Will the sunset still be beautiful if there was no one to witness it? Will it still be grand and festive with all the shimmering, warm shades of gold if there was no one to be mesmerised watching it? Will it still evoke poetic thoughts if there was no one to pen them?
I was pestered by these questions every time I looked at a sunset.
Then, I saw a picture of a sunset on Mars—just a picture taken by Curiosity Rover, a lifeless machine on the surface of the deserted planet. It conjured up melancholic thoughts tinged with a strange fear of being alone in a wasteland. It called forth words like eerie, melancholic, and phantasmal, quite contrary to the words we use to describe our celebrated elegant sunset. But it is the same sun that sets in both places. Then what made the difference? Is it the composition of the Martian atmosphere or the absence of a witness?
The actual light scattered in the Martian sky never touched my eyes. But I realised that sunsets are different. Unlike the Earth’s sunset adored and kept company by billions of people, the Martian sunset fades in sad solitude. It is blue not only in colour but also in spirit. It is blue—figuratively and literally. And I imagine, unbearably cold, too.