HAPPY BIRTHDAY, FYODOR DOSTOYEVSKY!

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I am sorry I fell sick and the birthday wish comes a tad belated, 6 days to be precise. But it is nigh impossible to have a week pass by without sending across my shout to you, Mr. D! You absolutely know how special you are, don’t you? That skill you have, ah! How envious am I of it? That wizardry of turning the mirror to reflect my darkest corners yet ensuring I never break the mirror in disgust! How clever, dear Sir! That surreptitious landing that you never fail to slip in, that soft cushion that you provide my feeble self while I stare agape at the unpleasant edges of my personality in your works – they all have a certain paternal feel to it. You are a wise elder whom I would love to share with people I think and wish good of. And even those I kind of don’t like all that much, so they fine-tune themselves to enter into my friends’ club! 😉 

For a person who had a near brush with death early in life, the narrow escape alone, might have been a force to exert for the rest of your life, isn’t it? It just feels like that; having some milestone event, even if dark, to propel us onto a path that we had held in abeyance until then. For a person like me, hopelessly optimistic and perennial sunshine-chaser, it never occurred that a sky overcast with dark clouds would also bear me vision of my being. But you did conjure that picture, with a careless artist’s brush. It almost felt effortless to fall under your spell, tumbling into abyss but unraveling a door to my being at periodic junctures during my descent.

Considering the tumultuous life you lived, it only seems right to render your writing escapades, your savior, your shot at keeping your heart afloat. It does work for me, mostly. I never recovered from Notes from Underground. There was such profundity in it, an almost prophetic element.

“Man only likes to count his troubles; he doesn’t calculate his happiness.”

I have always found solace in your thoughts; I think you did too. For being a recluse, may one never pay, but for being silent, may one always express. I found timid voices in your protagonists, who donned a peace blanket belying blazing fire. I am glad they spoke in such retrained fury, such contained reactions; they validated many of my fears that ached for solidarity.  Be happy wherever you are, Mr. D; I know, no underground or possession can ever restrict your spirit.

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