Literary Society--Mumbai

As I'd mentioned before, there is a large East Indian population here in New York and also on the East Coast. Last night I was invited to a book event for an Indian writer--not really fair since she's a writer of Indian descent--whose book, from what I could gather, was a cross between "Devil Wears Prada" but set in the law profession. The evening was attended by all women, 97% East Indian, and 97% attorneys. I had no idea the preponderance of East Indian women going into the law profession. The book, which I didn't buy, was being hawked, albeit, quietly by the writer, who until recently had been a lawyer. See a theme here?

The evening was funny on so many levels, not all of which I can share. What I took away from the night was how similar my experiences were to those of these women. How certain experiences are universal to the immigrant story, particularly for those of us with transnational parents whether from Mumbai or Seoul. For me, the best part of the evening was talking to a publicist with a publishing house, who works on Marilynne Robinson's books, a writer I have read again and again.

It's now been over a month since our arrival. And much has happened, and then, not. Friendships, nascent bonds, are being formed slowly. Despite the number of days I am alone working, the specter of loneliness does not hover overhead. I can't explain why in the social whirl of my life in LA, the loneliness was so acute, an ache that seemed to spread to the point of suffocation. Our son, who still misses his Tia, asks for her less. By year's end, his life in LA will be a mere memory, something he will be unable to recall as easily as he can now.