For a bibliophile who fell in love with Joyce’s vast, exploratory, swashbuckling devil-may-care attitudinal writing last year, this is a first anniversary of sorts. Ulysses was, is and I am certain would be, a book to read and drive rebirths, to re-read. Should I say I loved the book because I understood it, I would be misleading myself and anyone reading this, for how exactly does one understand a multiverse of human behavior, seeped in the deep undertones of societal, political, religious, emotional, philosophical, psychological, linguistic, academic and mysterious hues, across a pantheon of 800 riveting pages, in one, single reading? Well, atleast I could not. But what I could, was to love it; like how one does when one comes across a beautiful thing – enigmatic, partially comprehensible but beautiful nonetheless.

I have, since then, been in awe of Joyce and have longed to have lived in an era where he lived, breathed, ate, drunk, imagined, struggled and wrote. This day, comes close, to having that longing answered. To read about joyous people, struck by the Joycean fever, across the world, to see millions embracing his cryptic messages amidst great enthusiasm, to discover hitherto unwritten articles about the history of this day and its many interpretations, to join in wacky celebrations from far-off continents, to find book-marks and discover new and quirky ways to bring him closer to my world, to know a little more about him than yesterday.

This day, today, I have made two resolutions: one, to read Finnegan’s Wake and two, to visit his home and hangouts in Ireland. I have given myself a time frame of two years for achieving what I have set out for. But just in case, I slip off my target, let it be within next 7 years at least! 🙂


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