The Colour Blue
Growing Up Somewhere in my teens I, like all youngsters, subconsciously began to look for mnemonics to express my individuality, my mind, my philosophy. To somehow reach out to a larger reality that exists somewhere out there, amidst those of similar tastes. The music bands I worship the clothes I adorn, the books I read all go into the mnemonic set. One such thing was the colour blue. I like blue. I hate pink. Blue is cool, youthful, classic, intelligent, happy. Pink is blond, baby, stupid, frivolous. So, if I saw any woman wearing pink, particularly baby pink, I was ready to judge her – silly woman. She does not belong to my larger reality. If I found a man in pink I was ready to shoot him down! When I went out on a date I never missed on telling my admirer about my dislike for the dim-witted colour. Some men immediately fell further for me just for that quality – they ofcourse belonged to my larger truth. And others found the prejudice rather fascinating. I would explain to them the