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The author in his fictitious acct of a salesman, elicits his obsession for Black and White |
"I see no verse.." (ah! worse would do no grave injustice either) "..to the walls that bar me" ,says Sri Harijan Tripathi, henceforth Mr. B.L.A.C.K White He dwells in a busty by lane one of many that snake through the city and this one is shoddy and crowded perhaps a little more than the others Cow dung on the walls that anyways have taken wear for the city is but old this Mr. B.L.A.C.K White dwells on Melancholy in his voice? Nah! And not purely a case for his big heart for, reader, he but sits in the groove lending the gully a sound audience! Yes, in the posterior of his house on his comfortable bamboo chair that is but a few yards from the gully ...from all the mayhem! Now, some justice to the reader for i mock, not the reader and most certainly not Mr. B.L.A.C.K White but my own prejudice The reader must wonder, why Mr. B.L.A.C.K White? Yes, the gully is color stripped hence dealing in close to black and white but wouldn't that again be mockery! I, being a mere narrator intend not to mock for that would be a crime! So here is my due explanation- First, Mr. B.L.A.C.K White is a salesman and owns a handicraft store (again, one of many in the gully!) which sure earns him a fortune Owner of handicraft store, Mr. B.L.A.C.K White? Reader! Bear with me a little His works are vibrant and lovely as lovely as the gully, he says! The gully where all peddle alike walkers, cycles, and even cars and where a very interesting game of cricket is interrupted by the peddlers He stops by a tea stall after work (again reader, one of many!) socializing with other salesmen who talk sales figures A chance look, every now and then at the patchy walls, and the corners and trousers that have worn off from prolonged use and back to the conversation over Mr. Sharma's Chikan Kurtis Mr. B.L.A.C.K White adores his old scooter the one he drives to work more for the color, or lack of it than even the sound, which again would be intriguing So, what is it that fascinates him? Says he, in his local dialect, Bhojpuri "I find the colors, always i do where others but don't seek them" "The colors are many, seemingly lost in black and just as many in white, seemingly reunited stop walking, and watch in the static they are not so black, and not so white" "If i were an author..", says he "..i would put them in a free verse to swing as wild on hues as they do" and that, reader, is my prejudice gone wrong |