Wednesday, December 10, 2008
LOVE – A COMPLICATION?
June 14, 20083:30 AM: The night was breezy- the night I proposed to her. I came close to her and held her hands- my heart aflutter with anticipation. Her eyes met mine as she moved closer- my expectations were sky high. But suddenly she shouted “The time is 8:30 AM” and I woke up with a start. The alarm clock spoilt my dream. The same dream! The same girl! What was this supposed to mean? That too on the day I was leaving Hyderabad for XL!
2:30 PM: I was in the Secunderabad Railway station to catch my train. I was waiting for the train to depart when I saw her- The girl of my dreams, the girl I was waiting for all along. This was my chance. I hurried behind her and was a few steps behind her when she dropped a greeting card accidentally. And in a scene reminiscent of the zillion Bollywood movies, I picked it up and was about to return it when I heard my father shouting “The train is about to depart.” And the girl too had disappeared. I flipped the card over and saw the name POOJA on it.
9:OO PM: I was in the train chatting with my dad but my mind was still on Pooja. I decided to stand at the compartment door and lo! She was at the door. This was my chance.
“Hi” I said.
She turned to me and smiled.
“Hey, you dropped this at the station today.” I continued and handed the card to her.
She looked at the card and smiled “Thanks a lot. My sister dropped it actually and was searching for it. “
“But I saw you at the station.” I said rather foolishly. She smiled.
This was when realization struck me. “Twins?” I asked
“Yes.”
Whoa! I was in love with this girl’s sister and not her.
“Oh Ok!...By the way, I’m Vineeth and on my way to XLRI” I said, holding out my hand. The girl looked visibly surprised.
“Oh great! Me and my sister Pooja too. Joining PMIR.” she exclaimed.
Wow! Pooja and I were to be in the same class- a great love story was to begin. ‘But this girl too looks the same, Why not her?’ my confused conscience asked.
“No! There is something about Pooja that attracts me.” I told myself determinedly as I dozed off that day.
This was how it all began. The day the three main characters in this story met.
**********
I joined XLRI and began life as a B schooler. Pooja and her younger twin- Neha both became good friends of mine. One thing I noticed was that both were similar in almost everything. But still my eyes were only on older twin. The first few days at a B school was quite different for many and needed a lot of coping. New life-new experiences. Unable to do so, Pooja broke down, but Neha took it sportingly and was smiling all along. But even then, Pooja’s weeping was more attractive to me than Neha’s chilled out nature.
As the first term progressed, the three of us became great friends and were always together in everything- projects, contests and even when Fraxing. And all the time I noticed that both the sisters were identical in almost every aspect except for the fact that Neha was more jovial and easy going while Pooja was more reserved. I latched on to this subtle difference. “I need somebody who is calm as my girlfriend” I said. As days turned into months, I also noticed that Neha wanted to spend more time with me and that seemed restless when I was paying attention to Pooja. It meant only one thing- she liked me. So in a couple of months, I was in this situation- I loved a girl who didn’t show interest in me and I was liked by a girl who I was determined not to love just because I loved her twin.
This led to frustration and for stress relief, I began dunking my own batchmates, gave the hardest of kicks to my friends during their birthdays and Counter-strike became an addiction (Kill virtual people to release stress.)
Finally, I realized that this was the time to get our friendship to the next stage and I decided to propose to Pooja in a formal way. The chance came in our village trip when I proposed to her but her answer was simple - “You are just a good friend.” I was distraught- to say the least and I went into a shell and that showed- scored a nought in my next Managerial Economics test. I noticed one thing though, I never saw such a relieved Neha before. But still, I could never think of her because I loved her twin sister. I was disillusioned by the love for Pooja.
The second term at XL was grinding with SIP, assignments, Ensemble, CS, NFS taking away most of our time with no time left for brooding. The month of November arrived and as part of the creative writing competition in Oktoberfest I was given the topic “Love is a delusion that one woman differs from another”. This one line changed my outlook towards the two main people in my XL life. Why was I ignoring Neha for Pooja? Just because I loved Pooja? But I liked Neha and if not for my adamant stand on love, I would have accepted her. After all, she was no different from her twin sister. The fact was that it didn’t matter if I loved somebody. What mattered was whether somebody loved me.
Four months have passed since Oktoberfest and now I am happily committed to Neha. I, Neha and her elder sister are still the great friends like we were before. I have accepted my love towards Pooja as just another passing cloud.
p.s.: All characters here are fictional :)
- Vineeth Ravichandran, P08062
Labels: Prose, Stylus
“Love is the delusion that one woman differs from another”
Dark, fair, brunette, blonde,
Never bothered to look beyond,
Accept the truth so stark,
They all feel same in the dark.
He mused to himself. She was the tenth woman he had dated that year, or was it eleventh - neither did he remember, nor did he bother to. Beauty, he always knew, was skin deep, and love was pure and absolute jargon. And of course, they all felt the same in the dark.
The same old cribbing, the beautiful smile,
The mush, emotions, just a different profile,
Wide brown eyes, just a little darker,
But truth, as I knew, was much starker.
And that evening was no different from the ones he had spent with the previous ones, the same old candle lights, the chinese cuisine, another bouquet of red roses covered with glittery water drops sprayed intentionally to give the desired lusty effect, all that was pending was the ceremonious invitation for coffee at her apartment, and whatever followed.
Another woman, another night,
Who looked different till she turned off the light,
And then everything was just the same,
Just a different place, just a different name.
It took him another week, and a day more to forget her to the extent of not being able to recall her name within ten minutes of thought. And all it took was not taking her calls for a couple of days. Like the last few, she also understood in due time. Contrary to popular belief, girls had brains too, he mused.
Love is just a four letter word,
A euphemism for something even shorter,
Love is just the delusion,
That one woman differs from another.
He scribbled in his planner, and read it over and over again, adoring his handwriting, another asset he was proud of, not to mention the poetic tinge and the profound thought. For as long as he could remember, he had been trying to appreciate the differences in women, but to his disappointment, could never go beyond the appearance. And the fact that it all led to the same further turned his attempts futile.
A husky voice to turn me on,
A passionate dance from dusk to dawn,
A fragrance so strong, I can’t escape,
Something or the other, which makes me gape.
And the pictures of the women he had ‘loved’ ran through his head like an MS PowerPoint slideshow, which reminded him of the presentation he had to make in the evening, before a new and prospective client. Work, he thought, was ‘also’ repetitive and unexciting. After an eternity of cribbing, the clock persuaded him to begin, half-heartedly though.
In a background of contrast,
When the time ran too fast,
My thoughts ran even faster,
As I saw her.
He could not sleep, and it was not unusual. He had noticed the smallest movement of the tiniest speck of her body, even her nimble fingers, while making the presentation, and that too was not unusual. He was sure she was impressed. But he had fumbled, how could he, he never did. It took him a while to convince himself how usual it was, and an hour of boring sitcoms to put him to sleep.
Her nimble hands, as she painted the tree,
Oh lord, when will they set me free,
Her husky voice still haunts my night,
Stops my dreams from their timeless flight.
He was drenched in sweat, as he got up, and jumped to switch the light on. A mixture of darkness and loneliness scared him. He opened the drawers on the right, unable to find what he looked for. He ran for his suitcase thrown carelessly on the couch when he had gotten back, relieved to find his planner inside. And struggling through its pages, he found and dialed the number. And the next minute, he found himself driving, lost enough to forget turning the music on.
Oh darkness you are a mystery,
I am caught in your unfaithful game,
When at one moment she scares me,
The next you make them women the same.
A sense of fear and excitement engulfed him as he took her hand in his. As he had noticed, her fingers were familiar, exactly like the fingers he had interwoven in his own a few years ago. He was right, she was impressed. And he did not know her more than her surname and her designation in the client’s organization, nor did he want to, purely professional reasons as they say. Next moment, he was thanking the very darkness which had scared him, and then it was the same routine which followed. They were all the same, they were not her.
It happened one night, when I lived a dream,
Her smile did shine, brown eyes did beam,
Piercing through the darkness of the sky,
When that husky voice made imagination fly.
He woke up with a start, on a sleepy Sunday morning, cursing the alarm clock, thanking it at the same time. After the usual morning rituals, the big brown clock in his bedroom told him it was time. Skipping the breakfast was usual too, no different from any other Sunday. Women and Sundays have a lot in common, he smiled. He did not forget to turn the music on this time, and drove leisurely to the white marbled building on the outskirts. And after the usual formalities, the nurse led him to the room. The first time he had come to the hospital, he had found the building too complex, the room too difficult to locate, but he was now familiar enough to guide any person to any room across the hospital. And there she was, staring outside the window, and he was gratefully surprised to see her live another week.
Her hands, her face, her eyes, her hair,
She was thin, and tall, and not-so-fair,
Everything about her was very unique,
That love, in her arms, I did seek.
- Shubham Khurana, B08053
Labels: Poem, Prose, Stylus
"Love is the delusion that one women differs from another."
- H L Mencken I think this quote is only applicable for the testosterone challenged male variety of Homo sapiens.
Mencken was probably one of them. He erroneously saw women as intellectual beings (what a misconception to carry through life?). And I would agree that in his restricted view, he was essentially right.
One of the great learnings of my life has been that on the intellectual plane, women are essentially similar to each other. Just to make a point, I can categorically say that no sane man can even dream of discussing some topics with women (For eg. topics like Schopenhauer, Joyce, Gyroscope, string theory, golf, creative evolution, Nabokov, Puritanism, Zarathustra, etc, etc, etc) without wincing on hearing a ‘practical rendition’ of such theoretical concepts.
If a male variety loves a woman all ‘heart & mind’ then the fault lies with him. One ‘heart & mind’ engagement is enough to render the man impotent to carry on intellectual intercourse of a level similar to that of ‘good old single days’. And on top of that, if this fallen fellow embarks on a repeat mission disbelieving the ‘Mencken delusion’ then there is no saving him. Each encounter pushes him more deeply into a feminist regression vortex until he loses his identity & becomes just a voice without a tenor ( ref my article ‘From Masculinity to metrosexuality- the women empowerment trap ‘)
Having said that, I would say that my take on the above quote is totally different- I do believe that the fundamental difference is essentially structural. And in this regard, I unabashedly yarn off the famous Hollywood quote- women in her infinite variety. There is no doubt that sans embellishments, each bare sculpted form is unique. Infinite points of exquisite elegance exist that highlight the differentiation- the droop of the curve, the varying color tone, the distribution around the mean, vital statistical differences, folds & creases, to mention only mentionable few attributes. And every new experience in structural explorations makes you not only wiser but also richer.
So in the final analysis it all comes down to your definition of love. If you are looking for the intellectual variety kind of love then the delusion becomes real.
BUT if you are smart & are looking for that common ‘bang out of your buck’ kind of love then there is no delusion. Variety exists…..
- Suhas V Tendulkar, G08092
Labels: Prose, Stylus
Why do we bother worrying ‘bout love!!
They say love is blind, devoid of boundaries, oblivious to age, and blissfully unaware of sexes! Then why is every soul worth its salt wanting to be loved by that one special person? Why does everyone talk of chemistry doing the magic when it is something so biological in nature! It’s a concept as bizarre as trying to listen from the eyes and sing from the nose (Although people out there are hell bent to prove the feasibility of such a thing and damn well succeeding!)
To say that I want love and want to be loved is true. But to put my love requirements into silos and expect one person on the face of this earth to accede to my demands is something that challenges the very spirit of opportunity and freedom of choices. I propose to stand for the rights of every girl that ever existed to express her desire in me in the fondest of ways possible. I propose to whole heartedly accept the reality that two hearts are better than one and four are definitely better than two when it comes to expressing love and fondness.
Religion and upbringing, I must say plays a crucial part in inculcating this spirit of opportunity for all. To say that some religions and beliefs have been grossly misinterpreted would be an understatement. To say that a religion that believes in providing opportunity to look into options and gives unprecedented freedom to take multiple chances at finding love, is stifling and martinet in character would be a blunder as big as having George Bush re-elected to the President’s chair!
‘Upbringing’ could mean different things to different people. To some it is a way of life, to some, well, life. To some it is the birth of a relationship and to some unfortunate adventurous ones (read as betrothed), its death outright! ‘Upbringing’ is probably the single largest indicator of interest and passion imbibed in an individual. For the fairer sex, it is a measure of how well groomed and well rounded they are and for the darker lot, a self realisation. When ‘upbringing’ does not differentiate one woman from the other on any (well most of them) basis, why does the mind ponder to move on!
All these words lead to the simple fact that,
Love doesn’t choose,
‘cause love is all blind!
It is but a river of fun,
so benevolent and kind.
Love knows no boundaries &
Knows no rules to abide.
All it knows is if this one goes,
There’ll be someone else by my side!!
-Tushar Walwadikar, P08057
Labels: Prose, Stylus
Love the word that is most overused and misused, it is not an attempt to define the indefinable. Why we fall in love, for whom and when these are the questions no one can answer. But is it a delusion that makes us choose to a person, and say yes I am for her and she is for me, or is there something more. Is it the appearance or is it something else. Can we do the statistical analysis of this, can something like ANOVA help us here. There is no urn models for this. (better get other perspectives)
There is definitely a soft corner people have for special someone. Is there some reasoning involved, one himself don’t know the reason as love don’t expect anything in return, but there is always something, some agreement, unwritten-unsaid that is never broken. It is not about a women being different from other, it is just not being able to see someone else in her presence. It is just not being able to think about something else when in her absence. It is not delusion it is love.
Do love look for comparative analysis before happening. Do we make choice in love or does it just happen. Some says it is the first sight, but some says it is over the time. Some says it takes time to understand, some says it does not involve understanding. I feel that love is not about difference, its about standing for someone. After all if someone can’t stand for somebody he will fall for anybody. Love is not a fall it is rising for something you believe in and belief does not just happen on basis of difference. The only thing required to have belief is belief.
- Sachin Paul, B08105
Labels: Prose, Stylus
Every time I fell in love, it was her all over again. Every time I decided to tell, it was the same sweet pain. I am no different from an addict; I am a slave to my own crimes. I am far from happy, and yet these are the best of times.
It all began in innocence, before I had learnt of love. It was that angry look she gave me; when I dared to hold her hand. I had no clue why I wanted to do so, but I did and the anger stole me away; I was hers for eternity. Lunch box stories and snack time tales, her presence blowing like the wind, filling up my sails. I knew there was something here, but what it was I knew not, her hand begged to be held, and I said to myself ‘why not?’ It was disastrous of course, the story ended right there. A classic romance cut short, a lady lost, a hero ruined. I was left groping at her cold stares for some warm comfort.
And then again it happened. I met her in college, she went by a different name, but she couldn’t fool me for long. My longing eyes had seen past her face, it was her! Yes! And lo! I wasted no time falling head over heels in love. We moved in the same circles, and we also moved around in circles. We flirted a little; me a little more than her in retrospect. We ate lunch together, and we spent time discussing life. I did her chores, and I did some more of them. There was no hand holding nonsense this time, but then I never knew that the rules had changed. The wind did change direction, my sails did deflate. I had done the right things, but just a little too late.
I am no sucker who gives up. I am the epitome of optimism, my time in history was at hand and my plans for it were rather grand. Here I was, in place far from home, and far from her. I was sure that this time round if I find my match I’d make it work. I was not expecting to see her here, no sir! Then again the quirk of fate has its say, and you end up in the same, age old play. I resisted long, I looked around for other wonders to admire. My fixation with my own tombstone got the better of me, I relented. I played the game a little, but the endgame beckoned. I was a junkie in search of his next shot. No point in being late, I confessed right away, expecting my reward. Sure enough the rejection came. I now write this, basking in the sweet ecstasy of the pain it brought.
I’ll delude myself that it isn’t her again to inflict upon myself this pain. It is classic conditioning and I respond to the same stimuli.
- Hameeduddin, P08022
Labels: Prose, Stylus
