I haven't read In Other Words...

In Altre Parole...

In Other Words

Neelanjana Sudeshna Jhumpa Lahiri is a name I had to write about in my pages every moment. And the rest she created was history. I never had anything much to brag about, but one. I don't know anything to speak about, but one. I have even learnt few Italian phrases and words, not because my favourite writer had learnt it for some nearly twenty years, but for that one. 

A lot later I realised what I read was not her. In Other Words was a blur to me. Why did I be so happy after reading it? After all, I read the award winning translator, Ann Goldstein. I then consoled myself that I at least had a grip on her ideas. But how is that possible? Language is like a flow in the oceans. I will flow with the waves, ebb with the tides. There was no point in consolation. I never understood Jhumpa Lahiri's memories, stories, and nostalgia in her book. What I read was just English. And this was the prime reason why I chose to keep my inner spirit walking up and down. I never wanted the sprint of Italian to die in me. I want to keep it alive...alive like nothing else in my life. 

In Other Words is in a haze for me. There are distinct shadows in the book. Starting from its cover to the blurb. Everything is hazy and indistinct. 

Indistinct ideas with shadows all around

Someday I will read Jhumpa Lahiri's In Altre Parole. Someday I too will be able to know her language...till then I want to keep her other books close to my heart since no one knows it better than me, how she had changed me in particular and my life in general. Never in my dreams did I feel that there exists such a form of love, a love which keeps you alive and make you realize that nowadays were never just days. I can relate to her, I can witness her in whatever I write. Is such a world for an aficionado? 

11th July, Calcutta.