“How many times have I asked you not to shut the door? Idiot!” yelled his father as he banged the door Sudhakar had locked from inside. Sudhakar opened the door halfway, “What is it now?”
“You heard what your son has just said? You hear him, don’t you?”Grinded his father at top of his voice so his mother could hear.
“What is it father? I am working. Why don’t you go and watch TV? Please let me be at peace.”
“Shut up you fool. Ever looked at what other guys your age are doing? It’s time for admissions. The university cut-off will be out in a few days. Doesn’t that bother you? Name a single good college you have enquired about. Is it my job to get you admission as well? Eh?”
“I will let you know when I find a college. I am working now, please” and the door was shut and locked simultaneously.
Sudhakar was back to his imagination, the sparkling light blue pattern that swirled like a fisherman’s net paused in air, the way he used dark shades with yellow to add depth to its shadow, something like northern lights. He dipped his fingers in paint and rubbed them on canvas. The light colour was soft, used in a deliberate manner like the falling feather of dove. He put grey colour on his palm and splashed it on canvas and rubbed the tip of his fingers all over. So one could see dark grey shade so surplus, but between the slight gaps that the layer had, one could also see light shades, with their lucid shadows. A feeling of something real and sound yet hidden propagated as one looked at the canvas. He stood there watching the shades flow (yes he could, more importantly, only he could). It was his eighth canvas in series. It was like playing music, high and low notes simultaneously. Sudhakar was a master of contrasting layers. The emotions of his canvas went pass through him like spring breeze. There was a deep dark grey splash on top trying to capture the free and flying blue air beneath, exactly like jail bars trying to capture a soul. The onlooker would see the terrible grey splash first which would let him know the pain of being hidden, like a diamond which always remained buried. Yet one can see how the lighter shades beneath pierce out the greys to symbolize optimism, like a sprout raising its head from the soil. This was Sudhakar’s finest work, which brilliantly conveyed the iron will he had. There were grave grey problems which encircled him, but he was like the sky blue shade beneath. His art was subtle and soft. He carried his passion like the wind would carry a leave in autumn. He stood there looking at the master piece he had just created. He took the wiping cloth in his hands, unlocked the door he had closed and started moving towards the drawing room.
“Found yourself a good college? Phaw! Stupid guy, I am not paying for framing what you just scribbled. You get that? You and your ugly paintings!”
And next day, he just moved out.
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