Lets give the doctor some credit..huh

I apologize for the lengths I’ve written on my Indian life. It must be getting kind of old. Its just something I needed to get out. Lahiri is a fantastic writer. She is to me the master of short stories. She knows the perfect words use in every work she writes. Its simple yet engrossing.

In class the other day, my group presented the short story The Use of Force. After presenting I thought of the story a little more. I noticed we gave a whole lot of judgement towards the doctor and even more sympathy towards the girl. We went as far as describing the doctor as a rapist. Later on I started to think the doctor deserved a little more sympathy. He was only trying to help this girl who could have been dying. He had probably seen a bunch of patients die from the disease and didn’t want the same fate for her.  All she was doing was being kind of annoying by refusing to simply open her mouth. In the end we realize she kept her diphtheria a secret and was lying to her parents about her throat. Oh and not to mention her parents who were no help at all to the doctor! I now can see why he was kind of going crazy.

Interpreter of Maladies

Another story I read in Interpreter of Maladies was “Interpreter of Maladies.” I’m assuming thats the story the book was named for. Honestly, this story bothered me quite a bit. It was about a second generation Indian couple traveling to India with their children. This part that was annoying was that they seemed to know nothing about India. They were not people visiting their homeland, rather, they seemed like tourists. They didn’t know the native language evident in that their taxi driver had to speak in English to them, the mother constantly complained about everything obviously not wanting to be in India, and they were prideful that they were both born and raised in America instead of India (what disrespect to their native country). Neither of these things would I do if I were visiting India. My mother would probably slap me. You know, I hate it when kids raised here have no idea about their background. Like seriously, none of us our truly Americans (unless we’re Native Americans of course). We all immigrated to this country from somewhere else. I feel like my family history is a part of me and makes me who I am. Its really sustained me in my values, the decisions I make, and even what I want to pursue in college. Plus, I think knowing your family history is super cool. On a different note, this story also had an interesting plot that Mr. Kapasi, the taxi driver, totally thought the mother was hitting on him, however, she just wanted to share with him that her son is not her husband’s child....um ya. That was pretty nice use of dramatic irony right there. It was more like “‘Misinterpretation’ of Maladies” rather than “Interpretation of Maladies.” Weird mother...and poor Mr. Kapasi....

I recall times when friends of my parents would come over for dinner and even though they may not have had a lot of things in common they did have one thing in common: coming to America in search of a job so that their children may have a better life than they did. Thats what went on in the second story in Interpreter of Maladies called “When Mr. Pirzada came to Dine”. The story was told through the eyes of a young girl. She notes the frequent visits of a nice old man who is working in America in order to send money to his family back in Dacca. I will never understand the courage and strength my parents had to travel to a foreign country halfway around the world and having to learn its culture and language and pretty much having to assimilate into it.  And it wasn’t for themselves but for the sake of my brother and me so that we could have the opportunities we would not have been able to have back in India. This story is not only relevant to Indians but all immigrants no matter what decade or century coming to America to live out a dream.

Finally...someone who understands me

One day during a reading period for Brit Lit I had nothing to read. I meandered over to a book shelf and picked up a book with a pretty cover thinking to myself "I just need something to pass 41 minutes." Little did I know I had grabbed a book that would become one of my all time favorites. The Namesake by Jumpa Lahiri was one of the first books I could actually relate to because it was about someone who  was from India and raised in the United States, like me. I found myself laughing, tearing up, and repeatedly thinking "No way, me too!" This led me to start reading her Pulitzer Prize winning book called Interpreter of Maladies. Its a collection of short stories basically along the same ideas as  The Namesake.

The first story I read was called “A Temporary Matter” which is funny because the characters in the book seem like they have more of a Serious Matter on their hands. Its about a second generation Indian married couple whose marriage isn’t working out. I believe Lahiri’s purpose behind this story is that in Indian society marriage is considered very important and so important that divorce is practically unheard of. Every Bollywood movie, Indian tv show, Indian book is revolves around “the marriage”. It’s interesting to see that there is really no happy ending for Shoba and Shukumar with the conflicting ideas of American and Indian cultures. One where divorce is understandable and the other where (lets put it in light terms) will be a hot discussion topic amongst your parents’ family and friends. Oh, the conflictions we second generationers have...