The room is blue , almost purplish blue and dark .
It is raining outside and though the windows are closed , some invisible moisture has settled on the smooth concrete floor . As i settle down on the bare floor , I leave dark , caterpillar like squirm marks on the floor . I look down . My cloth mat seems moist .
Well , what the heck .
The room has one window , painted bright blue , and is totally bereft of any furniture or wall hangings .Except for one fluorescent light which , stuck to the roof , lights it up in the pale blue hue . The corners , conveniently for me , remain dark . My sister was so distraught , when she visited me last time . What kind of a room is this ? You are becoming an ascetic now ?
I said no. I needed a spare room to interrogate my inner demons . I grinned . She fumed . As always .
She left in a huff . I heaved a sigh of relief .
I was glad the authorities could spare a room for me .
It did entail the laborious task of removing everything that the room held , by way of meaning . Even the ceiling fan , which I said distracted me . They rolled their eyes , uncomprehending , but removed it any way . There is no dearth of empty rooms in this place . Empty , clean , bereft of humans . The way I like it . Anyways , there are so very few people around .
That it scares most .
This is the most attractive feature of this place .
You hardly meet anyone in the long, endless, chilly , corridors . Wet and glistening from the rain .
Uncluttered because no one wants to be here .
Except her .
I have just propped the canvas I was carrying under my arm pit , slightly warm and moist from the journey from my room till here . Sweat or rain ? or both .
I splash lots of liquid blue from my multicoloured empty tin of rasagulla , which I had scavenged from an earlier revelry . Now it holds the colour that I fancy . One day it is black , other grey or purple or dark green . Today it is blue . It is darker than the colour of the walls , and lighter because it is lit from the buzzing tube light over my bald pate .
She plonks herself behind me . I can hear her shuffle as she arranges the folds of her long skirt . I needn't look at her . I have positioned myself with my back to her . She knows that . And takes a long slurp out of her bloody smoothie bottle .
It is a bottle which is the fad these days . A narrow glass that blossoms into a jug . It comes in pastel colours . Hers is pale pink . With a large white straw permanently poking out of the top . It is an abomination and encumbrance . Just like everything else .
She slurps again . I hate it . But I cant say it out loud . Even the sound of her loud breath through the nasal prongs bothers me . Her tiny oxygen cylinder on the back , hisses every time she inhales . It is a torture . I fought tooth and nail the first few days .
She fought back . She just wanted to see me paint , she said .
I had to give in . Now , I realise the amount of preparations that must have gone into her coming here . The smoothie , bottle , the oxygen , the long skirt , phew . The fragrant perfume that invades my sanctuary . Eeeks . Like a demon body guard , it enters with her , sits throughout , then leaves with her . I sigh with relief . But sometimes I find myself sniffing the unlit corners for a whiff that the demon might have left behind . Traces of invasion . I defy and surprise myself .
Human beings are strange .
I have started painting large hibiscus shaped flower petals , light blue against a dark blue background .
"Blue , huh ?" A loud and long slurp .
I don't answer . Earlier , she had promised to sit quietly . She broke that promise , quite quickly . I have enough clout to have her bodily picked and thrown out . But I don't . Why ?
As I said , humans are strange . Strange and contradictory . Promise breakers .
"It needs gold border ."
I ignored her.
I continued to colour the central part of the flower , in bluish white squares.
"Gold hairs emanating from the centre . Make it a face ." Another long slurp . The smoothie is probably finished . She is slurping air . I ignore her .
"Me going now "
Of course , now that your smoothie is finished and oxygen depleted , you human machine , surviving on external support , I thought to myself . I didn't speak .
I rarely speak . I guess we deplete a lot of psychic energy through chatter . We were meant to harness our inner resources with economy . That includes economy of speech . So many words are being scattered everyday , like trash littering our innerscapes , and invective spewing out of our mouths , like effluents from drains .
We are strange creatures ,
She had left tiny snatches of her words in the corners of the room , and the wretched perfume lingered in the corners , sitting and watching me , intently , like tiny puppy demons . Just out of view.
I left shortly . The painting unfinished .
Returned the next day . She didn't .
I didn't bother to find out . My flower was nearly complete .
Then I met someone , in the corridor . Carrying her trademark pink smoothie bottle in one hand , and the tiny oxygen cylinder with a tube dangling in other hand . Her nasal prongs , slightly yellow from prolonged use. The person came and stood in front of me and looked at me . I raised my hand and he wordlessly handed me the two items .
I dragged myself back to the blue room . Placed both the items next to me and restarted painting . The night became dark , swiftly . My room must have appeared like a firefly . an incandescent blue firefly in the dark .
This time I did what she had asked me to .
I painted golden hairs like mad , all around the blossoming calyx . I painted a tiny face with closed eyelids , a tiny nose with a nasal prong , a hint of a cylinder over her shoulder and a tiny pastel pink ugly bottle next to it . The periphery , I made into beautiful , bandhni , multicoloured long skirt or ghaghra .
I painted non stop .
I painted her .
Humans are strange and contradictory . Promise breakers .
