To Romeo with love…

“ You are the most unromantic girl I have ever met”
Spat came the reaction for turning down a non-prosperous but interesting never the less offer. And yes, it is not this one time a thing like this happened, a decision such as this has been taken, a remark such as this has been made… the same story rolls on over and over again and I, Reema Bhattacharya thus continue in my 19th year of singleton.

“What kind of youth was hers? She never even had stars in her eyes nor let her hair fly loose over her cheeks. She had never given way to storms of emotions, never sought a lover, not even when the dark clouds gathered in the sky during monsoons.”
--- Ismat Chugtai
Those words when read for the first time made a lasting impression in my mind, in ways known to me alone, I identified with them. They were so true and untrue in so many ways. My lines faltered, I mumbled and stammered while reading them aloud to myself. I was full in grief, awe and fear at being expressed so unabashed and blatant within printed words, which were originally conceived and scripted by another.

“ But I do have stars in my eyes….each time I see the blind sky.. and they shine..not from the heaven above but the earth below…they shine..in my eyes. My tresses carry more than just infatuations in them, they are care free and insane…flying in all directions…”

And then it occurred to me,
It was not being unromantic…but being too much of a romantic was where the problem lied with me.

Hmmm, it’s funny… I would agree, sometimes when I think of it, even I laugh at it. it’s both hilarious and tragic.

Most of my friends, acquaintances, people I know often speak of love. They speak of it like a thing too known and familiar yet profoundly confusing. Various people..various opinions yet all of them trickle down to the same conclusive lull of dilemma… also all their passion, emotion and expression of love revolve around the one person they claim to love. It is as constant or variable as is their beloved.

But what I ask is that, could the entirety of love be confined within the dictates of a relationship? Is love.. love when its personal or when its universal, When it’s all over in the words…or when it lies like a thing obscure? Is it in the dreams we see…or in the ones which we cannot remember?….

Scientifically, love is a hormone induced in the human body so that it could stay with its mate long enough to procreate and support its offspring until it is capable to survive on its own. Not long ago even I believed that love is all biological and evolutionary….once, my sir asked “ what do u think makes the earth go round…. Is it fear or is it love”….Fear !….i said promptly…. “ Sir, the so called genesis of our existence…our god!…we fear him…that’s why we pray to him, offer him sacrifices.. because we think that he controls our destiny…and he has the power to alter it at his own discretion…” “ Fear…sir is an emotion which acts like a metaphor….like a whip of the savage god we serve------- Power!….the only god we serve.”

“ Splendid!… infallible argument and impeccable logic indeed.. but my little girl as you grow older and wiser…and see the world at close and distant quarters… you will see the irony in it all. Do you know what is defined as irony?…. it is when the real meaning is completely opposite of the one that is implied… you will then realise that the word which governs all heaven and earth… which lies at the core of the universe is not Hope or God…. Its Irony…”

I didn’t quite understand it then, I mean what he said and what he meant… but with every passing day I seem to continually comprehend it and believe in it even more….

Perhaps it is irony…. Which clouds our understanding of the world and its ways and of things like love… perhaps they are never meant to be understood at all….

And as for me…I don’t want to make an attempt to understand it in any way the rest of the world does… for me its not love..but the anticipation of it, the manifestation of it… the irrationality in it…is what is worth falling for it….

How could I possibly find a soul with a heart in a city of stones…. A city where men and women fancy themselves for the favours of stale love…

What I dream of is an elusive character. A perfect composition of hopes and fears imperfectly balanced. The David copper field with his lost and sad eyes… eyes which don’t see where they are supposed to go but see where they belong… “ To be careless about what’s important, to be expressionless about what’s Dear..” that is what I will learn from him….together we will revel through land and through oceans be the last generation of humanists of our time. Our world will of poetry, of art, of philosophy and of literature… of politics and of science and all the feeble evils that govern this feeble world. But what shall be immortal…would be our undiminishing zeal and zest for life. the catastrophic fear that lies when a fool is armed with a dangerous weapon, a fear of that kind shall be hung in the silences of fate….as we look it in the eye…taking command of our lives.

And then one day….. He shall as magically disappear into obscurity…as he had once appeared before me…as if it were all a dream like Hitch hicker’s space odyssey and then on shall linger his memories within me…. Reminding me.. of how I loved, and how I lived…..

Yes it is indeed the irony in it all….. therefore love is never love….hate is never hate..
You are never you…..and I am never me…..


Dear readers

the best is yet to come....and its on its way...
love Reema


My beloved sad days..

“ I have never felt so compelled to write before this. The compulsion is more personal than anything else. These are one of those moments when my mind is totally lost in a hysterical crisis of my intellect. An enormous turmoil churns within me and I don’t know what to make out of it. I feel ugly, unkempt and bitter… an agonising hatred for myself seems to have over powered me somehow and forces me to hate myself even more each day. A horrific sense of shame, a satirically meted out self-pity and a tragic conflict of purposes have made a tremendous and unfailing irony out of my little lived and a lot pondered life.”