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I shuddered when my class teacher shouted again, “Eat the green vegetables, children.” She had a foot ruler in her hand as she went around the classroom staring at children holding on to their plates on their benches during the lunch recess.
I didn’t have any greens in my plate even today. I was alarmed as she got closer to my desk. I wanted to be a ‘good girl’ and, in a state of panic, picked up, whatever I could find and started plonking it down my mouth. The blue or grey or whatever dry curry, and those yucky tasting reddish marbles that called themselves vegetables found their way into my stomach.
“Eat those greens out there,” she pointed towards my plate. I deciphered the dish she seemed to be pointing at, but my bench partner next to me nudged me with her arm to take the vegetable next to it. I had no nerve to argue and, even though I hated the taste, I put it in my mouth. I heaved a sigh of relief as madam moved ahead of our bench.
But it was only for that day. The day was over, and the next one arose. Madam started her lunch recess rounds again. This time she went around the class shouting, “Eat the reds now, children.”
It was time again for more panic. I had to tell my mother to get this right. I didn’t have reds in my plate today. But the foot ruler in my class teacher’s hand and her loud thundering voice left no chance for me to say anything, lest it leave an imprint or a mark on my hand or my back. I was a ‘good girl’ so I followed all her instructions and ate whatever she pointed at.
It was only after a few more rounds during the lunch recesses that week and a few foot ruler imprints on my arm that the four of us – myself, my bench partner, my class teacher and my mother – realized that I was colour blind.
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