Yellow, but why so Yellow?

Ouch! Arghh..! It was the third burn in a week. The previous ones hardly got any occasions to heal and now again. Sipping down the warm coffee, I was updating news online. Got distracted on burning my tongue, it hurts!. The earlier ones were also on the same place by the same source of course…

     “Happy women’s day!” someone wished from behind. The voice was familiar and kind. It was full of life and so was the reply. We all replied enthusiastically “Happy Women’s Day to you too.” All the ladies in the office received roses at the entrance. They smiled with surprise when they were wished with a bunch of roses. It was a special day for every woman. A day to make them feel great. “Hey guys, did you know there is discount offers at a lot of places. I wish I could go shopping as soon as I finish work!” said one of the girls in the office, to the others stuck to their desktops. “Hmmm…I wish too”, said one in reply. “I want a rose too”, said Punya sadly, as she had received none. Rotating the chair around, her friend consoled Punya with the sweetest words ever “That rose does not define anything about you. Don’t worry, I’ll gift you one.”

     My left jaw bone had started to hurt, as I was resting it on my hand for the past two hours. Online news update for the client was over. I was sitting joblessly and staring at my expression on the monitor, where I saw myself wearing a dull face, may be because I was scrutinizing details of news for a long time. The reflection was not that clear but vivid enough to adjust my hair. I asked the team if I could help them with something more. But no one had any work to give me for now. I plugged my ear phones on and heard Ustad Rashid Khan singing Aoge jab tum o sajna, to me. I slowly started moving and flying away from reality. But something pulled me back. Aah..! It was none other than the Yellow wall, which stood in front of me with a lazy yet bright look.

     It was yellow, not yellow but…..YELLOW. Like too much of yellowness in it. It was one shade darker than the egg yolk. The rest of the office was painted in peach but the only one that stood in front of me was yellow. It attracted me a lot even though it had the unique talent to create headache. It was yellow so, it was attractive or it was attractive because it was yellow, I don’t know, I really don’t. I usually get fascinated by things that are red, orange, white, black and also yellow. I like yellow but not this one. I disliked it at first, because I thought it was a disaster in the world of design and aesthetics. It was not only bland yellow but a red thick road of soft board ran across from one end to the other. Ummm…. not red exactly but I think it was maroon. That was the only thing that mellowed down the craziness of the Yellow. The wall was even and plain at the top but changed it’s texture as it slowly come down towards the work desk. It was rough with cracks peeping through. It looked like the bottom part had witnessed several earthquakes.

     Lights in the room helped the Yellow look tolerable. Sunlight was shouting through the blinds to let it in, since even it could not put up with the yellowness of the Yellow. The peach on the ceiling had got utterly crushed by the overriding one in the small, less spacious yet welcoming room. The maroon soft board had nothing to say at all. It did not enjoy arguments. Just hung there minding its own business of displaying important contacts. It had practically turned a deaf ear to the maddening Yellow. But somehow I could tell the Yellow was scared to piss Maroon off. Sometimes I could even hear Maroon softy rebuking The Yellow wally

A catastrophic mismanagement of colours in one room!, I must say. I got lost in the maze of work again. But how can anyone get lost in the maze when you have the enormous and the brightest clue blazing right in front of you, the YELLOW wall!. What else? It is so easy to find your way back when you have such landmarks. Trust me, I had no clue whether to take it as a blessing or a curse.

     With this question I saw Philosophy walking in along with a chair, in my mind. I typically hate this visitor. Since Philosophy was giving me company, I had to follow its trail. I could feel the alterations it was making. Everything given to us is a gift of the almighty, nothing is a curse. Everything is special and is present for a purpose.


I was back to myself. I heard the weird sound of dragging of chair and realized, Philosophy was leaving. 5:43! Called the laptop. Busy day , I said to myself. Settled my things, tidied my desk up and sat for a moment looking at the stupendous wall. Cleaned my glasses and thought, I somehow like the yellowness at the end of the day, the room would be so dull without it. It does the important task of pulling me back from my overpowering thoughts. I think Philosophy was right, everything has a purpose behind. The Yellowness of the wall gave me an inspiration to write. I thanked the yellow wall. Everything is fine. From now on I shall learn to love it as it is. As I was leaving I turned back and looked at it again and then I asked………

Yellow, but why so Yellow?

Shivangee Dasgupta



The trees were full of lush green leaves, a heavy south wind was blowing. The smell of flowers had filled the breeze with fragrance.  Everyone was rejoicing as it was the first autumn after many years that brought Durga Pooja with much energy and joy.

The trees were moving in rhythm, the loud murmurs of the dry leaves were even heard till the temple where everyone was waiting to hear Meera. “No celebration is complete without our Meera’s singing no matter whoever sings”, whispers Nirmala boudi to her friend beside. The temple was enveloped with the soft sound of sitar, jugalbandi of leaves and the wind was also making a presence along with the melodious singing of Rupa . A beautiful Ashtami morning indeed!.

Mouth as wide open as a tunnel, eyes as shut as a locked door Meera was sitting and drowsing in the centre of a row of singers when she was jolted by the loud claps for Rupa that ran across the temple. It was now Meera’s turn to strain her vocal cords .All eyes turned at once from her to Meera . “Inspite of belonging to  a lower middle class family, I trained my daughter with my hard earned money and she has always rewarded me with her honey sweet singing, she has never let us down . She recently finished her M.A in Indian classical music and is keen on studying further. She runs a music class in the city next to our village. She also has the responsibility of the house along with me and her father, as she has two sisters following her. We want Meera to study more as well as our other daughters but life is not as smooth and sweet as singing and living apart carries its own dangers. Meera has proved herself matured enough to understand this difference when she had rudimentary singing skills. This fills our chest with pride for our daughter”, talks Moni, Meera’s mother to Sandhya di who is a new face in the village and asks about Meera’s background.

Meera’s singing pulls everyones ears at once. The air is again filled with the sing song of Durga Pooja. Even the leaves and the chirping birds were heard singing along. The tinkling sound of the sitar played by her nimble fingers sounded like beads of ghungrus dropped on the floor. Meera sat in the middle of the alpana on the floor, draped in white saree with red border. She sang like choirs of Koels singing the song of joy to maa Durga. “I was very proud of her and was holding her hand and standing next to her among the never ending claps”. Pandit ji screamed with tears in his eyes “Wah! Maa Saraswati resides in her”, undoubtedly that was a matter of fact. “We have been best friends from childhood and I have known her passion for music, rather I am the only one who knows the hard work, madness and bravery she has in her to carry out her love for music .Meera and I have shared every bit of our lives and she has always been a perfect friend to me. I was a bit lost in thoughts when Meera pulled me out of my sweet reverie”. “Rupu ! Though the claps are louder for me but you have always been my idol and shall remain to be so.” We both smiled at each other and walked down the isles with the other performers along. Our parent’s heads held high where every eye looked at us with love and respect.

“So see you in the evening Ashtami pooja,” “Oh no am so sorry Rupu you know I have to go to the city for work today also” “You didn’t get a break today also ? That is weird. Ok never mind carry on I shall see you tomorrow in the temple.”


The evening was well lit up, since the night was covered with the blanket of stars. The North Star was dancing to the tunes of the autumn breeze. “Will you please hurry up?” Maa had to scream at least once at this time at Meera since she often gets late for the job in the city. It’s quite a long way and she has to hurry up. “Don’t forget to pack your shawl its chill outside.” She kissed all bye grabbed her packed bag wrapped maa’s old shawl across her shoulder which hid her new salwar kameez. She rushed into the dark part of the night which led to a dim lit reddish room, there was no feel of the autumn breeze, no tinkling of sitar and no honey sweet singing of Meera . The atmosphere was damp and suffocating. Too much hard music to tolerate. Everything was harsh and difficult. Darkness was the dominant colour.


“You are late again Meera,” “I’m sorry Rahul! Had a lot of work today. This will not happen again”. “And you are excused again, now come on get ready!” She pulled her satin sleeves up which exposed her tattooed arm, the braid transformed into a ponytail, shy beautiful eyes into blazing bold ones, delicate gold chain replaced by a metallic band around her neck and nimble fingers were controlling the strings of guitar with the same passion and perfection as sitar, soft sweet singing changed to hard rock singing. “That was Meera standing and singing in front of me, her drastic transformation was my favourite part. I always admire her for her guts and her craziness for music and that is the soul requirement to be a part of our rock band. I respect Meera a lot and want to help her as I am aware of her struggle. She is from the village which survives on the mercy of our city.” Meera adds on to her income by playing for the rock band too and earns more than enough for her family. But she always feels guilty about lying to them, she knows how to manage and she will rock in this too as she does in her life.