“Time Conflicts” – I meet my "contradictory" mirror image!

Festival of colors; a lovely Sunday morning, vividness everywhere, sophisticated and complex art work found everywhere. Palette of colors splashed in the eyes, not even an inch on the street looked dull. Some of the art-forms were undemanding to understand, some taxed the brain heavily; every piece of art found there was in competition with each other to seek attention from the viewers and none went unnoticed.  Artists from every nook and corner waited for this day to exhibit their years of hard-work and passion. People from different genre visited the place; every pair of eyes I met sparkled with glee. I wandered appreciating every piece of art I found, as an art-enthusiast myself, I was too fascinated looking at every piece of creation. I stood by every stall to understand the art form, medium and also the technique the artist had used to bring out the creativity.  While I was moving from one stall to the other, a great sense of respect arouse in my heart and and a sense of belonging to the place.I felt that smile didn't want to abandon me as long as I stayed there. I walked by several stalls and the beauty of beautiful Tanjore art, Mysore art, Still life paintings, Nude paintings, Calligraphy, Paper quilling, Pencil sketches, Mixed medium, sculptures and  many more caught my eyes. I also met a couple of artists to understand the intricate work they had produced.  I clicked pictures and walked slowly from one stall to the other along with my friends appreciating the beauty of the artist’s inventiveness and creativity.  I was along with another friend while other friends of mine were scattered in different places. We were laughing making fun about something really weird we noticed in the crowd, when a young man dressed in a long saffron kurta and a white dhoti and a kolhapuri sandal caught us. He was charismatic, a tall guy with a medium-built and slightly long hair. He smiled at us and his aura drew all my attention towards him at once. I pulled my friend by his hand and dragged him to the stall. It was not one of a kind stall, it looked dull and boring, no colors absolutely.There were only seven pen-sketches hanging in his stall, below them was a tab that ran the slides of his website and a couple of art-books that were on sale. He introduced himself to the both of us, he took us through his first sketch, and he was engrossed in explaining the concept when my other friends joined in the conversation. It was a monologue, but it felt that he had complete control over all of us and the situation.

My mind constantly reminded that this person is full of hot air but my heart wanted to listen to him, all my friends were getting goaded and I could sense from the way they gasped after every statement the artist completed with great difficulty.  I wanted to train the artist to learn the art of effective usage of pause and silence in communication.

 Besides all the baloney the artist shoved us with, my ears were about to shut and my legs pulled, he said 4:30 am. My eyes opened wide, my ears wanted to hear what he said and the antennas of my receiver with full strength; our gaze met and it felt that it was just him and me speaking to each other.  He said that every sketch f his hanging there was a visualization of people who existed and had met him and this was a pure co-incidence and then he said, every sketch of his was made at 4:30 AM in the morning.  My heart ached with the numbers he indicated.  I stood there lost wondering how time differs from person to person. I dread 4:30 am while the most beautiful things in the artists’ life had taken place at the same time I considered the most ill-fated to me. I stood there numb, tears filled to the brim, I was at loss of words. I wanted to remember the incident forever; I got a book from the artist, a new perspective for something I was searching from five years had to be found on an unexpected day from a stranger.  It was more than an hour we spent in his stall, I got a book and my friends teased me that the guy was a bundle of management skills and the best marketing guy they had met, they even said that I was a prey of his today with a label called “JACK-ASS” on my forehead.

 I just looked at them with a blank face, they were true, I knew, I was a prey, a victim, not just of the trap that artist had laid to sell his works but also the 4:30 am which  fate had decided 5 years ago in the form of ceasing my dad away from my life; that minute and forever.   I believed that mirrors are the best friends of human-beings but for the first time I experienced a conflict, a contradiction.