I just read a piece by an American born writer with Indian descent named Jhumpa Lahiri. The work is called "The Third and Final Continent" and it is an installation into a series of stories compiled and named "Interpretor of Maladies". This story chronicles the journey of an Indian man to three continents as he is securing a place for he and his wife. The road in which Lahiri takes you and how you take the journey with this man is such an emotionally compelling read.
I haven't considered myself a huge fan of writing(mainly because of too much effort to create underlying messages) but Lahiri's writing has struck a profound chord with me. Her writing is rich in description and she posseses and ability to put you right into the world in which she is writing...and there isnt some sort of burden to create asthetic beauty in writing that only college professors and their A achieving students strive for. It's the same as music...too many composers these days write to please themselves and their professors rather than to create emotionally imapcting pieces for human kind. Lahiri provides a style in which all humans can benefit from and create new understanding. That is what writing and the communication arts should ultimately do...impact other people...not just yourself through high achievemtns in making things hard to read.
Here is the ending thoughts of this story as the Indian man is reflectin upon his journey:
Still, there are times I am bewildered by each mile I have traveled, each meal I have eaten, each person I have known, each room in which I have slept. As ordinary as it all appears, there are times when it is beyond my imagination.
I have blogged this thought before but ill say it again. Every human has an individual story that is unique and beautiful. American society is so caught up in the mind of work and money that there is less "stopping to smell the roses" I suppose. Did you meet someone new today? Inyour city of say about 1 million people, you met this one person...Susan. Say susan knows someone that you do? How is that not beautiful in it's own respect? When we're working commuting between chores industrializing allt he edges of the world...do we stop to realize the beauty of our existence? How has everything become to "ordinary"? Why is it seldom for people to pause from their own life and appreciate the beauty of others? Questions can go forever on this subject...
But is our existence on this planet that ordinary? The fact that you are reading my words right now is a mircale in itself.
