Dil Jaanta Hai | ✔

sixty-four

Just to brush up over the new scenes that some of you must've had missed.

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CHAPTER TEN [ before the inauguration of Graphique (Deewan Art Gallery) ]

The workers were scurrying around with huge frames and exotic exhibits, and we had to watch our every step so as to not knock off the breath taking pieces of art. The ceiling of the black and beige room was quite high, and the chandelier that hung from the top was another piece of work to marvel upon.

"Beautiful, isn't it?" Jolly Bua whispered. Arnav and I shared a look, unconsciously.

On one side of the long lobby, I spotted a capture. Unknowingly, my feet traversed the small distance and my eyes took in the work.

Gully cricket. Black and white, extremely detailed photograph, and yet another hidden tale. Plastic crates were the wickets, and the street too narrow. It was shot from a top angle, perfectly times to capture the ball aimed towards the frame. I moved on to the next pane, and got stuck, because the life-like image of Bihu dancers, but they weren't dancing. They were in their natural selves, talking to each other, probably before their performance. It wasn't all smiles, but it surely was something better: anticipation.

"You... you like it?"

Arnav was scratching the back of his neck, biting his lip.

"I'd be lying if I say I don't. This is really... I don't have the words- grounded and beautiful? I don't know, but they are definitely the least pretentious pictures, and I can tell that without even looking at the others. Who is the artist?"

I did not realise that Dad was listening in on our conversation until he answered, "Vansh."

"Seriously?" My genuine doubt made me look at Arnav. His Adam's apple bobbed as he looked back at the exhibits.

"Yes," Dad replied, placing his palms on our shoulders. "Now stop gawking at them, come with me to the office."

CHAPTER TWELVE  [ during the Graphique inauguration, conversation between Arvika Deewan and Vansh Mehra ]

"I had a hunch that you're into abstract portrayal of expression."

"You think so? I guess these are just some lucky shots," he shrugged, pointing towards his exhibit, which now had fifteen red dots.

"That's just you trying to sound cool and all."

He looked at me with a knowing smile. "Am I though? Do you know how difficult it is to take a picture? I might as well be trained in gymnastics for the perfect shot."

I frowned, tilting my head. "Are you even interested in photography? Fifteen people wanting that, and yet you're complaining."

"Touche. I do like photography, but I don't like the pain it comes with."

I frowned again. He seemed to be confused too, because his attention swapped to someone behind me. "Your mother's pretty."

And I was taken aback. "I think you're supposed to compliment me right now."

We laughed at the strange joke, which off course, was not meant as a joke at all.

"Well, Arvika Deewan, I have a hunch that you are not into abstract portrayal of expression."

*

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