.
” Can we get back to work guys, ” shouted the boss.