A Teenage Adult?

Throughout the 2003 novel The Namesake, author Jhumpa Lahiri uses a third-person omniscient narrator to continually describe Gogol Ganguli’s internal conflict with his coming of age and the acceptance of his true identity. With age comes independence, and Gogol finds plenty of freedom from his parents after his eighteenth birthday, when he can legally change his name. At this time, the narrator notes, “now that he’s Nikhil it’s easier to ignore his parents” (105). Lahiri uses Gogol’s age to indirectly characterize him as free and self-sufficient, while also indirectly characterizing him as immature for not having the ability to appreciate his family. This juxtaposition got me thinking: when do people become adults? This past weekend I turned eighteen, an age in which the United States identifies people as adults. However, at the age of eighteen, you are still a teenager. An adult teenager? The phrase is an oxymoron in itself, for teenagers are stereotyped as reckless and rebellious, while adults hold the title of ultimate maturity. This unusual juxtaposition can be seen as Gogol grows up and goes to college because it is his personal belief that he is mature, but ultimately, he is still a teenager. So when do we become adults? Can it be justified by just an age? But even the age that legally constitutes a person as an adult still characterizes them as a teenager. Why is this? Personally, I believe that adulthood comes with responsibility. Having dependence on people and needing assistance from people does not make you an independent adult. Therefore, it seems to me that adulthood cannot be defined by an age, but by the time when we can fully function by ourselves, and take on the challenges of the world without having to turn to others. Ultimately, the idea of a teenage adult seems quite ridiculous, but in reality carries a bit of sense. It can act as an in-between stage, a chance to explore the realms of adulthood while still safely tethered to the amenities of adolescents.

Perception v. Reality

When you read books, your mind has the ability to paint dazzling images with the most creative brush possible: the imagination. One of the most exciting parts of reading is delving into a new world where your mind can contort reality to fit the conceptions of the author. However, translating a book to a movie can ruin the fantasy in your head. In the movie The Namesake, Gogol’s voluminous hair filled with angst and rebellion creates more humor than actual sympathy for the character, especially because the junior in high school is being played by a twenty-nine year old actor. This juxtaposition contorts your image of Gogol in a negative way, allowing the fleeting image you once had in your head to quickly be swept away by the ridiculous reality. Another character, Moushumi, also appeared much differently than my preconceptions. In the book, after Gogol visits Moushumi’s apartment, he compliments, “’You’re beautiful’” (210). I do not want to appear conceited or superficial, but the image of Moushumi that I had drawn in my head did not nearly match the image of Moushumi in the movie because in the book Gogol directly characterizes her as beautiful. Most significantly, I wish that movies could live up to our fantastical perceptions. Just recently, I watched “Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows”. For years I had drawn a detailed world out of the book, filled with descriptive images that I had pulled from the story. However, seeing the movie, after reading any book, always ruins those images in your head. As you try to look back on them, they appear fuzzy and faded, as though you are looking at them through a gauzed veil. Although I am excited to continue to watch The Namesake, I know it will never live up to the world I had created for the story in my head.

New Naggings about "Nicola"

I realize that I have already dedicated a post to some of the negative feelings that I have towards my name, but The Namesake has made me hyperaware of situations involving my name, thus prompting me to vocalize my rather annoyed opinion.  First of all, people are incompetent. While walking through town one day, I noticed my endearingly cool senior band photo resting nonchalantly against the stained wood panels of a window. While at first recoiling with embarrassment, I carefully looked back at the photo, and noticed that it clearly spelled out “NICOLE ZOLLINGER”. Seriously? One factor that I do not understand about my name is why people assume that the spelling is wrong. I understand that people do make mistakes, but if there is an “a” on the end, add an “a”. It is that simple. Another incident that happened this week occurred at gymnastics. After being threatened with push-ups for not knowing all of the girl’s names, a frantic scramble erupted, with people scurrying around to uncover the names of everyone. After a girl asked my name, I promptly replied “Nicola”. She glanced at me once, saying “Okay, Nicole,” and swiftly left to learn more names. The question I have to ask myself is: why would I say my own name wrong? A final occurrence that happened this week took place in one of my classes, when the teacher called me “Nicole-a”. I have had this teacher all semester, and have repeated my name to them many times, so it infuriates me when they act with such incompetence. Of course, I know I may be a bit hypocritical, for I make mistakes as well, and not everyone can be perfect, but such incidences that illustrate individual’s sincere ignorance deeply bother me.

Naggings about "Nicola"

Sometimes I wish I had a different name. One people could pronounce. One people could relate to. However, we cannot choose our names, can we? In Jhumpa Lahiri's 2003 novel The Namesake, Gogol obsesses over the uniqueness of his name. Although I do not obsess over my own name, I find that I can relate to Gogol's discomfort in various ways. When Gogol's English teacher Mr. Lawson decides to focus on Nikolai Gogol's work, the third-person omniscient narrator notes Gogol's reaction and states, "Warmth spreads from the back of Gogol's neck to his cheeks and ears" (91). Every time I meet a new person, or a substitute teacher pronounces my name wrong, I can feel the embarrassment creep up my cheeks, illuminating them with an indiscreet rosy red. In this way, I can note how Lahiri utilizes pathos for Gogol’s embarrassment, creating sympathy for his situation, an occurrence I can empathize with. Later in the lecture about Nikolai Gogol the narrator notes, “Each time the name is uttered, he quietly winces” (91). No matter how many times I repeat the correct pronunciation of my name, some people just cannot accept the correct pronunciation of my name. They come up with rather ridiculous variations like “Nikolai” (a boy’s name), “Nicholas” (once again, a boy’s name), “Nicole” (have they seen the spelling of my name?), and I guess the easily misunderstood “Nicole-a” (thanks Coca-Cola and Ricola). However, I feel embarrassed when people mispronounce my name after I have told them the correct pronunciation. In this way, I can relate to Gogol’s feeling of humiliation at having his name said out loud because I do not like it when people pronounce my name wrong in front of others who know the correct pronunciation. Also, as Lahiri indirectly characterizes Gogol as insecure and self-conscious, I can draw a parallel to myself because I become too ashamed to correct people. All in all, I enjoy having a unique name, even though I do not appreciate it all the time. I would never change my name because it makes me unique and different. I mean, how many other Nicola’s do you know?

An Open Mind

In class this week, we have thoroughly discussed the complicated marital relationship between Gogol and Moushumi in Jhumpa Lahiri's 2003 fiction novel The Namesake. Although many people believe that Gogol and Moushumi have equal faults in the deterioration of their relationship, I believe that Moushumi signifies a parallel of Gogol during his late teenage years and therefore, due to her lack of maturity now, should take much of the responsibility for the downfall of the relationship. As Moushumi reflects on her past relationships and her current relationship with Gogol, the third-person omniscient narrator notes, "There is something appealing to her about this prospect, to make a clean start in a place where no one knows her" (254). The contemplative tone juxtaposes with deceptive diction in the phrase "no one" to indirectly characterize her as fleeting and ever changing, not settling for the life given to her. This concept relates to Gogol's decision to change his name earlier in the book, specifically when the narrator states, "now that he's Nikhil it's easier to ignore his parents" (105). The narrator describes a college student's apparent rebellion against his past life, and his desire to change the commonality that surrounds him, which indirectly characterizes Gogol as rebellious and changing. This draws a parallel to Moushumi's actions in their relationship, and indirectly characterizes her as immature for sharing the same qualities and characteristics as an eighteen year old male. As the couple go out for their first anniversary dinner Moushumi abruptly states, "'It's not what I thought it would be," to which Gogol replies, "'Let's just enjoy ourselves'" (252). Moushumi's statement acts as a metaphor for her and Gogol's relationship, indirectly characterizing her as a person who has unrealistic expectations in of life. This juxtaposes with Gogol's view on the relationship, for he simply wants to create an illusion of happiness, which illustrates his attempt to bring the relationship together, even if his attempts do not appear vehement. Ultimately, Lahiri writes to those who struggle with their identities in order to illustrate the need to accept life with open arms and an open mind.