Ramblings Of Boring Romanticism - II

First Impression: Looks kill, but so does ugliness.

Well, to my dear readers who didn’t quite grasp the intentions behind this write-up, let me be kind enough to detail it. I shall proceed to dissect ‘romanticism’ step by step and I believe you all will find yourself belonging to one stage or the other.

If you don’t, then I hardly think you belong to a race called man or homo sapiens (for the intellectuals; what did you think I was a mere layman, correction, laywoman?)

I shall presume that the subject I’m discussing is not rocket science that requires in-depth explanations, so I shall take the liberty to start straight away.

The title says it all: the first ‘stage’ of love – appearances.

Majority of people still consider looks as the most important thing – whether it be something as trite as off-hand judgements or something as important as choosing your life-partners. Looks call the shots, they say. And need I quote the oh so familiar ‘Prince Charming’ for all those lovely ladies and would be ladies have their eyes set out for, or the drop-dead gorgeous woman of the moment for those eager gentlemen and boys? (dare I say rakes, for them, there remains no such coveted woman, those fickle creatures)

Where does ‘love’ come into this, I hear you ask? Why, of course, my dears, it is already there! People ‘fall in love’ with people who are so beautiful, or handsome – this condition afflicts all ages (well, at least till you’re sane) and our eyes are trained to immediately discern beauty and ugliness in any populated place.

Still want examples? Haven’t you seen those teenage girls (I’m not one of them, mind you!) drooling over film actors or those boys (I’m not defining the age here) ogling those living mannequins walking down the streets?  

No, we women are no less guilty. But, but, we can be subtle!

The identification is done. Now comes the reasoning and logic.

Well, might I say that the phenomenon of falling for looks is something everyone understands?

A part of being in love is being wanted, and that is where all the trouble begins. For how wanted you might be, would be pretty evident from your stunning partner. Not to mention your own looks. “Oh my god, how lucky! She’s with what’s-his-name, he is simply so handsome! I would die to be in her place!” This, is for the girls and you should be familiar with these refrains. Otherwise, you are, I’m afraid, not normal.

As for the boys, I…don’t think I’m authorised to bring in any references to what usually goes on in their heads. Suit yourself, my boys.

Looks, as it is known, are temporary. You just might lose them with time, or God forbid, in an accident or an illness. If your oh so good looking ‘partner’ just might cease to be as appealing as he/she currently is, would you desert your ‘love’ and your partner altogether?

Need I answer this question? It’s evident; you must have been through it.

Thus, this culminates the first, headlong stage of love. Beautiful, stunning girls, dashing, handsome men – the world literally revolves around people who are good looking. As for the ugly ducklings, the poor things are simply condemned to a life of solitude. Would I call this kind of love interesting? Ah, forget about it. I haven’t managed to find the love of my life despite my not so bad looks so I wonder for those blissfully ignorant people, sigh.

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A penny for your thoughts? I'm anticipating more clarifications.^^ 

Ramblings Of Boring Romanticism - I

Prologue: The disillusion named ‘love’.

If people were asked what was the one thing that would breathe life into their otherwise perfectly ordinary existences, (and I don’t mean air) the most obvious and expected answer would be ‘love’. Love makes the world go round, they say. Love is very life itself. That and other seemingly countless quotes, verses, songs, prose, playwright and all possible forms of expression can be found in every single language and art form that has existed till date about this very unique emotion that is, without exaggeration, at the very core of this world’s workings.

I don’t include certain kind of fanatics with completely different motives without the slightest lacing of this wonderful feeling to that list.

Now I could write, as I stated above, countless words on love and its various manifestations. But I won’t bother with them for now. My focus shall remain on the most evident thoughts that the mere mention of ‘love’ provokes.

Of course, it has to be romantic love, right?

Or rather, how impossible romantic love is, perhaps? The very reason why I’m penning this down today.

One wonders where the good ol' days went, sigh

Let no one mistake me to be a frustrated single who hasn’t managed to experience those ‘trysts’ with destiny, let alone find ‘the love of life’. 

No, I could be considered as one of those eclectic individuals who would ponder upon the nuances of this romantic love and wonder: is it really true?

I have every reason to believe this is the most-often asked question after ‘does God exist?’ without any need of surveys or statistics to support my claim.

Furthermore, the real question is this: if it weren’t true, why would it be projected that way?

That does imply that there is a degree of truth to the romantic love, now doesn’t it?

There comes my reason for writing this: I’m merely a curious individual, inquisitive and willing enough to try and explore this form of love and see for myself if it is that ‘charming’ and ‘enchanting’ and ‘ecstatic’ as the poets, the singers and the most famous lovers of the world have proclaimed.

Needless to say, I haven’t struck gold yet.

Not that this is the age to achieve it as most elders would be quick to admonish but I’m not taking into account the frivolities of teenage infatuations and crushes and the corny sounding ‘girlfriends’ and ‘boyfriends’ that drive these poor people up the wall.

Oh wait, I think I haven’t mentioned that I’m an adolescent, after all. Well, that should justify my curiosity, right?

Over to others to relate their (I would add so-called) experiences of this feeling which is rightly termed as romanticism.

Romance…and romanticism – so widespread, so prevalent and yet repeated to the extent of being a hackneyed term. The first word that comes to my mind when I hear of romance? Boring.

Care to prove me otherwise? I’m waiting, 

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This is going to be a six-post series (and hopefully I will complete the remaining parts) but this is as much of a prologue as you can get.

The Maudlin Conundrum

Why?

This one word is capable of posing the toughest question to whoever is willing to be asked. Why are we here? Why do we live the way we live today? Why must people pretend to be heartless and ruthless , individualistic, always pushing others aside for the sake of what is being asked of them; even though all anyone, everyone wants is to love and be loved? Why?

Why must I, like countless others, suffer the agony of this ill-conceived world, always bound by limitations and restrictions?

A lone girl’s incoherent wonderings, you may say. You may even go so far as to put to the whims borne by the sheer insularity that I must bear with, day in and day out.

Go ahead, look down upon me with your merciless stare and cruel smile as I writhe in anguish of my incapability to express myself, to articulate the torment in the deepest recesses of my soul.

You are no different. I was…I still am the same as you, always careful about not pressing my needs, my desires upon others, holding back words and thoughts that could wreak havoc on the delicate and yet shifting balance all strive to achieve; despite being pained at the very farce being made out of my life as well as of those around me.

Do not gaze me down with the veiled superiority that you possess…that you moved on with your life, held yourself together while I miserably failed. For a day will come…oh, whom am I kidding? It is there everyday, the mirror to haunt you in your dreams, the few moments of solitude that is always thrust upon you where you are face to face with what you really are and what you ended up becoming.

Why do you think people choose to throw themselves to things which will serve them no lasting purpose?

Look me in the eye and tell me whether you are truly happy. No…don’t give me all those nonsensical excuses – I’m contented, but I don’t have this…I can’t be happy until I achieve that…my relations tend to get troublesome, otherwise I think I’m fine - is your physical, materialistic life the measure of your fulfilment? I wish it had been so: it would have spared me the gnawing vehemence of seeking to tear apart my world, if only to discover it was real or not.

You and I, we are both besieged by demons of illusion. You cannot deny this – it will take me a little while more to work on your scripted persona, to delve into your equally distressed soul.

Do not sigh that way. Call me a heretic, for all you are worth and you will still know that I never meant to embellish my realisations, painting them as true for everyone else. Is it a crime, for me to show you my most vulnerable, perhaps deplorable side? Am I not allowed to practice the cherished virtue of honesty, even within these confines where there is nothing else to lose?

Or are you wondering, hell, worried that I will drag you down with me in the withering comprehension of our duly chaotic existence? That I will strip you of all you held dear, deemed necessary for survival, to your original, raw form?

I dare you; go on and shake me out of my delirium, knock sense into me, if you will. 

But you know I am right. I always will be.

A Tenuous Quest

I’m back from the dead! Or well, at least to me, it seems like that.

(This is going to be a deviation from my usual to the point posts, so you chose to read the rambling that follows, okay? I hope I make myself clear.)

Let me deal with all that I missed, nevermind the fact that I just barely stumbled out of finishing Boards before rushing to finish registering for CLAT and starting the preparations for cracking the same. (which also reminds me that I just learned how thoroughly I detest paperwork. Add to that how I ironically aim to throw myself into an administrative framework for a career. The Indian Foreign Service, with any luck.)

Ahem, before I completely forget about what I was going to say, back to where I started.

First, thank you all for your good wishes. With God’s grace, I have done well in my examinations. Now, I have been fortunate enough to be awarded by the very astute Supernick  at The Devil’s Workshop. The Overlord, of all things! To the awarder, I cannot thank you enough. I only hope I live up to all the praises.

My only contention is that I’m not eligible to pass on the award, mainly because I haven’t been stalking enough blogs. Scratch that, I haven’t been commenting as often to strike an acquaintance with most bloggers. So, my followers and all other readers, don’t be surprised if I’m suddenly here, there and everywhere. I should know as a writer that any feedback is appreciated and yet as a reader I hesitate to give the same. None of that anymore.  (It will take me sometime to catch up with reading, of course)

There, that’s done, what I had to say has been conveyed. Onto the part that will finally end the tiresome rant, I believe.

What I could all manage was a dismally short Inception fanfiction (my current obsession and I do have a tendency to randomly obsess myself with things, the predecessor to this wonderful movie being Big Bang Theory.) The reason I’m choosing to post it here is a hopefully not-in-vain attempt to garner more feedback than what I got on Fanfiction. Without spoiling it further, all I would add is that it’s written from Eames’ perspective.

Now I should really let my writing do the talking here.

... ...

He watches Fischer open the safe and spot the will, only to remove the pinwheel – their key to extraction – lying beneath.

It was done. The job was completed, successfully. He continues to watch impassively the scene play out between father and son.

Emotions. Sentiments. Feelings. So very captivating and more often than not the purpose of existence for majority of people.

To him, they were simply convenient.

An emotional block could easily turn out to be an insurmountable maze for a person of his profession but it was the very base for his deceptions as a forger.

Naturally, he has to get it right, always. In the world of extraction – and now, inception – there are no second chances.

It is at such times when he muses upon his ability to decipher the emotional strength of his subject from a perspective that allows no such indulgence on his part.

He only has to remember Dominic Cobb to be reminded of what attachments and even possessiveness can do to one’s subconscious.

(He would be lying if he claimed he knew the story. But it is not difficult to piece it together.)

It is almost strange, what love and fear – the two sentiments that comprise everything that could possibly dictate one’s actions – can do to people.  It is those feelings that manipulates every single time, always choosing to disregard the thought that he could be dealt with in the same manner.

Of course, he is no less immune; time will tell. No less immune than that stick-in-the-mud Arthur, with his seemingly subtle preference for Ariadne.

They had all gone to extraordinary lengths to cultivate the veil of professionalism and detachment to keep them from falling apart every single time they took on a job.

How long till it stopped working? He, despite his laconic, devil-may-care attitude, always comes face to face with that question.

The ignored thought still remains hanging: how long till he loses his grip on reality?

(After all, everyone is entitled to their share of self-doubts.)

But his mind quickly clears when the kick sets in and with a last look at his surroundings…the dream world, he undoubtedly knew of the one certainty he shares with everyone on the team (even Cobb, despite it being his last job)

He would be loath to leave it.

Castle Of Hope

“I hope I won’t lose my heart in this game of gamble called love.”

She sits by the dormroom window, wondering.

Daydreaming is a luxury she cannot afford. Pending assignments and reports, daily studying already lagging behind…yet she doesn’t care.

(After all, caffeine is always there to rescue her.)

But the thought, the nagging feeling doesn’t go away.

She’s had her share of falling for people. More than experiencing the bliss and the pleasures of being in a relationship, it was insecurity and despair and admittedly, envy.

Having one’s heart broken is enough to lose faith in love. Still, people persist, even for their entire lives, either going to finally find someone or being left alone.

She’s one of them. And she won’t end up alone. It is her belief, her solace that will someday turn into reality.

What is the harm in dreaming?

Maybe being a writer by hobby does make one romantic…perhaps foolishly so. But then again, isn’t it the hope, the desire of loving and being loved by someone is what adds a certain essence to those otherwise ordinary words?

Sometimes, the mere prospect of such a future is enough.

And that is why, even with a love life that is alive one moment, dead the next, she will keep hoping. She will look forward to playing the game called love.

Even if it meant losing her heart. For eventually, love is nothing without surrender.

“I’d lose anytime. But, if I believe that I can do it, then I can do it.”

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Written for my dear friend (and once writing colleague) Terry-May, who is and shall be my first overseas friend. Happy Birthday, Terry! I sincerely hope you like this. 


With this, I embark on a month-long hiatus. Shall be back once I'm done with the Boards. Till then, ciao! 

Threads Of Fate

What is it that I share with you?

 What is it that binds us together?

 In a relation, ever so uncertain, ever so tentative?

 It’s more than love I feel; it’s more than affection I feel,

 Your pure and gentle self, hidden behind a veil is what pulls me,

 To reach that unimaginable zenith, of something that is beyond

 The realms of this constricting world, the mortal chains of time.

 With you I fly, to that place, ever so desired,

 At this point, nothing matters to me

 Than the fact that I’m with you,

 Relations wither like flowers with time,

 But this moment is infinite, is eternal,

 We are together; nothing can change it

This moment of absolute love, that remains

 Engraved in our hearts, for as long as we live…

Wistful Reminiscences

Despite everything, we’re still friends, right?

Yes. I never wanted you to go away.

She reads through the words. They are just a few among the countless words exchanged over nearly two years.

Twenty four months (no, 22 months and 21 days, she corrects herself) are inconsequential in a life that is meant to go on for decades.

But sometimes, it’s enough to change your perspective altogether. More than enough.

It is what she has presumptuously claimed to be a relation of a lifetime. Even if it didn’t last long, it was something never to be forgotten, effaced from her memory.

It doesn’t rankle her to see that so much of her effort, time and emotional investment – to the extent that she naively thought she was in love -  seems to be going awry. That treasured beautiful relationship, nearly ruined only to be salvaged again. But the spark was gone and the distance grew only further.

She was no fool; she had been acutely aware of her feelings. It was by no means attraction or even romantic.  But she had been too idealistic in believing it could be reciporcated in the same manner. Had she misread the signs? Wasn’t intimacy possible in a friendship – did it always have to have those implications?

That understanding, that mutual affection, that fondness, she had been so happy. So…fulfilled. In hindsight, she was perhaps too forthright, too expecting. Perhaps trying to define it in the first place had been the biggest mistake.

She’s had her share of anguish, of despair. It is never easy to severe ties; it is always painful. To break away from the comfort of knowing he was there for her caused her unnamed agony.

Her first heartbreak. And it had been her doing alone.

 Believer of destiny as she was, she held back from assuming it was all over. Unrequited love was one thing, friendship was another. They had resolved to put the past behind her, hadn’t they?

The future is always uncertain. She would never know. If only…

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If you are thinking this is what an approaching Valentine's does to me, well, it's not true. ^^

On the contrary, it is meant to be cathartic in nature. This is milder in comparison to this outpouring.

In any case, that is all I'm letting on. :)