Biprorshee Das

STOP! Look. Act.

I was asked to contribute to Fitoor yet again, and all I gathered from the brief was that the theme this time is "red". In my many years of being a "writer", those spent writing to earn money, those to gain recognition, some to score those crucial "marks" in exams, those spent to learn this is all I can do, this might be the oddest brief I've received.

What do I write about one of my least favourite colours? Should I decline the invitation this time? Argh! How do I say no (a question I've never quite mastered)? Every time I pause to think. I pause. I stop. I look. I think I'll act later.

And there it is, like it always was. RED!

I am driving down a busy road. It's a packed day. There are calls to return, deadlines to meet, decisions to make. And then, inevitably, the signal turns red.

I have to stop.

I hate it, especially on a busy day. The interruption feels unnecessary, almost offensive. I was moving. I had momentum. And now I must wait. Those few moments when I do, whether at a red light or just while taking a break from whatever I am doing, are often some of the better ones I get to spend with myself. There is no forward motion to chase. No immediate action to take. No green light to justify my rush. Just a brief suspension. I can think about anything but what I was obsessing over moments ago. I can replay a conversation. Revisit a mistake. Relive a small victory. Or simply stare at nothing at all. It is a chance, an opportunity to be better. It is a gift, and to pause and think right, that's an art.

Stop what you are doing. Here's your red!

Reading a book? Stop!

Watching a show? Stop!

Scrolling endlessly? Stop!  

Pause for a few minutes, pack into those few minutes the life you've lived so far. It sounds dramatic, but I told you it's an art. Pick a moment you could have lived differently. Sit with it. Not to punish yourself — to understand it. Or choose a moment you lived exactly the way you hoped you would. Linger there.

You and I lead busy lives. We pride ourselves on momentum. We celebrate acceleration and impatience. But red reminds us that unchecked movement is not strength; it is compulsion.

The pause is not weakness. It is discipline. Red does not care what you do with the stillness it imposes. That responsibility is yours. It merely gifts you space. What you fill it with – regret, gratitude, clarity, denial – is entirely up to you.

Ah, the red gift! Did I tell you I can't stand the colour? It looks hideous on me. But perhaps that's the point: red was never meant to flatter. It was meant to interrupt.