After finishing the fourth sky that evening, he decided to call it a day. Other days, he painted at least seven skies, and some days even nine, but today, he was feeling unusually tired. He couldn’t recall whether it was because of thewife shouting at her husband for not keeping things back at their original place, an old mantoo sick to open his eyes and see the sky but wanted it to be painted anew, or the teachercoaxing himself for he couldn’t accept that his eyes aren’t doing the very work they were assigned to do, and now he has to wear glasses.
He didn’t remember exactly when he started painting skies professionally as his occupation, but he loved doing it andknowing this satiatedhis curiosity like why is he doing this in the first place. He had paintedseveral skies from houses to houses, buildings to buildings. Sometimes, he was even asked to paint skies of open cricket stadiums, where thousands of people gathered during tournaments and appreciated the azure whenever batsmen hit sixes. Of course, only duringthe high shots. For at least a week, he was trending on social media for writing Fuck & Mend on the sky of a company’s building which was supposed to be written Duck & Mend.The company asked for no ducks to be created in their sky. It was something to do with ducking one’s head and mending the damaged products that people donated. The idea behind the name was to increase their employees’ productivity, and make them determined participants of the race they called life. So, duck and mend, duck and mend, fuck and mend, fuck and mend became mantra of the entire social media. This guy was being invited to many talk shows to ask him why did he write something this controversial. Was he talking about the current situation going on in our society? The guy would reply with terms like poverty, justice, equality andother big words he had gathered from watching others interviews. Until this one time, when he gave an honest answer, and it became his last interview. He told everyone the truth. He said – Things were not right in my life, in my home. That day I was out of my mind and by mistake I pasted my mind there on the Duck & Mend company’s sky. He was banned from talk shows, because who would want to hear about what’s going in someone’s home? We have an entire nation to run!
So, that unusual day, with his unusual tiredness when he reached his home, no one asked him about the skies. Neither his wife nor his son. He took off his shoes and placed them on the stand before his son came running to him. When he bent to pick him up, he realised he hadn’t taken off the cello tape. But then, it wasn’t the time to sleep yet.
Every day before leaving for work, he would wrap himself with brown cello tape, from toe to head. Each round neatly stuck. Still, he would spend hours and hours buying clothes of his favourite style and colour while his wife grimaced standing at a corner of men’s section. From the same corner, she also babbled about the new men styles that her friend’s husband wore to that last party. He followedevery remark his wife made and always bought the fancy items she babbled about, and the next day would wrap the brown cello tape over new suits and shirts before leaving for his work.
At the dinner table, his son gabbled about the changing geography and mathematics of the world. Sometimes he listened, and other times, he asked his wife to pass one more chapati or a salt cellar or a spoon or just something because he was tired. But she would just kick his leg under the table and hiss amid the clanking of her silver spoon against the ceramic plate – His friend’s dad listens everything their son tells him. So, the guy who loved to paint skies, with no spoon and chapati on his plate, without uttering about single cloud of the skies he painted, listenedabout the new rules of the new era that his son told.
This man slept as less as an elephant. And his habit of planning and designing the skies at night kept him away from his bedroom where his wife snored peacefully.He, himself, wasn’t sure if his son was his own or not.All he remembered is the night after his wedding, when he returned home drunk and full of desires.But now, for a long time, his desires remained evitable because he had locked them in the deepest drawer of his priorities, until this one day when, after painting three skies, he was having the most hunger quenching meal of the day.
Outside, sitting on a bench, he was openinga packet of bread that he just bought from a supermarket. Drawing out two slices from either end of the bread loaf, he placed the packet aside. That is when a voice from behind interrupted his daily routine.
“Hey! It’s been a long time.”
Before turning to find out who it was, he skimmed his brown cello tape to see if any area is uncovered.Then, he turned only to find out his old lover from his college times.
“Hello! How did you recognise me?” His question sounded unwelcoming. More like a goodbye because he didn’t want to know anything about her and hide everything about himself. But she stayed, and walked over to the other side of the bench to sit.He winced, but his brown tape didn’t give him away.
Well, that wasn’t needed, he thought.
“Your bread loaf…”
He raised an eyebrow which she couldn’t see, still continued.
“You like eating only the end slices of a bread loaf. I remember you telling me… that those are the ones which are well baked. The slices in the middle are unfortunate to not have any experience other than just getting the warmth at their edges.”
His eyes brimmed up with tears. With all the cello tape, someone saw him. Though it was a person from his past, someone knew something about him, enough to remember him.
That hour of the day, he decided to ask her to meet often.He had loved her in his past then had unloved her, but at that moment, he was sure he liked her. Fortunately, it was her break time too. She just didn’t want to sit in her old cafeteriaso, she came out for a walk.
Wasn’t that a good idea, she remarked.
Against the brown cello tape, he stretched his grin, as wide as possible for it to become visible through the tape.She accepted his proposal to meet every day, right where they were sitting, right at that same time.
Today, he was happy. He painted almost eleven skies.Back in his home, he spent hours watching his son instructing their pet bunny how to play with air bubble wrap. And when his wife asked him to place fleshed off chicken bones in a separate plate, he didn’t refuse. At night, when he was done with two new designs for the sky, he looked at the clock and rejoiced that still four hours were left before sunrise, and went to sleep in his bedroom without disturbing his wife.
Every day felt different as he waited for his old lover on their spot. As time passed, he started slowly peeling the tape off, with another set of rollsin his bag to wrap right before leaving for second half of the day. First day, he just showed his redshining Ruma shoes that left the sound of life burdens he had been carrying echoing on the roads and floors of the building. Another day, he decided to flaunt the never opened pockets of his pants. It had medicines in them that he had always carried since his mother fell irreversibly sick. The entire day, he spent avoiding the image of his mother whimpering in pain through nights and nights, but it played in the back of his mind on repeat.In one pocket, were his wife’s anklet from their fourth date, and first night together. When brown tape wasn’t a part of his life.
Another day, excitedly, he peeled the tape off of the other side of his pants. Three hankies – red blue and white – were peering out at them from his pocket. Embarrassed, he fisted those deeper, but his pocket was the size of one hanky. His lover disguised the disgust in a smile. But he recognised her twitching lips, her old habit. Immediately, he apologised for something that he didn’t commit knowingly. He didn’t remember leaving old used hankies in his pocket like this. He couldn’t recall not washing his pants.
He returned home sadder that day. No one asked about his skies, still he sat next to his son, and watched him draw a huge dinosaur with a trunk of an elephant.
The next day, he didn’t unwrap further.
But recalling how she had remembered his habit of eating bread slices earlier, he took a risk and asked her if she would be interested in skipping lunch and checking out the skies that he painted. With a hesitant smile, she agreed.
Now, every day, he took her to tell stories of new skies. Some were inspired by festivals, some by celebrations of new-borns and beginnings, others by losses and griefs. Some he did just for the rich families who regularly wanted something new and trendy. Those were the skies that helped him to cultivate his own ideas and implement them. Every day, when she came to their spot, he guided her under different skies. Until this one time, awestruck by the most beautiful sky he had ever painted he released her hand, he realised he had been holding her hand all this time.
That night,at home,while his son and wife exhibited the new plants they planted in their garden, all he did was reminisce how her hand felt against his tape-wrapped hands. Not that he never held that handbefore, but he never acknowledged how easily hers fit into his. Like hers was made for his. Without appreciating his wife’s and son’s hard work, he went straight inside for dinner and then designing skies. Later that night, he finished his work earlier than ever, and waiting for the next day, he went to sleep for hours longer than ever.
Finally, the hour came when he peeled the tape off his entire body. Right from head to toe.His face neatly reflecting the sun. His new suit, at last, emitting their expensive colours.
But when within a fraction of second, her old lover spit out, “You look so broken.”He didn’t know where to hide.
He didn’t bring another roll of tape today because he decided to stop hiding himself. He looked at the crumbled brown tape lying on the bench with a thought to smoothen its creases and wear it back,but her words sliced histhoughts of plans.
“You are so broken.I noticed the remains of yourold blue sky on one of your new skies… you said that it wasyour most beautiful work, butyou are still carrying it all. I can see it.Don’t you know how to hide it?”
That’s what I was doing, he thought, and he glanced again at the crumbled brown tape.
That night, he leaped the fence and sneaked to his own house from the back door. He was scared.
What if someone saw him?
He rushed past several doors, and finally reached his bedroom. The drawer full of brown tape rolls was already half open. He pulled out a roll, and started wrapping it around his body.
How would my past remain unseen when I have lived through it, and how do you hide your past when you have travelled all the way from there to here on your own? He questioned. Suddenly, with a hope that said maybe it’s alright to carry it all and not hide it, he stopped midway.He grazed his fingers over the pocket with an anklet and medicines. His eyes moved to his already wrapped Ruma shoes. Maybe he didn’t need to hide it, he thought.
The second he held the tape within his index and thumb and started pulling up, he heard someone opening the door. It was his son.
“What’s this dad?”Innocently, he askedplaying his small fingers at one of the three rolled sheets tucked at the back of his pant.
With a sigh, he said, “Let me show you.”
He pulled out one, and then started explaining, but the words never made their way out. He thought of the remains of his old blue sky that his son would see on these new designs of sky, and how it wouldn’t match the new rules of his new era. He rolled, then tucked the sheet back to its place.
“It’s nothing, son.”
He almost kicked his son out, whenimage of dad of his friend’s son appeared in his mind, and he softly asked, “Can you wait outside? Iam in the middle of something.”
His son walked out of the room without noticing the broken man. And the guy who painted skies wrapped himself back with brown tape.
About the Author – Ekta Singh Chandel
Ekta is an Aerospace Engineer, a blogger and an aspiring author. Ekta writes poems and short stories. Currently, she is working on her young adult fiction book. Ekta’s inquisitiveness drives her to fill more and more pages every day. Also, she is an enthusiastic reader ready to talk about books 24*7. You can connect with her through Instagram.
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