There is no romance left in the world. The only wooing one hears about is politicians doing it to their electorate….writes Bikram Vohra
In the old days people sang songs below balconies and shoved daggers into their heart, made major gestures of undying love. Take old Walter of the ‘cape across the puddle fame.’
You strip off your silk gown and fling it over a muddy wet patch, naturally the lady of your dreams goes boody boom, boody boom, boom boody boom. Even the queen fell for it. Gave him a fleet of ships and stuff. Try it today.
She: What are you doing, Arun?
He: Taking off my Rs 40,000 blue serge blazer with the gold monogrammed buttons my partridge.
He: To fling it over that flipping pool of mucky water forming around that leaky pipe, that’s why, my chickadee.
She: But why would you do it?
He: So you can walk over it in your unwashed sneakers, poppet.
She: Why would I want to walk over your silly coat over a silly puddle, have you gone bananas; Mummm, Arun’s ruined the gift you got for him.
See what I mean. Cold, clinical logic destroying romance. In days gone by men burst into poetry when they spotted the beaming light of their lives. Don’t quite get the same result with “Hi” or “Howdy” or “gottaseeya” or any of those abbreviated forms of greeting we abide by these days. You can’t leap into shining poetry from a ‘ya, so fine, ok.’ And in any case pretty foolish you’d look erupting into poetry with everyone watching.
She: Shut up, will you.
He: Your eyes, like limpid pools, destroy knaves, noblemen and fools… just one glance inspires a happy trance.
She: I don’t believe this, stop him someone.
He: Your ruby lips, like tulip tips…
She: Don’t ever call me again, ever, ever.
Try leaning on the lamp-post at the corner of the street in case a pretty little lady comes by, oh me, oh my, they’ll arrest you for vagrancy and cart you away for making a public nuisance of yourself.
A friend of mine read Alexander Pope’s ‘Rape of the lock’ and was inspired to send his ‘Belinda’ some of his hair after he’d had a haircut. In a tip. She flipped out and accused of being a sociopath. Today, snipped hair, tomorrow who knows????
This was his second strike. Earlier he had won a tennis match and sent the tennis ball wrapped in his sock with the note ‘Socked it to them for you.”
She thought it was fatuous. And smelly.
Guess it is the era we live in. I mean, how much pure romance can you dredge from a whats app message.