Everything that I express here is true. I enjoy writing only when an idea gnaws inside of me to the extent that it has to be spitted out, just like Karadi tales’s book – The story and song.
Painting walls has been my dream ever since I was a child. My parents always lived in a rented house and so it was impossible. Without my parents’ knowledge I must say that I have my stamps on all those houses in hidden corners of walls! Nevertheless, that never gave me the complete satisfaction.
Malini, a friend of mine has a farm house with a swell three and a half acres of soil oozing with lovely organic produce, with innumerable free range farm animals.
At the age of 32, I finally heard the golden words – Ranjani, can you please paint my walls, she asked. I was moved to tears. This was the Pongal treat I gave myself. First time experience. Her large heart let me get my family along to the farm and stay there while I painted.
As I arrived there on a Friday morning, I was seeing my dream unfold at every stage. I started off as soon as I stepped in and frankly, I was jittery because this was my maiden attempt. A few hours after breakfast that it hit me – exhaustion. I was giddy and at the time I had no clue why, not until my husband told me it was because I forgot to hydrate myself. Being city bred we are so fragile that a little bit of harsh sun is reason to keep sipping some water consciously.
I stopped and asked myself – isn’t this deja vu? How many times have I forgotten to do basic things when artwork beckons?
I was terribly annoyed. I lay down and slept. I tried hard to get myself up and finish up what I had started but my mind was moving much faster than my muscles and my leg muscles threatened to fold in a few minutes. I gave up on the first day and drank lots of water and rested. I told myself I should be alright the next day. In bits and pieces I did some work during the first half but I was exhausted. I kept telling my mind only one thing – get up and get going, I need you now more than ever. By night fall all my energies started to slowly come back to me. I slept at 11 and by then I had finished 80% of work. I worked wearing a sweater in a place off Chennai(!!). The third morning, I finished up the rest of my work and I left the farm for back home.
Now, back in the city, as I sit in my bedroom covered with a quilt, shivering with fever, I wonder: How did I muster the courage to pick up the brush and paint those strokes that needed extreme precision?
How did I never think of – What if I messed it up because of my dizziness?
How did I get by with just faith that I will bounce back just to finish up the project I started off?
How did I risk my life with a history of a disc prolapse to climb up a small-seated rickety stool to look up and paint considering my body was exhausted and my muscles ached for rest?
These questions reiterate the miracle that is the human mind more so as the fever still lingers. It is as if the mind told the body to take just a small break from asking for tender love and care for those two days.
Is this what people call miracle? It felt so to me. I thank all natural forces for this completely spiritual experience. Thank you God! You gave me exactly what I wanted.