Something about love

I could be the worst person to write about love. The clock is ready to strike 2 at night, and there is nothing else I can think about between the tossing and turning, and the struggle to sleep. I don't know if I will be doing any justice writing about this four-lettered word, which has so much to it, so much depth, so much that I can't possibly express. I still want to try because I have been thinking about it a lot lately.

Five of my best friends got married this year, to the best people who fit perfectly in their lives. It is humbling to see them together, to know that they are meant to be the way they are. Some of my girlfriends have changed their surnames post their marriages, some are struggling hard to get up early every day so that they can tend to the needs of their new families before they zoom to their offices, almost all are becoming multi-tasking goddesses, and are trying their best to fit in their new lives. The good news is, they are all happy with the transformations, no matter how difficult it is for them. They make me realize that changing your way of life for someone is not so bad after all, if it is done for love. A friend flew to another country, another continent, just so that she could be closer to that one person who she thinks she can spend the rest of her life with. I have never seen her so excited about life. This is humbling to see, to know that she is turning into the best of herself, because of her man.

My own relationships with X and Y have taught me so much about love. I made mistakes, I grew, I learnt. It always happens that relationships that don't work out leave a bitter taste, a void. They have done the same for me. But regardless of how I feel, or how they have made me feel, I want thank them for teaching me invaluable lessons. I might not really know what love is, but I have ended up knowing what love is not. I have read it innumerable times, but I understand it now. Love is not self-seeking. It is not easily angered. It does not keep record of wrongs. It is not rude. It is not proud. It does not boast. It always protects. It always trusts. Always hopes, always preserves. It never fails. Or else, it is not love.

Between my friends who are so much in love with their husbands, between those who have found love, between those who are ready to take that plunge, I think that I wouldn't mind having the same for myself. I would like to share that joyful companionship with someone, to share my dreams, my hopes, my breakfast, my room, and my life. But then I also enjoy what I have now. I know that this is never going to come back. I like the thought of just being able to do things on my own, to be able to go to that shop and get what I want without having to depend on someone to chose the best one for me, to be able to meet my girlfriends whenever I want to, to be able to flirt with that cute guy, to prove myself to be a better daugher, a better sister, a better aunt. And look out for the man who is going to make me feel complete, who will embrace me, and stick to me for life.

A colleague shared some words of wisdom today. Life has a strange way of making things work out, she said, just have faith and everything will fall into right places. I am sure they will.

Love in the Time of Cholera

In my last post, I had committed to write about this book by Gabriel Garcia Marquez. 'Love in the Time of Cholera.' I had wanted to read this book for a long time. I got the book last year during the annual book fest at Bhrikuti Mandap. I was there with DR and got a total of four books, including this one. DR had told me 'You really don't mind spending all your money on books, do you?'

Anyway, it took me quite some time to finish reading this book. It is a thick book, and the font size is too small, spacing too less. Moreover, it is not a light read. I had read half of the book last year during my travels. I got so busy in so many things that I had to take a break from reading. When i got back to the book nearly half year later, I still remembered everything I had read and consumed. It is not an ordinary book, for sure. I kept thinking about the story, about Fermina Daza, about Florentino Ariza. I loved the book for a lot of reasons. First, undoubtedly is the writing. Mr Marquez writes like a dream. He creates magic with his words and description.

About the story, I like the story. It is about love between two people, Fermina Daza and Florentino Ariza, who fail to unite during their youth because Fermina's father wouldn't approve of their union for the reasons of class. She is married off to another man, Juvenal Urbino, a doctor, who in many ways serves as a counterpoint to Florentino’s overblown romanticism. To the outside world, their marriage seems perfect, but there are lots of imperfections that only the couple knew, and that we readers can identify. The book catalogs all the meaningless details of everyday life shared by two people bound together (all the unpleasant smells, degrading tasks, and dulling routines; all the unspoken bitterness and rancor; all the sullenness and gloom).

Florentino's love for Fermina doesn't frizzle away and he waits for her, like a mad lover all his life (almost half a century to be precise), waiting for her husband to die. And her husband dies, in the most comical way, to say the least. I know its mean to say this, but tha'ts what happens in the story. I hardly feel any kind of pain when he dies.

After Urbino's death, Florentino ends his self-imposed emotional exile of fifty-one years, nine months, and four days and declares his "everlasting love” to Fermina–while she’s attending to her husband’s funeral. She is outraged, forbids him to return, but he persists. His philosophical letters to Fermina makes her realize his wisdom and maturity, and their unrequited love is allowed to blossom in their old age.

Like you can see, the story is not extraordinary, really. There are snippets, moments, expressions, emotions, and and twists in the story that makes it special. I loved reading the book. I too wanted them to unite, although I am not sure whether I like Florentino or not.

While the readers might get an impression that Florentino's love for Fermina is chaste and meditative, I don't know how to judge him. During his wait for Fermina, Florentino makes love with many women. Although he never really loved any of them, at some point, I feel remorse towards him, especially during the end when he starts having sex with a fourteen year old girl América Vicuña, who is sent to live with Florentino. He is supposed to be her guardian while she is in school, but of course, he doesn't really fulfill his duties faithfully. The little girl, after her rejection by Florentino, commits suicide. For me, this point illustrates Florentino's selfish nature, and I kind of detest him.

Fermina Daza is also a very confusing character herself. She is easily made to believe by her father that Florentino is not her equal and that their love is nothing more than folly. She agrees to marry another man without any sadness. She forgets about Florentino the day she is married to Dr Urbino. She encounters Florentino every now and then, but feels nothing for him. But after her husband dies, she realizes how alone she is left and gets back to Florentino, erasing 50 years from her mind, as if nothing had happened. I find it humorous in a lot of ways.

Despite these feelings for the two central characters, I enjoyed reading the book. I am not sure if I will call the book as sentimental, or a story about the enduring power of true love. But, like they say, the matters of the heart are the most difficult to define and comprehend. That is what I am left with as I read through the last page of the book.