Fusun

Orhan Pamuk has been giving me mild orgasms all evening. I am only half way through the book and I have wept twice already. Kemal Bey, is a hoarder like I am. And so, as I unashamedly encouraged him and smiled many a haughty smiles every time he sneaked and hid in his pockets, something Fusun had touched, held or seen, I remembered all the receipts stashed away fondly in secret cupboards, from ‘seminar’ related outings I had managed getting away to. Mother’s breakdown following the discovery of one such receipt is something I would like to dedicate a whole post to.

I like how he thinks of time and events as means of recording how and when he was happy. I died of envy when he managed to write why and how the air and objects around Fusun eventually become his only saviors from escalating into a whole another kind of madness. He isn’t at all curious to know if he is putting either his readers or Fusun’s parents to an irritated slumber as he goes on to dine with them for 8 years. Frankly, it gave me hope and denied me guilt when I now look back upon the people and homes I have imposed my company on.

His narrative of the mad pursuit of simpler times he spent with Fusun are shamelessly generous with the information they give. And I basked in his shamelessness. Overjoyed, as I was, knowing I wasn’t the only hopeless hoarder there ever was. I sighed whenever he felt seized by relief after obtaining these objects. I smiled at the little discoveries he makes on this mad journey. ‘Happiness’, he says, ‘means being close to the one you love’. Has there been a simpler truth? And this is none of the parents are important bullshit. It’s more real because this is love the way one feels, at least the way I feel, back here, outside ‘The Museum of Innocence’. It’s how the air around them becomes desirable simply because they are breathing it. It’s how you begin to feel that the objects that they hold are capable of bringing you the same warmth.

I went back to all the ticket stubs I had collected over the years, all the perfect rocks on the beach I struggled to look for, 2 straws from a drink shared, boarding passes, tissue papers all currently at display on the shelf in my museum.

I haven’t said this about a book in a long time but I really wish I don’t finish reading this soon.

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