When we see Tiger painting during "Lapaata" there are many other paintings there too. This is a story of how he first started. Just a little night scene. I love Tiger and Zoya!
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An easy smile adorned Zoya's face as she came down to meet Tiger. From where he sat behind the steering wheel, he could not stifle a grin. She was so beautiful.
The little girls dispersed from out of the door around her. Tiger chuckled a little at the sight of the children in their tutus. His wife said her goodbyes to them as she hopped into the convertible beside him.
"Hi." she said.
"Hi." He leaned over to kiss her.
"I love you too." She laughed.
Tiger honked the horn for fun as he pulled away from the dance school. They drove down the lanes until parking the car not far from their home. Together they walked, hand in hand until they arrived at one of the outdoor markets. They wanted to buy more plantains, and coffee; the two items they went through fastest. After purchasing what they'd come for, they walked through the market, just window shopping and watching the people all around them. It felt so free, to just live without an agenda. Some days they had to shake off the residual fears. There were no agencies now, no border. There was only the two of them, promised to each other no matter what. Each time they remembered, their happiness was renewed.
They came upon an old man selling art supplies under a tent. He sat on a stool, surrounded by stacks of canvas, cans full of brushes, and piles of different paints. Tiger let go of Zoya's hand and stepped forward to explore a little.
"Hola." Was all the spanish he knew. The old man nodded in reply.
Zoya watched as her husband ran his fingers along the edges of a blank canvas and picked up brushes, all the while his eyes scanned the many many colors.
"Do you paint?" Zoya asked, coming up behind him.
"I always wanted to try." He said.
She came around so he could see her. "There's nothing stopping you here."
He looked at her sweet smiling face.
"Yeah?"
She nodded. "Yeah."
"Alright," He said with a smile and a small tilt of his head.
They selected a few canvases and Tiger picked out a small collection of appealing colors and a variety of brushes. They laughed softly together as if they were scheming some adventure. Despite many different covers and false faces, their own lives for so long had been a monochromatic landscape of loneliness and violence.
Tiger paid the old man and he and Zoya walked home together.
. . .
That night Tiger woke up in a sweat, feeling nearly deafened by his own heartbeat. He tried to focus on his quick, quiet breathing as his mind raced to recall what had caused his distress. All at once, like a mud slide, he was buried in the memory the nightmare that haunted his unconscious mind only seconds earlier. He sat up as fast as he could, searching the space to his left.
She was there beside him, safe and peacefully asleep. Zoya.
Releasing a long exhale, Tiger allowed himself to relax. He lay back down and rested in the silence for a while, but he couldn't fall back to sleep. His body had calmed but his mind was anxious still. The terrifying images still echoed in his head, scaring his peace away. He rose from their bed and went to stand in the open window.
He tried to clear his mind of it, letting the night fill his senses instead. He closed his eyes and listen to the sounds of far off car horns, music, voices speaking in an unfamiliar tongue, and the faint roar of the ocean. He breathed in the smell of cigar smoke, trash, the sewer, roasted peanuts, sweet fried plantains (his favorite), and even the unsettling whiff of cooked pork that floated throughout the city. The taste of sea salt in the air touched his tongue and he opened his eyes. There was the darkened street and lit windows, and the stars. There weren't many and they conceded to the clouds in the humid island sky. Tiger sighed deeply and turned his attention back indoors. His eyes scanned their little home in the dimness until his gaze fell upon the the paints and canvas laying on the table. Immediately he crossed the room and picked up one of the canvases. He flipped a light on and waited to see if Zoya stirred. She didn't, so he set up the canvas, stacking a short stool on top of a chair and propping the canvas against the chair back. It wasn't ideal, but it worked.
He sat down in front of it and for a little while he just enjoyed its straight forward simplicity. Finally, he covered a big brush with paint and touched it to the blank space.
Satisfied with the contrast, he began to spread the bold color. His dark eyes followed the movements. It wasn't long before he abandoned the brush altogether and began to use his hands instead.
Soon, a face began to appear. He didn't know the person in the those strokes. Perhaps it was his mother, long since passed away. Maybe it was someone he once met. He didn't know, but nonetheless she emerged out of the colors on the canvas like little extension of his heart. It didn't matter that he didn't know her.
He didn't notice when Zoya woke up. He was focused so intently on painting. Stepping lightly across the room she noted his fierce eyes, but could tell he felt safe in that moment. Standing behind him, she admired his work. It was a woman. Her expression was peaceful. She stood like that for a while, just watching him engrossed in painting. Finally she put her arms around him, breaking into his little world. He smiled and leaned back against her. Zoya kissed him and rested her cheek against his.
"We need to find an easel for you." was all she said.
Tiger smiled and didn't think before he touched his paint covered fingers to her other cheek.
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After washing the paint from his hands and Zoya's face, they climbed back into bed. Tiger put his arms around Zoya and the two of them were asleep a moment later. Tiger slept dreamlessly. His whole world was wrapped in his arms and his fears had been replaced with a peaceful face on a canvas.