She stood there, listening to him. He was shouting at the top of his voice, right in the middle of the road. People were turning around and watching them, no one stopping, but many of them with a smirk on their faces, getting satisfaction of the fact that here is a more screwed up couple than we are.
She had known John for 5 years now. They used to study together in college. Soon they became more than just friends. They used to enjoy each other’s company. He was very intelligent and usually topped the class. She was an average student, but always on the forefront of co-curricular activities. They made a sweet couple.
After college, they joined a small firm. It was campus recruitment and they had celebrated on getting into the same firm. It would help them stay close and gradually, she thought, decide on when they want to settle down. They used to meet for lunch, discuss their bosses, their work, the compliments they received, everything. She didn’t really enjoy the work, but then his company kinda compensated for boring hours in office.
In a couple of months, her performance at work began to fall. If you donot like the work, how can u excel in it. So she decided to join another firm working in the field of her interest. She quit her job. During those few days, where she didn’t have a job, John supported her. But his attitude became a bit patronizing. She tried not to notice it, but it always kept pinching her at the back of her mind.
After running in and out of interviews for a month or so, she got 3 final offers with great pay packages. Of the 3, she chose the one with the most interesting job profile. The pay wasn’t the best of the 3, but then after her experience in the last job, she knew wat she wanted.
Her new job was amazing. It involved long hours, but then the work was so interesting that she never thought bout the continuous hours of intense work. But while, she worked so hard, she always found time to spend with John.
Soon, powered by her motivation to work, great performance, and good people skills, she rose up the corporate ladder fast. She represented her firm in a few television interviews too. It became more and more difficult to find time to spend with John, but she didn’t want to lose something so beautiful. She still found time.
John, in the meanwhile, had stagnated in his job. He hadn’t moved, nor had he tried to advance in his job. Apart from the one single promotion, which the firm had to give him due to the number of years he spent there, he had no achievement to his credit. When he went out on dinner with her, he always insisted that he pay. He could not take it that she pay for him. After all, he thought, he had been the one who saw her through her tough times. Had it not been for him, she would not have survived. So he could not stand the fact that in their circle, in office, he began to be known as the guy who hangs around with Mary Le Anne. What? Mary Le Anne, the pretty high-powered executive of Power Enterprises! Boy, is he lucky.
Every couple fights, but their fights began to get nastier now. He would accuse her of adultery, picking up incidents when someone dropped her home from an official party. She tried her best to not lose her calm, but occasionally her composure too gave way. But she believed that things would work out fine. After all, she thought, love would see them through these hard times. And she loved John.
Time passed, and John grew bitter. He always used to come back home early from office, since there no on really gave him any work. He sat in front of the tv, till she was back, and then picked up a quarrel with her. She started spending more and more time in office, even on weekends, just to avoid another quarrel with John.
That day, they decided to go out for a movie. She had thought, ok, lets start all over again, let me try my best. After all, its John. I love him. After some initial grumping, John agreed. They went out. After the movie, when they were walking out, she met a few colleagues. She introduced them to John. He didn’t want to talk to them. So he went aside for a smoke. While he smoked, she and her colleagues were laughing. He heard his name being mentioned somewhere. He could take it no more. He walked up to her, grabbed her arm, pulled her away, and started shouting at her. He accused her of making fun of him in front of her colleagues. He called her names and accused her of adultery, right there, in the middle of the road, in front of everyone.
She stood there, listening to him, as he shouted. His words just bounced back from her ears. After sometime, when he stopped shouting, somewhat pacified by her silence, she walked up to him, looked him in the eye, and walked away. That same day, she moved out to her friend’s place.
John called many times, but she never picked up the phone. She didn’t want to listen to him. She knew it was her mistake. Her mistake that she was the one who always tried to make up after the quarrel; that she was the one who juggled between office and work to find time for her and John; that she was the one who didn’t know when it was enough and to let go.
She wasn’t going to make the same mistake again. She had decided to let go.
Tuesday, March 25, 2008
Cup-o-Noodles
He sat back in his small boat and sipped on his beer. It was a beautiful night. The sky was filled with stars and the breeze was gently blowing across his face.
Today was the anniversary. 7 years back, he had started his small shop in Stanley market, selling paintings. Paintings, imitations, all kinds of stuff, from all Chinese artists and painters, contemporary and medieval. His shop wasnt one of those which rustled with customers all the time, but he sold enough to make a good living. He had married 4 yrs back and had a beautiful loving wife. He planned to buy a small house far away from the city, but that would have to wait.
But today, sitting alone on his boat, he wasnt thinking of his shop.
12 years earlier:
The boy completed his art school with flying colours. He stood first in almost every painting competition. But it wasnt about winning or money that made him paint. When he stood in front of the canvas, felt the texture with his fingers, he could visualize wat was going to be in his mind. He lost count of time, hunger, everything.
Painting was his first love.
He set up a small studio in his rented room. From his savings from working part time in Mc Donald's, he bought canvases and colours. He had decided. He will paint for himself, and sell only to people who admired his art. He got himself a small roadside stall in Stanley market. The idea of selling his art on the roadside stall wasnt appealing, but he was sure in a few years, he would be able to afford a nice shop. He didnt use water colours. He despised it. He used oil colours on a canvas of different kind. It was much more difficult and more expensive than water painting. But it was his passion he was investing in. His love. And soon, he wouldnt have to think about money since his paitings would fetch the right price.
He sold his first painting. It was was small piece of art, showing a chinese girl, lonely in her garden. It was richly coloured and the expression in the eyes of the girl was what showed her loneliness. It was beautiful, and he felt it was one of his better creations. The buyers were an English couple. They bargained with him for almost half and hour. And finally bought the painting for half the price he had quoted. He would have never sold it. But they were the 4th set of customers and the others were not even willing to pay half the price. The landlady had asked for rent almost 3 times and the look on her face told him that there wont be a 4th time.
When he got the money, there was a mixed feeling. One of happiness and sorrow. Happiness, because this was his first income from living his passion. Sorrow, because he didnt appreciate people bargaining for his paintings. Didnt he put in hours of sleepless nights and hungry days to create these beautiful creations? But he knew times would change.
After paying the rent, he had just enough money to buy his regular food for weeks now. Cup-o-noodles. He didnt even recognize the taste anymore. But then, all this would change. He knew it.
Days went by. Weeks. Years. Everytime he sold his paintings for a price lesser than they deserved, he felt he had betrayed himself. He felt these people are not here to appreciate the art. They just wanted something to hang up on the walls of their living rooms. He felt deceived. But times would change.
It had been 5 yrs. He still lived in the same room. After paying for the rent, and for the canvas and colours, he had just enough to survive. No patron had ever come his way who really appreciated his art. This wasnt something they taught in art school. All those prizes he had won. All the applause, the appreciation...was that a lie? He sat in his small stall thinking.
That night he closed his stall, and walked back to his room. It was a very silent night. He had heard the shopkeeper of the next stall saying there is going to be a storm. It was a long walk back to his room. He reached the store where we bought his groceries from. He knew his way well inside the shop. He always walked the same way to the cup-o-noodles rack. But today wasnt like always. He walked around the shop. Not really looking at anything. He didnt want to go to the cup-o-noodles rack.
He walked out of the shop. He walked to the ferry piers. The wind was strong. It was beating against his face. There was a restaurant just across the street. The aroma of delicious dim shum filled the air. He made a decision. He ran to his room. Folded up the canvas, put the brushes and paints in a bag. It was enough. He had had enough. He walked back, fast, determined, to the ferry pier. One last look at his love. And without a word, he threw it, with all his might, far into the sea.
He stopped painting. He got the imitations of other paintings, paintings that would look beautiful in the living room. He quoted high prices, and then brought them down to make a nice margin. Soon he moved into a new shop.
Today, 7 yrs later, he sat thinking about that day when he had given up his passion. He had let the world take away from him his first love. He had compromised.
He wanted to take a walk. He walked along the ferry piers. He didnt know where to. He just wanted to walk. He came across his regular grocery store. He didnt have to buy anything. But still he went in. He wandered around the store. He stopped in front of a rack. He stood there for a minute or two, picked up a cup-o-noodles, paid and left.
Today was the anniversary. 7 years back, he had started his small shop in Stanley market, selling paintings. Paintings, imitations, all kinds of stuff, from all Chinese artists and painters, contemporary and medieval. His shop wasnt one of those which rustled with customers all the time, but he sold enough to make a good living. He had married 4 yrs back and had a beautiful loving wife. He planned to buy a small house far away from the city, but that would have to wait.
But today, sitting alone on his boat, he wasnt thinking of his shop.
12 years earlier:
The boy completed his art school with flying colours. He stood first in almost every painting competition. But it wasnt about winning or money that made him paint. When he stood in front of the canvas, felt the texture with his fingers, he could visualize wat was going to be in his mind. He lost count of time, hunger, everything.
Painting was his first love.
He set up a small studio in his rented room. From his savings from working part time in Mc Donald's, he bought canvases and colours. He had decided. He will paint for himself, and sell only to people who admired his art. He got himself a small roadside stall in Stanley market. The idea of selling his art on the roadside stall wasnt appealing, but he was sure in a few years, he would be able to afford a nice shop. He didnt use water colours. He despised it. He used oil colours on a canvas of different kind. It was much more difficult and more expensive than water painting. But it was his passion he was investing in. His love. And soon, he wouldnt have to think about money since his paitings would fetch the right price.
He sold his first painting. It was was small piece of art, showing a chinese girl, lonely in her garden. It was richly coloured and the expression in the eyes of the girl was what showed her loneliness. It was beautiful, and he felt it was one of his better creations. The buyers were an English couple. They bargained with him for almost half and hour. And finally bought the painting for half the price he had quoted. He would have never sold it. But they were the 4th set of customers and the others were not even willing to pay half the price. The landlady had asked for rent almost 3 times and the look on her face told him that there wont be a 4th time.
When he got the money, there was a mixed feeling. One of happiness and sorrow. Happiness, because this was his first income from living his passion. Sorrow, because he didnt appreciate people bargaining for his paintings. Didnt he put in hours of sleepless nights and hungry days to create these beautiful creations? But he knew times would change.
After paying the rent, he had just enough money to buy his regular food for weeks now. Cup-o-noodles. He didnt even recognize the taste anymore. But then, all this would change. He knew it.
Days went by. Weeks. Years. Everytime he sold his paintings for a price lesser than they deserved, he felt he had betrayed himself. He felt these people are not here to appreciate the art. They just wanted something to hang up on the walls of their living rooms. He felt deceived. But times would change.
It had been 5 yrs. He still lived in the same room. After paying for the rent, and for the canvas and colours, he had just enough to survive. No patron had ever come his way who really appreciated his art. This wasnt something they taught in art school. All those prizes he had won. All the applause, the appreciation...was that a lie? He sat in his small stall thinking.
That night he closed his stall, and walked back to his room. It was a very silent night. He had heard the shopkeeper of the next stall saying there is going to be a storm. It was a long walk back to his room. He reached the store where we bought his groceries from. He knew his way well inside the shop. He always walked the same way to the cup-o-noodles rack. But today wasnt like always. He walked around the shop. Not really looking at anything. He didnt want to go to the cup-o-noodles rack.
He walked out of the shop. He walked to the ferry piers. The wind was strong. It was beating against his face. There was a restaurant just across the street. The aroma of delicious dim shum filled the air. He made a decision. He ran to his room. Folded up the canvas, put the brushes and paints in a bag. It was enough. He had had enough. He walked back, fast, determined, to the ferry pier. One last look at his love. And without a word, he threw it, with all his might, far into the sea.
He stopped painting. He got the imitations of other paintings, paintings that would look beautiful in the living room. He quoted high prices, and then brought them down to make a nice margin. Soon he moved into a new shop.
Today, 7 yrs later, he sat thinking about that day when he had given up his passion. He had let the world take away from him his first love. He had compromised.
He wanted to take a walk. He walked along the ferry piers. He didnt know where to. He just wanted to walk. He came across his regular grocery store. He didnt have to buy anything. But still he went in. He wandered around the store. He stopped in front of a rack. He stood there for a minute or two, picked up a cup-o-noodles, paid and left.
Me n Myself
I write sometimes. As in short stories :D
This blog is for my stories. Who knows, one day, I might come out with a book (if there is a publisher :D)
This blog is for my stories. Who knows, one day, I might come out with a book (if there is a publisher :D)
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