“I no longer believed in the idea of soul mates, or love at first sight. But I was beginning to believe that a very few times in your life, if you were lucky, you might meet someone who was exactly right for you. Not because he was perfect, or because you were, but because your combined flaws were arranged in a way that allowed two separate beings to hinge together.”
― Lisa Kleypas
I woke up this morning to a surreal image of love in my head.
L-O-V-E
This four letter, just a tiny four letter word has all the power in the world; practically it is the most unpractical emotion ever, and we all know it, love is outright ridiculous. But we all crave this emotion, in spite of knowing its repercussions.
So, when I was thinking and having a rather profound conversation on this strong emotion with people around me, I had this strange feeling that most of us, maybe most of us are setting ourselves up for a massive disappointment. And I would like to blame Literature for this. Yes, let me just thrust the sole blame on Literature and Fiction.
When women talk about love, all they need is a Fitzwilliam Darcy, and isn't it ludicrous that he is a fictional character? I mean, how fair is it to compare any average man with Mr Darcy? Cut the man some slack. I am glad that men do not read Jane Austen because no lady can match up to the wits of an Austen heroine.
Literature forms paints this ethereal and rosy image of love. You know the one, the perfect one, the Prince charming, the drool worthy vampire, Emma Wodehouse, and the metaphors that maybe, just maybe we forget that we live in a cynical world where the goodness of fiction is unavailable. I know, what a shame! Fiction and Literature have been messing up with our romantic lives since times immemorial and much to my chagrin, I find myself saying that Fiction is a fallacy. Quite a fallacy!
Can we all for a moment forget that there is a thing called Fiction and say this to ourselves, especially all the women out there who are smitten by Edward Cullen? (Hold your horses)
I look at this man, a man who is not a fictional character, he is noble but he has his off moments. He is imperfect. He is flawed in many million ways. He does not have blue eyes. He does not read out Pablo Neruda to me. He does not hold my perfectly manicured arm all the time and sing Bryan Adams to me all night. He does not function that way.
But he is there for me when I need him. He knows that I am a simple girl with a plateful. Hey, I do not need a man who can get me a Volvo like Edward Cullen. Not an Edward Rochester either. And when I find a man who loves me in the non-fictional way, I will hold on to him. And I know for a fact that I will open the Pandora’s Box. I do not want to run away from it and crave for a blue eyed boy. When I see this man, all I can think of is home. And I want to go home to him everyday.
Love is all about putting up with the whims and caprices and loving the idiosyncrasies of our partners in the most convenient ways ever.
Read fiction for the whole purpose of enjoying Literature delightfully. Do not dive into them so deeply that you do not own a story of your own. Why do you want to live a story written by some neurotic writer who wrote a story all because he has insomnia and was high on caffeine all night? Be the lead of your story and make your partner the hero. What is the point in living a life if all you need is a Darcy? Because no surprises there, he belongs to Elizabeth Bennet and erm, you are a non-fictional person, aren't you?
There are no free lunches in life. You need to meet your partner mid-way to make things work because this vile thing called love is worth all the pain and effort and this is not fictional.
So now, close your eyes and ask yourself, does your love story need a reality check?
(Disclaimer: I am a strong lover of Jane Austen's work and this is still an understatement.)
