Previously..
Avi Sen, a leading optical scientist in Chicago, finds himself suddenly drawn back to his childhood village, Krishnapur, after nearly two decades abroad. Triggered by nostalgic memories of Holi, he arrives home to discover unsettling changes: colors once vivid in his memory seem inexplicably muted, even absent. With help from his friend Palash, he conducts careful experiments, revealing a troubling truth! That modern pollution and urbanization have subtly reshaped Earth’s atmosphere, quietly altering human color perception over generations. As Avi unravels this mystery, he realizes the world he knew was literally fading faster than anyone had imagined.
Could humanity be losing its ability to perceive colors entirely?
(Continued from Color Theory (Part 1)
6. Chromatic Adaptation
The longer Avi spent in Krishnapur, the more he began noticing how deeply urbanization had transformed the village itself. Quietly observing from the balcony each morning, he realized the village, now an urban town, mirrored the same shades of grey he had grown accustomed to in Chicago. Concrete buildings stood side by side, neat and modern, their smooth surfaces reflecting dull sunlight. Streetlights cast a cool, uniform glow at night, no longer the warm, golden circles from his childhood memory.
Avi shared this observation with Palash over tea one morning. Palash listened quietly, then said thoughtfully, “It makes sense, in a way. The eyes adapt to what they see most. If daily life offers only greyscale contrasts — screens, glass buildings, pavements . Our vision naturally shifts to become sensitive to those shades.”
Avi nodded slowly, considering the implications. “We are training our eyes away from vibrant colors?”
“Precisely,” Palash replied gently, sipping his tea. “Just as generations past adapted to lush greenery or vivid flowers, our generation , and certainly Rohit’s, adapts quietly to artificial lights, digital displays, and monochrome architecture.”
The conversation stayed with Avi throughout the day, pushing him to look closer at the environment around him. Indeed, villagers spent hours each day staring at screens, devices filled with precisely calibrated grey tones. LED lamps lit homes and streets evenly, banishing shadows and subtly training eyes toward distinctions in brightness rather than in hue. He realized then how quietly the modern lifestyle had reshaped the human visual experience, gently nudging people away from color sensitivity toward better perception of subtle greys.
This was no trivial shift, Avi thought, but something deeper — more profound. Modern life, in its global push toward uniformity and comfort, had quietly homogenized more than culture or language. And now, it was transforming human vision itself. He remembered Rohit’s confusion upon arriving, the mismatch between expectation and reality. It had not been merely childhood disappointment, but perhaps a genuine struggle in seeing the vibrant shades Avi himself still partially remembered.
Late in the evening, as Avi sat reviewing the data once again, his thoughts returned gently to Rohit. What would life be like if colors faded away completely from perception? Could humanity ever return from such a loss? Feeling an insistent urgency, Avi resolved to explore deeper. To understand clearly this silent shift that seemed determined to drain vibrancy from human experience. Perhaps, he thought hopefully, if vision had adapted once, it could adapt again. Perhaps he could help Rohit, and many others, to truly see the colors that were quietly slipping away.
7. Absorption Spectrum
Avi felt he needed tangible proof. Something beyond data points and theories. How deeply had this subtle shift in human color perception truly taken root? The next day, he paid calls to the older women of the village whom he knew from his own days of living here. He hesitantly asked them if they still remembered how to make traditional Holi colors as they once did. To his surprise, not only did they remember vividly, but they pointed out several popular FaceTube channels that had revived traditional pigment-making this season. With amusement and enthusiasm, they suggested hosting a community event at the old Municipal Hall, inviting everyone to gather, create pigments, and celebrate Holi together, just as in the past. Avi felt a quiet hope rise inside him. Palash eagerly spread the word among his students, and soon excitement built naturally, fueled by curiosity and word-of-mouth.
When Holi morning finally arrived, Avi woke even before sunrise, his anticipation quietly urging him toward the Hall. He found elders already assembling beneath the spacious veranda, bringing with them baskets of turmeric roots, deep-red hibiscus petals, bright-orange marigolds, freshly dug beetroots, spinach leaves, and crisp coriander. They worked together with determination and genuine merriment. Avi watched closely as hands rhythmically ground turmeric on smooth stone, releasing an earthy, peppery fragrance that gently filled the morning air. Beside him, hibiscus petals, velvety and deep red, were pressed gently by careful fingers, their juice staining hands crimson, scenting the air faintly sweet. Marigolds dropped quietly into earthen bowls, and soon the soft laughter of women mingled gently with the aromatic freshness of crushed greens.
Avi had started recording these moments in his LiveCam to show this to his students back in Chicago. Palash arrived too with his entourage of university students, and soon everyone had divided the work among them supervised by the elders, and many students started their Netcasts to spread the word even more. As the sun climbed higher, its rays illuminated a palette of colors across the veranda, vivid and mesmerizing, neatly arranged in big thalis in the Hall. Avi felt a gentle ache of nostalgia stirring within him. These vibrant natural colors shimmered with a life and warmth that commercial pigments could never match.
Slowly, younger villagers and students from nearby schools began filtering into the Hall, drawn by curiosity and quiet excitement. Avi observed them closely, noticing at first hesitations forming on their foreheads. They looked at the pigments uncertainly, puzzled even, their eyes straining slightly to categorize these unfamiliar shades. Local caterers had also joined the event, distributing small plates of Holi delicacies , sweet malpuas, crisp gujiyas filled with various fillings, a variety of nimkis or fried chickpea flour chips, and creamy bowls of doi bora sprinkled lightly with cumin and chili, adding tantalizing aromas to the gathering.
Nearby, Avi saw Rohit standing close to Sarita, eyes wide and fascinated yet subtly perplexed. Avi called to him gently, holding out a bowl filled with rich hibiscus powder. “Rohit,” he asked softly, “what color do you see here?” Rohit examined the bowl closely, a quiet uncertainty on his face. Finally, he murmured, “It looks…reddish-grey, Papa? A strange kind of grey?” An elderly woman standing near Avi sighed softly, kindly shaking her head. “This is red, child,” she said gently. “The brightest and deepest red we know.” Her voice held a warmth tempered by quiet sadness.
Avi felt an ache stir gently within him, deeper now, more profound. It was true then. The younger generation saw these vivid colors through a veil, muted quietly by years of subtle adaptation to screens, artificial lighting, and monochrome surroundings. The colors themselves had not vanished; rather, their eyes had quietly, slowly lost the ability to fully perceive them.
Standing amid these quiet revelations, Avi recognized vividly what was at stake. It was not merely the loss of colors or traditions, but the quiet erosion of a deeper, more intimate connection with the natural world. Looking thoughtfully at Rohit, Avi saw the boy’s uncertainty gradually soften into genuine curiosity and wonder. He felt then a gentle, unwavering resolve forming within him: to understand this silent shift, to reclaim these colors, and perhaps, to restore the vibrancy quietly fading from human vision, not only for Rohit but for the generations yet to come.
Soon announcement was made to gather in the makeshift Holi playing ground, and Avi’s eyes welled up seeing the young and old eagerly rushing to ground with their friends with laughter.. Spring themed Rabindrasangeet music playing in the background. Just as he was about to be caught in a wave of nostalgia, Rohit excitedly called out to him, and he rushed to the ground with Palash in tow..
8. Fluorescence
Later that afternoon, Avi returned to Palash’s laboratory carrying small samples of the homemade pigments, carefully packed in sealed glass containers. The excitement from the Holi event still gently lingered within him, mixing with cautious hope. He needed to verify something critical. Were these natural colors genuinely different at a microscopic level from the commercial dyes that people had grown accustomed to?
Using high-resolution microscopy, Avi and Palash examined each pigment closely, their eyes patiently scanning the magnified images on the screen. Avi felt a quiet thrill as the results became clear. The homemade pigments were pure, their crystalline structures vibrant and untainted, entirely free from the industrial pollutants and artificial fillers common in modern dyes. Under UV illumination, these traditional colors exhibited a remarkable fluorescence, glowing subtly yet vividly, confirming their unmatched purity.
Avi leaned back from the microscope, his thoughts gathering steadily into a hypothesis. Perhaps these pure, naturally fluorescent pigments could retrain, or at least temporarily stimulate, the dormant color sensitivities in younger eyes. Palash listened thoughtfully, nodding slowly. “It might be possible,” he agreed quietly. “Vision has adapted away from these wavelengths over decades. Perhaps prolonged exposure could gently nudge it back.”
Encouraged, Avi turned on the recording from his LiveCam and began studying the footages he had taken earlier. He kept carefully observing the villagers’ interactions with the pigments and taking notes. He noted again that older participants continued effortlessly enjoying the nuanced shades, dipping fingers into the colors and delighting in their familiar beauty. Their eyes comfortably recognized subtle differences, calling out each shade confidently as they were making the colors.
He also noticed the intrigue among the younger villagers. At first, their expressions remained puzzled, but slowly, their eyes seemed to adjust. With extended exposure over two to three hours, sparks of recognition emerged in their faces. Avi meticulously documented these incremental improvements — small shifts in perception, gradual moments of clarity emerging as their eyes registered subtleties previously overlooked.
In the video, Rohit, also seemed initially uncertain about the beetroot purplish-red water, but he began began smiling gently after repeatedly dipping his fingers in the colored water and examining his stained fingers under sunlight. “Papa,” he whispered thoughtfully, “it looks…different now. Brighter somehow. It’s so beautiful!”
Avi felt quiet relief and a renewed sense of purpose stir within him. What had begun as gentle curiosity had grown into tangible hope. Human vision had quietly adapted away from nature’s vibrancy. Yet perhaps , with careful planning, it could be retrained to appreciate these lost shades once more.
If color perception had faded softly over generations, it might also quietly return, gradually reawakened through patient reconnection with natural pigments. Avi thought longingly that humanity was not destined to remain trapped within monochrome shadows forever. Perhaps the vibrancy of life’s colors, nearly lost to silent adaptation, could again be gently illuminated.
9. Diffusion
On the final morning in Krishnapur, Avi met Palash at the quiet tea stall near the university. They sat sipping hot masala chai, letting a comfortable silence settle between them. Avi finally broke it, his voice gentle but determined. “Palash, we should keep this collaboration going. There is so much more we can learn. Maybe it’s time to blend optics with our roots in Ayurveda and traditional pigments.”
Palash smiled warmly, nodding in genuine agreement. “It would be meaningful, Avi. Science and tradition working hand in hand. Perhaps we could even revive something precious that we nearly lost.”
They rose together, quietly exchanging promises to stay in close touch, personally and professionally. Palash squeezed Avi’s shoulder affectionately. “Do not worry. We will keep this alive. I will make sure to continue with the students here. You carry this research forward at your university.”
Avi felt quietly reassured. With carefully packed samples of pigments, detailed notes, and hours of footage securely stored in his data drive, he, Sarita, and Rohit flew back to America, leaving Krishnapur gently fading beneath the clouds. Upon his return, Avi dove deeply into the data. He spent long nights in his office, reviewing and compiling observations, spectral analyses, microscopy results, and carefully documented changes in visual perception among villagers. Weeks later, he stood before his colleagues in a brightly lit seminar hall, quietly energized and focused.
Facing the attentive audience, Avi presented a meticulously detailed analysis. He explained gently yet clearly how subtle atmospheric shifts , driven by climate change, particulate pollution, combined with the grey-scaled uniformity of modern urban life had quietly reshaped the very biology of human vision. Carefully, he outlined how increased particulate matter altered Rayleigh scattering, shifting wavelengths, and gradually nudging retinal sensitivity away from vibrant colors toward monochromatic shades.
As he spoke, Avi saw quiet astonishment ripple gently across his audience. He continued steadily, explaining how prolonged exposure to uniformly grey environments, LED screens, glass buildings, and grey cities , had further reinforced this biological adaptation, effectively erasing certain colors from human perception over mere generations.
“These colors are not lost to nature,” Avi concluded softly. “They are still vividly there, but our eyes have slowly become blind to them. Humanity’s vision is adapting to the world we are building around us. A world increasingly devoid of natural vibrancy.”
The room fell briefly silent, colleagues absorbing the profound quietness of the revelation. Avi waited, hopeful yet uncertain. Then, softly but firmly, he added, “However, I believe we can restore these lost colors. Our experiments show that repeated exposure to natural pigments may gently reawaken our perception and retrain our eyes to these wavelengths again. Perhaps we can recover the vibrant vision we once had.”
As applause began quietly filling the room, Avi felt an ache lift slightly from his chest. He saw clearly now the path ahead. Not just to reclaim lost hues, but to restore the deeper connections humanity quietly shared with nature itself. This, he knew, would be his life’s gentle yet resolute mission: guiding human vision back toward the richness of colors it once knew so intimately.
10. Spectral Restoration
Driven by the quiet urgency of his findings, Avi drafted a new grant proposal with Palash as a co-author. It focused specifically on biophysical color perception. He poured late nights and careful thoughts into the application, outlining precisely how humanity’s visual perception had quietly adapted away from natural colors, influenced by atmospheric shifts and monochromatic environments. Yet he firmly believed, as he emphasized gently but persistently, that this loss was reversible.
Soon, Avi’s laboratory buzzed quietly with renewed energy. His team began meticulously creating controlled environments, precisely designed to retrain the human eye using natural pigments and carefully calibrated lighting conditions. They experimented patiently with exposure therapies and pigment-derived visual treatments, drawing from traditional sources and Ayurvedic insights Palash regularly shared from India.
Over months, small yet meaningful successes began quietly emerging. Young volunteers, initially unable to differentiate subtle shades, gradually started responding positively to prolonged exposure. Avi documented each incremental improvement with patient optimism, his resolve gently reinforced by every new breakthrough, no matter how slight.
One afternoon, months into this work, Avi sat quietly at his desk, leaning back from another careful review of his latest findings. His gaze drifted thoughtfully toward the window, the late afternoon sunlight once again streaming softly through the laboratory blinds. Unconsciously, he stretched out his hand, allowing the gentle lines of refracted rainbow to rest upon his skin.
As he watched the delicate hues, Avi felt a quiet sense of calm settle within him. Could these gentle shifts, these incremental restorations of color, eventually return humanity’s lost vibrancy? Would Rohit’s generation, and those yet to come, fully experience again the rich spectrum of colors that once defined human visual evolution?
Avi blinked slowly, the delicate rainbow lingering gently in his vision, fragile yet quietly hopeful. The answers, he knew, would come slowly, requiring patience and careful dedication. Yet, looking at those fleeting, vibrant hues dancing softly on his palm, Avi allowed himself a small, quiet smile of optimism. Perhaps humanity’s vision, gently guided by patient hands and steady hearts, could be restored to the rich, vivid spectrum that was our natural heritage.
