Transverse

நீலம் – பிரமிள்

“நீலோத்பலம், அதுவும் ராவானதும், நீருக்கடியில்தான் பூக்கும். அதன் அழகை யார் கண்டது?”

Quite short for a short story, poetic in its tone, Pramil’s Neelam aspires to evoke a sense of wonder when pontificating the point of man; rather, what _is_ a man? The protagonist, a painter who considers himself an artist, is jostling for a respectable seat in a time and place when computers are better than humans at almost everything. Pramil lingers on the things that make humans human. Pramil asks the protagonist that if a man can’t appreciate the finer things in life, if you’re unable to notice குறுக்கு வழிகளின் மனித எச்சமும் நடுவே மானங்காணியாக மலரும் காட்டுச் செடிகள், are you really an artist?

In an overt dive into a magical realist landscape, a young boy leads our protagonist, who’s missed his destination and now not even trying to find his way back, literally and metaphorically, to appreciate the beauty of a flower that one often doesn’t get to see. This beauty abounds, one just needs to open their eyes. With lines like “எங்கோ, என்றோ, எவனோ, தான் என்ற ஒரு இடைவெட்டு மனதில் ஒரு மௌனக் கீறாக ஓடிற்று,” this story is better appreciated wearing a poetic hat to imbibe the beauty; I usually wear a logical hat to parse the sense. I can see that there’s more here, but it’s very clearly not for me.