The Housemaid by Frieda McFadden

 Are you familiar with this situation? You pick up a book because it looks like it will be a good read and you really want to get over your reading slump? Then you read something that takes you out of a reading slump but into an existential one? 

People raved about this book? They didn't just like it. They recommended it. Strongly. They pushed it on to you as a must-do item - this piece of storytelling that was positioned to be a comet in your dreary little sky. This book?

Okay, so no surprises what I think about this book. But it is a quick read. The torture does end quickly.

Actually, I am being harsh. It is not bad material. If it were an instagram carousel with a set of 7 photos and plot points, it would work. As a slightly longish Facebook post, sure. That is easy to stomach. But a book? With so many pages? In print? Occupying shelves in a bookstore?

Erm.

Now I am going to write about the book. There may be spoilers - although the term 'spoilers' may not apply if you stopped caring about anything by page 15. But yes, I will be giving out the twists and turns.

There's a young woman, Millie, who is released from prison. She gets a job as a maid/ housekeeper in a posh place, the Winchester family. She notices some strange goings on after a while. The lady of the house, Nina, messes things up and denies that she has done this, only to double the work for the maid. The man of the house, Andrew, is handsome. And as pulp fiction would describe all handsome men, he wears 'crisp' shirts and suits and is cleanshaven. (There is a man who does not shave. He is a poor gardener. Yes - this is that kind of book.)

Anyway, one thing leads to another and as we follow the story, we find that Nina actually knows about Millie's 'troubled' past. She finds out that Millie had clobbered someone to death and Andrew, our sweet, handsome Andrew, is a wife beater. He locks up Nina in some small attic which is supposed to be dangerous. But I am from Bombay and a description of that attic would have brokers lining up here. Anyway, dangerous man, beaten up wife, killer maid, and then how one thing leads to another and revenge is extracted. 

 The book ends with Nina turning into some vigilante force for abused women. And this is the equivalent of scattering sequins on a perfectly ordinary craft project. Maybe something will stick and we will not notice that the palace is lopsided cardboard. 

So, that's what this book is. 

But a while ago, Gone Girl was equally celebrated and equally recommended and it had equally got me out of a reading slump. But that one was a treat! 

As I read The Housemaid, I wondered why I had liked Gone Girl so much. Yes, I had not seen the twist coming. But more than that  the writing actually was deep. It was more than just about plot and character. There was something deeper about the society that we lived in. Gillian Flynn's observation on what passes for a 'cool girl' is brilliant. As is the husband's observation of society that has moved on to consuming everything on Twitter because we have dwindling space to hold anything more or deep.

I feel that that is what makes a good thriller really good. Not just the plot - although that is really important. But a lot of books have good plots. The Silent Patient by by Alex Michaelides had good plot. We used to live here by Marcus Kliewer was decent plot-wise. The Girl in the Train by Paula Hawkins did a good job of using an unreliable narrator. But...they weren't Gone Girl.

There's something that Flynn got in Gone Girl and her other novels (like Sharp Objects - which was not too bad) that other thriller writers don't seem to get. That the fear factor doesn't end when the crime is solved or the killer is caught. Why did he kill? Why did she destroy? Those still remain and that's what a good thriller leaves you with - a relief in your heart that says "Whew! This story's over!" but a knot in your stomach that says, "But another one just like this is around the corner."

Anyway, the Housemaid is not something I would denounce outright. It still got me to reflect on another work I had enjoyed so much earlier. So, that too is good.

I will end this piece with a couple of portions from Gone Girl that I have absolutely loved. 

"Men always say that as the defining compliment, don’t they? She’s a cool girl. Being the Cool Girl means I am a hot, brilliant, funny woman who adores football, poker, dirty jokes, and burping, who plays video games, drinks cheap beer, loves threesomes and a*** s**, and jams hot dogs and hamburgers into her mouth like she’s hosting the world’s biggest culinary gang bang while somehow maintaining a size 2, because Cool Girls are above all hot. Hot and understanding. Cool Girls never get angry; they only smile in a chagrined, loving manner and let their men do whatever they want. Go ahead, shit on me, I don’t mind, I’m the Cool Girl.

Men actually think this girl exists. Maybe they’re fooled because so many women are willing to pretend to be this girl. For a long time Cool Girl offended me. I used to see men – friends, coworkers, strangers – giddy over these awful pretender women, and I’d want to sit these men down and calmly say: You are not dating a woman, you are dating a woman who has watched too many movies written by socially awkward men who’d like to believe that this kind of woman exists and might kiss them. 

I’d want to grab the poor guy by his lapels or messenger bag and say: The b**** doesn’t really love chili dogs that much – no one loves chili dogs that much! And the Cool Girls are even more pathetic: They’re not even pretending to be the woman they want to be, they’re pretending to be the woman a man wants them to be. Oh, and if you’re not a Cool Girl, I beg you not to believe that your man doesn’t want the Cool Girl. It may be a slightly different version – maybe he’s a vegetarian, so Cool Girl loves seitan and is great with dogs; or maybe he’s a hipster artist, so Cool Girl is a tattooed, bespectacled nerd who loves comics. 

There are variations to the window dressing, but believe me, he wants Cool Girl, who is basically the girl who likes every fucking thing he likes and doesn’t ever complain. (How do you know you’re not Cool Girl? Because he says things like: “I like strong women.” If he says that to you, he will at some point f**k someone else. Because “I like strong women” is code for “I hate strong women.”)”

And this description that is such a judge and jury to our lot today:

"For several years, I had been bored. Not a whining, restless child's boredom (although I was not above that) but a dense, blanketing malaise. It seemed to me that there was nothing new to be discovered ever again. Our society was utterly, ruinously derivative (although the word derivative as a criticism is itself derivative). 

We were the first human beings who would never see anything for the first time. We stare at the wonders of the world, dull-eyed, underwhelmed. Mona Lisa, the Pyramids, the Empire State Building. Jungle animals on attack, ancient icebergs collapsing, volcanoes erupting. I can't recall a single amazing thing I have seen firsthand that I didn't immediately reference to a movie or TV show. A fucking commercial. You know the awful singsong of the blasé: Seeeen it. I've literally seen it all, and the worst thing, the thing that makes me want to blow my brains out, is: The secondhand experience is always better. 

The image is crisper, the view is keener, the camera angle and the soundtrack manipulate my emotions in a way reality can't anymore. I don't know that we are actually human at this point, those of us who are like most of us, who grew up with TV and movies and now the Internet. If we are betrayed, we know the words to say; when a loved one dies, we know the words to say. If we want to play the stud or the smart-ass or the fool, we know the words to say. We are all working from the same dog-eared script. It's a very difficult era in which to be a person, just a real, actual person, instead of a collection of personality traits selected from an endless Automat of characters. And if all of us are play-acting, there can be no such thing as a soul mate, because we don't have genuine souls. It had had gotten to the point where it seemed like nothing matters, because I'm not a real person and neither is anyone else. I would have done anything to feel real again."

Maybe that's what a good thriller means for me. Or any good book, really. 

You turn the last page, slump back a little, look at the author's name and say 'Thank you.'

Things I am grateful for today

 1. Papa is well.

2. Wrestled with myself against eating out. I won. 

3. Had an interesting experience in Andheri. Quite enjoyed the dosa.

4. Had a good conversation with a friend. We may be collaborating on something.

5. Health is good. I mean...I feel fatigue. Deep fatigue. But am healthy. 

Enough said. Enough done.

When I lived in Powai long years ago, one of my flatmates worked in the R&D department of a major FMCG giant. She would tell us about lab results, etc. and how some mice got their skin peeled off because it came in contact with a formula. So the formula for the detergent changed on account of the rat's reaction being documented. 

My other roommate and I found that cruel and grotesque. So we started buying some 'organic', cruelty-free washing powder. And our denims got paper thin and we started getting rash. Our FMCG friend told us that 'organic' as a label was used by companies to bypass the stringent trials and approval process. The bar for organic was so low that if you showed you used 4 machines instead of 6, your product was organic. But in reality it was such sickeningly low-grade material that it actually harmed people and environment more...simply because it was not amenable to scrutiny. 

Maybe things have changed over the years. And I do think if one can avoid products with animal testing, one should. At least in fragrances and cosmetics. But I did see her point then and I see it now...that just because something is herbal or organic, you don't ask why or how. 

And this, I find, is the state of counselling and counsellors in Bombay. Since the last few days, I have been researching and looking up counsellors online. Several of them were recommended by people who have availed of their services. Satisfactorily. Although I think those people are as stuck as ever - even more so, now that their stuckness comes from an expert-approved label. But that need not mean that those psychologists were not good. I mean, if you saw the average idiocy of a Hindu, you would think that the religion is a disaster. But it's not.

So I decided to give a few a try. They were all expensive. I spent a ton of time and energy. And if ever vapid vapor had a poster-child, it would be a montage of all the people I spoke with. In full disclosure, I am reading Internal Family Systems now...so the expert-speak may have been sounding banal to me because in the book, the author details out meditations and exercises you can do to immediately get a sense of what you can experience if the modality is for you. Whereas in person all these people want to book you into more sessions so they can earn more.

But I had wanted to explore this with an open heart. So I did that. And what bugged me was the complete lack of transparency and accountability in all the people I spoke with. I asked quite point blank that what would progress look like for me? First they all start out with dull analogies with the gym - "Only 1 day or week will not make a difference." Okay. But my gym instructor had broken it down for me on how my body will respond to training over a month. Heck...even a tarot card reader and healer had given some cues to look for and they had broken this down week by week. 

But these counsellors who keep tomtomming about mental health were unwilling ot worse, unable, to address this question adequately. I think they even tried to dodge it and told me that I was wrong for asking such definite answers. It's all so subjective. So I told them point blank that the rates they charge are not subjective. So how about they keep a minimum fee but anything over and above that, i pay if I get value or see progress. This pissed off one of them.

My next question was that why should I believe that they will help me if they don't have skin in the game regarding my recovery. (If you are so keen to equate 'psychological counselling' with 'medical science' and you have an MD, surely practical rigor cannot be such a surprise for you.) They didn't have an answer to that either. And these are the people who make fun of Reiki healers because they keep swimming about in talks about energy.

One of them told me that they give good exercises and great analyses that will help me. I showed him the excellent work plan that I had got from ChatGPT. He visibly bristled. 

And my question is simply this...why are you not willing to walk away from this huge amount of money if you are so sure that your method will work? Why is your compensation structure so absolute? 

If I hired a digital marketing expert, they charge based on some acceptable criteria of performance. And since I have done alternative therapy for a long time, even the good ones have money-back guarantees.

But the general sense that I got...was that you should not expect anything...not answers, not accountability. I had long suspected that this therapy and stuff is not for me. And now after considerable expense and investment of time and energy, I am 100% sure of it. Not.for.me. At least the Indian ones.

I am getting far, far more from a book and ChatGPT and DeepSeek than these counselling sessions. You need a good strong reading habit and really good prompts. Anyone who says that these are completely useless is incorrect. Yes you have to be careful. But you can hold AI accountable by questioning its methods, asking for references, etc. Not so with the experts I met. They will not give you a straight answer and will charge you for overtime. And prescribe erratic medication. 

But no matter. I saw how greed can be cloaked so cleverly. That at least is a valuable lesson. 

My other observation is that I think that counselling today is becoming what marriage and having babies was sometime ago. Incessant talk about it and the general ethos that life and living is incomplete without them. 

No. It's not. It's just another kind of brainwashing that one has to guard oneself against. Otherwise one will find oneself with the counselor the way one found oneself with a demented spouse and an unwanted child...trapped.

(P.S. - Another reason I didn't like one of the offices was because of this sleepy cat in the above pictures. It was sleeping below the photo of a poster asking one to avoid comfort zones. Sigh.)

Survived

 Had to go to Vashi today. Such a struggle to wake up in the morning and rush off. I had thought I would take the bus or train. But i felt fragile and frazzled, so ricked it. Then had a meltdown there. It has been a while since I have felt fury of the kind I had thought I had left behind when I gave up non-veg and liquor. But there it was.

I don't think No Bad Parts should be read without having some kind of support. There is a churn and I am not sure I am capable of handling it. So after a long time, I thought I would look for IFS therapists in Bandra. I don't want to go anywhere else. This also feels like avoidable expense. But let's see if I find something. 

Anyway, when we live through something, we grow through something. Or that's what I am telling myself. Here goes all the things I am grateful for:

1. Papa is well. The trip to the doctor was quick and easy.

2. Car wash guy came and I gave him his money. He comes to clean my friend's car every Saturday. I like paying off help on the first. So I was a tad unsettled about the delay but it got done.

3. A friend treated me at Mutthuswamy near Khar station today. Food was quite nice! Then we checked out a few pubs in the area. Khar is hopping! I definitely want to go to Doolally next. 

4. Am safe.

5. Have water, electricity, and a home. 

Tough day

 For reasons I will not get into now, today was tough. Something ended. But... something else might have begun.

I wish things were smoother and easier. But like they say, you only get what you can handle. So, here's hoping.

Anyway, here are a few things that I am grateful for:

1. Papa is well.

2. Even though I was sulking, I did check in on a friend by phone.

3. It is Guru Parab today. Such a beautiful moon today.

4. Had a lovely walk upto Carter Road.

5. Friend made a sweet little video of our pictures in Rishikesh and Haridwar. So sweet.

Photos from today:

Another bit

 About parts that need to be integrated and healed (from No Bad Parts by Robert Schwartz. This book is about Internal Family Systems.)

They can cause a lot of damage to your body and your life. Because they're frozen in dreadful scenes in the past and carry burdens from those times, they will do whatever they need to do to get your attention when you won't listen: punish you or others, convince others to take care of them, sabotage your plans, or eliminate people in your life they see as a threat. To do these things and more, they can exacerbate or give you physical symptoms or diseases, nightmares and strange dreams, emotional outbursts, and chronic emotional states. Indeed, most of the syndromes that make up the Diagnostic and Statistical Manual are simply descriptions of the different clusters of protectors that dominate people after they've been traumatized. When you think of those diagnoses that way, you feel a lot less defective and a lot more empowered to help those protectors out of those roles. 

Something to file away

 It is 3:50 a.m. I have had fits of rage and  in a bid to deal with it, have cooked a lot of Maggi, added pasta to it, lots of butter and cheese, and have scarfed it down.

I don't know if reading No Bad Parts by Robert Schwartz and the Internal Family System is having that effect. But I feel feral. 

Still, sometimes lucidity comes. So, this part from the book really moved me. I don't have the inclination to give context. So, here it is:

"That's why it really helps them to realize that you're not that young age anymore. They stay stuck, however, not because they're not sure how old you are, but because they live in the past - frozen in time in the traumas that you experienced. That's why they still think they have to protect other parts who were hurt by those experiences, too, and are carrying the burdens - the extreme beliefs and emotions - from those times. They feel alone with all that pressure and terror. The simple act of turning your focus inside and beginning to listen and talk to them and let them know they aren't alone - because you are there to care for them - is quite radical and so welcome to the inner orphanage."

Enough carping for today

 Lord knows we are not done with the circus yet. But...still...even in the worst days, there's always something to be grateful for:

1. Papa is well. Not completely but is okay.

2. Brother's birthday and he is doing okay.

3. Asserted myself today. Not always easy and there will be repurcussions. But you do what you gotta do. This was a very painful thing. It involves the breakdown of a very old friendship. And it was hurtful to realize that one was only been taken advantage of. But I suppose even that much is progress...that when I saw the truth, I ended the exploitation. It's amazing how much freedom one can summon up when you realize that you can do without someone.

4. This is not something I am grateful for. Or maybe I am grateful for the lessons, if not the actual fact. There is a way women have used me. I never saw it before but a call from a friend to go and hang out with her made it clear. Women who just want you as a stop-gap until their husbands or boyfriends or lovers become available. Women who want to examine your life and living ways to compare their life to yours and feel good about their own choice. Women who want to hang out with you because, whether you know it or not, you exude a certain degree of self-sufficiency even though you may not have as much as others. Women who want to hang out with you because of your address or some other association and they want their husbands to know that they have a 'cool' (in their opinion) friend. Yes. The way women can use you is very sneaky. And actually very lethal. For me at least it has been. Anyway I hope the lesson is learned for good. (This reminds me how grateful I am for deep and sudden epiphanies. It's like...I got the call, my friend was acting all sweet and asking me to hang out with her, and suddenly it clicked...it just all clicked and I could see through exactly what she wanted...a safe escape and someone to dump the emotional emptiness on.)

5. The paneer cutlets were nice.

6. Got a home to say in. No hurricanes or Tsunamis. No problem with water or electricity. Today we will live through.

What fresh hell is this????

 Looks like...okay I don't know what it looks like. Some people should be eradicated. They should. They might enjoy that as well...to have their measly existence disintegrate like wet toilet paper...and their lives are the very thing that toilet paper wipes.

H is so clueless about what she has to make. It is sad...ineptitude of that level and depth is exhausting. I don't understand this vanity...to not wear spectacles because you look funny, to not wear hearing aid because you look funny. 

No. I am not liking this day at.all. Nothing is going as per plan AND my laptop just went on the fritz. 

Deep breaths. Deep breaths. And the neighbors are playing the music SO loud! But something smells good. 

Shitty day so far

 I am not liking today at all. My budget is stretched and it doesn't look like it is going to scale down anytime soon. I don't know - just feels very punishing to go through today. And the month has just begun.

There were two women in the lift discussing their new handbags - apparently there is a laundry service that does the best job of cleaning leather and felt bags. It's all quite hopeless. 

Came across a news item of a teacher in Uttarakhand who put a scorpion in the pants of an 8-year old Dalit boy. Came across another video of some people in a snowy place tending to baby foxes. That video turned out to be AI-generated. And some people were commenting on how fake the AI was. 

But if we are using AI to at least fake the humanity we once had while in real life, we are treating children badly because they belong to a lower caste, is that so bad?

 Maybe an LLM model will remember our humanity when we have forgotten it. 

Book 9: Big Little Lies by Liane Moriarty

 (This book has been converted into a Netflix series starring Reese Witherspoon and Nicole Kidman - two people I think who can do no wrong on celluloid. I haven't seen the series so my take on the book is independent of how I may have reacted to the series.)

There's a charming suburb in Sydney. The charming school has a sweet little public school. It is peopled with strange, yet regular parents with regular parent overlording dynamics. One day there's a strange bullying incident among children. Then one other day, there's a murder.

By the end of chapter 2, I had guessed who had committed the murder. By chapter 4, I had figured out why. But I still read the book because the world building in this novel was so pretty and well-designed to camouflage pain. Like a rip in a perfect postcard.

The book begins with us getting acquainted with a group of women whose children study in the public school. One of the parents is a young, single mother. One of the others is a scatterbrained but benign chatterbox. Yet another is a glacial, gorgeous beauty who is always proper. They all lead different types of lives in scenic places. There are very charming descriptions of a café by the ocean, bike rides and walks by the beach, and beautiful homes and aesthetically messy kitchens. The writing is, well, competent but not too much more. I am not sure if the plot and writing got diluted because of publishing demands or because it had to cater to a larger group of people. The Western stereotype of a vegan, yoga-teacher is very much in place. There are clichés and obvious turns of phrases. I have read the book on a treadmill, in an auto, in a bus, and in the train - so maybe that's how the material was set up to be consumed. And for a thriller, the book ended on a rather insipid note..

Still, where the book scores high is the way it has shown how women architect shame in their bodies as their bodies. Some are too good-looking to be taken seriously. Some are not good-looking enough so they have to accept abuse as something they have asked for (because decency and dignity are only the prerogative of the visually pleasing). Although much of the plot, characterization, and narrative has an oatmealy-ish appeal, it is this little sliver of profile of pain that stays with you.

And it does make one sad - this question that as women, do we only connect when we are in a sorority of shame?