My Colours- author's cut

Many would have seen paintings; some of you might be the creators of one. I fall in the second category. Yes, I paint. i love playing with colours. Bright, dark and some really shiny. You mix and get more types of them .the canvas is vast and a good painter always tries to put his whole lot of imagination into it. He doesn’t exactly know about the outcome, because he’s busy playing. All his energy is focused on a limited area, within which he projects his then current state of mind. But the challenge of mind is to create within some restrictions .when you can’t go with all your imagination.

Once your mind is portrayed on the canvas, erasing it and preparing a new one isn’t possible. You need a different canvas for maintaining the stream line flow of thoughts and colours. Sometimes your thoughts and imagination goes beyond limits and you need more space, a bigger canvas that accumulates all your thoughts and then you play with them,

The “SKY” is then your new canvas with clouds as your brushes, available In all shapes and sizes. All you have to do is , sit down and relax and let your imagination fill up the sky. You have the rainbow as your ultimate source of colours, everlasting so you can never stop painting and it is always erasable. You don’t need a new one .in this modern age, this is the only thing in nature available for plenty , is free and always at your service.
But like everything in this world, the sky has some limits.

It was late in the night as I returned from my bashing evening. Never in my life I had so much of fun and so it is expected that I had to share all of my feeling and positive vibrations I held within me , with someone who wouldn’t let this happiness go in vain. I messaged her
“Had a blast full evening, have lots of stories to tell”

It’s started raining. I was now busy arranging my room and sudden message tone broke the silence. I was expecting her reply. This was it.it read;
“call asap”
To which I politely replied….
“M low on balance, is it possible for you to call??”

It was too late and I wasn’t expecting her call but the caller ringtone reached my ears, breaking the silence again and then I left my room, giving my roommate some space with his books and I made some for myself. I roamed through the whole corridor, never alone. Her voice was as beautiful as she herself, yet she never trusted me when I complimented her.
She was unique. I haven’t seen any other girl who’s more beautiful than her and she was, both in looks and from the heart, very innocent, cute, lovable, joyful and sweet. Words seem less to describe her. All these I thought while she was enquiring about my “stories” to which I replied very enthusiastically.
By this time I had descended down one level and was standing deviant a broken window which we called the gateway to heaven. In front of me was a huge valley with distant white spots. It was already past 12am. The next day had begun. The dark bluish sky with white spills and minute polka dots and varying shades of violet combined. So calm and silent indicating the coming up of a new time…

My eyes were admiring the scenic beauty, when I asked her
“So how was the day??”
To which she silently in low voice….
“Nothing much, just another day of college and studies, had some fun and then back home tired”
(Some conversations later….)
“Haven’t you ever thought of doing something that would make you feel happy from inside and your parents take pride”?

Then I got to know, she always wanted to be a model. She was so dedicated to this dream that she left chocolates. She knew within her heart that she will make it. I could see her very well through the clouds. I was painting her image as she continued speaking imagining her clothes, her smile and surroundings. The painting also included her as a supermodel. A smile came on my face. I figured her image through the dark night without borrowing the rainbow colours. Because all those colours came from my subconscious mind.

But suddenly, the painting was wet. The colours started fading. Image became blurred. I couldn’t see her and knew there was something wrong. I rubbed my eyes and saw that fingers were wet. Tears came in my eyes.

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THIS WORLD ISN’T BIG ENOUGH FOR BOTH OF US - THE BOY WHO LIVED

                                                                    for those who liked the first

(All characters here are purely a work of fiction. It has no resemblance to any person living or dead)



Siren shoots up breaking the silence of the dark and calm night. Tapping feet cover the ground and snipers deployed on the towers.3 patrol jeeps exit the jail. All cells locked and remaining prisoners thrown back home. It was his 4th in past 10 yrs, but podolsky never made it. “two cigarettes , for a dead Podolsky this time”-a prisoner places his bet
.”Ok..slowly open your eyes, ya..thats it. good he’s responding. shift him without anybody’s eyes. He’s deeply wounded. Keep him low.”-said the doctor. On his way to the ward, Podolsky was informed that he had been shot twice in his leg and he had drained down in the river and reached the outskirts of the city and was picked by one of their ambulance passing by. The police had searched the hospital yesterday and for now, he’s safe. Podolsky recovered fast and within 3 days started roaming in the hospital .he figured , it was a hospital for differently able. since His identity was lost in 6 yrs, he requested to work with them, starting away fresh, but destiny had some different plans for this prisoner.
One day, he noticed a cute kid, walking with crutches . something strange was happening. He felt familiar to his eyes. Eyes which were out of his sight for 6 yrs. he ran towards him and looked carefully. yes it was him. “Dear god, it’s you Johnny.” He yelled out. “omg!! Johnny what happened to you, I told him to take good care”.. He went on crying, while he hugged him. he kissed him all over, but the kid smiled and went away without paying attention to him, as if he was a stranger. podolsky was broken. How was he going to explain him, who he was..
The doctors told that “Johnny” was brought 2 yrs ago from his village, north of Auschwitz .flood had struck there and his parent had drowned. Hunger struck him for days. After deeper examination here, it was found that a part of his brain had been damaged, probably an injury. “what kind of injury??”… It could be anything, a pole; a tree etc. might have hit him. His right leg got paralysed and now his mental age was 6. Podolsky had tears in his eyes. He stared at him. that night was terrible for him. he was feeling guilty. His selfishness had ruined the kid’s life. I trusted him. He cried the whole night.
From the next day, he started spending more time with Johnny, in hope that he may recover soon however the doctors had given up. A new podolsky was born. he took care of all the kids and told them stories. Every hug from the kids, made him feel lighter. The kids loved him and he loved the kids. the staff was happy too. Months went by,everything was going smooth till one day, he saw himself on a wanted poster in the nearby market. The police never gave up. He squeezed out quickly and sheltered back in the hospital. His heartbeat was fast. He was all sweat and tensed. What if they found him??. He didn’t want to leave heaven to return to hell. So he decided fast.


That night was his last stay. Next morning after the daily chores, he informed the head and left the hospital but did meet Johnny before going. He was in complete tears and so were the staff, as they were bidding farewell to a changed man. they will miss him.

“son, I have to go now.. you be a good man. God bless you. Even my shadow will never haunt you.. Because this world isn’t big enough for both of us”
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