I introduced my students to Modern Love by reading “I Wanted To Love Her, Not Save Her” aloud, and explaining the structure of the narrative essay. Then I encouraged them to read at least two more essays of their choice.
Next, I assigned them to assume the voice of one of the characters from “Interpreter of Maladies” and write their own Modern Love column as if they were that character. I stressed that their essays should be simple, clear, include dialogue and tell the story. The essay did not have to have a traditional happy ending, but I asked my students to make a clear point about love. I assigned them a minimum of 1,000 words — not quite as long as the Modern Love column, but long enough that they would really have to get into it. I allowed students to pull entire settings and dialogue straight from the story, but emphasized that the entire column should read more conversationally than the book.
With this assignment, I wanted students to try to feel what it was like to be another person, and to break down the biases that the stories were bringing up in them. I also knew they would learn more about the characters and understand them better by speaking in their voices. It was almost a back door to real literary analysis, as opposed to the analytical paragraph and essay writing they do all year long. And I just knew they would have fun.
Here is what one student came up with when he wrote from the perspective of Dev, a married man who has an affair in the story “Sexy”:
When I met her at the counter of a makeup store, I could tell right away she would have an impact on life. Even though I was a married man, something about her caught my attention. I thought to myself I’m not wearing a wedding ring for a reason. I remember the first words she said to me in a soft voice, as she said, “I don’t usually like men with a mustache.”
I quickly responded in a flirtatious manner, “Is there something different about me?”
“Yes, you’re handsome, very handsome,” she told me.
This was the initial spark in a relationship that would give me butterflies. We started off by spending almost every night together. It helped that my wife was out of the country, making it much easier to spend time with her. The passion I so quickly gained toward this woman had never happened to me before. The feeling of being in love like this was new to me. She knew what to say and when to say it. One night I remember so vividly as she talked about how “it felt lonely to always be alone.”
She then quickly followed that up saying, “Until I met you.”
The feeling I got inside my stomach when she said this was indescribable, as I then responded to her by saying, “I’m so happy we met.”
This student found a way to humanize Dev, who in Lahiri’s story comes across as selfish, and who doesn’t seem to care very much about his wife or his mistress. But here, Dev is a loving, engaged partner rather than someone simply looking to use a woman for a sexual relationship.
Another student wrote about “A Temporary Matter,” a story about a stillbirth that has the effect of separating a husband and wife. The student takes the perspective of Shukumar, the husband, who cannot find his way through his grief and back to his marriage.
It was the worst day of my life. We got in the car after leaving the cold left wing of the hospital, and in some ways I was dreading going home. It was a way for me to escape, to walk around a little and get away, and while I hadn’t told Shoba this, I had held the baby after he had died. When I was in the hospital, it was easy for me not to tell her and, besides, I knew it would hurt her if I did. I just thought it was best that I kept this to myself.
As we were entering the car, we both paused and looked at the baby seat in the back. I watched as a tear fell down Shoba’s face. She tried to keep it discreet, but it was too late. I had already seen it. I didn’t really know what to do so I just gave her a kiss on her forehead and said, “Everything is going to be OK.” I felt numb and guilty for some reason. I didn’t actually know if everything was going to be OK, but it felt like the right thing to say at the moment.
The whole car ride was silent. We normally listened to the radio, fought over directions, and laughed, or we would sing along to our favorite song, “Butterfly” by Jack Smith. But we didn’t say a word. It felt like the longest 15 minutes of my life, like every minute was an hour or day or even a week. It was just so awkward for some reason. I had known Shoba for years. We were married, for God’s sake, but it was like all our history disappeared as soon as we walked out the doors of the hospital, and we were strangers again.
In Lahiri’s story, Shukumar stops caring about even taking care of himself. He’s relieved when his wife doesn’t check on him or talk to him, and he turns the baby’s room into his office, a jarring detail for most readers. But by placing him at the scene of the trauma, and telling the story from his point of view, the student makes Shukumar a more empathetic character.
