Esther Chilton

How’s your week been? I’m sure it’s been hectic, if it’s been anything like mine. Well, it’s time for my Guest Writer Spot, so sit back and enjoy an entertaining story from the lovely Ritu Bhathal.

Where do the Colours Come From?

By

Ritu Bhathal

“Oh, Matty, not again!” I placed my cup of tea on the dining table and hand on hips, tried to send a look of stern disappointment to my child.

I’d only popped into the kitchen to flick the kettle on, leaving the mischievous three-year-old for a moment.

Yes, that minute was a little longer, as I chose my mug for the day and dropped a teabag in, ready for my morning cuppa.

Oh, then I had to load the tumble dryer with the wet clothes I’d forgotten to decant from the washing machine last night. Praying they wouldn’t have that awful damp smell when dry, and require another wash, I hastily transferred them, making sure I hadn’t left any errant socks on the floor.

Machine on, the kettle switched off, so I made my drink; splash of milk, no sugar; and ambled back to the living room, mug in hand.

Where Matty had discovered the fresh box of crayons that I had left on the dining table with a new colouring book. I daren’t think how he actually got up on the dining table, and back down again…

This lockdown had been exhausting, what with trying to work, part time, answering calls from my ever-demanding boss, and keeping this little monster occupied so he didn’t disturb his rather grumpy father who was definitely suffering the effects of cabin-fever. I tell you what, I shall look upon the team at his nursery with a new-found respect, after this. How they manage to keep one occupied boggles my mind, let alone twenty of the little buggers!

After a forty five minute wait in a slow moving line to go and get the groceries, I had rushed around, picking up all the things we needed, then in the children’s aisle, there was a display showing colouring bits and pieces. Great! If I got a couple of things, that would keep him occupied for a while. Might buy me ten minutes for an uninterrupted cup of tea, at least.

And now, here we are, with a pile of jumbled, broken crayons. A total bug-bear of mine. Why do children feel the need to snap them in half? This is why I seem to have so many crayons, because I can’t bring myself to use them with him, when they’re broken.

Breathe, Susan. He’s only little.

“Matty, why did you break all the crayons?”

His angelic little face beamed at me. “Wanna see the colour!”

“You want to see the colour? Well, all you have to do is,” and I picked up one piece of broken crayon, then drew some lines on a page in the colouring book, that had also been brought down to the floor, helpfully, by my son. “There. See. That’s purple. Can you say purple?” Never miss an opportunity for him to learn.

“Pupul. Where pupul come from?” He grabbed the crayon, and proceeded to peer at the broken end, as if expecting something to crawl out, a little man, producing the colour, or something. He picked up another crayon. “Wed!” Red was his favourite. He repeated the peering with this one too, then a few others. Then he used them on the paper, creating scribbles. Furrows appeared between his eyebrows as he became more and more perplexed with the whole idea of where this colour was coming from.

How was I ever going to explain where the colour came from, to him? I glanced at the cooling mug that I’d left on the table.

So much for that hot cuppa…

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To find out more about Ritu’s books, click here

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