Prepared for the Worst

If you could know the day you will die, would you want to? It seems like an odd question, one with many factors to consider. Benefits and consequences definitely exist for either choice made. As I look at the English calendar for December and stare at the words “In-class Essay”, I cannot help but think about this question. I am not trying to compare an in-class essay to dying; rather I am simply saying that you could categorize each as an impending doom. (I know it seems extreme, Ms. Serensky, I do not think you are bringing us closer to our death though.) In my opinion, I think I would like to know when I will die. If I knew the day I would die then I could make sure that I did everything I needed and wanted to do before that. For example, for those who die at a young age, don’t you think they would have liked to have known that? What if they wanted to go skydiving, but never bothered to find the time? Instead, they most likely did not fulfill all that they wanted out of life. If you know the day you will die then you can prepare yourself for that day in any means you see as necessary. This is why I greatly appreciate the calendars we receive from Ms. Serensky. Sure, you may look ahead and see frightening words, typed in bold, such as, “Data Sheet Due” (January 7, by the way) and shudder. But at least you know when it will happen. In other classes, it sometimes feels as if a bus has hit us when a teacher announces when the test will be. Ultimately, this calendar allows us time to plan ahead and prepare ourselves as best as we can so that when the time comes for these dreaded events we are more than ready. So, thank you, Ms. Serensky, for giving us fair warning of when our doom will finally, painfully occur.

Happily Ever After?

Several people commented on whether or not they want a “happy ending” when they read. It surprised me how many people said they preferred a more realistic, not necessarily happy ending to a book. I have to disagree with this opinion. I understand that endings can sometimes seem too idealistic, too perfect. Also, more realistic endings can provide you with more important life lessons and are often more relatable. However, when I read, or watch a movie, it gives me a chance to escape reality. So, why should I have to come out depressed? I highly doubt many children, or their parents, leave the movie theatre wishing they had seen a movie with a more realistic ending. That is like saying, “Yes, I enjoyed Finding Nemo. But I really wish that he never found Nemo, it just does not seem like real life.” In my opinion, that is exactly the point of stories-to escape from real life. Who wants to suffer through pages of their own personal struggles? Like Ashoke’s grandfather once said, books give people the chance “‘To travel without moving an inch’” (16). In a story, anything can happen. The poor become rich, families reunite, people find their one true love and live happily ever after. I guess I just cannot find anything wrong with a happy ending. It may seem odd to some, but personally, I enjoy closing the final pages of a book feeling satisfied with how it ended. I have my own life to live through reality; so, why not find a happy ending on the pages of a book?

Speak Up

After watching the movie The Namesake I find it interesting to see how the characters’ relationships appear on screen. Situations can often come across differently because of how someone says something. As I thought about different ways to say something and how each affected the meaning of the phrase, I realized something: whispering, no matter what you say, is creepy. Anything you say in a whisper sounds incredibly creepy all of a sudden, no matter how innocent it is. Take for example the question: “Do you need a ride home?” When said in a normal voice it sounds completely normal, helpful even. Now picture someone asking you the same thing but in a whisper. Now, you find yourself thinking, “Well, I had no idea you drove a white van without windows, thanks but no thanks, creepy stalker, I’ll walk home. Oh, and don’t follow me.” Even the simplest compliment sounds creepy in a whisper, something like, “I like your shoes.” Normally, you feel flattered, but when someone whispers that to you, you seem to tighten up and run the other way in fear of the person who is most likely attempting to steal your shoes. After this realization, I wondered why people whisper at all. Minus the library, I see no appropriate place or reason for whispering. It seems strange to me that movies seem to have people whisper in romantic situations. Those smooth lines would never work on me if the guy were whispering. Whispering just sounds like something is off. What’s wrong with talking at a normal volume? What are you trying to hide? So, just a little advice: do not whisper anything to people unless you are in a library. Otherwise, things just get weird.

Too Little, Too Late

A couple weeks ago, as we discussed Chapter 5 of The Namesake we wrote down notes of what we wanted to happen. As I looked through my book today, in search of memorable quote for the datasheet, I came across my list. I laughed as I read my list, realizing that out of the things I wanted to happen, nothing really did, at least not as much as I hoped for. My list read as follows:
Want to happen:
• Gogol becomes closer with his father
• Appreciates the name “Gogol” more
• Remains connected with family
• Becomes more connected with Indian culture
• Forgets anger towards names
Beginning with the first one, Gogol, sadly did not reconnect with his father before his sudden death. Only afterwards, when it was too late, did Gogol realize all that he missed out on. When it comes to appreciation for his name “Gogol,” he again appears too late. He seems to begin to appreciate his name as he realizes that he will eventually never hear it again. Instead of the triumph eighteen-year-old Gogol would have felt, he feels “no sense of victory, no solace” (289). In terms of reconnecting with his family, he puts in his best effort of doing so after his father’s death. But why he could he not have done so when his father was still alive? Again, I feel his efforts came too late. Gogol seems to connect with his Indian culture, based on apathy as opposed to truly embracing it. He agrees to meet Moushumi so that his mom will stop nagging him. The two then give in to their parents’ demands to have a more traditional Bengali wedding simply because fighting them proves too difficult. Finally, his anger towards his name only seems to fade a little after hearing of Moushumi’s affair with Dimitri, when he realizes “for the first time in his life, another man’s name upsets [him] more than his own” (283). So, based on the unsatisfactory results of my hopes for Gogol in the book, I suppose I feel that Gogol was just a little too late in life. It always seemed to take some dramatic, life-changing event for him to finally grow up. I only wish he could have realized what he had sooner than later.

I encourage you to see if what you wanted came true, and I can only hope you feel more satisfied than I do.

Poor Gogol

After reading Chapter 11 of The Namesake, my sympathy for Gogol grew. Unlike his sister, Sonia, he continues to struggle through a boring and unhappy relationship. All the initial excitement and passion in their relationship has gone away and instead replaced with dissatisfaction and a growing divide. Yet poor Gogol appears to remain hopeful. He continues to try to reignite their spark. As he waits for her to return from her supposed conference, he debates over the perfect Christmas present for her. Ultimately, he decides to plan a surprise trip for the two of them to Italy, thinking, “maybe that’s what he and Moushumi need” (272). My pity for Gogol grows because, unbeknownst to him, while he hopes to save their love, she continues to cheat on him with Dimitri and shows no effort to repair the marriage. Then, as he returns to the apartment and the doorman tells him that Moushumi returned, Gogol feels “grateful for her simple act of returning to him” (273). This line really frustrated me as I read. Not only does it make me feel more sympathetic for Gogol, but it also makes me dislike Moushumi more. All Gogol needs for his happiness is her presence, yet she cheats on him. Moushumi gets too caught up in her efforts for an exciting and independent lifestyle and ignores the fact that she has a good husband who loves her. Gogol does not deserve the disrespect he receives from Moushumi and Moushumi does not deserve him. Gogol has never treated her poorly, only looking to please her, and she treats him as if she never loved him at all. I believe Lahiri wants to create pathos for Gogol to foreshadow a greater divide between Gogol and Moushumi and ensure that the reader will support Gogol. I hope that Gogol will soon realize how poorly Moushumi treats him and get away from this horrible marriage.

Why not?: Chapter 9 Discussion Reflection

As our class discussed Gogol and Moushumi's relationship in Chapter 9, we spent a great deal of time discussing Moushumi's decision to keep her last name after the two married. We discussed our personal belief on whether or not a woman should take a man's name when they marry. This is an issue I have thought about many times before in my life. As a young girl, I felt confident that I would not take the last name of my husband. I felt this way because of one specific reason- I wanted to keep my Irish last name. My heritage represents a part of me that I do not want to lose just because I marry a man without an "O" or "Mc" in his name. However, in The Namesake, both Moushumi and Gogol fight their Indian culture growing up, often feeling more embarrassed rather than proud of their obviously Indian names. I find this surprising and disappointing. If Moushumi had married a man who was not Indian, Graham for example, I would understand her wanting to keep her name, to represent her culture. But instead she marries Gogol and still keeps her name. In fact, "the thought of changing her last name to Ganguli has never crossed [her] mind" (227). This fact bothers me far more than the fact that she does not change her name. Although, I do not know whether or not I will keep my name, I do not believe any woman should feel an obligation to change her name. Why should a person change who they have been for their whole life? I do, however, believe that the woman should have a reason for not wanting to change it. Moushumi does not provide any solid reason for why she keeps her name. As further illustrated in the chapter, Moushumi's only reason seems to be that she feels disconnected to Gogol and their marriage. Moushumi's inconsiderate attitude proves more bothersome throughout the chapter than her decision to keep her name. It simply becomes another item on the list of things she does that exemplify her lack of passion for their marriage and her desire for independence.  In Moushumi's case, I  wonder "why not?" when it comes to taking Gogol's last name.