A visit to the nearby town

 

Colors represent the mirthful gratuity of mother nature. The void, the nothingness gets striped with sacramental plentitude of membranous manifestations of an entire array of colors. All it takes is just a few colors to transmute the dull, plastid screen into a lively drama.

Colors speak a lot about our personality as well. The colors of cars, for example. Whenever I see a red car on the road, I brace myself for some extra caution. The red cars seem to whizz past with infernal temper. They look highly competitive and seem eager to smite away any other vehicle in speed and attitude. They gesticulate quite forcefully and look like a big siren warning you to stay away. The people driving red cars carry a bit of extra adrenaline, which is helpful for fun and adventure but is pushy for those around. Moreover, extra adrenaline on the road is an inappropriate setting. So give them enough space as they go raising a tornado on the road.

As I went lazily on my scooter on the road, going to the nearest town, mulling over the credits and debits of life, the red signal flashed in the rear-view mirror. Instantly I left the entire road to the red-gallant. You are blameworthy if you don’t do it, especially in case of angry red bigger vehicles than yours. Do it to avoid any gruesome spectacle. As it passed arbitrarily shoving away any opposition, flaunting its extraordinary stature, the windy storm was enough to shake me and my tiny two-wheeled machine. My stewardship pretty heavily shaken, I went still slower.

After fifteen minutes, I reached a congested crossing in the town. On a packed road in towns, the two wheelers carry some advantage. They need little space so that you can maneuver among the bigger vehicles stranded for space. As I slowly trudged ahead, I saw the red car. I crossed it with a self-styled smirk. The tortoises still win the races, after all. The Indian roads are a great leveler. To allay the fears of slow movers, let me point out that the costliest cars cannot fly. And the pony carts and slow guys like me have as much chance in reaching the destination as any of the costliest, reddest car.

Then there was a sight to behold my attention in the town. A golden retriever proves that it’s indeed a capable retriever. At the confectionary shop, it knows which biscuits to retrieve to match the spools of pleasantry in its mood. With an admixture of loyalty and authority, it walks by the side of its master, safely holding the biscuit packet in its mouth.