Lahiri’s Interpreter of Maladies

  I have often wondered who I am. Am I a type or am I an exception? I like to think of myself as the modern global citizen. But what does that even mean? Does the global citizen have a cuisine to call her own? Do we have a dinner table ritual like every other culture? Do we let our children drink with us? Do … Continue reading Lahiri’s Interpreter of Maladies

Black beauty

Coffee was not always my beau. My relationship with the beverage started out as a disastrous one. I was eleven and it was a Sunday morning. As in most Bengali households, the morning ritual consisted of reading the Telegraph or Statesman and simultaneously sipping on coffee. My father, a man loyal to his habits, was doing just that. I had woken up and like any … Continue reading Black beauty

To the little girl who was afraid of the sea

When you were six, you hardly ever spoke. When in the company of strangers, you would hide behind my back and hold on to my shirt. When you were eleven we went to the sea and you were scared of how the waves splashed against the shore. You were terrified of the sound and smell of the water. You held on to my hand and … Continue reading To the little girl who was afraid of the sea

The Ghost

The bespeckled therapist gave me a puzzled look. She asked—anger at what child? Anger at what? At who? Why anger? Why not tolerance? “If I knew that I wouldn’t be here”. I am an expert at being rude and unpleasant when the situation demands it. There was a ghost in my life. The clinical term for it is ‘dysthymia or chronic depression.’ It had haunted … Continue reading The Ghost