Painting The Best Portrait

Painting The Best Portrait
There has to be an end to the current crisis in my life, and the end can’t be very far off. I’ve come a long way in search of happiness, and it is   certainly a very long time since bells of happiness chimed a tune affable to my senses. The sound has been muted or its volume has been brought to a very minimum by crests and troughs of time.

I’ve done my best to do tone down the melody, but apparently, my best efforts haven’t been good enough. The sounds have blocked out happiness from my life, although small bits of it have been flowing in regularly through small holes. All said and done, I strongly feel I’ve been deprived of the smallest bit of happiness while huge bytes have been distributed without any restrictions to my peers. I sometimes feel this maybe a matter of perception.

If I perceive my case in isolation, or if I consider those who don’t have even the smallest bits and bytes of happiness I have, I consider myself blessed and honoured. I strongly feel this is the only solution to all our problems, but the crux of the problem is that life doesn’t stop here. Life keeps on marching, and there is no end to the road one can walk on, and everyone does walk on for a long time in  search of happiness, and practically, all of us continue to march till we reache a dead end. This is practically the end of all efforts and all crises in life.

I want to enjoy some bits of happiness before I reach the end. I have been pushed out of the crowd that had my peers in it a long time back. All of them have moved on, and some of them are even near the end. After walking a long way along the road, I’ve realised there is no happiness at the end of the road I’m walking on. Happiness lies along the track I’m walking, and I’ll have to be content with whatever little I get. I know I shall not be able to get even a single  sip of the huge gallons of happiness flowing through my peers’ lives. I’ll have to create my own happiness and it is to have its own typical taste, I know.

The fragrance of the phials of happiness I shall uncork shall not be as strong as the ones opened by my peers, I know. I should have opened the phial a long time ago, but fate didn’t want me to open it at an earlier instance. Happiness can be opened only when destiny wants it to be opened; nothing can happen a moment before the appointed time. I strongly feel I may have been in a better position to appreciate the scent had I been able to get a whiff of it at an earlier instance. The scent may have been able to work miracles in my life had it reached my olfactory senses at an earlier instance. I realise I made a couple of mistakes in my life, which are going to take their toll on Zeenat.

Zeenat is going to suffer the consequences of my mistake the most. I wish there was some way I could undo all that has happened with me, I wish I could go back in time and rectify at least some of the mistakes I made. The biggest mistake I feel is that I didn’t plan my future. I was under the impression it is going to be as spontaneous as my past, but it wasn’t spontaneous and unpredictable. I had a faint idea of all that has happened with me, and while this is a positive point for me, it has also been a tragedy that I haven’t been able to do anything to prevent the future from occurring in its predicted form. 

The future predicted for me does have Zeenat in it, and I badly wish I could do something to make the future brighter for Zeenat. I feel very bad when I think that she has to suffer because of no apparent mistake she made. I made the mistake, and I should be punished for it. I should have planned my future as per the predictions made to me, but I failed to do so. Practically, there has been very little I have been able to do to counter the dictates of fate and destiny. They have dominated over my entire life; I haven’t been able to do anything of my own accord.

Everything has fallen into place like the different and yet congruent pieces of a jigsaw puzzle, and  a pre-predestined picture has been formed or is in the process of being formed. I have a faint idea of what the final picture is going to be like. It is certainly going to be something very good, but the sketchers are to follow the dictates of fate and destiny like the morons they are. Their hands hold palettes flamboyant with all the colours of life, but only those colours that are dictated by my fate and destiny are to find themselves on the portrait that is to be finally painted.

I wish the final painting may be completed at the earliest; there is already a queue of the painters who managed to finish painting before me. I have a vague idea of the final portrait being good although the process of painting has been quite tiring and exhaustive.

I do wonder if the portraits painted before me are better than the one I shall be able to paint at the end of the day.