My Sketch Pens


I have always loved colour. Since I was a child. I’ve been told that I used to get so excited looking at a photo of a volcano or fire. I remember seeing the vivid and bright colours shocking the page and then cooling down to molten lava and finally becoming stone.

Slowly pictures in books graduated to colour in a book. My first crayolas as I drew random lines supposedly meaning something and showed it so proudly to everyone! A pessimist would have laughed at the crude lines but I wasn’t one to listen right? I had a huge sense of achievement of having put colour on a drab paper.

School and  college graduated with lots of colorful projects using splashes of colour. I can now relate to a few words and how colorful they made me feel.  Like a soft muted sky blue or a fiery red or a lush deep green. How about the deep and dark purple or the verdant orange or the squishy alive brown? Colours made the world so beautiful to see. I’ve had my childhood defined by crayolas. Those wonderful wax crayon sticks with so many innovative names like “Granny Smith Apple’ and ‘Salmon Pink’ or ‘Cornish Blue’. Oh and the crayola markers and stamp it pens!

Over time, as numbers and figures nudged out colourful and seemingly “childish” crayon projects, I pushed those sketch pens inside my cupboard. Until today.

My usual study routine was interrupted by my cousin who came to visit. When he discovered a random highlight pen I used to mark important stuff, he had to have a paper to draw on. Suddenly I remembered crayola and those sketch pens.  Out they came. With each new colour his gasps came louder and his eyes sparkled with new vigour. Oh a blue would never have seemed as exciting as it did today.

Oh no it wasn’t a masterpiece just some random lines and dots and general scribble but the pride he took in displaying that! I was teleported into another world. I played with him too, opening the sketch pens and getting a random scribble in between. And it had never been this much fun.

I realised we’re so quick to dismiss something so sweetly innocent as a child’s random art just because we’re looking for some sort of elusive perfection. I wish I could use those crayons and pens in writing exam papers. I’d make it look so much more interesting!

Looking at the whole world akin to a blank slate is so liberating. Somebody has already filled in the colours but not for a child. For a child every white is something that can be discovered with a splash of colour. I learnt this today.

It was such a beautiful moment showing off this art, even the random squiggle. Maybe the way I looked at it changed. Maybe I painted my childhood out there. Maybe I decided to make the world my canvas.

Beauty is not Plastic.  It can be anywhere and in any form. I found beauty today in a bunch of sketch pens!! Which I will now never let go or gather dust again!!

Part 1 of Beautiful Me, Beautiful World

 

P.S These are my pens which I use while studying.  I still cannot use only one colour while making notes which makes my book a little bit of an art show :p

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Can You Hear Me Papa


 

Saturday, January 21st

Papa!!

Can you hear me Papa?? Papa Where are You? They told me you’ve gone but I don’t believe that. You can’t go. You didn’t say goodbye. I was just finishing off my exhibition in Jehangir when i got the call.

Papa, I… what happened then?? At that time?? They told me you were trying to help someone. And that you were carried away. Oh Papa. It isn’t fair that this should happen. You were simply helping a civilian stuck and they mistook you for Police and shot at you. Papa, I didn’t even get to see you once. I wish..wish i’d been there, to intercede, to stop it somehow, to save you. Keep you forever. Oh Papa!!!

 

Monday, March 4th

Papa, I didn’t even get to complete my phone call the other day with you. I didnt get to tell you so much. About how my exhibition went. It was beautiful Papa. 50 Oil Paintings i made. About Darjeeling. About Kolkata. About our home. About You. It was a success. Many sold. There is a re-exhibition.

 

Wednesday, April 16th

Papa. You pushed me into this even though i never wanted to give myself a chance. Where i am now is because you believed in me. Papa, I’ve got photos to show you. I did the paintings, i did the exhibition. I did paintings for corporates. I’ve been published about. I’ve got to tell you stuff. Now please come back.

Friday, May 7th

Papa…I’ve even started gardening. Keeping your roses and lillies like before. They miss you too. I’ve even painted some of them. Papa your room is full of my paintings now. PLease come back na.

Papa, the whole house is filled with guests. They keep coming and giving me their sympathies while i brew tea for them. But you’re coming back. You said so yourself na papa. Then why are they here. I dont like it. All these sad people in one place poking around where its not required. You’re totally fine. I just met you yesterday.

 

Monday, June 6th.

Papa, I’m painting from home now. I’ve relocated back to Darjeeling. I frequent those tea gardens and that stall you go to everyday. I think you’re teasing me by not coming and saying hi when you’re just around the corner.This is not fair papa. You’ve been playinh hide and seek for so long.

Thursday, August 29th

Papa, they think I’m mad. Just because i talk to you and i can see you. Papa but isn’t it true that you talk to me. There is so much you tell me. Everyday. About your experiences. I know you’re around coz you’ve used some of your cologne. And your clothes look fresh and pressed when you meet me.

Sunday, October 1st

Papa, they are taking me away to an asylum. Papa, mum agrees with them. She thinks i am mad too. They are taking me papa. where is this place….papa do something. I’m being locked in a white room. They are putting some jacket on me. Papa..Can you hear me Papa?? Papa where are you…papa this is not happening..

papa..do something….can you hear m..!!