THE BLACKMAILED MARRIAGE

Painted a villain; Blank canvas in reality

"What kind of a villain am I?

What kind of an uncle am I?

What kind of a brother am I?

What kind of a guide am I?

Most importantly,

What kind of a person am I?

I have failed all these. All aspects of life. A failure. You might even hate me now. Plausible. No arguments. I myself believe, that I am nothing, but a manipulative villain. Whom no one likes.

I messed up my child's life, following the path set out for me. After all, without villains, heroes are just humans. Heroes are born under the deepest levels of oppression. Whether mental or physical.

But you know what?

I was painted a villain. I was just a blank canvas, ready to explore the world, ready to embrace the love it boasted so much about, ready to live, ready to love. 

Yet, no one let me paint myself, first, the parents added a shade of black, letting me know about my responsibilities as an older brother and a son.

 Then the society added a nice sap green to it, letting me know what I needed to know, to exist in such a cruel world. 

The only source of any bright colour was my little sister, Mangla. How pure and serene she is. Even though I was painted all black, Her light fell on me all the time, and my happiness lay in that. One advantage I had, black can absorb light and warmth better. At least some source of warmth.

Then my guru, Swami Landaden Pandit, added the darkest shade of grey, and brushed one stroke over and over, making a continuous pattern, making me believe what my caste is, and what society believes me to become. He painted me all, just smidges were left. 

That's when she came. That long-haired, bouncy cheerful girl, who added all colours and managed to fill the small smidges left. At least now, the painting had some colour to it, some brightness. That's when I discovered the eraser, love. My love allowed me to erase the dark shades, and let her paint me all, let Khushboo, make me bright, radiant, just like her.

 That's when HE came, and her eyes turned cold towards me, the same brown eyes that glowed, now turned like sandpaper, not allowing me to decipher her intentions.

Yes. I know you might think I manipulate. Well, I was painted that way, my sin can neither be explained nor justified. But at least let me give you a fair view. Both sides.

She turned against me, allied with him, and left me again with the eraser. I again erased myself whole, the canvas, now so worn out, It wasn't even eye-friendly.

So I turned to my guru again, and he just had one colour to paint me in. Green. he had all shades of green, sap, olive, emerald, moss, Artichoke, Sacramento, darkest fern and most importantly, Phthalo. I was all green, smeared along the edges with dark scarlet. Bright and warm colours long ago had said their farewells to me, and I had bid them goodbye by all means.

All I wanted to do, was paint HER in colourless, colour like that of tears. And that, I did. All my life, my canvas had seen colours darker, therefore my strokes on life were even darker.

My actions, that I myself can't understand.

After I painted her with all my rage, I realized what I had done to her, what I had done to the love this world boasts about. I might not have it, but someone did, and all I did was snatch it away from them. I snatched the colours, so bright, so warm into shades of dark and cool. I mxed all the black I had, into those warm colours, and let my green decide. Now I again tried to erase my canvas, yet again my guru emerged and covered me all in blue now. Something different yet again. Navy blue, black, white smears all over, I was a mixture.

And that's when I held him for the first time. Nirmal.

So pure, so precious he was. Yet I again took his warm and bright colours, mixed my dark shades and again turned him into the younger ME.

Now I am all white again. Ananya, carried all her mother's qualities, her red, her pink, her magenta, her sea blue, her emerald, and most precious white.

And this girl, instead of stroking me with a little brush, smeared the whole can of white on me, and now I am reborn. I am clean again. I can't take away all the dark colours I smeared all over people, all my life. All I can do is beg for forgiveness.

And I want to paint me myself now.

And that's why I have to leave. I have to leave this cruel world and go somewhere I can paint myself in peacetime
Yours, Shakun."

A paper lay on his study, which Mangla Labadiya found.

She placed the paper to her heart, and let everything out.

She glanced all over the room, remembering her dear brother, the moments spent with him.

 She was not angry with him, never could she do that. She just obseved the whole room inside the rusty cupboard of her mind, her memory. 

She remembered the morning he left. She had felt a kiss on her forehead, which she misunderstood to be a dream. 

And she woke up to find only this letter and a blank canvas with it.

 She took all her colours and made his portrait with all the brightest colours she find, yet she did add dark colours to his intricate features. She hung the portrait in his room and let it open all the time. She often went to the room and talked to the canvas.

She dearly missed him, and again placed the letter on his desk, glanced at the portrait she so dearly painted and left the room in his fond memory.