ARTIST.

A day before I was making my way from my home to college in a public transport. I was totally consumed in book written by Amitav Ghosh and I didn’t realize when this aged man cam steeped ans sat next to me.

After a while when I emerged out of  the battle of world war 2 I realized a mustard turban next to me is holding a thin copper wire in one hand and a plier in another and rather than noticing him I was taken back to the days of my first year at college when we were assigned to play with them and draw something productive out of it and I created something really stupid.

When I was done with memorising my nostalgic memories I saw the man making something similar to figure of a fish and keeping in his bag and shortly after repeated the same process and I had no idea of what he was doing or why he was doing so I kept I asked Mr. Ghosh to hold on for a while and started making several guesses. I could not match any of the guess with the situation.

Finally I turned my anxious face to the old man and questioned him what and why he was doing that . He replied in baritone that he was making a key. I was again questioning myself what kind of key? In no time, he opened his month again and said its a key to run sitar and then he proudly claimed “I am an artist”. I wanted to reply him by proclaiming that I too am a artist because of the fact that I study in a design college but I could not tell that old man I am  also an artist because may be I could not make something productive out of that copper wire or I was engrossed in literature more than the art forms or I was nothing before than man in turban or I could think of me a  artist myself.

Questioning to the man left me questioning to myself.