Here is an original short fiction by Er. Arnab Jan Deka, BE(civil), LL.B.
Quest for an Art Gallery
(Chitrashalar Sapon)
How I longed to while away my time playing with colours. The nonfigurative lines and circles that I had drawn during my childhood matured with age into well meaning sketches. Next, a time came when I started feeling dissatisfied drawing on the verandah or the ground. Then, I left the precincts of our house and spent the entire Sunday evenings painting my dreams in the small house with the sprawling Judge�s Field in front.
The changes were simultaneous from drawing papers to canvas and from water colours to oil paintings.
Gradually the accumulating varied experiences gave vent to the dissatisfaction of my artistic mind. My mood began to get disturbed at the slightest pretext. Owing to growing and more often than not confusing demands of life�s struggles, practice sessions of my artistic acumen came to be marked only at the lower rungs of the daily scheduled lists.
Even then nothing could withhold my right and independence to dream.
Memories of hearty interactions with Vaishali, Madhumoy and Anurupaa in the artistic world were preserved as a delightful pang amidst an undiscovered virgin garden between my mind and heart. I was quite impressed at their unstinted endeavour to ensure that my sensitiveness did not get lost in the mad mechanical world. And, to inspire them, I too enthusiastically participated in discussions pertaining to fine arts. I frequented their gatherings for a pretty long time with a mind to demonstrate my dedication to these pursuits.
I used to always tell Vaishali and her companions: �There would surely be sunshine in my life one day, just see. At that time, I will keep a portion separately in my home for pursuing these finer recreations. The space won�t have anything except colours, canvasses and stands. Once again then, I would start painting and holding exhibitions.�
Their eyes brightened in the genuine hope and belief in my words. And, my future world bathed in that aura too appeared as a canvas dipped in vivid hues.
Vaishali is quite jolly and likes to play pranks on others. All sombre clouds of sorrow and tension automatically disappear in her presence. Madhumoy is also an active boy. He loves parties. Anurupaa is a reserved sort of a person and takes time in developing friendships. Each of the trio has typical characteristics.
Vaishali�s qualities were typical. She was really a talented person.
During an afternoon discussion, she posed: �Can anyone tell me, is there any significance in the paternal names we had been given by our parents ? Moreover, why do we possessively cling on to these inheritances from our paternal lineages even at mature stages and in spite of knowing that they do not in the least represent our personality or identities? Rather, wouldn�t it have been much appreciable if there was a system whereby we could have been known and socially identified by poetic names reflecting our work and personality besides hopes and aspirations?
Speaking out her stand in a single breath, Vaishali enthusiastically looked towards us for support and opinions.
Like a psychologist and with the smile of a learned person, Madhumoy teased her: �Well, it seems your mind is filled with this idea borrowed from a latest film. Now, you won�t be also satisfied unless you relate the storyline. So begin. We�re ready.�
All of us knew that Vaishali was a film buff. She would always look forward to witnessessing any quality film. And, in case she did not find an ideal companion, she didn�t ever have qualms in enjoying it and that too all alone amidst a crowd in any hall. Often, she accompanied groups of similar fans to international film fests at different metropolises within the country. She rarely missed the special shows of the cine club and the film society. Therefore, we knew that the source of any novel idea in her mind can easily be traced to a lately released film that she had witnessed. Actually, she was looking forward to such a reply from Madhumoy. Therein lay the excitement of dialogues.
Vaishali continued: �Dances with Wolves � Have you all heard of it? None? Then listen. It�s the famous classic film from Hollywood. It�s directed by the veteran actor Kevin Costner. Its backdrop is the Europeans� attempts to take political control of America. The main theme revolves around the battles between the indigenous Red Indians and the immigrants.�
Failing to find anything interesting in her narration, I interrupted her: �There are many American films depicting such issues. It�s common knowledge that the films known as �Cowboy western� are produced against these backdrops.�
Her gusto refused to be roped in. Casting a slanting gaze mixed with a streak of anger towards me, she continued: �Why demonstrate your ignorance by butting in between like a moron? First listen to what I have to say. The interesting part of it is that the Red Indians of America are named after some significant incidents. For instance, the actress of the film is popularly known as �Standing with a fist�. In simple terms it connotes a woman of strong character. There�s a history behind that nomenclature too. Now, please don�t ask me about it. I�m short of time. Then again, though the protagonist, Kevin Costner, had a fancy western name earlier, yet after he developed intimacy with this community, the Red Indians started calling him �Dances with wolves�. Isn�t it fascinating?� Vaishali�s views were always rather appealing.
Those days were filled with joy and merry-making. I could also easily allow my horizon to broaden its purview, nursed by the warmth of Vaishali�s lively carefree nature, brilliance of Anurupaa�s knowledgeable discourses and Madhumoy�s witty presence of mind. All of us studied together, practised finer arts, loudly recited poems, sang songs, threw dialogues from plays, and also travelled around as a close-knitted group. Participating in the processions of agitationists, we excitedly shouted slogans. We rebuilt school buildings in the flood ravaged interior villages. Jointly we took part in NCC parades and then blamed each other later on in the day for the intense pains on our shoulders arising out of the strenuous rifle shooting sessions. During our picnic at Bhalukpung, we battled the swift river currents to collect as mementoes fine and smooth pebbles from the river bed, orchids from within the virgin forests and also posed atop elephants as hunters for the lens to capture.
I still can�t figure the mysterious element that attached the quartet � Vaishali, Madhumoy, Anurupaa and I � it defies a definition.
Of course, each of us had many other friends, besides. But, the exclusivity of the group of four was respected by all. We were quite contented. Life�s complexities never ever touched us.
However, that set got dissipated one day. It was definitely destined. Time played truant. Compelling circumstances pertaining to our vocation took each one of us in diverse directions. Obedient satellites of our trades did we turn into so much so that we moved away on our orbits far away from one another.
At least that was how I tried to console myself after a gap of approximately one-and-half decade. In the meantime, I got used to the emptiness that marked a corner of my mind. At times, I flick though the pages of the past. Think of Madhumoy, Anurupaa and Vaishali. And, the endeavour to walk down memory lane ends at that point.
My dream of a personal art gallery at home never materialized. It�s been ages now that I packed up my paints and canvas as I was faced with an acute paucity of inspirational subjects and characters. What�s more, I lost the manuscripts that used to keep track of the pulls and pushes of my life. I am now faced with emptiness. It�s afflicted by intellectual poverty.
Had I not been fortunate enough to have met Madhumoy and Anurupaa during the centenary celebrations of our college, it would have meant total ignorance on my part insofar as certain things went. Besides, I was at that time quite excited over the unannounced arrival of my recruitment letter as a civil engineer at a firm in Singapore.
I had on many occasions passed by the main venue of the centenary celebrations of our alma mater. Still I had little interest in those functions for I wasn�t invited. I did not want to attend that gathering with the awkwardness of an uninvited guest at the very institution that had once stood witness to our youthful days� academic and extracurricular activities.
It was during one of those undecided moments in front of the college gate that I was greeted by a storm of laughter from an excited group of alumni who had just come out of the auditorium after some function. I tried to leave the scene as soon as possible. My dull official uniform and sweating body was out of place in front of those well-turned out figures in fashionable apparel. Obviously I wouldn�t want any of them to identify me in this way.
But we, the lesser mortals, can never shy away from what is pre-destined to happen. Hence it was that I met Anurupaa and Madhumoy there. I did not notice them among the large crowd of alumni. They recognized me even in my drab appearance.
A commotion immediately followed on that broad street. As both of them grabbed me, I was thunderstruck. What ensued needs no elaboration.
After some time, when the excitement of that emotional reunion subsided, the trio gladly talked of the days past at a secluded spot and the age-old moments of intimacy and warmth resurfaced.
Madhumoy is an engineer in Australia. His other half is his old flame from that country. This trip with his wife and son has been after quite sometime. The centenary only provided him the ideal reason.
Dr Anurupaa is in Canada. She is a university lecturer there and is now a doctorate. At one point of time, both of us did share a common world. But after our disconnection, our romance didn�t bud. The geographical distance was a key factor. Besides, it would have required quite some courage on my part to woo a professor.
Madhumoy�s hair has a strange colour now with a flaxen tint. Anurupaa�s flowing long tresses have got shortened to a large extent. Noticing a white strand peeping out of her blackish curls, I instinctively plucked it out for her.
The duo expressed deep concern at the graying locks and especially over my bachelor status. I just lent them my ears.
Finally a resolution was also taken, albeit not so forceful at that. If both Anurupaa and I do not settle down at the earliest, then a mean would have to be found whereby both the parties would have to agree to tie the knot.
And, in the course of this discussion marked by concerns, requests and promises, our topic had to inevitably focus on Vaishali. Madhumoy and Anurupaa appeared to have become tense on hearing my query as to her whereabouts. I could not reconcile the dry expressionless countenances of Madhumoy and Anurupaa with the representative of the eternally joyous, forward-looking and optimist Vaishali. The abrupt change in the mood was becoming unbearable for me.
Anurupaa began slowly: �Vaishali now live in Delhi�with an artiste. She frequents America and Europe with him. I met them in Boston once.�
I was elated.
�Well, at least one among us is still engrossed in the world of fine arts. When did they get married?� my query was an honest attempt to satiate my curiosity.
The duo didn�t utter a word. I looked at them in astonishment.
After some time, Anurupaa again said, �I don�t know if she tries her hand at that. She is only a mistress of the artiste. He is of her father�s age.�
�What?� I was flabbergasted.
Madhumoy added, �If you look out, you�d surely find her. I too met Vaishali and asked her to return to pavilion. She refused. Vaishali has much clout in Delhi. She has connections everywhere.�
The happy seconds that had ticked with Madhumoy and Anurupaa got bogged down by the issue of Vaishali. Even then, we spent hours chatting that evening.
After that get-together, we kept fixing meetings till they left station. I also got introduced to Madhumoy�s Australian wife and child. We enjoyed much in each other�s company. The day of their departure arrived. Madhumoy�s family left earlier then Anurupaa who stayed back a few more days. By then, the two of us passed several days together.
On her request, I had to take her early one morning to Gandhimandap atop the Sarania hill located in the midst of Guwahati. It was the day before she left the city.
Once it was a regular exercise for our gang of four to trudge up to the serenely lonely top along the serpentine slippery path that embraces it like an anaconda. After spending some time there, we again walk down the same long route of this hillock.
Though Anurupaa and myself had to give in some extra effort that particular day, yet we enthusiastically started for the destination. We proceeded slowly for we were not taking part in mountaineering competition. Our aim was to re-enact the sweet memories of the older days.
We walked around the standing statue of Mahatma Gandhi and enjoyed the bird�s eye view of the sprawling Guwahati city to our hearts� content. My view was more concentrated on Anurupaa. She had tied her rich blackish curls that fell to her shoulders as a pony tail. She was wearing a loose shirt and a pair of blue coloured jeans. She appeared rather smart and mesmerizing in my eyes.
Her exposure and profession in a foreign country have taken away a lot of her introvert nature but the other characteristics have basically remained the same. She still has the veil of coyness about her like those earlier days.
With her eyes reflecting that very feminine nature, she shot a dart: �Why are you looking at me so much?�
�I�m liking it!�
�Have I changed? Probably you�re trying to gauge the extent!�
�You haven�t altered a bit! That�s what I�m studying! Exactly the same!�
�Really?� Anurupaa�s face brightened up at the suggestion.
�The length of your hair has got reduced by about two to three inches, though.�
She smiled at my mischievous comment. A carefree laugh.
Anurupaa sat down at a step. With a serious note, she said: �I have something to say to you. There is a paucity of lonely places in Guwahati these days. That�s way I brought you here.�
�OK!� I agreed.
�Come, sit beside me,� she proposed.
I went near her. The mist was getting dissolved by the sunlight peeping through the screen. Anurupaa and I were bathed in a golden light.
�You start painting once again,� she said.
I laughed away the idea: �Why bring up this issue after such a long time?�
� No, it�s not a sudden thought. I have set up a lovely gallery at the house I have built in Canada. One can savour the beauty of the virgin forests, flowing river and the snow covered mountains through its windows. I feel lonely the moment I pick up the colours. It�s unbearable. I then remember all of you. During those days, we had no paraphernalia. Even then each one of us was a support to the other. Now by God�s grace I have the resources, and can also earn. But, the source of inspiration is somewhere lost.�
I stared at Anurupaa�s face. She seemed to have mentioned the thoughts that have been perturbing me of late.
She continued: � I may appear to you as quite selfish. You may even suppose that
I am trying to seek your sanctuary to get rid of my lonesomeness. But, aren�t all human relationships complimentary to one another? Why do we love our parents above all else during our childhood? Simply because they provide us with security and meet our needs. As we grow up, we start sharing that love with others too because by then we do not need the security cover of our guardians and we do not also depend on them as earlier. Besides, the other relationships that we build at those later stages are also governed by our specific desires. The requirements are monitored by intimacy, satisfaction and dependence. Today, taking into account all these needs, I wish to announce something to you: I need you to fulfill the vacuum in my life. Will you agree to be my life partner?�
I had never before encountered that candid and vulnerable gaze on her part.
Confused, I told her in an uncertain tone: �But I�m leaving for Singapore. You would be stationed in Canada, and I in a different country��
�The world has diminished in size to such an extent that physical gulfs do not anymore pose any barriers. Given the will, we can meet anytime anywhere. But for me, the more important aspect is mental relationship. With mutual trust, understanding and belief in one another, one can surely sustain intimate ties even if two persons remain poles apart, physically. One can similarly maintain a distance from another even if the duo remains near each other.�
I had nothing to say after listening to Anurupaa.
We arrived at a decision. The next day, she left Guwahati city for Canada. After that too, we kept on corresponding.
My stay in Assam was numbered after my resolution to live in Singapore. One fine day, leaving aside all attachments in my home state, I arrived in Delhi. I wanted to complete all formalities of my foreign flight from there.
The moment I set foot in Delhi, I recollected Vaishali. There wasn�t any problem in communicating with her. She herself rushed to Assam Bhawan. We once again retraced our good olden times.
Vaishali has become stouter. Her overall personality reflected her pelf and power. Nonetheless, her conversations with me were free and frank. I did not ask her any personal questions, she too skirted such issues. I merely informed her of my latest arrangements with Anurupaa.
She commented: �You are lucky!� Both of you will be happy, I know. However, I have not been able to solve the puzzle. What has kept both of you from arriving at this decision earlier?�
�You too are successful in your life. Heard that you wield quite some clout as well,� I blurt out.
She smiled. Or, was she crying? I was baffled.
�Once I told you of some characters in a film on the Red Indians. Do you remember? Can you imagine how they would christen me now? � A high class bar girl.
I wasn�t at all acquainted with this self of Vaishali.
�At one point of time, I though that my life would be revolving around the world of fine arts. I have bypassed the three of you. Now, I facing a world of hollowness. My life�s gallery is empty.�
Do the hearts of male also cry. Do they as well feel suffocated by the confessions of weak tearful eyes. An insuppressible overwhelming pang filled my being.
It�s of course irrelevant that Vaishali had adroitly completed all the formalities pertaining to my foreign journey.
.
