Evening at the Gallery…

They sat quietly together…lost in their mugs of coffee...she leaned forward, captivated by the twirls and swirls the spoon could create in the otherwise calm surface of the coffee…one stir and it completely changed the way the coffee looked…comfortably curled up on the wooden chair, she looked around at the gallery and its little café…she looked around and wondered why she loved it so much…
it wasn’t the food or the coffee…it wasn’t the old waiter who knew her since she was so little, that coffee was not permitted to her…it was just the excitement in the air…she loved being around little known artists and their art…she felt the power of the unknown…the not knowing where tomorrow would take them…and yet being in the present, eagerly awaiting what would become of them…
he loved the place as well…for a much simpler reason…because she loved it…and he loved to see her in love with it…it made him happy…
she looked at him…aware of how long they had sat there in silence…there was never this urgency to fill the space between them with words…it was not relevant anymore…it was the gestures that counted…she gathered the tuberoses in her arms…smiling into his eyes, she greedily gulped down the fragrance…she felt herself sway a little…she pulled one out and stuck it into her hair…he laughed…and reached for his camera…oh please don’t, she said with her eyes…he shook his head and laughed more…
she pulled him off his feet…they walked around…stopping to admire the details…stopping to find the feeling behind those eyes…the paintings were portraits by an artist from the south…the dark skin, shining eyes, black hair and white saris held their attention…
I wish I could paint like that, he said…but you do it just as well with your camera, she said…its not the same, he said…it’s the same, but more startling cos you can see them through your eyes and make them look different even when they look the same, she said…
It was at that instant, that he pulled out his camera and saw her in way that she would not be able to believe…a profile…a white flower gleaming through her open hair…her white kurta in contrast to her dark skin…she looked like the sister of the girl in the painting who she was lost looking at… and then he took another…this time, she turned to him…not angry…just shy and unable to look into the camera…it was time she left…
They passed the entire gallery on their way out and as she looked at them one more time, she felt she knew how they felt…lovingly created…up on exhibit for the world to see…they saw them but didn’t see them…open to interpretations…future unknown…and yet someone would look at one of the girls in the portrait and understand her colours, her lines, her darks and lights…that someone was what each of the paintings waited for…