That Face

"Yes, yes, I know the exhibition is in two weeks, and the painting needs to be completed within a week. I will do it anyhow." I disconnected the call, sighing, and kept rushing down the stairs of Pitampura metro station. "Your life is so hell amazing. All you have to do is paint all day." That's what people have been telling me all these years, and I wonder if only it was so easy.

"Two weeks to the exhibition and no inspiration to paint," I murmured to no one and got into the Metro feeder bus. It was totally packed with working people returning home. "Excuse me" after screaming this almost 5 times, I managed to get a window seat in the last row.

Where should I have got my eyes on? With people pushing each other. But then my eyes suddenly fell on a face. Out of the window. That Face!

I studied that face. A pretty one, with long curly hairs and roses in her hand. A teenager, I guessed. Peaceful, divine, and... maybe something else. Yes, she was canvas perfect.

"Gosh, why's it so hard to get down from the bus?" I might have said that a little louder for the passenger beside me gave me the 'what the hell' look. Ignoring him, I fumbled in my pocket for the phone and till I took it out, dang! She was gone.

The bus got its wheels churned. I closed my eyes with the phone in my hand and sank back in the seat. 'Was that a half inspiration or something?' I thought and thought a little more till I reached home.

There was no sign of sleep in my eyes but that face. I remember it, and then I don't. I already knew that I was going back to the metro station, but I hadn't seen her before. Was she new? Or just by chance, she was there!

I got up when it was 3, pulled out my canvas, and started sketching at random. A girl with bright roses who was prettier than those flowers in her hand. And still, nothing came out on the paper.

The next morning at sharp 10, I was there at the Pitampura metro station. I found a suitable corner on the stairs of the exit side. Hours passed. It was almost 9 pm, but there was no sign of her. "Shall I go for a search hunt?" I asked myself and immediately rejected that idea. Entire Delhi has a population of approx 3 crores! And there must be more than 3 lakh rose sellers on the streets. The exhibition would be over by then. Time was ticking, and I was having no luck.

I tried looking for inspiration everywhere like I was doing before that evening. Five days passed like that, and I was still without a painting with one face ingrained in my mind. I thought I would draw. I had the scene already, and it could have been any face. But my heart, my canvas, colors all refused to align with that. They wanted firmly only those shiny pearl-like eyes that my mind vaguely remembered.

"Abir!!! You look sick! I mean, look at your dark circles! Have you actually seen yourself in the mirror lately?" Raghav, the event manager, taunted me while we were sitting in a cafe, discussing the details of the exhibition.

"Yes, I know!" I replied curtly.

"What happened?" He asked genuinely, and I unfolded the pieces of the last six days. I was left with eight days, and for the first time in my life, I could see myself failing to fulfill a commitment. I held my head in my hands and breathed loudly.

There was a silence. Then Raghav started, "I am not an artist exactly, but I think I understand you partly. Not all days are meant for us."

I looked up, he gave an assuring smile. "I am sorry," I said, "I mean, I thought would come up with something, but..." I tailed off.

"Don't worry! We will manage with something!" He got up, punched lightly on my arm, and left.

I sat there blankly for how long, I don't remember. After scrolling my phone for a while, I left.

That night, I finally gave up on my 'girl with the roses' project and decided to go for some landscape. I took out old travel albums from my cupboards and started searching for scenery to portray.

That painting was ready within two days, and I informed Raghav about my progress. But fate had different plans. It was designed to always throw you off the cliff. While I was on my way to Raghav's office, I saw that face on the metro station exit. She was looking even better in the daylight. I felt like my shoes got magnets, and I was fixed there, and my eyes glued to her.

She finally caught me staring. "Roses? 2 roses for 10 only!" Her eyes were shining, and curls were caressing her face. I was still awestruck. "Roses?" She said again, and this time, I managed to find my voice back.

"What's your name?" I asked her.

She was not expecting that for sure. "Umm... Madhu." She replied.

"Madhu, Madhu..." I repeated a few times.

"I will buy all these flowers, but..." I was absorbing my own words. She got uncomfortable when I started trailing off, but then I caught myself, "Oh no, please don't get scared, I was just asking if I can paint you, please?" For the first time in my life, I found myself emotional for no reason. I had a backup anyway, but I was desperate. She gaped at me for some more time and replied in an inaudible voice, "Okay!"

I won. I did a little dance in my heart. "But," she asked, "Can you give me more for these flowers? I can buy a toy for my brother." I smiled and nodded in a yes, saved her phone number while texting Raghav about the change of my plans.

The next day, she was in my apartment, sitting on a chair in my studio. With a bunch of roses in her hand. And I was ready to begin my detour. Three days left! I stared at the calendar on the wall.

"So, are you new to this area? I mean, I commute almost daily and haven't seen you before?" I asked her to remove the tension in the air. She was stiff as a stone.

"I and my family shifted to Delhi last week." She replied.

"I didn't see you last week with your flowers? I saw you while I was boarding the feeder bus and then went to meet you the next day. But you never came. Was everything okay?" I said like a robot.

"My mother fell ill. I had to take care of her."

"She's fine now, right?" She just nodded to my question and went silent again.

I looked at her. A half-happy and half-shy expression squirted on her face. With the sunlight falling on her face, her cheeks shone brightly. I mixed a tad bit of red in peach to capture the blush and continued, "Where are you from?"

"Almora, Uttarakhand." She replied in two words. And then she got lost somewhere. Seeing her reminded me of William Wordsworth's verse I had read long ago in 9th grade, The Solitary Reaper.

Will no one tell me what she sings?—

Perhaps the plaintive numbers flow

For old, unhappy, far-off things,

And battles long ago:

Or is it some more humble lay,

Familiar matter of today?

Some natural sorrow, loss, or pain,

That has been, and maybe again?

Whate'er the theme, the Maiden sang

As if her song could have no ending;

I saw her singing at her work,

And o'er the sickle bending;—

I listened, motionless and still;

And, as I mounted up the hill,

The music in my heart I bore,

Long after it was heard no more.

The only difference was that Wordsworth saw her in the far-off unknown fields in Scotland and pictured her through words. And I got my inspiration in the crowd of the city streets and want to picture her through the hues scattered on my pallete.

I couldn't decide if the first day with her was productive or not because I kept on absorbing those features in my eyes. She had her reasons to be scared, and I had mine. What if she doesn't turn up? Damn, why was I so lost painting her right here? I should have at least clicked her.

I tried escaping my fears and gathered hopes for the next few hours. She did come the next day. Exactly 48 hours were left for my exhibition. I made sure to click her this time. I made her tea and sped up to my canvas with brushes. She again got super conscious with her posture and my presence.

"Do you miss your village, your town? I am sure it's beautiful?" I broke the silence.

She didn't say anything for a while, as if she didn't hear anything. Then slowly replied, "Yes, a lot!"

"What do you miss?" I nudged her.

"Everything! The streams, the hills, the greens, my wooden house, my friends, my school." She presented a whole list of things she wanted back. I smiled at her innocence.

"So why are you not going to school now?"

"We don't have the money. It can be either me or my brother. My parents cannot afford expenses for both." I couldn't find words. What words can console such type of misery anyway?

"Would you like to go to school?"

"Yes," her eyes were twinkling with excitement, "I would love to, but Maa says I would get married anyway and that my brother should learn more to get the family going." I had nothing to say. My painting was almost complete.

The next day, when Madhu came, I showed her the painting. Something started floating in her eyes, she was a child and yet sensitive.

"This is beautiful. This is like the same photograph I had clicked in the village fair once." She now chirped with excitement.

"You like it?"

"Yes sir," She looked directly at me for the first time. I bought all the roses she brought with her and bid her adieu.

"That IS a masterpiece, I can say now!" Raghav patted my shoulders, sipping from his wine, while the visitors in the exhibition hall were studying the painting and clicking selfies with it.

"Thanks, buddy," I said.

"I mean, look at the people as well," Raghav continued with excitement, "I bet it's going to be the best seller of this evening."

Something struck my mind, suddenly. "Raghav, can you do me a favor?" I asked him after giving much of an afterthought.

"If this painting gets sold and after you keep your margin, send the rest to her." I pointed at Madhu's painting in front of me and gave her address.

That face gave me what I had wanted. It was now my duty and her turn to change her fate...