Spectrum of thoughts...

The cold wind stung his face as he stepped out of the building. A three-odd-day-old stubble was not protection enough from the ravenous cold that was biting everything in its path. He zipped up the sweatshirt, pulled his cap over his ears and continued walking down the road with his typical swagger. There was a slight drizzle. He looked up at the sky - the sun was defiantly holding onto the rays of light, surrounded ominously by murky grey clouds. They were fast closing in.

There wasn't a soul in sight as he turned round the corner. Drops of rain were trickling down through the small gap in his sweatshirt, washing away the grime of the day's work from his muscular back. Streaks of grey on a wheatish canvas. He ran his hand through his hair. The diamonds that had cosied themselves on the furry coat were perturbed. They whooshed down the forehead and pierced his eyes. He shook them away with an amused smile, his eyes glinting with the shine that they left behind in their wake.

The cliff lay just ahead of him. The glass blades that stood defiantly had now given in to the two pronged assualt by nature - the beads that the heavens perspired had pinned them down while the wind strangled them. He walked to the edge of the cliff.
There was a bright hunchback rainbow that lay on the horizon. The colours were still fresh. He could smell them - the heady smell that greets you in a new apartment. He peered into the vast expanse that lay between him and the horizon. His eyes were a darker shade of the sky. He shut his eyes - a premature end to the consummation between the light and the dark.

And yet he could see the rainbow. Bright - it almost spelled VIBGYOR, the behemoth of the science techer by its side making him repeat what each letter stood for.
The Violet was the embossed letters on his office door "Shyam Mehta - CEO" ,imposing and regal. The Indigo was the tie he had chosen at the Van Heusen outlet after much goading by his wife and a fine display of flattery by the salesman. The Blue was his eyes as he drove a hard bargain at the latest acquisition deal - intense, compelling and passionate. The green was the envy of the Sharmas in 101, Prestige Towers as they watched the latest addition to his fleet of cars rolling into the driveway - the bitter bile transforming into words spitting themselves out of contorted lips.
And oh, the yellow was the zardosi border on chiffon saree that had wormed its way from his wife's eyes to his credit card statement. The sheen was blinding him. He shut his eyes tighter. The orange danced in the crystal glass as his fingers curled around the stem. He didn't drink..not even socially. The red unfurled itself infront of his feet - pleading to be trod upon. He stepped ahead.

His eyes opened wide as he almost lost his balance. For a moment fear turned them into a panicky black. And then they were back to their usual icy blue.
He looked at his watch. It was 6 pm. He had to go back to the building. The party would have got over by now. There would still be some souls clinging onto the last shreds of the evening. He would take the 'tools' and get back to work. And then someone would walk across the room - the size 8 Lee Coopers leavin their muddy prints on the floor, which glistened more with his sweat than with the phenol. A stamp of disapproval on his work. And he would start afresh - mopping away the prints from the floor, occasionally bending down to remove the styrofoam cups that lay strewn around. Work was an infinite loop for him.

He turned back for one last view of the rainbow. The colours werent there. The zardosi saree and the tie had been shrouded by the carpet. The letters had been peeled away. The green had settled itelf onto the grass. And the orange had clambered onto the rays and the crystal had shattered into thousand shards, which split the rays into the beautiful illusion before him. The dream drained out of his eyes. He was walking away from the dream - but he would be back again.