The very idea of Romance

Romance: if we look at the origin of this word, it means ‘beautiful’ and this was first used to address the beauty of the evening sky. That’s how the concept of romantic weather came into being. And over the years, romance started to get associated with love. Essentially romance is love that is not long lasting as per definition. It is transitory.

(For verification of the above, read about it in evolution of language articles on Google.)

Now, the very idea of Romance is exciting on most days if you’re not a cynical person or allergic to anything cheesy like some of my friends. I find myself constantly in a battle when it comes to the idea of Romance. On most days I am a hopeless romantic falling in love with life, nature, experiences, people and food. Romance is an extremely important aspect of my life because of my parents who are so much in love that even after decades of being together, they make me believe that fairy tales exist for real and love is one thing that can make you move mountains. I call my life a poetry. A poetry full of joy, love, sorrows and occasional moments of depression as well. 

The very idea of Romance is enough to make me happy. Going for a walk is romance, being curled up with a mug of hot chocolate is romance, having a beautiful conversation with someone is romance, pulling off an all nighter just to read favorite erotica is romance, travelling around the city aimlessly and having fun is romance, and I can go on forever. You don’t need a guy or a girl to experience romance to be honest. But having company helps. Sometimes I romance my mother by taking her out on a date and all we do is walk and talk about silly things which we don’t get to discuss while at home. Every morning my mother is working in the kitchen and the moment I wake up, first thing I do is to go and hug her from the back. This has been my routine for I don’t know how many years. 

My last couple of days have been really romantic. I have done almost everything I listed above, going for a walk, having food, talking to a friend and laughing and then reading my favorite book in the light of the Darkness. But love hurts at some point or the other. One is very naive when one is in love and I am an extremely stupid human when I love too much. Sometimes I think that love needs to be a bit more rational but then what about this heart which doesn’t understand the concept of rationality. Everyday life is a constant conflict between the idea of Romance and being this sensible human being. Because no matter who we are or what we do, love does not make sense and it is not supposed to make sense. Love is totally nonsensical but we have to keep doing it like Ted Mosby. 

If we don’t let our hearts bleed, have we really lived? 

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Why we appreciate what we appreciate?

I was surfing through Facebook and found a link from the movie: Liberal Arts where in that scene this was discussed among two individuals, why we read what we read? And it got me really curious. So I asked this question to 12 people and got 4 good answers, some responded with puns, some shared information on the internet. However I am gonna talk about 4 personalized responses that I got, Sonal, my friend from graduation years has nicely put things in the following message:

“I appreciate what I appreciate, because it establishes its importance or relevance in my life, and I want to acknowledge its presence. There is, so to speak, some connection or level of familiarity involved. I read/watch/listen anything because

a) I’m genuinely interested in that

b) It makes me feel good

c) I want to read/watch/listen to it

d) I care about someone who loves that particular thing

e) Sometimes you don’t have an option”

And Paridhi, my dearest mental twin puts it beautifully in the following lines:
“Because if we don’t appreciate what we want to appreciate, we are lying to ourselves and hiding and depriving the world of the truth.
And if we don’t read/watch/listen that which we wish to read/watch/listen, then we’re wasting and insulting the gift of eyes, ears, body and mind given to us by our mother nature.”

So the above two answers pretty much sums up everything everyone else said or shared. What is my take on this? Why am I writing a post about it?

I think that we appreciate what we appreciate because of how that external stimulus makes us feel. We all have emotions of happiness, sadness, bliss, disappointment within us which come out when we are faced with some external stimulus and that stimulus could be books, movies, people and anything and everything in this material world. We must acknowledge the fact that we all are different individuals with different thought patterns, ideologies and opinions and even though we are all made of the same star dust, we are all different beings relating to similar things at different points in time. You may absolutely hate something I love and I absolutely hate something you are passionate about but then you and I are really close friends so I might as well want to give that book, song or movie a second chance and that may not be the case with you because you’re you and I am me and we are all okay and justified in whatever we do but at the same time, nothing gives us the right to demean the choices the other human being makes. You might love to talk about cars and I obsess over coffee too much and we can have coffee talking about cars. There is always a way to live life in such beautiful patterns if only we twist our rigidness a little. And you know what there could be very little random things that could be the reason for your happiness and you appreciate those reasons and then the people around you raise eyebrows because they find you weird. I am often called “The very weird girl” in my group of friends and family. I often get dialogues like “how do you have friends”, “no wonder you’re single”, “you’re unrealistic”, “woman you’re crazy” and the list of dialogues is endless. But then aren’t we all weird and strange and quirky in our own little ways. I have hardly come across what do you call “normal” people because we are differently wired yet born with the same heart and it is the heart that matters. We appreciate what we appreciate because it makes our heart feel something and that’s what life is all about. The job of the heart is not to just pump blood. I read something that truly touched my heart
“You have to break your heart many times before it actually opens.”

-Rumi
So there will be disagreements regarding a lot of things in life and a lot of bonding over similar famdoms but then it is the heart. It is always the heart that plays the game and wins. There is no defeat when the heart feels.

Butterfly

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With spring fading away and summer sun shining, there are clouds that are creating noise seeking attention because nobody seemed to talk about the beauty of rains and winds that spread heavenly aroma. When one is in love, one is crazy. And rains bring out this eternal hopeless romance within me. On days when I am chasing my dreams and looking at the dreamcatcher by my bedside with the sound of the rain and soft humming of the wind chime, I am reminded of you. You’re not here with me and sometimes you are a figment of my imagination. This perfect soul mate with whom I want to share my Rumi with. Sometimes you seem real like a fairy tale. You are the butterfly kissing the flower that my heart is and then flying off in the garden with your pretty yellow wings. While I am the sunflower and sometimes I look like a daffodil dancing in the rain when you slowly suck my nectar leaving your footprints all across. This tale of love is as bizarre as this unexpected rain. On some days romance doesn’t sound so vain. Close your eyes and let my love reach out to you through this rain.

WHY

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Why should I do things that I do? Why should I listen to you?
Why should I solve economic applications of matrices when I want to caress my beloved’s tresses?

Why should I pursue masters in economics when my heart belongs to Ghalib?

Why  did I take this up, if I want to give up?

Why am I here when my heart tells me to go elsewhere?

I am here because I have desires. I have desires to be rich on my own and enjoy luxuries with obligations to none. I am here because norms don’t let me switch from economics to literature, such is a future lecturer’s eligibility structure.

My head and heart are always in conflict, I love economics but technicalities get my heart hit. It doesn’t like getting hit you know.

I am Arjun from Mahabharata on the battle field. Indecisive, Insecure who doesn’t know.

I seek my Krishna in vain. In the end ,I only have to end my own pain.

Fidelity

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Mary Shelley’s Diary

8th july 1822.
23.35

I killed him.
He didn’t die a natural death like he wanted but he died making love.
Ah! I fulfilled his last wish.
Even broken in body as he is, no one can feel the joy my spirit feels. The starry sky, the moonless night overwhelms me for my HUSBAND IS DEAD.
He, celebrated “love poet” was a Bloody Rapscallion.
And I, a vampire.
Sucking that life out of him while giving that hickey on the neck was such orgasmic pleasure. He couldn’t satisfy me while he was alive, but he did while dying.. how I wish he was dead a few minutes later.
I, wanted to stab him in his heart and rip all those four chambers apart. Ha! Such a cake walk it would have been.
I wanted to be the fishwife instead to my sea otter husband.

As the clock strikes 12, when midnight comes, it brings all those spirits in that graveyard alive,
I dug his grave, tearing his flesh apart gently (with love like crimson blood) and suck all the blood left in his body for no rum would quench this thirst.

Pages in PB Shelley’s Diary fill themselves with crimson ink.

9th july 1822
2.09

Mary, my fishwife.
Naked she comes to my holy grave with her breasts shining bright in moonless night.
Her soft hands holding a bewitched dagger in a night as dark as those wishes in her eyes.
Mary’s heart was a dark deap ocean of cryptic conundrums.
That cold steel sharp edged dagger ripping my flesh apart.
My body didn’t feel a thing for she thought I was dead. But I am not.
My spirit still hovering around.
Oh my flesh, my own flesh, woman whom I loved and whose love poisoned me.
Comes to me naked with wild eyes.
She stabbed my heart exactly four times, cutting out each chamber delicately and placing them in jars.

She knew.
I killed her first beloved.
And she took her revenge.
How did she know? My spirit still wonders.
I stay here on this earth until Mary unites with me in Death.
A hickey had power to put me to sleep,
I’d embrace her in death and her soul shall weep.

A watchful mind or A heart that is blind.

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Picture courtesy: Vaibhav Raghuvanshi

When I open my eyes,
I see the sky.
When the eyes close,
I feel the earth.
Opening them again,
I sail on waters.
Closing them,
I feel the ocean’s depth.

I don’t know what’s better
Logic reason and watchful mind
Or,
Love mystery and heart that is blind..
One is power
The other is bliss.
Every second there’s a conflict.
Roses on the skin feels like heaven
But the thorns along give a glimpse of hell..
I guess the blind heart works this way..
Vulnerability gives a juicy taste..
However, money currency bricks are tempting too
Outside I’ll be a rich goon.
King crimson comes to my mind..
On the outside looking inside..
What do I see?

Life is a glorious mess
For a layman like me..
Head v/s heart is all that I see.