I once had a boyfriend who told me that my apartment looked like the inside of a second-hand store.
“Nothing matches. You’ve got all these clashing colours and features,” he’d said as he pointed out the purple curtains, turquoise cushions, bright blue chair, red stools, and multicoloured floor rug.
His apartment, on the other hand, was a whole lot of black and white. Even his cat was black and white. Our relationship didn’t last for very long (not just because of his inability to appreciate my rainbow-coloured-ness, but also because he used to let his cat jump up on the kitchen bench and sniff the chicken breasts he was preparing for our dinner…deal-breaker).
I’ve always loved colour. It makes me happy. I’ve often wondered how I ended up being born into a culture that expects a woman, on one of the most important and celebrated days of her life, to wear white.
WHITE? Are you serious? Blah! I remember telling my friend, when I was only 13 years old, that if I were to ever get married - I'd definitely wear a red dress on my wedding day.
Years later, I find myself in a country that is draped in red, blue, green and yellow prayer flags. Where golden temples stare at you with their bright blue eyes. Where Tibetan monks walk down the street in maroon and yellow robes. Where the first storey of a house can be painted blue and the second storey orange. Where pavements are decorated with multi-coloured mandalas. Where the foreheads of everyday people are adorned with red tikkas. And where it’s perfectly acceptable for a woman to wear a green and mauve floral top, with pink pants, sparkly sandals, red bracelets up her arm and an orange shawl wrapped around her head.
All photos copyright of Ange Takats and not to be used without permission.
More of my trip photos can be viewed on my Instagram page.