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  • Writer's picturevarsha alimchandani

colors to the blind

The more life gets old, everything goes like breath in and breath out, the binarity. Rich or poor, famous or ordinary, male or female, love or hate, free or trapped, dark or fair, selfish or kind, loyal or cheater, day or night, cold or hot, dry or moist, long or short, fat or thin, fresh or stale, natural and unnatural, brave or coward, healthy or weak, intelligent or dumb, beautiful or ugly, high or low, spicy or bland, soft or hard, delicious or inedible, celebrity or failure, young or old, good or bad, organized or clumsy, con or gullible, brand new or worn out, genuine or fraud. Every moment, these tags and opinions are being implanted into human herds, like products in factory being packaged and named.

But what about the period between breath in and breath out? The holding and the directing to endless possible ways? The moving or uncontained thoughts? The period of becoming or not becoming anything?

There is a battle and a desire to overthrow everything that affects our choices and perspectives. And after a few months, we learn to steal moments of freedom from our own lives by altering their viewpoints. Definable, they aren’t polar opposites like binary, but they bend in certain directions to survive.

A bright street lamp burns over dark still water, but what is the significance of the bright reflection of the lamp? You can touch the lamp and you can touch the water, but you cannot touch the reflection, so does it not exist? Beyond this binary day and night, why are dawn and dusk so "moving"?

Life that we perceive, is held by countless shades of the dusk and the dawn, till we simply name it as dusk or dawn. Our narration happens in day or night, passed or failed, we dump unceasing feelings in the compact dress of dictionary. Finding a word in vocabulary that describes how you have felt for the entire day is somewhat comforting, or to find out what word exactly is causing those unusual cramps in the stomach. Whereas these words only label, rather than convey any significance of feeling or the process, despite knowing detailed definitions, we don't really know anything.

We keep tagging and labelling ourselves every day in various aspects, life becomes a stock holding based on these markers. But somehow, we cannot pursue the greys in us, we must name every single shade and imprison it! We allow to be tagged by a binary label, and somehow, we believe on it, our insecurities push us to repeat these labels until we attach ourselves to them. In addition to fighting for labels, we fight ourselves internally with them. Like a stranger, we try so hard putting on a show to ourselves, we convince ourselves of the free-aid labels, repaying the endless loan with our life. As a clown on the street convinces the passersby that he is extremely cheerful, as if there is nobody else he would rather be or he rather is. And then we try to put everyone in the binaries, because we want contemporaries in insecurities. We want bird to climb the tree just like monkey, we strip the bird of its flying. We fixate their image in our heads and we vouch for it, and why won’t we do it, hell we couldn’t even spare ourselves!

As much as we try and keep trying for years after years to stick to the labels, or to change from one label to another, to hold on to a better label, keep trying to define and contain, keep imposing to solidify, ironically, we can never settle.

Breathing in and breathing out is the key to life, but every breathe is newborn, and it is this uncontainable undefined breath that keeps us alive until we put on a show. We are our most loyal audience, and we always know what all it could have been.

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