Colors at War.

Roaring pinks, bright burgundies, bloody reds, tantalizing yellows, exotic blues, and grotesque greens. It was all a blur. The flashy lights twinkled furiously- yellow, bright yellow, orange, even flaming red at times. All around me I could hear Pathan cloth vendors yelling out to potential customers, trying to lure them to their respective shops or stalls. In spite of it being after seven in the evening, the bazaar was a little world in its own. Pools of silk, chiffon, cotton and the finest materials adorned the streets, yards of cloth scattered around added to the festivity in the air… everything looked magical.

Circles and swirls,
Rounds and curls,
Colors and magic,
Some happy, some tragic,
Glowing faces,
Twinkling eyes,
Only smiles,
No more cries.
Sounds and light,
And Gleeful sights!


As Ramadan was coming to an end and Eid-ul-Fitr drew closer, shopping places became the ultimate resort for most people, especially shopaholics. In the humidity and heat of September, people still mustered up the courage to head towards open bazaars, like Aurega in Gulberg. A typical Friday evening shopping spree held so much in store for the people of Lahore, this was quite evident looking at the blazing lights, the rush, the traffic and the explosive colors of cloth attacking peoples’ eyes from all directions. As our car inched towards the parking area, my eyes were wide open, trying to absorb all the energy around me. I stepped out of the car, totally stupefied at the amount of hub dub around me. This was the first time I was spending Ramadan and Eid in Pakistan. This was also a first when it came to Eid shopping in the very Lahori style. I made my way through the crowds of people, trying my best to save my toes from the heavy pounding of various feet. I tried to stop at each stall to look at the clothes and feel them with my fingers to guess what the intricate pattern of threads suggested the material was. I wasn’t an expert, so I couldn’t distinguish cotton from linen. I witnessed an explosion of colors as each shopkeeper unrolled his lot of cloth. Cloth came reeling out of spools, screaming out different colors, each more appealing than the one before. It was really hard for me to keep up with the amount of color pouring out of each end of the street. It was as if the colors were at war- each crevice of the bazaar, a new battlefield. A blood red velvet provoked a glorious green. The green silk, gliding smoothly out of its roll, responded equivocally. Lavender linens tried to assert their presence too, as they fell back into a neat pile at the feet of the vendor. Black chiffons traveled in streamlined motion between the thumb and index finger of the keeper. The air rang with Pushto-accented Urdu and the rickety-rackety sounds of rickshaws as if tempting the colors to burst out into a war song. Beggars lined the streets, feigning physical and mental disabilities to gain sympathies of passer-bys. No matter how haggard and shabby they looked by face, their faces glowed under the searing fairy lights around. Street vendors walked from car to car, each of them selling bizarre goods- sunglasses, magic toys, hosiery, rosaries, table cloths, and watches. I wiped off the beads of sweat settled on my brow and looked around. I saw different people with their friends and families, some trying to bargain with the keeper, some scolding their naughty kids, some stopping by to munch on some popcorn. I saw people dressed in abayas, in jeans, in shalwar kameez, the diversity overwhelmed me. Huge billboards with pretty models with flashy grins endorsed cellular services, toothpastes, tea, or shampoos. It seemed as if they too were enjoying the amount of activity going on around them in that bazaar that day. My eyes feasted on the swirls of colors, energies, and patterns around myself. It felt like Eid already. I couldn’t help smiling at the diversity around me. Today, I finally realized that, yes, diversity is the spice of life.