inspiration....... 
He was sitting silently on a wooden chain resting his elbow on the wooden table.....his hands folded....he lifted them up and held it palm to palm fingers crossed.....staring away blindly into nowhere......there was something troubling him.....
                 He bent down and fiddled with papers in the drawer attached to the table.....lifting up the pile he sighed....'"uhhh!!!oh god....'"
                Bratha is an artist....a man of few words...one who did not see life beyond colours which he thought had the power to express everything.....Bratha was a different man today......he'd started life thinking he'd make it big in the world of art.....but then
                  Working as a teacher in a private school he had been given the luxury of his own private room....called the 'art room' by the students.....twenty two years of his life....were spent in this cosy corner.....his little room in one small corner.....and today he was to retire......leave that room that had become an ex-pression of his personality......
                   Life moves on.....no chair remains empty for long...this had to happen one day.....thats what he kept telling himself........how boldly he'd told his family that he'd be vicating it a week prior to retirment.....and live a free life......where he'd be his own master.....but then
                    He stood up with lifting a pile of old canvass.....blew of the dust.......it happens.....to everyone i'm no exception ...he told himself..........close to the wash basin lay a pallet....the colours on it had dried....the hair of the paint brushes had turned hard....he muttered .....to himself....." they are old brushes.....useless"
                  The very mention of the word 'useless ' was followed by a lump in his throat.....life was so strange.....it was a sheer waste......all about defeated hopes and aspirations.......nothing happened the way he'd wanted.....in his constant effort to live life he had just ended up existing......
                 The whole afternoon had seen Bratha busy clearing out  the room.......he had to leave it in no time......he thought he'd do it with no regrets.....but as the final hour of handing over the key came closer he grew weaker and weaker ......there was something that was breaking inside......
                   Bratha went out to the veranda to throw the brushes into a dustbin...when suddenly he heard some one call...."sir! Sir!!......goodafternoon sir!!.....he turned back to see who it was......"oh Tania...how's it going......sir leaving today......"
                    No sir....are you serious about it......???she asked waiting to see the ex-pression on his face...."yes" said Bratha.....your contribution to our lives is hard to forget sir.....please keep coming...we will miss you sir"
                  I too will miss ....he held himself back.......smiled at tania and said "life's all about moving....."
                  Bratha was about to chuck the old brushes and the paint bottles thinking it was all "useless".....but thenhe haerd tania's voice call...."Sir ..sir don't throw that...give it to me...""of what use will they be to ou tania.....? asked Bratha......i'll dip them in tarpin....and use them sir....they are ur brushes.....who knows I might become a genius artist like you one day......old is gold sir...they are useless for you but usefull for me..." saying this Tania left......leaving Bratha to ponder over what she had said.....in no time Bratha locked the 'art room' and walked home not turning to look back at what he'd left behind.