If God is the architect of the world as we see around, Lila could very well serve as the lead designer, the brilliant nitpicker, or the daring dreamer. But just like the existence of God is arguable, so was Lila’s perception to the outside word. Lila was one of those rare persons who wouldn’t accept reality as a flat dimension present for the world to see. So, she made her own changes to the real world around her. You may ask how she would do that, to which I would say that Lila was obsessed with art, with her small on-the-go sketchbook, blunt pencils, broken crayons, art canvases and subtle strokes of paintbrush. She believed she had a major role to play in the world- she believed she could alter the world around her, so what if it was confined to just her sketchbook and at times, lofty canvases.
So she would arm herself with sketchbooks, pencils and crayons to the local bar, where she would sit for hours and just draw. She felt a reassuring sense of comfort around people engrossed in their own hustle bustle, such people who served as amazing art pieces for her to observe and bring to life in her world of sketchbooks. Once she entered her zone, she was like Moses ready to part the red sea in one swift movement of his hands. Her choice of subjects was even more interesting, if she saw a wilting flower, she would draw a blooming flower, then carefully with one eye closed place the sketch at a hands distance so that it superimposes itself on the stem of the flower just above the sepal. The world and its reality had a new dimension in the sketchbook, with a mischievous smile she would capture the imagery in her brain and quickly move on to the next subject. Her day had just started. Her nitpicking in god’s creation had just started. Her silent wage against defying God had just started.
She would go to a park and notice a girl with no friends, yearning for a set of balloons placed on a cart some distance from her. She had her next subject; quickly she would draw three soaring balloons with converging strings on the sketchbook. Once done, she would again do the ritual of placing the sketch at a hands distance and then superimpose it next to the girl on bench with her hands now holding the set of balloons. She would notice a puppy giving hard time to his man friend, tugging along the leash, and would suddenly draw a cute green colored dragon flapping its wings and wagging its tails. She would then add a red leash to it and superimpose it in the real world and have a great laugh seeing the dog’s owner chase a happy dragon now.
Just like that she would create worlds where lovers never left, where the cooing of birds replaced the traffic noises, where watchmen looked like knights, where the homeless lived in castles, where huge concrete buildings looked like mountains, where walls looked like frescoes, and street lights like palm trees, where buses looked like giant dragons, and bus stops looked like country homes that could make the Baggins of the Shire jealous.
She would return home during late evenings after she’s painted the world in her own color, adding her own twist to the climax of life. Even the walls of her home were painted in varied colors with birds, fairies, flowing rivers and pristine green valleys. She would drop her bags, take a full deep breath of the world inside and then swing open the windows. Sure enough her day had ended and her overflowing sketch book could any moment now explode, but her night had just started.
She would then pick up the photo frame placed on the bedside table having an old but treasured photo of hers with her parents. She still had the naughty smile she had back then, her mother as beautiful as the glowing, rising sun and her dad as firmly proud as the northern star would smile back and make her cheeks moist. Lila would then close her eyes and re-live a far memory from her childhood, when she was just seven and enjoying at a beach, with her parents standing at some distance, holding their hands. She would run to them and clutch her mother’s legs, who would then sit down on her knees, and hug her back while her father hugged both her girls smiling as radiantly as the sun above. Lila would hold herself in this moment of pure bliss, feeling the white warmth encapsulating her and making her ready for yet another day of nitpicking god’s creation and spreading love to distant quarters bordered by the hard frame of her sketchbook.
Lila's salvation lay in the solace of her dreams, and her dreams in the memories of her parents, who were no longer alive, at least physically. True is the fact that some realities are hard to change, and even God's lead designer returned to a home full of memories rather than people she loved and cherished. Happiness seemed as a forbidden fruit, which was real, only when shared.
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