Review By Harsimran Kaur
Rating: 5.00/5. From 1 vote.
My mind analyses what it observes, introspects the lives associated with me, and reminisces the glory and embitterment of the past clinging heavily like a neckpiece. My whereabouts are my living space – I have a peculiar affinity towards them for they bring clarity to my perceptions and peccadilloes. I usually have my favourite places to fetch necessities, pile myself with a ringworm of people or friends who give an imperceptible nod when I least expect it. I brood….”who did what,” “what makes them do uncanny stuff and boast about it,” “if all glitters is always gold.” HANG ON!! I am human and can think irrationally though my intellectuality is well under control.
This is not me speaking but the narrator in “Whereabouts.” Lahiri’s narrator is a resolute woman who is opinionated, vulnerable, ebullient, passionate and ambitious. With a cornucopia of highly accomplished literally work, Lahiri makes a striking metamorphosis in her writing style, bringing forth the many eclipses of life.
Whereabouts is a portrayal of normal life – day to day jigsaws, professional commitments, tet-a-tet with the neighbours, handling the instinctive demurs, falling in love and out of it, fortuitously meeting a stranger with a hope to carry on and a past strongly etched in the mind making an uncompromising gesture to let go.
We see the narrator reminiscing the past often, about the discordant relation between her parents, and how her mother gave in to her father’s inanimation. Further, we see her visits to the therapist, purchasing old and shattered stuff from the neighbour to ornate her home, meeting the philosopher who intrigues her sensibilities, reviving at the beach. We are taken to her favourite stationary shop, which to her chagrin gets closed down. All these sojourns and more added in the book make her reflect on her perceptions –refusing or acknowledging them with aplomb. Lahiri has effectively made us a part of the narrator, with each one of us going through the same trail.