Tangents
Colours of <i>Our Lives</i>
Colours of the spice-seller. Photo:Ihtisham Kabir
Most of my years abroad were spent working as an engineer in Silicon Valley where I built software for digital imaging and video. Colour has always been an important - and sometimes contentious - part of visual engineering. Accuracy of reproduction is a thorny issue. A lesson came from early days of colour television, when the Americans, French and British all came up with their own colour TV systems. NTSC, the American system, was quickly dubbed Never Twice Same Colour, while the French SECAM became Something Essentially Contradictory to American Methods. The British PAL system was Peace At Last! But these are all abstract thoughts and ideas. When I returned from the USA to live in Bangladesh, I found myself immersed in real colours. On my first Pohela Boishakh here after many years abroad, the colourful attire - particularly that of women - dazzled me. Later, during my first Eid in Bangladesh in two decades, I noticed men, too, had started wearing colourful Punjabis. Since then, I have heard many expats and tourists comment on our use of colours, including the husband of a European ambassador who said he loved the colours so much that sometimes he wanted to jump out of his car and embrace people on the street wearing colourful clothes. During Eid, the bus and train stations and launch terminals are dotted with children wearing festive clothes. Adding to the magic are the henna-dyed hands and feet of women and children. But bright colours are not restricted to clothing. Nature, too has endowed Bangladesh with an abundance of colour. Summer's brilliant reds - krishnachura, shimul and mandaar flowers - are followed by rainy season's soulful variations of green. Winter brings the golden hues of mustard fields. These are punctuated year-round by the rhythmic green and yellow of the rice fields. Then, too, we have a penchant for applying colours liberally to our everyday things, starting with rickshaws. Buses and trucks are often painted with loud, garish patterns. Every Eid, certain alleyways of old Dhaka are painted with scenarios of celebration and piety. Sometimes a large flower or a scenic graffiti is painted on random walls, signed by the painter. (For some mysterious reason, most painters are called Nayan.) Some World Cup soccer flags from two years ago still remain in Dhaka alleys. Increasingly, I notice colourful buildings in smaller towns and villages. And one day, walking through Mirpur, I came upon a house shimmering like an island of colour in an otherwise grey neighbourhood. Village weddings are often announced by construction of elaborate multi-coloured gates. Festivals and religious observances such as Holi, Rash and Buddha Purnima are often accompanied by a show of colours, as are the elaborate constructions for Urs in many places. Making a living in Bangladesh is not easy for her people. Yet they work towards creating a brighter future for themselves and their children. Colours are an antidote to the hardships of the life led by many. Perhaps they also represent dreams of a better future?
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