Unaccustomed Earth

by Jhumpa Lahiri

But death, too, had the power to awe, she knew this now—that a human being could be alive for years and years, thinking and breathing and eating, full of a million worries and feelings and thoughts, taking up space in the world, and then, in an instant, become absent, invisible.

Being here for a week, however pleasant, had only confirmed the fact. He did not want to be part of another family, part of the mess, the feuds, the demands, the energy of

that the entire enterprise of having a family, of putting children on this earth, as gratifying as it sometimes felt, was flawed from the start.

I fell in love with Deborah, the way young girls often fall in love with women who are not their mothers.

I felt protective of her, aware that she was unwanted, that she was resented, aware of the nasty things people said.

As we drove home from the wedding I told my mother, for the first but not the last time in my life, that I hated her.

She had indulged him, just as her family had indulged him once a year in their home, offering a small piece of herself and then shutting the door.

felt flattered, though I had nothing to do with the weather.

My father had always been an early riser, believing that the hours between five and seven were the most profitable part of the

sat up and watched, imagining the rest of Chitra’s hair turning gray one day, imagining her growing into an old woman alongside my father the way my mother was meant to. That thought made me conscious, formally, of my hatred of her. As

Their parents had liked one another only for the sake of their origins, for the sake of a time and place to which they’d lost access. Hema had never been drawn to a person for that reason, until now.