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As an adolescent high school student and still later as a college-goer I was literally fed on a diet of Romantic novels ( Mills & Boon, Barbara Cartland and so forth) so generously supplied by my classmates neighbours and friends. At that tender, impressionistic age, these novels acting as a catalyst made my mind soar high in a realm of fantasy. I imagined that my “Mr Right” would be a massive six-footer (since I am quite tall by Indian standards) or near about. Though I have a penchant for ‘fair skinned’ men, yet olive or dusky complexions would fit the bill equally well. Never mind how or where we met, he would sweep me off my feet, smother me with flowers and gifts on special occasions; he would have to be well read well-travelled blessed with the gift of gab. However unlike in the aforementioned novels my ‘Prince Charming’ would have to be either a scientist or the quintessential absent minded professor buried neck deep amidst books and papers for greater part of the twenty four hour cycle.
There was no stopping my reckless unbridled imagination. In my wildest of fantasies, we would make love on moonlit spring nights with silvery moon beams flooding the bed. Other option for venues could be tents pegged on shimmering sands of Thar desert, or sprawling salt pans of Kutch . The granite-like hardness of his physique against my supple frame would ignite my passions, transporting me to dizzy heights. I would be in the throes of ecstasy and agony blended into one. To quench our overpowering wanderlust we would crisscross the globe touching some of the fascinating and rarest of destinations: Mt Fujiama, Mt Kilimanjaro, Machhu Pichhu, Bahamas, picturesque Tahiti and lots more…
Fast forward to reality. At age twenty six, when I finally got hitched, and planted my feet on terra firma, all the fantastic ideas, dreams and yearnings vanished like a bubble. The ‘Man’ in my life now was of average height and build ( taller than me thankfully). He was dark, not handsome per se but possessed a pair of deep dark eyes which were attractive enough. Horror of horrors all my romantic notions were thrown to the winds! His overtures, attitude were down to earth, minus all the frills and fuss. My husband was caring, considerate, dutiful but in a matter-of-fact manner.
So that’s the way it has been for nearly thirty years now. And trust me I don’t have the tiniest regret.
All in all, moral of the story: Don’t read too much of pulp fiction !
Am a trained and experienced features writer with 25 plus years of experience .My favourite subjects are women's issues, food travel, art,culture ,literature et all.Am a true feminist at heart. An iconoclast read more...
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