White: The end of an era or a new beginning?

This story was first published in the second edition of 'The Scoop' - the newsletter of Toastmasters Club of West Delhi.

As the full moon shone brightly in the dark night sky, the country found solace in their cosy blankets. Resting their heads on their comfy pillows, they entered into a far away land, wrapped in the warm hugs of their loved ones. While the majority of the nation was engrossed in the movie their dream world played, she sat in her balcony, looking into the infinite. The blanket around her shoulders had fallen to the ground, the white dupatta on her chest swayed in the chilly December wind. The tears had dried up, and so had the desire. It had been a month since her husband, Kishore, had to part ways from her and this world.

Sitting on the artificial grass, she tried to find him – the brightest star – in the night sky. Her grandma’s words were failing to be a comfort. “The people we love the most become the brightest star in the night sky and you can always find them looking at you”, she had
told little Mira. Years later, as Mira’s eyes wandered to find the love she had lost, she could see nothing but the white cloudy layer.
Everything had suddenly become lifeless, colourless. A few hours earlier, she had stood in front of the almirah to look at her clothes; this time not to decide what to wear but to pick them up for disposal. Her maroon wedding dress, the little black dress Kishore had gotten her, the pink Lucknowi Kurta, the green polo tee with blue dots, purple trousers, the orange georgette kurti she was planning to wear to a wedding next month. Stacking away every colourful piece of clothing in a big bag, she leaned back and rested her head on the pink bedroom wall. Her favourites now rested in a
bag and in their place lay white kurtis, the pale yellow salwar kameez and the like.

Thinking about the donation – the decision of the crazy society – she looked up again. The colours from her life had vanished. The essence which made her life brighter had escaped from her life and all she could do was follow the norms of the so called care takers. “Don’t dress up in bright coloured clothes, girl”, “Live life simply”, she couldn’t believe that in the 21st century, she was surrounded by people who still lived by old principles. At that moment, something struck her. Whether it was the month long grief or the mess she had been, she didn’t know. Never had she been so weak. She always thought of herself as the bold and courageous woman, the one who never followed the herd mentality, the one who never shied away from expressing her thoughts. Why was she being so
different now? Kishore had always loved the Mira that she was and she too wanted to be her old version.

She got up from the grass and walked towards the room, opened the big black bag and replaced the simple white clothes with the coloured ones – the ones she owned, the ones she could call hers. She changed into the comfy green pyjamas and made herself a cup of warm milk – the way it was before. And as she carried the cup to the balcony, her eyes moved towards the black sky and there it was,
smiling, the brightest star she had ever seen. Her grandma was right after all.