From Colors to Kin

The fabric of our character is akin to a canvas painted with the various shades of our emotions. Human life, thus, unfolds in a spectrum of colors.

Some tones are dark and quite —grey and black, melancholic shadows—while others shine brightly, radiant and vibrant. In some, a single dominant color prevails. Yet, many display shades, similar to a woodland where diverse plants coexist, some enchanting and magical, others less sightly and even poisonous. At times, we find ourselves wrapped in the green of envy, invaded by the red of anger, soiled by the yellow-belly of cowardice, stained by the white of shock and fright, or submerged by the black of melancholy. Our deep-rooted psyche, sculpted by upbringing and personal experiences, determines the palette we present to the world. In this intricate act, we are also the products of the genes we inherit through generations.

I wish I had inherited the pleasant palette of my grandfather’s character. I can still vividly remember his detached yet caring smile. Such scenes in my memory’s canvas, are painted in pastel green, with his face light and radiant. I can still see his piercing small greyish eyes and at the tip of my fingers, I can still feel his sun-tanned skin, smooth but thickened by years of exposure to the dry mountain air. Physically, he stood relatively tall with a large stature. His hands could easily cover a substantial wooden log. When I close my eyes, I see him in my mind's eye, effortlessly splitting logs with the rusty, unsharpened old axe from our underground storage.

As a young man, though, my grandfather was known for his candid character and his meticulously cared-for long hair. However, the glory of his hair met an unexpected end due to a malicious joker. This trickster suggested treating his hair with tree gum to sustain its beauty. Since then, my grandfather never let his hair grow again.

Later, his candid nature was transformed into a silver-sharped wit. His wit, holding a sarcastic quality, was both entertaining and easily tolerated by most of his friends and rivals. While red of anger and black of melancholy weren't his most intense tones, when he spoke, though, of unkind and deceitful individuals who never reciprocated his kindness, his language would turn vivid and colourful. In those moments, he would swear with imaginative intensity, especially in regard to their wives—a caustically harsh fantasy not feasible in reality. Thus, a silver sharp of the sarcasm would replace the red in his anger.

His most remembered sarcastic feat took place later in his life while his children and grandchildren were in the capital city, he still used to go back to his village in the south. As the story goes, he faced a denial of his share of wood by the village chief, who cited the absence of his sons in the village as grounds for reduced entitlement. The chief argued that houses with 'less smoke coming out of the chimney,' meaning those without wives and children, had lower priority and deserved lower wood volumes. In response, my grandfather, ever quick-witted, proposed a solution: if the chief gave him one of his many wives, the village would be filled not only with smoke from the house's chimney.

In the fading days of his life, a civil war raged, tearing apart different ethnic groups. Amidst the chaos, an Uzbek fighter entered the house, asking if any Afghans (referring to Pashtuns) were in there. From his dying bed, my grandfather responded in Persian, his thick Pashtun accent prevailing, 'If there were Afghans in the house, you would not enter the house standing on both feet.' The fighter chuckled, and later, despite the intense street fighting, ensured my grandfather received a proper burial.

After an adventurous life with endless struggles, in an ironic twist of fate, despite the numerous sons and daughters of both my father and grandfather, they both met their ends alone.

‘- Maximus?

-       Quintus! Release my men…There was a dream... It shall be realized. These are the wishes …’

In a final scene of 'Gladiator,' we see Maximus fatally wounded giving his last instructions. He then fall to the ground and find himself in a dream, flying back home through wheat fields - wheat he touches at the tip of his fingers. Awaiting him are his wife and children with their radiant smiles. Smile is indeed the most beautiful emotional color inherent in human beings – much like my grandfather’s…I am imagining would welcome his men and women to the eternal peace.

‘Vois-tu, je sais que tu m'attends.’*

You see, I know you're waiting for me.

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*V. Hugo, 'Demain, dès l'aube'

The Photo is from Instagram @patina_perfection