I just finished A House Without Windows by Afghan-American writer Nadia Hashimi. These days, I gravitate more toward non-fiction and find it more engaging. Still, I’m not ready to give up fiction entirely. A House Without Windows was my fiction pick of the month.
What’s It About?
The story begins with a murder in an Afghan home. A woman, Zeba, is accused of killing her husband and is detained, with almost no chance of survival under Afghanistan’s strict laws for women in such cases. An Afghan-American lawyer, Yusuf, arrives in the country to connect with his roots, stumbles upon her case, and decides to defend her.
Thoughts
I really enjoyed the storyline, though I found the narration slow and somewhat predictable. What stood out most was how Nadia Hashimi portrayed the Afghan-American lawyer’s struggle to balance two cultures in America. This is a story familiar to many migrants. They want to embrace the new, yet can’t fully let go of their roots.
When Yusuf starts dating, everything boils down to one question: Will she bond well with my mother? That’s such a desi trait: wanting your partner to get along with your parents, and if there’s friction, it’s often the partner who pays the price. I also liked the part where he decides to travel to Afghanistan to reconnect with his roots, eventually making peace with the country’s imperfections, because where there’s love, hate doesn’t stand a chance.
The storyline is unique, with a blend of mystique, magic, and sacrifice. I wouldn’t say I strongly recommend the book, as I personally found it slow. However, what’s slow for me might be perfectly paced for someone else.
Ending this post with some quotable quotes from the book:
Alone and free of angst and sorrow I’ve bled enough for today and tomorrow Now it is time for my bud to bloom I’m a sparrow in love with solitude All my secrets contained within me I sing aloud—I’m alone, finally!
SHE DID NOT REGRET THE CHILDREN, BUT AT TIMES SHE DID resent them. All mothers did, didn’t they? How could they not bear a little resentment toward people who took took took all the time? How could she be expected to feed them all? Where was Kamal when they were sick or tired or unreasonable?
Medicine is what this man calls his liquor Strange is the remedy that only makes him sicker.
“And women?” she asked thoughtfully. “What is the world to us?” Gulnaz offered a meek smile. “Do you not know, my daughter? Our world is the spaces between the rocks and meat. We see the face that should but doesn’t smile, the sliver of sun between dead tree branches. Time passes differently through a woman’s body. We are haunted by all the hours of yesterday and teased by a few moments of tomorrow. That is how we live—torn between what has already happened and what is yet to come.”
People only say nice things about the dead, so you never know what the truth is. You can be a brute in life, but the moment you die, all is forgiven. It used to make me mad, but now that I’m old and know what people say about me, I’m glad for it.
Men were always so frightened by their mortality that they obsessed over ways to live forever: sons to carry on their work, grandsons to carry on their name, their legacies in books, on streets, or in newspapers. Some became more desperate as their black hairs turned silver.
The protagonist of Convenience Store Woman by Sayaka Murata is unlike anyone I’ve encountered in any book. Keiko is quietly charming, yet deeply unconventional. She’s content with her simple routine at a convenience store, a place she has worked for over 18 years. This does not gel well with people around her who expect her to climb the career ladder, or “at least get married”, instead of sticking to this “lowly” job. They are unable to comprehend her happiness or her emotional detachment in situations where strong feelings are typically expected. In her own words, she’s a “foreign object.”
There are parts of Keiko’s personality I could relate to, especially her tendency to operate more from the brain than the heart. I’ve often questioned this trait in myself, particularly in political matters, where I naturally lean toward a calculated, strategic view rather than reacting emotionally. This sometimes makes people see me as cold. But that’s where my similarities with Keiko end.
I tend to get deeply emotional about things that may not always move others in the same way. My responses aren’t absent, like Keiko’s. I cry easily when I see children being affectionate with their parents or when animals are hurt. I feel emotional and distraught when I see small children picking up guns or stones in conflict zones. I want them to study and grow up contributing to society in peaceful ways. I well up seeing warmth in society. For example, when the visually impaired children sang “Happy Birthday” to our Indian President Murmu, she cried, I cried, we all cried. I’m also deeply moved by the struggles of elderly people, perhaps because I’ve spent time with them and seen what many others, especially those living far from their parents, often overlook. I do feel deeply, just not always in ways others expect, a bit like Keiko.
If you are wondering what makes Keiko strange, this snippet from the book gives an idea:
I wouldn’t say I loved Convenience Store Woman, but it was certainly thought-provoking, especially how society treats you as a “foreign object” that needs to be discarded if you don’t follow the rules. Society insists Keiko must adapt to its norms to be seen as “normal.” It does not matter to them how fulfilled or happy she is. Keiko’s struggle to meet societal expectations forms the core of the novel. Many of us might relate to this struggle with conformity. Not everyone is wired to follow every rule or expectation to the letter.
Ending this post with some thought-provoking quotes from the book:
The normal world has no room for exceptions and always quietly eliminates foreign objects. Anyone who is lacking is disposed of.
He seemed to have this odd circuitry in his mind that allowed him to see himself only as the victim and never the perpetrator l thought as I watched him.
It occurred to me that it wasn’t such a stretch to say that contemporary society was still stuck in the Stone Age after all. So the manual for life already existed. It was just that it was already ingrained in everyone’s heads, and there wasn’t any need to put it in writing. The specific form of what is considered an “ordinary person” had been there all along, unchanged since prehistoric times I finally realized.
“Look, anyone who doesn’t fit in with the village loses any right to privacy. They’ll trample all over you as they please. You either get married and have kids or go hunting and earn money, and anyone who doesn’t contribute to the village in one of these forms is a heretic.”
The Love Queen of Malabar is a captivating exploration of the life of Kamala Das, also known as Kamala Surayya, one of India’s most celebrated poets. Written by Merrily Weisbord, the book is thought-provoking, highly controversial, poetic, melancholic, and at times, shocking.
Kamala Das shares her deepest emotions with Merrily, treating her as a confidante in revealing thoughts that range from lyrical to unexpected. While the book may not appeal to everyone, it left a lasting impression on me—an eye-opener that offered a rare glimpse into the intimate world of a literary icon.
I have carefully selected some non-controversial quotes from the book. Not everything Kamala says can be shared publicly due to its sensitive nature. However, the quotes listed here provide insight into Kamala’s thoughtful persona and capture the essence of Merrily’s book.
“A writer moves away from family, old relationships, very far with the speed of a falling star,” she says. “Otherwise the writer is destroyed, and only the member of the family remains: the mother, sister, daughter, wife. The writer at some point must ask, Do I want to be a well-loved member of the family? Or do I want to be a good writer? You can’t be both at the same time. The days when you are with the children and are being a very good mother, you cease to be the writer. You feel repelled by the pen and the paper, which are definitely going to come between you and your loved ones.”
“Because the writer can give all of herself only to that task of writing. She will have to write against her loved one, put him under the microscope, dissect him, analyze his thoughts, his words. After a while he is no longer the man you held in your arms at night. You have cut him into little slivers, everything is burst open, he is seeds and pulp and juice all spread out in little bits on your writer’s table. After that, you can’t go to his arms the same way.”
If I had not learned to write how would I have written away my loneliness or grief? Garnering them within my heart would have grown heavy as a vault, one that only death might open, a release then I would not be able to feel or sense.
“Ask the books that I read why I changed,” she says. “Ask the authors dead and alive who communicated with me and gave me the courage to be myself.”
“Make a woman laugh, then make her cry, that is the secret of a good film. Not make her cry, cry, cry. What message is that for women today?”
Her dislike of organized religion is so much more pronounced than on my last visit that I wonder if any beliefs remain to comfort her. “Yes,” she answers. “A concept of God. A presence in my room. I’m not alone. I visualize a shower of moonlight falling on someone in prayer. It is a soothing exercise. I feel bathed in light, and I know there is a God.”
She tells me that even in Kerala, which prides itself on religious coexistence, she is still being attacked from both sides. The Hindu Sangh Parivar, an association of Hindu nationalist organizations, protests her ownership of the snake shrine on her own ancestral property at Nalapat because she is a Muslim. The Muslims are “disgusted” with her because she speaks against their practices and clergy, refusing to support sectarian politics she finds unpalatable. “They feel they are losing their grip on me.”
I recently completed Fredrik Backman’s Anxious People. The book is about a failed bank robbery that turns into a hostage situation during an open-house apartment viewing. The story unfolds as a group of diverse characters, each with their own personal struggles and secrets, are brought together in an unexpected and tense situation.
“Anxious People” includes dollops of humor and empathy. Backman delves into the complexities of human emotions, vulnerabilities, and how human connection and shared experiences can bind even the most distinct characters. Ultimately, humanity and kindness win.
Fredrik Backman has a knack for words. His quotes in Beartown were a class apart and remain one of the most popular pages on this blog. His writing in Anxious People is no different. In no time, he captures your heart with his words to describe emotions that are generally not easy to translate into words.
Here are some of my most favorite quotes from the book:
This story is about a lot of things, but mostly about idiots. So it needs saying from the outset that it’s always very easy to declare that other people are idiots, but only if you forget how idiotically difficult being human is.
Our hearts are bars of soap that we keep losing hold of; the moment we relax, they drift off and fall in love and get broken, all in the wink of an eye. We’re not in control.
He presses his thumbs hard against his eyebrows, as if he hopes they’re two buttons and if he keeps them pressed at the same time for ten seconds he’ll be able to restore life to its factory settings.
Because you’ve probably been depressed yourself, you’ve had days when you’ve been in terrible pain in places that don’t show up in X-rays, when you can’t find the words to explain it even to the people who love you.
At the end of your career you’re trying to find a point to it all, and at the start of it you’re looking for a purpose.
Older men rarely know what to say to younger men to let them know that they care. It’s so hard to find the words when all you really want to say is: ‘I can see you’re hurting.’
‘Do you know what the worst thing about being a parent is? That you’re always judged by your worst moments. You can do a million things right, but if you do one single thing wrong you’re for ever that parent who was checking his phone in the park when your child was hit in the head by a swing. We don’t take our eyes off them for days at a time, but then you read just one text message and it’s as if all your best moments never happened. No one goes to see a psychologist to talk about all the times they weren’t hit in the head by a swing as a child. Parents are defined by their mistakes.’
She said you can’t protect your kids from life, because life gets us all in the end.
That’s an impossible thing for sons to grasp, and a source of shame for fathers to have to admit: that we don’t want our children to pursue their own dreams or walk in our footsteps. We want to walk in their footsteps while they pursue our dreams.
There was a time when a bank was a bank. But now there are evidently ‘cashless’ banks, banks without any money, which is surely something of a travesty? It’s hardly surprising that people get confused and society is going to the dogs when it’s full of caffeine-free coffee, gluten-free bread, alcohol-free beer.
We give those we love nicknames, because love requires a word that belongs to us alone.
Good grief, no one could cope with being newly infatuated, year after year. When you’re infatuated you can’t think about anything else, you forget about your friends, your work, your lunch. If we were infatuated all the time we’d starve to death. And being in love means being infatuated … from time to time. You have to be sensible.
The problem is that everything is relative, happiness is based on expectations, and we have the Internet now. A whole world constantly asking us: ‘But is your life as perfect as this? Well? How about now? Is it as perfect as this? If it isn’t, change it!’
The worst thing a divorce does to a person isn’t that it makes all the time you devoted to the relationship feel wasted, but that it steals all the plans you had for the future.
‘And … winners earn a lot of money, which is also important, I assume? What do you do with yours?’
‘I buy distance from other people.’
The psychologist had never heard that response before. ‘How do you mean?’
‘Expensive restaurants have bigger gaps between the tables. First class on aeroplanes has no middle seats. Exclusive hotels have separate entrances for guests staying in suites. The most expensive thing you can buy in the most densely populated places on the planet is distance.’
You can always tell by the way people who love each other argue: the longer they’ve been together, the fewer words they need to start a fight.
When you’re a child you long to be an adult and decide everything for yourself, but when you’re an adult you realize that’s the worst part of it.
We can’t change the world, and a lot of the time we can’t even change people. No more than one bit at a time. So we do what we can to help whenever we get the chance, sweetheart. We save those we can.
We do our best. Then we try to find a way to convince ourselves that that will just have to … be enough. So we can live with our failures without drowning.
One of the most human things about anxiety is that we try to cure chaos with chaos. Someone who has got themselves into a catastrophic situation rarely retreats from it, we’re far more inclined to carry on even faster. We’ve created lives where we can watch other people crash into the wall but still hope that somehow we’re going to pass straight through it. The closer we get, the more confidently we believe that some unlikely solution is miraculously going to save us, while everyone watching us is just waiting for the crash.
Boats that stay in the harbour are safe, sweetheart, but that’s not what boats were built for.
Young people today. You’re so aware of how you affect your children. I heard a paediatrician say on television that a generation ago, parents used to come to him and say, “Our child’s wetting the bed, what’s wrong with him?” Now, a generation later, they come to him and say, “Our child’s wetting the bed, what’s wrong with us?” You take the blame for everything.
Nothing must happen to you
No, what am I saying
Everything must happen to you
And it must be wonderful
They say that a person’s personality is the sum of their experiences. But that isn’t true, at least not entirely, because if our past was all that defined us, we’d never be able to put up with ourselves. We need to be allowed to convince ourselves that we’re more than the mistakes we made yesterday. That we are all of our next choices, too, all of our tomorrows.
Perhaps it’s true what they say, that up to a certain age a child loves you unconditionally and uncontrollably for one simple reason: you’re theirs. Your parents and siblings can love you for the rest of your life, too, for precisely the same reason.
Recently, I came across a proficient Bollywood actress saying, “I don’t read non-fiction. My mind is fine as it is. I don’t need to learn anything more.” I was a bit taken aback by her statement. Not because she said she didn’t like non-fiction, which is entirely her personal choice, but by the fact that she thinks there’s nothing more to learn.
When we stop learning, we stop growing. I don’t think we ever reach a saturation point when it comes to knowledge. There’s always something new to study – be it from our own experiences or others. It’s impossible to learn everything by ourselves, which is where non-fiction comes in. Such books expand your horizons, even if they demand a certain amount of mental effort from us.
Not many enjoy non-fiction. It makes you feel like you are studying in contrast to a fictional book that offers a more relaxed, entertaining vibe. We have always associated non-fiction with our school textbooks. So it’s no surprise why many detest reading the genre. Personally, I find myself having to work my grey cells more when I am reading an autobiography or a self-help book. They require you to think and retrospect, which does not qualify for “easy reading.”
But to never read non-fiction, in my opinion, is a sin. You have some of the world’s best documenting their experiences and learnings on a subject of interest in the most compact form possible to help others who would otherwise have spent countless hours trying to learn the same. Why miss that golden opportunity?
Here are some reasons why you should consider reading non-fiction:
It allows you to learn from other people’s mistakes. The people who have written the books have more experience than us regarding certain subjects, so why not trust them? When you read through their mistakes, you get to learn what to avoid.
Some points stick. When you read non-fiction, you can be assured some valuable points will stick. You will end up discarding a lot of info that doesn’t align with your thought process. Still, you will unknowingly absorb valuable insights for future use. When the time comes, these tidbits will hover over in the background, helping you make the right decision. You might not remember which book you got the idea from, but the important thing is you retained the information for personal use. This can be very useful, be it at work, studies, or even personal day-to-day interactions.
They give you a new perspective. When I go through self-help books, I am almost always gifted with a new way of perceiving things, which I wouldn’t have if left to my own devices. The people around me are echo chambers, and we often hear the same viewpoints repeatedly. This is why people tell you to travel – so you get to experience different cultures, values, and insights. A more accessible, affordable option is to read non-fiction. It broadens your horizons, making you understand that yours is not the only way to live. There are many different kinds of people with different stories, unique experiences, and beliefs. Non-fiction helps you explore all of it in the comfort of your home.
I agree you can do all three by watching YouTube videos or listening to podcasts, but there’s only so much you can include in video and audio formats. In comparison, books are able to contain a lot more information. Plus, scanning or searching for info in a book is easier, especially if you own a Kindle.
So, do give non-fiction a chance by picking a topic of interest. You do not have to finish everything in one go. Try five pages, a chapter, or even one page instead. Each page you finish takes you that much closer to developing a new mindset.
Rumi has a way with words. His love for all things divine and spiritual is like a medicinal balm for a tired soul. I am always swept away by his verbal dexterity and his nonchalant aura. He has the power to induce both transcendence and melancholy in a single frame and you are left craving for more by the end of each couplet.
There is a neat little book available for Amazon Prime subscribers for free called “Rumi’s Little Book of Life.” It is a quick read filled with wisdom, dreamy poetry, and wonder. An enchanting journey that takes you through Rumi’s ruminations on life (see what I did there?).
Here are a few of my favorite quotes from the book.
Why do you seek water when you are the stream?
Indulging our pride, we run after every fleeting image.
How odd that being so unimportant we cultivate such grand illusions.
The intellect is luminous and seeks justice so why does the dark ego prevail over it? Because the ego is at home in the body while the intellect is only a visitor, the ego-dog at his own door is like a lion.
Embrace sorrowful thoughts for they sweep the house of your heart clean, scatter the withered leaves, and pull out the twisted roots, preparing the ground for the new shoots of joy. What sorrow takes away from the heart it replaces with something better. Without the fury of thunder and lightning the plants will be scorched by the sun. Be grateful for all you receive, good and bad alike, for it may be a gift from the treasury of Spirit that will bring the fulfilment of your most secret desire.
You carry a basket full of bread, yet you beg for crumbs from door to door. You are up to your knees in water, yet you beg for a drink from everyone you see. Why are you so blind and stubborn? Beg at the door of your heart instead.
My heart whispered, “Do not be so concerned, in the midst of people I am like a gold coin hidden in the dust, but even gold cannot find buyers unless it is brought out from the depths of the mine into the light.”
The night is blind to the glory of dawn man is blind to the glory of the lover. He who complains of burning is not a lover for the lover’s heart is constantly on fire.
Of the rain at night no one is aware for every soul is asleep. Yet the freshness of the rose garden in the morning is evidence of the rain that no one saw.
Many pass their lives deprived of love unaware that their heart is dark and narrow where the sun never penetrates. A grave is better than such a heart.
The body is like a pot with the lid on. Lift the lid to see if it is filled with the Water of Life or the poison of death. Focus on the contents and you will become a master focus on the pot and you will be misguided. Your eyes only see the body while the spiritual eye perceives the soul.
My heart twisted with passion in the fire of your words. Now I see what I saw as fire was only ice what I saw as water, only a mirage and our story, an old forgotten dream.
There are hundreds of religious books yet they are all one chapter, there are a hundred different holy places yet only one altar. All roads lead to the one House from one seed a thousand ears of corn emerge. There are many kinds of food and drink with one purpose only, to feed. The eyes of hunger are greedy, when satiated with one kind of food all others become repulsive to your heart. I dissolved as a grain of salt in your Sea of Serenity. Nothing remained, no faith, no certainty, no doubt. In my heart a star was born and inside all worlds dissolved.
The Monkey Dilemma 
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