Black has all colours 

2 min


‘Hazel eyes and straight edged nose,’ my father would say to describe my features.

‘How do I look, Baba?’ I would ask.

‘Like an angel, ‘ he would reply. 

He would create fairy tales to infuse light in my dark life. But now I am grown up, married to Lizo , and have mastered the art of hiding emotions. 

Winter was in its prime. Snow began falling at late evening the day I got admitted in the hospital. 

‘Feathery snow flakes are partially illuminated,’ Baba said and I imagined the magic of the beautiful sight. 

‘Ana, how are you feeling?’ the doctor asked me. 

‘I am fine,’ I lied.

I was extremely scared. I had been waiting for that day ever since I got to know about my pregnancy but when the day arrived I found myself surrounded by an air of despondency. Even Lizo’s inspiriting words proved an ineffective attempt to cheer me up.

 

They wheeled me off. As the gurney entered the operation theatre my heart began to thud in my ears. I could hear the sound of surgical equipment and doctors’ low pitched conversation. Perhaps, they were preparing. In the meanwhile, I was trying to control my  wandering thoughts. I remembered how desperately I wanted to see the colours. I wanted to witness the snow capped mountains and tropical islands, twilight and sunrises, beaches and deserts, rains and rainbows and everything that Baba had narrated in his stories. How gruelling it is to evince the essence of fulfilment and delight all the time. 

 

Although, It was never easy to fake a smile of contentment for the satisfaction of your loved ones yet I embraced my black world. 

‘Black has all colours ,’ Baba would say. But I failed to fight my trepidations. Lizo and I were in the same boat. We know the significance of colours in life and how it feels to live with only black. Our biggest concern was our child. Although, doctors had already declared  that it would be as normal as I wished but what about my stubborn fears. Eventually, I had to settle my concern by believing that my prayers would be effective enough to fill colours in our lives. 

 

‘Mrs. David, we are going to inject anesthesia, so stay calm,’ the doctor ordered. 

My senses slid away and consciousness dwindled in few seconds.

 

When I regained my consciousness, I felt Lizo brushing my knuckles with a great tenderness, sitting beside me.

I heard my parents approaching me with joy and glee in their voice. 

‘Ana, congratulations. We can’t believe, we are now the grandparents of a little angel,’ my mother announced cheerfully. 

‘Her vision…ummm..? I murmured.

‘Doctors have examined her well. She can see the world in real with her own eyes and not in stories,’ my father interrupted. I could decipher the joy in his voice.

‘How does she look?’ The tears of joy rolled down.

My father whispered, ‘ Like mother like daughter. Hazel eyes and straight edged nose.’

***

Photo By:  Soorelis

***

This is an entry for Five00-7, a writing event hosted by ArtoonsInn. Check out the event prompt and guidelines here: https://writers.artoonsinn.com/five00-7/

Use the tracker to record your rulfy progress: https://1drv.ms/x/s!ApiLwn00sMcLgw25_MChxGCrua9_

 


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Rekha Mordani

Artoon

Rekha Mordani is a story teller, co-author of a few Anthologies, blogger and a content writer at LiFT digital magazine. She writes when a sudden thought pops up in her mind. For her, writing is like breathing, one cannot stop.
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