The Colours of Humanity

“Oiii! Hari! What do you think you are doing? Come back here this minute!” I shouted at the little five-year-old boy with blue jeans, a red sweatshirt, and brownish curly hair. He did not listen – pretended not to! He tried clambering on to the boat that took tourists around on the artificial canal that ran around Chester Zoo. We had already had a round in the boat; fed bread to the lovely ducks swimming along with the boat; and admired the animals at the periphery of the zoo. The little one in the pram was not yet a year old. She dozed off and on, snug in her little pink anorak. And Dilip – he was busy photographing the birds and animals there. The gardens were beautiful, with flowers of all colours spilling over. We were entranced by the flaming colours of the flamingoes. The giraffes, hippopotamuses, penguins, and zebras – in short, all the animals – seemed quite happy, as they had large open spaces to ruminate in. What caught my attention was the brown striped animal – the Dobra – a cross between a zebra and a donkey. I loved his long ears and snoozy expression. He could have been a striped Eeyore (of Winnie-the-Pooh fame) come to life!


It was time to break for lunch. I had to take the baby to the baby-changing room as well. We don’t change the babies there. We change their bottom thingies. This Hari! As usual he was doing “pyjama”. This was a phrase we coined at home. We used it to describe his directionless, sometimes over-the-top hyperactivity. Its origin was a funny Hindi idiom – “Tum aadmi ho ya pajama?” – are you a man or a pair of pyjamas? Well he did flop around like a pair of pyjamas without a man in them! He was doing much “pyjama” to get his toe into that boat. Oh no! He’ll fall into that water! Horrendous Hari!

I marched up to him, preparing to drag him back unceremoniously. “He’s mine!” shouted a black lady. I looked at her angrily. What the hell was she talking about? She had a white ginger-haired partner and they were heading towards Hari. Hey! Hang on! “That’s mine!”

The boy turned around – wheatish brown skin like Hari, same height, same dancing curls, same missing teeth, same “pyjama” behaviour! He was not Hari. Hari had brown eyes; this one had blue. The curl in front of his forehead was tinged with ginger. Amazing – I could have sworn he was Hari, but he was a product of two different races and cultures, neither of which were mine!

I turned back with the pram and the baby, puzzled and worried.

And guess what – Hari and his Dad were standing a few feet away and laughing at me!