I had read an excerpt of one of the stories of this book in a literary magazine…..and I quite liked it. In a small dose, the excerpt showed Jhumpa Lahiri as an accomplished writer. Her prose is simple and strong with an ability to connect with the reader on a variety of shared emotions. So when I found the book at a friend’s place (Rupa…! Finally I put your name in a post…. happy?! J), I picked it up with much excitement.

A few stories down and for me the book became a good example of how one must not judge the book by its cover (Also made me recall a sermon my dad gave me long ago on why I should pick my friends after a more careful thought through examination). The first few stories are interesting… one is amazed by her artistry with feeling and describing human emotions. The story telling style keeps one hooked and wondering where its leading… but invariably when one gets there, the end is so mundane that sometime’s one is found wondering if the journey through the pages was worth it.

And it’s not just that… After the first few stories…it gets a little repetitive. One can’t but say ‘Enough with the Indian American Immigrant stories with the Bengali people!’ I like variety when I’m reading short stories…. And this book was a disappointment from that angle. Bengali Parents, Macher Jhol, Misfits in American society, Calcutta reveries, Death and changing relationships… yeah…yeah… we get it.

I know she’s an award winning writer and all, but I don’t have to like the book just because of that. 

Reading other reviews on this book made wonder if I lacked some emotional depth that other people seem to have. I didn’t feel any of the much touted ‘gripping emotions’ of human relationships dripping through the pages. One Mr Chanakya warns in his review “Don’t be terribly surprised if you find your eyes moist while reading the book since it actually touches you where it matters the most.” Ouch…. For me after the 3rd story, my eyes were moisting with boredom!