For a few days I had become aloof in the house, avoiding my
wife and looking for a quiet corner where I can laugh myself without disturbing
her. Eventually she found out that I was
reading A. B. Paine’s account of Mark Twain’s life. Written at right about the time when Twain
bode goodbye to this world, Paine has done a remarkable job in preserving the mischievous
genius who can still make you roll on the floor once you make use of your
imaginations.
Putting aside his disdain
for religion (not sure if he really hated God, possibly he did), it is no
wonder that much of the literate world admires his life; his determination to
live a life that is here for once. At the age of 12, standing beside his father’s
death bed, he was overcome by remorse but it was too late. However, standing with him at his father’s
side, he found the loving embrace of his mother where he promised to be a good
boy but with one condition; he won’t go to school. On his father’s dead body he made his mother
to promise not to send him to school; and today, Mark Twain would be known for
his literary genius world over.
Mark Twain did not become who he became out of nothing;
there were turning points, learning curves and heart shattering experiences
that would eventually shape his personality and propel him into the world
stage.
One such turning point, according to Paine, came when he was
about 14. While returning home from his
work at a printing press, a straying leaf from some neglected history book flew
across his path. As a worker in a
printing press, his eyes were naturally attracted toward that helplessly wondering
piece of paper. Never had any
inclination to read but this time the subject matter on that piece of paper
possessed him like an evil spirit; something about Joan of Arc was mentioned on
that paper but he had never heard of this girl.
So, he asked his little brother Henry who was always the go to person
for any historical knowledge, and found out about this amazing woman in Europe.
Twain was determined to know everything about this lady, and from that day, his
appetite for history and literature knew now bounds and over time the genius of
Mark Twain found its natural expression in the world of literary giants.
To the world, he was a giant of a learned man but to the
self, he was an ordinary man who was determined to live a life that had its full
share. He was full of humor; he could
find something to laugh about even while his little brother would be crying to
death for what had happened. He was full
of curiosity; his mother would imagine of seeing his dead body being brought
home by some strangers as he would escape the guarding eyes to go on exploring
the rivers, jungles and mountains. He
was full of pride; in his letters to his brother and mother, he would brag
about his handsome salary and prosperity that came his way when he became the
youngest full pilot to navigate the Mississippi river on a giant of a
steamboat. He was full of guilt and remorse;
he never forgave himself for what happened to his little brother Henry. He was full of many things; he was a good son
and a caring brother, a loving husband and gentle father; a kind hearted friend
and a trusted comrade. He was full of
humanity.
Unfortunately, while he was full of humanity, Twain emptied
himself of all possible traces of divinity and refused acknowledge the presence
of divine in his life. He was rather
interested in dreams and psychosis than in a God his parents had known and
experienced. Reading Mark Twain reminds
us the life of Robin Williams; a man who made many laugh but did not make sure he
had the last laugh.
However, life must be lived to its fullest potential; it
must be lived when the going is good and it must be lived when the going gets
tough because there is no way of going back in time to get it right once the
needle has crossed the threshold of that milliminute. People like Twain, Williams and others remind
us that.
No comments:
Post a Comment