Love in the Time of Name-Dropping Márquez

Pop Culture

Love in the Time of Name-Dropping Márquez

Illustration: Sushant Ahire

I

was slaving through the brutality of Bombay’s April sun, trying to hack it as an unpaid intern in an advertising agency, when I heard that Gabriel García Márquez was dead.

It was an inopportune time, though to be honest, news of this magnitude would have been unfortunately received whenever it would have been heard. But that particular moment seemed like a particularly cruel choice by the universe. I was whoring out my words to make someone else money and my ideals were crumbling around the scaffolding of my education. I had been told, in no uncertain terms, to forget how words can dance off the page in inconsistent metres and how to pack your memories in a box and unpack it in syllables. I was learning how words could sell, and then, Gabriel García Márquez was dead.

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