Nightfall ✓

Chapter 3

• chapter three •

The room wasn't very big, but it wasn't very small either. A stack of books was kept on a table, which was placed in the middle of a circle of chairs. Each chair had a tiny wooden table in front of it. The air-conditioning was on full blast. A small cupboard was fitted into an alcove at the back of the room. The wall across from me had a row of windows, but it looked as if they didn't open, they were only made to let the light in. The floor was done with pale white tiles, just like the other rooms that I had peeked in (to check whether it was my class or not) and the passages that I had just walked through, which had hand-made notices put up on the walls, like—'Scholarship students, this way' along with an arrow.

So we had followed those notices till we finally reached this particular room, which for now showed no signs of life. I sat down hesitantly on a chair and waited. I hoped we were early, rather than sitting in the wrong classroom. I kept my art bag containing my sketch book and shading pencils and stuff on the floor.

Maya trailed in after me. "Is this our class?" She looked around and saw a hand-made notice on one wall, which said: Class for scholarship students from India. She sat, too, and said, " 'Window to the Soul'. People are gonna make fun of that."

"Yeah," I said. I had thought so too, the moment I had seen it written at the top of the building which was our art center in silver, metallic letter blocks. It was a good name, though; I liked it. I'd found by peeking into various rooms that this organization didn't only deal with painters, but also with dancers and musicians. After all, they were artists too, and any kind of art is a window to the artist's soul.

We started to talk about something, and then our other neighbors-cum-friends entered.

And no one entered after that. "What, this class is just for us five?" Chirag asked. "That's so cool."

A woman of about thirty came in; we all went quiet at once. She looked like a babysitter; short and plump and a kind face. "Hey everyone! I'm Helen. I will be your teacher for one year. I'm going to teach you how to draw or paint with all sorts of mediums — pastels, pencils, oils and all. Today we'll begin with drawing with a pencil with the help of a grid. Should we start?"

We nodded like robots.

"Okay, so. I need to know your names first."

After we had given the introductions and I had said, "Um, I'm Hazel," (note the 'um'), Helen continued her speech. "A grid helps us to draw easily and accurately. As you all know, the boxes in the grid are labelled with numbers and letters. Switch to a denser grid for areas that are crowded or indistinct, for example, a face, because there are a lot of details in the face. And while drawing, concentrate on single squares, and forget the full image. So now, I will give a glass grid to all of you. Put it on your tables, and draw this stack of books."

I sketched a neat grid on my paper while Helen fetched the glass grids from the cupboard. She carried them carefully and gave one to each of us.

It was basically a sheet of glass framed with wood. A grid was drawn in black lines on the glass. I put it on my table and looked at the books through it. The stack was visible clearly. I started drawing.

It was an enjoyable experience: sitting in that peaceful room listening to the soft swish-swish sound of pencils on paper, with the air-conditioner on and the sunlight pouring in from the windows. I had always loved the combination of air-conditioner and sunlight. It was sort of beautiful, sitting in a cool room watching the warm patches of sunlight on the floor. I looked at the pattern that the sunlight was creating —a big square of light, with the shadow of a tree going through the centre and cutting the square in half.