I prided myself on being able to paint anything. Never restricted myself to one kind of painting. If one morning it was an oil painted scenery, the next few days I could be busy with a pencil sketch. From beautiful mountains to dusty city lanes, I loved bringing them all alive on my canvas.

I do not know about others, but I liked what I painted. And at the cost of sounding vain, I even considered my work to be quite different from those of others.

To put it straightforward, I considered myself to be bit of a prodigy. I was unique and I liked to remain as I was. Though friends kept warning I was drifting too far away from them, and from life, too.

I didn?t care. I had my canvas, my paint brushes and colours of every kind, and my wild imagination, which I was convinced could never run short of ideas.

But one morning it actually did. I tried hard to think of a subject, staring at the blank canvas, trying all the colours and pencils one by one, hoping they would by themselves take forms and shapes when used, as they often did. But nothing happened.

It was while taking a long walk that evening I suddenly felt an urge to paint a portrait. My granny?s portrait.

The idea excited me, as I had never painted a portrait before. I couldn?t wait and immediately dashed off a letter to my parents who lived in a far away village, asking them to send a portrait of my granny.

My parents sent a photo in no time and I gathered all I needed to paint the portrait. I painted it exactly the way my granny looked in the photo. I drew all her wrinkles, her eyebrows, her eyelashes, nose, lips, even to the point of that slight smirk that seemed to play around the corner of her lips.

I was in no hurry and took my time over the details. It was only when it was completely done and I stood back to look at it as a whole, I noticed the look of serenity on my granny?s face. Which was strange, considering the image was also slightly crafty.

I decided to frame the image and keep it on my desk. I invited a friend of mine to come and have a look, partly because I wanted an opinion, partly because I suddenly craved for some company.

So, the friend came, but no sooner did he take a look at the portrait, he vanished! Into the thin air, just like that. Suddenly, my eyes fell on the portrait and what I saw was horrifying. My granny?s face had disappeared too. Instead, staring out of the frame was my friend?s face, which showed an expression of confusion and fear.

I could not understand anything. I was too stunned to even believe that it had taken place. Maybe my imagination was running really too wild.

But my friend?s face staring out of the canvas remained a reminder of the reality of the situation.

I called more friends. This continued to take place for the next few days, as five or six of my friends, whom I invited to look at the portrait, were trapped into becoming the portrait themselves.

I had lost all of them. There was probably no way of getting them ever back. At least, I didn?t know of a way out. I shuddered at what I had done. I tried repeating to myself that it was not my fault, after all. How on earth could I have known my granny?s portrait would turn out to be like this? Again, the one question that tormented me was why did the portrait not work on me?

Maybe, because I had created it. There was sickness in my mind. It kept me perpetually tormented. Whatever it was, the picture was not safe. It had to be destroyed.

I decided to dump the picture into the city garbage collection place, from where all waste was collected to be burnt or recycled. I took out my bike, and with the cursed portrait on the petrol tank, took off in speed.

In no time, the speedometer on my bike showed I was past 80 kmph. I was nearing my destination when suddenly a cop pulled up and made me stop.

He quietly noted in a little black book my bike number, my name, my address, and said that in a day or two an arrest warrant would be issued against me for breaking the speed rules and I will have to be taken to the city jail.

I felt as if the world had fallen on my head. My head reeled from the thought of going to jail. A shiver went through my body.

Saying what he had to say, he took a glance at the portrait and said mockingly, ?Nice picture, dude?. And walked away.

When I started my bike again, my eyes fell on the portrait. I noticed that Arun?s image, the last friend to be trapped, had been replaced by the cop?s! With the little black diary still in his hand, he was smiling.

For the first time I felt relieved to find a new face trapped. I will not have to go to jail. Looking at the picture, I said aloud, ?You deserve it, smiley!?

Then with a naughty smile, I speeded back home, the portrait still with me.