The Unexpected Allure of Purple

Purple would never make my list of favourite colours if asked, yet somehow this complex hue has woven itself through the most meaningful threads of my life. My relationship with purple began through literature — Alice Walker’s devastating “The Color Purple” left a mark that only deepened after I followed it with “Possessing the Secret of Joy.” Tashi’s story disturbed me in shocking ways . The colour became synonymous with beautiful suffering, a paradox I never expected to resolve.

But gardens have a way of healing what books sometimes break open.

It started innocently enough with heirloom tomatoes — those odd, imperfect beauties streaked with deep purple veins, rich in anthocyanins. Before I knew it, I was hoarding seeds for anything with a purple tinge, as if collecting fragments of some forgotten language. My obsession found its sweetest expression last year when I planted purple beans for the first time.

My nephew, that tiny food critic with unwavering honesty, fell head over heels for them. “More purple beans!” became his battle cry, even as strawberries sat neglected nearby. I couldn’t argue after stealing fresh pods for myself — their sweetness defied explanation. But there is no arguing with the taste. Just the other day, nephew got tired of waiting for me as I was on a call, he sneaked into the garden by himself, grabbed the beans he could reach and then walked over to me, grabbed my finger and walked me over to the tap so that we could wash the beans. Then he left me to my call as he happily chomped away.

My purple produce has expanded rapidly. Red cabbages now dominate one corner, their leaves a mesmerising dance of deep purple and silver veining. Purple bok choy and Komatsuna thrive — Asian mustard greens whose sharp flavours are intensified by their rich coloration, their tissues packed with flavonoids that promise health along with their beauty.

Pusa Asita carrots joined my collection after a faculty at an Agricultural University shared seeds — these aren’t your ordinary purple carrots but something altogether more dramatic, so deeply coloured they appear almost black when pulled from the soil, like treasures from another world. My attempts at purple cauliflower ended in disappointment, but the seeds wait patiently for another season and better luck.

The documentary on Blue Zones sparked a new quest: purple yams, those staples of Okinawan longevity. The purple potatoes I know exist but remain frustratingly out of reach, seed sources proving elusive despite my searches.

As an Indian, legumes and vegetables already form the backbone of my diet. But my rainbow garden isn’t about nutrition spreadsheets or longevity statistics. It’s about that moment when you bite into something you’ve nurtured from seed and discover flavours no supermarket has ever offered you. It’s about watching a child choose a purple bean over anything else on the plate and knowing you’ve created something magical.

Purple no longer speaks to me of suffering. Now it whispers of abundance, of sweetness found in unexpected places, of the quiet miracle of coaxing food from soil. The journey from Walker’s purple to my garden’s purple spans decades and continents, literature and dirt — proving that even our most painful associations can transform when given enough sunlight, water, and time.

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This post was previously published on medium.com.

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