The Portrait - Musings of AAA batteries personified ...

I am sick.
And I am tired.
Not of my own life though.

But of every Tom, Dick and Harry blabbering away like a "AAA" battery on a topic they have no inkling about (i hope this particularly quoted sarcasm doesn't go waste on the people intended, though i doubt since they have limited comprehension of what black humor might be), trying to make a tea-party out of it. Well it made me change one of my gibberish mood swings to this - "Money people earn for work they don't do ..." - and then probably go on to act as if the work got done because of them. Well, its not hard to put 2 and 2 together for people who inter-visit 'common' blogs often.

Well, i don't want to harp on these petty issues (oops - i really meant people)

All my frustration apart, i do not deny a couple of teeny-weeny truths probably there are in all these writings and stuff. But there has to be a way of putting it effectively across, without making it sound so gung-ho and repetitive and blatantly obscene. Take for instance the chai-waala dhaba postings by Dingy and AJ. I couldn't kind of really find one different from the other. No hard feelings AJ. But man, get your creativity going dude. I am sure you can phrase out the same thing in a much better manner using a decent (if not better) idea.

/* PS with Edits */
I am sorry AJ - it was NOT meant to be a personal attack on your creativity what-so-ever. I simply beg you to use your creative talents on something which is not so trivial. Reading the same issue day in and day out with half the junta not knowing the correct info and trying to provide their 2 cents on everything pissed me off. I apologize if what i meant actually came out incorrectly (which i accept it did when i re-read it) and i caught you in the line of my frustration firing. That is what blogging is meant for :)

I cant respond to comments right now due to some proxy issues on this stupid network.
As i told you, dil pe mat lena - lets put together our heads much more "creatively" and try and loosen Mr. AS of some of his hard(ly) earned money during lunch on wednesday ...
/* End of PS with Edits */

And apart from these 2 blog posts, there were a couple of others, but too insignificant for me to mention here ...

All in all, i decided to fall back to my only form of creativity - poetry writing. I had ended up reading one of Edgar Allan Poe's short stories called "The Oval Portrait". So i decided to use it as my theme to fire up a few lines by myself which could probably describe the situation in a much more positive/optimistic outlook rather than the mundane-sombre-deadbolt approach people try to take. I personally don't look down upon my chai stall. In-fact, i consider it to be a piece of art. As opposed to the contrary notion of a chottu chai waala, tea-preparation techniques can be vocational in themselves. I am sure many wouldn't agree with the lines crafted below, in that light - but to them i say - who cares - i blog because i like to - "i blog because i think" (OK, thats stolen from Descartes, but he is not going to turn in his grave for plagiarizing it)

So here goes my le' imbecile. Without any visible firm bashings like the others !!
For people who cannot link the artist, or the exhibition, or the lady-love to known events and surroundings - well shame on you !!
I truly think that with a little effort and vodka (reference: Unni) you will understand it. There are a couple of interpretations, i as a poet thought out.
Good luck ...

THE PORTRAIT

Oh ! What a painter he was, an artist so fine
He could sketch from gothic frames, to a mural with intricate design
Never did art exceed its greatness so, in that era
Those pictures were more real than Gods Zeus or Hera

Once to the Paris Art Exhibition he went
where he fell in love with an angel, from heaven sent
He married her and brought her home
with a single desire to paint her, standing next to the Elyssian Dome

She was a maiden unparalleled in beauty and form
to be challenged only by the genius' artistic storm
Never did she like his involvment to become so deep
that he completely forgot her, even in his sleep
But a gentle, loving, obedient wife she was,
so she allowed herself to be portrayed for his cause

To capture that face on paper, he would like a madman work
never would he budge from his seat, though the night shadows around him lurk
For weeks together with the eisel in front of her spread
she sat in the dark high turret, a single window overhead
But he, the painter, took glory in his work, which stretched from day to day
that he shut himself up, keeping even his loved ones at bay

He could not see the dark, despaired health and spirit of his bride
who even in this time of gloom, yet had never cried
From the ardour of his work he never rose
to see the shattered, dying countenance of the lovely lady he chose

When finally his masterpiece had been completed
and the bristles of the paint brushes with the oil color reserves had depleted
then did he rise to admire his art, his child
none could achieve such greatness, even with an imagination so wild

"This is life indeed" , looking at the portrait he said
and he turned around suddenly to regard his beloved - SHE WAS DEAD