Home is no place for creativity

He left the foreign land a year ago to come back and live with his people, only to make up for the time lost in the agony of being separated from them. His arrival was seen as the only hope by the family to have their kid back into their lives. He soon started to work relentlessly to make sure all the soaring gaps of longing were filled up. The weakened bonds were gaining strength with his constant pursuit for their well-being and desires.They were happy to see their aspirations getting reflected through his eyes.

He’s now a changed man they say, a man more dependable than ever. Standing against the winds of uncertainty with unwavering strength. Someone who was always known for leaving everything behind him for his never-ending endeavours of exploration, has barely held such thoughts anymore.The scars from the foreign land began to disappear as time has erased out their signatures over his body. With the fading scars left the vividness of the moments meant for it.They say home has certainly turned him for good but nobody knew that it were only the poor emotions that were held hostage by the walls.

Home always stands as a good defense from the external influences of life as its primary mechanism mainly thrives on the proximity of known factors. Home is never ready for surprises. Comfort is always sought from the certainty of things around at home. It is always assured of the roles played by each life residing within those four walls. Hence the curiosity of unknown is always held on the other side of the door.

But it just took one small failure for home to truly realise the aspect of creativity. And the failure was him breaking down. It was only then home took resort to creativity before it could fall apart.

Rant Shots #1 – The art of distancing

The biggest issue with the newly emerged relationships by distancing  is that a virtual identity is created of an individual by the means of remote communication like texting. You might find that it’s better than the old methods since you enjoy the benefits of constant engagement even when the person is not physically present in front of you.
But here’s the case –  I call it the avatar of psychological distancing lying in the shadow of social distancing. So she leaves a message for him , he replies back a bit late although not late for him since he replied immediately when he noticed it. So here’s the issue with the sent text , the clock starts ticking as soon as the message leaves the sender , and doesn’t bother whether the person on the other side is genuinely available to look into it. It kind of creates an anxiety with time until a reply is received. The sender also thinks to restrict herself to avoid crossing over the fine line of desperation. And as the wait proceeds there’s this crazy episode of scrutinizing the delay comes into play, we humans always take a defensive approach preparing ourselves for the worst possibilities as it forms to be our natural instinct for survival against danger. And here’s where the trouble makes its way into the equation, although everything that’s happening during this period of waiting is completely unreal in nature. It’s disturbing to see how emotions are getting controlled over these modern form of instant communications.
Trust me ,a talk always stands better than a text . Neither do I feel much positive about our vocabulary making any advancements in this process of texting.

Run 2020

I particularly disdain running on a treadmill during my workout at gym, for some reason it kind of feels mentally regressive to see the body engage into a trivial task of running at a stationary position. Although it makes less sense to hate the machine after all its only the body which gains at last with running and it doesn’t seem like it’s too much to ask for , but certainly not one of my favourite activity in the gym to look out for.
With that usual shrugged face I stand on the belt , plug in my earphones and start my run today. I see adjoining belts running at their own pace with some running enthusiastically to record new speed limits and others mostly struggling hard out of exhaustion while trying to stretch that extra mile to meet the ambitious target set by the trainer.
Eventually I set my pace and lead the run with my playlist on. But no sooner ,I lose the track of music and my mind goes for a run with my thoughts leaving my body behind on the treadmill.
I start wondering how these marathon runners cover huge miles at a stretch. What keeps them going ? . Why short speed run , a measurable derivative of marathon not popular among the people ? How does motivation work in this particular style of running for marathon. I think the destination can at least be ruled out as it doesn’t seem to impress me to run all the way. Or is it the physically tiring body that gives you some sense of happiness at the end. What is it ?
Looks like the only selling point in the business of marathon is about the transformation it claims to bring in the individual by the end of the race. I also wonder how intricately it deals with the attempt to set the right pace to emerge successful, too fast will lead to exhaustion before you could reach your goal while too slow will leave you behind others. I couldn’t resist myself to pick up the same question on the eventuality of running the race of life. Here the poor destination finally ends in the attic of death. But you definitely gain some acquaintances with the people running along with you at some point during the whole journey. Probably their influences bring the transformation you seek from the marathon of life. From the all people you meet along, Some you try to distance away yourself from while for some you put all the efforts to keep up the pace with ,since the experience felt pleasant and comfortable to find them next to you. Some last for a short time while only a few stand the test of time.

In hindsight it feels like every run has always transformed me but it was realized only today.

With the time rushing into the year of 2020 soon, I wish you have a good run and a memorable one !

Borrowed thought ” My new year resolution is citizenship. ” 😜

A Triangular Love Story!

It’s me, him and her forming the coordinates. The sides, wove patiently by the threads of love through the needle of time holding us tight together. I, the later entry into the dynamics of their seasoned bond made it without much resistance much more like a natural selection as if it was supposed to be unevitable for them, not that the love between them faded away and were in search for one. But probably because of her, she had more love to give.

Now that the new love had arrived , it meant shifting of priorities, since it became the new source of growth one seeks in a relationship. She did everything right to see that the new love grows into a strong bond greater than any relation she ever had. And in the run for doing so, the other relationship she catered somehow met with new terms without realizing it,for the loss of time she could have shared into their equation. The new terms ended up putting herself second to everything in any issue which involved them , slowly it started to sneak into the issues which were personal to her where his opinions were impertinent and mere reactions. But somehow it tried to weigh into her decisions and thereby lead to all sub- optimal choices.

This was rather alarming as it would also mean our narrative is also getting influenced with his biases and the sanctity of our mutual relationship taking the hit.
In order to make her realize the issue, I started to question her reasons for making a specific choice, which eventually lead to some discomfort as it always lead to him.

Why it is that you have to put the saree you chose, back into the closet because he did not find it good ? Why is that we had to cancel our planned trip because he doesn’t feel it ? Why should he tell you where exactly anything has to placed in the house ?

To defend it she said – “Why would it matter, I guess he would know the best for me. ”

I argued by saying – “No, that’s not true, he would only know the best for his idea of you, probably even may not if its second to the best for him. So the most likely outcome will be you end up with the third to the best of two. ”

“It’s time you work on the other side of this triangular love story ,Mom! ” – I said.

Ganpati Bappa Morya !!

It’s time for the celebration on his arrival. The streets are embellished with decorative lights running parallel on both sides bright enough to color up his pathway. Everyone is eagerly waiting to welcome our beloved Bappa. Women’s all dressed up with delightful faces holding Aarti Thali in their hands, while some hustle to light up the lamps on their plate. People are out through their balconies as the drum beats are nearing with each moment escalating the heart beats in anxiety to just witness our deity in his gigantic avatar. The procession seems to be just around the corner of our street. Our group of five is standing aside, both hands tied on the adjacent shoulders waiting eagerly before our orderly formation let loose into the crowd.

The crowd just appears to be visible now with everyone dancing in ecstasy, it seems like a tidal wave is pouring in on the street like along a sea-shore to take away everything in its way . As the awaiting eyes finds his statue in sight through the haze of Gulaal spread all around in the air, they glitter in joy. Both hands rise synchronously to hold up together for a Naman with an wholehearted smile equally growing wider. The senses have started to respond to the music with the head nodding in tune with the music ,while the legs are tapping in rhythm. As the procession approaches near ,the energy infects our bodies as we simply disappear into the crowd and start dancing blissfully . Its sheer joy reflected on the faces dancing gracefully without hesitation expressing their love in the purest form as their bodies spring in the air. For a moment even the thumping drum beats reverberating around seem visible like the burning flames of fire rising high into the skies. Even the heavens are greeting showers for its our lord who has stepped on earth today.

After hours of extraordinary celebration with the procession, Bappa was carried onto the stage where he will reside in care of his devotees for the next 10 days. With all the rituals taking over , we stood behind for a while with other spectators to witness the program before we take leave from the event. She tapped my shoulder, and as I lean towards her to lend my ears she asks this thing – “Why among all the deities, he is the only one being celebrated with such joy by we humans ? I mean what is it with him that makes him great ? “. It instantly drew a smile on my face. She continues – “I suppose neither do we know him to be the lord of strength or the guardian of justice with superpowers nor did we grow up listening tales for his acts of valour as the saviour of masses in the battle against evil , as he is probably not associated with someone having that masculine chiseled body holding the weapon of destruction. Our lord is just a young chubby looking guy, smart and witty, enticed with his love for sweets , characterized with his small mouse accompanying him in his mischievous plays. “

In those moments while reflecting on her thoughts, although I couldn’t decipher the enigma behind our affection for his lord . But somehow just while looking at him it felt like the answer was just staring right in front at me. I said – “Probably he just personifies the idea of someone you wish to own contrary to the generally accepted idea of giving away oneself in the devotion of lord . He is someone who can only be loved , the love which looks above the insecurities of someone’s appearance , the love which only knows giving, the love which is just not restricted to one’s emotion but celebrated out collectively even during his evening aarti’s. I mean he is the only lord of masses whom we own like one of our dear ones and feel the sense of caring for one.

Probably his lord is the most human a lord can be.”

She smiles softly in return and turns back to look at the event as several new thoughts take birth in her beautiful mind.

Mera liye Ek rishta aaya hai !

She enters the room uninvited along with my mom. And before I could gather myself to welcome them, mom gives that mocking smile hiding smartly behind her and quickly slips away through the door leaving me unguarded with my vulnerable self in front of this girl. I knew someone was about to come soon after mom’s desperate attempts to persuade me on accepting this idea of so-called arranged meetings for my marriage. Like apart from the arguments over desires and considerations , I always felt it quite unnatural to engage in such act of arrangement to marry, particularly where two people will have to talk into a relationship of love and companionship if that’s what marriage is meant for. Although my courtesy did accept her willingness to meet me but my apprehension about this whole idea was clearly visible over my face which I tried hard to conceal behind my half-hearted tight-lipped smile. In those moments of initial glance, I found her really attractive for some reason . She had to be one of the most beautiful person I must have ever seen, probably how love would look like to my imagination. But something about her troubled me a lot. Each time I tried to survey her face she would appear different to me , every time resembling someone in the past I once shared a deep bond with. Sooner than expected we engrossed into talks to know about one’s life story, each story of hers would equate with my memories from the past , as if I lived like one. She eventually lured me into the idea of her to the point where I felt she epitomize the definition of love I ever knew. With such impeccable character standing along for I had to make a call for my future. She asked whether it could be thought about further if I could put away with the apprehension about the idea of arranged marriage.
Where every aspect of her being called for a yes in my mind , I said it outright. It took me a moment to realise that it sounded ‘NO’. The awkward silence that followed was too loud to hold on. All I could know about my answer was that it’s just my thoughts which were adulterated by my heart before they could form words. Before she had to bear the pain of asking the why of it. I killed the silence and said,with all that mesmerizing charm she holds, her only fault line lied in the fact that she only stands for the idea of love I knew till now and it seems that this love was never yet fulfilling . I feel the only way to find the one will be, someone who would symbolise the new idea of love for me. Her being the perfect past, would only see an undesirable end like the present.
I couldn’t gather strength to meet her eyes anymore but stand deeply apologetic about turning down such a beautiful soul. She took the answer gracefully and turned back to the door to leave. Before we could part away forever, I stopped her to know her name.

She said “Lost love”.

You and I let’s become friends !

I wonder were you could find the best conversations coming from two individuals. Whether at a coffee table or at some silent bar or just an evening walk along the public park ? I usually hunt for such talks over coffee with friends.

Not always you are accompanied by someone with your coffee , and it was one of those silent table moments where the warmth of the coffee mug between the palms fills up the void of a companion. Even the empty chair is usually lent to the other table in need. But somehow today it has no taker yet .

Then suddenly I see a soul approaching my table. I presume it’s for the chair to be traded. But to my surprise , he asks for sharing the table with me. My eyes turn wide open cause I have never encountered such thing before. I point towards the chair foolishly to this guy who has bombed into my table and to be frank talking to strangers is not my thing at all.

An awkward silence sets in for a moment before we break into a half-hearted smile to acknowledge one’s presence. I’m thinking in my head its possibly happening because there’s no table empty but my sight calls it for a fraud since there are tables lying vacant around. This is totally weird ! As our nonverbal dialect finally breaks into words I get to know he is aware that I come here regularly. Curiosity kicks in to understand what I’m really getting into. I immediately order a coffee for him but he politely declines it for his love for tea. Great ! shouts my mind, atleast an argument over tea vs coffee will easily set us up for a talk over the table. Before I get into say, my mind skips it and I end up asking his name. He says, “My name is Father ” . “Father? What a strange name ! What does it mean ? ” I ask. He replies, “I don’t know , I’m trying to figure it out. ” A guy with an interesting name would definitely have some interesting story to tell. I pop up the question , “So what’s your story ? ” .

As the last sip of coffee gulps down my throat , his incredible story comes to an end . I take a deep breath to settle down the lump in my throat and gather myself. And the moment that follows meets with a deafening silence which was much more significant than the noise of words. His story was so similar to mine , I almost felt like it’s my story and only his words.

Born on the exact same day as mine , I wonder how such details could even match. I know like every other child I came crying into this world , likewise even he did shed tears on that day. He said “In the initial months , everything was new and first-hand in experience. You don’t know what’s going on. ” I assume I must have felt the same too. Then arrived the playful years of life. Buying new toys, enjoying funny faces and mimics . He would play with those inanimate toys all day with sheer excitement and also get sad if any toy gets broken just like me. Fun fact – even he used to hate homework but would certainly be sitting with the books the night before exams. And finally as you hit the adolescent age , life started to taste sour lemons . Suddenly he felt like people are not getting what he’s trying to say. Opinions were usually found to be perceived aggressively which lead to bitter arguments. Due to the lack of common interests , communication reduces to an extent were you feel like being ignored for everything. You feel deceived by the idea of love and end up hurting yourself. Life brings you to a point , were just expressing yourself becomes a Herculean task . The struggle becomes painful and leaves you crippled from within but you can’t help it. And this is when you beg life for atleast one person who could get it what it’s like to be me, cause everyone around has failed to understand . Probably that’s how he ended up at this table to sort of find a way to ease out his pain and make things bearable.

He ended with a sigh of despair which could sum up everything he wanted to say but couldn’t say it. My empathy for this soul couldn’t hold up to myself and got immediately reflected through my eyes. He tapped me over my shoulder looking at the watery eyes and tried to cheer me up.

He asked me for my name. “Son ” I said.

The name clearly amused him and here followed the question “What does it mean ? ” .

I said ” I’m too trying to figure it out. ” . The two of us instantly break into this whole-hearted laughter .

Today’s table has definitely witnessed the best conversation ever between two very identical life stories. And how better could this end with –

Father and Son becoming friends .

UP FOR SALE! since 1992

The search to find the right bearer to my heart has always been an impervious task and seems no end in near possible future. And how the idea of love simply makes you feel desperate to sell your heart. Although preposterous as it sounds , your heart feels like a debt which you don’t want to hold for too long when it seems there are no takers for your heart in the market. It feels like to be that disappointing vendor who returns home at the end of the day tired and disheartened after all his tricks and trades have failed again today , adding one more day of failure to infinity and how it suddenly feels like a burden in the chest to carry it back home and wake up to the sunrise with the same purpose. Probably I’m not selling it right , probably I’m unaware of if its real worth or may be I’m trying to sell it to the wrong people.

Yet another day at work, standing in front of the exchange building staring at the big display hoping for some magic today. Amidst all the chaotic movement of the people in the market, all worried about their investments, I stand silent at one corner contemplating my inadequate efforts and reminisce about this journey so far. To my knowledge , this heart has been trading in the market of love since 1992. Like any other market ,nobody likes to incur loss in their investment. Especially , Indian market is known for highly emotional approach with conservative investment and less risk taking.

The IPO for this stock came in July,1992 issued by “Parent ” company with a ‘cute’ face value . The stock was an instant hit, with its value shooting sky-high showing immense potential popularly among a specific investor group called “family”. As the stock was prominently in childcare sector which is always an attractive sector for long-term investors with the horizon of 20-30 years expecting strong and stable returns later to support them in old times . As the stock grew a year or two old , investment showed steady growth among relatives/friends as the stock went playful showing initial traits of a successful run. Then as the stock shifted its focus to the primary education sector , investments from the teaching group grew and during this period all the fundamentals of the stock had to be built for the prospective future investors to buy in the stock and raise its value. This learning cycle of the stock had its value determined entirely on the basis of pure merit .All the tedious homework and practices were put to test on regular intervals . And the success achieved at every examination did built a strong trust among the investors. During the adolescent period of the stock , a few novice investors came in probably due to common interests and ambitions, as these similarities make you feel relatable with the behaviour of the stock. And some of them have still kept invested in me after all these years and in all likelihood will still remain investors in future. And then the world happened, were the stock found the most volatility in its value in such a short period of 4-5 years . With sudden exposure to such a large of base of foreign investors who had no freaking idea in my making , and in the constant pressure to keep up to their demands, the stock lost its ground somewhere in this. The stock did see its all time high and all time low values in the same period under the influence of a single investor which never projects the real value of the stock, but it was certainly oblivious to the naked eye in the ocean of false expectations. I felt almost sold out to the right one and would never had to trade again in the market. And the illusionary paradise soon turned into in this cruel turbulent sea of realisation which left me drown along with my ship of hope. And as they say the help comes at the right time in the least expected ways , some fellow sailors helped me overcome with my despair.

Now, the heart seems less vulnerable, and every bruises and scars holds a story which made it stronger each time, probably its value too might be not that attractive to many in the market, but it will find the right investor who would discover the rich possibilities of growth and yield all the benefits of love.

And finally as the day-dream burst into reality , my stock appears on the display . A smile drives along my face to see a small jump in its value after feeling a bit closer to my heart today.

Stampede – A way not to die .

“Next station Parel , Agla station Parel, Pudhil station Parel ” , I tap on the video , 04:56 / 07:38 mins. I usually hate to end Kenny’s video midway, but the rush behind me warns me to prepare for leaving the door as the train seems to approach the station. I pause the video, press the lock button with my right thumb and place it in my pocket. I tap the shoulder in front, “Bhai Sahab agla station utarne vale hai na ? ” He confirms with a nod behind his back.

As the train descends to stop on the platform, I get down in motion of the train, balancing myself with few steps before I stop. I turn around to reach out at the foot over bridge amidst the crowd which just dropped off along with me and a few waiting eagerly for their train. As I climb upstairs, I hear water hammering over the roof of the bridge heavily. I see faces chatter around as many were unprepared today for this unanticipated rain. Although mummy told me to carry my umbrella even today, it meant to be more of an unnecessary burden to carry in my bag after all the receding rains for the season stopped almost a week ago. As I approach the downstairs towards the exit, I see people hovering at the end steps waiting for the spill to end. I’m able to see some water accumulated on the ground over their heads. I take a few steps till I reach the human blockade created over the steps and stand along a corner.

It didn’t feel like cursing the rain today, deep down it was at least something happening amidst this mundane journey to work. I try to enjoy the leisure time for a while before I start worrying about being late to the office. I quickly lost myself reminiscing about some rainy incidents and noticing some faces around me, meanwhile the crowd seems to have gathered behind me and I could see people getting filled up over the steps to the length of my sight. I could realize probably the people who were even equipped with umbrellas also being stuck to make their way to the exit. Although some time pertinent individuals were hustling their way by each step through the crowd which almost looked like some snakes seeping under the patch of still grass. And probably as the stacks re-adjust themselves to fill up the voids , the push and noises begin to insinuate the inadequacy of the space.

As the thrust and squeeze surges to inconvenience, an anger arises within to make efforts for withstanding the force, with the expectation from people to act little sensible now. As forces seems to paramount the strength of the feet to hold ground, fear charges in to make my instincts warn for an unprecedented danger. As my voice turns behind to shout at this inessential idiocy from the crowd. The weight stormed upon me leaving me uprooted of my feet as I stumble upon the stairs with the chain of falling human dominoes and get dragged over the heap of people down the stairs. While the fall had its moment fear was invaded by a bit of embarrassment as my pride went for a hit. But by the time I find my body stuck against the stumbled bodies on the stairs an excruciating pain arise in the chest with the masses of flesh constantly slapped upon. I felt my body dead locked under the weight of bodies below my neck, unable to move even an inch for a while and my neck badly twisted towards my shoulder. Luckily the head lying over some limb saved me from some real damage against the floor. Now anger rebounds within at my fate after the sense of realization of this mishap. The site turned into a disaster as these mad mob were trying to escape over the bodies before they tumble upon us which pretty much looked like the herd of deers turned wild as their death springs out of the water to attack. And before the body could think to regain its strength to make a moment to bring itself in a position to breathe. A foot step falls straight upon my face . This hard hit to the face blows away my consciousness for a moment before I could comprehend the reality. Resentment kicks in with this feeling of disguise to see myself end up at such indignified state of life, the life which always valued the very nature of care and compassion . A state of despise emerged for the entire humankind and this body form felt like a disgrace to carry. It shattered the entire institution built around the belief of being a human after witnessing how animal a human can turn into. And another hit comes hard at me cracking my neck bone, tears roll down the eyes in the form of absolute grief to live for such experience. The body lied numb in vegetative state deprived of the very soul just like a carcass rotting out in the open.The sight soon turned dark as a body slams upon my face which buried me completely, resembling the last dirt thrown on my grave. Air becomes heavier and sloppy to snuggle through my windpipe to the lungs and the wait turns into an interminable eternity.

The act of stampede characterises weakness and submissive standard of living which discloses a larger harsh reality. And a quote rightly put to ponder upon – “What use is our anger if it’s only at the way we die – not at the way we live ” .

Picture Perfect !!

It feels quite different today, with the absence of all that jittery feeling of emptiness I dwell into everyday. Even the early morning sunlight is bright enough to kiss my skin from the silhouette of the trees grown in my garden. The aroma of the morning dew is replaced by the faint smell of burning woods, probably its the water kept for boiling on the woods in the neighbours. It seems to be a good time to hold my brush.

Today I feel like to paint you and it never felt so strongly before in all these years. It feels like some old revered memories are rushing back like dying waves coming down to hit the shore of my thoughts with all the energy they hold . You were beautiful, you were not meant to be re-created. I never held the skills to make you my subject to paint , you were simply beyond the bounds of possibility. Probably it was always the fear paramount over my skills to fail at this endeared task. It’s somehow easy now, after all these mammoth sized anxieties have subsided to mere aphids after losing you.

I quickly take a look at the easel lying at the corner and bring it to the right place, and start to search for my essentials.  I slip out a clean sheet of paper from the covers, the paper looks great with that rich white colour spread evenly outright till the edges and seems powerful than ever for all the nothingness it holds together. The acrylic tubes can still be squeezed enough to get the work done. I reach out for my pockets to find the pack of cigarettes empty and now I need to buy one cause it’s going to be a long sitting and lately I have realized without one its difficult for me to hold my brush still . I pick some crumbled bills and buy myself a pack of cigarettes and a couple of charcoal pencils. And finally its time to bring you down on my paper.

I close my eyes to picture you, it’s always easy to find a perfect image of you in my mind, it appears so clear with every intricate details , each holding a story to reminisce on the moments we lived together. I hope you would find some attributes captured so perfectly which will make you realise even your mirror somehow missed out on those and you would surely jump back to life to view in the mirror to confirm . In no time I see my hands moving over the paper so elegantly like an independent craftsman who knows his work well and have probably done you a million times over. It certainly feels like as if I’m running my fingers over every inch of your skin and my brush trying to imitate it perfectly on the paper with the varying pressure over the tip of the brush resembling the grooves over your skin.  The thoughts in my mind are blurred out during this whole time till I realise it’s finally done and my brush is resting on the palette.

I take a moment to look at this creation and its perfect. I can see your hairs come out exactly as desired, you could notice the invisible spaces between the fine strands of your hair. Flossy and shine they fall over your shoulder perfectly.  And how could I possibly go wrong with those eyes, those sparkling brown eyes have some irresistible charm – the possible doors to your soul which never betrayed your feelings. And the fine tiny wrinkles at the edge of the eyes if you observe carefully. Even the slender long eyebrows arched over escalates the beauty of her eyes . A clear brow which slides down at the centre over your nose and the smooth hairline running down to the sides ending at the ears hiding behind your hairs and I took special care while building the side lines cause I could feel them fit perfectly in my hands every time I hold you. That perfect smile you wear makes me fall for you each time I see you and fixed with those delicate lips pared to perfection. Did I mention the texture of your skin, its smooth like silk and that special glow brings joy to faces. Probably you were just flawless to define.

I wish you were here in real to praise you than this mere replication of yours. I stub out the cigarette in the ash tray and rise to I pick up the portrait to find a place on one of my walls . As I enter the room , I see an empty frame and a dozens of  this exact painting hanging on the walls. To my surprise , I find a note on the empty frame. The note unfolds a shocking reality of me suffering from something termed as anterograde amnesia- its losing ability to create new memories . It made my heart sink for a while, but I realize everything falling into place. The feeling of emptiness and these exact same paintings hung on the wall. But I wonder why this note is placed near the empty frame. Probably its only the memory of you which has stayed intact all these years, and this painting somehow helps me cope up with my memory disorder. I create another empty frame on the wall with the note and hope the next time I feel like to paint you it would bring a new memory of having an empty frame with a note waiting for me.