Holiday time in school, painting contest for kids in our housing society,
and I am the judge.
Kids are painting less and fighting more, as we do with less love and more of hate, and I smile with nostalgic tears.
In my child hood as well, I used to make drawings with date trees and bushes,small pathway and distant hut, rising sun in between mountain; eagles flying in the sky, river flowing, and the boatman is calling, 'come dear come'.Now, I am old and understand; river is I, hut is mine, and in life’s jungle, perhaps the mental sun is telling,’ let me go, let me go'.
In between, what I did?
Same I think … acted like a child.
Like a child, a beggar of love, happiness, with all wants, and when restricted, I started crying.
Crying has become habit forming.
Whether in school, college or in work, I painted with hope and cried, when the results were otherwise, and still I am crying.
Time is up, game over.
Paintings closed, and I thought, I would laugh, only when I die.
... Manoj Krishna Sanyal
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