Pink

It is an overhyped colour; extremely overhyped. As overhyped as the colour pink can get; almost as overhyped as Chetan Bhagat and Amish Tripathi put together.

 

The world is treating it as the colour of love and romance; of sexuality and feminism. Statement like “Pink is not a colour; It is an attitude” making rounds amongst people young and old; men and women. Just so overhyped!

 

Every time a female baby is born the universe is stormed to get something pink for the baby. Pink bed; pink walls; pink cushions; pink wardrobes; pink lights; pink quilts; pink dolls; Pink. Pink. Pink. Little girls are expected, rather forced to love the colour pink.

 

I too was attacked by the pink colour as a kid. The first gift I remember receiving was a Pink doll; an ugly looking pink doll. The doll – Obviously named Pinky - for eternity was the villain in all my make-believe games. The one Mr. Brown bear loathed; the one who tortured my favourite monkey - Monkey till he howled. Pinky never lost an opportunity to punch Pac Pac man on the stomach. (He was called that because every-time he was punched on the stomach he would go “Pac Pac”) and she would always pull Joeys’ (the kangaroo) tail real hard.

 

One night they all got together against Pinky and with claws and teeth and nails and daggers ripped her apart. Literally. That was the end of Pinky.

 

But that’s okay, I am sure you’ve guessed that I never really liked her. And that is also when I realised that I did not like the colour pink. Rather I despised it.

 

I always avoided wearing pink clothes, pink accessories. Even today pink makes me feel nauseated.

 

Pink always reminds me of

• Pigs – Silly creatures, they only make sense when they are cooked to a nice brown and served on a dish.
• Dolores Umbridge – I hate her as much as I love Sirius Black and Severus Snape.
• Fruit flavoured bubble-gums – Yuck!
• Mrs. Magpie – one cafe in Kolkata I just don’t want to go back to.

 

Yes, pink makes me sick.

 

Ironically when I started writing a diary as a teen, had a lock, a pink lock. This diary was stuck to my life for ages. I was upset when I discarded it. The only good riddance, I thought, was the pink lock.

 

A couple of years ago, when the internet was ruling and online shops were being raided lying on the couch, (Ah! The bliss) I ordered a lock with a combination code for my backpack. (Yes, I am the weird kinds who like locks on backpacks) I swear; pinky swear, I ordered a grey one; but they delivered a pink one. YES, THEY DELIVERED A PINK LOCK.

 

I now use a backpack with a pink lock. I have also been called names like ‘The girl with the pink lock.’ It’s sad. I flinch. I wince.  But I guess I have to live with it; forever. Sigh!

 

I will carry pink locks to my death-bed and keep hating the colour pink.