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Unit 23: Jhumpa Lahiri’s “This Blessed House”: Detailed Study

She shrugged. “No, we’re not Christian. We’re good little Hindus.” She planted a kiss on top of Notes
Christ’s head, then placed the statue on top of the fireplace mantel, which needed, Sanjeev observed,
to be dusted.
By the end of the week the mantel had still not been dusted; it had, however, come to serve as the
display shelf for a sizable collection of Christian paraphernalia. There was a 3-D postcard of Saint
Francis done in four colors, which Twinkle had found taped to the back of the medicine cabinet, and
a wooden cross key chain, which Sanjeev had stepped on with bare feet as he was installing extra
shelving in Twinkle’s study. There was a framed paint-by-number of the three wise men, against a
black velvet background, tucked in the linen closet. There was also a tile trivet depicting a blond,
unbearded Jesus, delivering a sermon on a mountaintop, left in one of the drawers of the built in
china cabinet in the dining room.
“Do you think the previous owners were born-agains?” asked Twinkle, making room the next day
for a small plastic snow-filled dome containing a miniature Nativity scene, found behind the pipes of
the kitchen sink.
Sanjeev was organizing his engineering texts from MIT in alphabetical order on a bookshelf, though
it had been several years since he had needed to consult any of them. After graduating, he moved
from Boston to Connecticut, to work for a firm near Hartford, and he had recently learned that he
was being considered for the position of vice president. At thirty-three he had a secretary of his own
and a dozen people working under his supervision who gladly supplied him with any information
he needed. Still, the presence of his college books in the room reminded him of a time in his life he
recalled with fondness, when he would walk each evening across the Mass. Avenue bridge to order
Mughlai chicken with spinach from his favorite Indian restaurant on the other side of the Charles,
and return to his dorm to write out clean copies of his problem sets.
“Or perhaps it’s an attempt to convert people,” Twinkle mused.
“Clearly the scheme has succeeded in your case.”
She disregarded him, shaking the little plastic dome so that the snow swirled over the manger.
He studied the items on the mantel. It puzzled him that each was in its own way so silly. Clearly they
lacked a sense of sacredness. He was further puzzled that Twinkle, who normally displayed good
taste, was so charmed. These objects meant something to Twinkle, but they meant nothing to him.
They irritated him. “We should call the Realtor. Tell him there’s all this nonsense left behind. Tell
him to take it away.”
“Oh, Sanj.” Twinkle groaned. “Please. I would feel terrible throwing them away.’ Obviously they
were important to the people who used to live here. It would feel, I don’t know, sacrilegious or
something.”
“If they’re so precious, then why are they hidden all over the house? Why didn’t they take them with
them?
“There must be others,” Twinkle said. Her eyes roamed the bare off-white walls of the room, as if
there were other things concealed behind the plaster. “What else do you think we’ll find?”
But as they unpacked their boxes and hung up their winter clothes and the silk paintings of elephant
processions bought on their honeymoon in Jaipur, Twinkle, much to her dismay, could not find a
thing. Nearly a week had passed before they discovered, one Saturday afternoon, a larger-than-life-
sized watercolor poster of Christ, weeping translucent tears the size of peanut shells and sporting a
crown of thorns, rolled up behind a radiator in the guest bedroom. Sanjeev had mistaken it for a
window shade.
“Oh, we must, we simply must put it up. It’s too spectacular.” Twinkle lit a cigarette and began to
smoke it with relish, waving it around Sanjeev’s head as if it were a conductor’s baton as Mahler’s
Fifth Symphony roared from the stereo downstairs.
“Now, look. I will tolerate, for now, your little biblical menagerie in the living room. But I refuse to
have this,” he said, flicking at one of the painted peanut-tears, “displayed in our home.”

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