Family matters (original 2002; edition 2002)

I had read this some years ago, but now "read" in again as an audio book. It is the saga of a Parsi family in Bombay/Mumbai and is a great story, well told. ( )

Generally I prefer the middle of books, and feel let down or unsatisified by the ending. With [book:Family Matters] I felt the opposite. I really had to push myself through the middle, but enjoyed the ending. The conclusion is realistic, consistent with the overall tone and message of the book, and sufficient in wrapping up the story without 'happily ever after' or other drivel.

It's a story about three adult siblings who have to take care of their aging invalid father. Jal and Coomy are full brother and sister, unmarried, living with their step-father but deceptfully unload him on Roxana, their half-sister, and her husband and two boys. Roxana's home is much smaller and money becomes even tighter. Everyone struggles between obligation and personal desire and the father's 'scandalous' past.

Though the narrative is placed in India, and its politics, customs, society and religions play a part in the story, the matters of family (and the point that family is important -- both of which are neatly conveyed in the title) applies to every culture and country.

This book is a good one to begin with if you're new to [author:Rohinton Mistry]'s novels. It is just as realistic and unapologetic in its portrayal of life in India (as far as I know) as [book:A Fine Balance], but it is less depressing (and shorter). ( )

As Nariman counts his last breaths amid the serene violin rendition of Brahms Lullaby, played by Daisy, my mind races through a gloomy apartment where the stale odor of eau de cologne amalgamates in the air of misery thriving among the bustling of outside traffic and noisy vendors trying to earn their daily wage unaware of Nariman’s existence. The acridity of my parched throat makes me think about my death. Will I die as a happy soul or will death be a gift that I would crave in the course of vulnerable seclusion? This is how Mistry’s words affect me, as I breathe and feel every emotion that flows through the ink. It is not because of my familiarity with the physical surroundings or the Parsi community, but the fact that Mistry writes a simple story of nameless ordinary faces with astonishing lives.

Old age and Parkinson’s disease has not only bed-ridden Nariman but made him a burden on his financially challenged children. Coomy and Jal, his step-children, both heading their prime and plagued by their own ailments coax Nariman’s biological daughter Roxanna into providing healthcare to her ailing father. A middle-class housewife with two young kids and a budgeted monthly survival faces a monstrous task by burning the candle at both ends. The woes of middle-classes ripened by bigotry and communalism are highlighted with sheer accuracy throughout the manuscript. The preposterous stubbornness of arranged marriages, the segregation of religious identities, stigmatism of step-parental aspects and the eternal financial instabilities mesh into a burdensome desperation of graphic cunningness. In Asian cultures, looking after elderly parents is viewed not only dutiful but the most obedient thing to do. The concept of old-aged homes is highly condemned in the Indian society (also, many other Asian cultures). Old age can be cruel and if plagued by incurable diseases it becomes a metal cage. A man who once was free to walk in the by lanes of his vicinity and enjoy a wonderful German orchestra at the nearby concert hall; Nariman was reduced to a mere caged mortal who longed for freedom to breathe fresh air, feel the splatter of rainwater as he walked through the puddles and for once make his own choices without being reprimanded for his doings. I empathize more towards Nariman than any other character in the book. Nariman could never marry his true love Lucy, for she was a Catholic, he could not bring his step-daughter (Coomy) to accept him as her father and now he was the sole reason for the rifts between his children. I wonder if my grandparents could have had found happiness if they were not arranged to be married? What would the circumstances be if my father was not financially well enough to take care of my grandfather during his last days surviving cancer? Would we have been deprived of basic amenities like butter or hot water and frantically hoped to find additional money in the budgeted envelopes of monthly payments? In a society where corruption is spelled in gold letters, and a man’s potency is derived from his monetary success, money matters; come what may.

Each sketched characters defines the ebb and flow of life and its greatness that we as children dream to achieve. Right from Nariman to Roxanna and even Yehzad (Roxanna’s husband) who once nurtured the dream of Canadian immigration, somehow end up in a vortex of familial or financial obligations of a capricious life. Mistry does not adhere either to pompous melancholic facades or epical anecdotes. He throws out the phrase of ordinary people with ordinary lives. For if, lives were ordinary, nostalgia would not be such a pain in the arse and worries would not construct topsy-turvy pathways.
( )

I read this right after having read Such a Long Journey. I thought this book was well written but it lacked some spark, some edge. I didn't find it as funny or engaging as his debut novel, Such a Long Journey. His characters here are well developed and the overall story is interesting. Yet, I wasn't moved. Or perhaps I've gleaned some personal technique or formula/style and it wasn't as novel (no pun) reading a 2nd book, back to back, from the same author.

I think I'll wait awhile before picking up Fine Balance. ( )

They continued to cope, poorly, with the excretions and secretions of their stepfather's body, moving from revulsion to pity to anger, and back to revulsion. They were bewildered, and indignant, that a human creature of blood and bone, so efficient in good health, could suddenly become so messy. Neither Nariman's age nor his previous illnesses had served to warn them. Sometimes they took it personally, as though their stepfather had reduced himself to this state to harass them. And by nightfall, the air was again fraught with tension, thick with reproaches spoken and silent. (p 68)

Nariman Vakeel is an elderly, retired English professor suffering from Parkinson's Disease. He lives in the family home -- ironically named Chateau Felicity -- with his middle-aged step-children, Jal and Coomy. Nariman married their mother Yasmin when Jal and Coomy were children, after his family forbid him to marry his true love, Lucy. He raised them along with a younger half-sister, Roxana. Coomy is filled with resentment; everyone else walks on eggshells to avoid her bitterness. Jal feigns obliviousness, tinkering with his hearing aid when tempers flare.

When Nariman falls while out on a walk, Jal and Coomy are quickly overwhelmed by the responsibility of caring for him. Coomy wastes no time tricking Roxana into taking him in. Roxana and her family live in a smaller flat and struggle to make ends meet, but they are blessed with a more positive outlook on life. Even Roxana's young sons take things in stride:
The balcony door framed the scene: nine-year-old happily feeding seventy-nine.

And then it struck her like a revelation -- of what, she could not say. Hidden by the screen of damp clothes, she watched, clutching Yezad's shirt in her hands. She felt she was witnessing something almost sacred, and her eyes refused to relinquish the previous moment, for she knew instinctively that it would become a memory to cherish, to recall in difficult times when she needed strength. (p. 98)

But as weeks pass, the strain takes its toll on everyone. Coomy takes dramatic steps to keep up the illusion she is unable to care for Nariman. Jal is silently complicit. Roxana tries, in vain, to stretch Yezad's salary to cover the cost of Nariman's medication. And Yezad responds to the financial strain through a series of progressively destructive acts aimed at improving their financial situation. Eventually they hit rock bottom in ways both inevitable and shocking, and are then faced with the challenge of rebuilding what they hold most dear.

I put off reading this book for some time, thinking it might strike too close to home. My father has Parkinson's, and last year a medical incident set in motion a series of events culminating in my parents' long-overdue move to a continuous care retirement community. Family Matters was indeed painful to read, although I could distance myself from it because the Vakeel family's situation was very different from mine. And yet there are valuable messages in this book about the importance of family, and living for today, that are still with me days after finishing the book. ( )