About Whereabouts

Reading Whereabouts by Jhumpa Lahiri at this time feels so appropriate.

March is Women's History Month. Here is a novel by an incredible woman author about a woman in her mid-forties!

How many times have you came across a novel/fiction where the protagonist is a middle-aged woman leading a mundane life?

We are the forgotten lot. It is always about someone else, the kids, the society, the triumphant heroes, the troublemakers, the revolutionaries, the iconoclasts and so on, but never us.

Right there I love this book.

I also love the irony, sarcasm & cynicism that does not come from a place of bitterness. I find them quite appealing when they come from a place of owning what you feel, from refusing to get 'caught in the charade'.

Many times, I chuckled while reading. For instance, when she talks about how 'in spring, she suffers', how 'the light disorients & the fulminating nature overwhelms' her & how she 'dislikes feeling pushed inevitably forward'.

Or when she describes the hotel lobby as a 'parking garage designed for human beings'.

When she is worried about 'forgetting something crucial', as she is "about to have a perfectly forgettable day'. 

How at dawn she is 'both ablaze with energy and sapped of it'

How the people around whom her mom 'never sulked were all the people she didn't live with'.

How 'solitude demands a precise assessment of time...you need to know how much time you need to kill'.

The novel beautifully portrays the comfort of being among 'familiar strangers' in an urban cocoon. In these interactions, there is a connection but there is no obligation. 

Contrary to many reviewers, I don't think this book portrays loneliness. I don't find her solitude sad or pitiable. It seems just as perfect or just as pathetic as anyone's married life with a family & kids. It is simply another way of life, 'a road not taken' for many.

Years ago, I had watched the movie 'Pather Panchali' made by the renowned Bengali filmmaker Satyajit Ray, based on a novel written by another Bengali author (Jhumpa Lahiri is also a Bengali). I never felt the sadness or pity that many did. To me it was a slice of life. I have personally & fairly intimately known people that lived those lives, especially the old granny. A few of my dad's siblings had succumbed to mysterious illnesses at young ages. Over generations we have moved, migrated to seek better opportunities. I don't find anything particularly sad or pitiable about those stories.

Sometimes when I share snippets of our childhood, our kids conclude that we were 'poor'!

We actually never felt poor, I still don't think we were. We are physically intact, we got educated, we were surrounded by people who cared a lot about one another, we experienced everything - feeling happy & sad, hopeful & disheartened, triumphant & defeated, love & loathing, pain & passion - the whole gamut. Nothing was lacking.

[side note - I think I need to reframe my kids' definition of 'poor']

   

Anyways, now back to whereabouts, I find the story strangely liberating & oddly empowering. 

You feel the freedom to think your thoughts, feel your feelings, do anything you want or don't. 

Your life could be as mundane as it gets - a 'banal stubborn residue of life'. 

You could be 'disoriented, lost, at sea, at odds, astray, adrift, bewildered, confused, uprooted, turned around'...

but you are still its "main character".

_______________

P.S: This was the first book I reached for in the pile of books the Irish Arts Center had for distribution on #IACBookDay. I had already been fascinated by the story about this story. I am still astounded by how the author managed to pick up a new language in her adulthood, gain so much fluency and write a beautiful full-length novel in that language. This is an English translation of the original Italian novel (translated by the author herself).

All in a Day’s Commute

Chandeliers at the Grand Central Terminal

Bus chase

Was so immersed in the breakfast table conversation with S about devolving social ethos, while enjoying our latest favorite bread, sourdough, with melted brie cheese and fresh blackberries. Bonus - cup of coffee made by S, especially for me. 

In all of this, lost track of time…as usual (7:55am!). Asked S to drop me off at the bus stop, if necessary chase the bus - which we ended up doing. As luck would have it, today’s bus driver, a tiny lady, turned out to be a mean one (they tend to be kind). Even though I was at the door, she deliberately left me behind. So I got back in the car, chased her again to the next stop, went in front of her, cinematically (& dangerously) blocked her to get in to the bus - she was not happy & gave me an earful. I was in a defiant mood initially. But later, after speaking with S, thinking about people like Nando, our crossing guard & recalling my dad’s oft-repeated belief that most people are generally good (he used a more nuanced Tamil phrase. He had arrived at that conclusion after going through such unimaginable hardships in life - makes me think he must be right)…I calmed down & wished her a happy Friday while getting off. 

Upside - the commute was so fast. I got to my desk in less than an hr!! (8:50am)

Quick Catch-up

Ran into J’s dad (perks of taking public transit - you always run into someone). He was in a jolly mood. He was going to go on a city tour…on this rainy day, with some business visitors. Wished him too another happy Friday & went my way.

The Door-Holders

I usually see a few people holding the doors between the port authority bus terminal & the subway stations. They hold a cup in another hand for collecting money. I have a hard time giving away cash to beggars. There is so much internal friction. Recently I had decided that once in a while I will draw out a currency note (not coins) from my purse & hand it to the door-holders. This was more of a deliberate effort to train myself to give a bit more freely. I also justified this act thinking they were in fact performing a useful service by holding these heavy doors for us, which would be a pain for someone like me to prop open every time I pass through.

The other interesting thing is there is usually a bit of competition for the door-holder job. There are only so many doors & we have many more eager holders vying for these limited spots.

This AM though, there were no door-holders…but the door stayed open. Looks like they just stay open like that & there is no need for anyone to stand there & hold it. Wonder if the door-holders were merely touching the door, pretending to be doing something that was happening anyway 😁.

Turnstile-Jumpers

A really big guy ahead of me jumped the turnstiles only to see a cop standing right in front of him 😬…he did a quick flip & jumped back out (perhaps because it was faster than walking out) & started running. Another cop who was much shorter & smaller than the jumper swiftly chased him & grabbed him by the hoodie neck…it was such an action-packed scene - good fuel to kick start a busy day.

Narnia Festival...When Do We Celebrate Again?

Scenic Vistas of Narni, Italy

Co-authored with Sriram Padmanabhan

It seems like a dream now. Even then, it felt like one. It was July 2019, an era before coronavirus, and we were in Narni, close to the geographical center of Italy, in the Umbria region. In this rustic setting, we found artisans who invested time and patience into perfecting their craft - makers of pasta, fine jewelry, metal artwork and of course, gelato. The cobbled streets, the relaxed and convivial people, the pizzerias, and charming coffee shops (oh, the cappuccino!) conspired to form the perfect backdrop for the town’s annual music festival.