Clenching my fists I walked past those portraits on the wall. The further I walked, the more dark it got towards the end of the hallway. Nope, it wasn’t a tunnel and there was no light at the end of it either.
Each of the portraits seemed to speak to me — actually, more like shout, just like the ones from Harry Potter. Although it was creepy, it was endearing to realize I still remembered how my late great-grandmother’s voice sounded like. I was angry but I decided not to be and turned around to face one of the portraits. It was my dad’s uncle’s father’s —( well, too farfetched a relative to explain, so please leave me be) portrait. Never heard him, never seen him, never even heard OF him. But I knew it was him, because some sane soul was thoughtful enough to put captions beneath it. Hello, thanks!
He was wearing a white shirt and a white dhoti, horn-rimmed glasses and was holding a book that somehow resembled a Bible. What was he trying to look like? A smart ass? Was the stout book symbolic of brains? No idea. I stared at him long enough to start hallucinating his movements on the portrait.
Suddenly, he started talking. He sounded more like Dumbledore than anyone from my family. Or it could have just been an overdose of Harry Potter that week, doing this to me. But, Dumbledore talking to me in Tamil? Wow. Now that’s a first.
I could feel my anger evaporate and was suddenly filled with a strong urge to laugh, at him – at the portrait. But I controlled myself again. I was scared he might become still and plainly stare at me and go back to being the portrait he was. I smiled and said ‘hi, thatha’. He opened his mouth to say something but instead gave me a look of disgust and disappointment and became still again! I stared at him for another five minutes and decided to give up. Even the old man wasn’t interested to converse with me. Brilliant.
So much for having controlled my emotions. I should have just been angry and stormed out of the place! Ugh.