The Toss of a Lemon: Padma Viswanathan at Harvard Book Store Tonight

Padma Viswanathan, The Toss of a Lemon
with Randa Jarrar, A Map of Home
Harvard Book Store, 7:00pm

The Toss of a Lemon explores the life of Sivakami, an Indian girl married off at ten and widowed by eighteen. Based on the experiences of Viswanathan's own family, the book is a detailed investigation of Indian culture and the consequences of disobeying societal expectations, and is reminiscent of some issues (especially relationships with servants) explored in Evening is the Whole Day. Viswanathan will read at Harvard Book Store tonight. Here are excerpts from a Q&A with her to whet your appetite for the reading:

Is your novel a critique of the caste system and the treatment of Indian widows?
I think it’s a given that caste-ism and sexism are unjust and that we must work to eliminate them. I have tried to explore the reasons why these institutions nonetheless persist—the social pressures, the moral and psychological backbends involved, the collusion between oppressors and oppressed. In my experience, some social mores are as ridiculous as they are cruel, and I have used some to comic effect. But I’ve also built in stories, such as one of a Brahmin widow whose affair with a barber’s son is discovered, that make my characters confront the inhumanity of the very systems they are laboring to uphold.

How has your family reacted to the book?
When [my grandmother] read one chapter, she took to her bed for a day, overcome by feelings dormant since her childhood. I was equally concerned that some parts of the story were based on my own surmising. For example, my grandma had made no mention, understandably, of her father’s infidelities, but I had fitted hints given by other relatives with details in her narrative that were not easily explained by anything else. She admitted to it upon reading the book but also asked how I had written scenes like a conversation between Janaki (the character loosely based on her) and her husband shortly after their marriage, in which he asks why her grandmother raised her instead of her parents. Grandma had not told me about an identical (she says) conversation that had taken place between her and her husband sixty-five years ago.

Another instance: I created a close relationship between Sivakami and her servant, Muchami. Although they observe the decorum of caste separation, he is her confidant, her public face, her protector—really, her closest friend. Some might think this strains credulity, but my grandma, after reading the book, told me that her grandmother, when the “real” Muchami died, took a ritual bath, something a Brahmin only does for a close relative, never for a mere servant. It was all the validation I needed.

Thus I learned that even when I thought I was writing fiction, I came closer to the “truth” than I realized.