A professor of mine made us write about love in her class. She gave us whole two hours to write about love. "Make it personal" she said and sent us off to class. Like a retarded bunch of immature kids we sat around a giggled, joked, wasted time, each person looking into the other person's work to see how 'personal' it was. None of us were 18 or 16 or 12.
We were all adults who have had relationships that were nor platonic. Well, most of us in class that day. These adults had also by all probabilities has sex, cheated, broken up and had their hearts broken.
Yet, while we were ordered to write, we acted like children.
Some found it cool to associate science with love and give some redundant explanation. It was most insulting to him, he didn't realize.
I'll tell him why if I could. Talking about love the way he did made it seem like a theory. And theory by rule cannot be proved/disproved and is always subject to change. So is what he made of love. Yet this was the guy who asked other guys for their rooms when his girl stayed back on campus.
Irony.
Some called it power to fulfill their aims, some called it faith, beauty and many such heavy things.
The professor patiently heard us all, lauded us, appreciated us and told us that she loved us. She said that every relationship was a negotiation. She said that to love someone you did not have to like that person. She sent us off with a new novel to read with this new vision and idea of love.
It felt like a personality development class. 2 hours of squeaky clean thoughts and heaps of lies. Everyone hid the truth about how they felt about the person they loved. I probably did too. For there are always proper temporal and spatial zones for some abject discussions. You obviously can't tell her professor that you love your boyfriend...that is blasphemy.
That very evening I had a huge fight with someone I loved. And in the end it all came down to negotiations.
No comments:
Post a Comment