The Rainbow

So here’s the tale!
Here’s to the violet when I was bullied for not being ladylike and pushed against the last
bench of the classroom.
The blood cloth as if showed the first colour of the flag on my skin.

Does the rainbow really matter?
That very question placed me back there-
There? Yes there,
Where a 5 year old’s tender fingers struggled to paint her very first rainbow!
As if placed behind those delicate clouds. Emerging from nowhere yet colors melting into
white blankets of hope,
Hope? Yes hope which assured me that I would soon see that curve of miracles again
Just after, the visible yellow strikes the drops of liquid sunshine.
Who knew, yes who knew this order of VIBGYOR would stand synonymous to me.
Where the spectrum of my existence would seep through the prism of reality.
And emerge and emerge as the rainbow of my identity.
You may still ask, does the rainbow really matter?
Well then I’d weave my heart with the flag of VIBGYOR.

So here’s the tale!
Here’s to the violet when I was bullied for not being ladylike and pushed against the last
bench of the classroom.
The blood cloth as if showed the first colour of the flag on my skin.
Here’s to Indigo-
When a 14 year old chose dad’s indigo shirt over mom’s saffron dupatta.
The shirt didn’t fit well, yet hung over my shoulders.
While the colour ever since remained as cherished stains on the pages of my adolescence.
Here’s to the warmest colour blue.
Which reminds me of school.
The cardigan I wore to the morning assemblies every winters and you’d
Smile and brush your fingers through my hair saying,
“Blue suits you”
It echoes even now. It touched my ear and whispered ‘This is surely the other love story’.

As blue fades away and green reaches out,
I still remember the green shirt from my 16th year
that witnessed the high tides of a so called relationship.
I waited. I blew the candles. But I didn’t see you.
Hence green got engraved on the tomb where my innocence laid dead.

But what’s a rainbow without the sun’s yellow and a shade of orange!
Which reminds me how I spent my afternoons with a dear friend.
She’s more like a brother. Matches shirts and shoes like the others. Checks and canvases
Yes! That’s our thing.
Hence we both have our versions of the rainbow, indeed.

Finally I arrive at Red. Here’s to the Red jacket I wore at the winter’s Pride.
I walked down the streets of my city with my head held high.
And among all, she asked my name. I didn’t ask hers
“See you” she waved
“Indeed” I responded
The curve of miracles as if appeared again knocking at the skies of a 20 year old’s
weak heart.
Where a girl meets girl and rest is all happy and gay!

About the guest author

Zoya Khan

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