Of the two novels, I found The Namesake to be the most relatable; in fact, it was almost instantly after I finished the novel that I encountered a moment when I felt connected to the book. I walked into the kitchen to see my mom and dad eating fish and bean sprouts wrapped in rice paper, dipped in fish sauce.  She told me, “This is what I ate when I was little. It reminds me of home.”

At that moment I saw similarities between my mother rice wraps and Ashima’s rice crispies concoction.  But this sparked the question in my head – what food would remind me of home?

I remember … pizza, hot dogs, chinese food, pho, barbeques, salmon and all different kinds of food. Living in NYC, it is hard to pinpoint what food would spark the memories of home.  American and Vietnamese food were the only things I knew, which is why if I wanted to be reminded of home, I would be eating one of the strange dishes of east and west that my dad made. I remember sitting in the kitchen, whining about eating something different. I saw him start frying noodles with different sauces, Italian sausages and a few Asian herbs. What came next blew my mind – it tasted awfully funky and weird but I couldn’t help but appreciate the effort. The taste, although weird, was strangely homely. Eventually he kept making the noodles and I kept eating the noodles. It’s something special to me and this family alone, which makes it such a great memory.

Reading about the many trips made by the Ganguli family in The Namesake, as well as the tales of travel that their friends told them, reminded me of my experience traveling to London. It was a trip with my school that was being offered during spring break to the tenth grade class as well as a few seniors who helped with chaperoning. My sister was one of those seniors, which was fine with me because it was my first time going on a trip to another country and I spent most of it on my own with my friends anyway.

The first thing that comes to mind when I think of my trip, especially while reading about the Ganguli’s journeys, is the flight and the first day. We left New York in the middle of the day but I had to be up somewhat early to go to the school then to the airport. We flew with Virgin Atlantic and they had in flight entertainment systems for each seat with a bunch of new movies that we could watch for free. I ended up spending the entire flight watching some of these movies rather than sleeping. This was probably not the best idea because the plane landed in London at six in the morning and we spent the entire day touring the city. Of course, by the end of the day, I was exhausted!

The rest of the trip, however, was extremely fun and the weather was surprisingly nice. After months of being told how much it rains in London and that the weather is always bad, we had a week full of warm and sunny days. Meanwhile, New York was experiencing a week of clouds and rain.

Of course it was an eventful trip and I could write much more about it, but for this assignment, it’s probably better to keep it at least a little bit brief and just focus on the parts I thought of while reading the novel.

The part when the Ganguli family went visiting Calcutta for eight months resembles one experience that I had when visiting my home country Vietnam after the school year had ended. Just like Gogol, the way I dressed when landed at the airport distanced me from the rest of the family greeting me. Just like Gogol, I had to stay at relative houses from time to time and have fun with them, some I don’t really remember. Just like Gogol, I was asked barrage of questions about my life in America and withstood their remarks about the difference between the ways of life, both negative and positive. Just like Gogol, I got dragged by my parents to places that I wouldn’t have come to myself, but for the sake of remembrance and for their joy. The only difference from my trip and Gogol’s is that asides from all the seldom negativity and awkwardness of acquaintances, it was one of the most enjoyable experience of my life where I got to meet new people, discover new places, and dwell into the past by emerging myself in the community. It was a fulfilling vacation.

Jonathan Foer’s character Oskar in Extremely Loud and Incredibly Close constantly reminisces about his experience involving September 11^th.  His vivid details remind me of how little I remember and can describe from that day.

When I reflect on September 11^th, that day in particular doesn’t invoke many memories other than an almost desolate classroom and my grandmother picking me up from school at the regular time.  When I was walking home with my grandmother she mentioned a bomb to a passing friend, but from her expression I didn’t feel any type of urgency.  I can’t recall the rest of that day other than my mom trying to call one of my favorite aunts; from her expression I instinctively hoped everything was all right.  Those are all the memories that I can recall from that day; thankfully none of those memories involve a loss. 

My most vivid memories of September 11^th are the results of its effects.  In class one of my friends told us about his uncle, a police officer, who was at the scene.  I picture him showing us a picture of a police car covered in rubble and telling us his uncle was okay.  I remember teachers asking him numerous questions, which caused me to get more concerned because they seemed worried.  Another memory, I recall is the naming of my elementary school to the Raymond York Elementary School.  Raymond York was a fire fighter from a firehouse behind the school who died in the tragic event.  We walked around the school, like we did for the march of dimes, to honor his name.  I remember that day as a somber one with cloudy skies, that made me uneasy.

The memory that entails the most emotion for me from my recollection of the days following September 11^th is my older cousin’s recollection.  He told me that he was eating lunch with some friends in Guyana and saw the event.  He described the silence that ensued with the showing of the footage and everyone’s disbeliefs.  From his account I realized the most that September 11^th was a serious and tragic day.  His recollection of the event was out of his character; he was always joking, but when he described the event he displayed a sense of seriousness.  The fact that the event was being shown live in another country also made me feel the importance of the event.  I feel that the main reason it took a while for me to grasp the impact of September 11^th as a child is that I wasn’t directly touched by it, and I am thankful that I didn’t lose anybody that day.

Like in Gogol’s life, my name has always played a huge role in how others perceived me, or rather, how I believed they perceived me. Even though my name is derived from the Sanskrit language (as Indian names often are) it is unusual even in India and in 17 years of life I have heard of only one other person named Abhinaya. This ensured that growing up, I spent a lot of awkward moments when meeting strangers. I hated having to repeat my name at least thrice to every new person I met and having to answer overly curious questions about its origin. Why couldn’t I have a normal name that was easy to say, that wouldn’t raise so many eyebrows?

Oddly enough, I first started thinking differently about my name after watching the movie The Namesake based on this very novel in 2007, when I was in the eighth grade. “Abhinaya” is a concept in Indian classical dances and theater referring to the art of delivering the perfect expressions to convey an emotion. I had never really considered this information cool or interesting. But, inspired by Gogol’s story, I saw it in a new light. I even went to dance class for six months hoping to be worthy of my name – that didn’t work, however, I did realize how lucky I was to have such a unique name that ensures I stand out in any crowd.

Now when I talk to my parents about my name it is usually to express my admiration for them for having thought of something so creative and my curiosity about how they actually arrived at my name – no revelations there, unlike in The Namesake, my parents only chose this name because they thought it sounded pretty. Now when people say that my name is pretty I don’t consider the compliment an attempt by strangers to cover up their shock at my odd name. Now when people ask me about my name, I’m prepared to treat them to a course in Indian classical dance and theater. At the very least, it’s a great icebreaker!  😉

Extremely Loud and Incredibly Close by Johnathon Safran Foer is a novel about a young boy named Oscar who travels the city looking for a lock, which he thinks would bring him closer to his father and hopefully help him get over his recent death as a result of the 9/11 terrorist attack. When Oscar travels around the city looking for the “Blacks” he never uses the train because of a fear of another terrorist attack, seeing as how the NYC subway is a possible target.

I remember when I was around four or five years old, my mom picked me up from preschool and we had to go somewhere and the only way to get there was the train. This was the first MTA experience of my life; I had never been on a subway train before. I do not remember much detail but what I do remember was the tremendous fear that I had when the train was approaching Brighton Beach station. The Q and B trains traveling towards Coney Island make a giant turn before they enter the Brighton Beach station. I remember looking out the window and having this fear that the train was going to tip over and fall off the train tracks and into the street below. I was fully relieved when the train finally finished the turn and pulled into the station, where we came out.

My first time in the MTA.

During the first chapter of Jonathan Safron Foer’s Extremely Loud and Incredibly, the main character Oskar Schell discusses a game that he and his dad used to play together, named Reconnaissance Expedition. He describes how the game was played and tells the reader that the last one they ever played took place in Central Park and was never finished.

While reading this a great childhood memory popped into my head. At least once a week my family would get together and my parents would conduct various games such as monopoly, Risk and Stratego. These games gave us a time to bond and talk about eachothers’ days and all of the things we’ve been up to. I specifically remember that one night my parents came to my siblings and me and told us that tonight we would be having a scavenger hunt. Around the house they hid various items and clues and each clue led us to another until we reached the final stage of the hunt.

I was never so good at all of these games and I never really one on family game night. I was determined to take this one home and finally win my first game. Like Oskar, I was infatuated by the game, digging for clues and running around the house looking for things that would help me get one step closer to the finish line. However, in the end my hard work did not pay off and I came in second place behind my older Sister.

At first, I was very upset and couldn’t believe that even after all the work I put in I still didn’t win. However, my frustration soon turned to delight when I saw the look on my parents’ faces. They were so happy that we were bonding as a family and there smiles were contagious. Soon after, my entire family was laughing and joking around. At that moment I realized that these games were what kept my family close together and I am extremely thankful to my parents for that opportunity.

Throughout the book Extremely Loud and Incredibly Close, Oskar repeatedly refers back to his memory of 9/11. He vividly describes the day he walked home from school to the last messages and phone call of his father shortly before he died. The recurrence of Oskars’ memory reminded me of two things.

On the day the twin towers fell, the only day I recall of my third grade life, I remember sitting in my third grade classroom (as were most of us) when classmates were called to leave for home one by one. No one knew what happened except the teachers who were constantly walking in to the room and whispering to each other. As a child, I was more curious and excited than fearful of what was going on. I was one of the last children to be picked up and brought home to my Godmother’s. Sitting in the kitchen I remember as every news channel talked about the same thing, but I was too young to realize the severity of the situation. Although my experience in comparison to Oskars’ does not hold as much sentimental value, it is still a significant memory of mine.

The feelings and emotions that Oskar and his mother felt right before the fathers death reminded me of my freshman year of high school when I came home to an empty house one day and found out that my godfather (he is like a second father to me) was sent to the emergency room. I remember feeling a kind of drowning, gut feeling. In my head I was panicking. I felt scared and I was scared of feeling loss. A million thoughts were running through my head. My godfather had a ruptured cerebral aneurysm and needed surgery. These are often deadly, but thankfully he survived.

In the novel The Namesake jhumpa lahiri describes this feeling on isolation and loneliness in Ashima. She feels this beacause she is in America and the rest of her family is in India. This feeling is worsened by the fact that they are the only Bengali family in their neighborhood. This feeling of isolation of being in a new place is very familiar to me because that’s how I felt when I came to America. My family and I were the first members of our family to come to America and so we were alone. There were no other Tibetan families and it was very tough leaving behind family and friends unsure of whether you would see them in a couple months or years. Similarly just as Bengali’s have their own custom of having two different names in my culture every family member has a different last name. A holy monk chooses our names so this caused a lot of confusion when I first registered for school similar to the confusion faced by Gogol and Ashoke. I remember this one time when my sister and I were registering for school and they were confused as to why we had different names but were still siblings. We had to explain to them about our customs but in the end it was too confusing for them and they did not understand it. Luckily I did not face the same problem as Gogol and did not have to change my name even though it is quite difficult to pronounce.