I have always wanted to be a painter

I have always wanted to be a painter. A painter lives in the present, here and now. When she paints something, it’s the moment which she tries to capture. The picture has neither yesterdays nor any tomorrows. It just stands there, a moment imprisoned. But I have no paintbrushes and my palette has no colours. And the lines and strokes I try to make are all crooked and warped.


And all I have are some worn words, words who shy away from my trembling grasp. But still I want to tell my story, or rather my dream. Had I been a painter, I would have woken up in the early morning, relived the dream in my artistic mind and tried to paint the balloon man’s child – that was the dream, in minutest detail. I could’ve just left it at that. When I want to write about it, the voyeur in me keeps pestering, what happened before, what will happen now.


I had a dream; I don’t know maybe it was a long forgotten memory. I saw a balloon man’s child, holding his dad’s hand, walking in the streets. He had a bright blue balloon in his hand- a gift from his father, wore a frayed khaki shirt, which was a size too big for his bony frame. His trousers were loose and he was trying to hold it with his other hand; that is when he was not rubbing his runny nose. He was happy; I could see that in his eyes. The big world of people running busy, colourful signs, screeching vehicles, the child was agape with awe. He didn’t realize the miles he has covered, feel the dull ache in his legs, the thirst in his parched mouth, he didn’t miss his mother’s lap, for he has become a man now, helping his father in selling balloons. His father had a bunch of balloons in myriad hues, red, blue, yellow, filled with his breath, and his eyes scanning for children. It was the first day he had bought his son with him. For a second he longed to take him to the park, let him play with those balloons, perhaps buy him a kite , and pea nuts just as he has seen those babus do. Instead He took a bright blue balloon with white patches and gave it to his little son. The child looked up to see love and something like tears in his father’s eyes. The child broke into a huge smile and proudly held the balloon in his hand.


No time to wonder about things that will never happen, he has hungry mouths to feed; he dragged his feet to the lanes where luckier people lived with their well fed children. He turned to the road by the pond and came to my house. Oh I was overjoyed to find a balloon man. Perhaps my uncle could be coaxed to buy balloons for us. I hoped my brother or cousin will ask for it. I knew by then that a chubby, fairskinned boy’s wishes were more valuable than mine. The boys ran to the gate and bid the balloon man to come inside. The father and son with their bunch of bright balloons sat in the verandah. All of us, the children came out and started picking up the balloons of their choice. Holding the hands of my grandma I started looking the balloons and chose the blue one with white spots, one the balloon man’s child was having. That balloon looked like a piece of sky with clouds floating around, and I wanted it. Balloon man just looked at his son. The child’s eyes became tearful, see he loved his balloon, but he said, ‘that will be one rupee’. I looked beseechingly at my grandmother, but for some reason she was reluctant to give me the money. She pointed out a red balloon and said that that’s beautiful. But no, I was adamant; I wanted the sky balloon and only that. Child wiped his balloon in his trousers carefully and gave it to me.


I ran out with the balloon to the court yard. I wanted to show mother my balloon, and I broke into a run. Suddenly I stumbled on a pebble, the world was suddenly upside down and my new balloon- it had burst. I got up to see my cousins still haggling, and saw the little boy trying to hold his tears. He came running and picked those blue pieces, stuffed them into his pocket and went back to his father. My grandmother has come out with water for the balloon man. She had a bunch of grapes which she offered the little boy. He just shook his head and clutched his pocket. It was time for balloon man and his son to go back. He ruffled his son’s hair, took his hand, together father and son started walking. . I was still standing near the gate stroking my bruises and yes a little frightened about the balloon…” how many times we have said,” ……..be careful, I don’t know what it is with this child, wherever she goes, glasses break, things fall down, no sense of what’s happening around….. “; the little boy came near me and pressed something in my hand. I opened my palm and saw a piece of blue balloon with white spots in it. My cousins were still fighting about whose balloon is the best.