""Whenever you see colours, think of us"
This is the tag line of a very famous paint company. This paint company, or its branding agency, gt its game right when they came up with this tag line. The reason I say so is because there is a very high recall factor with colour. I mean, we very often associate different colours with different things- people, moods, places, objects, etc etc etc... And this works both ways. For example, when I say blue I can only think of Mercure. This night club in Bangalore is bathed blue lights and some videos we took there when we went there recently are blue films in the literal sense (of course the subject matter of these videos were questionable too). Ofcourse, there are times when blue remind me of Lara Dutta in a bikini, diving deep below the sea, but that's more phonetically blue than visually blue.
In the same way, when I think of Monsoon in West Bengal, I can only think of green. The dust washed away by the rain brings forth the green-ness of the trees. The earth seems refreshed, it seems rejuvenated, alive.
And then there is this dirty, bottle green which will always remind me of Purna's kurta. It somehow defined her for me.
Another very strong recall factor for me is the colour pink. It gives me comfort. I've always known that pink is a very comfortable colour. I just didn't know why. Now I think I do. Pink was the colour of the walls of my bedroom as I grew up. Infact not just the walls, the book case, the curtains, some of the bed sheets, my pillow covers, the mosquito net, even the all-out that was plugged in my room was pink. And I never even liked the colour that much!!! But pink will remain the colour of relaxation.
Similarly, brown is the colour of the soil in shantiniketan. Considering the fact I've been there only twice, and once when I was very small, I didn't think it would have that profound an effect. But somehow it does. I believe it is because of the excessive use of "laal maati" in bengali prose and poetry and my mother's incessant chanting of the above mentioned literary works. So when you actually go there and see everything (and I mean everything, from trees to cars and houses, even roadside animals) covered with the fine red dust, you immediately recollect those words written and there is an instant recall.
For me black is the colour of the darkness. Black is the colour I remember from my early days in Chandipur where there was no electricity and the evenings were spent by candle light. When we sat out in the veranda and looked beyond the boundaries, all I could see was black, interspersed with the intermittently glowing dots of the firefly.
There are three other colours that I remember from Chandipur. The first is the orange of the "kumro phool" or pumpkin flower that I got everyday from my neighbours house, which my mother then fried in batter and I relished. The second was the green of my mother's sari this one night she locked me in the room and left on an urgent night call. That time we stayed alone, just the two of us. That green pattern of the sari that reminded me of chillies, when she finally came back after me having shouted myself hoarse and cried myself dry will always stand for anger and fear and finally relief. And thirdly, I remember vividly the red of the knicker I wore as I ran around playing on the fields as a care free two year old
Red also reminds me of the blood on a mother and daughter that my mother accidentally hit while driving, as they were taken into the car and driven to the nearest hospital. That red I saw as a 2-3 year old is a terrifying memory very difficult to put past.
And finally, a navy blue reminds me of this beautiful full moon night where our car went driving through the deserted roads of the countryside. Noone spoke a word and the silence was comforting. Outside there was hardly any trees. There was one gnarled tree looking silver against the shadowy landscape. That night somehow sums up all things nice for me- be it due to the comfort of the company or the sheer beauty of the sight. That dark blue and silver always puts in perspective by reminding me of something that is timeless.
This is the tag line of a very famous paint company. This paint company, or its branding agency, gt its game right when they came up with this tag line. The reason I say so is because there is a very high recall factor with colour. I mean, we very often associate different colours with different things- people, moods, places, objects, etc etc etc... And this works both ways. For example, when I say blue I can only think of Mercure. This night club in Bangalore is bathed blue lights and some videos we took there when we went there recently are blue films in the literal sense (of course the subject matter of these videos were questionable too). Ofcourse, there are times when blue remind me of Lara Dutta in a bikini, diving deep below the sea, but that's more phonetically blue than visually blue.
In the same way, when I think of Monsoon in West Bengal, I can only think of green. The dust washed away by the rain brings forth the green-ness of the trees. The earth seems refreshed, it seems rejuvenated, alive.
And then there is this dirty, bottle green which will always remind me of Purna's kurta. It somehow defined her for me.
Another very strong recall factor for me is the colour pink. It gives me comfort. I've always known that pink is a very comfortable colour. I just didn't know why. Now I think I do. Pink was the colour of the walls of my bedroom as I grew up. Infact not just the walls, the book case, the curtains, some of the bed sheets, my pillow covers, the mosquito net, even the all-out that was plugged in my room was pink. And I never even liked the colour that much!!! But pink will remain the colour of relaxation.
Similarly, brown is the colour of the soil in shantiniketan. Considering the fact I've been there only twice, and once when I was very small, I didn't think it would have that profound an effect. But somehow it does. I believe it is because of the excessive use of "laal maati" in bengali prose and poetry and my mother's incessant chanting of the above mentioned literary works. So when you actually go there and see everything (and I mean everything, from trees to cars and houses, even roadside animals) covered with the fine red dust, you immediately recollect those words written and there is an instant recall.
For me black is the colour of the darkness. Black is the colour I remember from my early days in Chandipur where there was no electricity and the evenings were spent by candle light. When we sat out in the veranda and looked beyond the boundaries, all I could see was black, interspersed with the intermittently glowing dots of the firefly.
There are three other colours that I remember from Chandipur. The first is the orange of the "kumro phool" or pumpkin flower that I got everyday from my neighbours house, which my mother then fried in batter and I relished. The second was the green of my mother's sari this one night she locked me in the room and left on an urgent night call. That time we stayed alone, just the two of us. That green pattern of the sari that reminded me of chillies, when she finally came back after me having shouted myself hoarse and cried myself dry will always stand for anger and fear and finally relief. And thirdly, I remember vividly the red of the knicker I wore as I ran around playing on the fields as a care free two year old
Red also reminds me of the blood on a mother and daughter that my mother accidentally hit while driving, as they were taken into the car and driven to the nearest hospital. That red I saw as a 2-3 year old is a terrifying memory very difficult to put past.
And finally, a navy blue reminds me of this beautiful full moon night where our car went driving through the deserted roads of the countryside. Noone spoke a word and the silence was comforting. Outside there was hardly any trees. There was one gnarled tree looking silver against the shadowy landscape. That night somehow sums up all things nice for me- be it due to the comfort of the company or the sheer beauty of the sight. That dark blue and silver always puts in perspective by reminding me of something that is timeless.
*I acknowledge Purna Banerjee as an inspiration for this prose. This idea is adapted from a beautiful piece of writing she had produced many winters back, thus impressing me thoroughly.
