Of Romance, Love and Other Such Trivials....

If you have been following my blog (never mind if as a silent 'Wall'), you would know that I had, in one Manic Moment, announced to the world that I would be writing about ‘Romance’. But, I’ll confess now, both that announcement and that post had been one ‘Manic Meander’, written in a state of what a very dear Biology teacher of mine would have described as, “Aaj thoda Cannabis sativa ho gaya hai....!” And no, I do not ‘do’ Cannabis sativa in any form; though in this city that I live in, the plant grows in such abundance that I suspect our air itself may be a trifle intoxicated; and since I am breathing this self same air, it is no surprise that I lapse into ‘Manic Meanders’ occasionally......!

Anyways, whatever the reason, that post, come to think of it, was pretty unlike my usual writings, completely aimless, trying to be outrageous (and failing outrageously), a little cheeky and maybe a tad irreverent. When I go back to the post and read it all over again, I must say that though I enjoy that aimless ‘Meandering’ and chuckle at the cheek, I do regret the irreverence..........!

But returning to my announced intention of writing about Romance, I have to confess that in this matter I am absolutely, completely lost!!! I can write about dogs and dyes, about saris, soldiers and secularism, about food and about friends but Romance...........now that is a different kettle of fish! (Did I just say ‘FISH”? I have now seriously begun to suspect that I am being subjected to some kind of supernatural stalking by the ghosts of all the fish that I did not eat......!) It’s not that I have not tried. If you go back to my older posts, you would come upon a few promisingly titled, “Much Ado about Love” or “Love and Longing: Tagore Style”; but once you delve deeper into them, you’d realise they are what I call farces in the name of Romance, second-hand writings, mere translations of the Poet’s more famous verses on the subject.

Writing about Romance is tricky: one has to be inclined thus and like any other creative endeavour, one needs a muse; and if that’s asking for too much, then at least an inspiration. But in my present state of existence, ‘Romance’ looms nowhere on the horizon, not even the ‘R’ of it. All that looms over me are a few dull green eucalyptus trees, an occasionally visible dust encased hilltop and some unimaginative billboards, all silhouetted against a singularly dull gray sky. And that is why, awaiting inspiration, I had been dithering about the post on ‘Romance’. But once having made that grandiose commitment (however cannabis-hazed it might have been), I now find it extremely wounding to my bloated ‘writer’s ego to retreat thus, defeated (or more aptly, wordless) from Romance. And so here I am tonight, compelled and determined to tackle this ‘Romance’ bull by the horn, come what may!

Because the last time I had sought inspiration from Other Half he had come up with the smelly idea of writing about ‘Fish”, this time I did not tread that way at all. Instead, I asked a young cousin for some help. She came up with a good idea, ‘Di, listen to some music.’ and helpfully even suggested, ‘Arijit is good.’ Not wanting to sound behind the times by asking her who this ‘Arijit’ was, I Googled and YouTubed and came upon this not bad-looking, bearded and intense young man singing some nice, soulful numbers. But somehow, even though he sang of love and longing, his songs did nothing for me on the Romance front, something I attribute solely to the sad reality known as ‘generation gap’. Even though he sings beautifully, his songs did not twinge even half the ‘Romance’ nerve in me.

And so I had to retreat to my old favourite, Tagore and his songs. And this time I chanced upon a rendition by Jayati Chakraborty of an old familiar called ‘Aaj Jyotsna Raate Shobai Gechhe Bone’. Don’t fret over the Bong; I’ll give you a translation soon. I call it ‘old familiar’ and not ‘old favourite’ because till now it had been just that, a song I have been familiar with since my childhood. I especially remember learning to dance to it as a little girl of may be four or five and even giving a stage performance at a gathering of cousins during one of those deliciously long school winter vacations. But my acquaintance with the song stopped right there at knowing its lyrics and humming its melody. But that dawn, as I listened to the lady with this incredible tenor, the beauty any pathos of both the words and the melody hit me in the solar plexus with a force so strong that my jubilant Blogger Brain yelled unceremoniously, “Here’s your Romance!” “Listen and write!!” then came its peremptory order.  

And so I listened to the song, again and again; really listened to it, not just with my ears but with my brain and with my soul. And the more I listened, the more I marvelled at the Poet’s incredible ability to convey a myriad of feelings and thoughts and emotions with only a few sparse, simple, everyday words and imageries. And man, did Tagore know his Romance..... And that is why, each time you listen to his songs his words strike, sure and straight, right on spot at the heart or the brain or wherever it is that the ‘Romance’ centre in humans is located.

The theme of this song is ‘waiting’. Waiting is such a major ingredient of Romance, is it not? But sadly the English language does not have a better word to describe this theme of ‘waiting’ in Romance, nothing better than the very prosaic and very boring ‘waiting’. Urdu and Hindi have a much better word for it: ‘Intezaar’. In fact trying to look for a synonym for ‘waiting’, something with a bit more zing to it, I came up against an absolute blank. Other than ‘linger’ which is all wrong and ‘hang around’ which is completely unsuitable, there is no other word in the English language to substitute ‘waiting’. Sad isn’t it?

But anyways, here’s the song in Bengali.

Aaj Jyotsnaraate Shobai Gechhe Bone
Boshonter Ei Maatal Shomirone ||
Jabo Na Go Jabo Na Je,
Roinu Pore Ghorer Majhe -
Ei Niralay Rabo Aapon Kone

Jaabo Na Ei Maatal Shomirone ||


Aamar E Ghor Bohu Joton Kore
Dhute Hobe Muchhte Hobe More |
Aamare Je Jaagte Hobe, 
Ki Jaani Se Aashbe Kobe

Jodi Aamay Porey Taahar Mone
Boshonter Ei Maatal Shomirone ||

(And here are two Youtube links, one of Ms Jayati C singing the original Bengali song and the second, a Hindi rendition with a  prologue by Amitabh Bacchan. You will have to cut and paste. 
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=MHu7ugzGFO0

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4uOVFVZutk8)

And as for the Non Bongs, I had initially tried translating the song into a verse form but having failed miserably in that attempt, I’ll give you a simple paraphrase, without venturing into verse. It is said that Tagore wrote this song after the untimely death of his young eleven year old son. I, of course was not aware of this fact when I first began listening to this work; but then it doesn’t matter much, for the beauty of Tagore’s works are that they are open to myriad interpretations and so for me, this song will always remain a song of Romance. Here’s my paraphrase in English which does contain a few digressions from the original which I added purely in order to convey better the essence of the song:

They have all gone to the woods today,
On this moon-drenched, spring-drunk night;
They have all gone, to celebrate the festival of love
This moon-drenched, spring-drunk night.........

But I?
I cannot go. No, I will not go! I will remain behind,
Here in this lonely corner of my house.
No, I will not join them, there in the woods tonight,
Tonight on this moon-drenched, spring-drunk night...........

For I have to clean and to scour,
With great heed and care,
This home of mine.
For I have to keep awake,
Maybe He might come tonight.....
Yes, He might come tonight
That is if He remembers me ;
Remembers me at all,
On this moon-drenched, spring-drunk night.......

Each time I listen to the song, my mind conjures up a picture of the Naayika (I shall call her that, deliberately avoiding using the word ‘heroine’; because after Bollywood, the connotations of this word have really been distorted...! Well at least for me). I can visualise her, this woman living in solitude, denying herself the simple joys and happinesses of life, waiting silently in a lonely corner of her home. She cleans her home with great care, scouring painstakingly its nooks and crannies for this home is where her Love will come to her; and once done, she lies awake nightlong, gazing out of her windows, waiting for her Love to come to her........!

And as you listen further, you slowly become aware of the deep underpinnings of pathos in the song. When she remarks, ‘Yes, He might come tonight, that is if He remembers me ; remembers me at all’, you realise with a wrench that this Love for whom she awaits so ardently may never come to her, for this love of hers is only a one-sided adulation....! He perhaps has promised her nothing, perhaps has never acknowledged her adoration, perhaps she does not figure in his universe at all...........And she is well aware of this reality, our Naayika and yet, still she waits, patiently, unwearyingly, her home ready to receive her Love.......

Each time I listen to the song, my hearts tears to pieces for her and I wonder: What it is that sustains her unrequited adoration, sustains her through this interminable waiting, keeps hope alive even when in her heart of hearts she knows He will never come.....?

I was as usual rambling around on the World Wide Web a few days back, when a post on the NDTV’s site caught my eye. It was right at the extreme corner of my cell’s screen and I would have actually missed it; but it seems the Universe had a purpose in nudging my attention to it. The news report announced, “Man waits 10 days at Airport for Online Girlfriend!” Intrigued, I clicked on the link. It was such a sad little story. It seems that this Dutch man, a 41 year old fellow called Alexander Pieter Cirk had met a 26 year old  Chinese woman, Ms Zhang, at an online dating site. Now that’s nothing out of the ordinary or remotely intriguing. What was intriguing, however, was that having ‘fallen in love’ with this Ms Zhang, Mr Cirk flew 5000 miles from the Netherlands to some place in China called Changsha to meet her. Now, if you happen to be gushing, “So sweet”, stop right there! Remember, Life, a real bitch, is never ever sweet in isolation. At the most, she can be bitter-sweet. So here’s the bitter part. Having reached Changsha (I really have to look this place up), he called her on her cell-phone but found it switched off. And so he decided to wait for her. He waited, not just one day or two but for ten whole days straight, there at this godforsaken Changsha airport, without enough money for food and water, finally collapsing due to exhaustion. He was later hospitalised. And all this while, his virtual ‘Love’, Ms Zhang remained offline and elusive with her cell continuously and suspiciously switched off.

Somehow Mr Cirk’s story found a mention on some Chinese chat site and soon his story was circulating worldwide over the Web, making him famous. Ms Zhang was also traced out by the Chinese police/media and she told them that she had been unavailable because she was undergoing plastic surgery at a clinic in a different city (sic)! Finally, it appears that Mr Cirk was discharged from hospital and now has returned to his native Netherlands (of course, without meeting his Ms Zhang). It was a sad story no doubt but with not enough masala to excite my blogger brain, I would have simply skimmed over it. However, my attention was caught by two pictures of Alexander Pieter Cirk that accompanied the news report, both taken at the airport. The first one showed him, a tall Caucasian male in bermudas, sitting forlornly with his interminably long legs extended on an uncomfortable looking airport chair, a PET bottle of what looked like Coke at his side. The second was one of him being wheeled away to the hospital. This was a close up of his face and revealed a very ordinary looking man. And forgive me for saying so, but he actually looked quite unlovely, with straw coloured, unkempt hair and a very bony body, his slightly protuberant eyes appearing even more goggled in his state of exhaustion. The news feature also carried a picture of the elusive Ms Zhang and though her face had been blurred over, she seemed to be the typical Mongoloid beauty, almond shaped eyes (this was not visible in the photograph but am just guessing since she is Chinese), alabaster skinned, svelte and singularly sexy. And having already seen what Mr Alexander Peter Kierk looked like, the first thought that hit my brain was “Mien Gott, how incongruous!!!!!”

I had charred my frying pan while scrambling eggs and at night as I scrubbed and scoured furiously trying to get that unforgivable mass of carbon off the pan, I hummed ‘Aaj jyotsna raate’ in an effort to lighten my task. And as I hummed, it suddenly struck me how similar the situations of Tagore’s Naayika and that of Alexander Pieter Cirk were.!

 Like Tagore’s Naayika, Mr Kierk too waited at that airport in the hope that his Ms Zhang would come to him. Of course I have the feeling that Mr Cirk knew very well, in his heart of hearts, that Ms Zhang was not in the least interested in him. Why else would a young yuppie woman’s cell phone be switched off for ten whole days straight?  Yet, still he waited, against all logic, reason, and rational thought, waited though everything about the situation screamed out aloud that he was waiting in vain. I think he would have realised that their pairing itself was odd, they being so unevenly matched,  so 'not matched' at all : she, young and beautiful, he, much older and quite 'un'beautiful...... ! And they were separated by such wide chasms, this Mr Cirk and his Ms Zhang, chasms of Time and of Space and of Culture...Deep in his heart, I think he knew she would not remember, did not want to remember, would never come. But still he chose to wait...........

 The comments on the post called him a fool and I was inclined to agree at first. Not merely a fool but an imbecile.....waiting thus, in such complete futility.........I told myself that this maybe was some kind of insane pathological obsession, a lunacy, a foolish  incurable quirk of human behaviour.....
“It’s none of that, you dumb woman," whispered my wise old Blogger Brain. “Don’t you see it? It’s Romance!”

Woody Allen, that little ugly man with that wondrously creative brain has hit the nail on head with his take on Romance, saying ‘The heart wants what it wants. There’s no logic to these things.’ And touche that to my wise old Blogger Brain. She is right. If this is not Romance, then I wonder what is !

I firmly believe that though Love and Romance are often considered to be of the same genre, they are in truth, completely different entities. I think one shouldn’t equate Love with Romance for the latter is something very earthly, very mortal and very base. Love, on the other hand is a thing superior, sacred and something far, far beyond the descriptive capabilities of fledgling bloggers like me. Yet, somehow, I can’t help but feel that merely with his gesture of waiting, his silent, fruitless waiting, his waiting in unadulterated adoration, perhaps Alexander Pieter Cirk’s Romance elevated itself to something akin to worship,  to something sacred,  to something like Love............!

PS

1.     Though Mr Cirk has returned to the Netherlands without meeting Ms Zhang, it has been reported that Ms Zhang has made it known to the Chinese media her wish to renew their friendship.

2.        And I’d like to think that if this is true, then in that case this time it is Ms Zhang who makes the 3000 miles journey from Changsha to the Netherlands to successfully renew this inter-continental romance...And if I may, I’d like to venture a little further into the future where in some cute little Dutch town some years on, as a family gathers around the cheery fireplace on a winter evening, a man narrates to a gaggle of kids with straw coloured hair and almond shaped eyes that well loved story of how their Father met their Mother...

3.       Whew! Ain't I glad that the Romance ghost is dealt with and hopefully, well and truly exorcised. Cheers!
4.     And as for my precious 'Walls', do emerge from your claustrophobic concrete coats and COMMENT. Very encouraging, you know these comments, especially from 'Wall's...:-)