by Dr Roshan Radhakrishnan
“What do you mean, colours?”
For a moment, I think he hasn't heard me. I imagine him standing there, his eyes focused on what lies beyond those windows.
“How old were you when you lost your vision?”
“Seven.” I reply.
“What colours do you remember?”
I close my eyes. At first, there is only familiar darkness. But then, the palette starts to brighten.
I see my mom's wavy hair. . . “Yellow.” I whisper.
My toy car... “Red.”
The beaches... “Blue.”
“They're all there, child.” I hear his words, but the catch in his voice is even more audible.
“Why are you crying?”
I feel him bend down and place his arms around me, hugging me tightly, as the sounds outside grow nearer.
“Imagine all those wonderful colours together.”
“Like a rainbow?”
“No. Even more splendid. The whole sky is just painted in all these lovely colours. Can you see it?”
I keep my eyes closed and slowly all the colours start to appear. They flutter around, coalescing with each other indiscriminately. They envelop me within their vibrance and I am one with them.
“Yes. Yes, I see it. It’s amazing.” I feel his cheeks widen as he smiles.
A moment later, the missile hits our building. I hear its deafening fury and feel the scorching heat for a brief moment but I see it not. In my eyes, I see only the last images my daddy painted for me.
They are the most beautiful images I have never seen.
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