Hoyejak Short Story: The Colour TubesGolpokar Tumi 

Hoyejak Short Story: The Colour Tubes

Reading Time: 2 minutes

THE COLOUR TUBES

The Colour Tubes (Image by Doodlewash)

The boy sat there at the table, placed beside the bed in his little room. Today was no exception. He had a fight with his mother. As he played some songs on his laptop, he settled down to think. Not much but only the hootings of cars passing by could be heard.

Piku was a bit relaxed today, for some unknown reason. His mind did not reciprocate, though, as it usually did, to the calls from the sketchbook. Piku’s father had returned home tonight, drunk like never before. Piku, with closed eyes, tried to think and hear of all the catcalls he would get from his friends and foes if they ever come to know about all these mishaps. He frowned to himself, but in vain. The girl he loved, loved him no more. Fate is indeed too cruel.

Unlike every day, Piku had today put the chat box in Facebook on an off mode. New conversations, new topics, new friends – all seemed to be a far cry from the world he was in, now. Piku falls in love every other day. After all, there is so much to fall in love with! We just have to search for the reasons. The colour tubes, scattered all over his work desk, seemed to be suffocating, too! They wanted their lids to be opened so that they could paint the world with colours of happiness. There is so much grief all around!

Hoyejak Short Story: The Colour Tubes
The Colour Tubes (Image by Liveabout)

Piku cries very often, on his own. The reason? Well, some – he knows. Some, he doesn’t! He hates the fan in his room now. The sound of the revolving wind machine puts him off quite often. He loves silence. But that is probably just an escape route for him to avoid the reality around him! The reality that rests just beneath his closed windows, down the street, where sleeps the most promising child in ragged clothes, muted by all the cacophony around. The closed door of his room, however, can never prevent some of the “noise” of the quarrel coming from the drawing room. A working woman and a drunk working man, fighting for their own self-proclaimed thoughts!

Piku opened all his colour tubes, one by one, and turned to a fresh page of his sketchbook. As he gazed at the empty page blankly, he wondered how to paint the middle-class problems in its true colour! He felt clueless and lonely as ever! The Facebook message box “hailed” Piku as the recipient of five new messages. Turning the chat box off, too, proved to be a failed attempt!

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