Colours of Silence

I seem to be on a hot seat these days, being portrayed & sketched by everyone.
Jokes apart, recently one of my dearest friend Tushar Waghela sketched & portrayed me.

This blur sketch of me is done by him on a canvas with a charcoal. What he later communicated me was that it’s an ‘old me’ when I was an innocent boy. His jest too was filled with love towards me. Though at the first sight it seems that I am a devil these days but I must clarify at this point that I was a devil always.

Sometime in my life I was forced to fall in the state of speechlessness. The first glance of my portrait was one of those moments. I cannot say how much I liked it, saying that much also would be a dishonor. I can only say that it’s the real me somewhere lost within the layers of my implemented identity. Tushar, on the other hand, following his playfulness, kept on asking me what I see in my portrait. He very well knew that I cannot answer. I am not even going to thank for this. “Thank You” is a very small word for all that he has done for me. The repayment is not possible. I must mention that he is allergic to oil but still he has painted the blank canvas capturing me with oil. The portrait finished at 4:30 a.m. & until then his hands were bleeding.
But when the words have started to pour out, I would go ahead, excusing my self by saying that this portrait is somewhat out of time frame. It will always remind me where I stand today or more specifically, at this moment.
Never would I like to remember the date of it, instead I would remind myself of myself by a glance of it.

Sartre once moaned "The other is hell".
I joyfully say "Not only other but 'I' too is hell".