The painter who painted me

Once there was a child who had a dream, he smiled in the peaceful sleep, woke up with the same smile, yet felt a hole, “Yes he said, I have to share this!” The mere feeling gave him shivers…he ran around to share… but the words seemed so deaf. Some laughed some ignored…

He sat quietly…thinking no one there to hear…so with a sulk he took a long gulp and forgot the dream. “It’s just a dream. I was stupid.”

Over the years he grew and the negligence crave in till the time he had to burst and tell the world, listen to me…I have to speak, I am choking. His yell was deemed as frustration and yet the result was same. No one bothered, some ignored, some consoled…but no one listened…There he saw a man with missing legs, a twisted arm, sitting in the sun with the brush in the only mobile limb, he was paining and admiring his work, at first I ignored him, then I realized no one was paying me any attention so let me shake the feeling of ignorance and see what he is painting.

He painted life like portraits, beautiful sea, lush mountains and waving trees, I looked at his work in progress, and he was painting a child play with a torn kite, in a park filled with people, who were busy in their own world. Few were seen laughing, and the ignorant few were in progress. Each time he had to change the brush he would stick the brush in his twisted arm. The limb portrayed a lifeless brush stand. Yet he was not moved by any of this. How can this be…is he so used to it?

I saw people passing with this man getting unnoticed and those who noticed would be there to get the attractive piece for as cheap price as they could. Couple to times I saw him leaving his creation and trying to sell the painting to some curios pedestrians who would end up bargaining and suggesting the work is not worth the price. Felt Da-vinci’s are all on road.

He returned to his art without a sulk, he had a smile when he painted the ignorant faces, I was stunned to see the majestic work he was creating suddenly I saw the light, I realized I could related to the kid in the park and the kite, the ignorant people…I asked the man, can I purchase the painting, he was stunned to see a man asking for a unfinished painting, yet in a flash he turned into a confident man and revolted, “I earn my bread by selling not by pity.” For a moment I was lost in what he said only to realize that I have hurt his esteem. I sat down, only to make him uncomfortable.

I told him I need the painting as it reflected me in all ways, and I am not doing any pity. He mellowed down and asked me to finish it. I could not refuse. After an hour he was done and in an act of scrutinizing he gave a look of work done. I was eager to have this piece…he smiled and said, “Son eagerness is good, but is like a cloud that hides the light.” I was eyes wide open to hear the remark…between my amusement he told me the paining needs to dry or else my connection to the painting will be lost in the spread of colors…

As I was seated he placed the paining in the sun allowing it to dry, I sat there studying it inch by inch…His voice woke me up, “Will dry in about half hour as the sun is at the peak.” I asked him, “How long have you been painting?” I saw his face with lines of relief written all over, I knew this since I shared the same gestures at the time I finished something I worked hard on. He said he started painting to portray his feelings and to earn money for the bread. Astonished I could not think how a man with so much pain can reflect feelings filled with smile… I had to ask him about the pain and his state to which his reply was as simple as it could be, “I could not do much about this…yes I was upset and angry, but no one cares so why must I be sad, I have a life, I can live it in pain or vain which now I am used to but then I can atleast put the smile I miss on the piece of paper.”

He asked me, “How can you relate yourself to this painting?” I took a deep sigh and explained to him, “The kid filled with the emotions of Joy is what I see as myself with the dream of flying the torn kite, which people laugh at. The park reflects the world around me with whom I want to share yet they are deaf and blind to my emotions. The Kite is my feelings which look torn from outside, but they are the means of sunshine which breaks free to hit my face amidst the breeze.”

“Are you a writer?” his words rang a bell, “No I am not” I said with some uncomfortable feeling. He smiled and said “Well your painting is dry, may you find what u are looking for.” I paid him what he asked, though he was surprised as there was no bargain. Yet before our see off I said to him, “I am not a writer, but thanks to you, now I am.” He said, “Neither am I a painter, but because of him I am.” His finger raising high in the bright sky.

When I look back now I find, what made him different was the way he expressed his emotions, that is what I was looking for, but in turn of finding one I was cursing and blaming, until someone showed me the real meaning. And who best but someone higher pain can teach me that.

I have seen people questioning the hardship, the tests they have to go through, the challenges they have to face, the obstacles they have to overcome, but in all this the emotions that they want to share turn into curse and blame. We all have some dreams and emotions to share with someone, but when we don’t find the ear or eye we shut the emotions in a box and forget it till the pile weighs more than our own soul and we reach the point of losing the battle of life.

Whenever I was alone and wanted to talk I could not find anyone, so I would be asking questions blaming the moment, well that is a way of expression, but not the true emotions to be shared were long lost. After the brief encounter with the painter, I used my pen to express the feelings often I went to the park with a bench by the side of a tree shadowing the bench, I spoke endlessly finding someone to hear me out silently. The tree! Yes the tree would laugh with me when I was happy, it would be calm to hear me, it would shade me when I was lonely, it would comfort me with the breeze when I would be in harsh time, but each time our conversation will remain in my heart which I could easily narrate in words which I can scribble. After the scribble, I can still see the expression if JOB DONE…written all over me to make me

Rest In Peace !!!