For the longest time, I imagined that I would be married to someone like Amit Chatterjee (from my favourite novel – The Suitable Boy). Intellectual, moody, selective, attracting a lot of admirers. A social snob, unexpectedly profound and unconventionally romantic.
As the years went by, this notion of mine was reinforced. I was convinced that I would never be able to connect with anyone simpler than this favourite character of mine.
Time went by, I was courted and wooed, displayed and evaluated.
And then, I suddenly found myself “The One”. Someone completely different from the ideal I so carefully cherished. Intelligent but not intellectual. Well read but not a snob. Capable of moodiness but rarely succumbing to it, blissfully oblivious to the world around. Profound when the need arises and romantic always.
Over the last year and a half as I have known this person and loved him, I have realized how foolish I was to want for myself, someone like me. How foolish it is to be a snob. To judge and evaluate. To battle with questions that have no answers, to strive to be someone I am not.
Years later, as I read the book again, I see how I might have imagined a person of this sort to be the right one for me. But now, as I revisit the character and then look at the person I am with, I feel proud of myself for not letting the shallowness of a Convent School education sway me against my better judgement.
Sometimes, in life, it’s not complexity that matters as much as depth. It’s not the approval of those you know that matters as much as you yourself.
Dedicated to the conversation this evening.