How do you react when someone suggests a good read to
you by saying, “A story about two people who love each other so much that they
are out to destroy each other.”? There is no point in denying that this
synopsis did pique my interest in the book, even though it seemed a tad
overdramatic for even the standards of Bollywood; and here I was to find such
an essence in a very American story: The Fountainhead, by Ayn Rand.
The story follows the journey of an architect whose
creations are so eccentrically brilliant that they are shunned as crass by the
mediocrity around him, so as to hide their own lack of talent at this form of
art. Ayn Rand draws a cynical picture of the different classes of society who
vouch for the same Mantra: Herald the mediocre and the brilliant automatically
becomes the outcast. But being an essential romantic deep down, the essence
that I choose to mull over as an aftertaste is the apparent hatred nurtured for
each other by the protagonists, which camouflage their deep seeded attraction and
mutual understanding of perspectives. Individualism, egoism, infidelity,
violence and dominance add flavour to this unconventional love story, which
however, thankfully, has a conventional ending of requited love.
In short, two headstrong gifted individuals recognise
each other’s talents, are madly attracted to each other, try to destroy each
other in an attempt to protect the other from the fatal attacks of the
idiosyncratic society, eventually emerge successful in proving the worth of
their individual brilliance against the collective egalitarianism (a trend of
thought that favours equality in end result and hates the exceptional, in an
attempt to ‘dumbdown’ all to the lowest common denominator) and finally walk
hand in hand into the sunset. The tiny flutters in my heart seem to echo the
romance dripping from every page of this twisted epic saga, cherishing the
rakish stubbornness of Howard Roark and the sheer sensuality of Dominique
Francon.
But what Ms Rand does not delve into is what happens
when the sun rises again?
It is scintillating to be rebellious, but what do you
do after the war is won? Do you just sit back and drink tea? Where is the
romance in that! With their intense understanding of each other’s perspective,
would Howard and Dominique disagree on petty every day matters, perhaps on
whether to add milk to water or the other way round, to make the perfect cup of
the beverage? Well, assuming they did, how would they decide who is right
between them?
This ‘afterstory’ is perhaps only relevant for us
mortals and nobody seems interested to write about what comes after the
‘happily ever after’. Is it because there is no inkling of romantic notions
left thereafter? Or, more so perhaps, because we fail to see the romance in the
everyday matters.
Meanwhile, at the other end of the world, the dashing
Mr. Fitzwilliam Darcy eventually overcomes his personal misgivings and wins the
heart of the witty and beautiful Ms. Elizabeth Bennet. After breaking each
other’s ‘pride’ and ‘prejudice’, they settled into marital bliss at the much
coveted Pemberley estates and it is assumed that they lived happily ever after.
But, what if we were to follow their story a little further on? Would Mr. Darcy
love all the changes brought in at Pemberley by his beloved Mrs. Darcy? If he were to withstand these makeovers, would
the pretty bride be docile about it? Would there not have been heated clashes,
fallouts and perhaps the introduction of new ‘pride’ and ‘prejudices’?
Once again two strong personas, who have mutual love
and respect for each other, start a life together to remain forever happy and
blissful. But how are we to know that at some point down the line their
inherent individualistic nature will not overcome their mutual love and quietly
let the tendrils of bitterness creep in which ultimately destroy all bliss and
happiness.
Ofcourse, the immortal Darcys need not ever worry of
such eventuality. But we do. And when we do come face to face with such a
situation, what do we do? We turn to the immortals again for inspiration.
Signs of such bitterness is touched upon in the on
and off relationship between Scarlett O’Hara and Rhett Butler. Rhett falls in
love with the free-spirited Scarlett the moment he sets his eyes on her at the
Twelve Oaks. He contrives to chase her and win her affection all the while
forgiving her foolhardy acts of rushing into marriages with men she did not
love. He eventually does convince her to marry him, secretly hoping that one
day she would return his love. But he is disappointed in his hopes and by the
time Scarlett does reciprocate his feelings, it’s too late. The bitterness
which has already crept in fails to salvage the love he once had for her and he
leaves her with the famous parting lines: “Frankly, my dear, I don’t give a
damn.”
We empathize with Rhett’s broken heart even as
Margaret Mitchell give us hope that Scarlett is determined to win Rhett back as
she proudly proclaims “tomorrow is another day.”
As we put down the book, we find our hearts filled
with romanticism stolen from the tragic moments wrapped in between the written
words. But in our grounded everyday lives, embitterment and tragedy is all we
would choose to carry on with us.
