Blank space

When her eyes are open, it's spotless vision. When they're closed, it's abject darkness. SADAF SHAIKH thought this was everyone's story-until she realised she was missing a crucial device in her creative toolkit.

- RADHIKA TRIVEDI

My art teacher in school despised me. Not only was I a rabble-rousing backbencher, but I was also exceptionally awful at sketching. The fruits in my still life always looked like they had been sprayed with too much pesticide. My landscapes were a hodophile's nightmare. “Close your eyes and visualise an apple,” Mrs Vesvikar would bellow at me. I would make a show of shutting my eyes...

...And see the same thing I view in my mind's eye 21 years later. Darkness. Not the headed-towards-apocalypse, doomed-to-die-alone darkness. I mean absolute visual absence. Like a light switch going off in your head. Do I know what an apple looks like? Of course. Can I describe it? Yes, from my memories of having seen different varieties throughout my life. Does a shiny red fruit appear in my mind when somebody says the word 'apple'? No. I thought everyone visualised things the same way until five months ago, when my colleagues took the 'red apple test' and reported actually seeing one in some form or the other when they shut their eyes.