Coloured Me Grey (Book Two)

Chapter 2 : Bleeding Black

"Why does Superman wear his briefs outside his pants?"

Now that was a tricky question. I have asked myself this question a number of times earlier and the only explanation that seemed to fit was -

"The superpowers are there in his briefs, not in the cape. He wouldn't have his powers if he wore his briefs inside."

"What about Batman, Spiderman and Robin?"

"Same, same."

"And Wonder Woman? She doesn't even wear pants."

"Her... I don't know." Now how could I explain something that was so beyond me?

"Why are you watching the TV so early in the morning anyway?"

My sister was addicted to the TV set in the living room. Any spare time, she could be found in front of it, with her eyes glued to the screen, devouring every superhero movies and shows the world could breed. And trust me, six year olds had too much of spare time.

Thank God she hadn't stumbled on Deadpool yet.

I flicked the switch off and stood in front of the television set while she pouted. 

"Dadabhai," she whined.

"Yes sister?" I sang in the same tune.

"Tee Vee."

"No can do. You're coming with me," I attempted to pick her up from the sofa but she crossed her arms over her chest and sank back into the cushions.

Uncooperating six year olds are damn heavy I tell you. 

"We'll draw some pictures together." I offered. 

"Paint?" she bargained. That was a unique talent she possessed. Who could say no to a wide eyed toddler?

"Okay." It wasn't often that I let her paint. She'd make mess of it everytime she painted.

Zara didn't even wait for me to give her the usual piggyback ride. She just dashed out of the living room into my room.

Mother looked over at me from the kitchen. She tossed a set of printed clothes for me to catch.

A pair of kitchen aprons?

"Put them on before you paint," she shouted over the sound of the chimney.

Oh, kitchen-come-painting aprons.

I found my sister laying sprawled on the bed and exhaling a deep, satisfied breath. "I love your bed so much." She hugged my pillow close with her pudgy fists, snuggling into it.

My baby sister was having an illegal, extralaundrical relationship with my bed and my pillow. Sounds pretty gross in my head too. I shall not let this obscenity continue.

But that can wait for a few minutes.

It was a rare opportunity to take out my paint supplies from the bottom most drawer of this ginormous structure I-don't-know-what-to-call-it in my room. I didn't usually paint.

Painting requires more concentration and intuition than any other arty jobs out there. You can turn a beautiful drawing into either a horrible one or a more beautiful one with colours. It was clear by now that I wasn't talented in keeping my concentration on something that doesn't involve hammer and nails or a chisel. But I didn't want to ruin the sketches with colours. Black is beauty. Colours are overrated anyway.

I tiptoed around the edge of my bed and slowly got up on it. Even if Zara had felt the bed dip beside her, she hadn't shown it yet. I abruptly caught her shoulder to keep her in place when her eyes shot wide open in alarm. She needed to be punished.