“So you say you are not Susanta, you are Kamal,” Mehmet barked. “You say you are not Indian, you are Pakistani,”he continued. He was questioning Kamal, but had mistaken him to be Susanta. “And you think I am going to believe all this bullshit of yours,” he had started losing his temper. He was not going to heed to anything said by Kamal, in his defence.
Kamal, was seated on the sofa, in the sitting room of modest flat of Mehmet and Deniz. Mehmet was standing, in front of him. His bag and the laptop were lying just in front of him, bag on the side and the laptop on the table. He could see the painting of the two daisies, hanging in front of him, right between the window and the door, with white curtains on its both sides. That indeed was a good painting.