Painting My Sports Idol

(Photo by Phil Walter/Getty Images)

I really want to be like him. After all, most people want to be like their Ideal person.

So I finally started painting.

I coloured the whole canvas with a dark shade of red. It looked beautiful. Very pure. I did not want to spoil it. I knew with the poor painting skills I have, my idol would look like a cartoon. That’s not why I was there.

But in any case I tried to act like a professional painter, and started on what seemed like quite an impossible task.

Try. A few fine strokes here and a few deeper strokes there and you are done.

I could feel the skill of a veteran at this job, I was enjoying it too, but somehow my feelings were not shared by the canvas in front. It looked awful. Least like Dravid and most like some cartoon with no shape or size. Just as expected.  But it still hurt.

I could not bear looking at it. I tore it apart and started on a new canvas.

This time I closed my eyes and painted. I thought my inner eye would do a better job.

Again those fine strokes here and those deep strokes there. I felt the peach colour of the skin I had painted. It felt so nice. The energy and expectations again rising inside me. So nice. So nice.

But the rise of that energy and expectation were more like the rise of a volcano which bursts and scatters lava everywhere.

Scattered lava, which was exactly what the painting looked like. And the red lava was mixed with the peach colour, which felt so nice with the eyes closed, but looked awful now. Green and black were also a part of the mixture.

I know it was the turn of anger to rise. I destroyed everything. I started to scream. I felt as if my heat had made my brain boil.

To hell with the painting. I want to get back to my old life and live it.

But I did not know how to escape. I just had to sit and wait for some door to open and let me out.

I don’t know how long I was there for, but it was long. My patience was being tested and I wasn’t anywhere close to the calm I had felt in the beginning.

I started to scream again. I wanted to destroy the world. But the world could be created again. So I had to take a stronger revenge?

I picked up a new canvas and closed my eyes again. But this time all I was going to do was just let the paint brush fly anywhere. Make something as ugly as possible. Make a mockery of the person who wanted me to paint my idol.

I was also sure that my idol would not approve of it if he knew. But that was not my problem. I did not care. I had no idol; just me and my anger.

I did exactly what I thought. Let the brush fly. No control; just ugliness.

My anger was fueling me to do this act. And even when I wanted to stop, it kept on making me go.

But finally it had to die down. And when it did, I felt a lot better. Calmness returned. Peace followed.

I opened my eyes again. But what I saw really stunned me.

You're currently logged into Facebook

Do you want to share your Bleacher Report activity on Facebook?