Coloured Me Grey (Book Two)

Chapter 9

"Dadabhai!" Zara squealed once I rang the bell while removing my shoes at the door.

"Hey you." My thoughts had been drifting off to Ishan too often after getting discovered by the painter boy that day. Her voice automatically brought a smile on my face.

"I drew a market scene today! And I drew this kitty stealing fish and Art Ma'am gave me a star on that!"

She stood on the sofa in our living room, holding out a picture of a cat with a fish in its mouth, smiling like a cheshire cat herself.

"That's wonderful," I kept my bag and took the picture from her hands. "Just make the whiskers a bit rounder."

The smile fell from her face. "You're always finding faults with my drawings."

I kept the drawing on the coffee table under a paperweight and took her in my arms. "And do you know why?"

"Because you draw better than me," she pouted.

"NO! It's because I don't want anyone else to find faults anymore. Correcting your faults at home is how you must grow."

I will make sure you grow up in the right manner.

"Doesn't the cat look sad and upset with its whiskers drooping down?" I pointed out in the picture.

She blinked rapidly and then said in a voice filled with wonder, "Yeah!"

"There. Make it look happier next time with rounder whiskers. Just like my little kitty here," I rubbed my nose in her stomach and like an instinct, she giggled.

"I DON'T HAVE WHISKERS, DADABHAI! HAHAHAHAHA." I picked up my bag from the sofa and carried her into my room, dropping her on my bed.

"So? How was your day at school?" I said as I started to unbuttton my shirt. "Didn't you have that Go As You Like contest?"

"YES!" She let out another squeal and started bouncing on my bed. "I won the second place!"

I laughed at her excitement. In the morning, when I had dressed her up as a clown before leaving for college, she had cried out of fear after taking a look at the mirror. It ruined all the paint I had put on her face and even though I received some punches from her pudgy fists, the collective effort of me and mother calmed her down enough for me to redo her make up. Coulrophobia is a real thing. Not for my sister though, she laughed at her reflection as a clown once she started doing weird shit with her red ball.

"But you ruined it all," she mocked disappointment.

"Arey! What did I do again?" I began to take out my clothes to be worn at home, from the nooks and corners of my wardrobe.

"Pretty Girl came dressed as a bride! I wanted to be her groom but she didn't want a clown for a husband! But she let me sit beside her for the rest of the day."

"She will accept you once she sees you in your normal self tomorrow."

"But she will know nah, that I am a girl? Girls can't be grooms," she stated as she fidgeted with the chain of my bag.

"That's what evil clowns want you to think. Kids like you can be anything they want."

"They can?"

"Anybody can. Remember Zara, you'll always have a choice. Choose wisely."

Enough moral lessons for a day for a six years old.

***

"Do I look like a groom?" Zara posed in front of me in her schooldress.