“Estella, to the last hour of my life, you cannot choose but remain part of my character, part of the little good in me, part of the evil. But, in this separation I associate you only with the good, and I will faithfully hold you to that always, for you must have done me far more good than harm, let me feel now what sharp distress I may. O God bless you.”
~ Charles Dickens, Great Expectations
And, she was no ordinary woman; the ending perhaps wasn’t something that Dickens might have thought of, but nevertheless She was my Estella, will forever be.
Reading Dickens and relating to the characters crafted by him had always been a thing for me, from being pulled out of the washroom where I was engrossed in reading David Copperfield to weeping myself to sleep when I connected to the character of Pip in Great Expectations, Dickens had always something to offer to my soul which craved for a little love, suffering and a conquest which seemed hard.
A Tale of Two Cities, opened up an entirely different perspective for the mind, the years leading up to the French Revolution and the contrasts between London and Paris, and the book symbolic of possibility and resurrection. And, the character of Lucie Manette. Blue eyes and golden hairs, her compassion and loyalty.
I had always been driven by the way Dickens portrayed the way love happened, the backdrop of at least something holding it back, clashing ideals of virtues and evil; at times. I had often in my mind fallen for the women crafted and created by Dickens, be it Dora, Estella or Lucie Manette, so much so that I had envisioned falling in love and tearing my heart open for a woman with traits like them.
But, life is no story plotted by Dickens with a happy ending, although I did go on to find the Woman, who would personify all the three characters, but life being life had a different plot. Not all characters of my life were straight out of Dickens’ stories, I had my Estella, my fate Ms.Havisham.
She now remains confined to a compartment which now beats and pumps and does nothing good.
The sun that shone Dora, the wind that blew Dora, are engaged in doing the same, they play the same game, but with Dora now but a figment of my memory, it seems to be a bit jaded; it’s beautiful nonetheless.
Separation it was, Dickens would have been happy too, and that’s the saving grace. His words, characters and my childhood doesn’t seem like a myth I lived, all the words I read, all the tales I romanticised, I am finally living it all. And, now as I sit and flip the pages over, all that I find marked in between the yellow stains is a reflection of me, me aged 14. Estella, I had loved you since then, and perhaps in this separation too, I believe you shall be loved, held and found every time I turn the pages, Dickens shall bring you back to me.
The South wind will blow Dora, the wild flowers in the hedges will be Dora’s again.
“I wish you to know that you have been the last dream of my soul.”
Charles Dickens, A Tale of Two Cities
abhishek purkayastha 