Wrote something while going to office

“Gray”

I have forgotten what cities looked like. Were they always this gray? The roads are oddly so. As realistic as the metaphor of a concrete jungle could be visualised. Gray surrounds you. Everyday I go to work in a gray cab on a gray road surrounded by other grim faces wondering when did everything get to this level of gray-ness. All the while we are nestled by gray roadblocks trying to line our cabs in a neat column between the gray pillars that lift the currently under-construction metro station, that is also gray, that one can only assume would host another serenade of people going to work in a gray metro.

I reach my office and pay the auto driver chatting away with his friend, probably another autowala dropping another gray person.

I get into the gray building adored fortunately with a line of blue mirrors. I walk up the gray stairs and push the gray door to stare at the bright white desks and black chairs; as irony would have it, white and black together would make gray but that’s me being too harsh on the city. It’s not its fault, not all of it at least because I also see gray lives in this gray city.

The gray people have embraced the gray city to earn just enough money to buy colors whenever they find the time.

They don’t keep the colours here in the city. They keep those in their home towns along with their music and festivals and cultures. But that they never bring to this city. This city only gets gray. Or it only accepts gray.

I enter the room of gray people in my office with muffles of cusses thrown at the gray city blaming it for their gray lives.

I sit on my desk and wonder. What is grayer? The city or the people?

I wonder for a while longer before I, like everyone around me, open the lid of my expensive gray laptop and do work until it tires me enough to not ask preposterous questions about colors.