I love writing. I write to vent out my pent up emotions, I write to make fun of people or (as in most of the cases) of myself and my immediate surroundings. Sometimes, I can also get a little preachy and write pages after pages about life and philosophy.
But never before did I have to write something that made me feel so uncomfortable yet passionate and important at the same time. It felt like a job long due. It was easy to keep Gogol’s memory aside all these years but when I started reading Amar Uncle’s books, I realised how hard he was trying to keep Gogol alive in his works, the translating then became more than just a weekend hobby to me. The whole thing became more of a strange passion from the deep sense of responsibility and i started doing it religiously. Maybe because I felt that it was the only way I could pay a tribute to my long lost friend- whose love I can never forget.
For one last time, I wanted to bring him to life- for the good times’ sake: for the times we had puchka together, for the times he got KitKat bars for me on the way home from school, for the times we fought about who was better at Indian Classical music- For all the fights and all the fun.
Gogol, you are truly missed. No, you can never be replaced.