She Paints A Portrait On The Canvas Of My Life

She Paints A Portrait On The Canvas Of My Life

My life provided a canvas large enough for any kind of sketch or picture to be painted. A rudimentary sketch of the first rays of the rising sun was being sketched on it as she walked into the room. My eyes were reduced to chinks by virtue of the sharp light she brought with herself into the room. She brought with herself a lot of hope and happiness into the room along with herself. These are some of the elements of a healthy life that were missing from my life, although there seemed to be an abundance of these feelings in everyone else’s life. Hope and happiness seem to have forgotten the address of my being while on their tour over the world.

She should have been in the room a long time back, but she had been waiting for the appointed time to enter the room. It had been a long wait for me, but I’ve a lot of patience. Because I was sure she would surely enter the room at the appointed time, it is only my patience that is being tested, I have waited. Time seems to have been playing a game with me. The watch I held in my hand had the typicality of being either  too slow or it didn’t work at all. Either I had to wait for a long time for the appointed time to come for a lot of events in my life, or the events which had been promised by my fate to occur didn’t happen at all. It has been quite frustrating to see others enjoying the fruits of youth, while I have to wait for the appointed time which doesn’t seem to come. I feel I wasted quite a bit of my youth in waiting for events to occur, but the fact remains I’ve never had much of a choice in life but to wait. I tried to make the watch work the way I want it to  by shaking it and thumping on it, but my actions to this end have been of no use. I could never have done what my fate didn’t want to happen; I’ve been a mere puppet in the hands of time. Making an estimate of the time from looking at the position of the stars and moon and sun hasn’t served any purpose. It has been a waste of time.

The task of waiting was being done by her with equal patience. I realised that she had also been waiting anxiously for someone to knock on the doors of her heart. She seemed to be waiting  for me to knock on some more doors in her heart before she opened all gates even as she sat on the bedstead. She gave me a broad smile, and I took it to be in response to the activity of my knuckles on her heart. She had a deep feeling that someone would surely one day   walk up to the bank of emotions she had, and knock a door so loudly that the sound would reverberate all across her being. She had been waiting patiently for me to knock on her heart all these years. There was a inarticulate thankfulness stuffed into the air between us. I wanted to thank her for being a part of me, and she wanted to thank me for accepting her as a part of my life. Both of us remained silent; we would thank each other by exchanging a lion’s share of love and attention in the coming years.

She looked like the quite and docile lady I’d been looking forward to welcoming into my life all these years. I did need someone to tone down the evil effects of time and destiny. She too had been through a considerable amount of bathos in life. Life is never easy for anyone, it had not been easy for her too. But is this merely a false perception one develops when one can’t seem to find happiness in one’s own life? The yellow world perceived by a jaundiced eye came to the fore before me.

She was all set to handle the oars of my life from now on. There was a tingling excitement within both of us when we were able to perceive our future in the present moment, at least a part of the future was before us, we had already set out on a journey that was to be a long one. The future has quite a bit of the past, but I have had had enough of my past and even my present doesn’t seem to be exciting at all. I want to move on to the future now. It was waiting to be embraced by me dressed in red, and it was all in white for her. The contrasting colours didn’t signify a different future for both of us, but it was all about discovering the beauty of some of the most beautiful moments of our lives together while the colours splashed all over to provide a beautiful experience.

The experience would have certainly been a better one had the colours splashed at an earlier instance, but I would never have been able to acknowledge the beauty of the experience to the lady before me. It would have been given to a different person. No one can be better than the lady before me, I’m sure. I wonder if I can safely say this, I do wonder if I am at a stage when the intellect is sharper than emotions. I can never claim myself to be at the brightest period of masculine growth as my intellect and emotions are yet not wide apart: I still use my heart to take some decisions. But I have certainly crossed the stage of life when youth indiscriminately mingle decisions and impulse.

The only positive point I seem to score above everyone else is the gift I seem to have for using language to describe beauty when I see it before me. The lady before me seemed to be searching for a looking-glass while she looked at me. Apparently, she wanted me to delineate all her beauty in words that a looking-glass may never have been able to articulate. The satire was that my intellect seemed to have gone for a break from that very moment. She parted her lips to say something I couldn’t hear in the medley of emotions rushing through my heart at that moment. I perceived a faint blush on her cheeks even though she was heavily covered in make-up. The blush reflected the miracle effected by my words even though I had said nothing.

She seemed to be quite like the pair of socks people wear before they put on shoes to provide warmth and security. Many people manage to go along without using socks, but I have never used shoes without socks. She was indispensable for me. She was someone who was going to bring a lot more than warmth and security in my life: she was to bring hordes of happiness and mirth into my dull and serene life.  I really don’t know if I am correct in expecting anything from her, I don’t think I should harbour any expectations. I should be willing to accept her in whatever form life presents her before me.

A sluggish day was breaking in the world outside the room all this was happening in it. The night had declared an end to the day preceding it and it had crept up at an unusually fast pace without our knowing it. The bright and sharp light of the rays of the sun she had brought into the room by virtue of her very presence still illuminated the room, and I hope it continues to do so as long as we live.