Human beings, in our fickle nature, are prone to an almost nirvana-like craving to fall in love, yet we can harbour the most unearthly, materialistic of desires. They say a girl’s best friend is a diamond. To make one such sparkling gem it usually takes a war in a poverty-stricken African country with a rich vein of minerals, a lot of cheap labour, some filthy rich dealers in the middle and finally a stinking rich man to make it all worth the trouble.
Human beings, in our fickle nature, are prone to an almost nirvana-like craving to fall in love, yet we can harbour the most unearthly, materialistic of desires.
They say a girl’s best friend is a diamond. To make one such sparkling gem it usually takes a war in a poverty-stricken African country with a rich vein of minerals, a lot of cheap labour, some filthy rich dealers in the middle and finally a stinking rich man to make it all worth the trouble.
That depends on if you are the crown prince of an island as large as Britain or if your father has excelled in the business of selling arms to poor countries. Anyway, a diamond is still a diamond especially to a starry-eyed just married girl.
Men would like to marry the woman who genuinely loves them, meaning it should have nothing to do with the money and what it can do for her. Problem is sometimes only money can buy flowers and that exquisite perfume from Paris, the lavish wedding and the sleek sports car that makes your woman stand out as yours.
Then comes in the other aphrodisiac – power or fame or whatever you want to call it. Women like to hang onto the shoulder of the guy who calls the shots.
Men who call the shots love to have the woman who is the wind beneath the wings, the better half who when you absolutely cannot make up your mind about that big decision when everyone is looking up to you, advises and does not want to take the credit for it, however well it turns out.
The same guy sometimes likes to hang out with the hottest woman in town, the one who reeves up his testosterone and makes him feel the conqueror of the British Empire. Such is how confused our species are.
Women at least admit that they do not know much some of the times. Men instead do not even know that they do not know anything most of the time.
So here comes love that supposedly permeates one’s body, mind and soul. Bodies of those in love usually don’t have a problem enjoying it.
Minds depend so much on where they are at any one time, for men, usually below the belt and for women in the left side of their chest, so the idea of minds genuinely in love is, let’s just say, difficult to suppose.
Souls, I just don’t know much about it, but apparently, we have a lot of souls in love, with or without wedlock.
What about we say money makes the body happy, leaves the brain peaceful without worries, power gets into your head and fills one’s soul?
Still I can’t figure out how a piece of ridiculously expressive rock, with a painfully sharp appearance to the eye, a history of innocent blood, dripping greed, unpalatable, not so attractive especially without colours and that really proves nothing in the direction of true affection except for the obvious sacrifice of a ton of money so the apple of your eye can show it off? But since this is our world I can only wait for my turn to afford one and make some woman glad.
Have a fantasy-filled Sunday.