At present, as soon as I clear the remnants of our morning breakfast from the dinning table, I gather the paints, and brushes trying to draw bushes as they look in reality. My attempts looks like dabs of paint splattered on the canvas for no reason at all, and too unlike the real ones. Sometimes they do give an illusion, but at other times it’s a disappointment.

My eagerness evaporates in no time, and I give up to attend to washing dishes which lie in the sink waiting for my attention. Being a homemaker is a thankless job, in which you keep on doing repetitive work, and no one gives you any credit for it.

The next day I again return to my paints, and brushes. I soldier on ….. maybe someday I get better at it. A glimmer of hope leads me on.


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