In the early days of seeing each other, Rom politely requested that I “kindly refrain from wearing” my favourite salwar kameez , the one with tiny red flowers on a rich green background. Just as I thought darkly he's already telling me what to do, he explained: “The reds are flashing too much. I can't even look in your direction”. His colour-blindness sounded more like a psychedelic trip than a genetic mutation.
When the ‘flame-of-the-forest' trees are in full bloom, he can't see them until I point them out. If it's a solitary flower like the glory lily, then I have to describe its shape and location. Strangely, he can see the red after it is pointed out; it appears to be a question of recognition.
Once when Rom was on a trip to the U.S., I asked him to buy me a jacket. I guess my expression soured when I saw the gaudy green, and Rom innocently asked: “Isn't it grey?” On the other hand, he was reluctant to wear a grey shirt I had bought him because he thought it was pink! I wish he was a painter so he can depict how he sees the landscape!
Doris, Rom's mother told me what a mistake it was to allow either of her two colour-blind sons to drive her around northern New York State during the fall. Everyone else speechlessly marvelled at the wonderful mosaic of warm colours across the landscape, occasionally gasping “ooh” or “aah”. Before long, Rom and Neel would exaggeratedly mime, “ooh” “aahhh”, what gorgeous colours?” and then look at each other and collapse helplessly with laughter. To them, the entire landscape was a monotonous dull brown!
On the flip side, Rom finds those green and brown snakes faster than anyone else I know. That's because he trusts shapes, not colours. Then, he's the one who describes the vine snake or fer-de-lance and its location before I can see it. My colour-vision fools me when snakes are well-camouflaged. Call me shape-blind!
About 10 years ago, we were travelling through Rajasthan, and arrived at a remote village after a hot, dusty drive. We were shown to a large colourful tent where several turbaned elders were gathered around in a circle. A couple of men had come across the Pakistan border with beautifully-made swords wrapped in velvet, which the rest were taking turns examining very closely. As soon as we were seated, one of them offered us a gooseberry-sized sticky ball and pointed to a large earthen pot set in the middle. We were to tuck the opium ball in our cheeks and slowly sip buttermilk from the pot. While I politely declined, Rom was never one to refuse such an opportunity. I kept a watch on him out of the corner of my eye, half expecting him to keel over any minute! But he seemed surprisingly normal as did all the other venerable old chaps in that tent; opium seemed as casual as paan . The negotiation was long and tedious; time slid backwards and when it hovered somewhere in the 16th Century, a deal on the swords was struck.
A couple of hours later, on our way back to Jaisalmer, Rom commented that he was able to see the red saris on women. Long after the buzz wore off, he was merrily pointing out to various objects like a child who had learnt a new trick — ‘red', ‘pink', ‘orange', he rattled, and he was right every time. I wish I had been able to access the tests to diagnose colour-blindness then. About 72 hours later, the effects wore off.
Rom believes his brief colour-vision was due to the opium, but it seems illogical that a drug can nullify a mutation in his X chromosome. But, if I argue that scientists are still working on gene therapy as a cure, Rom playfully suggests that more experiments are needed to prove him right!
(The author can be reached at janaki@gmail.com)
