The painter

A man with a typical pedlar like attire 

Once lived in the dirty corners of the town.

He got nuts by the words thrown at him during the first times ;

Later, he got used to them…

His wife was made fun of in the women circles,

She always shouted at him everyday.

He couldn’t bring much money home

He always said the truth –

Which were never believed to be true.

He had a kind heart

Everyday he sat on the streets

Glanced at the street beggar’s half-broken vessel;

He paid attention to the pale green haired singer’s song when others paid coins .

Most of his friends were people with tough life miseries

He had three children at home : a little boy and two girls

They wore simple clothes, went to a public school

The man perhaps went to school till 8th grade- he didn’t remember that !

He worked as a watchman in a government building- 

That’s how he fed his family.

One fine day he decided to paint whatever he felt

He bought papers and paint 

He painted everytime he felt sad, everytime he felt happy

His paintings gave him relief more than tears –

Cheer more than applause!

He painted till he became old and died.

A rich man bought all his paintings from his old feeble wife fascinated by them!

His children grew up

His paintings were placed in a grand museum…

They were spoken about in all the corners of the town

His grandson stood before the painting completely fascinated

Not knowing the painter …

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Author: vaikavi

Am a Tamil girl from Puducherry, India. I love writing .. libraries ..arts and sciences...Star correspondent for the Times of India..

5 thoughts on “The painter”

  1. It’s true.
    Everyone paints,
    Everyone writes,
    Everyone speaks…
    In somewhere
    In someone
    We live eternally…
    It’s true, my dear.
    Paint
    Write
    Speak
    To become that magical seed…

    Liked by 1 person

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