Saturday, October 4, 2008
Well this time, I just went through it quietly. It felt nice.
Like I said the experience changes as you get older.
I went to the beach this week. I went there after a long time. And this is the longest I have been there. I would have liked it to been different, but everything was smooth as it could be.
After a year, my toes were in the sand once more.
This time I walked silent behind my uncle and cousin who accompanied ( or took me there rather), enjoying that I had my space to think even in company.
I watched the sand under my feet, I remembered the junk I saw the last time I was there, washed up shore by the water. I saw couples in close whispering huddles as ever there was a beach before. But I noticed all this in detail this once. I was old enough to know these things… old enough to relish it. Old enough to realize the importance of every tiny thing.
Then the water. Ah the pleasure of going to the beach.
I remembered as I stood there trying to dodge waves from soaking my branded jeans, that going to the beach had been an exciting adventure when I was a kid.
I would pester my uncle, who would take us out to different place to take me out to the beach
It really was an adventure. I’d get all hyped up when he agreed to take my sister and I out or offer it in the first place. I would wait for three o clock to come. I’d run around the house trying to find things I could use as a replacement for the plastic shovel my uncle bought me so many times that always got broken. I searched around frantically for sticks and color paper that I could fashion into the flags I would stick on top of my beautiful sand castle.
Oh those sand castles. I’d already dream of my beautiful tall, gorgeous, perfect sandcastles I would build this time I went to the beach, just like the ones in story books and Tv that they build in beaches. Somehow to this day, all my sand castle or alligator or mountain ended up looking like was a mound of wet sand with a tiny flag stuck on it.
But through the disappointment in my innocent little heart then, I would always take pleasure in jumping down on it at the end when we were to leave.
I remember very vaguely, that sometimes this was a family trip, minus my dad of course. (You could never leave office for stuff like this could you? Bread winner after all)
When I was tiny enough to run amok in my knickers and a thin slip, get completely drenched and run back to my mum who would hold out the towel like all mummies do.
Change inside that very towel into dry clothes in the middle of the beach.
I saw other kids doing this at the beach the day I went, and I laughed to myself.
Man! That’s so embarrassing, I was so tiny. And heck it was so much fun.
I’d jump up and down in the water, splash terribly, but always had to hold the hand of an elder. The tiny imp would drown otherwise. A little older and I used to brag about being able to stand without a protective grip on my tiny hand.
Taking a walk away from my present party, with music in my ears, water under me, my shoes in my hand, pants all rolled up, I felt so clam. It was a fantastic experience in that I was nostalgic ‘and’ felt like one of those scenes from the movies where people would walk on the shore thinking. Hehe, well I was there and I was walking.
Once all grown up, when I went to the beach with my friends, I looked out into that vast unending ocean and thought, Wow that’s huge. Then the hopeless romantic in me took over. I wondered if my Tasuki was standing somewhere in the world, where the very waters I stood in would touch his feet and tell him that I was waiting. Sappy right, well I actually thought it, and blushed to myself. I really thanked the heavens that my friends were too busy to see this or read my mind.
On this recent trip I had alone time. I thought the same thing this time around too. Only now I didn’t have to blush. I thought, wow that would be wonderful, and you know what, that’s actually possible. I looked up at the blue crimson sky and smiled.
I saw the distant ships and tankers in the horizon that I used to point with fascination at and question about unendingly, when I was a kid. I saw the lights in the growing darkness and wondered what my good friend who had recently joined the navy was doing and thinking of then.
A little alone time and my party joined me. We watched land crabs running in search of shelter, walked in sometimes awkward silence and turned back to sit down on the sand as it grew dark.
Wow this was it, I was at the beach after sunset. So this is what it was like.
Catching a few shots of the setting sky’s colors with my uncle’s iphone, I put my earphones back on, and took another tiny walk, stood in the water and just listened to the music. I shut it off for a while and just listened to the waves. I realized that it wasn’t a matter of how far or big the waves were or in which direction they came from. They always had the same sound, same rhythm. That fascinated me. It was terribly calming. I smiled again as I thought of the sounds that I liked so much that might seem weird to others.
The rumbling of an international flight with monstrous engines running, about to land close by when I was at college, the waves at their angriest lashes, the whooshing of a cyclone etc. I was happy.
We walked back and I realized some more things about the people I was with at the beach then. That will be saved for another soul session.
To run the point home, I caught words of seals sitting nearby, eating bajji on the beach.
“I was in the ship all the time. I don’t know what more I’m expected to do. I felt so…”
Well I smiled thinking of my friend again, I was supposed to think of him then, I knew it.
To my pleasant surprise the bloke actually called me up the next day. Hmmm, the power of thoughts. Well the waters I stood in reached someone at least.
We walked back to the car and I thought. Wow for people in a city, the ocean and hills should seem an adventure and a sight for sore eyes. Its impossible to not be happy at seeing them. This should be true, I thought, at least for ones like me who actually never had been taken on vacations like they normally are supposed to. I turned back and smiled.
God, I love the beach, even if it is dirty and in my dirty little city.
A small part of a quote kept ringing in my head the whole time we walked on wet sand.
“…Foot prints in the sands of time….” , I knew I had a long way to go before I would understand why this thought repeated itself. But I knew it was something important and deep. It would change my life when I knew.
As I reached home that night, I had a smile that no one saw. Well inside my head and heart. I was content. So all in all, I actually had adventure at the beach again. It didn’t matter if I was a hyper kid or a stressed adult. The beach is always the beach.
Friday, October 3, 2008
I am each. Each is a part of me.
I am a contradiction in the two who face each other.
I love the one who cannot love me back. I am loved by one who I cannot love back. I am stuck between, in agony along both roads. Where do I head?
The third faces ahead, staring blankly into the road ahead ready to move, but still as a stone. I wonder in those shoes… does it matter. Where do I head? Is it worth it? Why am I here? What is my purpose if I am where I am supposed to be? The emptiness in company, the sadness in the happiness. They haunt my soul, eat my peace. My road is ahead. The past is blocked, empty till now, but still blocked by pain.
“Don’t cry in front of another man,” he says, how is that so simple yet so complicated to feel the depth of.
They smile gently; feel so deeply, act so calmly, live so peacefully through the storm.
Together and yet so alone. Whole yet broken.
How can it be that they have such strength?
“How far can I go without looking back?”
“What will I find out what it is I am looking for at the end of the road?”
“Will I ever know this truth?”
Thursday, October 2, 2008
Why can’t I draw?
I wonder. If I have so much creativity
Why can’t I draw my visions?
Is something wrong with my head?
Why can’t I read?
If I can write so well?
Why then can’t I read?
Why can’t I speak?
If I can know exactly what to say in another’s stead,
For myself why can’t I speak?
Why can’t I make me?
If I can do all the things I say I can do,
Why then am I me?
Why cannot I draw myself?
Why cannot I speak?
Why cannot I read myself?
Why cannot I be me?
Friday, May 16, 2008
PS: I may not even be using the right words sometimes…If there are mistakes please let me know ^o^
This is a sort of paradoxical panegyric, a behind the scene’s feeling for one of my fanfiction characters. I thought that since I have written it well anyway might as well put it up as a poem in itself. Not that it really rhymes but hey whatever.
The protagonist this time around (for my pleasure of course) is a character, Tasuki, more famously known in the anime, Fushigi Yuugi, or mysterious play. This is to his love in my fanfiction, Silme.
(To those who know Tasuki, you wonder…where did he learn to write like this!!! ^_^;;; all in the game ppl!)
A while ago, I was still myself
To me that was divine
My world, My thoughts were all my own
My strength and heart were all one
I felt tall as a wall
Then you came and tore me down
Laughing that the best was yet to come
You taught me to laugh when I needed to cry
You gave me your emotions by being blank
You showed me valor by being strong
You told me that I was never to frown
Then you smiled and held my hand
Telling me that you were the best
Any other would do me no good
With that smile you walked away
Now, I sit here high and dry
I wait for a word all day
Something I know will never come
I wonder if I mattered at all
If you ever thought of me with a smile
I sit here now, still myself
Alone and devoid of my strength
Drained of the happiness you gave me
Now I stay here with silent tears
Tears of a silent crumpled wall
Sunday, March 30, 2008
It’s lovely and very exhilarating to be able to do whatever you want. Especially if that is to scream your throat off on a terrace, high above the rest, with the wind in your hair, dancing the stars away, to your voice and the tunes you love to hear. It’s a wonderful feeling to be helped with perfect timing by nature, the wind blows at a point where there’s maximum happiness in your voice and smile. There can be hundreds of reasons why one could be that happy. One might simply be to do all that I said, completely undisturbed in the darkness of the night where finally for once in the world, no one is watching.
Yeah I did all that, and am that happy.
Over the past week I have come to realize many thing… most of them turned out to be things I heard about love. But this time it was an experience, some of which I experienced directly, some of which I experienced through others.
Quite long and confusing isn’t it, but its wonderful to realize and know what I am talking about.
Firstly they say love is blind, you don’t know when it comes or will go, it’s an experience. Those who are in it know pain, sorrow, relativity in totality and most of all inexplicable happiness.
The thing that we don’t realize is, love can be anything.
It isn’t necessary to have a voice, a heartbeat, or being biped at all. But when it has all that…one word alone explains it, joy.
I love my cat, love it like anything. It had been with me since its day two. I’ve done things for it you would imagine parents to do for their kids. My kitten is like me. Moody, very picky, totally stubborn, utterly playful, a rebel. When it was small and abandoned by mummy dearest, I took it up. That was a beautiful feeling. It was mine to look after. Mine, another living creature… it was, is and always be the most beautiful thing I have ever seen.
I’ve spent whole days just playing with it, staring at its beautiful eyes, patting it to sleep when it crawled up into my arms for warmth and napped away to glory. I spent days trying to figure out the best way to give it some goddamn milk when its mum ditched it, ink filler, spoon, hand, straw… how the hell do I get it to stop scratching my hands off, how do I get it to sleep in a box instead of my face…. OMG I went mad. But in all that I had so much fun. I watched it grow from the size of my palm to what it is now…I’ve played so much, pampered it to laziness, took so many videos and photographs fit enough for exhibitions in Paris. That lucky cat, it left me… and today I am here, heartbroken, kitty less and sad, with slow tears down my eyes. Even as I sit here typing, I have a feeling it’s running around the room playing as usual. I look up to realize it’s my imagination.
Its painful, yes, very painful, but I look back and see how much fun I have had with it. How much joy it gave me in being there to play with and pamper…
I still remember the twinkle in its eyes when it plays, the way its tail twitches as I pet it. Beauty, love.
To others it’s just a cat, they say for how much it has bitten and scratched me, its good that it ran away. No one understands what I went through. But that’s ok. It is my experience after all. Had they known, would it be that light a thing to lose? The love of my kitty.
An inanimate love is also possible as I said. For me, it’s in a camera.
The best thing god created, in my opinion would be to be able to see. I really am sad for the animals and those who are blind for this reason. Color…color is life.
Music is ecstasy. Mind is a beautiful workshop in full function. Put all this together…you have paradise. And it’s a world of your own. No one, no one can see your world like you. That’s yours to keep bud.
I got hold of a few pictures of this kid, Alexandre Evans. He’s from Canada.
He’s 17 and has the most resplendent eyes I have ever seen, to go with the prettiest face I have seen on earth. Whatever his character is, there is a beautiful flawed flawlessness about his face. It was amazing to find how hard he is working at his photography, with the help of his friends… he has delivered a lot, which very duly made him famous online. For god’s sake, he’s gorgeous, loves and does everything I do, and has his own clothing line at 17! One can’t ask for more. My hearty desire is to be able to meet him just once… once and capture the light in his eyes to perfection. The most beautiful picture in the world… just once.
But its not just his eyes that make me happy when I think of my camera. My beautiful model was my pampered runaway kitty too. It brought out some of my best shots. When I walk around, my eyes hunt for a perfect picture I could take with my camera. To glorify an ordinary object, to its unknown forgotten glory. That, that is my love. When I bring out the light in an object flawlessly, that gives me joy. It is my desire to be able to take such glorious pictures of the people I love, many a day must pass before that can be. A camera is what I need. A good one. That will be. My love will live on.
Recently, and by that I mean, in the past two days, I watched three love stories. Yes a hopeless romantic you could call me. I don’t care, I like it. I watched Kate and Leopold and you’ve got mail (yes both Meg Ryan starrers, don’t you just love how cute she is!) and jab we met.
In each of this, I saw characters that brought me joy as I watched. It was very pleasing and a strange happy feeling…that joy I was talking about, to realize, wow love like that could exist.
Kate and Leopold… wow, that was where I saw Leo be himself, and Kate herself.
I fell in love with the idea, that being a real gentleman was possible. And the qualities I saw in him, Chivalry, grace, intelligence, actual sensitivity, forethought not to mention, as he was called in the movie, a Hunk. He was by all means a gentleman, though it could have been just by his time travel to the present from 1876. No that’s not it… he maintained all he had in him, even at the time he was here…that is truly a gentleman. I saw them fall in love. I saw the closeness. I saw the joy in the smile, the sparkle in the eye. A simple reason for all this was merely the other’s presence. Yes its madness you may say, it’s a movie, they are characters…so what? They were written to be imagined, to be real weren’t they? And where do you take inspiration to write? Reality right.
You’ve got mail was simply cute. In both these movies, there was purity about the love that made me smile. A really happy smile.
Jab we met, OMG that is one stupid useless movie you cannot watch by paying money. But my god, look deeper is what I say. The heroine… Geet has such an unbiased, purity about her character. It made and makes me desire that purity, that happiness which that character brought her. To see that Aadithya, her hero, fall in love with her, for only that… that is pure love man.
So what if I haven’t seen or experienced all this first hand…isn’t seeing all this and being able to understand it while watching experiencing it too.
Well these movies have done two things for me. One assure me that my high expectations are not baseless anyway, two… it is possible to have that purity. And that too, because of someone else.
Its even fuzzier, cute and a very happy feeling to have a crush. Dude, its like not love, just lighter. Its fun. You know its not for real, yet trying to catch a glimpse of your crush, trying to do this unnoticed by your friends or your crush all day, having just a word, getting a small smile, making them laugh, small things that make you happy… its also there… and these are better till you know yer gonna fall hard on your face in love with another soul. And ppl I mean soul by all means.
Wow. I could go on.
These things I realized in this week. And it has given me joy.
Music can give you joy. Color can give you joy, a kitten can give you joy, another human can give you joy… and all these can give you love. Its there… you already have it don’t you… you just don’t realize…
Now what does that have to do with singing like a lunatic on the terrace, where I might as well fall to my death from.
Think about all this. Music blaring, your voice to go along with it, dancing with you hands held high, wind in your hair. It gives you hope. It made me happy, it made me smile from my heart. Hope… Hope for tomorrow.
PS: please visit. Alexevans.net to see the guy I was talking abt…all credits go to him for my talk and the pics.
Monday, March 17, 2008
Its just an observation of the things around me lately... totally out of my character and league to write it, but I thought hey why not
I don't know what it feels like
To be lost to myself
To be complete with the existence of another
I don't know what it feels like
To the the shine in someone's eyes
To have a glint in mine at the thought of another
To have never spoken enough once apart
To have rambled on even when together
To be the that charm that makes one glow
To be the smile that fills a day
To drive mad when I speak
To drive insane to be without
Yet I see it around, It makes me smile
Maybe the world ain't so bad afterall
I will be the joy, I will be the glint
I will be the smile, I will be the rain
I will go mad, I will drive insane
Its all written down somewhere
Its just a matter of time
Wednesday, January 9, 2008
To me this is more a review than blog on one hand... but a blog on the other... but its left to you decide...but you have been warned... its LONG! ^o^ enjoy
PRIDE AND PREJUDICE
Well now, wow! I mean, WOW! I completely agree with Somerset Maughm! There’s ABSOLUTELY nothing so exciting about the whole story. Ordinary, but handsome looking simple hearted Jane, Clever not-so-handsome-as-her-sister Elizabeth, amiable and handsome Bingley, very handsome PROUD, brooding Mr. Darcy! Complete disapproval, mild love making, ‘talking’! And that’s it! Prejudiced Ms. Liza can change proud Mr. Darcy at the end with nothing extraordinary but by the love he develops for her. Mr. Darcy shreds Liza’s prejudice by the simple act of being a gentleman, but a gentleman in love with her…. Still I turned each page eagerly, to read this ordinary story.
It’s so strange that even though money was more important, aided of course by rank (Not as much as in the present though), it was overcome simply by love. So pure a love it is actually quite astonishing. Not even in one’s dream could there be such pure emotion felt in the heart of a single human being today
But hey, that just maybe my prejudice. True, very true! I haven’t stepped out from the portals of my sheltered haven as much as I would like. I have NOT stepped out into the real world. I’m not in a position to do that, being so dependent! Neither am I content, nor can I rest peacefully. But this is not about my life entirely is it. Its about my experience of pride and prejudice, and its impact on my life. My observation, I hope will be helpful to my life at the least. For I have noticed, as my sister so clearly put to me, I have been non-committal and completely senseless in taking nothing seriously in my life. I still don’t mean to take this too seriously but I am willing to embrace a change, its impact in my life, hoping, again, to change it for the better. Bringing about a change in my reflections, impression, vocabulary and passion.
I still notice the flaw in my wishes. I’m still talking about something but doing something else. I’m digressing from the topic.
OK, coming back. Pride and prejudice.
Truthfully, if I have to start giving an account, it should begin with ‘Sense and Sensibility’. Seeing actors play out the characters with such passion, seeing them forget themselves, making me forget their celebrity titles, they became the characters. With such strong emotions playing out in front of me, being sentimental and being the hopeless romantic that I am, how can I be anything but in complete awe, of not only the actors, feelings, but everything to do with the story!
This awe always held, and still holds high in my heart to this day. For, it is to be mentioned here that the actors, as splendid as they are, have done complete justice to their parts.
Well this awe I expressed to a friend, who I only recently found had similar interests, who joined me in my bliss and romance and so simply narrated to me that simple yet so romantic a story, pride and prejudice.
It can be deceiving, how a good narrator can make a droll story line, into a fantastic story! Sometimes, it is so amazing that this fact is achieved by something as a simple narrative. But here the story is only half true, if one wants to be at the receiving end of such a narration. Willing, blissfully to be lost in such a romanticized version of the truth. Maybe I was at this end, but the deed was done.
I was very much engaged in this fantasy. Though it was a while before I could make this fantasy a movie in my own head. It was achieved and towards the end with somewhat a clumsy hurry. But it is something I do no regret. It is something that gives me joy, which I shall speak of later.
Pride and prejudice. Well, I was (I don’t know if I can say pleasantly) surprised to find a woman who led a simple life as can be, wrote such an exquisite classic by the mere faculty of observation, a keen observation of her era.
It has, ‘I quote again’, nothing so incredible in it, yet that is what makes it so fascinating. One can relate to each character without much difficulty.
I completely understand, the well-judged silence and character of Mr. Bennet. I understand the irony that made him so, his fallacy in believing his silly wife to be something else. Mrs. Bennet’s nerves are also something I have seen in my own life. Jane’s plain and kind character so far is the only one I cannot relate to. For I have not come across one person who finds it difficult to, not find fault or flaw or is willing to believe in the extreme good of another person at all. Eliza, the favorite daughter of her father, the heroine of the story. Clever, quite handsome and sensible Elizabeth. Her, I can connect to with more ease. Certain characters, the ruggedness, observation (at least emotionally) the strength of character, sensibility are all completely understandable. Yet, it is so tragic how cleverness and sense can be eclipsed by a prejudice, actually a lot of times. This is at once apparent when Ms. Eliza comes in contact with Mr. Darcy, as I said, the very handsome, proud gentleman of 10,000 pounds.
Jane Austen tingles this pleasure in me. A curiosity deepens when she writes about Darcy, by indeed writing so little about him and his countenance! It excites (at least it excited me) to read about Darcy and Eliza’s interactions. What fire would spew from Eliza, how Darcy would react! This more than anything attracted me to read on for I was curious to know, for a happy ending. I should mention here that my most excellent narrator friend’s words and my self confessed quality of being a romantic instigated, supported and furthered this curiosity. I must also say that though she narrated (my friend) rather simply to me this story, when we were almost overcome by fatigue and under the blankets of slumber, I merely remembered the outline.
Enter Wickhem. I was most troubled to think that there were all chances of Eliza not loving Darcy. That narrative indeed pulled me on.
One should also note here that I stick to Darcy, such a silent character, without too much information about him than with Wickhem, with all the description and speeches. Yes, Darcy, who barely uttered a word was and will always be my favorite.
Skip. When Ms. Eliza went over to lady Catherine’s, I had an inclination to think Darcy would follow. Yes, this thought had occurred when it was revealed, at the Bingley ball, that Darcy and lady C were indeed nephew and aunt. Instinct I should rather say. Nothing in my friend’s stuporous narrative prepared me for the proposal Darcy made to Eliza at the parsonage. She told me that Eliza would turn down his first offer, but little did I expect it to be like this.
Indeed I was outraged at Eliza’s behavior to my favorite, and even more indignant at Darcy’s manner of proposal and his damned pride!
A very shocking (to me pleasant) turn of events was Darcy’s letter to dear Lizzy. It drew me even more to his character, to see his composed and collected emotions and language.
I was distraught that Darcy’s pride along with the stupidity of Bingley’s sisters had broken up the pure love between Charles and Jane. But everyone has his faults, noted, pride being Darcy’s from the start.
It is strange to see that Darcy had overlooked Rank and manners in Eliza’s family, the reason for Charles and Jane’s separation, in his own case. It instigates one to think, can it really be love that drives the world. Eliza’s strength at the revelation at such a tedious letter from Darcy impresses to a great extent. Jane’s fallacy, at disbelief, at any wrong or evil in the world to this day annoys me. We can see that with this even, the prejudice in Eliza’s eyes slip. That she sincerely begins to fall in love with the very man who ruined the life of her sister, not for that act, but for whom he was.
I was annoyed as hell, um… Vexed at revelations about Wickhem’s character. I was thoroughly convinced of his deserving certain well-placed thrashings.
It is wonderful to see Eliza’s prejudiced notion of Darcy vaporize after her visit to ‘Pemberley’. Again, the romantic mind has had its feast in such situations. It is very pleasant to see their interaction. The changes in the protagonists, their yearnings and expectations of the other. Truly, a romantic heart is satisfied. Then comes the bomb.
It irritates me to the core to see the possibilities of existence of characters such as Lydia, Kitty and Mary (Well not Mary so much). Such weakness I’ve never tolerated, which deserts duty, gratitude and courage. Elopement, by my eyes is such a disgracefully cowardly act, I prefer not to talk on it. It pained me to see the family in a situation as that. Though inexperienced at it, I could empathize with their family in the situation, that in my stead I would have done more to keep the couple away. Lydia and Wickhem’s insolent and foolish characters and acts deserve no further words.
It is very mysterious as to how the matter was solved by an uncle who was only better off financially, than the Bennets, by a grade. Silence, in my mind, from Darcy provoked the matter further.
A letter, after Liza’s inquiry, from her aunt only brings a pleased smile on my lips and warmth to my heart.
It only aches more for Darcy and Eliza to unite after this. The pang that it may not happen only burdens when lady Catherine pays a visit to Eliza on her mission to dissuade the union.
Bingley and Jane’s reconciliation only adds fuel to the fire of agony. For now it is plain that Eliza’s heart, free from prejudice, truly loves and yearns for Darcy. All that is good and deserving in him. That smile widens when I look back to see all that Darcy did for his beloved Eliza in complete silence.
When at last Darcy mentions; in his manner; that naught has changed in his heart or offer since his first proposal I finally sighed relieved. Here on I only read with a pleased grin playing on my face and fell more in love with Darcy’s character than before. This silent, strong man, less proud by now, opens his heart so innocently, with such affection, respect and civility to the one he loves as life. Never have I witnessed such a character in reality.
Reading of Elizabeth as Mrs. Darcy is a funny feeling I should say, but one cannot be happier than I at the union. His undeterred affection, love and respect for her words are honorable to say the least.
AS for the authoress, I don’t know if I can call myself one yet, I recognized from the complexity but still exquisite simplicity of the plot, but not language, that it was her first attempt. An action by all means similar to mine. It is recognized in the very book that she related herself to Eliza and Jane to her own sister.
It is written in such a style that anyone with sense, well actually anyone, who reads it, recognized more with Eliza than the others. AT least I did.
In today’s world it is a funny notion to only wake up, read, sew, sing, draw, dance at balls, gossip about marriage, neighbors and flirt outright (with civility I should add), eat and sleep. The matters of importance, to the lady of the house was in getting her daughters well settled. It is funny in today’s demanding world, to see, that in that time, all the groom need be was rich, amiable and handsome!
The concept of staying over at a cousin’s or friends for so long a time, on invitation, is unheard of today. It is a matter of pride!
But it was a thoroughly refreshing experience. My vocabulary, passion for writing, sense and ability to take something more seriously has taken a shot on the arm.
It is even more exciting and very depressing at the same time, a painful pleasure one could call it, Jane Austen’s style of leaving to the reader completely, the handsomeness, countenance, look and color of each actor in the story. It is a boon to be able to let the character assume form as one desires, but to have no concrete base, the uncertainty that our description has all possibilities of not coinciding with the authoress is a bane! For, an imagination which runs wild as mine sometimes needs controlling.
Happier is the life after, pride and prejudice. But truly a lesson to be learnt is happy is only that life, without (in recommended quantities)
Pride and Prejudice.