Glaring Shadow - A stream of consciousness novel (Part 4, page 3 of 4)


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Part 4

“Won’t lost opportunities leave haunting memories?”

“But don’t they last ever longer to our hurt,” he said with apparent disappointment. “Maybe it’s my software of love that could have activated her sexual passions to seek the hardcore gratification with my rival. Or who knows, she might’ve been a flirt to start with, but for me the fact of inactivity was a lost opportunity; well, the ethos of the times and the sensitivity of my soul together contrived to handicap my youth for I won the hearts of women and yet I failed to gain their final favor. Whatever, how frustrating it was failing to have all those fair things that fancied me. But in these sexy times served by pills, isn’t it fun all around what with girls willing to open up other ways too for detours. Who had heard of anal sex those days, and if only I had a scent of it, my story of youth would have been composed in stanzas of fulfillment. Well, I could never cease mulling over those missed chances; especially the loss of her favor even though in the later years I had more than made up for all those misses. Why each woman is unique by herself and every encounter is apart in itself.”

“That way, youngsters these days have plenty of ways for their sexual fun. But on the flip side, the premarital sex deprives lovers the joy that is the longing of love.”

“But then, you can’t have the cake and eat it too,” he said. “Whatever every fool of an ass has a girlfriend these days while in our time even the smartest had to rest content with the yearning looks of the enamored dames. Why it’s the longing for love that shapes the nature of one’s love life and in adulthood it’s the childhood anecdotes that serve as antidotes to its vagaries. But the beauty of childhood has an ugly facet to it. How many lament that they were not of the Birla household as their later-day Amabani-like riches fail to offset their sense of childhood deprivation! Let us put it differently, being a Rockefeller is not good enough if you are not a Rockefeller’s son as well. It was as if my miserly grandfather chose thrift to catapult my father into the zone, but that didn’t help my father’s vision to expand the fifteen-acre family holding to make the grade. In a way, my grandfather was a colorless man and none seemed to have missed him in his life or death, not even my grandmother. Being a miser to the core, he was not even superficially warm.”

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