The secrets of Venus

Ahem....This post is lovingly dedicated to a lovingly dedicated friend whom I shall refer to as the Psycho Enchantress ;) I know you’re reading this baby….. yeah, so I shoved the link down your throat and begged you to read it :P
Without your collection of books (whose covers had to be wrapped in brown paper before being read in public view), I would’ve been sorely ill-equipped for the journey of life (Sob!! Sentiments is the comingssss….) Just one grouse btw….. 99% of the time the contents of your books never lived up to their cover and title!!! :-D

“The Duke leaped down from his chestnut steed, his tall and muscular frame at once lithe and powerful. All the while laughing at her and looking as devilishly handsome as ever. With his blue-grey eyes flecked with cobalt looking deep into her eyes, it was all Lady Charlotte Marguerite Constance St. Braxbourne could do to stoke the dying embers of her rage back to life under that wonderfully warm and mesmeric gaze. She was horrified to discover that she didn’t feel half as furious as she was a moment ago. Which really was not surprising. For Lord Edward Anthony Vernon Delacouer had that effect on women, especially auburn haired, peach-skinned, green eyed beauties of a lively temper…..like Lady Charlotte.”

Not bad. Not bad at all, even if I say so myself.

That, dear reader, was yours truly’s first attempt at writing popular romance. A la the doyennes themselves…..Johanna Lindsey, Nora Roberts, Julie Garwood et al. M&B’s (Mills and Boon to the ignorant. Like, are you human??) Regency romances, Danielle Steele-type contemporary ones….. Meet the common weakness of the female half of humanity. At least 95% of it. The author of this piece is one who finds herself teetering on the line dividing the 95 from the other 5. Was pretty ignorant of this genre of fiction in my formative years. Quite natural I suppose, except that in my case, ‘formative’ lasted till I was 21. Shhh, for heaven’s sake!!!!

Enlightenment dawned in B-School. Such was the paucity of reading material in our room that I’d read India Today’s analysis of the Quattrochi case five times over and was in serious danger of doing the same with my copy of Kotler. Being a good South Indian girl who would die fighting for her principles (and coconut oil and sambhar and appam and beef fry) instead of zimbly giving in, I assayed forth to the neighbouring room. Only to find that my choices were a copy of the India Today I already had, and an M&B where the cover and blurbs suggested super scandalous twists and turns to the story. Caught in an internal tug-of-war of principles and scruples, I finally did what any self respecting South Indian gal would do. Walked out with the M&B, promising to return it in a few hours.

Settled down to reading the book after fighting off my roomie who started blabbering incomprehensible stuff when she saw the book in my hand. Something like ‘ooohbabyyouhavefinallygrownupwhencaniborrowthebook’. Thus began an odyssey that has taught me quite a bit.

The findings are listed below:

• Aristocracy, especially of the British variety is invariably comprised of dashing, devastatingly handsome dukes, lords, earls and an occasional prince or two. Who meet charming, seductive, breathtakingly beautiful duchesses, ladies, countesses and princesses and ride with them into the gently rolling hills of Devonshire to live happily ever after. Mah-vellously splennnndid mah deah.
• If the story is in America, it involves handsome scions of prominent business empires who have turned their backs to love and all that jazz. Only to meet their match in intelligent and beautiful young women who are too spirited to be tied down to one man. Deeper analysis would of course reveal that past relationships on both sides with absolute morons had warped their attitude to life for good. No wonder that entire nation’s in therapy.
• You learn more biology, or specifically speaking, anatomy than you ever will in school or college. Mebbe even medical school for that matter. As well as adjectives. If I knew then what I know now, I’d have aced the verbal section of CAT and passed outta IIM-A by now. Ha ha ha. Nice try kid.
• There’s always the mandatory description of the hero (the heroine’s immaterial to me) which usually reduces the reader to a drooling, simpering idiot. With a tear or two in her eye when she remembers what she’s faced with in real life.
• There are portions in every book that are marked by a profusion of anatomical references linked to myriad verbs and adjectives, coupled with a chronic shortage of punctuation marks. Do not be amazed if sentences run into entire pages. The printed sighs and gasps don’t seem too contrived after that. Try reading that stuff aloud and you’d sigh and gasp for dear life too.
• All that talk of biology…the NCERT’s really missing out on something here. Indian kids grow up believing they were picked off trees. Thank heaven for Bollywood to set the record straight. Even if it is the bee-and-flower routine. Hand out an M&B each to high schoolers across the country. Of course, Randolph and Sylvia can be changed to Randeep and Sunita. Or Ramaswamy and Savitri down south.
• The hero and heroine WILL hate each other at first sight. And second and third sight as well. Forget Mars and Venus. We’re talking the Milky Way vs. an undiscovered galaxy here. But that won’t stop them from exchanging looks of smouldering passion (GAG!!!) despite wanting to claw each other’s eyes out.
• You will close every one of those books with the unshakeable knowledge that your life sucks. And the feeling grows exponentially. Absolute ‘Height of the Abyss’ moments (Thanks Swamy!!) Not to mention the awareness that truth is often stranger-looking than fiction. In other words, real men do not look anything like fictional heroes. If they do, they’re already movie stars, twenty years older, thrice divorced and have a string of kids to boot.

Pshaw.

I do wonder how stories like these would sound in an Indian context. No doubt we have our Laila-Majnu’s, and Heer-Ranjha’s. And more recently, John-Bipasha and Jodhaa-Akbar.

Royal/Aristocratic romances are a dime a dozen. But doesn't the great Indian middle class have love-ishtories too? My guess is the lack of glamour does them in. Not to forget that furious papa-ji’s these days are very likely to hire goons and slaughter the hero. Khandaan pride salvaged from the presumptuous pup. As well as beti’s honour.
Come to think of it, we’re so conditioned to western fluff, the Indian version pro’lly wouldn’t ...ummm…inspire the right feeling either. I promise to illustrate with my next post.