Four days ago, Gabriel Garcia Marquez passed away ( 1927 –
April 17, 2014 ). I confess I am little slow in expressing instinctive
sentiments immediately. Metaphorically, knee jerk reaction is less practical in
me. Sadness didn't take me over as it ought to when I entered an obituary note
in the memorandum.
Only when I tried to remember my first encounter later,
strong fits of nostalgia gripped me. Something invaluable within me seems to
tear apart on losing him. Certain yet undefined intimacy exists between the
great and me; little more than the ordinary relation between a writer and the reader.
I'll put it as brotherhood bonded by literature.
To review his work “Love in The Time of Cholera” at my tenth
was an honour for which do I was on top in the book review contest. Anyone could
have been me then had they only preferred the book for the material. My win was
just a matter of first come first serve. The beauty of the style and irresistible
romance in the content will justify my say if you care to read. Luck had me so I’d
the book then.
It’s bit harsh a reality to accept a world with all the
beautiful writers being flown away someday and the other. It creates a void in
literary world in fact.
Now that Gabo had
passed away, only his immortal works in the medium of magical letters shall
remain souvenir to all his readers to whom he communicated. And each time
henceforth, I flip the perfumed leaves of his book, I am sure I would be able
to summon the same beauty he crafted with extraordinary intellect and immense delicacy.
He’s the one who filled ink in my pen and gave me the spectacle
to read further. I owe him infinite.
Rest in peace Dear Gabriel Garcia Marquez.
With love and loyalty
Sonam Tenzin
( 21st April,
Monday)
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