Art is Heart

 This afternoon was quite a wonder. Let me explain why. It proved to me the veracity of my deep faith in the power of art. 

Well, on one of the wapp groups, there was this anecdote about a lady collector who goes to a girls' school. After her speech, during the Q-n-A session, a student asks her why she never wears makeup. The lady hence tells the story of her childhood, ridden with poverty and the worst difficulties of all sorts. Soon she has to work in mica mines for minimal wages to earn bare minimum necessities. Children are preferred in mica mines as they can enter the hole like openings to ferret out more produce. As ill luck would have it, one monsoon, the roof of the mines caves in, burying her entire family underneath. Despite so many misfortunes, she manages to educate herself to become a collector. As most all items of makeup use mica, she possibly cannot use it, is how the story ends. 

My Eng Lit soul, reared on "Jane Eyre" and "Oliver Twist", went its usual senti way, and I reminded myself of how people suffer impossible atrocities in this weird world, and how one is luck incarnate in comparison, et al.

By 4 p.m.-ish, however, it was found out that there was no such collector, and that she was a product of a Malyalee author's imagination. Did I feel cheated? Absolutely no way! In fact, it proved to me yet again how art is heart. The superb power of the wor(l)ds an author creates! Fiction truer than reality! I remembered Aristotle on probable/possible! Yes, indeed, art gives you heart and soul, and tempers your head. Long live (he)art!

Pratima@our saddest thoughts give  birth to our sweetest songs! Of course, I owe the deepest apologies to Shelley, my one time, and even now, though in a different way, hero!