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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 catchpenny 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. On top of it all, he has a shy and quiet disposition
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 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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UP Boards Topper Prachi Nigam was trolled on social media for her facial hair; our obsession with appearance is harsh on young minds.
Prachi Nigam’s photo has been doing the rounds on social media for the right reasons. Well, scratch that- I wish the above statement were true. This 15-year-old girl should ideally be revelling in her spectacular achievement of scoring a whopping 98.05% and topping her tenth-grade boards. But oddly enough, along with her marks, it’s something else that garners more attention – her facial hair.
While the trolls are driving themselves giddy by mocking this girl who hasn’t even completed her school yet, the ones who are taking her side are going one step ahead – they are sharing her photoshopped pictures, sans the facial hair, looking nothing less than a celebrity with captions saying – “Prachi Nigam, ten years later”.
Doctors have already diagnosed her with PCOD in their comments, based on photographic evidence. While we have names for people shamed for their weight – body shaming, for their skin colour- racism, for their age- age shaming, for being a female- sexism, this category of shaming where one faces criticism for their appearance has no name. With that, it also has zero shame attached to it.
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