"The reactions haven't differed; the concerns have been different. When I read for a predominantly Indian audience, there are more questions that are based on issues of identity and representation"
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Lahiri’s line quietly dismantles the lazy idea that audiences are fundamentally alien to each other. “The reactions haven’t differed” is a corrective to the fetishization of cultural difference: the laughter, the hush, the recognition still land. What changes is not the human response but the interpretive pressure. “The concerns have been different” names the real variable: the stakes attached to being seen.
When she reads to a predominantly Indian audience, the questions tilt toward “identity and representation” because the work isn’t just craft; it’s evidence. Diasporic fiction gets treated like a proxy census, forced to answer for a community’s image in a way that, say, a white novelist’s family drama rarely does. The subtext is a familiar trap: the minority writer as spokesperson, translator, and PR department, asked to justify choices that are aesthetic but received as political. Lahiri doesn’t posture against those questions; she simply marks their specificity, implying both their legitimacy and their burden.
The phrasing also hints at her career-long tension: writing from the in-between, where authenticity is demanded by multiple sides and granted by none. Indian readers may interrogate what’s omitted, simplified, or “for outsiders,” while Western readers often seek the cultural key, the explanatory footnote. Lahiri’s deft distinction respects both audiences while refusing to let either define the work’s purpose. It’s a reminder that representation isn’t only about who appears on the page; it’s about who gets to read as an individual and who is read as a category.
When she reads to a predominantly Indian audience, the questions tilt toward “identity and representation” because the work isn’t just craft; it’s evidence. Diasporic fiction gets treated like a proxy census, forced to answer for a community’s image in a way that, say, a white novelist’s family drama rarely does. The subtext is a familiar trap: the minority writer as spokesperson, translator, and PR department, asked to justify choices that are aesthetic but received as political. Lahiri doesn’t posture against those questions; she simply marks their specificity, implying both their legitimacy and their burden.
The phrasing also hints at her career-long tension: writing from the in-between, where authenticity is demanded by multiple sides and granted by none. Indian readers may interrogate what’s omitted, simplified, or “for outsiders,” while Western readers often seek the cultural key, the explanatory footnote. Lahiri’s deft distinction respects both audiences while refusing to let either define the work’s purpose. It’s a reminder that representation isn’t only about who appears on the page; it’s about who gets to read as an individual and who is read as a category.
Quote Details
| Topic | Writing |
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