Thursday, 18 August 2011


dragged all her dresses from the cupboard. Ironed and carefully hung, her favorite dresses were lying on the floor by her feet. But the pink dress was not there. She was running from room to room, fathoming the whole house, but of no avail. The pink dress had perhaps flown away…….evaporated.

“Don’t let him wait”. Her mind was not able to think anything else.
“What are you trying to do Applegreen”, a weak voice from her inside came. But her heart had overtaken control of all of her senses. Applegreen had already taken over the control of Feriha. She was simply Applegreen, trying to find her pink dress. “Feriha, come back to your senses”, her mind did not want to lose control to Applegreen. “Don’t be that serious for something on the net”, her mind reprimanded.

But her heart was no more listening to the voice of her mind. She had failed to realize the realities of the world of internet. Kamal, might be somebody, anybody, may be a girl. He might be anybody sitting over his pc just to kill time and enjoy. “No, he is not like that”, she cried. Her mind gave in to her seriousness and strong determination. She had announced her decision. Her brain succumbed.

“I must find that pink dress….he is waiting….its already late”, Applegreen had taken full control of Feriha. She restarted running through the rooms which she had already searched a bit earlier.

“Oh my God, why I had not thought of that earlier,” she screamed. Something flashed into her mind. Her flat was not too big. It was a small flat, but she was running as if she had to cover miles and miles to reach her destination, 


and that too within the shortest possible time period. She sprinted to the kitchen where her pink dress was being washed in the washing machine.

The washing machine stopped with a thud, as she pulled the wire from the switch. The soapy water in the washing machine oozed out of its door, that she had opened up in a hurry. The smelly water found its way on a larger part of the kitchen floor.. She picked up her pink dress from among the half washed wet clothes. She felt satisfied, as if she had won the marathon.
She did not care about the foul smell and the line of muddy soap water, trickling behind her from the kitchen to the room where her laptop was open, waiting for her.


She looked at that sentence. Standing there in front of the pc as if he was looking at her, dressed in her pink dress, water dripping from top to bottom, with foul smell of soapy water, her hair disturbed, and face exhibiting fatigue, but filled with a sweet unexplainable smile. Somewhere inside herself, she had felt something achieved. Job successfully completed. She was satisfied, but mesmerized. 

Yes you guessed correctly

The much awaited line appeared.


He wrote back.

                                      CHAPTER 2

It was around 8 a.m. Pleasant Istanbul breeze was blowing. Ferit had just opened his studio. He was too eager to meet Susanta, the Indian art dealer from Singapor, the art dealer of international repute. He was too eager to meet him.

He was standing in the middle of his studio, looking at the walls where Deniz had helped him hanging the best of his works in hand. Right in the middle of the wall facing the door, there was a large painting of two horses, untamed, one white the other brown, standing in the wood, facing each other, depicting their deep love for each other. An expression of love, which he always liked to paint. There were some other paintings of horses too on the wall, but the latest one was what he did have
enjoyed while painting. On the right hand wall a big painting exhibiting the mastery of Ferit`s art. It was a large painting of Kapali charshi (the famous historical covered bazaar of Istanbul), exhibiting not only the
grandeur but also its minute details too. The left wall was exhibiting some of the portraits that he had made. The untidy trolley of colors and brushes now stood somewhat tidy. The untidy studio, now wore the look of a professional artist. But Ferit was feeling a bit uneasy. He was not used to such tidiness. He loved his somewhat careless style, with brushes and colors spread all over the room, filled with finished and unfinished paintings of his. But it was Deniz who had made the difference. Ferit was all too happy to realize how close she had been to him. For him that was the biggest source of his renewed enthusiasm. He had decided to continue with the same setup of his studio, He was waiting for the arrival of Susanta, an important guest, an Indian art dealer of

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