Thursday, 18 August 2011


 36


He was so busy in giving life to his lady, that he even forgot what had had happened to him, a couple of hours earlier. He was lost in his colours, his brushes, and the mystic beauty of the old lady. He was busy in extracting the details of the lady. The face, he was painting was no more the face of the old lady; he was working on a young face carrying the age of someone in her 30s. The face of his Pink lady. His pink lady, the Applegreen was sitting on the sofa chair, in her pink dress. Her long hair, half drawn back, half on her chest barely covering her soft cleavage A masterpiece was in the making. The dummy face of the profile of Applegreen was gaining life on his canvas.

He fell dead on his chair, and rolled over from there to the floor. He had finished the portrait of his Pink lady, the portrait of Applegreen. All in one, all the same. He was extremely tired. He slept on the floor, with colours and brushes spread all over. Unaware of what was happening around him, he was sleeping, lying on the floor. His Pink lady, his applegreen was looking at him, smiling, leaning on the sofachair, on the aisle.

The sun started making its presence felt. The sunrays had started coming into his studio, from the window. He was sleeping on the floor. His dress was having marks of all sorts of colours, evidencing his hard labour of the whole night. There was nobody, except applegreen, who could wake him up. But she was just smiling from the canvas.

Kamal woke up abruptly. Somebody was knocking at the door. With his eyes closed, he opened the door, without noticing the entrant. His friend had come to see if the

                                


painting was ready. “It’s a masterpiece”, said his friend. But it was just not his eyes that were closed, his mind too
was closed. Kamal, did not hear the praises that his friend was showering for that master piece of art.

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