Appropriate Title: LSD (Lust, Sex and Deception)
You think that’s a bit too much? Erm… maybe?
In a congested structure, the novel is nothing but a pulp-fiction on Bengali high-class society. So the basic premise of the story revolves around a young man who doesn’t want to get married because he feared that if he did, his love for his mother would be divided into two. Okay. Childish I know, but still, I get it that he is immature. Not an excuse, he’s in medical college.
So he rejects a girl, but then, when his best friend was about to get married, he gets infatuated with the would-be fiancé and turns against everyone to get married to her. Okay, I can digest up to this part (after all, with all the controversy in the world, infatuation is indeed one of the 7 stages of love). Or even later, when he ‘imprisons’ her whole day long, with an excuse of educating her. Most of the would-be non-virgins would do that if they got the chance.
But when the poor girl who didn’t want to get educated finally gets enough enthusiasm about learning her lessons, he begins to scold her that for her, education is now preferable over husband. Wow, dude.
And it doesn’t end here. Nope. Surprise surprise, to further increase the cringe quotient, enters the girl who was rejected by our protagonist at first, and who, after getting married to a good-for-nothing guy has become a widow. And when she comes into the scenario, our protagonist gets infatuated with her as well. And she falls for him too, though the obsession on her part comes with a revolting dose of jealousy and anger.
Nope, she isn’t a successful replica of Anna Karenina. Though I wish Tagore had blatantly copied from Tolstoy. This one time.
And the cycle goes on and on. A guy falls for a girl. A girl falls for a guy. A guy gets angry with himself for falling for a girl and leaves. The girl starts falling for the guy’s best friend and cries. AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA STOP IT!!!!
Well, if I was a bit stricter, I would’ve rated it 1. But Tagore’s writing style is very engrossing. Though I felt I should deduct marks for that: I can tolerate a good story poorly written (if this was a problem there won’t be any new author anymore) and a bad story badly written (for I can leave it after just reading a page or so), but a well-written bad story is just a waste of time. You can neither leave it nor digest it without getting stomach bloating.
So you have understood by now what I have meant by Lust and Sex. Yeah, everyone has been there. But no mature people can confuse lust with love. This is not a romantic story in the least. But what it could’ve been, was a bold insight into the contemporary Bengal patriarchal society. And also about the prevalent toxic masculinity (you know, something like Raging Bull?). And herein comes the deception, (for me at least) because the story isn’t proclaimed as that one, but as one of the finest romantic tales in India. Romance, huh? My foot.
You don’t know what love is, Mahendra. Well, I don’t put the entire blame on you, though. Society is to blame. Even your mother is to blame. Even when you abandoned her without a single reason (nope I’m not starting on the mother-son sentiment, just a simple person-person emotional attachment) she put the entire blame on the underage, innocent girl though both of you know that she has done nothing. She could’ve done nothing.
But that doesn’t make you any less of an A-hole, though. Could’ve learned a bit more from your friends, eh? You’re just one arrogant, stupid, ungrateful piece of **** who may have been a role model for toxic masculinity. Instead of that, your behaviour is romanticized in the Bengali literary circles. Even now. And that’s what gets to my nerves.
I don’t know what made me read this one. I’ve been avoiding reading Rabindranath Tagore my entire life, and though the school syllabus has made me read a fair section, I didn’t complain at that time. Well, that was mandatory after all. But why on earth did I start again, and even if I started, why the hell with this one.
Thank god I didn’t watch the award-winning movie, though. The scenes I’ve seen from that, are more cringeworthy.
Though you can well understand my disgust, I think I will eventually read all of Tagore’s works again. Man, I love his poems and songs. But why he is so famed as a novelist, I’m yet to find out but I hope I will. One day.
But please, not a disgusting experience like this one again. Please.