Black

9 November, 2015

Dear Diary,

Today I’ll share with you a strange string of experiences that led me to discover a friend and an idol. Perhaps the experiences were not new but I had never before given them much thought. Today at school, the art teacher asked us to make a colourful scenery. I drew a landscape with flowers, trees, a river, mountains and a hut. Then I took out my crayons and started using each of them one by one. I wanted all my flowers to be of different colours. My teacher smiled at me when she crossed my seat and saw me using each colour at a time. However, the next time she crossed me, she stopped at my desk. “Why are you using the black crayon in the flower?” she asked. “Ma’am, you had asked us to make a colourful scenery. Therefore I am using all colours.” My teacher took the black crayon from my hand and placed it back into the box. She announced in the class that black colour will only be used to outline the elements and will not be used elsewhere. That made me wonder why.

Why is it that black is not used in a colourful scenery? Isn’t black a colour as well? And if it cannot be used in the scenery, why call upon it to give a border? It reminded me of the time when I was not taken in the team but was made to stand outside simply to fetch the ball when it rolled outside. From that point onwards I started relating to black. While these thoughts were floating in my mind, the teacher asked us to finish the scenery and paste it on the black background of the notice board. Again, I wondered why. I looked at the black background and then at the silent crayon still lying in the box. I felt it wordlessly mouth its thoughts- “I will firmly hold the sceneries of which I couldn’t be a part.”

When I came back home, I saw the house being decorated for Diwali. Father was putting the colourful lights across the roof. Since I was still absorbed in my sentiments towards black, I asked him if he had incorporated black lights as well. He laughed and told me that there are no black lights. I asked why the shopkeeper did not keep black lights. Father said that black is the colour of darkness and the lights are used to fight the dark. Before I could ask if black even wanted a fight, my mother interrupted and said, “Come inside and wash your face. It has gone black.”

She had ignited the spark in my mind and I pushed her hand away. “I want to remain black. Why are you being cruel with a colour?” I screamed as tears rolled down my face. I stormed inside the house, past the rangoli which evidently did not have a trace of black. I took you out of my bag and found solace only in a dark corner of my room. I realised that although people criticise and neglect black, it is the darkest corners that open their arms to them when they feel lonely or upset. It has gone dark outside and like every other day, the lights have been turned on in all the houses. The adults don’t realise that God had given half the day to black by calling upon night. However, the world of men has done what it often does- taken control and robbed the night of its rights. I can see the stars and the moon up in the sky and I can hear them call out to the black crayon in my box and to every form of black in the world. I can hear them thank the selfless colour that gives them the chance to shine.

Good night!

See you tomorrow.