Going back the memory lane... a queer eye contact...
I was around 14. From my home up on the top of a beautiful hill station, I needed to go down into the valley where my parents were maintaining a single room apartment for such convenience as of going and staying there occasionally.
I remember I opened the room and checked in. As I was opening the lock, I noticed a young man coming out of the apartment in front of mine. We exchanged glances. As he looked at my face, his eyes seemed to get stuck over there only.
I went a bit uneasy. But he wouldn't turn his eyes away.
I got scared a little too. It was a queer eye contact. After all I was only 14!
I ignored him and went in, taking care to bolt the room from inside.
After around an hour or so, when I came out of the room again, I still found the man appearing out of nowhere looking intently at my face.
A real queer eye contact!
My heartbeats went faster, but I faked no concern and went my way.
Again after around 4 hours when I came back, I found the man coming out of his room and proceeding toward me.
Again the same queer eye contact!
I prepared my defenses to face the intruder, but he would only stop a step away.
I looked into his eyes. He smiled. I reciprocated, though a little less!
"Would you mind coming to my apartment, in?" - he very sweetly asked.
"Why?" - I remember I was a little rude in my tone.
"Nothing very important... just to say something to you..." - he left his sentences incomplete.
My heartbeat again went faster. Why was he calling me in? Should I go or should I not?
He was offering me way waiving his hand.
Saying NO would have exposed my being frightened, which my ego wouldn't accept; so I went in with him following me behind.
We sat down and I looked into his eyes with a question in mine. It was still a queer eye contact only.
"I am a student of painting, doing my masters in it." - and then he went mum.
"So?" - I asked after a long unnerving pause.
"I have fallen for your eyes." - he said in a soft voice.
"O..., you aren't gay I suppose." - my fear used offense in order to defend myself from any possible onslaught.
"O my God... it's my painter inside me who has been a victim my dear, not my basic instincts!" - he felt offended.
"O... I am sorry." - I was more relieved than I was sorry, in fact.
"Could I paint you... I mean I want to draw your eyes for one of my projects in expression, could I?" - he asked hesitantly.
"How much time is it going to take?" - I was to go back home to my hilltop residence.
"Say, 3 to 4 hours... I want to get the sparkling question that you have in them on to my canvass, the details are going to take time." - he himself got a sparkle in his eyes, which I couldn’t say NO to.
It was not a queer eye contact any more as he started painting me looking with a great intent into my eyes.
And after 4 hours or so, I was looking at my eyes on to his canvass.
My mirror had never told me, they were so curious in their throw... and beautiful too... and my mirror had never told it to me!
Why?
I went back to my mirror as I reached home...
