M&B   novels fired my fantasy about men… but the reality was so different

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 !

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About the Author

RUCHIRA GHOSH

Am a trained and experienced features writer with 30 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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