as the light goes dim ....

I am dog tired. It's been an extremely hectic day today and now my J2EE engine honked (or conked?) out. So, I might as well take sometime, pen a few words down and call it a day. Wanted to quote a story in my own words (which technically is not quoting, I agree. But I like to rewrite stories that I like, in my own words in an attempt to give life to the characters that those stories leave in me and go.). But I am too tired for that - and in such times and tone, an appropriate topic would be Jhumpa Lahiri.

I have as of now read all her works (she saved me a lot of trouble by just writing a collection of short stories and a novel till now). I am not a great fan of her work - Her words neither touch me deep down nor revolt with my inner self leaving a mark of its own in my continuous metamorphosis. So many times when I read her works, I keep asking myself why I am spending my precious time reading her books. But there's a taste that lingers on my mind after I finish, it's not strong, or distinct enough to be delicious or sharp but it's still there.

It's probably marketing - years ago, I remember reading a review in The Hindu of her work. That probably left an impression so strong that I have so far spent about a grand buying her works. Doesn't make sense. Not that I am extremely choosy when buying books but I am when I have to repeat authors (I have shunned John Grisham since Street lawyer and Arthur Hailey since Evening news - what pathetic books!).

It's definitely much more than that - There is something so soft and silky about her work - I don't remember reading words like flabbergasted, shell-shocked, blasted, nasty ... or any of these words that paint the canvas a little gorier than usual. The greatest sorrow is expressed in silence or not expressed at all. It's like the flow of a river through levelled plains - there are pebbles in the course, tiny whirlpools and occasional spurts of beauty that have not been humanly orchestrated but just happened to be there in perfect alignment. The farther you are from the river, the more beautiful it looks - take it pixel by pixel, there's not a difference between one point in the river to the other. There are no waterfalls that make your hearts race nor sinking ships for which a feline lion sings and makes you weep. But walk by its side, at peace with yourself and the work. Just as you hit the hectic highways look back and admire it glistening in the crimson light, just as serene and simple as you saw it when you walked with it.

Another person I am reminded of when I read her is R K Narayan - lucid is the word. There are no convoluted plots, no complex jargons for simple expressions. It's a simple story about simple men - Just like Jhumpa lahiri, all his characters are out the same box, each of them carved out of the same wood (middle class brahmin men in case of RKN, and bengalis settled abroad in case JL). While Rk Narayan spices his stories with his wit and sense of humour, JL relies more on an invisible pall of pain and nagging feeling of incompleteness that you feel when you are out of place to weave the canvas of all her stories.

Do read the namesake when you find time - personally, I felt the title was a misfit. But, I could relate to the protagonist a lot. It's about us - walking men by our side of the roads in zebra crossings, misplaced in the axes of space and time living life devoid of the pressures of being England's most powerful weapon, or the lonely american crusader to save the human kind, worrying about the brand of butter on their daily bread, laundry timings, falling hair, soiled undergarments and new year cards that they forget to send - loving, leaving, grieving for loved ones all in an effort to find answers to their being - much like me. So much like me.

PS: Just as I was closing thought of other books/Authors very similar in style

- Haruki Murakami's The Wind-up Bird Chronicle

- Ha Jin's The Crazed

- The movie, Lost in translation