The Colorful People

Every place has its own color. While every country tries to unite its Culture across the state borders, every corner of it still has a fragrance and hue of the people that live in it. Coming to this country to me, may be due to my utter naivety of the world, meant only to come among Whites!! Some more pink, some yellow or some more paler than that...but the shade of the skin was akin to white in my mind. While light skin has continued to mean superiority for ages, we have persisted to ignore the illumination of the dark.

For whatever reason, everything in this "developed" part of the world had to fall in place and time. Breach of time, dishonesty,littering in the streets, hunger, homelessness - these words had seemed so unfamiliar and unacceptable for months. What it means to be in the United States of America was all shine and glory. But then I was told to be scared, too! Getting back late at night, walking alone in the alleys, being alone - if any of these are true, I am expected to be scared and cautious - not of darkness alone, but of dark people, too. I see them everywhere in the city streets, in the markets, in the libraries, at the eateries, at school and I always see them so colorful. They manage to talk aloud likeh there is no one around, they burst into laughter as if laughing their heart out, they can dress so colorful as in motley, they speak an English I hardly can follow, they swing to music at all moments and adeptly balance everything on their hip! They are huge, tall and big to me....and I know some who have even bigger hearts. They will call you "honey" at every approach and be the most comforting stranger in your pain. They do not always seem to be rich in money though, their dresses are creased, oddly bright or torn, often. But they have an aura of carelessness, and a contrast so starking to the larger paler population. They are impoverished, vulnerable, may be victims, too, of fear and being feared!

In our city, these oddly big, motley loud people commonly serve to carry the pedestrians on the city public transport systems. Limited to the Campus area, I often took the same bus to the same place for a year and became acquainted with a black man. I began with caution as had been advised while travelling on these buses. May be it was me or may be it was the student in me, this person would always talk to me. He was funny but he was kind, too. He would see a heavy bag on me and drop me far ahead of the stop. He also knew my regular companion and would ask about his absence some days. He said he wanted to visit India after he has saved enough. He was never silent on those travels and never was he without a smile. He would made me wonder at his energy and lightheartedness. I began to call him "Bus kaku" as I would have in my hometown. Of course, never called him aloud..but I wish I could. I have a car now and do not travel on the bus as much now. I have a secured seat, a more familiar person for the drive. But I miss the laughter, I miss his incessant words that were gibberish to me, I miss the long talks with him in those 15 minutes, and above all I miss his Color!!