The priceless canvas
I guess its a long time since I have posted anything on my blog. Now its time to.
Well, this post is different from its predecessors in a variety of reasons.
Firstly, its a work of fiction ( a short story to be precise)
Secondly, I had conceived it more than 5 years back (when I was in 11th) but woven in words now, so you might find it a little childish but I find it really close to my heart.. please give honest comments.. n please lemme know even if you don't like it :)
Here it goes :
‘Diidiii’, a voice echoed behind me. I stopped to crane my neck and look for its source. I found that it came from a small creature at the far end of the road. I stopped, carefully putting the baggages down, to ensure the safety of the glass pieces meant for aunt Divya. My cousin Anand, having already read my mind, passed on a sulking look. Ignoring his expressions, I gestured him to look after the luggage while I walked towards the girl.
‘Hello’, I said as I reached near her.
‘Didi, would you like to buy some envelopes?’, she gingerly asked, her voice quivering.
I carefully analyzed the girl; she must be around 10, a tilted dusky head on a frail body. She was wearing a dun colour frock, which appeared to have been in bright red in its bygone days and the sun has taken a heavy toll out of it. She glared at me expectantly, her eyes shimmered as the sunrays fell on them.
Realizing that she was looking at me, I broke out of my cogitation and looked down. On the ground was a tattered cotton sheet patched at several places, on which around 15-20 envelopes were neatly arranged. Each envelope was hand painted in a distinctive style. Some had rural Indian figures on them , some had brilliant streaks drawn across, some had landscapes done with water colours.
‘Beautiful…absolutely’, I said, taken aback by the art prowess in display ,’ Did you make these yourself?’.
‘Yes, I did’, an alacritous response came back. Unlike the first occasion she spoke, this time she exuded a sense of pride, her face beaming with the childish joy over praise. She paused for a moment and said, ‘Rs. 10 per piece’ .
I stood there and studied all the envelopes in turn and awed at the effort that would have gone to accomplish each of them. In the back of my mind I felt sorry that how poverty has forced her to sell these works at such meagre a price. I decided to buy five of them and while I fished for money in my pockets, I asked ‘What’s your name?’.
‘Rimmi’ she said in a chirpy tone.
‘Don’t you go to school?’, I asked as I handed her the fifty bucks.
She stared at me with askance for a while and replied ‘I used to, when Ma was well. But after she got ill, I started to work. We need money for food and medicines. Prices going up and up, didi’. She talked about the prices with full hand gesticulation up and down.
‘What happened to your mother?’
‘She had some serious infection in the stomach. She is gradually recovering now. Once she fully recovers and starts working I could again join school.’
‘And what about you father?’
A long hush ensued from her side. Then she spoke ,‘ He died in a rail accident last year. The government gave us a small compensation at that time. But it was all used up for Ma. She underwent a surgery last year. ’ she said as she packed the envelopes. She had bent her head down but I could see tears swelling under her eyes.
‘Oh I am so sorry dear. Don’t worry.. everything would be ok soon. Here is some money. Keep it.’ I took out a 100 Rs. note and held it out towards her.
‘That is very kind of you but I can’t take money like that. My mother has always taught me to live on the money that I have earned, not on the one which I got out of sympathy’.
I was left stupefied by the principles of the little girl, feeling really small in front of her thoughts. There was a long silence between the two of us. It was only broken by the shrieks of my cousin who called out ‘Hey! Is this why you wanted me to come to Delhi with you, to guard your luggage, isn’t it?’.
‘Oh… really sorry bhai. Just coming.’
I kept the envelopes in my purse and sped towards my enraged cousin. We picked up our bags and entered the building. Before going inside, I waved at Rimmi who acknowledged it with a similar gesture and a smile.
The following five days we had packed plans of visiting places in the Capital: Connaught Place, Red Fort, Lotus Temple, Appu Ghar, and homes of several relatives. My mother had, as usual, packed some gifts and sweets for each of the relatives and had made it mandatory for us to visit them.
Inspite of all commitments, every morning I made a routine of paying a visit to my new friend Rimmi. Surprisingly, sometimes Anand also accompanied me. We used to pack some breakfast for her too.
I found out that Rimmi was infact a chirpy girl who could talk on for hours. She would endlessly narrate about her life in an avid tone, never pausing even to catch a breath. She told me that she used to go to a public school and had completed III standard there with good grades. She also told me how she paints late in the night and gets up early to finish the household chores and then runs to the street with her stuffs. ‘Most people tend to buy my things in the morning while they are out for jogging, so I have to be pretty early.’, she said. She painted not just envelopes but other things like glasses, canvas, even pottery. She told me that currently she was working on the portrait of a girl holding flowers. Till now, she had spent around 5 complete nights in painting it. 'Its coming out well. If I get to sell it, it will bring the biggest profit I earned so far' she said, her voice exudating confidence. She also said that she had assured her mother that she would would be fully recovered in a week.
Her incessant talks had nothing to do with me, yet I enjoyed watching her narrate her stories with extensive hand movements and also her sporadic toothy laughter.
The sixth morning after a heavy breakfast of aloo parathas, Anand and I went to see Rimmi, carrying with us a couple of parathas packed in foil with some pickle. She was wearing the same dun frock which she wore the first day we met.
She stood up when she saw us, tears rolling down her eyes.
‘Ma…She was recovering at such a fast pace. But suddenly her condition became serious yesterday, massive pain in her stomach. I don’t know what to do..’
‘Where is she now? Did you take her to a hospital?’
‘My nani and some others came yesterday. They were suggesting we take her to an ojha’.
‘An Ojha!’, I fidgeted, ’He would do nothing but gauge out money out of your pockets. Your mother needs medical care!’.
‘I know, I don’t believe in such superstitions, but who will tell that to my nani.’
‘Listen I know a doctor here who also happens to be my uncle’s friend. He is a very reputed practitioner. His clinic is not very far off, I think. We will take your mum there and as far as your nani is concerned.. she wants to meet an ojha isn’t it.. Now she would meet an Ojha from Kashi who will cleanse her mind of all superstitions!’ I winked at Anand while I spoke and he understood the allusion.
My uncle’s friend proved to be more than generous. Luckily he recognized Rimmi as he was also a regular buyer of her stuffs. He dispensed with his consultation fee and even provided her mother some free medicines. Her mother responded well to his medicines. As for her nani, I and Anand met her, and Anand, in his inductive tone made her believe that the medicines were from some sage of Kashi ! She yielded to his arguments quite easily. Later on Rimmi told her the truth and she vowed to trust science not superstitions.
Finally the day of bidding farewell to Delhi dawned. I decided I would meet her for a while before leaving. As soon as she saw me coming out of the building, her face lightened up. When I reached near her, she handed me a canvas on which she had drawn a girl holding a bouquet. The same canvas she spoke about...
Comprehending the look on my face she blurted out, ‘Its for you didi, a token from me! You helped me fulfill my promise I made to Ma. I made a similar one for Doctor sahib too’. She handed me another painting of hers and exclaimed, ‘and this one is for Anand bhaiya’. She gave me another beautiful scenery on a canvas.
I was in some kind of stance at that time. There are some moments in life so heavily inundated with emotions that the heart arrogates the mind, the words fail to form, the sentiments carry you away; and I was caught in one of those. I fought within myself to find the right combination of words to come up with. ‘Thanks. God bless you’ were the only ones I could manage in such a state. A thousand thoughts swarmed my mind. Had she wanted, she could have easily sold the canvases for at least 1000 bucks, but instead she had decided to waive the money to express her feelings. The money which could have easily bought her a sumptuous meal or a good dress. But she had decided to forgo all that.
I wanted to tell her to take the canvas back and earn herself a fortune from it. But the look of content on her face kept me from doing that. I knew that by doing this she had redeemed what she once promised her mother, and the feeling of satisfaction showed up on her. In the past seven days I had never seen such soothing satisfaction on her face. I did not want to rob her of the contentment she derived from this sacrifice.
I bade her goodbye and came back, clutching the canvases close. In my hands I was not holding frames of fabric and wood, but the precious emotions of a pure heart, which shall always remain etched onto my heart, wherever I go.
Well, this post is different from its predecessors in a variety of reasons.
Firstly, its a work of fiction ( a short story to be precise)
Secondly, I had conceived it more than 5 years back (when I was in 11th) but woven in words now, so you might find it a little childish but I find it really close to my heart.. please give honest comments.. n please lemme know even if you don't like it :)
Here it goes :
‘Diidiii’, a voice echoed behind me. I stopped to crane my neck and look for its source. I found that it came from a small creature at the far end of the road. I stopped, carefully putting the baggages down, to ensure the safety of the glass pieces meant for aunt Divya. My cousin Anand, having already read my mind, passed on a sulking look. Ignoring his expressions, I gestured him to look after the luggage while I walked towards the girl.
‘Hello’, I said as I reached near her.
‘Didi, would you like to buy some envelopes?’, she gingerly asked, her voice quivering.
I carefully analyzed the girl; she must be around 10, a tilted dusky head on a frail body. She was wearing a dun colour frock, which appeared to have been in bright red in its bygone days and the sun has taken a heavy toll out of it. She glared at me expectantly, her eyes shimmered as the sunrays fell on them.
Realizing that she was looking at me, I broke out of my cogitation and looked down. On the ground was a tattered cotton sheet patched at several places, on which around 15-20 envelopes were neatly arranged. Each envelope was hand painted in a distinctive style. Some had rural Indian figures on them , some had brilliant streaks drawn across, some had landscapes done with water colours.
‘Beautiful…absolutely’, I said, taken aback by the art prowess in display ,’ Did you make these yourself?’.
‘Yes, I did’, an alacritous response came back. Unlike the first occasion she spoke, this time she exuded a sense of pride, her face beaming with the childish joy over praise. She paused for a moment and said, ‘Rs. 10 per piece’ .
I stood there and studied all the envelopes in turn and awed at the effort that would have gone to accomplish each of them. In the back of my mind I felt sorry that how poverty has forced her to sell these works at such meagre a price. I decided to buy five of them and while I fished for money in my pockets, I asked ‘What’s your name?’.
‘Rimmi’ she said in a chirpy tone.
‘Don’t you go to school?’, I asked as I handed her the fifty bucks.
She stared at me with askance for a while and replied ‘I used to, when Ma was well. But after she got ill, I started to work. We need money for food and medicines. Prices going up and up, didi’. She talked about the prices with full hand gesticulation up and down.
‘What happened to your mother?’
‘She had some serious infection in the stomach. She is gradually recovering now. Once she fully recovers and starts working I could again join school.’
‘And what about you father?’
A long hush ensued from her side. Then she spoke ,‘ He died in a rail accident last year. The government gave us a small compensation at that time. But it was all used up for Ma. She underwent a surgery last year. ’ she said as she packed the envelopes. She had bent her head down but I could see tears swelling under her eyes.
‘Oh I am so sorry dear. Don’t worry.. everything would be ok soon. Here is some money. Keep it.’ I took out a 100 Rs. note and held it out towards her.
‘That is very kind of you but I can’t take money like that. My mother has always taught me to live on the money that I have earned, not on the one which I got out of sympathy’.
I was left stupefied by the principles of the little girl, feeling really small in front of her thoughts. There was a long silence between the two of us. It was only broken by the shrieks of my cousin who called out ‘Hey! Is this why you wanted me to come to Delhi with you, to guard your luggage, isn’t it?’.
‘Oh… really sorry bhai. Just coming.’
I kept the envelopes in my purse and sped towards my enraged cousin. We picked up our bags and entered the building. Before going inside, I waved at Rimmi who acknowledged it with a similar gesture and a smile.
The following five days we had packed plans of visiting places in the Capital: Connaught Place, Red Fort, Lotus Temple, Appu Ghar, and homes of several relatives. My mother had, as usual, packed some gifts and sweets for each of the relatives and had made it mandatory for us to visit them.
Inspite of all commitments, every morning I made a routine of paying a visit to my new friend Rimmi. Surprisingly, sometimes Anand also accompanied me. We used to pack some breakfast for her too.
I found out that Rimmi was infact a chirpy girl who could talk on for hours. She would endlessly narrate about her life in an avid tone, never pausing even to catch a breath. She told me that she used to go to a public school and had completed III standard there with good grades. She also told me how she paints late in the night and gets up early to finish the household chores and then runs to the street with her stuffs. ‘Most people tend to buy my things in the morning while they are out for jogging, so I have to be pretty early.’, she said. She painted not just envelopes but other things like glasses, canvas, even pottery. She told me that currently she was working on the portrait of a girl holding flowers. Till now, she had spent around 5 complete nights in painting it. 'Its coming out well. If I get to sell it, it will bring the biggest profit I earned so far' she said, her voice exudating confidence. She also said that she had assured her mother that she would would be fully recovered in a week.
Her incessant talks had nothing to do with me, yet I enjoyed watching her narrate her stories with extensive hand movements and also her sporadic toothy laughter.
The sixth morning after a heavy breakfast of aloo parathas, Anand and I went to see Rimmi, carrying with us a couple of parathas packed in foil with some pickle. She was wearing the same dun frock which she wore the first day we met.
She stood up when she saw us, tears rolling down her eyes.
‘Ma…She was recovering at such a fast pace. But suddenly her condition became serious yesterday, massive pain in her stomach. I don’t know what to do..’
‘Where is she now? Did you take her to a hospital?’
‘My nani and some others came yesterday. They were suggesting we take her to an ojha’.
‘An Ojha!’, I fidgeted, ’He would do nothing but gauge out money out of your pockets. Your mother needs medical care!’.
‘I know, I don’t believe in such superstitions, but who will tell that to my nani.’
‘Listen I know a doctor here who also happens to be my uncle’s friend. He is a very reputed practitioner. His clinic is not very far off, I think. We will take your mum there and as far as your nani is concerned.. she wants to meet an ojha isn’t it.. Now she would meet an Ojha from Kashi who will cleanse her mind of all superstitions!’ I winked at Anand while I spoke and he understood the allusion.
My uncle’s friend proved to be more than generous. Luckily he recognized Rimmi as he was also a regular buyer of her stuffs. He dispensed with his consultation fee and even provided her mother some free medicines. Her mother responded well to his medicines. As for her nani, I and Anand met her, and Anand, in his inductive tone made her believe that the medicines were from some sage of Kashi ! She yielded to his arguments quite easily. Later on Rimmi told her the truth and she vowed to trust science not superstitions.
Finally the day of bidding farewell to Delhi dawned. I decided I would meet her for a while before leaving. As soon as she saw me coming out of the building, her face lightened up. When I reached near her, she handed me a canvas on which she had drawn a girl holding a bouquet. The same canvas she spoke about...
Comprehending the look on my face she blurted out, ‘Its for you didi, a token from me! You helped me fulfill my promise I made to Ma. I made a similar one for Doctor sahib too’. She handed me another painting of hers and exclaimed, ‘and this one is for Anand bhaiya’. She gave me another beautiful scenery on a canvas.
I was in some kind of stance at that time. There are some moments in life so heavily inundated with emotions that the heart arrogates the mind, the words fail to form, the sentiments carry you away; and I was caught in one of those. I fought within myself to find the right combination of words to come up with. ‘Thanks. God bless you’ were the only ones I could manage in such a state. A thousand thoughts swarmed my mind. Had she wanted, she could have easily sold the canvases for at least 1000 bucks, but instead she had decided to waive the money to express her feelings. The money which could have easily bought her a sumptuous meal or a good dress. But she had decided to forgo all that.
I wanted to tell her to take the canvas back and earn herself a fortune from it. But the look of content on her face kept me from doing that. I knew that by doing this she had redeemed what she once promised her mother, and the feeling of satisfaction showed up on her. In the past seven days I had never seen such soothing satisfaction on her face. I did not want to rob her of the contentment she derived from this sacrifice.
I bade her goodbye and came back, clutching the canvases close. In my hands I was not holding frames of fabric and wood, but the precious emotions of a pure heart, which shall always remain etched onto my heart, wherever I go.
Comments
I liked the story also. Know that you are capable of doing much better. Stil scope of improvement. Keep posting!
but in my opinion the episode with the doctor was so fast,it didn't gel that well with the previous or latter parts of the story.
ur a very good writer too :) u have the ability to explain the ambiance, the character's outfits, looks n thoughts perfectly...:)