Much was staked on my reply to a question I received several years back: how would you describe the color pink to a blind man? 

As I remember, my first thought was to surmise that time spent here was of no avail for conclusion about my job candidacy had been arrived at before this question was asked. As it turned out, it had, I think, been arrived at. Such suspicion attenuates the scent of opportunity liberating thought in a sense that it is no more constrained by the gravity of stakes. I proceeded then to consider the question solely on its merit.

What a curious question: inviting, through a response, proof for one’s faculties to empathize and tightrope through pretentious, absurd prospects for a reply. Would I even venture into such task or apologies sincerely for lack of imagination and vocabulary. What if it wasn’t the blind person’s curiosity, but my desperation, may be out of love, to share the joy of sight – how would I then set about my predicament.

I frankly don’t know. Yet, I replied “I’d tell pink feels like the scent of a rose”. I didn’t get the job.


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