There comes a time in everybody’s life when everything suddenly seems to blend into a whole. When everything you’ve ever witnessed in your life seems to complement the other so perfectly. When suddenly you realise that all your life was built up for this one instant. A sort of realization almost; a kind of a Eureka moment. When you realize that all the things you ever knew were but a charade and that in reality, there’s so much more to experience and so much more to see. It’s a beautiful moment really, when the colours of vitality splash across your mind so vividly, when the waters of reality unglue your closed eyes so gently and when the sparks of happiness chase away the melancholy so vivaciously.

        Tell me when you witness yours, will you? Because I witnessed mine today and I can promise you, life never seemed so beautiful before.

         The revelation came to me suddenly, you know; out of the blue almost. A rush of memories pounded through my head and suddenly everything seemed so crystal clear, so pristine and so pure. It was catalyzed, I believe, by an almost careless statement uttered by one of my comrades as we sat silently on the grass while the afternoon sun dipped low.

         “Rainbows don’t exist.” It was a curt, ungrateful comment. Our ears perked up. I heard a few doubtful murmurs and few assents. Indeed, what testimony did we have that they existed? It was that moment and that statement that would suddenly make me view life through an entirely new perspective. “Rainbows aren’t real,” She said again and her bitter voice clutched at my heart with cold hands, “They don’t exist.” I didn’t want to believe her, but unwillingly I found myself doing just that. I felt myself slipping down, deeper and deeper into the pits of darkness, of despair, of skies where rainbows didn’t exist.

          Then suddenly, it happened.

          Memories, I mean. They seemed to flood through my mind with such vigour, such a force, almost coercing the darkness out of me. Flashes of past exploits, of adventures, of sorrow and happiness bounced across my mind. Indeed, you might even say that I saw my entire life of sixteen years, five months and seven days flash before me.

           I saw Mother as well. I saw her the most. And along with her, came every little thing she had ever taught me. I saw myself as a three year-old learning the first lesson of my life. Mother guided me to the garden and placed something in my fingers. I felt it. It was soft, so soft. I brought it close to my nose and sniffed it vigorously. It had a wonderful smell too. I rubbed it against my cheek and sighed volubly. I heard Mother’s tinkling laugh in the background. She gently patted my back and told me that what I had just felt was a flower and that it was Violet in colour. I never understood colours back then. Honestly, I still don’t. Colours can never be felt. They were one of the few things that can only be seen.  But violet sounds like it could make for a beautiful colour.

          I carried the flower around everywhere. I would it out to every person I encountered and manipulate them into praising the flower. I believed the flower would feel good then. And I would as well. But a day into my little pantomime and I began noticing the subtle changes that came over the flower. It seemed wrinkly. It wouldn’t rub against my cheek in a smooth motion any longer. It wouldn’t smell beautiful any longer. I felt the tears building up in my eyes as I ran to Mother as fast as I could. She took the flower from me, gently my hair and told me, “Amber, this is your first lesson of many; the flower has withered away. It will not be with you forever. Nothing will. Remember that.”

         And I nodded through my tears, even though I barely understood what Mother was saying. But I do now. Everything in life is transient. Just like my pet Violet.

         Indigo was mine. At least that’s what Mother used to say. When I reached the important age of five, Mother informed me, “Amber, I have something for you.” She had hardly finished the words when my sharp ears caught the sound of feet bounding towards me. Suddenly I was thrown back and something furry and wet trampled over me happily, dropping blobs of liquid all over my clothes. The furry thing was a Dog, as Mother informed me later. (And the liquid was saliva, but I had to find that out all by myself.) And the Dog, which apparently had a gender and was a proud woman, was christened Indigo.

         A few days of wary looks and sneaky faces, Indigo and I were the best of friends. It was then that Mother called me to her and gave me my second lesson. “Indigo is yours,” She told me softly, “Take good care of her because she belongs to you. She trusts you and she is all your responsibility.” Mother taught me the importance of possession. And I did take good care of her. I still do. She’s my Indigo.

          Blue is the colour of water. Many of you scientific folks will disagree and tell me that water is transparent and that it is neutral and all of that. But I firmly stand to my conviction. Water is blue. It’s only tears that are transparent. Mother taught me that when I was six and was crying bitterly over some broken toy or the other. She placed her arms around me and whispered in my ears, “Water is blue, you know. But tears are transparent. And transparent things are ugly.” She wiped a few tears from my eyes and said the words that made the most impact on me, “Transparent things cannot be seen.” I drew my breath in sharply. She gently rubbed my back and continued softly, “Never cry, Amber otherwise you’ll look ugly. Instead go bathe in the waters and let the drops of water trickle down your cheeks and make you beautiful.”

        To be fair, I don’t know how blue looks. But transparency sounds terrible if it’s something that cannot be seen. So be blue. And never cry.

        My next lesson was scheduled for when I reached eight. I had come across traffic signals in school. I knew them by heart. Red signalled STOP. Orange was a GET READY. And Green was my very favourite, a GO. I tugged at Mother’s sleeve and asked her pointlessly, just as children love to do, “Why is Green always GO? Why can’t Red be GO?” The question was harmless, but the answer was b with wisdom. Mother kneeled down. I felt the sudden swoosh of air run past my ankles as she came down with a sudden motion. She clutched at my arms and said, “Green is the colour of living, Amber. Green means you’re alive and ready to go.”

       If green was living, wasn’t red the opposite of it? She didn’t tell me about red just then though. She just told me about green. About living and being alive.

       I was ten and a most determined young girl. But even with my flights of imagination and bravery came the sudden realization of my disability. Mother had never let me feel my disability even once. We had devised numerous games that could be played easily. We had read hundreds, maybe thousands of books together. But sometimes, for no reason fathomable, the darkness would engulf me and I would cry. I would feel myself drowning in the darkness and I would thrash around trying to see the light. It was hard sometimes, living in such closed confines. And Mother understood it.

       Once, during my brief moments of obscurity and fear, Mother found me. She came up to me slowly and wrapped her arms around me, whispering comforting words to me. After I had calmed down slightly, she pulled away gently. She then placed her palm on my chest. She said tenderly, “You know what’s in there?” I managed to whisper back through my sniffling, “My heart.” She shook her head, I could feel the strands of her hair twirling back and forth, “No, Amber, there’s love in there.” And then a burst of light seemed to come through me. I didn’t feel the darkness anymore. “There’s love, Amber, love.” I asked back with more strength, “What’s the colour of love, Umma?” She paused, seemingly considering the question, “It’s Yellow.” She answered finally.

       People often tell me love is a colour called pink and is symbolized by hearts or candies. But for me, love will always be yellow. It somehow sounds a much happier and brighter colour than pink. And for me, love is symbolized by light. Isn’t love supposed to be beautiful? Light is supposed to be beautiful too.

         My next lesson was when I was eleven, when Mother handed me something. It was something that was round, slightly squishy and wonderful-smelling. “It’s an Orange.” Mother answered to my eager queries. I felt it for a few minutes, smelt it as well. I think a few minutes later I fell in love with it. I cradled it in my arms even as I skipped by with Mother along the dusty roads. It was then that Mother said something to me in a low voice, “There’s a hungry girl here, Amber.” I frowned involuntarily and clutched at the Orange more tightly. “Will you give her the Orange?” Mother asked me gently. I didn’t want to seem ungracious, but somehow parting with something I had just begun loving seemed so terribly unfair. But Mother’s next words convinced me, “She’s just like you, darling. She’s just like you.”

          Of course, I gave away the Orange to her. I like to think she was awfully pleased when she got it and that she smiled. I’ve never eaten an Orange, you know. I’ve bought tens, maybe hundreds of Oranges. But I’ve always given them away.

        I had to wait a while for my next lesson. I received it only last year. It wasn’t a very pleasant lesson compared to the others. Sometimes, I wonder what would have happened had I not received the lesson at all.

        I was fifteen and a most boisterous young lady and Mother, she was ill. I didn’t really know the extent of her illness until one morning when she called me to her bedside. I think it was the sound of her that moved me the most. Her voice was beautiful, like the tinkling of Christmas bells and the swaying trees in the gentle wind. But just then, her voice struggled to leave the sanctity of . It was dimmed and husky with emotion. But the happiness in it that once enthralled me was all gone. I reached out to her frail hand and clasped it in mine. I knew that this would probably be my most important lesson of all. Mother slightly turned her face towards me and with a tone so sad asked me, “Do you remember the traffic signals?” I was a little shocked, but nodded nonetheless. “Well, what did Green stand for?” She asked me softly.

“Being alive,” I muttered, biting my lips in a frenzied motion.

“That’s right, darling,” She smiled at me. I could feel the length of her smile emerge in her voice, “What was the opposite of Green?”

I could sense where this was going, but I wanted to delay it. I answered her questions, one at a time. I didn’t jump ahead. I wouldn’t. Or maybe, I couldn’t. So I answered slowly, “Red.”

“Right again. And what’s the opposite of being alive?” She asked finally.

“Dying,” The word choked up within me. I felt her hands shaking. She reached out and my hair like she used to when I was five and said, “Darling, I’m not going to remain Green any longer. It’s time for me to turn to Red.” I didn’t answer. But I didn’t cry either. She continued softly, “It happens to everyone. So don’t worry. And remember, I’ll always be there for you, looking down on you and watching out for you.” She paused, lightly brushing the hair off my face and said, “Do you know the best part?”

I shook my head. She pulled me close and whispered, “You’re still Green. You’re still Alive.”

       Mother died late that night. I was by her bedside until the very end. I didn’t mourn much after she died. I didn’t feel the need to. Mother had told me everything she wanted to. And she was always with me, wasn’t she? Besides, weren’t tears supposed to make you ugly? So I didn’t cry, or mourn, or lock myself up in the pits of depression. I lived on. I was Green, after all.

       These memories rumbled across my mind as I heard the curt statement, the belief that Rainbows didn’t exist. And suddenly, all my memories strung together in a most vivid fashion. Suddenly, a volley of emotions erupted within me. I felt the colours splash across my mind and the realization dawned on me. Life is beautiful.

        Life is beautiful because it’s transient. Life is beautiful because it’s yours. Life is beautiful because it never cries. Life is beautiful because it’s alive. Life is beautiful because it loves. Life is beautiful because it gives. And life is so, so beautiful because it’s not Death.

        I had experienced my rainbow. So I couldn’t bring myself to believe that rainbows didn’t exist. After all, hadn’t I just witnessed it? I determinedly stood up and pumped my fist in the air even though the effect was quite lost on my comrades. I loudly said, “Rainbows do exist. We just can’t see them.” But even as I said it, my nose crinkled in aversion. There was something wrong in that statement. I had seen my rainbow, hadn’t I? I thought a little and said again, this time with a little less vigour, “Rainbows do exist. You just can’t see them.” It was slightly better, but not quite. I lolled the sentence around in my mouth for a bit. I couldn’t place what I didn’t like in it.

      Then out of the blue, another variation left my lips. I had hardly to even think about it. I jumped up suddenly and screamed to the skies, “Rainbows do exist. And I can see them.”

Triumph. It sounded perfect. I could see my rainbow.

                                                                                                                   ***

        That very same evening, in the middle of a shivering winter, some people would say they observed a strange phenomenon. They would scratch their heads in wonder and swear that they saw a rainbow flitting across the sky as clear as the colours in their palettes. Scientists would growl and try to place the new sighting. They would frown angrily at those who would argue that it was a miracle. People would look at it in awe. Some would go have their eyes checked. Others would brush it aside as one of the many strange things that happened.

Scientists would call it a visual phenomenon.

Those who believed in God would call it a miracle.

But those who really believed in the Rainbow would call it just that – A rainbow.

I believe that Rainbows exist. Do you?

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A/N: I didn't want to sort of go right out and say that Amber is blind. But she is. So...-_- It's clear I think. 

Btw, I LOVE AMBER OMG WHAT SHOULD I DO DAMMIT AMBER AMBER OH LORD. 

Yeah.