‘Well, yes. Yes. This is a tough painting. See, I’m giving you ten days’ notice. If it's your young friends’ Saturday, there's time to make some adjustment.’

‘It's not my young friends’ Saturday. But this is simply not on, yaar. Last time you made some other excuse. And I ended up listening to Ai's griping about you. You better give me a really good excuse this time. Difficult paintings don’t impress her.’

‘My show's coming up in six months. That should impress anybody.’

‘Not Ai.’

‘Go on, deal with her. She complains even when I go. “You come but don’t say a word.” You’ll go, won’t you?’

‘Do I have a choice? I’d go every fortnight, but I’m not the son—I’m the daughter. A dark-skinned daughter at that. A daughter with opinions.’

‘Shut up. Just go.’

‘Right. Now as a brother you want to make solicitous inquiries after me? Like how have I been, etc.’

Ashesh laughs. Anima sighs.

‘So I’m fine. I withdrew my case last week. I’m erasing the past. This thing's been going on for ever. The lawyer's pockets are getting heavier, mine lighter.’

‘I told you long ago.’

‘Sure. But I’m not an escapist like you. I believe one has to fight. But I’m tired, that's all. So tell me, are you coming to Sharada's concert? Forget it. I don’t know why I expect decisive answers from you. Do you have a loving message for Ai?’

‘Tell her I’ll definitely come next month.’

‘How? Your show will be only five months away then.’

‘Then say I asked about her health.’

Anima hangs up.

Ashesh stands before his canvas. These black triangular shapes. There are only two ways to deal with them. Paint them out of existence. Or respond to their challenge. Ashesh takes a few steps back from the canvas. Then a few steps forward. He inclines his head to look at the canvas from a different angle. The black has barred all routes to the usual shades of his palette. There's only one colour that can checkmate black. Red. But Ashesh does not have the courage to use it. At least not at this moment. In his opinion, only one artist in the city uses red with conviction. Haridas.

Ashesh hurries to his CD shelf. He wants music that will rouse him, something that outreaches itself, but still lands on the final beat of the rhythmic cycle with aplomb. He chooses Krishnarao Pandit singing Raag Todi. There's no beating about the bush here. The first note he utters is the beginning of the song. The note is just there, deadly precise.

I cajole my beloved

I don’t know why he will not listen

His unconcern distresses me so

My darling get up, come to me