Musings

So I am back to my old ways, musing about love. I am sitting wiith my laptop at around midnight savouring a glass of grape juice which if I was in a more ruminating mood would transform into a glass of the finest Bordeaux wines(Nope, I dont drink but imagination unlimited is the theme).
Anyway so I was remembering this line that I read somewhere and have loved ever sense."There are only three things men can do with women-love them,suffer for them or turn them into literature."
I excel at all three. I should add tragically.

However when love is not returned, when it has been shunned beyond redemption, why do people not quit? Why dont they realize the story is not meant to be written and try to move on?

In the name of love many people start harbouring wild fantasies.Love turns into harrassment, stalking and so many other things. I am not a gal but if I was one, I am sure I would feel very insecure because of a jilted wannabe romeo(On other hand if I was a gal, and if the user interface was the same I would be one scary gal.I am not sure guys would be falling left and write). write=right

Jokes apart we have had so many acid throwing incidents in India recently. Imagine the pain,the smell of acid burning whatever it touches. I have no sympathy for any of the throwers. I beleive they should get the death penalty with no exception. Because this is no crime of passion but a cold-hearted plot to ensure no one else gets the girl he could not get. He forgets if he choose to love and fall for the girl,the girl exercised her choice and choose not to reciprocate. But in a country of a billion where every 8 men collectively carry the guilt of a a single missing girl,killed in the womb of another girl, men frequently forget the girl has a choice. Its in the soil(deep sarcasm intended). Feel some shame people!!

Anyway ,I cant end on such a negative note. So here's the story of Marilyn Monroe and Joe Dimaggio,her second husband. Imagine a love so deep, a loss so huge.

In 1951 Joe DiMaggio saw a picture of Monroe with two Chicago White Sox players but did not ask the man who arranged the stunt to set up a date until 1952. She wrote in My Story that she did not want to meet him, fearing a stereotypical jock. They eloped at San Francisco's City HallJanuary 14, 1954. She wrote him a letter about her dreams for their future, dated February 28, 1954.

It did not work out. She filed for divorce on grounds of mental cruelty 274 days after the wedding.

Years later, she turned to him for help. In February 1961, her psychiatrist arranged for her to be admitted to the Payne Whitney Psychiatric Clinic, where, according to Donald Spoto, she was placed in the ward for the most seriously disturbed. Unable to check herself out, she called DiMaggio, who secured her release. She later joined him in Florida. Their "just good friends" claim did not stop rumors of remarriage.

On August 1, 1962, DiMaggio — alarmed by how his ex-wife had fallen in with people he felt detrimental to her, such as Frank Sinatra and his "Rat Pack" — quit his job with a PX supplier to ask her to remarry him.

After her death, he claimed her body and arranged her funeral, barring Hollywood's elite. For twenty years, he had a dozen red roses delivered to her crypt three times a week. Unlike her other two husbands, he never talked about her publicly, wrote a tell-all, or remarried.