In a life that spreads over innumerous years, all a human being does is create his masterpiece. The white canvas is slowly consumed by the colours, less and lesser space remains, then a day comes when the white canvas is white no more, the masterpiece is created and the end is reached. Everyone reaches the end, from the beggar to the billionaire. It is just that the shades are different - some are poor enough and can only afford grey and black and some rich enough to afford blue, green and red, in turn creating innumerous forms of colours .Some forms are not even needed, they go to waste. On the other hand, some have to use the black and grey for so long that they even forget the sense of the VIBGYOR. But that’s the way it goes .O Justice! Open your eyes, remove the blindfold and look across towards the masterpieces.
“Oh Mama, who is he?” points the dainty child towards an unkempt man with a bare body walking down the road in an awkward gait. ”Mad”, says the righteous mother. “Mad, but why?” asks the lad. “He did not study well, had no moral values, was a selfish arrogant brat maybe, so God punished him and he became mad”. The righteous mother put in all the traits that she never wanted her child to uptake from the society into the mad man’s one-lined biography.
Humans. They always try to utilize every situation to their benefit - so did the mother to enhance her child’s upbringing .The next ‘why’ of the child to all those assumptions of the mother was greeted with a rebuking tone and the courage for the upcoming ‘why’ was dissipated .Thus, the child changed his focus to the bright blue sky from grey lies.
The child is now a teen; He walks with his friends on the road and gazes at the mad man sleeping on the footpath. His favourite hobby is painting, he dreams of being a Pablo Picasso, Vincent Van Gogh someday. He has learnt about poverty, which engulfs the species to which Miss Justice is less partial to. Suddenly he remembers, the day he was first taken to the drawing class, his teacher had asked him to draw some character and all he had done was create a pen picture of that mad man in a colourful attire .Shifting from the subconscious to the conscious, he sees the mad man rise up from his sleep and walk in the same gait all over again. Then again, he remembers his teacher saying to him, “O sweet child, you have drawn so beautifully, but the colour should have been black and grey and not red, green, blue”. Suddenly, his cellular rings and he picks it up and goes on to speak with his righteous mother, shifting his attention from white lies to his Goddess on earth.
“Welcome to the exhibition, we have your paintings kept at the abstract section and the highest bids are coming from your self-proclaimed masterpiece Sire”, said the attendee at the LIMA art gallery. Puffing Rothman’s through his lungs, he enters into the exhibition and walks towards the abstract section while greeting the high socialites of the city. Deserting himself from the glamour, he walks towards his paintings and stands in front of the canvas named, “La Folle En Rouge” (The Mad In Red). This had the highest bid.
Memory starts steering,
THE HERALD, 5th August 1994 :
Three cars, owned by rich brats, speeding and chasing each other, lose control and bump into the footpath and kill three people. The three included a mad man, a small boy and his mother, Prima facie witness included the great painter ‘Raul D Gomes’ who was seen covering the corpse of the mad man with a red shroud.
Photography By: Divyank Sinha