INSPIRATION

Sanaya let out a yawn as the bunch proceeded to 'read' her other paintings. She hated being asked so many questions. Art is about your interpretation, not what the artist is trying to say. She didn't like being unnecessarily drawn into long conversations with these business conglomerates who have this sudden need to understand everything from her perspective. But her manager pressed on such aspects, hence Sanaya chose to comply. She hated to create chaos because that troubled her. She had always been a very reserved person, and once she got acclimatized to a type of life, she shuddered from the thought of having to let it go. She eyed the corner to see a group approaching in her direction. Not willing to have anymore head aching discussions about why she stroked her brush like that on the canvas, she moved away quite hastily. 

She was not quite sure what was the best place to go.But she wanted a minute to herself. Pushing the first door on her left she went to the restroom. She appeared to see her own self. Sanaya saw herself in the large mirror that reflected her. The red in her dress made her insecure as she tucked her hair behind the ear. A strong smell flared her nostrils. A very familiar smell. A smell that made her sick, yet a feeling of home grasped her senses. Sanaya again checked herself in the mirror. Her eyes shone, a sparkle in them. She breathed in the air again. This time the scent gave her pleasure, and her lips lighted in a smile. She closed her eyes as the past reeled back. As she slowly remembered. It was a beautiful summer night, the sky was wrapped in the soft luminescence as the city geared to celebrate his exhibition. Vikram had his best suit on leaving behind the trail of his expensive honey and cinnamon aftershave. Vikram Singh was said to have it in his genes, like his father - the skill to yield the dripping brush of paint. Sanaya hugged him in a tight embrace as a tear drop trickled down her cheek. All the best, brother! She smiled. That was the last day she had seen him. It took a bullet to end it all. Sanaya had ran as she cradled the lifeless body of her brother and the perpetrator was lost in the camera and lights.

 This new smell too was of honey – cinnamon mixed with cigarettes. A man walked out. In his thirties or mid-thirties. He smiled at her, and she smiled back. She offered help, but he refused. She accompanied him wordlessly as his assistant rushed to help him. The cut looked bad. He stopped suddenly. And turned back to face her.

'Sanaya, How are you? '

'I am fine, thank you. '

'Are you still angry? '

'Innocent till proven guilty.'

'I admit Vikram and I had locked horns before but I am not what you think. '

'It doesn't matter what I think. ' 'Sanaya... '

'Veer you have lost quite a lot of blood. See the doctor please. Your stitch seems to have opened. Now if you will please excuse me. '

'Excused till proven.' The baritone rang in her ears. 'He knew? But how?'  

She walked back to the gallery.

'I have come a long way. I can't lose it all now.'

"Mam! Mam" a reporter rushed. Sanaya was startled for a moment but then she smiled. The reporters carried on with their jargon as they heaped countless praises. Sanaya felt tired, her shoulders dropped. A heavy weight heaved her heart. Her red halter gown swept across the floor as she paused by the window. The stars looked beautiful today. The sky was a shade of pitch black woven all across it's fabric. The clouds floated across and the moon gleamed.

'Vikram wouldn't see. He would not understand. What love is that?

' Sanaya closed her eyes as tears welled up. 'Why brother why?'

Niharika's stilletos clicked as she walked towards Sanaya. Placing her hand on Sanaya's shoulder she chirped in all the details of today's profits. She talked about some numbers. Numbers which didn't mean a thing. Money did not interest Sanaya. But Niharika looked happy. She gave in.

'Come along honey, interaction round' 'Give me a minute, will you? '

'Yes sure. Hurry. ' Sanaya looked herself up in the window glass and she stalled towards the hall. The media broke in an applause and the sounds of snapping cameras irritated her. Sanaya took her seat besides Niharika.

'Answering stupid questions, that's what I would do now. ' Sanaya thought yet she kept a smile dangling very close to her face. She had learnt few such tips from Niharika but Sanaya knew she was a natural in pretenses.

A young man went first. A very old stupid question but Sanaya found it interesting every time. Her inspiration? What was it? She didn't know it herself. 'What is your inspiration, mam? ' Sanaya hesitated and then smiled again. ' My brother. Vikram.'

 The crowd cooed as they whispered amongst themselves sympathizing with the mourning sister. The smell of the blood flared once again as she looked at her hands. Sanaya's eyes glistened. 

'But it was heard your brother didn't want you in this business. He was never too optimistic about your career in art.' Chipped in another

'Not all heard things are true, are they? She continued 'You asked about inspiration? His blood. That I still have on my hands from that day.' She stifled and brushed back a tear.

 The media fell in hush giving her some space. But not for long, did they wait. They had to get a bite.

' That is on my hand'.. She muttered. Should I be guilty or pleased though?' Sanaya thought to herself as she looked out the window, she felt the limelight on her, heard the sound of thousand whispers that announced her success, her name that was enough now to prompt her reputation. She was finally known for art and art had finally become hers.

After the one hour session Sanaya again got some time to herself. The day was finally called off.

'You were a very small price to pay brother'. Sanaya tucked her hair behind her ears as she breathed in the air in the empty gallery. It didn't smell of blood anymore. It smelled of the oil and colours. The scent she loved. She adored. It had been so long she had not chosen red for her canvases, tonight it had again become a necessity. Dialling on to the number she placed her phone between her ear and shoulder balancing it as she fixed her dress. The call was answered in the third ring. 'Hello Veer, Can we meet? '