I.
Black, where are you Black?
Looking out over endless stretches, I see the desert lying vacant like the lull after a quiet storm, my face as radiant and empty as The Pale Moon. I am alone, stillness in the air, the shuffle of feet. A great line from ‘here’ to ‘there’ separates me from you, but still, I remind myself, somewhere in the great distance, hovering like a dream, there is Hope, there is Black. I squint hard, but as far I can see, there isn’t much. A shadowy outline appears like A Blind Spot in My Eye, a speck of dust, or perhaps, someone, or something, approaching. I stand still, neck stiff, hands rough.

What if I don’t move and stay as I am? Would you find me? Would you dare to traverse this open lot, this space between us, to become more like me? I am White, Black is Black. I have no desire to be Grey, but with each step I take, I find shadows looming in front of me, waiting to engulf me. I am White, and if I am not that, what am I? I know Black is as proud as me; then how can I expect Black to come towards me? Black as Black is, as black as The Night that Gathers Around Me, penetrating me with its inky light, spread across my naked membrane…but night passes, it is not like this. With every step I take across this land that stretches before me, the land behind me falls away, like my past, into A Silent Abyss. If it no longer exists, how can I ever go back to where I was, to where I started, to when I was just White? But, I can’t wait here either. There’s no time. Waiting, I grow old. If I move, I become Grey. My thoughts consume me. If this were an ocean Black, I would drown. Would you save me then? Would you give yourself up to find me in this No Man’s Land?

Silence, like Terror fills me. I am starting to lose my bearings. Where do I end and where does the Universe begin? Do you exist in this Universe Black, or are you A Figment of My Imagination? Are you here to taunt me until my time is up, until the hourglass turns, and time starts all over again? Will we ever reach that place, the place between Lost Souls, Lost Loves and Unrequited Desires? I long for that place. I’ve never seen it, although I’ve read about it, I’ve even seen it in the movies, but....

Oh! If only I could reach you, this planet would seem much smaller!

II.
And even as I say this, I know I would not give myself up for you. My desire for you is purely selfish. I mix with Shades of Grey not to be Black like you, I know I can never be. And as much as you want to be me (I know you do!), you too, Black, know that you can never be White, as white as The Fastidious Moon on the Darkest Night, as white as An Untouched Swan Gliding to Eternity, as white as white can be. I am even whiter than that, whiter than your purest thought, the seed of an idea planted before its Germination into Being. Do you wonder about my existence too? I search for you, in search of myself.

Yet, until my time had come, until the Universe beckoned me towards you, I never gave a moment’s thought to your true color. Tell me Black, is black a color or just an idea? Do you even know? You come into being with every step you take towards me, across this Never-ending Grey-scale of Doubt…I’m right, am I not? The Truth that eludes me lies somewhere between us; I know that much even if I don’t know exactly what it is I’m looking for.

At the Moment of Being, I cease to be. When I say I want to be you, I take you for granted. When I need to find you, I Grasp Your Existence. At all other times, you are Only An Idea for me, as rough-hewn as the Beginning of Time, a Formation out of Dust. You and I are not Immortals anymore. The absolutes we once were have been obscured by Time’s Journey, by our dependence on each other. Two extremes cannot exist without the other; isn’t that true? There’s a Law of Opposites that says we must be drawn to one another against all odds, but what happens when we meet? Is it in The Middle, is it more to your End, or to mine? When we meet, do we adjust The Scale and start again, from The Beginning? Do we look back and trace the path from where we came? Or do we pass each other like Two Silent Ships in the Ocean?

I assume the line from me to you is straight and there’s only one. But what if there is more than one? What if the line curves and bends and weaves, and flows into other lines? Do all the lines lead me to you Black? I thought I would always recognise you; if I know all my values - which I should - then surely I must learn to recognise yours? You are the complete opposite of me, after all. Ha! You know, if you don’t move, and I come over to your side, I will be the Darkest of Dark Grey. And if you come to my side, all the way over to me, then you will be the Lightest of Light Grey! We could pass for each other, couldn’t we? But you know, no matter how hard anyone ever tried, they could never mix Pure Black, and they could never mix Pure White. A touch of black and my whites are destroyed forever. One touch of white and you become Grey, like all the zillions of Grey Shades in the World and the Next…you would be part of The Infinite! Imagine that, Black!

But what’s this, I have taken but a few steps since I materialised in this desert, and already The Shadows have reached my feet. What if a shadow owns my toes, creeps towards my ankle, and…I shudder. Those shadows have you in them, Black. I can see you, but only glimpses of you, Everywhere. Why is the world so cruel that it keeps you out of sight, and yet I feel your presence in everything around me? I feel your embrace, and then it’s gone. I open my eyes, stung by the heat.

These shadows dance in the sand, they torment the sun, they leave nothing untouched. Everything has a shadow, but I’ve never had one. I’m too squeaky clean. Think about it Black! The only thing that can’t cast a shadow is White! So white am I that even shadows are baffled by me! I don’t exist, but then the same must be true for you too! The only thing I can’t escape is The Pull of the Universe that won’t let me be. I resist it by all means. This is the side of the world I should stay on. But still I move towards you, like a Virgin to Sin. You could corrupt me. I would never be the same again. What’s that you say, Black?

My story with Black is as old as Human Time, maybe predating that to the Beginning of the Universe. Mine is a Love Story, but not the gentle kind, but the bittersweet kind, the kind that always endures, long past The End of Affection. In this desert, everything seems like water, even the air, teasing my dry, flaking skin. But I know in my Mind’s Eye, hope is far away, and with it, my thirst, quenched as it were, of Love.

What is the distance between us, Black? A mile, two miles, three...Forever? I can’t let such thoughts enter my head. Even if you are somewhere across the Universe, far beyond this arid plain, I hope you’re waiting for me as I go on searching for you. You know I have called your name; you have known at times, at the best of times, my need for you. But each time I come close, you resist me, my definition, the Shape of All Things…I cannot live without you. This much I know, I have always known.

III.
For those of you haven’t heard The Story of Black and White, I’ve told it to you now, The Abridged Version, as I heard it, straight from The Horse’s Mouth. I don’t want to say too much, for fear of ruining the end, the end is yet to come. I’m sure you hate it when that happens, so I will keep my trap shut, and tell you the end when I’m ready, The Story of Black and White, as it was told to me for the first time. You may recognise this story, others like it have been told. But none quite like this one. It’s a story that is the age of the Earth, perhaps older than the Universe. I am sorry to say it’s a story that touches on Love, like all human stories. I can’t avoid it. It happens to all of us. It’s happened to me. As much as I would like to ignore that part of the story, it would haunt me if I didn’t tell it. So forgive me that. Maybe the story will make some sense, eventually, to someone who is more generous. Someone with An Open Mind.

Last, but not least, I would like to dedicate this story to every artist who has ever tried to mix the right shade of grey. I am sure you well know The Power of the In-between....

The author is a gallerist, artist and writer who lives in Mumbai.

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