How do I address someone who has left our world? How do I address someone I have never met but have formed an intimate bond reading his books? Books which helped me understand a fraction of this mess called love?
I look at the text, he wrote, again:
“She would defend herself, saying that love, no matter what else it might be, was a natural talent. She would say: You are either born knowing how, or you never know.” ( Love in the time of Cholera)
I have struggled with love all my life. I have dissected it and lost its essence in the analytical knife (as Robert Pirsig might say). I have gone too far following the map of my heart and come back, lost. And yet with all the experience, I cannot pin point what love is all about – half happiness, one-fourth jealousy, one-fourth compassion? One third action, two-thirds destiny? But Gabriel Garcia Marquez, did it all, flawlessly with foibles all over. Every blemish connects to a smooth reasoning; every scar lights up a memory. All his stories resonate with the strains of heart – pulled to sing.
I give him the credit to make me believe in the fantasy of love, no matter how nonsensical, like all exceptional things seem to be. He is the reason, I took a stab at writing; he is the reason, I’d never grow tired of reading. He is why I pick up a love story with a slight shiver of passion, hoping it will open some of the locked doors in my mind. And today, as I write this, as just one of his countless fans, all I can say is that I am grieving, but am blessed to have read his words, his sentiment and his beliefs that have enabled me to see more, feel more.
A writer is only covered in thoughts when he writes. Of plots, of reasoning, of emotions and he funnels what he loves most, one way or other. He writes a love letter to his reader, hoping the person holding his book, someday, might find a related experience, an identical thought which tears him up, or makes him laugh or cringe at the similarities of our organic itinerary. He hopes that his words might answer some of reader’s irritating what if scenarios, his passionate course towards the same destination of happiness and desire, and the realization that we are connected even if we live different lives in different places. That we all suffer with same woes, we all exalt in the same bliss. Also, it is universal, what we call love (and its affectionate and nasty cousins) – even if some of us are unable to explain it. And when the mayhem of life ends, the consolation to go in peace into the arms of something bigger – is the promise of an everlasting love.
So, Rest in peace, Mr. Marquez, I will always love you.
“It was as if they had leapt over the arduous cavalry of conjugal life and gone straight to the heart of love. They were together in silence like an old married couple wary of life, beyond the pitfalls of passion, beyond the brutal mockery of hope and the phantoms of disillusion: beyond love. For they had lived together long enough to know that love was always love, anytime and anyplace, but it was more solid the closer it came to death.”(Love in the time of Cholera)