A couple of years ago, during a Diwali break, I saw all the seasons of Sex and The City back to back. A friend had given me all the DVDs and I just wanted to watch the series without the censorship of Indian television. From a narrative similar to the book, to Carrie as the protagonist, the series had come a long way. As most women do, even I could relate to most questions, issues and quirky problems raised on that show. My life and personality is a bit like Carrie’s. Albeit the fashion sense. Her love life is dominated by one man who casts a shadow, consciously or unconsciously, on all of her other relationships. Every single one of her relationships is broken or dictated by Big’s presence. There is almost sadomasochist (in a non sexual way) sort of thing that is going on. She loves to do stupid things to herself and those around her in the hope that she eventually ends up with him. Hurts herself and so many others in the process. It is almost like she enjoys it. Not knowingly though. Even when she does try to stay away from the mistake that Big could be, she can’t. Self-infliction of pain. And he on the other hand, tosses her around like a yo-yo throughout the series. Almost like he enjoys it too. She realizes this herself somewhere down the line. It is a stupid stupid love story.
But why am I writing about it? It is fairly simple. Borrowing Carrie’s own words, today while I thought of how one single relationship can have so much influence on others, I couldn’t help but wonder, if all of our relationships are dictated by the one that could’ve been? The one that we desperately wished and hoped to work out. The one that always resides at the back of our minds. The one that was perfect. Do we actually ruin or influence every other relationship based on that one? Almost hitting the self-destruct button when something that we hadn’t imagined for ourselves seems to be working out. It is like forever hoping that ‘that one’ works out.
But what if there isn’t a ‘that one’ in your life? This is the question that has been haunting me. In the past few years, post one so-called-perfect guy and one way-far-from-perfect guy, I have liked quite a few guys. By liked, I mean sometimes had a major crush on and sometimes pursued. Most them seemingly okay and normal but without the possibility of anything working out with any of them in the long term. While on most days I am proud of myself for being a rather exceptional judge of character and intentions, I have made some serious mistakes when it comes to men. And have gone on plenty self-deprecating trips while wondering why these didn’t work out.
I am left wondering where does this trace back to? This need to embark on difficult, seemingly impossible relationships. Why can’t I ever find a boy who is freaking normal and available in all ways?
Unlike, Carrie there is no Big in my life. No one to wait for. Then why am I making such lousy choices? I have no answer. The closest, slightly acceptable reason that comes to my mind is that I am hopeful. And that I am still a hopeless romantic. I still hope that these difficult relationships suddenly become possible. And in the end love does conquer all. Such a stupid thought in today’s world, but it is the only one that I am willing to hold onto.