The Painting

The Painting – Short Story about Dreams

Ti Ti Ti Ti Ti Ti Ti Ti Ti Ti Ti Ti. The alarm clock rang. I opened my eyes. It was the first time, I don’t know in how many days, may be months or even years that I was awake so early morning. No its not quiz, sessional nor semester, which of course we are so much accustomed to i.e. life in SMIT. Actually, I had to go Gangtok to an Art Exhibition. The art exhibition which I was excited and eagerly waiting to go.

Infact, the story starts from way back during my school life. I remember I was in standard VII. I had participated in an Inter-School Painting Competition. There were students from every school in town. I remember very little of what exactly I had painted and what the theme was. But I clearly remember that in one of the halls, vintage ones were hung for exhibition.

I was strolling through the hallway looking at big, wonderful and obscure paintings. There, I saw one of the painting, infact, it was “The Painting”- It was an old country scene with an old woman… The use of colors, the detail work, the strokes were just outstanding.

It was something like “love” at first sight kind of feeling.

I would say there was a covalent bond created between us. Probably, we immediately started sharing electron.

I couldn’t keep my eyes away from it.

I starred at it for eternity.

Oh! It was a Masterpiece.

What was more fascinating about it was that its painter was unknown. It was an anonymous Masterpiece.

So now you know, why I was excited.

With all these memories I had waited for 9 years. 9 years in love with something that was special, atleast to me.

So, it was last week that one of my old friend rang me up. He told me that there was an International Art Exhibition to be held, where many renowned paintings from the North-East were in showcase. My love for this painting was known to all of my friends and acquaintances of mine. Finding it had become my passion. Hence, this friend of mine undoubtedly rang me up. I was extremely confident about seeing that painting again. I had a gut feeling for this.

Now I was all set.

I had to miss all of my lectures for that day. But it was worth it.

I bunked my classes from Organic to Inorganic Chemistry which would have depressed me anyways.

My excitement level was at extreme.

The one hour drive to Gangtok felt like to be one of the longest drive of my life hitherto.

When I finally reached there, my eyes started searching and scanning for it. My eyes were scanning each of the painting that was hung. I was least bothered about all the others and focused only on something that had become sacred to me.

At last on the corner of the hall, guarded by a guard beside. I saw something hung up with much more style and class. I walked towards it.  I was astonished and to my sheer amazement something big had happened. “The Painting” or to say my painting had won in the coveted London Art Festival, which was clearly written above it in the most decorated and audacious way.

I was surprised. Delighted. Very happy, as if I had won.

Finally I got to see it.

I felt like I had found my lost love.

So there it was. I got closer to it and watched with pleasure. It was surreal.

It was exactly the same which had been entrapped in my vision for so many years.

There was very little neuron activity in my brain. I was numb.

Probably, I didn’t had to make any effort to recollect it. It instantly hurled me back to my childhood and all the memories correlated with it flashed back.

It was what is defined as ‘beautiful’.

I was happy to see myself in it (i.e. my reflection on its glass frame). But it felt bizarre. I felt something was missing. The painting was the same ofcourse. Instead, it was me that wasn’t the same.

The last time I saw it I was a little boy, but now?

I was a boy with little doubts, moral fear, so much dreams and desire. I realized all those dreams, passion and naiveness wasn’t there anymore.

I had grown old. Grown too old to pursue in any direction now. It was late, way late. All these years wasted with such ease. Now, I just have more birthdays under my belt.

“The Painting” itself had gone so far. It was something big not only for me, but also to the whole wide world now.

But I?

I was way down. A complete failure, atleast hitherto.

“I felt like a cold wind passing right through my body”. It penetrated my torso like a gamma ray would. The chilliest moment of my life so as to say.

Then.

“There was a snap of a finger to wake me up from my trance”.

All these years of sleeping had made me stuck, like a limped in this flickering world. Swinging in one direction or the other. No vision at all. Floating waywardly. I was like a log of tree being waved and swept precariously by a mad river, with no control at all. Fate completely dependent upon others.

I was really disappointed.

Then I realized that’s not the end of the road. I decided then and there to see “The Painting” one more time before I die.

One more time.

But this time I want to see myself with a smile in my face. With no bizarre feeling, whatsoever. With a smile of satisfaction and success in life. I don’t want to be included in “Another one Bites the Dust” group.

So now the search begins for that precise angle to look into “The Painting” one more time, one more time…

THE END OF THE TRANCE

BEGINS WITH A SEARCH.

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