Of yore and fore I write hence...
I am constantly amazed by the ostentatious diligence with which stubborn change proves its permanence. Gliding through things I never thought I could manage to pass, I am left wondering how much more could I, would I change. I wonder if I may enumerate all that I scrambled, stumbled up on, volatile it may be.
I have confused all desires with needs, the desire of a confidant tangled with the need of an anchor.
Recently, I was "celebrating" a weekend, the "weekend" way. High and not dry I watched Dev D, the epic of eternal love of the quintessential bacchanalian at heart, tempered with optimism. Dev, the lover, the protagonist, the antagonist, the loser does not die bleeding at his lover's door in this novel rendition of the story of love and punishment that I grew up to idolize. The idea is not to punish unrequited love, but to question why love went unrequited in the first place. We have all loved and lost at some point in life, not necessarily a love of romantic kind.
My mother, who happened to watch Dev D the very night I did in a humongous drunken revelry, called me the next day to restate to me the newly fangled idea of "optimism". Climax! My heart does not really go out for Dev, it cries for Paro, the other lover, the other protagonist, the other antagonist, the other loser. The egotists cry in their own names, sing in their pain and throw complicated nonsense in the name of family, society, onlookers. Paro gets to nowhere, to a marriage which cannot be consummated, step-children almost her own age and ofcourse she has to tear her heart with the thoughts of decadence of Dev.
My thoughts have no Chandramukhi, for I know not her, neither do I know if she walks in beauty and talks in sugar. But I want not Dev D, if Paro must cry, so will have to Chandramukhi and not bag Dev, the lover, the loser.
Played ambiguosly by "हसरतों की दिल्लगी " (Farce of Desires) my heart says to
You, I wish I could say 'rot in hell', but then I wrote your name in sand and let the waves wash it away;
To the other You: The piper plays.
3 comments:
Somehow i have never liked the story of Devdas, about the pining lover boozing off to glory, or as you pointed outthe two ladies who did not booze but had their share of pain.
I believe if it was love then boozer in there would have made efforts to get it... If you can live without it , its not love at all.
That is exactly what i meant, if DevD, the cooler twin, could go on to live without Paro, he did not love her at all in the first place.
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