What makes a Classic

Ever so often I ask myself, what makes a classic? What is it that consigns some literary efforts to the cesspool of morbidity, at the same time lifting a few others, anointing them Helens of the literary world? Could characters and characterization, plots and protagonists have so much an influence or is there more?
Justifying a classic is a distasteful job. As a famous somebody put it, it would be like “…smashing up a Rolex and studying it contents in an endevour to understand its working”. And yet that is the true test of fire; while a passable work would struggle to cling on to its identity, every shard of the classic, in spite of the incompetent dissection, proclaims aloud its elite genesis and its sonorous wisdom.
A classic is a classic because it remains contemporary at all times. Socrates didactic rejoinder to his accusers is as apt today as it was millennia ago. Can the same be said of “How Opal Mehta Got Kissed, Got Wild, and Got a Life”? The example I give is but a representative of the zillions of books written, published and “oomphed” by critics, media and the gullible reader only to bite dust faster that their meteoric rise.
The sobriquet “classic” is not lightly given. A classic, with its lilting flow, uplifts the most depressed of hearts. It represents human thought at its pinnacle, and epitomizes the art of incorporating the thought into the history and histrionics of an individual. This doesn’t imply classics belong to only the genre of serious literary works. The subtle humour of P.G. Wodehouse’s works ensures a place for his creation in every listing of all time classics. And who can forget “Three Men in a Boat” or “Don Quixote”. If these cannot be classified as classics, what would be?
A classic remains so because it evolves with the reader. Each time you read it, it offers you a new perspective on life and living; a perspective that applies aptly to the mental status and maturity of the reader. Give Ayn Rand’s “Fountainhead” a second, third and fourth reading and yet on the fifth, it displays a hitherto unseen facet of itself. This is what makes a classic truly timeless, it is a heady mix of the ancient and contemporary.
What better way to define a classic than to quote the foremost? Falling back on the sweetest memories of reading, let me mention some that I would deem fit for the coveted title. The result, picture the condition of a ravenous treasure-seeker who sights a pearl at every step. My condition is no different. I quail to grasp at any of the multitude of fond memories; for in grasping one, you commit the sacrilege of omitting innumerous others.
I have reached the end but i do not seem to have the checklist that I set out to prepare, the touchstone to test the “classicity” of a work is still elusive. And let it be, for can true beauty be ever defined in terms of ratios of the size of the nose to its length? And even if it can be, who cares; I refuse to decide my life partner based on the length of her nose. Let my eye measure, my mind analyze but I would only listen to my heart.