So long

It’s depressing the way comics die. At least the ones who commit suicide. Doesn’t make sense at all. Or maybe it does. They make us laugh while they suffer in silence, huh? Unfair enough. Cracking jokes for a living might sound churlish but they throw light on stuff that’s often neglected. Messiahs in their own right. With microphones in their hands, they show us the mirror while making sure we are laughing at ourselves. It’s sheer genius of comedy. Robin Williams was undoubtedly a leading star in this regard. He just knew how to tickle without being offensive. No mean writer but a splendid thinker and words were happy to be his slaves. So he ended up saying what he had to say on the stage. No wonder improvisation came naturally to him when he acted in films. Some of the memorable dialogues he quoted for the big screen were ad-libbed. And one can’t help but feel the urge to hug him the way most of his co-stars did. The warmth emanating from his characters was undeniable. Especially his pedagogy acts in Dead Poets’ Society (1989) and Good Will Hunting (1997) leave us tormented. We can’t stop feeling sorry for ourselves because we never had a teacher like him. Nobody saw through us or took time off to show us the way he did with those sweater-clad students or young Matt Damon. Maybe because we weren’t gifted enough. Regardless, his films continue to stand for unbridled joy and hope. So, in a way, it makes sense to wake up to a day that compels us to be sad for our loss.