A cold January evening, her last in the mountains. She slides the backdoor, letting in the last crimsons of the setting sun. Stepping out in the balcony,barefoot, she shudders in her beige shall, empathising the cold in the mountains. The ice-cold breeze that the pole star brings with it,slides over her curves, while she leans on the railing. Moving her gaze, east to west, she longs to capture the crystal white beauty, tinctured by the sun; now as red as blood; inch by inch, for the last time. The mere fact that she might never see those crests and troughs, broke her heart into little pieces. Born in lap of valleys, the bird was to take a flight to unknown terrains. But she wanted to run away, as much as she wanted to stay. Movers and Packers arrive tomorrow. She had a night under the clear sky to relive her 18 years. It snows
" I am. Now I am. Girls in yellow kurtas are the ones you take home to your mom."
We looked at each other and let out a sly giggle. There was no home taking. The clock was ticking. The time was running. We knew there was a deadline. But, yellow was here for longer. Another piece of yellow clothing made its way to my wardrobe just last week.
"What? I asked why do you love this flower so much?"
" That's what I said. There are a lot of white flowers. But this one has a yellow tinge right in its heart. That makes it special."
Today, I stared at the yellow tinge of Plumerias in my garden and wondered how many of them ended up petal by petal on your face whenever you tried talking sense into me.
It struck me one night. Against the yellow sun at 5 in the evening my eyes must have looked empty because my hands were full.
I rubbed my palm on your left cheek and you traced my chest through my chin.
I can't remember how, but out of all the colours we had yellow to play with that day.
I read somewhere that yellow is the colour of joy, remembrance and loyalty. So true.
It also is the colour of deceit. Is that why your face turned yellow when you told me, you loved me?