I was nine when the first of the series came out. And the
last one saw the light of the day when I was eighteen. Most of my peers, avid
readers or not, were gorging them. Yet, I was cautious. I was reluctant to jump
into the bandwagon; even when those I can count upon in matters pertaining
to books suggested me to read it as quickly as possible. Did I lose out on
anything? Was my childhood less fascinating? Did I grow up but missed out on
the magic of these books? Many might think so. But I would rather call them
‘Muggles’. Because there is no right time for magic or for that matter anything
good in the world. All things great are never ephemeral: the moment is right,
no matter when you do it.
And so, in my youth, when life is marred by much more mundane
and realistic issues than at adolescence, I can feel again what Einstein meant
by saying that logic can take us from A to B while imagination can take us
everywhere. Kudos to J.K. Rowling and her wonderful books. I cannot thank her
enough for making me look up and around again to see the world in a different
light. A light that enables one to cross the realms of Chemistry and appreciate
the ‘subtle science and exact art’ of ‘Potions’, carries one beyond the
constraints of genetic cloning and be thrilled at ‘Transfiguration’ or make one
awed at the perfection of the GPS also known as ‘Marauder’s map’. Yet,
underneath all the charms, there runs the thread of humanity where ‘there are
more important things like friendship and bravery beside books and cleverness’
and nothing can supersede the ‘ultimate magic of love’. If you have been loved
like Harry, you need not fear because its warmth will shield you against all
evils. And if you have loved like Snape, you can defy the darkest of evil,
battle all misunderstandings and kiss the death heroically, though alone and in
silence. Then there is the wise Dumbledore with a misty past- revered by all
but misunderstood even by closed ones, full of wit and unwavering conviction
about the goodness in every being till the last breath. Although I am no Harry,
yet I am fortunate enough to have a Dumbledore in my life. It is just that his
name is Suvro Sir as he belongs to a different time and different place.
The past two weeks were like a dream run from the Philosopher’s
Stone to the Deathly Hallows. And what would I not give so that Harry’s scar
pains again and the dream run starts all over. But all good things must come to
an end and happiness is always to be measured in height than in length. And as
‘it does not do to dwell on dreams and forget to live’, so it is those
countless readers’ turn, my turn to live, to make a child smile, to help a
blind man cross the street, to pat a dog, to find beauty in the dandelions
growing in the backyard, to hug our dear ones because all these mean that the
love in the world just got multiplied.
