Love potions, anyone?

Now, considering something I shared via my Facebook account yesterday, I might be charged with repeating this theme too often. However, more often than not, people my age (who I believe form a large part of my readership) have gone through this phase called 'Louuve failure'. Hold me guilty for being a little sexist here and writing this from a guy's perspective, but here it is.

Ever wonder why one remains enchanted even after things are categorically 'over' in an attempted love affair. It is magic, of course. And surprise, surprise. It has three acts to it.

The Pledge

During this step in magic, the female centre of attention makes you believe that things are hunky dory. Mind you. There is no palpable, overt expression of love. The commoners call this 'leading on', but well then, the guy in question is no commoner in this circumstance. He is an idiot, and he loves being so. Tongue hanging loose, starry eyed, he roams around and twists and turns every little movement, every little gesture, every little smile into a giant ballad of romance and undying love. 

A wink here. A blush there. Life is never more colourful. And one is never more delusional.

The Turn

Michael Caine says, "This is where the fun begins!". Really?

Ah! Initially, it is. Your affection has now turned into a delusion. The ordinary into the extraordinary. Rings any bells? Now your image of your love interest is no more that of a being. When you see them, there is this giant radiance emanating from them, with, as SRK would have put it, a million violins playing around. All of them playing just that one amazing song of love that you always wanted to hear. Suddenly, the leaves are greener, the roses are ever more ruddy, and everything else is unbelievably picture perfect.

And then, poof!

Just when you, unwittingly, blurted out your heart's one true desire, there is no one out there to hear you. Everything is quiet. Quieter than Manmohan on the parliament floor. You have no freakin' idea what hit you. And then the curtains roll down, and roll up once again in a jiffy, for the last of the acts.

The Prestige

A battle is never lost righteously till there is an adversary to beat you. The disappearing object of affection makes a reappearance here. Well, like Jesus, you would say. Only much less delightful.

And with her is another guy. You had been watching it all very closely. You couldn't have missed this while it was transpiring under your own probing nose. Yet, here it is.

You see the shrug saying 'Told you so!'. Everything is plain and ordinary, as if nothing ever happened - the extraordinary back to the ordinary. Familiar, eh? Half, nay, more was entirely a construct of your darned mind. 

Show's over folks. You never had your money's worth. Nor your effort's. And then you feel your nose and see the red blob over there. No points for guessing who the clown was, and who had the last laugh.