Piker Press Banner
February 10, 2025

Living History

By Hansa Deep

Translated from Hindi by Rajni Mishra

Pari had won many prizes but they were all small ones. This was her first chance. She wanted to put her heart and soul into it. In today’s post, there was a release from the Art Gallery of Ontario. An international painting competition was being organised for children between twelve to sixteen years of age. There was one month left for the last date to send entries. The most special thing about it was the prize money—one thousand dollars.

Pari was restless from that moment. She was thinking continuously. All her artworks presented themselves one by one before her eyes. What should she do—send one from her collection or make something new; a rare ‘piece of art’ which would draw everybody’s attention. She knew that she could make something nice in the given time. The dilemma was: which subject to choose that would attract everybody.

She had many paintings ready for which she had done a lot of hard work. To choose the title, many words had been written, cancelled and re-written, before she was satisfied—‘The heart of hills’, ‘Hearts of rivers’, ‘Evil winds’, ‘Burning forests’, ‘The roundness of the Earth’, ‘Sandy Heart’ and many more.

The list was long, famous places of Canada like the C.N. Tower, Thousand Islands, Lake Ontario—and many such subjects were not attracting her at present. She wanted to concentrate on the last choice of artists, not the first. A subject that nobody could think about.

‘Pari Art Bank’, Papa had put this nameplate outside Pari’s room. This room was the treasure house of Pari’s paintings. She was capable of making showpieces from many things but her special interest was in painting. She had become quite perfect till she reached the age of twelve. Even her parents were surprised to see her pictures. Looking at their own untrained hands, they wondered, whether their creation, Pari did this creation.

Looking at her interest, Papa had given the biggest room to Pari so she could get more space to fulfil her desire. Pari had given special recognition to this room's walls, floor and even ceiling. Canvases, trays filled with different colours and brushes, coloured pencils and crayons, papers with incomplete sketches—everything was scattered around the room.

Many pieces of art made on canvas and paper were waiting to be framed. School books lay on the table. These things lying here and there were enough to give Pari’s introduction. This was her world— a small world where big dreams peeped from all sides. Three of the four walls were covered with pictures that told the story of her sharp eyes and master strokes of her brush. The fourth wall was her world of colours—entirely. She had had a free hand on this wall. There were many shapes which were connected to each other. A combination of various colours—light and dark, sober and bright. All of these shapes had been outlined with a white boundary.

White was the only visible colour in all shapes.

Whenever they had guests and they visited Pari’s room, their eyes spread with wonder looking at the foresightedness of a small child. Pari had decorated this gorgeous canvas so neatly that people praised her open-heartedly. “So beautiful, Pari.” “Extraordinary” “Wonderful”.

Nobody was allowed to enter Pari’s room without her permission, neither guests nor her family members. Younger brother Nick, everybody called him Chotu, was completely prohibited. Chotu obeyed Pari but in return, he had also made a rule for Pari, a rule of equality.

“Pari, even you can’t enter my room.”

Both brother and sister followed this rule, strictly respecting their privacy. If one of the two lost something, they looked at each other suspiciously. Both of them argued for a long time. In the end, when that lost thing was found they even said sorry to each other. They also warned each other, “Enter my room only when I am there, otherwise don’t even look this side.”

Not only Pari but every member of this house had one or the other speciality. Papa had a huge collection of wristwatches. With many old, antique watches he also had Rolex and many other expensive branded watches, which made this collection priceless. Brochures and magazines related to these watches were on Papa’s bookshelf. There was a small locker in the house to protect these watches, which only Papa could open by feeding many numbers.

Papa spent his leisure time in this room with his watches. The wall was adorned with pictures of these watches on his hands. Only Papa’s left hand and wrist adorned with the watch. He knew the story of all his watches, from their origin to their journey to the market.

The room of ten-year-old Chotu was filled with his favourite toys, Lego’s different structures. The Eiffel Tower, the Statue of Liberty and many more special structures and his new experiments. Every day, after school he spent his time making a new model. He presented his experiment to his family at dinner time.

It seemed a famous architect was standing there—huge houses made from Lego, their secret roads and codes to reach there. Robots were seen coming out, facing some attack. They fired their missiles, and went inside as soon as Chotu pressed the next button. Many experiments like these formed Chotu’s routine.

Mummy worked for a big company. Even after working for the whole day, she cooked delicious food for the family as she was fond of cooking. Everyone got busy with their jobs after filling their tummy with tasty food.

Last but not the least! There was ninety-year-old Grandma also at home. Grandma’s age was a museum in itself. Don’t know what all was there in her experienced mind. It is said that people start forgetting in old age but it was the opposite with Grandma. She remembered everything swiftly. What had happened in which year, on which date, everything—all the aspects starting from politics to family and society.

Listening to her incessant talks, Pari used to comment, “Grandma is an Encyclopedia.”

The easy chair kept in the drawing room was her throne. After getting down from her throne if she saw the children in their rooms, she walked to them, slowly. She praised their new experiments and returned after asking them about their school homework. Her favourite hobby was to tease the kids.

She used to tell Pari, “Your Papa married late otherwise till now I would have seen your kids too. How pleasant it would have been to see Pari’s Pari.” And she laughed loudly. Grandma laughed a lot. Perhaps, her name would be topmost on the list of senior citizens who remained happy always. She had an answer for everything. She knew the ins and outs of everyone. Pari and Chotu enjoyed listening about Papa’s childhood from her. Papa got embarrassed. Both the children teased him profusely.

Their faces lit up with an unknown happiness.

Pari liked Grandma very much just two or three years back. She had grown up in her lap. But now she stayed away from Grandma. She didn’t like her ever-trembling hands and feet. Not a single tooth was left in her mouth. Whenever she spoke, air passed through her mouth. Very few white hairs were left on her head. Her face filled with wrinkles when she laughed loudly.

Pari said to Grandma, “I don’t like these wrinkles on your face.”

Grandma answered joyously, “Even I don’t like them, that’s why I don’t look into the mirror.

“Pari, do one thing, iron these wrinkles once.”

“Silly Grandma!”

Grandma felt very happy, hearing this from Pari. Once, she had tried to count the wrinkles, sitting next to Grandma. She said that since Grandma was ninety, these wrinkles would also cross ninety in number.

Grandma said, “They must be much more than ninety, several in one. And each one is also hiding a memory of happiness and troubles, both—of your Grandpa’s love—of your papa’s childhood, studies and marriage and yours and Chotu’s birth. My biggest dream was fulfilled when you were born. The happiness of holding my granddaughter in my hands was immense.” Grandma went on speaking and Pari used to escape silently.

Earlier, Pari and Chotu heard stories from Grandma. Now, a long time has passed. All that had ceased quite some time before. From the last few days, a strange smell had started coming from Grandma. She might be peeing in the diaper. Why can’t she go to the bathroom, when she can walk around?

When Pari complained, Grandma clarified, “Whenever I cough loudly, the urine comes out.”

This logic was unacceptable for Pari, she thought that Grandma had become lazy.

Grandma understood what Pari had in her mind. She said, “You also used to pee in the diaper but I slept next to you. Yes, that was a child’s smell, like fresh wind. This is an old smell, like rotten fruit. The principle of this world is very cruel, we wait for the coming of a child and leaving of an old.”

Pari’s little mind was too small to take in all this. She had spent a complete week thinking about the competition and jotted down many new ideas in her notebook. After putting all her paintings in her room, she had perused them from different angles. But, till now, that moment hadn’t come, when she could decide on any of them.

Mummy gave several suggestions—of high-rise buildings or dense and deep forests. The treasures of nature only needed a deep insight.

Papa reminded her about the beautiful scenes of Jasper and Bumph and subjects like the sediments under the blue water or life in the mountains. Jokingly, he also asked her to make a collage of his invaluable watches.

Chotu said, “Make a painting of my Lego structure. You will not get this shape anywhere else. I specialise in it.” The small trust had a large size.

When Pari said only ‘Hmm’, Chotu kept his condition quickly. “Just make one thing sure, if you win, half of the prize money will be mine.”

“You can keep the whole amount, Chotu, but first let me win.”

Pari would have argued for not sharing a single penny if it had been some other time. But at this time she was thinking in only one direction, as she was bent upon finding a new subject for the competition. Every day, while coming and going to school, she had only one thought, how to make something extraordinary? It was an artist’s hunger, something keeps pricking till it is not satisfied, like a small thorn.

She kept thinking about it, even in her sleep. Finally, today after returning from school she decided, enough is enough! She would take her decision today. She chose fifteen of her favourite paintings. After putting them in a line, she will count till ten and do, “Ini, mini, mini, mo-one,” “Ini, mini, mini, mo-two” and so on. Wherever her hand stopped, she would send that painting.

Pari blindfolded herself and started counting, slowly. After repeating the same sequence ten times, the counting finally stopped. When she touched it with her fingers, it was not paper but someone’s hand! Quickly, she removed the strip from her eyes. It was Grandma’s hand who was standing before her and smiling.

Pari’s face turned red with anger. She spoke angrily, “Grandma! Why did you come in between, this was the last time to choose my painting.

Grandma smiled mischievously, “You have chosen. You stopped on my hand.”

Pari raised her eyes. Grandma was wearing a beautiful, sleeveless, red dress which reached her knees. She had also applied a light shade of lipstick on her lips. Grandma always wore full-sleeved long gowns but today her hands and legs were openly seen.

Innumerable wrinkles! On hands, legs and even the throat. A surprised Pari flipped her eyes.

“Living history, isn’t it, Pari.” Grandma laughed loudly and sat on the chair in front of her.

“Living History!” These words rang a bell in Pari’s mind and her brush started moving.

While changing the body’s wrinkles to wrinkles on paper, Pari’s eyes were catching the lively laughter of Grandma.

There was laughter in the wrinkles but no wrinkle in the laughter.





About the translator: Rajni Mishra

Mrs.Rajni Mishra, born in Mhow, District Indore,is presently residing in Indore (Madhya Pradesh). She is working on the post of Assistant Professor in Higher Education Department for the last 34 years. She has done PG Diploma in translation from IGNOU. Has also completed A1,A2 and B1 certificate courses in French Language from DELF.




Article © Hansa Deep. All rights reserved.
Published on 2025-01-27
Image(s) are public domain.
0 Reader Comments
Your Comments






The Piker Press moderates all comments.
Click here for the commenting policy.