Blue - Pramil

 
Blue - Pramil

UPLOADED BY: AZHIACHUDALAR RAM | TIME: 12:00 AM |
GENRE: STORIES, PYRAMID
BLUE - PYRAMID  


Small art marketers who sniff and buy the remains of artists come and see. Criticisms fly around his pictures like feathers fly in a chicken fight.


He is an artist. Especially the Madras artist. From time to time he exhibits his pictures.

Some will cost. Famous Menatu Modern otherwise he has his office which has nothing to do with art.He has a family. The fans, that too the fans in big places, have shaken his head. Such a burden! His eyes don't see the human remains of the intersections where he takes the bus, and the wild plants that bloom like orchids.

One evening after returning late from office, he boarded the bus and got off after crossing two stages from his bus stop. Due to the external world, the person who boarded the bus is jammed and cannot get off. There is also an internal reason. Controversy since Seetkar kept a page of J Krishnamurthy's book which he had seen on TV recently.

It is a heated debate where computers can handle any human creation like story, poetry, etc. better than humans. "Then what are you called a man?" is Krishnamurthy's question. Our artisto pressed around as if he hadn't been told that the computer could do the painting anyway.

"Painting, sculpture, music can all be done by computer. In Japan, computers are menuboxing cars," growled the chipper to the side. His eyes were getting bigger and bigger in the rim of his nose glasses. With his growl, a small round light reflected in the glass, penetrating through the lanes of the bus crowd.

"But man can feel the beauty of the moon silently within himself. A computer can't," said Thiruvaalar,

adding "terminus" to the side of the ace.

The crowd poured out of the bus. The artist also fell. Let's see the fortune teller next door.

The feeling of standing somewhere on another planet suddenly appeared to our artist. somewhere, somewhere, somebody,

The glare of an electric pole on the faces of the people who were dispersing. Shards of glass glittered on the dark faces.

He began to walk past the streets of shacks and random slums. Suddenly, the world appeared in front of me. The gigantic clouds of the sky were moving as if they were telling the world about a great mystery buried within them, like silver and mercury. A rural voice in the distant distance, faintly heard like the languageless spring of nature.

Suddenly, that voice was replaced by another voice behind him, "Goo." A momentary senseless fear of death in its paranoia. He turned with a start. He was standing smiling in the moonlight. A respectable village boy of about fifteen or sixteen.

He did not let him speak. "This time, this time ... a little more distance..." he said, and he walked ahead of him and invited him to follow him.

Before anything else came to his mind, he pointed to a large, dark pit. In the dappled moonlight, the darkness turned into a mossy pond. The boy who had shown him the pond glided down into it. The appearance and disappearance of the boy made me think that it was some kind of supernatural life form.

By then the boy came out of the pool dripping wet and brought something in his hand.

It was a blue net. It was just then expanding. That blue power. He took it from the safely outstretched hand.

"Neelothpalam, it and Ravana, bloom only under water. Who has seen its beauty?" Someone, somewhere, was standing at the edge of his memories and saying. On the opposite side of the pond, the boy was left with AV on the artist, who was standing there looking amused?

The artist's eyes returned to the boy's face. The light of the moonlight that fell fiercely on the wet boy's face gave his big eyes and nostrils that flowed from his forehead without a groove, the image of another face carved by nature with great care over thousands of years.

"Who are you?" said the artist.

He didn't answer. A distant voice, muffled into tones, asked, 'Kishna'.

The boy responded with a 'coo' and ran across the vast expanse of the moon towards the voice that had called him. The blue flame in the hand has already blossomed its blue flames in the sky.
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AMRUTA PUBLISHING HOUSE 2009
TYPING ASSISTANCE: MANIKANDAN
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NOTE: GOOD LITERATURE IS POSTED HERE WITH THE INTENTION OF REACHING EVERYONE. NO OTHER COMMERCIAL PURPOSE. IF ANYONE HAS OBJECTIONS TO THIS PLEASE LET ME KNOW. I WILL DELETE THEM. COPYRIGHT OF WORKS BELONGS TO THE AUTHOR
2 COMMENTS:

GOMATI GOVT ON 12 AUGUST, 2012 10:00 AM SAID…
THE STORY IS AWESOME.
IT IS COMMENDABLE THAT YOU GIVE GOOD LITERATURE TO REACH EVERYONE.
HAPPY TO KEEP COMING

RAJASUNDARARAJAN ON AUGUST 13, 2012 AT 11:14 AM SAID…
THE BOY IN THIS IS JITHU KRISHNAMURTHY!