Thursday, April 23, 2009

The Romantics or The Stupids ?

The demarcation between a romantic and a stupid is so fine, that in my opinion all of my existing bachelor friends have surely thought that they belonged to both with equal ease at varying points of time. As with everything what we finally would be classified as, would entirely be a matter of perspective.

The entire process of getting married
is quite cumbersome to say the least, particularly, if you have not already found a woman who can sustain your interest and wonder of all wonders be capable of holding a fairly intelligent conversation and miraculously enough also like you sufficiently well enough to say "I Do".

Its not that such women do not exist. I am sure they do, but they are an endangered species. Which begets a very significant and distinctly uncomfortable question. If they were there, then where were we ? And if we were also there amongst them, then the conclusion is not a flattering one for us !

So, how did those of our friends who were not bitten by the cupid bug managed to get married ? They, mind you, did not look for so many things. Which makes me question our parameters for qualifying someone as interesting and worthy of a second look.

Are we looking for the right things ?

Since all of my friends are 'apparently' happily married does it matter whether the person is knowledgeable or intelligent or has a definite perspective in life or finally does it only boil down to getting a good person ? I have no idea what it takes to share a life. But the idea of a shared life I have is something that I cannot possibly explain.

What we can explain is our undying relentless pursuit of trying to find the one with whom there can be no boundaries in thought, who would have a way of looking at things which might not be mine, who would have an identity of her own, who would have a vision which would challenge and stretch the horizon.

And that is where our stupidity lies. That we will not give up even though the prospect of a harrowing defeat is evident. Is it then a coincidence that we we be labelled the crazy romantics who would hardly ever want to conform to reality but would want to write a sonata of our own ? For now, however, only the discordant notes are our only companion and time our only refuge.