Short Memoir for Class

Speaking of my English Creative Writing Course reminded me, we were assigned a writing assignment in class. Write a memoir. It sounded easy, and almost fun to write, had it not been for the fact that I wrote another memoir for another class just a couple of weeks ago. Another memoir already? *sigh*
I faltered, and I wrote this assignment two days past its assigned deadline. I went for a brief memoir as opposed to an actual five-page one. Here it is, the result of a lot of regret and self-condemnation, and one hour. And, let me warn you, it has an extremely cheesy title. Really.

The Colour of God


The gate loomed like a dark warrior in front of me as I struggled to hold back my tears. They wrestled with my eyes, pounding and aching to gain freedom. “They’ll be here,” I reassured myself.

A cloud of colour bursts into my eyes, bright and red, slowly sinking to the wet floor. I turn around, and Pragya comes charging at me, drops of water gleaming in the bright sun as they fall off her clothes, dancing like blood as they merge with the red powder flowing from her hands. “Happy Holi!!” she shrieks, smothering me with her red hands. I turn my lips in a smile and hug her. I can feel her bones touch my hands, sticking out at odd angles from her skinny body. “Why are you so sad? It’s Holi! Here, take this,” she yells at me, hopping excitedly as she hands me a packet full of something soft and squishy. “That’s the pink one. I still have some green if you want. Come, come, let’s go!” She takes my hand and pulls me behind her.

I feel the pebbles under my feet, skipping away as I trod over them. I could feel excitement slowly creeping up on me and destroying those tears. I ran over the familiar pebbles, crossing the clock tower and the ancient oak tree. I ran past the buildings filled with memories, calm and white, and ran into a masquerade of colours. The air was coloured, like a beautiful canvas, as if propped up by magic over hundreds of wet, screaming, colourful souls running around and throwing colour on each other. Green, red, blue, pink, yellow, orange, there was every colour known to man flooding the basketball court with its powdery mass. I stared at this beautiful madness, slightly scared, wholly shocked.

It was Holi.

I had waited all year; the day, till which all other days were feverishly deleted with black crosses on my calendar, and forgotten. The day where everything was bright and colourful and happy, spent joyfully skipping around and attacking everyone I loved with handfuls of soft, powdered colour and brutal, ice-cold water. It was Holi, I sang, and a smile slowly crept up on my face.

I tear open the packet, suddenly pumped up with adrenaline. I dip my hand into that green mass in the packet, and shout, “Holi Hai!!” My body feels like that of a body builder, suddenly filled with strength and muscle, and I charge at Pragya. She giggles and runs, as gallons of burning cold water suddenly pour down my back.

There began my Holi, covering every face in sight with moss-like green powder.

Now, I walk back to my dorm. Water drips down my side, and I shake myself, much like my dog, sending the water astray onto the mess of colour on the floor. The red and green and blue and yellow had merged together to form dirty black streams of putrid water flowing over the canvas. Pink streams flow down my legs, forming a puddle in the green ocean in my slippers. I look at my blue nails, cursing myself for not remembering my mother’s advice.

They hadn’t come.

I had crossed off twenty seven days in my calendar since my mother’s embrace. Twenty seven. I had counted. Twenty seven days of a cold winter spent shivering in a quilt, curled up to gain warmth from my own body. Twenty seven days spent in frantic anticipation.

“Are you coming for dinner?”

“No, I’m not hungry,” I growled back.

Here began another cycle of crossed out days. The moon was struggling to show from the blue expanse that was slowly turning to the dark side. Hundreds of feet slowly shuffled into the dining hall, leaving me behind, standing alone in the middle of the basketball court. I stood in the middle of dried up brown splotches – dull and dreadful. My heart slowly pounded in my feet, my whole body shaking with the strength of its beat. Hot streams flowed down my cheeks.

I suddenly sank into a warm, soft abyss, floating ecstatically over the dense love I felt. My parents hugged me, enveloping me in colourful happiness. I closed my eyes, hoping I was not dreaming. The abyss retreated and I opened my eyes, staring in wide-eyed wonder at them as if I’d seen God.

"We told you we will come. We will always come.”


I hope it makes sense and isn't a job too badly done :)