I was recently part of a group exhibition in Mumbai, and it was called Mystic Glory. Inspired by some of the paintings, I wrote a few short stories based on the paintings.
based on Painting : The Blue Apple
The blue apple sat on its throne of air in the middle of the lake. The sky was a light grey, the land in darker shades of grey and black, all morbidly reflected in the lake.
The blue apple was the only object of colour in this drab environment. It was the key to solving his problem.
He was aware of the world around him, even though he lay in the hospital bed, almost completely paralysed. He could blink, and even smile a little. In his vegetative state, he had realized what he had to do to move again.
That blue apple held all the colour that his depressed, grey mind once did. He had buried the seed of happiness deep in the furrows of his brain, hoping to protect it from the real world. The seed had grown into a tree, that gave this apple. He had to bite into it now. He had to eat the blue apple to nourish his dying mind.
He jumped into the lake, icy and piercing. He swam toward the apple in the centre, concentrating on his physical body, begging his muscles to respond. His will was strong, and his arms began to twitch as he swam on in his mind. The twitching grew to shivering, growing more with each stroke. He willed his legs to now move, and slowly, they responded like his arms.
He realized just what was happening to his physical body, and pushed harder.
He was now under the apple, dead centre of the lake, tired, and weak. All he had to do now was reach out to the apple, grab it, and release himself.
His arms felt heavy, the physical now merging with the mental, but he simply fought gravity, slowly raising his arms off the bed.
A nurse in the hallway noticed the movement, and nearly had a coronary herself. She alerted the doctors and within a minute, there were more doctors in the room than ever before. They spoke to him, trying to elicit a verbal response, but he paid them no attention.
He was focused on the apple. His fingers touched the apple, but he couldn’t hold on. One more push would be enough he thought.
And so he did, grabbing the apple, his fingers enjoying the textured surface of it. He launched himself at the apple, sinking his teeth deep into it.
Freedom. Movement. He was back.
He bit into the apple again and again, the apple finally exploding in a shower of colour and energy. He looked around. His world was in colour again. The skies were blue, the mountains green and brown.
The doctors and nurses looked on in shock, at the man who had spent the last year paralysed, as he slowly sat up, flexing his muscles and looking around with a smile on his face.
Colour was back in his life, the artist could paint again.