Skip to main content

On The Same Page

"Hey Pinky baby, Mama told me that you did some great painting today at school" , said papa as he entered the room with his brown suitcase late that night.
"Yeah papa", smiled Pinky, obviously happy for the recognition she was getting. Pinky, the 6-year old was wearing a baby pink skirt. She had two short pony tails that made her look like a mickey mouse with a normal nose.
"Good, so what did your teacher say?"
"Very good". She smiled, as if a smile represented the end of a sentence.
"So what did you paint today?"
"I painted a...a..."
"I got it. I know you are not into too much abstract or symbolism. You must have done something representational. Was it a scenery?"
"Yes. I painted one hill, one river, one sun...", she was interrupted by the over-enthusiastic papa.
"I know sweety, it must be as wonderful as Koppelaar's 'Landscape Near Bologna'. Your last year painting of your school was very similar to Picasso 'Guernica', you know that?"
"Papa, I also painted you and mama. I painted you in blue color and mama in red"
"Thats fine baby. It does not really matter. What matters is how you use the shade, the tone, the intensity, the nuances. I bet your painting was as beautiful as a Monet. I am proud of you Pinky", he hugged and gave her a kiss.

Pinky did not understand most of what her papa said. She also realized, at that instant, that her papa did not even bother to listen to what she wanted to say. He was just imagining things. But, she was happy that her papa was happy (for whatever reasons) She wanted that to remain as it is. She smiled for one last time and went to bed.

(Inspired by the conversation between a project manager and a client! :))

Comments

Anonymous said…
aiyyo!when did you learn so much about paintings?I didnt even give you credit for knowing about Monet ;)

But what I like best about the story is its inspiration;)
Anonymous said…
for ur assistance
Pinky = PM
Father = Client

Popular posts from this blog

ಹೀಗೊಂದು ಹಾರರ್ ಕಥೆ

ಅದೊಂದು ಊರಾಚೆ ಇರೋ ಸ್ಮಶಾನ. ನಿರ್ಜನ ಪ್ರದೇಶದಲ್ಲಿ ಇದ್ದುದರಿಂದಲೋ ಏನೋ ಅದರ ಬಳಿ ಯಾರೂ ಸುಳಿದಾಡುತ್ತಿರಲಿಲ್ಲ. ಅದರ ಬಗ್ಗೆ ಇದ್ದ ಕಟ್ಟುಕತೆಗಳೂ ಏನೂ ಕಮ್ಮಿ ಇರಲಿಲ್ಲ. ಅಮಾವಾಸ್ಯೆಯ ರಾತ್ರಿ ಅದರ ಬಳಿ ಹಾದುಹೋದವರು ಒಂದು ವಾರದೊಳಗೆ ರಕ್ತ ಕಾರಿಕೊಂಡು ಸಾಯ್ತಾರಂತೆ, ಅಲ್ಲಿನ ಹುಣಸೆಮರಗಳಲ್ಲಿ ಹುಣಸೆಹಣ್ಣು ಬಿಡೋದು ನಿಂತು ವರ್ಷಗಳೇ ಆಗಿದೆಯಂತೆ ಹೀಗೆ...ಅದು ನಿಜವೋ ಸುಳ್ಳೋ ಅಂತ ಪರೀಕ್ಷಿಸೋ ಧೈರ್ಯ ಯಾರಿಗಿದ್ದೀತು? ಪಾಪ ಆ ಸ್ಮಶಾನಕ್ಕಾದರೂ ಅಷ್ಟೇ, ಆ ಊರಲ್ಲಿ ಸತ್ತವರನ್ನು ಹೂಳಲು ತಂದಾಗ ಮಾತ್ರ ಜನರ ದರ್ಶನದ ಭಾಗ್ಯ! ಅವನು ಹುಟ್ಟಾ ಹುಂಬ. "ನಿನ್ ಕೈಲಿ ಆಗಲ್ಲ ಬಿಡು" ಅಂತ ಅವನ ಗೆಳೆಯರು ಹೇಳಿದ್ದಕ್ಕೋ ಏನೋ ಅವನ ತಲೆಯಲ್ಲಿ ಆ ಆಲೋಚನೆ ಹೊಕ್ಕಿಬಿಟ್ಟಿತ್ತು. ಚಿಕ್ಕ ವಯಸ್ಸು ಬೇರೆ, ಬಿಸಿ ರಕ್ತ. ಏನಾದರಾಗಲೀ ನೋಡೇಬಿಡೋಣ ಅಂತ ನಿರ್ಧರಿಸಿ ಆ ರಾತ್ರಿ ಒಬ್ಬನೇ ಸ್ಮಶಾನಕ್ಕೆ ಹೋಗುವುದೆಂದು ನಿರ್ಧರಿಸಿಬಿಟ್ಟಿದ್ದ. ಆಸೆಗಿಂತ ಭಯ ದೊಡ್ಡದು, ಅದಕ್ಕಿಂತ ದೊಡ್ಡದು ಕೆಟ್ಟ ಕುತೂಹಲ. ನೆತ್ತಿಯ ಮೇಲಿನ ಸೂರ್ಯನನ್ನು ನೋಡಿ, ಇವನು ಮುಳುಗಲು ಇನ್ನೂ ಎಷ್ಟು ಹೊತ್ತು ಅಂತ ಚಡಪಡಿಸತೊಡಗಿದ. ಮಧ್ಯರಾತ್ರಿಯ ಸಮಯ. ಯಾರಿಗೂ ಸುಳಿವು ಕೊಡದೆ ಸ್ಮಶಾನದೆಡೆಗೆ ಹೊರಟವನ ಎದೆಯಲ್ಲಿದ್ದಿದ್ದು ಬರೀ ಹುಮ್ಮಸ್ಸು. ಕೊಂಚವೂ ಭಯವಿಲ್ಲದ ಈ ಸ್ಥಿತಿ ಅಸಹಜವಾ ಅಂತ ತನಗೆ ತಾನೇ ಕೇಳಿಕೊಂಡ. ಭಯ ಹುಟ್ಟಿಸೋ ತಾಕತ್ತಿರುವುದು ಭ್ರಮೆಗೆ ಮಾತ್ರ. ಆಗ ಮಾತ್ರ ತಂಗಾ...

Anartha Kosha

I finished reading the delightful "Anartha Kosha" by Na Kasturi . Its a 'one of its kind' book in Kannada. Though it seems to resemble Ambrose Bierce's "Devil's Dictionary", Kasturi adds more flavors to the book - by making puns with existing words, coining new words sounding like existing words, merging two Kannada words to form a new word, merging Kannada word with an English word, twisting the proverbs etc. - to hilarious effect. Go read the full book, till then here is the list of my favorite ones from the book: ಅಕಟಕಟಾ - ನಾವು ಹೀಗೆ ರೋಧಿಸುತ್ತಿದ್ದಾಗ ತಮಿಳರು ಅಯ್ಯೋ ಅನ್ನುತ್ತಿದರು. ಅಚ್ಚಾತುರ್ಯ - ಅಚ್ಚು ಮಾಡುವಾಗಿನ ಚಾತುರ್ಯ, ಬರಹಗಾರರು ಮಾಡುವ ತಪ್ಪುಗಳನ್ನು ಸರಿಪಡಿಸುವ ಜಾಣತನ; ಮೊಳೆ ಜೋಡಿಸುವುದರಿಂದ ಹೊಸ ಭಾಷಾ ಪ್ರಯೋಗಗಳನ್ನು ರಚಿಸುವ ಚಮತ್ಕಾರ. ಅಣುಕಂಪ - ಒಂದು ಊರಲ್ಲಿ ಅಣು ಬಾಂಬು ಸಿಡಿದಾಗ ನೆರೆಯೂರುಗಳಲ್ಲಾಗುವ ಸಂತಾಪ. ಅತಿಯಾಸೆ - ನಮಗಿಂತ ಹೆಚ್ಚು ಲಾಭ ಗಳಿಸಲು ಪ್ರಯತ್ನಪಡುವವರ ದುರ್ಗುಣ. ಅತ್ತೆ - ಈಕೆಗೆ ಮೀಸೆ ಬಂದರೆ, ಚಿಕ್ಕಪ್ಪ ಎಂದು ಕರೆಯಬಹುದು - ಮರೆಯಲ್ಲಿ. ಅನುಕಾರಣ - ಒಂದು ಕಾರಿನ ಹಿಂದೆ ಮತ್ತೊ...

Howls That?

Its a very chilly night, perhaps the coldest I have seen till now. The sleeping pads, the heater, razaai just making sure that the death count in Grand Canyon does not go up. The thermals, jacket, sweater, gloves, socks, sleeping bag - losing the battle against the invincible cold. I am slightly shivering, unable to sleep.The whooshing wind outside acts as the perfect partner for the cold. Just like the pace bowlers, they hunt in pairs. My co-occupants of the tent - Krupa and Saif are sleeping peacefully. May be they were too tired by the travel or they have had their share of struggle with cold already. After more than an hour of losing sleep, I feel a bit drowsy. I enter my home in Mysore. Its too crowded. Dont know why there are so many people, may be some function. I proceed to the backyard, where a few cousins are sitting and chatting. I join the conversation. All of a sudden, I realize that there was a cricket match the previous day. What happened to the match, I ask my brother...