Poet bana Painter

Uncle Murphy returned with a bang last week when I had been organizing the Painting Workshop. After immense publicity and equal enthusiasm the day had finally arrived when I was to organize my first event for FAPS. The job was not that tough, as it was tiring. The event was to be scheduled on Monday at 5:15 p.m. A day before I was pleased with myself as all the necessary preparations had been efficiently done. But somewhere I was reminding myself of the quote which says, “When everything is going right, be sure that you are missing something”

Something similar happened. At 4:15 p.m., just an hour before the start of event, ma’am (head of FAPS) received a call from the instructor (who was to come). He said that it won’t be feasible for him to make it to the workshop as he had to go somewhere. (Uncle Murphy had made an entry). Phone calls were made to some other teachers and somehow one instructor was engaged for the event. The time had arrived when I saw the participants making their way into the venue. Elated I was, when came in the instructor sir. Co-incidentally, he was the same man who had taught me (or rather tried to teach me) painting when I was a li’l Deepi. It seemed that everything would go fine, But things were different, before I could think, sir just had a look at the colours and said, “Ah te colours hi ghatiya ne.” That’s it. I was left gaping as if someone had kicked me hard. Off I went to buy new colors, and with much difficulty I bought small-small water color cakes.

Well, wont write more abt the workshop, coz have something else to write.

Here I’d like to write my poem, that I wrote on my way back from Amritsar, when the poet was sitting silently on his seat with a pen and paper in hand.

So here it goes….

Eternal Emotions

Mortality in my eyes for the moments passing,
Sitting besides the window of my coach,
In those endless fields, I see myself straying,
I move along, pricked on foot and shouted 'Ouch!'

These pricking emotions, Last year I buried in field,
To forget them forever, I never paid a heed,
Passionately they today, embraced me painfully,
Erupting out with the ripened wheat.

Two months from now on the Baisakhi day,
I see some farmers happy and gay,
They had cut down my ripened possession,
Which, somewhere in a heap of wheat, silently lay.

A part of me was as happy as the farmer,
For I'd been parted from those emotions alone,
But the other stood sobbing, a lot calmer,
Mourning over those eternals who'll find a new home..

-Deepinder Singh.

P.S. For all those who didn’t understand this poem, don’t worry, you are not the only one. And in case you understood, you might want to see if u understood correctly, and if u did then u are the one out of very few.

Well the idea of the poem is something like this. I was sitting in the coach and looking at the endless green fields outside the window. I imagine myself to be strolling In those fields. While strolling around, suddenly something pricks me in my foot. I see and I recognize the pricking thing as one of my emotions that I buried in the field an year ago and those emotions have now erupted out with the ripened wheat. Then I see that two months from now, on the baisakhi day, Farmers would cut that wheat down, and my emotions would be cut along with. Those would lie silently somewhere in the heap of wheat. I’m happy on one account that finally I got rid of my emotions, but on the other side, I’m sad coz those eternal feelings would now form the bloodline of someone else.