Suburb March 2019

MUNDANE MUSES
WHEN ROMANCE
FLIES OUT THE
WINDOW,
IT WALKS IN
THROUGH
THE DOOR
It was February 14th. Life went on as usual
and somewhere along the day, in the midst
of other plebeian pursuits, I muttered to
my Significant Other, “Oh! By the way,
Happy Valentine’s Day.” Significant Other
grunted in kind and the day carried on.
Trivikrama Kumari Jamwal
Makes one wonder
when roses, letters
and words ceased to
matter, when it was
that stolen moments
slid between diaper
changes and
projects, family weddings and PTMs
became ‘together time’ and discussions of
counsellors and college plans the ‘sweet
nothings’. It also makes one wonder if it is
‘normal’ to be content with life marked by
such ordinariness, by life that proceeds
according to the doomsayer’s script for
‘romance’ over the years.
True, there was sheer joy and simplicity in
the bubble-headedness said to be a part of
growing up. Itwas something delightful and
innocent- a phase in which a heart-shaped
brain was cluttered with duels, balls and
phaetons courtesy Georgette Heyer
Regency novels, where the energy of a
Shammi Kapoor made one’s knees turn to
jelly. Yet, such spells are joyous precisely
because they live in a carefree imagination,
have a finite life, and cannot – or should
not – become permanent standards of
measuring life. Even while they existed, the
favourite for many was bound to be the
Regency buck who was gently sardonic,
with a raised eyebrow and an intelligent
comment beyond the understanding of the
hoi polloi; the attraction was bound to be
for the daring to establish a new metier as
much as for hazel eyes.
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suburb life | March 2019