Letters of Life


The wonder of a blog is that you get to write about stuff on auspicious dates like today, and it lets you publish and share the wonder.

I know that after 2000, there was one very special day for the past 10 years, starting with 20.01.2001, same with 20.04.2004, until we get to today. The troubling thing is that I can’t remember what happened on 20th June, 2006, or even 20.08.2008, except that a lot of people got hitched then.

Please hit the play button before reading further. Thanks.

Love Song for a Vampire, sung by the inimitable Ms Lennox, is more than just a love song. Even if it were for an unforgettable vampire portrayed with restraint and force by Gary Oldman in Bram Stoker’s Dracula (Francis Ford Coppola, 1992).  The lush arrangements, poetic lyrics and the magnificent vocals have immortalized the tune for me and there was a time I seriously considered walking down the aisle as the string orchestra opened the bars of this song.

I’d been meaning to post this video here for a long time, even though it might be too gothic and over-the-top Victorian for most. But today is a day in a thousand years, and so, it is OK.

Here is a vignette to go with the music and lyrics.

The first time he sighted her, beyond a river of carriages on a London street, it was like a stab in his heart.

He knew that face, those eyes, this moment that sent him barreling back in time. She must have sensed something; their eyes met, and though hers reflected only the busy street, the throng, he knew better.

They had known each other very young, and to him she was the rarest rose, with a wild fragrance that filled his senses in the moonlight. The year she was bethrothed to him, he felt the gods were looking at him with pleasure. Then she came down with consumption. The disease consumed her from within, at first with a bloody cough, then fever, an unnatural paleness.

She couldn’t stop herself from departing, he could only watch. And now, after the decades had formed scar tissue over a wound that sounded in the canyons of memory, here was someone so very like his wild, wild rose.

But he was bound by a history she did not share.

“Create a history for us,” he seemed to hear her murmur. And his heart was beating like a drum, a rhythm of drums from a century ago.


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