I did not realise how much life that would bring back into me
After four years of building a life in Canada, Mohini Mohandas returned to India and found herself unexpectedly undone — not by nostalgia for food or family, but by colour. Her video reflection on how muted surroundings had quietly reshaped her wardrobe, and her spirit, touched a nerve among expatriates worldwide, opening a quiet conversation about how deeply environment authors the self without our consent.
- Mohandas returned home expecting to miss the familiar comforts of India, only to be blindsided by the realization that four years abroad had drained colour from her life so gradually she never noticed it leaving.
- Her video — bright blue nails, a red dress, and an exhibition alive with sequins and every imaginable shade — went viral, cracking open a conversation that thousands of expatriates had been carrying silently.
- The comments flooded in: people mourning India's vibrancy from overseas apartments, others recalling the same quiet erasure in the US, Japan, and beyond, all circling the same unspoken grief of a self slowly muted by surroundings.
- One commenter pushed back, insisting bold colour is a personal choice anywhere in the world — and in doing so, sharpened the real question: not which country is more colourful, but how unconsciously we conform to the world immediately around us.
- The discussion is landing not as a verdict on any culture, but as a wider reckoning — that return migration carries sensory and emotional revelations that no amount of anticipation fully prepares a person for.
Mohini Mohandas spent four years in Canada, building a life that had, without her quite realising it, settled into a palette of beige, grey, white, and what she calls "greige." When she moved back to India, she braced for the expected waves of nostalgia. What arrived instead was colour — sudden, unapologetic, everywhere.
In a video that reached thousands, she held up bright blue nail polish and gestured to the red dress she wore, describing an exhibition where clothes hung in every shade imaginable, sequins catching the light. The excitement in her voice wasn't about fashion. It was about recognising an absence she had stopped noticing while it was happening. "I did not realise how much life that would bring back into me," she said, "until I moved back."
The comments section became a kind of collective exhale. People wrote of missing India's colours every day from overseas. Someone offered simply: "Welcome back to maximalism and yellow sunlight." Others who had lived in the US or Japan said they understood completely. One comment named the undercurrent plainly: colour brings life and positive energy — and it is, somehow, an underrated topic.
Not everyone agreed without nuance. One woman noted she wore bold, bright outfits in Canada because that was simply who she was — geography needn't dictate palette. And she had a point. What Mohandas was really describing wasn't a flaw in any place, but the quiet way surroundings accumulate into us: office dress codes, grey winter light, shop windows full of muted tones. Slowly, without decision, you stop reaching for the colours you once loved.
Then you come home. You walk through a market and see orange marigolds spilling from baskets, saris moving in the breeze, bangles catching sunlight on an ordinary Tuesday. You hadn't thought to name what you were missing — until it was suddenly, vividly, all around you again. For Mohandas, the revelation wasn't blue nail polish. It was the realisation that somewhere along the way, she had quietly stopped letting herself see colour at all.
Mohini Mohandas had been gone four years. She'd lived in Canada, worked there, built a life in the neutral tones that seemed to dominate her days—beige, grey, white, and what she calls "greige." When she moved back to India, she expected to miss the usual things: street food, family gatherings, the particular chaos of Indian roads. Instead, she found herself struck by something she hadn't anticipated missing at all. It was colour.
In a video that would eventually reach thousands of people, she held up her bright blue nail polish and gestured to the red dress she was wearing. She described visiting an exhibition where clothes hung in every imaginable shade—greens, blues, pinks, purples—all of it alive with sequins and shiny details catching the light. The excitement in her voice wasn't about fashion trends. It was about recognizing an absence she'd stopped noticing while it was happening. "I love not having to wear beige, grey, white and greige to work every day," she said. "I did not realise how much life that would bring back into me and how it would reignite my soul until I moved back."
That last line seemed to unlock something in the people watching. The comments section filled quickly with others sharing their own experiences of living abroad. Someone wrote simply: "Welcome back to maximalism and yellow sunlight." Another admitted they missed India's colours every single day after moving overseas. A person who had lived in both the US and Japan said they completely understood—they too had felt the absence of everyday vibrancy. One comment captured the underlying current: "It's an underrated topic, but colour brings so much life and positive energy."
But the conversation wasn't quite as simple as one country being colourful and another being dull. One woman gently pushed back, pointing out that wearing bright clothes is a personal choice regardless of geography. She wore bold outfits and bright accessories in Canada because that's who she was. And she was right. What Mohandas was really describing wasn't about the places themselves—it was about how surroundings quietly reshape us without our awareness. Office culture, weather patterns, what appears in shop windows, what everyone around you is wearing: these things accumulate. You begin to match them. You stop reaching for the colours you once loved because the world around you has stopped reaching for them too.
Then you come home. You walk through a local market and see bright saris moving in the breeze. Flower sellers with baskets overflowing with orange marigolds. Bangles catching sunlight. Auto-rickshaws painted in bold, unapologetic shades. A regular weekday somehow feels brighter. You don't notice these things when you've grown up surrounded by them. You notice them when you've lived without them for long enough to forget they were there.
That's why Mohandas's video struck such a chord with Indians living overseas. It wasn't really about blue nail polish or sequinned outfits. It was about that disorienting moment when you return and realize you've missed something you never thought to name. For some it's the smell of rain. For others it's the sound of a crowded market. For Mohandas, it was simply the joy of seeing colour everywhere—and realizing that somewhere along the way, she'd stopped letting herself see it at all.
Notable Quotes
I love not having to wear beige, grey, white and greige to work every day. I did not realise how much life that would bring back into me and how it would reignite my soul until I moved back.— Mohini Mohandas
The Hearth Conversation Another angle on the story
When you say colour came back into your life, do you mean you suddenly started wearing bright things again, or something deeper?
Both, I think. But the deeper part is that I stopped choosing colour without realizing it. In Canada, I wasn't forbidden from wearing red or blue. I just... didn't. Everyone around me wore neutrals, so I did too. It became invisible.
So it wasn't about Canada being a grey place. It was about you becoming grey.
Exactly. And I didn't notice until I came back and saw what I'd lost. Walking through a market here, seeing all those bright saris and bangles—it made me realize I'd been living in a kind of sensory quiet.
Do you think people who stay abroad longer lose that even more?
I think it depends on the person. But yes, the longer you're away, the more the place shapes you. Your eye adjusts. Your choices adjust. You forget what you're missing.
And now that you're back, can you go back to grey if you wanted to?
I could. But I don't think I will. I've remembered what colour feels like. It's hard to unknow that.