Pushing her father's wheelchair down the marshy track along a brook that flowed unruffled as long as she could remember, she looked at the setting sun over the horizon. Rather beautifully, it cast it's reflection on the rippling waters, giving a tinge of incarnadine to the azure. She reminisced her childhood days when she would sit by this very stream, watching the Sunset, reading the books her father brought for her.There were times when she would be lost in a reverie of a better future in a yet bigger city.
Her chain of thoughts was disrupted by her father. In his still high pitched voice, he murmured, " Julia, do you remember when you were small and I brought you here on my lap?"
Looking back at him she answered with a smile " How could I forget?"
Curving his lips into a tight lipped smile, he said, " You always loved spending time here, watching the surrounding or painting them on your canvass. You played marvellously with colors. How are you doing in that big city, darling?"
Measuring every word, trying to hide her gloom she remarked cautiously, " I don't know, dad. It's hard. It's an obnoxious story of survival and drudgery among thousand others who are doing pretty much the same thing, I guess."
Adjusting his specs, he nodded grimly and said, "What have you painted recently? I hope the big city is giving you enormous opportunities to explore and paint more. You might be having a book full of paintings. Or haven't you taken photos of them in your new Android phone that I got for you on your birthday."
Heaving a sigh, she interrupted her," I haven't painted much, dad."
Unable to mask his surprise, he looked at her calmly , nodded to himself and murmured, " In the art college,they might be teaching you the basics, yet. You haven't had the time, I guess."
As her father looked towards the horizon which was a happy blend of crimson and its various shades, she watched the brook - the subject of her myriad canvasses. Besides painting, she had always been an avid reader. She was enthralled and equally excited when her English teacher had taught her Tennyson's " The Brook." She had pictured the course of this brook a million times in her head, painted every aspect she could and spent many winter afternoons wondering where 'Philip's farm' was. She had always aspired to be an acclaimed painter and had imagined herself writing poetry on silly evenings and lonely nights in the future, just for the love of it. Her small town by the brook didn't hold many possibilities, so she most excitedly had set out to the metropolis the city she had adored for its ever imposing charisma. The one which most contrary to her expectations proved rather scornful and cruel to new visitors like herself. 'Nostalgia is a denial of the painful present' she thought. Kunro was right, indeed.
Breaking into her thoughts, stroking her head with his hardened affectionate fingers, he said," Life gets harder, my love. Reality is harsh at times. Why don't you paint anymore? What is it that's stopping my budding painter?"
"Nothing much. It's just that I feel I am not good enough." she remarked, rather reluctantly.
"What on earth makes you think such? What's the matter? Tell me. " His dark brown eyes looking right into those pale blue eyes.
"I don't win anymore. I have been to a few inter college competitions where I could hardly manage a bronze. My art college said they were ashamed and wouldn't chose me next time. There are people who are better and they make it a point to show me I am inferior. The way they mix colors, the techniques they employ - I have never known them. They have had a better education, more opportunities. Money is a perennial problem in a family like ours. You do your best, dad. But my instructors aren't impressed with the little I do. My ideas, they say are too complicated. If I don't do good, they would probably cancel my scholarship. Before such a thing occurs, why don't I come back here, take up a course in the college that lies in the vicinity?"
He had always tried to provide the best for her. His recent accident restricted his abilities, much. Rimi had always been a strong spirited girl forged with fortitude. He was appalled, one could say, by the look on his face.
" Julia, have you noticed the brook, intently ever? It's course or its nature?"
"What are you getting at? I don't understand.", she snapped.
"It glides over pebbles, some of them which are small and yet there are others that are considerably big."
"How does it matter, dad?"
"Patience, darling, patience. Look there. It rushes over smaller pebbles, unperturbed. And there, the bigger ones do compel it to change its course at times. But have you ever seen this brook stop for a "golden gravel" on its way?"
" No, dad. Never. It goes on."
"Yes, my child. Place a bigger pebble on its way and it will flow around it, eroding it every day eventually lessening its size so that it doesn't matter, anymore."
Taking a moment to look at her eyes, he further said, " Those small pebbles are the problems in our everyday life which we have eventually stopped worrying about, cause they are too miniscule. The bigger ones, like magnanimous problems in the form of people or circumstances do try to impede our progress, occlude us on our journey to success. But we have to be like the brook, Rimi. Never stopping. Flowing gently, scurrying through grassy plots and stony terrain, no pebbles are big enough to hinder its passage. It goes on, no matter how insignificant its existence might occur at times to itself or people around. Remember what Tennyson said, darling?"
Curving her lips into a broad smile, hugging her father she joyously remarked,
ABOUT THE AUTHOR :-
Gargi Ghosal is pursuing her graduation in English from Presidency University, Kolkata. Besides being a debater,She is a voracious reader. A feminist at heart, Gargi Ghoshal is one of the chief columnists for ExPRESS MAGAZINE.
Her chain of thoughts was disrupted by her father. In his still high pitched voice, he murmured, " Julia, do you remember when you were small and I brought you here on my lap?"
Looking back at him she answered with a smile " How could I forget?"
Curving his lips into a tight lipped smile, he said, " You always loved spending time here, watching the surrounding or painting them on your canvass. You played marvellously with colors. How are you doing in that big city, darling?"
Measuring every word, trying to hide her gloom she remarked cautiously, " I don't know, dad. It's hard. It's an obnoxious story of survival and drudgery among thousand others who are doing pretty much the same thing, I guess."
Adjusting his specs, he nodded grimly and said, "What have you painted recently? I hope the big city is giving you enormous opportunities to explore and paint more. You might be having a book full of paintings. Or haven't you taken photos of them in your new Android phone that I got for you on your birthday."
Heaving a sigh, she interrupted her," I haven't painted much, dad."
Unable to mask his surprise, he looked at her calmly , nodded to himself and murmured, " In the art college,they might be teaching you the basics, yet. You haven't had the time, I guess."
As her father looked towards the horizon which was a happy blend of crimson and its various shades, she watched the brook - the subject of her myriad canvasses. Besides painting, she had always been an avid reader. She was enthralled and equally excited when her English teacher had taught her Tennyson's " The Brook." She had pictured the course of this brook a million times in her head, painted every aspect she could and spent many winter afternoons wondering where 'Philip's farm' was. She had always aspired to be an acclaimed painter and had imagined herself writing poetry on silly evenings and lonely nights in the future, just for the love of it. Her small town by the brook didn't hold many possibilities, so she most excitedly had set out to the metropolis the city she had adored for its ever imposing charisma. The one which most contrary to her expectations proved rather scornful and cruel to new visitors like herself. 'Nostalgia is a denial of the painful present' she thought. Kunro was right, indeed.
Breaking into her thoughts, stroking her head with his hardened affectionate fingers, he said," Life gets harder, my love. Reality is harsh at times. Why don't you paint anymore? What is it that's stopping my budding painter?"
"Nothing much. It's just that I feel I am not good enough." she remarked, rather reluctantly.
"What on earth makes you think such? What's the matter? Tell me. " His dark brown eyes looking right into those pale blue eyes.
"I don't win anymore. I have been to a few inter college competitions where I could hardly manage a bronze. My art college said they were ashamed and wouldn't chose me next time. There are people who are better and they make it a point to show me I am inferior. The way they mix colors, the techniques they employ - I have never known them. They have had a better education, more opportunities. Money is a perennial problem in a family like ours. You do your best, dad. But my instructors aren't impressed with the little I do. My ideas, they say are too complicated. If I don't do good, they would probably cancel my scholarship. Before such a thing occurs, why don't I come back here, take up a course in the college that lies in the vicinity?"
He had always tried to provide the best for her. His recent accident restricted his abilities, much. Rimi had always been a strong spirited girl forged with fortitude. He was appalled, one could say, by the look on his face.
" Julia, have you noticed the brook, intently ever? It's course or its nature?"
"What are you getting at? I don't understand.", she snapped.
"It glides over pebbles, some of them which are small and yet there are others that are considerably big."
"How does it matter, dad?"
"Patience, darling, patience. Look there. It rushes over smaller pebbles, unperturbed. And there, the bigger ones do compel it to change its course at times. But have you ever seen this brook stop for a "golden gravel" on its way?"
" No, dad. Never. It goes on."
"Yes, my child. Place a bigger pebble on its way and it will flow around it, eroding it every day eventually lessening its size so that it doesn't matter, anymore."
Taking a moment to look at her eyes, he further said, " Those small pebbles are the problems in our everyday life which we have eventually stopped worrying about, cause they are too miniscule. The bigger ones, like magnanimous problems in the form of people or circumstances do try to impede our progress, occlude us on our journey to success. But we have to be like the brook, Rimi. Never stopping. Flowing gently, scurrying through grassy plots and stony terrain, no pebbles are big enough to hinder its passage. It goes on, no matter how insignificant its existence might occur at times to itself or people around. Remember what Tennyson said, darling?"
Curving her lips into a broad smile, hugging her father she joyously remarked,
"Cause men may come and go,
But I go on forever."
ABOUT THE AUTHOR :-
Gargi Ghosal is pursuing her graduation in English from Presidency University, Kolkata. Besides being a debater,She is a voracious reader. A feminist at heart, Gargi Ghoshal is one of the chief columnists for ExPRESS MAGAZINE.
Simplicity at its best! Beautifully written :). Kudos :*
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