A Serendipity for Godric
I was rummaging around some of my old stuff just now, looking to clear up some space and discard useless junk, when I found a certain something that, I embarrassingly admit, I had forgotten about. This certain something was a eulogy written for me by my friend who goes by the pseudonym Godric Gandalf Dumbledore. He wrote this back when I was in XII standard which means, roughly a year and a half ago. I won't divulge his real name here. I apologize to him for forgetting about this eulogy.
When he gave it to me on our farewell, and I read it when I got home, I thought of writing something similar and giving it to him but due to some or the other reason, I couldn't. When I read it today, I was overwhelmed by a similar desire. I am giving this desire a form for everyone to see and for my friend to discover. I will still send him a copy of what you are about to read but I'll be omitting the lines which you already have, so he wouldn't know that this entry is on my blog. This little fact I'll leave for him to discover. Right then, moving on.
He dedicates this eulogy to me in the following manner: "To my friend, who doesn't talk much often with me." Apart from some specks of truth in the contents, this is the only thing which is completely true in the whole piece. Even though he is my friend, I didn't talk to him, or anyone else, for that matter, very much. My friend then goes on to elucidate how much influence I had on him, how I was near-perfect in my demeanor etc. These are all false. I was nothing like that then and I am even farther from that now. In fact when I read it just now, I felt that it was written with an exaggerated point of view, like my friend was standing on his toes with his arms spread wide and head held high, eyes closed; only that his head was floating in the skies of exaggeration while his toes worked hard to bring him down to reality. Nonetheless, it was a beautifully written piece as far as literature is concerned. I could write the same things abut him that he has written about me, while still lying flat on my stomach on the modest mud of reality. But I would rather present my views about him in my simple and modest manner.
He was awfully quiet and engrossed in his own work. When I saw him first in VI standard and observed him for a while, I didn't think he was capable of making any friends. He was always having arguments with fellow students and would often break down in the middle of these arguments. Frankly, he was the last person I wanted to be friends with. Five years later, we were nothing if not friends. By this time, he had conquered most of his subconscious actions that made him an object of ridicule in the younger stages of his life. How he did it, I have never known but it is something I have always been inspired from.
When I began writing, I shared my works with him. Likewise, he shared his writings with me. His pieces were so complex that their true meaning would often escape me and I would have to ask him about it. Those meanings were intricately and beautifully woven with the words he used to choose, much like those threads woven to make a fabric so resplendent that one does not want to unlock their careful links but only to wear it. I, being a fellow writer, had to take the step to unlock those links to learn a little something from him, to pluck a fruit from his tree of genius.
He had knowledge about many things, so, undoubtedly, his was the mouth to utter the correct answer to a question about practical life posed by our physics teacher. This happened so often that the teacher felt only natural to expect an answer from my friend whenever similar questions were posed.
He had some characteristics which annoyed me and still do. I guess they are there just to balance out the unusually pleasant elements and the giant storehouse of knowledge inside him so that he doesn't stray from the path of modesty and remains humble.
As opposed to the original character, may your pen be forever mightier than your sword, Godric.
-Avnish Bansal
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