Liste

(Also known as the one with even more reminiscing than usual and if-you-thought-I-couldn't-get-any-more-braindead-you're-wrong diminishing content.)

Ever since I'd figured out that I would like to be smitten at some point of time, I've always imagined that the expression of my being thus smitten would be like Jo's in Little Women wherein she splashes in puddles hand-in-hand with Professor Bhaer.

I just realised people who should have known or guessed this, will probably smack their foreheads and exclaim that they now know why I was happy on such and such occasion on so and so day. Well, at least NOW you know.

Everyone, in every corner of the world has seen FRIENDS, irrespective of whether they have liked it or not. Maybe you watched the show after drawing the curtains and soundproofing the door to make sure no one knew you watched sitcoms, don't worry, I won't judge you. I bring up FRIENDS to remind everyone of the episode in which Phoebe is dating this guy she believes to be Monica's soulmate. Apart from how hilarious this particular episode was, it was probably my first exposure to the entire soulmate debate. I've written enough about my take on it. This post isn't about that, this is about all the inspiration along the years, through books mostly, to be smitten. Like a friend had once remarked about a movie, it makes you love being in love, this post is in parts a compilation of all the biggest "crushes" I've had and in parts something else.

So, yes, probably the first ever crush was Professor Bhaer. It'd be wrong to call him a crush though because I'd come to think of Jo as a best friend and having a crush on Professor Bhaer would just break the code. Theirs was more the relationship I happily envied. To everyone who questions my fascination with German, maybe Professor Bhaer has something to do with it.

Next on the list goes Teddy a.k.a. Laurie a.k.a. Theodore Laurence. Probably around the time, my notions about soulmate changed a little. But not for long, I went back to Professor Bhaer soon enough.

Sometime later I read Eight Cousins and Rose in Bloom and was soon enough in Rose's predicament of having to choose between Charlie and Mac. Charlie died, marking that to be the second time I cried after a fictional character died after Bethy, so there was really no choice but Mac; but I found him too insipid and returned to envying Jo.

I guess this was North American women's literature phase because close on the heels of Louisa May Alcott came Lucy Maud Montgomery and the entire Anne of Green Gables series (for all you illiterates who don't know it's a series, it is one) I didn't really like Gilbert Blythe because one of my best friends (in real life, this time) liked him and had a crush on one of her dad's colleagues, probably 10 years our senior, just because his name was Gilbert. One doesn't mess with craziness like this. :) But even the strongest resolve does melt a little when Gilbert does what he did for Anne after Mathew's death. If anyone is keeping record, crying incident number three - Mathew's death.

If this reading was for the soul, there was also reading of the readily available. By which I mean readily available at the nearest library. All appreciation of Frank Hardy, even for the most detective-like qualities was suppressed to prevent myself from being a "philanderer" in my rather naive opinion. It's quite amusing to bring that up now. I should probably also mention that I was always Julian, yes you read right, Julian and not George when we were The Famous Five. (Peter when we were The Secret Seven) I'm not sure if that counts as a crush.

From Hardy Boys and Nancy Drew, I slowly graduated into an Alistair McLean phase with The Satan Bug, during which the biggest crushes were Detective Lieutenant Peter van Effen from Floodgate and Johnny Harlow from The Way to a Dusty Death. Both were loners and oh-so-enigmatic and slick. There was of course the slight impediment that I dislike anything to do with sports and am not in the remotest way athletic which led me back to Professor Bhaer.

By now, I was in the pot-boiler phase of reading and swallowing Robin Cook, Forsyth and Grisham churned out "books" whole. Dr. Sean O'Grady from Robin Cook's Terminal comes next on the list. The fascination for doctors lasted a while and ended with Barney Livingston from Eric Segal's Doctors. Surprisingly, though I count Fist of God as one of the books to have had most impact on my life, I have never really been smitten by Major Mike Martin. It's probably to do with hygiene. Even, if you find it impossible to believe, I'm a stickler for hygiene, excessive washing of hands is a must.

The most notable one after Barney Livingston was Sherlock Holmes. I won The Complete Short Stories in some academic event and by the end was the littlest bit jealous of Irene Adler but with age comes reason and reason tells you that all masterminds are too warped in their own genius to be kind, loving Professor Bhaer.

For a period of six or more years after that, my reading habits waned and there was a lean spell, interrupted only by Jack Foley from the movie Out of Sight. Maybe it has something to do with George Clooney playing the character of Jack but for a long time after I saw the movie, there was something to do after splashing in puddles. :)

Next came Danny Ocean and with every installment of the Ocean series, he grows more and more sauve. Panache. That's the word I associate with Mr. Ocean. There's an inherent awe for him, a magical quialty, almost equivalent to the Midas touch that I attribute to him, which just multiplies with each new movie. Or is it George Clooney getting better with age?

Somewhere along the years in which the three movies were made, I was also distracted by two other R.B.'s, Rick Blaine and Rhett Butler. It took me sometime to set aside Rick as someone akin, not someone to fantasise about and while it was my dislike for Scarlett in the movie that prompted me to buy the book, Rhett Butler's charisma and pampering of Scarlett have probably left a more lasting impression.

The last year or two, I have been devoted to just one person, me. But everyone needs a reminder of the wonderful feeling that is to be smitten and this reminder came one unexpected Sunday evening on IT 3109 from Bangalore to Mumbai. Robert Kincaid, The Bridges of Madison County, a recent quarrel, fresh comparisons to Scarlett, disturbing recollections of Love in the Time of Cholera and sheer loneliness combined together in the most brilliantly working formula.

This is a story which makes you fall in love with love. I have lost count of the number of times I have cried when someone died in a book but this was the first time I didn't. I cried instead for the beautiful story and the unusual relationship, for my conceding a little to Garcia Marquez's central argument in Love.., for becoming less of a prude than I used to be, for finally understanding what "Hallelujah", the song means and the slight regret that there have been very few things real that have moved me so.

Robert Kincaid can never be a crush. He is the inspiration behind this post and the source of the quotation at the bottom of this page, "The old dreams were good dreams; they didn't work out, but I'm glad I had them." It might have something to do with him preferring to be a vegetarian. It also might have something to do with Francesca's birthday ritual and the perfect feelings and actions which I've never been able to successfully describe to L. Robert Kincaid qualifies to be Professor Bhaer in an elevated state of being. She qualifies to be a juxtaposition to Jo. I don't want to sound any more foolish but theirs is a relationship which you eventually aspire to have and wish that remembrances are made of.

Robert Kincaid was about a month ago. Despite the inspiration, I prefer my flights of fantasy for the safety they offer. It's like having imaginary pets; you don't have to clean up after them.

P.S. Something on a tangent: It's amazing how differences and/or preferences which seem immaterial to you suddenly gain prominence after a relationship goes awry and sometimes reassurances just don't suffice.

P.P.S. You may say I'm a dreamer, But I'm not the only one