On Life With Consequences: In Arundhati Roy’s The God of Small Things

The idea around this book, this story that didn’t need practicing or explaining but stemmed from something that was endured. The God of Small Things is a disguise which reveals itself delicately. It’s a vessel constantly overflowing on some days with politics; while love has invariably submerged itself with laws of having emotional and physical consequences. It leaves an impact on life and the thing we call life itself. A body brimming with emotions. A vessel brimming with water it’s not designed to hold. A life with consequences it’s not supposed to have.

“Estha occupied very little space in the world.”
– Arundhati Roy, The God of Small Things

 

“Ammu said that human beings were creatures of habit, and it was amazing the kind of things one could get used to.”
– Arundhati Roy, The God of Small Things

There’s a passing of worlds and generations in us that we are the unwavering outcomes of. A missing element. A shadow lurking in corners that were built years before we were born. Those corners feel like boulders we carry on our shoulders. Too heavy to lift without succumbing to the parched ground underneath our feet. Too wide to let go without falling with it. The final weight crushing every part of our body. And everything else that nature conspired to build in us. This weight is pragmatic, no less. It is enslaved with history, desire, regrets, and forced imitations.

The god of small things by arundhati roy- for the public eye review
The cost of living is unbiased to our means of paying for it. How can it be possible to build the simplest beings in the world and enforce on them ideas that remain unchanged for over hundreds of years? So ingrained are our feelings of life and death that what’s left to render in between becomes the only primal test of living.

What about the end of living? Death is certainly not the end of living. The former is not as consequential as we think it is. The stronger dose is the latter with its own poison and own grave. End of living is the only way of leaving without a body.

Of wandering with no cause.

“Small Things were said. The Big Things lurked unsaid inside.”
– Arundhati Roy, The God of Small Things

When the little things are as indifferent in this world as the big things. Because you see yourself in neither. The little things have a world of their own. Following the course of life in the things humans leave behind. A habit too habitual to have you in it. Too constant. Too committed to the way of living that a slight step in the wrong direction and you have nowhere to belong.

The big things so encompassing that finding yourself in such a convoluted maze would be impossible and destructive. The big things are what dreams are made of. They are what constitutes to hopes and life worth living. Nothing about the big things feel discoverable because you’re still unaffected, untouched, and invisible. Rummaging through the haystacks to find the needle is unthinkable when it’s you who is the needle in the haystack.

When it’s your wounds that still remain irreparable.

What of the Small Things then?

Who’s the Savior?

Consequences arise out of misery, but are only counted, measured, and treasured when felt. Otherwise, they pass on like the air we breathe over generations.