You know when I read books, both fiction and non-fiction, the biggest thing that keep on recurring in my mind is that I am so lucky. I have a family that loves me, a positive attitude, a good job, a home, almost everything. And then I feel jealous of the characters of these stories. Their life is an adventure because they have something going around for them, something bad. They have something they have to fight against. My issues look miniscule before their stories. It’s like people have to face the huge sandstorm, and I get a sheen of dust in my share.
Similar is the case with the families. I have read about so many problematic families, so many dysfunctional families. My own family is pretty much OK when compared to these. I mean they do not understand me (except for my mom), but they do not hate me or try to kill me or try to do whatever bad thing is happening around.
And then there are families which are cross connected. The child of ex-wife marryin the child of the ex -husband of current husband and wife or something of the sort where there is no relationship, but yet that subtle thread of binding is there. My family doesn’t have even such entanglements. Everyone is pretty straight forward. There are no skeletons in the closets. I cannot even trace my geneology like they do in the book because there definitely will be no records. There are smaller stories around there, but there is nobody to confirm those stories, and all of it just becomes a mere speculation.
Sometimes, when I am disgruntled about my family or anything, and I am reading a book with a dysfunctional family– I feel guilty about being angry for my lot. I guess it can be same with many of the people.
I will like to end the post with this quote from Chris Patten which perfectly sums up my confession
“Those of us who had a perfectly happy childhood should be able to sue for deprivation of literary royalties.”
I wonder if I should be suing someone for the royalties I am missing.
Parichita Singh 