achilles yacht

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Private YACHT

NOT FOR CHARTER*

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ACHILLES yacht NOT for charter*

55m / 180'5 | crn | 1984 / 2016.

Owner & Guests

Cabin Configuration

Previous Yacht

Special Features:

Impressive 4,606nm range
Two VIP cabins
Lloyds Register classification
Interior design from Zuretti
Sleeps 12 overnight

The 55m/180'5" motor yacht 'Achilles' (ex. New Santa Mary) was built by CRN in Italy. Her interior is styled by French designer design house Zuretti and she was completed in 1984. This luxury vessel's exterior design is the work of CRN and she was last refitted in 2016.

Guest Accommodation

Achilles has been designed to comfortably accommodate up to 12 guests in 7 suites comprising two VIP cabins. She is also capable of carrying up to 13 crew onboard to ensure a relaxed luxury yacht experience.

Onboard Comfort & Entertainment

Her features include WiFi and air conditioning.

Range & Performance

Achilles is built with a steel hull and aluminium superstructure, with teak decks. Powered by twin diesel Deutz (BV8M628) 2,200hp engines, she comfortably cruises at 13 knots, reaches a maximum speed of 17 knots with a range of up to 4,606 nautical miles from her 135,000 litre fuel tanks at 14 knots. Her water tanks store around 27,000 Litres of fresh water. She was built to Lloyds Register classification society rules.

PRIVATE YACHT - "Achilles" IS NOT FOR CHARTER

Sorry, motor yacht "Achilles" is a strictly Private yacht and is NOT available for Charter. Click here to view similar yachts for charter , or contact your Yacht Charter Broker for information about renting another luxury charter yacht.

"Yacht Charter Fleet" is a free information service, if your vessel changes its status, and does become available for charter, please contact us with details and photos and we will update our records.

Achilles Photos

NOTE to U.S. Customs & Border Protection

NOTE TO U.S. CUSTOMS & BORDER PROTECTION

Due to the international and fluid nature of the yachting business and the fact there is no global central industry listing service to which all charter yachts subscribe it is impossible to ascertain a truly up-to-date view of the market. We are a news and information service and not always informed when yachts leave the charter market, or when they are recently sold and renamed it is not clear if they are still for charter. Whilst we use our best endeavors to maintain accurate information, the existence of a listing on this website should in no way supersede official documentation supplied by representatives of a yacht.

Specification

M/Y Achilles

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Stay afloat with Achilles

Achilles inflatable boats.

Every Achilles boat is made with our own proven four-layered fabric reinforced with Achilles CSM fabric. We are one of the few inflatable boat companies that manufacture our own fabric, and have for over 30 years. This ensures consistent quality year-to-year and boat-to-boat.

Boat Models Dinghies

A lot of quality in a small package.

These two and four-person boats go from their handy carry bags to fully equipped dinghies in just minutes.

Boat Models Sport Tenders

Lightweight, easy-to-stow tenders.

Value packed, roll-up option for boaters who need the space-saving convenience of a lightweight easy-to-stow tender.

Boat Models Rigid Hulls

Sleek, euro-style tubes.

These deluxe hard bottom inflatables offer boaters the best combination of style, performance and functionality.

Boat Models Sport Boats

Rugged and roomy.

These versatile aluminum and wood-floored boats are the perfect solution for a range of uses.

Boat Models Sport Utility

Built tough to work hard.

A number of commercial grade features such as recessed valves and a full-length, protective wear patch combine to makes these boats the right choice for the toughest marine uses.

Boat Models Commercial & Rescue

Rapid deployment rescue series.

A versatile utility boat that is ready to go in minutes.

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Motor Yacht

Achilles, previously known as Princess Lauren and Lady Fiesta is a 55.30m motor yacht, custom built in 1984 by CRN. The yacht has exterior styling by CRN, with interior design by Zuretti. She was last refitted in 2008 by Alpha Marine.

Achilles has a steel hull and aluminium superstructure with a beam of 8.20m (26.90ft) and a 4m (13.12ft) draft.

Achilles initially received a refit from Alpha Marine in 1997. Extensive work on the interior and exterior included the addition of a swimming platform. The hull of the vessel was also extended by 3.20m. In 2008 Alpha Marine carried out the project development and management in order to successfully complete numerous works for an extensive refit to Achilles’ interior accommodation areas and exterior spaces. Performance + Capabilities Achilles is capable of 20 knots flat out, with a range of 4000 nautical miles. Achilles Accommodation Achilles offers accommodation for up to 16 guests in two suites. She is also capable of carrying up to 13 crew members onboard to ensure a relaxed luxury yacht experience.

Yacht Builder CRN View profile
Interior Designer Zuretti No profile available

Yacht Specs

Other crn yachts, related news.

ACHILLES CRN

Inspiration

ACHILLES has 29 Photos

Premier Overview: Yacht ACHILLES's Cruising Photograph

Western Mediterranean

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Gorgeous 46m Sanlorenzo Motor Yacht ...

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If you have any questions about the ACHILLES information page below please contact us .

A General Description of Motor Yacht ACHILLES

This motor yacht ACHILLES is a 55 metre 181 (ft) impressive steel vessel which was newly built at CRN Yachts (Ferretti Group) and devised from the design board of Crn and Martin Francis. Accommodating 16 passengers and 13 qualified crew, motor yacht ACHILLES was named Genros; New Santa Mary; Azteca Ii; Lady Azteca; Princess Lauren; Lady Fiesta. The naval architect responsible for the design for this ship is Crn and Martin Francis. Her interior styling is the work of Martin Francis/Zuretti Interior Design.

The Construction & Design of Luxury Yacht ACHILLES

Crn was the naval architect firm involved in the technical superyacht design work for ACHILLES. Her interior design was realised by Martin Francis/Zuretti Interior Design. Crn and Martin Francis is also associated with the yacht wider design collaboration for this boat. Italy is the country that Crn Yachts (Ferretti Group) built their new build motor yacht in. After official launch in 1984 in Ancona she was then delivered on to the owner having completed sea trials and testing. The hull was built out of steel. The motor yacht main superstructure is made for the most part using aluminium. With a width of 8.2 metres or 26.9 feet ACHILLES has spacious room. She has a fairly deep draught of 4m (13.12ft). She had refit improvement and modification completed in 2009.

Range & Speeds And Engineering Figures On M/Y ACHILLES:

Fitted with twin DEUTZ-MWM diesel main engines, ACHILLES will attain a top speed of 17 knots. For propulsion ACHILLES has twin screw propellers. She also has an efficient range of 4000 miles when motoring at her cruise speed of 14 knots. Her total HP is 4400 HP and her total Kilowatts are 3238. As for the yacht’s stabalisers she was built with Vosper.

Guest Accommodation On Aboard Superyacht ACHILLES:

The notable luxury yacht M/Y ACHILLES can accommodate as many as 16 people and 13 crew.

A List of the Specifications of the ACHILLES:

Miscellaneous yacht details.

Around October 2009 ACHILLES cruised to Palma, in Spain. This motor yacht also navigated the location near Illes Balears during the month of Sept 2009. An Unknown Brand is the model of air con used in the interior. She has a teak deck.

ACHILLES Disclaimer:

The luxury yacht ACHILLES displayed on this page is merely informational and she is not necessarily available for yacht charter or for sale, nor is she represented or marketed in anyway by CharterWorld. This web page and the superyacht information contained herein is not contractual. All yacht specifications and informations are displayed in good faith but CharterWorld does not warrant or assume any legal liability or responsibility for the current accuracy, completeness, validity, or usefulness of any superyacht information and/or images displayed. All boat information is subject to change without prior notice and may not be current.

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“We reinvented the idea of Bespoke”. 'CRN devotes maximum attention to craftsmanship and style, representing the true added value of Designed & Made in Italy products.'

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CRN Motor Yacht Achilles For Sale

The 55.2 metre motor yacht Achilles has been listed for sale by Fergus Torrance at Torrance Yachts.

Built in steel and aluminium by Italian yard CRN to a design by Martin Francis , Achilles was delivered in 1984 and has had the same owner for the past 15 years with a continuous programme of upgrades and refits, most recently in 2018. Accommodation in a spacious interior by Francois Zuretti is for 12 guests in seven cabins comprising a main deck master suite, two VIP suites, two doubles and two twins. All guest cabins have entertainment centres, television screens and en suite bathroom facilities while a further eight cabins sleep 13 crew aboard this yacht for sale .

The main saloon features comfortable seating for up to 12 guests, a bar and an entertainment centre including a 55-inch Sharp HD television screen on a rise and fall mechanism and a Bose stereo surround sound system.

On the upper deck, a lounge and bar area offer excellent 360-degree views and an outdoor dining area is accessible through two sliding glass doors. Extensive use of glass is a special feature on this yacht, with guests always kept in touch with the surrounding seascape. Her top speed is 17 knots and she boasts a maximum cruising range of 4,000 nautical miles at 14 knots with power coming from two 2,200hp Deutz BV8M628 diesel engines.

Lying in Genoa, Italy, Achilles is asking €6,500,000.

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About Achilles

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Achilles Yachts

Achilles yachts were built by Chris Butler of Butler Mouldings, initially from a re-developed Ajax design created by Oliver Lee (Achilles 24) based in Hackney, East London, before designing the later models of the Achilles himself. The Achilles 24's success brought a move to Swansea, South Wales, where larger premises coped with the demand for the Achilles 24, and subsequently the other Achilles yachts in the range of which over 1500 were built. The company's history dates back to 1954, though the Achilles range of yachts was built from around 1968 when Chris Butler and Oliver Lee conspired to produce a fast race-style yacht with better accommodation. The production of Achilles yachts ceased around 1989 when its interests grew more into producing submersible craft for use on oil rigs and later closed when Chris Butler retired.

Achilles is renowned as fast cruiser-racer yachts and has successfully competed in many ocean races, sometimes being sailed single-handedly in competitions. The family of yachts have a good pedigree, and their build quality and safety are unquestionable. Achilles yachts are popular due to their reputation, and their design hits a perfect balance between performance and accommodation.

Several yacht types have been manufactured under the name Achilles: Achilles 24, Achilles 840, Achilles 9m, Achilles 7m, Achilles 7.5m & Sparta. By far, the most popular was the Achilles 24, of which over 600 were said to have been produced, though later the 9m and the 840 became popular choices for those who wanted a more serious cruising yacht.

Updated By Network Yacht Brokers Barcelona March 2021

Achilles boats previously for sale

test456 0' 0"

Achillies ... 29' 9"

Achilles 840 27' 6"

Achilles 840 27' 9"

Achilles 750 24' 7"

Achilles 24 23' 8"

Achillies 24 23' 9"

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Achilles 24

September 23, 2009

A seminal range of small but tough offshore cruisers

Product Overview

Price as reviewed:.

Chris Butler designed and built a seminal range of small but tough offshore cruisers that found themselves in all corners of the world. They sold in large numbers for the times (late 60s to late 70s). Performance across the range tended to be moderate to good and the interiors on the small side due to narrow beam, but their strong suit was sea-keeping and the ability to keep going in difficult conditions. Butler competed in AZAB and OSTAR races in the Achilles 24, which featured a bulbed fin keel. This gave the boat quite respectable speed and windward performance but a triple-keeled, shoal draught version was much more pedestrian. She has four berths, a small galley and a rudimentary toilet. Headroom was just 4ft 8in (1.37m). Most of the 350-plus built were originally sold without engines and many will still use outboards, but an inboard petrol engine was an option, usually quickly replaced with a small diesel. Factory-built boats were sound, strong but simple. The quality of the many home-built models will be variable.

Your Chesapeake Bay Boating Connection for 50+ years!

Any inflatable boat is only as good as it’s fabric — and for 40 years Achilles has been making the industry’s very best.

Achilles has always had the reputation for manufacturing one of the highest quality inflatable boats in the world. Any inflatable dealer will tell you that the quality of the boat begins and ends with its fabric — its durability, toughness and overall reliability. And it’s no surprise that Achilles sets the standard for manufacturing the boat fabric, used to craft its own premium line of inflatable boats, but often sold to be used in the construction of other inflatable boat brands.

Achilles proprietary fabric is constructed using 4 layers: two inner layers of Chlorprene for unsurpassed air retention, a core layer of heavy duty nylon for strength and rigidity and an exterior of chlorosulphonated polyethylene, or CSM, for toughness and ultimate durability. When combined, these 4 layers create an inflatable boat fabric with unsurpassed durability, resulting in : UV resistance, abrasion resistance, and resistance to oil and gas – all things that boats are subject to in the marine environment. Beyond fabric, inflatable boat construction matters to the overall integrity of the craft. This is why, all Achilles boats are hand-crafted with all seams glued and sealed — overlapping a full inch and reinforced with seam tape both inside and out. No one else takes so many steps to ensure seams will last, which is why Achilles offers an industry leading full 5-year warranty on fabric and seams — instilling even greater confidence in your inflatable boat purchase.

And, don’t be fooled be the cheaper, knock-off inflatables that are primarily constructed out of PVC based fabric. Yes, they are less expensive, but they are also lower quality with many different points of failure and compromised safety over time. Achilles should know, they also make and sell PVC fabric, but ONLY chose to construct their brand of boats using CSM — a better fabric that stands the test of time. This is the very reason why it was an easy decision to select Achilles as our ONLY inflatable boat brand partner — among the many choices that we had.

Come see why Tri-State Marine is excited to represent Achilles as our new inflatable brand partner. Dinghies, Sport Tenders, Rigid Hulls and Sport Utilities, we sell and service the full line of Achilles models — all powered by Yamaha Outboards. Whether you need a new inflatable by itself or a boat with a Yamaha motor, visit Tri-State Marine to consider all of your options.

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Achilles Yacht Owners Association

This site is for all those who are interested in sailing yachts built by Butler Mouldings.

A750 & Sparta
Achilles Boats for Sale
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Friday, February 9, 2024

A24 build dates required.

Cross posted from Facebook:

If people (other than Huw) have good build dates for their A24's I'll have a go at doing an updated version of the sail number vs date graph. Replies will need to be with me by early March as I will hopefully be off sailing from the middle of the month. (this cross posted to the web site & Flikr).

Wednesday, January 10, 2024

Any a840 availability for measuring the rudder and skeg.

Cross posted from the A840 page

I have lost my rudder and part of my skeg in a storm. Does anyone know where u could get the drawings. Also if anyone has an achilies 840 that is out of the water and within 100 miles of edinburgh, it would be great if i could take measurements. Many thanks Stuart

Wednesday, April 12, 2023

Possible delays in moderation.

If things go to plan I will be sailing from Saturday April 15th 2 - 4 months, if moderation action is required it may take a few days to get done depending on where I am.

sv-sancerre

Friday, February 3, 2023

Good news re admiralty charts.

The timetable for the withdrawal of our paper chart portfolio is to be extended.

In July last year, the UK Hydrographic Office announced its intention to withdraw ADMIRALTY Standard Nautical Charts (SNCs) and Thematic Charts from production by late 2026.

Having listened to user feedback, it has become clear that more time is required to address the needs of those specific users who do not yet have viable alternatives to paper chart products. We will continue to provide a paper chart service until at least 2030.

https://www.admiralty.co.uk/news/paper-chart-withdrawal

Tuesday, January 31, 2023

Calor gas discontinues its 4.5kg butane cylinders with update retracting..

This may impact some owners:

Calor Gas discontinues its 4.5kg butane cylinders - Practical Boat Owner (pbo.co.uk)

Update 12 April 2023:

Looks like they have changed their mind, from the Cruising Association.

"⚠️Member Alert⚠️

Calor Gas has decided to continue exchanging and refilling its 3.9kg propane and 4.5kg butane cylinders for the immediate future.

Thursday, December 8, 2022

Spammers please note.

To the yacht brokers, particularly those in the middle east, those offering yacht charters etc. who, or who's bots, have not yet twigged - adverts pretending to be comments on posts are not being accepted and are marked as spam so, with a bit of luck, Google will eventually block you from their platforms and save me the effort of reporting you.

Monday, September 26, 2022

Bedtime reading for achilles sailors - 1976 ostar.

Ian Wallace (A9m "Spearhead") has completed a labour of love transcribing two descriptions of the 1976 OSTAR, see Trip Reports.

2022 Achilles HB - 280 LX

Turn Your Curiosity Into Discovery

Latest facts.

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40 facts about elektrostal.

Written by Lanette Mayes

Modified & Updated: 02 Mar 2024

Reviewed by Jessica Corbett

Elektrostal is a vibrant city located in the Moscow Oblast region of Russia. With a rich history, stunning architecture, and a thriving community, Elektrostal is a city that has much to offer. Whether you are a history buff, nature enthusiast, or simply curious about different cultures, Elektrostal is sure to captivate you.

This article will provide you with 40 fascinating facts about Elektrostal, giving you a better understanding of why this city is worth exploring. From its origins as an industrial hub to its modern-day charm, we will delve into the various aspects that make Elektrostal a unique and must-visit destination.

So, join us as we uncover the hidden treasures of Elektrostal and discover what makes this city a true gem in the heart of Russia.

Key Takeaways:

Elektrostal, known as the “Motor City of Russia,” is a vibrant and growing city with a rich industrial history, offering diverse cultural experiences and a strong commitment to environmental sustainability.
With its convenient location near Moscow, Elektrostal provides a picturesque landscape, vibrant nightlife, and a range of recreational activities, making it an ideal destination for residents and visitors alike.

Known as the “Motor City of Russia.”

Elektrostal, a city located in the Moscow Oblast region of Russia, earned the nickname “Motor City” due to its significant involvement in the automotive industry.

Home to the Elektrostal Metallurgical Plant.

Elektrostal is renowned for its metallurgical plant, which has been producing high-quality steel and alloys since its establishment in 1916.

Boasts a rich industrial heritage.

Elektrostal has a long history of industrial development, contributing to the growth and progress of the region.

Founded in 1916.

The city of Elektrostal was founded in 1916 as a result of the construction of the Elektrostal Metallurgical Plant.

Located approximately 50 kilometers east of Moscow.

Elektrostal is situated in close proximity to the Russian capital, making it easily accessible for both residents and visitors.

Known for its vibrant cultural scene.

Elektrostal is home to several cultural institutions, including museums, theaters, and art galleries that showcase the city’s rich artistic heritage.

A popular destination for nature lovers.

Surrounded by picturesque landscapes and forests, Elektrostal offers ample opportunities for outdoor activities such as hiking, camping, and birdwatching.

Hosts the annual Elektrostal City Day celebrations.

Every year, Elektrostal organizes festive events and activities to celebrate its founding, bringing together residents and visitors in a spirit of unity and joy.

Has a population of approximately 160,000 people.

Elektrostal is home to a diverse and vibrant community of around 160,000 residents, contributing to its dynamic atmosphere.

Boasts excellent education facilities.

The city is known for its well-established educational institutions, providing quality education to students of all ages.

A center for scientific research and innovation.

Elektrostal serves as an important hub for scientific research, particularly in the fields of metallurgy, materials science, and engineering.

Surrounded by picturesque lakes.

The city is blessed with numerous beautiful lakes, offering scenic views and recreational opportunities for locals and visitors alike.

Well-connected transportation system.

Elektrostal benefits from an efficient transportation network, including highways, railways, and public transportation options, ensuring convenient travel within and beyond the city.

Famous for its traditional Russian cuisine.

Food enthusiasts can indulge in authentic Russian dishes at numerous restaurants and cafes scattered throughout Elektrostal.

Home to notable architectural landmarks.

Elektrostal boasts impressive architecture, including the Church of the Transfiguration of the Lord and the Elektrostal Palace of Culture.

Offers a wide range of recreational facilities.

Residents and visitors can enjoy various recreational activities, such as sports complexes, swimming pools, and fitness centers, enhancing the overall quality of life.

Provides a high standard of healthcare.

Elektrostal is equipped with modern medical facilities, ensuring residents have access to quality healthcare services.

Home to the Elektrostal History Museum.

The Elektrostal History Museum showcases the city’s fascinating past through exhibitions and displays.

A hub for sports enthusiasts.

Elektrostal is passionate about sports, with numerous stadiums, arenas, and sports clubs offering opportunities for athletes and spectators.

Celebrates diverse cultural festivals.

Throughout the year, Elektrostal hosts a variety of cultural festivals, celebrating different ethnicities, traditions, and art forms.

Electric power played a significant role in its early development.

Elektrostal owes its name and initial growth to the establishment of electric power stations and the utilization of electricity in the industrial sector.

Boasts a thriving economy.

The city’s strong industrial base, coupled with its strategic location near Moscow, has contributed to Elektrostal’s prosperous economic status.

Houses the Elektrostal Drama Theater.

The Elektrostal Drama Theater is a cultural centerpiece, attracting theater enthusiasts from far and wide.

Popular destination for winter sports.

Elektrostal’s proximity to ski resorts and winter sport facilities makes it a favorite destination for skiing, snowboarding, and other winter activities.

Promotes environmental sustainability.

Elektrostal prioritizes environmental protection and sustainability, implementing initiatives to reduce pollution and preserve natural resources.

Home to renowned educational institutions.

Elektrostal is known for its prestigious schools and universities, offering a wide range of academic programs to students.

Committed to cultural preservation.

The city values its cultural heritage and takes active steps to preserve and promote traditional customs, crafts, and arts.

Hosts an annual International Film Festival.

The Elektrostal International Film Festival attracts filmmakers and cinema enthusiasts from around the world, showcasing a diverse range of films.

Encourages entrepreneurship and innovation.

Elektrostal supports aspiring entrepreneurs and fosters a culture of innovation, providing opportunities for startups and business development.

Offers a range of housing options.

Elektrostal provides diverse housing options, including apartments, houses, and residential complexes, catering to different lifestyles and budgets.

Home to notable sports teams.

Elektrostal is proud of its sports legacy, with several successful sports teams competing at regional and national levels.

Boasts a vibrant nightlife scene.

Residents and visitors can enjoy a lively nightlife in Elektrostal, with numerous bars, clubs, and entertainment venues.

Promotes cultural exchange and international relations.

Elektrostal actively engages in international partnerships, cultural exchanges, and diplomatic collaborations to foster global connections.

Surrounded by beautiful nature reserves.

Nearby nature reserves, such as the Barybino Forest and Luchinskoye Lake, offer opportunities for nature enthusiasts to explore and appreciate the region’s biodiversity.

Commemorates historical events.

The city pays tribute to significant historical events through memorials, monuments, and exhibitions, ensuring the preservation of collective memory.

Promotes sports and youth development.

Elektrostal invests in sports infrastructure and programs to encourage youth participation, health, and physical fitness.

Hosts annual cultural and artistic festivals.

Throughout the year, Elektrostal celebrates its cultural diversity through festivals dedicated to music, dance, art, and theater.

Provides a picturesque landscape for photography enthusiasts.

The city’s scenic beauty, architectural landmarks, and natural surroundings make it a paradise for photographers.

Connects to Moscow via a direct train line.

The convenient train connection between Elektrostal and Moscow makes commuting between the two cities effortless.

A city with a bright future.

Elektrostal continues to grow and develop, aiming to become a model city in terms of infrastructure, sustainability, and quality of life for its residents.

In conclusion, Elektrostal is a fascinating city with a rich history and a vibrant present. From its origins as a center of steel production to its modern-day status as a hub for education and industry, Elektrostal has plenty to offer both residents and visitors. With its beautiful parks, cultural attractions, and proximity to Moscow, there is no shortage of things to see and do in this dynamic city. Whether you’re interested in exploring its historical landmarks, enjoying outdoor activities, or immersing yourself in the local culture, Elektrostal has something for everyone. So, next time you find yourself in the Moscow region, don’t miss the opportunity to discover the hidden gems of Elektrostal.

Q: What is the population of Elektrostal?

A: As of the latest data, the population of Elektrostal is approximately XXXX.

Q: How far is Elektrostal from Moscow?

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Rupert Murdoch reportedly spent a night on a gurney in a hospital parking lot after he broke his back falling on son Lachlan's yacht

Rupert Murdoch reportedly broke his back after he fell while aboard his son Lachlan's yacht in 2018.
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Rupert Murdoch reportedly fell and sustained serious injuries while aboard his son's yacht in 2018, an incident that led the media mogul to spend a night in a European hospital parking lot, waiting under a tent until he could be flown back to the US.

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essay on management of grief

Literary theory and criticism.

Home › Literature › Analysis of Bharati Mukherjee’s The Management of Grief

Analysis of Bharati Mukherjee’s The Management of Grief

By NASRULLAH MAMBROL on May 29, 2021

The Management of Grief is collected in The Middleman and Other Stories (1988), winner of the National Book Critics Circle Award. The idea of “middlemen” is central to these stories of immigrant experience; Bharati Mukherjee presents characters in fl ux as they cope with their positions: They are between cultures, between lifestyles, between the old and the new, between the persons they used to be and the persons they are becoming in their new lives. “The Management of Grief” is a fictional depiction of the June 25, 1985, terrorist bombing of an Air India Boeing 747 en route from Canada to Bombay via London’s Heathrow Airport. The crash killed all 329 passengers, most of whom were Canadian Indians. Mukherjee and her husband, Clark Blaise, had researched and written a book on the tragedy ( The Sorrow and the Terror [1987]). In an interview with the scholar Beverley Beyers-Pevitts, Bharati Mukherjee reminisces about the composition of this story: “ ‘The Management of Grief,’ the one which is most anthologized, I did in two sittings. Almost all of it was written in one sitting because I was so ready to tell that story” (190).

In the immediate aftermath of the tragedy, the tale opens in Toronto in the kitchen of Shaila Bhave, a Hindu Canadian who has lost her husband, Vikram, and two sons, Vinod and Mithun, in the crash. Through Shaila, the central character, Mukherjee illuminates not only the community’s immediate reactions to the horrific event but also the Indian values and cultural differences that the well-meaning Canadian social worker Judith Templeton struggles vainly to comprehend. Valium mutes Shaila’s own grief as she commiserates with her neighbor Kusum, whose husband, Satish, and a talented daughter were crash victims. Kusum is confronted by her Westernized daughter Pam, who had refused to travel to India, preferring to stay home and work at McDonald’s; Pam now accuses her mother of favoring her dead sister. As well-intentioned neighbors make tea and answer phone calls, Judith Templeton asks Shaila to help her communicate with the hundreds of Indian-born Canadians affected by the tragedy, some of whom speak no English: “There are some widows who’ve never handled money or gone on a bus, and there are old parents who still haven’t eaten or gone outside their bedrooms” (183). Judith appeals to Shaila because “All the people said, Mrs. Bhave is the strongest person of all” (183).

Bharati Mukherjee/The New York Times

Shaila agrees to try to help on her return from Ireland, site of the plane crash. While there she describes the difficulties of Kusum, who eventually finds acceptance of her loss through her swami, and of Dr. Ranganathan, a Montreal electrical engineer whose entire family perished. Shaila is in denial and is actually relieved when she cannot identify as hers any of the young boys’ bodies whose photos are presented to her. From Ireland, Shaila and Kusum fl y to Bombay, where Shaila finally screams in frustration at a customs official and then notes, “One [sic] upon a time we were well brought up women; we were dutiful wives who kept our heads veiled, our voices shy and sweet” (189). While with her grandmother and parents, Shaila describes their differences—the grandmother observes Hindu traditions while her parents rebelled against them— and sees herself as “trapped between two modes of knowledge. At thirty-six, I am too old to start over and too young to give up. Like my husband’s spirit, I flutter between two worlds” (189). She reenters her old life for a while, playing bridge in gymkhana clubs, riding ponies on trails, attending tea dances, and observing that the widowers are already being introduced to “new bride candidates” (190). She considers herself fortunate to be an “unlucky widow,” who, according to custom, is ineligible for remarriage. Instead, in a Hindu temple, her husband appears to her and tells her to “ finish what we started together ” (190).

And so, unlike Kusum, who moves to an ashram in Hardwar, Shaila returns to Toronto, sells her house at a profi t, and moves to an apartment. Once again, Judith seeks her help, this time with an old Sikh couple who refuse to accept their sons’ deaths and therefore refuse all government aid, despite being plunged into darkness when the electric company cuts off their power. Shaila cannot explain to Judith, who as a social worker is immersed in the four “stages” of grief, that as a Hindu she cannot communicate with this Sikh couple, particularly because Sikhs were probably responsible for the bombing of the Air India fl ight. Still, she understands their hope that their sons will reappear and has difficulty sympathizing with Judith’s government forms and legalities. Shaila leaves Judith, hears her family’s voices exhorting her to be brave and to continue her life, and, on a hopeful note, begins walking toward whatever her new life will present.

Analysis of Bharati Mukherjee’s Stories

BIBLIOGRAPHY Beyers-Pevitts, Beverley. “An Interview with Bharati Mukherjee.” In Speaking of the Short Story: Interviews with Contemporary Writers. Oxford: University Press of Mississippi, 1997. Carb, Alison B. “An Interview with Bharati Mukherjee.” Massachusetts Review 29 (1988–1999): 645–654. Connell, Michael, Jessie Grearson, and Tom Grimes. “An Interview with Bharati Mukherjee.” Iowa Review 20, no. 3 (Fall 1990): 7–32. Hancock, Geoff. “An Interview with Bharati Mukherjee.” Canadian Fiction Magazine 59 (1987): 30–44. Mukherjee, Bharati. “The Management of Grief.” In The Middleman and Other Stories. New York: Grove Press, 1988. Pandya, Sudha. “Bharati Mukherjee’s Darkness: Exploring Hyphenated Identity.” Quill 2, no. 2 (December 1990): 68–73.

“The Management of Grief” by Bharati Mukherjee Essay (Review)

Short story analysis: critical review, “the management of grief”: summary, “the management of grief”: analysis conclusion, works cited.

To begin with, let us state that the story under consideration is the short story under the title “The Management of Grief” by Bharati Mukherjee. She is and outstanding American writer who was awarded a National Book Critics Circle Award in 1988 for her book “The Middleman and Other Stories.” The stories are known for their engaging plots, well-thought structures and author’s writing style. We should admit that the story under consideration is a remarkable piece of writing that deserves our attention.

It is the only story about immigrants in Canada in her collection of books. In “The Management of Grief,” Mukherjee analyzes the catastrophe that is based on the 1985 terrorist bombing of an Air India jet occupied mainly by Indian immigrants that live in Canada. “The Management of Grief” analysis essay shall define the main lesson from the story by Bharati Mukherjee.

The story uses a first-person narrative, and it makes it moving and realistic. It is a mixture of narration and dialogue. The text abounds in specific terms, naming traditional Indian clothes and dishes. This creates a realistic atmosphere and makes the understanding of the theme easier for the reader. We feel as if we were members of their community of immigrants ourselves. So, the setting is the Indian community in Toronto struck by a heavy loss.

The “The Management of Grief” theme may be observed in the title; that is why we can say that it is suggestive. “The Management of Grief” tells us there exists such grief that every person has to face sooner or later. It is the death of our near and dear people, people who represent all lovely qualities of life for us, people who are the sense of our lives.

And our task is to accept and manage this grief properly, but for the “The Management of Grief” characters, this is even more complicated because they live in a foreign country with different traditions and mentality.

The message of the story can be formulated like this: every person is free to decide how to act in his life. The most important thing is peace in our soul that will come sooner or later, even if we have experienced severe grief. We have to look for the answers in our soul, not in the traditions and customs of our country.

As we have already mentioned, the story is told in the first person. The storyteller is Shaila Bhave, a Hindu Canadian who knows that both her husband, Vikram, and her two sons were on the cursed plane. She is the narrator and the protagonist at the same time, so the action unfolds around her.

Shaila makes us feel her grief. It is natural that tears may well up in our eyes while reading. Speaking about other characters of the story, we should mention Kusum, who is opposed to Shaila. Kusum follows all Indian traditions and observes the morning procedure while Shaila chooses to struggle against oppressive traditions, and she rejects them because she is a woman of the new world . Josna Rege says that “Each of the female protagonists of Mukherjee’s … recent novels is a woman who continually “remakes herself” (Rege 399).

And Shaila is a real exception to the rule. She is a unique woman who is not like other Indian women. We would say that she is instead an American or European woman: strong, struggling, intelligent, with broad scope and rich inner world.

The first two pages give us the idea of Indian values. It becomes clear from the very outset, from the opening sentence: “A woman I don’t know is boiling tea the Indian way in my kitchen” (Selvadurai 91).

From the short story analysis, it is evident that the storyteller depicts with much detail the grief and sorrow of those who have experienced this tragedy using such word combinations as “monstrously pregnant” (Selvadurai 91) and “deadening quiet” (Selvadurai 92). The atmosphere becomes more and more tense, and we can see that among all those people who have come to help, Shaila wants to scream.

In this part of the story, where we also get acquainted with Pam, Kusum’s daughter, who stayed alive, because her younger sister had flown instead of her. Here we see misunderstanding between the mother and the daughter as Pam is a westernized teenager, and that is the reason for their detachment. She is closer to Shaila than to her mother.

In the development of action that covers the major part of the text, we can see Shaila’s meeting with a representative of the provincial government, Judith Templeton. Shaila goes to the coast of Ireland to look once again at that very place, where the crash of the Air India jet took place.

She is accompanied by Kusum and several more mourners, who grieve too much, but still, have to identify the bodies. Here the atmosphere is very tragic. The mother cannot accept the reality, and she still thinks that she did not lose her family , because the boy on the photo does not look like her son and, moreover, he is an excellent swimmer so that he can be alive. It is tough to be the witness of the tragedy of a woman who has lost her children.

Then we come to know that Shaila decided to return to India, and there she understood that she had to go back to Canada. This is the climax of the story. We see that the woman has chosen the right way, though she is still not sure and wants to ask her family for advice.

To conclude, let us say that Bharati Mukherjee’s “The Management of Grief” is a tragic and melancholic story, but after all, it creates the impression of an open door, that is the optimistic note of the story. A person who manages the grief will never be alone.

Rege, Josna. “Bharati Mukherjee (1940– ).” The Columbia Companion to the Twentieth-Century American Short Story. Ed. Blanche H. Gelfant and Lawrence Graver. New York: Columbia University Press, 2000.

Selvadurai, Shyam. Story-Wallah: short fiction from South Asian writers. Boston: Houghton Mifflin Harcourt, 2005.

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IvyPanda . 2023. "“The Management of Grief” by Bharati Mukherjee." October 28, 2023. https://ivypanda.com/essays/analysis-of-short-story-the-management-of-grief-by-bharati-mukherjee/.

1. IvyPanda . "“The Management of Grief” by Bharati Mukherjee." October 28, 2023. https://ivypanda.com/essays/analysis-of-short-story-the-management-of-grief-by-bharati-mukherjee/.

Bibliography

IvyPanda . "“The Management of Grief” by Bharati Mukherjee." October 28, 2023. https://ivypanda.com/essays/analysis-of-short-story-the-management-of-grief-by-bharati-mukherjee/.

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The Management of Grief

Bharati Mukherjee 1988

Author Biography

Plot summary, historical context, critical overview, further reading.

“The Management of Grief” is a poignant fictional account of one woman’s reaction to the 1985 bombing of Air India Flight 182. It was first published in 1988 in the collection The Middleman and Other Stories, winner of the 1988 National Book Critics Circle Award. “The Management of Grief” tells the story of Shaila Bhave, an Indian Canadian Hindu who has lost her husband and two sons in the crash. In third person narration, Shaila recounts the emotional events surrounding the event and explores their effects on herself, the Indian Canadian community, and mainstream Euro-Canadians. The clumsy intervention of a government social worker represents the missteps of the Canadian government in the general handling of the catastrophe.

Mukherjee herself had a deep personal response to the crash, having lived in Canada from 1966 to 1980 with her husband, Clark Blaise. She was enraged by the Canadian government’s interpretation of the crash as a foreign, “Indian” matter when the overwhelmingly majority of the victims were Canadian citizens. In a book-length investigation and account of the incident, The Sorrow and the Terror, co-written with Blaise, Mukherjee pieces together the bombing and events leading up to it, charging the government with ignoring clear signs of Khalistani terrorism cultivated on Canadian soil. Mukherjee argues that the government dismissed the escalating Indian Canadian factionalism (e.g. Canadian Khalistanis vs. Canadian Hindus) as a “cultural” struggle that would be best settled among the “Indians.” She blames Canada’s official policy of “multiculturalism,” which ostensibly encourages tolerance and equality but effectively fosters division and discrimination across racial boundaries.

The Sorrow and the Terror is a moving, non-fictional precursor to “The Management of Grief,” articulating the human costs of the escalations of intra-ethnic Indian conflict whose reach does not exempt the country’s North American emigrants. As Shaila laments: “We, who stayed out of politics and came half way around the world to avoid religious and political feuding, have been the first in the World to die from it.”

Bharati Mukherjee was born in Calcutta, India on July 27, 1940. Her father was a renowned chemist with connections around the globe. She and her two sisters were educated in India, England and Switzerland. At the age of three she spoke English along with her native Bengali. Mukherjee received her B.A. in English Literature from the University of Calcutta in 1959 and an M.A. in English and ancient Indian culture from the University of Baroda in 1961. She received her M.F.A. and Ph.D. from the University of Iowa in 1963 and 1969 respectively. In 1964 she married Clark Blaise, a fellow writer in the Iowa Writers Workshop. The “culture shock” of the midwest, not to mention America in general, profoundly affected Mukherjee; many of her works, like Jasmine (1989) and The Middleman and Other Stories (1988), dramatize the uniqueness of the immigrant’s struggle in the “heartland.”

Mukherjee’s academic resume is impressive: she has taught literature and writing at Marquette University, the University of Wisconsin -Madison, McGill University , Skidmore College, Mountain State College, Queens College and Columbia University . She is now Distinguished Professor at the University of California at Berkeley. She is also an award-winning writer of both fiction and non-fiction. Her first novel, The Tiger’s Daughter (1975), was a finalist for the Governor General’s Award of Canada, and The Middleman and Other Stories (1988) won the National Book Critics Circle Award for fiction that year.

Mukherjee remembers Canada bitterly as an angry, racist nation. In a 1989 interview with The Iowa Review, she remarks that in her nearly 15 years of residence there, the country never ceased making her feel like a “smelly, dark, alien other.” Mukherjee blames Canada’s policy of “multiculturalism” for engendering this atmosphere of thinly veiled racism. “The Management of Grief” speaks out against the social ills generated by this policy. In this story, the tragedy of the Air India Flight 182 brings the racial divisions of Canadian society into sharp relief. Shaila Bhave’s perspective is much like Mukherjee’s own, criticizing the government for dismissing the catastrophe as an “Indian” incident when over 90% of the passengers were Canadian citizens. The clumsy treatment of crash victims’ relatives by Judith Templeton, the government social worker, represents mainstream culture’s ignorant perception of ethnic citizens as “not quite,” second-class, Canadians.

“The Management of Grief” opens with the chaos at Shaila Bhave’s Toronto home. Her house is filled with strangers, gathered together for legal advice, company, and tea. Dr. Sharma, his wife, their children, Kusum and “a lot of women [Shaila] do[esn’t] know” are trying to make sense of the crash of Air India Flight 182, simultaneously listening to multiple radios and televisions to catch some news about the event. The Sharma boys murmur rumors that Sikh terrorists had planted a bomb. Shaila narrates the scene from a haze, speaking with detached, shell-shocked calm. The Valium she has been taking contributes to her stable appearance, but inside she feels “tensed” and “ready to scream.” Imagined cries from her husband and sons “insulate her” from the anxious activity in her house.

Shaila and Kusum, her neighbor and friend, are sitting on the stairs in Shaila’s house. Shaila reminisces about Kusum and Satish’s recent house-warming party that brought cultures and generations together in their sparkling, spacious suburban home: “even white neighbors piled their plates high with [tandoori]” and Shaila’s own Americanized sons had “broken away” from a Stanley Cup telecast to come to the party. Shaila somberly wonders “and now . . . how many of those happy faces are gone.” Implicitly Shaila feels “punished” for the good success of Indian immigrant families like hers and Kusum’s. Kusum brings her out of her reverie with the question: “Why does God give us so much if all along He intends to take it away?”

Shaila regrets her perfect obedience to upper-class, Indian female decorum. She has, for instance, never called her husband by his first name or told him that she loved him. Kusum comforts her saying: “He knew. My husband knew. They felt it. Modern young girls have to say it because what they feel is fake.” Kusum’s first daughter Pam walks into the room and orders her mother to change out of her bathrobe since reporters are expected. Pam, a manifest example of the “modern young girls” that Kusum disdains, had refused to go to India with her father and younger sister, preferring to spend that summer working at McDonald’s. Mother and daughter exchange harsh words, and Pam accuses Kusum of wishing that Pam had been on the plane, since the younger daughter was a better “Indian.” Kusum does not react verbally.

Judith Templeton, a Canadian social worker, visits Shaila, hoping Shaila can facilitate her work with the relatives of the deceased. Judith is described as young, comely and professional to a fault. She enlists Shaila to give the “right human touch” to the impersonal work of processing papers for relief funds. Judith tells Shaila that she was chosen because of her exemplary calm and describes her as a “pillar” of the devastated Indian Canadian community. Shaila explains that her seemingly cool, unaffected demeanor is hardly admired by her community, who expect their members to mourn publicly and vocally. She is puzzled herself by the “calm [that] will not go away” and considers herself a “freak.”

The story moves to Dunmanus Bay, Ireland, the site of the crash. Kusum and Shaila are wading in the warm waters and recalling the lives of their loved ones, imagining they will be found alive. Kusum has not eaten for four days and Shaila wishes she had also died here along with her husband and sons. They are joined by Dr. Ranganathan from Montreal, another who has lost his family, and he cheers them with thoughts of unknown islets within swimming distance. Dr. Ranganathan utters a central line of the story: “It’s a parent’s duty to hope.” He scatters pink rose petals on the water, explaining that his wife used to demand pink roses every Friday. He offers Shaila some roses, but Shaila has her own gifts to float— Mithun’s half finished model B-52, Vinod’s pocket calculator, and a poem for Vikram, which belatedly articulates her love for him.

Shaila is struck by the compassionate behavior of the Irish and compares them to the residents of

Toronto, unable to image Torontonians behaving this open-heartedly. Kusum has identified her husband. Looking through picture after picture, Shaila does not find a match for anyone she knows. A nun “assigned to console” Shaila reminds her that faces will have altered, bloated by the water and with facial bones broken from the impact. She is instructed to “try to adjust [her] memories.”

Shaila leaves Ireland without any bodies, but Kusum takes her husband’s coffin through customs. A customs bureaucrat detains them under suspicion of smuggling contraband in the coffin. In her first public expression of emotion, Shaila explodes and calls him a “bastard.” She contemplates the change in herself that this trauma has wrought: “Once upon a time we were well-brought-up women; we were dutiful wives who kept our heads veiled, our voices shy and sweet.”

From Ireland, many of the Indian Canadians, including Shaila, go to India to continue mourning. Shaila describes her parents as wealthy and “progressive.” They do not mind Sikh friends dropping by with condolences, though Shaila cannot help but bristle. Her grandmother, on the other hand, has been a prisoner of tradition and its gender expectations for most of her life. She was widowed at age sixteen and has since lived a life of ascetic penitence and solitude, believing herself to be a “harbinger of bad luck.” Shaila’s mother calls this kind of behavior “mindless mortification.” While other middle-aged widows and widowers are being matched with new spouses, Shaila is relieved to be left alone, even if it is because her grandmother’s history designates her as “unlucky.”

Shaila travels with her family until she is numb from the blandness of diversion. In a deserted Himalayan temple, Shaila has a vision of her husband. He tells her: “You must finish alone what we started together.” Knowing that her mother is a practical woman with “no patience with ghosts, prophetic dreams, holy men, and cults,” Shaila tells her nothing of the vision but is spurred to return to Canada.

Kusum has sold her house and moved into an ashram, or retreat, in Hardwar. Shaila considers this “running away,” but Kusum says it is “pursuing inner peace.” Shaila keeps in touch with Dr. Ranganathan, who has moved to Montreal and has not remarried. They share a melancholy bond but are comforted to have found new “relatives” in each other.

At this point, Judith has done thorough and ambitious work observing, assessing, charting and analyzing the grief of the Indian Canadians. She matter-of-factly reports to Shaila that the community is stuck somewhere between the second and third stage of mourning, “depressed acceptance,” according to the “grief management textbooks.” In reaction to Judith’s self-congratulatory chatter, Shaila can only manage the weak and ironic praise that Judith has “done impressive work.” Judith asks Shaila to accompany her on a visit to a particularly “stubborn” and “ignorant” elderly couple, recent immigrants whose sons died in the crash. Shaila is reluctant because the couple are Sikh and she is Hindu, but Judith insists that their “Indian-ness” is mutual enough.

At the apartment complex, Shaila is struck by the “Indian-ness” of the ghetto neighborhood; women wait for buses in saris as if they had never left Bombay. The elderly couple are diffident at first but open up when Shaila reveals that she has also lost her family. Shaila explains that if they sign the documents, the government will give them money, including air-fare to Ireland to identify the bodies. The husband emphasizes that “God will provide, not the government” and the wife insists that her boys will return. Judith presses Shaila to “convince” them, but Shaila merely thanks the couple for the tea. In the car Judith complains about working with the Indian immigrants, calling the next woman “a real mess.” Shaila asks to be let out of the car, leaving Judith and her sterile, textbook approach to grief management.

The story ends with Shaila living a quiet and joyless life in Toronto. She has sold her and Vikram’s large house and lives in a small apartment. Kusum has written to say that she has seen her daughter’s reincarnation in a Himalayan village; Dr. Ranganathan has moved to Texas and calls once a week. Walking home from an errand, Shaila hears “the voices of [her] family.” They say: “Your time has come, . . . Go, be brave.” Shaila drops the package she is carrying on a nearby park bench, symbolizing her venture into a new life and her break with an unproductive attachment to her husband and sons’ spirits. She comments on her imminent future: “I do not know where this voyage I have begun will end.” Nevertheless, she “drops the package” and “starts walking.”

Shaila Bhave

Shaila is the central character of “The Management of Grief.” Her third person voice narrates the story and offers poignant reflection, provocative implications and subtle irony. Her tone can be described as understated and detached, but it is by no means dispassionate. Like the appearance of calm that masks her “screaming” within, the even, often soothing tone of the narrative voice stretches thinly over Shaila’s rage and pain. She is shell-shocked by the rapid succession of devastating events.

Shaila’s husband and two sons have been the killed in the crash of Air India Flight 182. Some consider her callous and insensitive for not openly grieving, but Judith Templeton, the government social worker, hears that she is a “pillar” of the community and solicits her help. Shaila scorns Judith’s textbook methods of “managing” grief but agrees to play the cultural liaison out of politeness. Shaila wishes she could “scream, starve, walk into Lake Ontario , [or] jump from a bridge.” She considers herself a “freak,” helplessly overtaken by a “terrible calm.”

Like many others, Shaila harbors hopes that her family is still alive. She travels to Ireland to identify and possibly recover the bodies of the deceased. When called by the police to identify a body thought to be her son, Shaila insists that it is not him. She is unable to provide a positive identification of any of her family members.

From Ireland, Shaila goes to India. Her “progressive” parents encourage her to avoid falling into self-destructive depression and mourning, the “mindless mortification of her grandmother.” She is discomfited by Sikh friends who pay their condolences and admires her parents’ unprejudiced attitude, noting that in Canada the crash will likely revive Sikh-Hindu animosity. In a Himalayan temple, Shaila sees Vikram in a vision. He commands her to “finish alone what we started together.” Taking this as an injunction to resume a forward moving life, she returns to Canada. Unlike many of the others, Shaila does not remarry. She assumes that friends and relatives in India avoid matching her up because of her “unlucky” history (her grandmother’s husband died when he was nineteen). For this, Shaila is relieved.

Shaila accompanies Judith to a ghetto tenement to visit a helpless Sikh couple whose sons have died in the crash. Shaila is struck by the poverty and concentrated ethnicity of their apartment building. Just as Shaila could not bear to identify any of the bodies in Ireland, the couple refuses to sign Judith’s documents, even though they entitle them to relief funds. Despite Judith’s urgings, Shaila does not press them to sign, remembering Dr. Ranganathan’s adage: “It is a parent’s duty to hope.” They leave the apartment without signatures, and in the car Shaila can no longer tolerate Judith’s complaints about “stubborn” and “ignorant” Indian Canadians, recalcitrant textbook subjects, and asks Judith to stop so that she can get out.

Shaila has made a tolerable life for herself with the profits from the sale of her and Vikram’s house. But she is living joylessly and mechanically; she “waits,” “listens,” and “prays.” She is falling prey to the “mindless mortification” of her grandmother. The turning point is when Shaila hears the voices of her “family.” They tell her: “Your time has come . . . Go, be brave.” Shaila drops the symbolic “package” on a park bench and “starts walking” toward a life of healing and hope.

Vikram Bhave

Vikram is Shaila’s husband and is killed in the Air India crash. In a vision, he tells Shaila: “You’re beautiful” and more importantly, “What are you doing here? . . . You must finish alone what we started together.” He appears to her healthy and whole, “no seaweed wreathes in his mouth” and speaking “too fast, just as he used to when we were an envied family in our pink split level.”

Vinod and Mithun Bhave

Shaila and Vikram’s two sons, Vinod and Mithun, were also killed in the crash. Vinod was going to be fourteen in a few days. His brother, Mithun, was four years younger. The boys were going down to the Taj with their father and uncle for Vinod’s birthday party.

Elderly Couple

Because their sons have been killed in the crash, the elderly couple that Judith and Shaila visit are entitled to government relief funds, including air-fare to Ireland. They speak little English and live in a tenement building inhabited by Indians, West Indians, and a “sprinkling of Orientals.” Judith Templeton has visited them several times, imploring them to sign government documents that will entitle them to the funds. Because they are poor and unable to write a check, their utilities are being cut off one by one. Notwithstanding, they refuse to sign Judith’s papers. The husband places his faith in God, uttering: “God will provide, not [the] government.” The wife believes her sons will return to take care of them.

Kusum has lost her husband, Satish, and her unnamed second daughter in the plane crash. She had moved into the well-to-do Toronto suburb with her family, across the street from Shaila and Vikram, less than a month before the crash and hosted a welcoming party to celebrate their success. She is with Shaila in Ireland identifying bodies and hoping for life. Her husband’s body is discovered and she takes it in a coffin to India. When Kusum moves back to India to follow a life of mourning, Shaila accuses her of “running away.” Kusum responds that this is her way of finding “inner peace.” She writes Shaila at the end of the story to inform her that she has seen her husband and daughter. On one pilgrimage she spotted a young girl who looked exactly like her deceased daughter. Noticing Kusum staring at her, the young girl yelled “Ma!” and ran away. Kusum alludes to suicide in Ireland when she remarks to Shaila at Dunmanus Bay: “That water felt warm.”

Pam is Kusum’s oldest daughter and would have been on the plane had she not refused to visit India. Pam is represented as irreverent and “westernized.” She works at McDonalds, preferring “Wonderland” to Bombay, and is “always in trouble”, “dat[ing] Canadian boys and hang[ing] out in the mall, shopping for tight sweaters.” Her lifestyle and attitude strain her relationship with her traditional Indian mother, who in a moment of self-pitying despair blurts: “If I didn’t have to look after you now, I’d hang myself.” Deeply hurt by this remark (“her face goes blotchy with pain”), Pam retorts: “You think I don’t know what Mummy’s thinking? Why her? That’s what. That’s sick! Mummy wishes my little sister were alive and I were dead!” She later heads for California to do modeling work or open a “yoga-cum-aerobics studio in Hollywood” with the insurance money. She ends up in Vancouver, working at a cosmetics counter “giving makeup hints to Indian and Oriental girls.” She sends Shaila “postcards so naughty I daren’t leave them on the coffee table.”

Dr. Ranganathan

Dr. Ranganathan is a well-to-do and respected electrical engineer who has also lost his family in the crash. The reader is introduced to him when he meets Shaila and Kusum searching for hope on the southwestern coast of Ireland. He suggests to the women that survivors may have been able to swim to uncharted islets and gives Shaila hope that both her sons may have survived given that “[a] strong youth of fourteen . . . can very likely pull to safety a younger one.” He succors a sobbing Kusum and offers the story’s central phrase: “It’s a parent’s duty to hope,” continuing that “It is foolish to rule out possibilities that have not been tested. I myself have not surrendered hope.” He has taken pink roses from someone’s garden and scatters them on the water in memory of his wife. She had demanded that he bring her pink roses every Friday. He would bring them and playfully reproach: “After twenty-odd years of marriage you’re still needing proof positive of my love.”

Dr. Ranganathan accompanies Shaila to look through photographs of recovered bodies, offering her the comfort of a “scientist’s perspective.” Understanding Shaila’s psychological defenses, he looks at the pictures for her and does not force her to make positive identifications. He identifies the boys thought to be Vinod and Mithun as the Kutty brothers, bringing Shaila great relief.

Back in Canada, Dr. Ranganathan continues to be a source of comfort for Shaila. Both have not remarried and he calls Shaila twice a week from Montreal. He considers himself and Shaila as “relatives,” joined together by race, culture and now this mournful event. He takes a new job in Ottawa but cannot bear to sell his house in Montreal, choosing rather to drive 220 miles a day to work. His grief also prevents him from sleeping in the bed he shared with his wife, so he sleeps on a cot in his large, empty house. Describing his house as a “temple” and his bedroom as a “shrine,” Dr. Ranganathan, for all the comfort he offers to others, is also crippled by his pain.

At the end of the story, Dr. Ranganathan moves to Texas to start a new life, a place where “no one knows his story and he has vowed not to tell it.” He continues to call Shaila, but only once a week.

Satish is Kusum’s husband who died in the plane crash.

Shaila’s grandmother

Though only briefly mentioned, Shaila’s grandmother has an important effect on Shaila’s sense of self. She is portrayed as a traditional Brahmin woman who unquestioningly fills her role as wife and female, in other words, as a submissive and second-class citizen. Her husband, Shaila’s grandfather, died of diabetes when he was nineteen, leaving his wife a widow at age sixteen. Considering herself a “harbinger of bad luck,” she shaved her head and lived in self-imposed suffering and seclusion.

Shaila”s Mother

Having been raised by an “indifferent uncle” in the presence of a morbid and depressed mother, Shaila’s mother becomes a “rationalist” and an enemy of “mindless mortification.” She encourages her daughter to rebound quickly from the crisis, still calling her son-in-law by his casual Anglicized name, “Vik.” Reminding Shaila of the uselessness of her grandmother’s wasted life, she tells her: “You know, the dead aren’t cut off from us!” and “Vikram wouldn’t have wanted you to give up things.” To Shaila’s discomfort, her “progressive” parents receive condolences from Sikh neighbors, refusing to “blame communities for a few individuals.” Later, in the family’s travels to the Himalayas, Shaila does not tell her mother about her vision of Vikram, knowing that she “has no patience with ghosts, prophetic dreams, holy men, and cults.”

Dr. and Mrs. Sharma

This couple is one of the few guests at Shaila’s house that are mentioned by name. Dr. Sharma is the treasurer of the Indo-Canada Society and offers Shaila help in legal and financial matters. His wife, pregnant with her fifth child, offers general comfort and admonishes her husband not to bother Shaila with “mundane details.” They are respected members of the Indian community and provide leadership to the group of anxious and confused friends and relatives of the victims gathered at Shaila’s house.

Judith Templeton

Judith Templeton is a Canadian social worker whose job is to contact the relatives of the crash victims and offer government aid. Her task is daunting because many of the people she visits speak little English and are wary of government employees and their confusing documents. Judith asks Shaila to help her bridge this cultural gap, suggesting that as an Indian, Shaila has the “right human touch.” Judith is described as cool, stiff, professional and insensitive: “She [Judith] wears a blue suit with a white blouse and a polka-dot tie. Her blond hair is cut short, her only jewelry is pearl-drop earrings. Her briefcase is new and expensive looking . . . She sits with it across her lap . . . her contact lenses seem to float in front of her light blue eyes.”

Judith’s insensitivity to the Indian Canadians is not, however, malicious. She is represented as emotionally and psychologically stunted, only understanding human suffering through textbooks. In one of her conversations with Shaila, she remarks that according to “textbooks on grief management,” most of the Indian Canadians are stuck between “stage two” and “three.” This dispassionate description strikes Shaila as typical of Judith’s impersonal and professional relationships with deeply suffering individuals. Judith has created charts and pages of analyses which appear to Shaila to be terribly inadequate accounts of the tragedy. After a frustrating visit to an elderly couple, Judith complains vocally about the Indians’ “‘stubbornness and ignorance” which is “driving her crazy.” When she begins prattling about the next “client,” a woman who is a “real mess,” Shaila can no longer bear to offer Judith her polite help and gets out of the car.

Gender Roles and Cultural Tradition

The crash of Air India Flight 182 brings radical changes to its victims’ families’ lives. In “The Management of Grief” Mukherjee focuses on its effects on women. Women are confronted with the problem of mourning; do they need to observe the self-sacrificing mourning rituals and decorum of “proper” Indian widows, even in the “new world” of Canada? Shaila and Kusum are opposing models of behavior; Kusum succumbs to her culture’s expectation that she will dedicate her life to her dead husband (by not remarrying and living a life of asceticism) while Shaila struggles with these oppressive cultural demands, finally rejecting them.

Shaila imagines that she hears Vikram and her sons crying out to her: “Mommy, Shaila.” Their cries are telling: Shaila’s main roles are that of mother and wife. The patriarchal conventions of the majority of the world (women stay home, cook and tend the children etc.) are compounded by the specific “regulations” of Indian culture. For instance, Shaila has never called her husband by his first name or told him that she loved him, as is proper of an upper-class Indian woman. The emotions wrought by the crash lead Shaila to call into question her blind obedience, up until now, to Hindu female decorum. The tragedy of the crash makes the unseen but ubiquitous veil of female oppression palpable, challenging the affected women to break free.

As Indian wife and mother, Shaila is expected to follow mourning traditions. The Hindu widow cannot remarry, is prohibited from wearing certain hair decorations and jewelry, and is restricted in her choice of dress. In short, she is meant to spend the rest of her life despairing over the loss of her husband, denying her own social and sexual needs, and even doing penance as if somehow responsible for her husband’s death. Shaila’s grandmother has always been an example of such self-sacrifice: she shaves her head, thereby obliterating any trace of vanity or sexual appeal, and lives in self-imposed seclusion. She is so devoted to mourning that she forsakes her infant daughter, passing on her upbringing to an “indifferent uncle.” Growing up in such a somber atmosphere, Shaila’s mother has learned to be “progressive” and “rational,” rejecting her mother’s “mindless mortification” and urging Shaila to do the same. To encourage Shaila to “get on with her life,” her parents remember

Topics for Further Study

Throughout her work and personal search for identity, Mukherjee has drawn a line between the “immigrant” and “expatriate.” In her introduction to Darkness (1985), she rejects the “aloofness of expatriation” for the “exuberance of immigration.” What is the difference between immigrants and expatriates? What are their attitudes towards their new country? Select a story or a section of a novel from Mukherjee’s work and discuss whether the characters fulfill Mukherjee’s (or your own) conception of immigrant and expatriate.
“The Management of Grief” offers a glimpse of the mourning rituals of Hindu women. Research in fuller detail the mourning rituals of Indian cultures (e.g. Hindu, Muslim, Sikh). Are these rituals different for men and women? Examine your own culture’s mourning rituals. Do they have varying expectations according to gender?
In The Sorrow and The Terror, Mukherjee and Blaise carefully differentiate radical Khalistani groups from Sikhs in general. They emphasize that it is erroneous to blame the bombing of Air India Flight 182 on Sikhs when only a small, violent group of Khalistanis were responsible. They also bemoan the media stereotype of Indians as terrorists. Research the Khalistani movement, paying attention to the work of non-violent groups. How has the media contributed to their stereotyping as violent terrorists?
Mukherjee has been both criticized and praised for being an assimilationist . What is assimilation? Research this concept using history, literature, or current events and discuss its pros and cons.
Mukherjee has praised America’s “melting-pot” mentality. Yet across the nation, more and more “ethnic-towns” are emerging. In this way, the American landscape is beginning to resemble Canada’s “mosaic.” Discuss how contemporary America fits or does not fit into Mukherjee’s image of the melting-pot. In your opinion, which model is better, the mosaic or the melting pot? Use specific examples from literature, history or current events to substantiate your argument.
Mukherjee and several other writers do not support “hyphenated” status. That is, they do not consider themselves Indian American or Chinese American, but simply American. What is your opinion of this “hyphenated” status? Does the hyphen devalue the immigrant’s claim to this country, or does it duly honor her ancestor’s culture? Use excerpts from literature, history and current events to support your argument.

Vikram by his casual westernized name, “Vik,” and tell her that he “wouldn’t have wanted you [Shaila] to give up things.”

Shaila’s parents want her to stay in India so that they can pamper her with luxuries and travel. As “progressive” as they are, they do not see that Shaila needs to return to Canada to “finish” what she and Vikram started. In deciding to return, Shaila resists binding ideas about both gender and culture. She is not just “Indian” any more, but Indian Canadian, and must return home (Canada) to foster and develop her complex, hybrid identity. Kusum, on the other hand, returns to India and in a sense becomes more “Indian” than before, pursuing a life of ascetic piety and travel to holy sites. Shaila views this as a regression into traditional culture and gender roles, accusing Kusum of “running away” and “withdrawing from the world.” Like Shaila’s grandmother, Kusum also forgets about her living daughter to succumb to the “mindless mortification” expected of Hindu widows.

Shaila articulates the change she is going through when Kusum is detained at the airport on suspicion of smuggling contraband in her husband’s coffin. Surprising herself, Shaila explodes and calls the customs officer a “bastard.” She reflects on her transformation: “Once upon a time we were well-brought up women; we were dutiful wives who kept our heads veiled, our voices shy and sweet.” This is the clearest indicator that the trauma has unmoored traditional, upper-class Indian women like Shaila from the safety of their patriarchally imposed decorum. But even though, unlike Kusum, Shaila breaks free from these limits, the process is quite a struggle. After selling her and Vikram’s house and moving into a small apartment in downtown Toronto, Shaila lives a mechanical, joyless life. For a long time, she is haunted by visions of her lost ones. In this way, Shaila has also fallen prey to a kind of “mindless mortification,” repressed by her memories and her longing for the past. Like Kusum, she is living in a kind of paralyzing self-denial and has not made the brave venture into self-fulfillment. Only at the end of the story, interestingly at the behest of her “family’s” voices, does Shaila finally break free, symbolically discard the package, and treat herself to a life of her own. Ironically, the tragedy is the agent of productive transformation, forcing Shaila to reexamine her patriarchally bound life.

Collective Identity versus Personal Identity

The tragedy of Flight 182 forges a new bond between Indian Canadians. As Shaila says of the afflicted, “We’ve been melted down and cast as a new tribe.” While providing much needed comfort, this new community bond has its pitfalls, especially when it is stretched beyond its effective limits. This is most apparent in Judith Templeton’s uneducated perception that all “Indians” are the same. Based on this misunderstanding, she enlists Shaila to give the “right human touch” to her government mandated visits to victims’ relatives. But as Shaila explains, all Indians are not the same: the elderly Sikh couple might be uncomfortable with Shaila because she is Hindu (the religious affiliations are often marked by surnames). Judith takes no heed, thinking that “Indian-ness” is a sufficient and common enough bond. Though Shaila and the couple do manage to communicate, Mukherjee makes it clear that they communicate on the basis of their mutual loss, not their mutual “Indian-ness.”

As a result of Indian Canadians being lumped together as a group, individuals lose their personal identity. They are considered as part or representative of a group rather than as unique individuals with diverse needs. Collective identity is substituted for personal identity. Members of one’s own ethnic groups also perpetuate this notion. The story opens up with a group of Indian Canadians gathered at Shaila’s house. As she narrates, there are “a lot of women I don’t know.” The group has gathered under the assumption that their common ethnicity not only brings them together in a support network but is itself a source of comfort. This is not the case for Shaila, who feels alienated and “ready to scream.” Even though they are of the same ethnicity, the strangers in her kitchen do not attend to her individual needs.

Although the story portrays the Irish as warm and sympathetic, it also highlights their assumption that all Indians are alike. Because Dr. Ranganathan has stolen roses from somebody’s garden, an Irish newspaper urges: “When you see an Indian person . . . please give them flowers.” While this gesture strikes Shaila as deeply compassionate, there is some criticism of the Irish conception that Indian Canadians are a generic group with a strong liking for flowers. As the reader knows, Dr. Ranganathan’s floating of the pink roses has nothing to do with his “Indian-ness” but is a memorial to a very personal and unique ritual he shared with his wife.

“ Melting Pot ” versus “Mosaic”: Assimilation versus Multiculturalism

“The Management of Grief” supports a vision of assimilation. Although the word “assimilation” in today’s parlance has negative connotations, Mukherjee’s conception as expressed in this story is progressive and productive. In particular, it is positioned against the idea of “multiculturalism,” Canada’s official cultural policy. In interviews and other writings, Mukherjee has criticized Canada’s vision of its country as a “mosaic,” preferring the “melting pot” model of America. Canada’s Ministry of Multiculturalism recognizes and protects immigrants’ rights to preserve their ethnic customs. While this sounds generous in theory, the real-life result is the emergence of divided ethnic communities that are reluctant to communicate with each other. Mukherjee and others have characterized these communities as “ethnic ghettoes” that discourage new immigrants from creatively adapting to a strange land or even just learning English. While providing important networks and mutual comfort, these mono-ethnic communities separate new immigrants from mainstream life and severely limit their life choices.

The criticism of these ethnic ghettoes is most evident in the description of the elderly Sikh couple’s neighborhood. Even Shaila, an Indian Canadian who has close contacts with the Indian Canadian community, is taken aback by the unmistakably “Indian” smell of the apartment building: “[E]ven I wince from the ferocity of onion fumes, the distinctive and immediate Indian-ness of frying ghee.” She is equally astonished by the women waiting for buses in saris and boys playing cricket (a British sport popular in Britain’s former colonies) in the parking lot. In other words, she is struck by the distilled Indian-ness of this small bit of Canada. The non-English speaking elderly couple, with their fear of Canadian documents and the white people who bear them, are representative of the fear and limits under which immigrants restricted to ethnic communities live.

The so-called recognition and support of diverse communities engenders an attitude of separatism. For example, the mainstream Euro-Canadians who run the government may be hesitant to get involved in the Chinese Canadian or Caribbean Canadian community, perceiving their “issues” to be culturally specific and best handled among “themselves.” Mukherjee argues in The Sorrow and the Terror that the Canadian government’s lackadaisical response to the crash was the result of this kind of separatist perception of the incident as an “Indian” matter. As Shaila’s house guests strain to find radio and TV news about the crash, Shaila “want[s] to tell [them] we’re [Indian Canadians] not that important.” She realizes that as an “Indian” matter, the tragedy does not warrant the full dedication of national resources.

As the sympathetic protagonist, Shaila offers a more productive model of Indian Canadian living. She resists falling into the trap of tradition like Kusum, who becomes more Indian than an Indian. She also rejects her parents’ implicit desire that she stay in India and be comforted by the familiarities of “home.” Shaila has accepted Canada as her new home and, as Vikram exhorts, must finish there what they started together. Her dropping of the package also signals her release from being stuck in mind-numbing mourning and its associations with oppressive “Indian-ness.” She says “A wife and mother begins her life in a new country, and that life is cut short.” Rather than figure out how to be that same Indian wife and mother, she ventures out into a new direction.

Social and Cultural Critique

In a 1989 interview with The Iowa Review, Mukherjee criticizes contemporary American fiction for “exist[ing] only in a vacuum of personal relationships.” She believes that “[a] social and political vision is an integral part of writing a novel, or being a novelist.” In light of these comments, “The Management of Grief” must be understood through a social-political lens. While it is a deeply moving exploration of Shaila Bhave’s individual response to the Air India crash, it is also a critique of Canada’s racialized society and its inadequate attempts at “handling” the tragedy. In this way, the story is more than a personal narrative, it is a politicized account, offering a social, cultural and political critique.

Through the story, Mukherjee criticizes the Canadian policy of multiculturalism. A superficial reading may fail to discover this subtle critique. The word is briefly but pointedly articulated when Judith Templeton calls on Shaila. Shaila’s first words to her are “Multiculturalism?” referring to the Ministry of Multiculturalism that sent her. Judith’s misunderstanding of the Indian immigrants and the several culture clashes that ensue are indicative of mainstream Euro-Canadians’ ignorance about Canadian immigrants. Judith refers to the Indian Canadians as “them” and “lovely people,” in other words, definitively different from the mainstream she represents. But as different as “they” are from “her,” “they” are all the same. Judith fails to differentiate among Indians, asking Shaila, a Hindu, to go with her to visit a Sikh couple, oblivious and unconcerned that Hindus and Sikhs have a history of antagonism, exacerbated by rumors that Sikhs bombed Flight 182.

Remembering Mukherjee’s comments about the political responsibility of fiction, the miscom-munication and awkwardness between Shaila and Judith, and Judith and the Indian Canadians, can be interpreted as a microcosmic representation of the tensions between mainstream Canadians and ethnic Canadians in general. In one sense, Shaila could be read as the voice for Mukherjee’s political views, though her character is not limited to this function. In another brief but pointed statement, Shaila brings up the government’s sloppy investigation of the case because of the opinion that this is an “Indian,” not Canadian, matter. When Judith tells Shaila that “[w]e” [the Canadian government] do not want to make mistakes,” Shaila wryly replies: “More mistakes, you mean.”

Shaila also expresses a criticism of patriarchal Indian traditions. By framing her individual experience in the larger context of Indian cultural mores, the story uses Shaila’s personal struggle to free herself from her the crippling memories of her past life to symbolize a break from oppressive cultural traditions, particularly those that constrain women. The stagnant life of self-abnegation and mournful clinging to memories is the expected behavior of an Indian widow. By refusing to give in to this stultifying tradition, Shaila frees her personal spirit, but also symbolically rejects oppressive and outdated cultural mores. The association of a certain kind of “Indian-ness” with personal oppression is highlighted by Shaila’s grandmother’s lifetime of “mindless mortification.” Kusum follows in this tradition, neglecting the living (both Kusum and Shaila’s grandmother forsake their daughters) in order to choose a life of self-denial and personal repression. Shaila is “trapped between two modes of knowledge” but her ultimate return to Canada and dropping of the symbolic “package” implies that she has rejected personal stagnation and the patriarchal Indian traditions associated with it.

Point of View

The perspective in “The Management of Grief” is Shaila’s and allows the reader to understand the world as she sees it. This narration may be called “third person limited” as the reader is privy to Shaila’s deepest thoughts but does not have access to any other character’s thoughts. The intimate revelation of thought and motive provides justification for Shaila’s judgment of people and events. For instance, when Shaila tells Kusum that she is “running away” by going back to India to follow a religious life of mourning, we understand Shaila’s logic from her description of the “mindless mortification” of her grandmother.

But this point of view has its limitations also. While it allows the reader to identify closely with, or reject, the main character, it flattens the point of view of the other characters. Kusum, for example, explains that going back to India will help her find “inner peace,” but the reader is not given any way to understand her logic, only Shaila’s rejection of it. In this way, limited third person narration can obscure opposing views, depriving the reader of alternate interpretations of events.

Narrative Tone: Understatement and Detachment

The tone of the story’s third person narration can be described as melancholy and subtle. While the story has great emotional impact, that impact works through understatement and detachment . Shaila’s account is almost journalistic in tone, neutrally reporting events. But the weightiness of tragedy behind the narration belies Shaila’s unaffected tone. The poignancy of the story is derived not from any outright declarations of misery, but from the readers’ recognition of Shaila’s voice as speaking from a tenuous, shell-shocked calm.

Understated tones can give increased credibility to opinions or social critiques. Consider, for instance, testimonies of individuals convinced of government conspiracy or alien invasions. Accounts spoken in calm and rational tones tend to be more believable than emotional, raving harangues that make the speaker look unreliable because of instability. Compare headlines in tabloids that shout excited claims, “Woman Gives Birth to Ape!” versus matter-of-fact headlines in respected newspapers that report “Scientists Combine Primate and Human DNA.” Thus, when Shaila softly comments that the Canadian government is mishandling the investigation, or that the reason that the crash is not well broadcast is “we’re [Indian Canadians] not that important,” her criticisms of mainstream attitudes are not likely to be dismissed as the rants of a radical political agitator. Her controlled attitude offers an interesting contrast to the agitated and violent behavior of the terrorists who are rumored to be responsible for the crash. Shaila’s only overt display of emotion is at the airport when she calls the customs official a “bastard.” But she herself is surprised at her uncharacteristic outburst and, while not wholly regretting it, ponders it as indicative of a deep change.

Similarly, a detached tone can give the narrative voice greater credibility in describing volatile, politically charged events. Shaila’s detached tone is especially effective because she maintains an emotional distance in the face of a devastating personal loss. Importantly, Shaila’s calm is only a mask for the “screaming” inside. On the other hand, Shaila’s detached attitude may be construed as callousness; Shaila comments to Judith that some of the “hysterical Indians” are appalled by her lack of outward emotion.

Air India Flight 182 and Khalistan

“The Management of Grief” dramatizes the complex emotional response of those affected by the crash of Air India Flight 182 on June 12, 1985. All 329 passengers and crew members on board were killed when a bomb in the front luggage compartment exploded, hurtling the plane into the North Atlantic ocean, 110 miles southwest of Ireland’s coast. The flight was headed to New Delhi and Bombay and had departed from Toronto and Montreal.

Investigations have suggested that the bomb was planted by a Canadian based Khalistani network devoted to their kinsmen’s historical struggle to secede from India. Khalistanis are a sect of Sikhs, one of the three major religious groups of India, along with Hindus and Muslims. These religious groups live in varying degrees of harmony and contention, often sharing spoken language and elements of culture, but also engaging in violent confrontations over religious differences.

In 1947 the British partitioned the Indian subcontinent into India and Pakistan to give Muslims their own country (Pakistan). Having closer relations to Hindus than Muslims, most Sikhs in the new Pakistan migrated to the Indian side of the border after the partition. A large community of Sikhs occupy Punjab, an Indian state bordering Pakistan on the northwest. Sikh movements for independence have been ongoing since the 19th century, but it was in 1971 that the name “Khalistan,” based on the Punjabi word khalsa meaning “pure,” was created to invoke a separate Sikh state. Its founder, Dr. Jagjit Singh Chauhan, drew up elaborate maps of the imagined country, appropriating much of Punjab; he issued passports and currency and established legislative bodies like the “Khalistan House” and the “Council of Khalistan.”

Except for a few militant supporters, “Khalistan” was not taken seriously until Indira Gandhi ’s raid on the Golden Temple, a Sikh shrine and administrative site, June 4-7, 1984. Under increasing tensions and the military buildup of the Golden Temple, Mrs. Gandhi ordered its “extirpation.” At least 2700 people, mostly Sikhs, were killed in the massacre, including the Sikh leader and priest, Jarnail Singh Ghindranwale. Mrs. Gandhi was assassinated by her Sikh bodyguards a few months later. The devastating events brought many moderate Sikhs into the radical Khalistani militant cause. The bombing of Flight 182 is thought to have been planned as a one year anniversary memorialization of the Golden Temple massacre. It is important to emphasize that not all Sikhs support the creation of Khalistan, nor do they participate or condone the often violent measures employed by Khalistani groups. After the discovery of Khalistani involvement in the bombing, many Sikhs dissociated themselves from the Khalistani movement.

Khalistanis in Canada

The Air India bombing and the related explosion at Tokyo’s Narita Airport (a bomb planted in CP Air Flight 003 prematurely exploded in the baggage handling section, killing two baggage handlers and injuring four) were traced to a Khalistani fundamentalist living in Duncan, British Columbia , Inderjit Singh Reyat. On February 5, 1988, eight charges were brought against him, mostly related to the Narita bombing. Singh was being closely monitored by the CSIS (Canadian Security Intelligence Service, the Canadian equivalent of the FBI) and was spotted in early June of 1984 testing explosives off a highway in Duncan, British Columbia . Singh was associated with the Babar Khalsa (“Pure Tigers”), a militant North American Khalistani cell. In 1991 he was convicted of manslaughter for the Narita bombing.

In The Sorrow and the Terror, Mukherjee and Blaise note that religious-political commitment is

Compare & Contrast

1970: 13% of Canadians are bilingual in English in French.
1991: After $ 2.5 billion is spent to promote bilingualism, as part of the larger effort to support multiculturalism, there is only a 3% increase in English and French bilinguals.
1971: Prime Minster Pierre Trudeau enacts the Act of the Preservation and Enhancement of Multiculturalism in Canada, popularly known as the Canadian Multiculturalism Act.
1990s: The Canadian Council of Christians and Jews conducts a public opinion poll on the perception of multiculturalism. Their report, published in the December 14, 1993 The Globe and the Mail, is headlined “Canadians Want Mosaic to Melt . . . Respondents believe immigrants should adopt Canada’s values.” The report states that Canadians are becoming “increasingly intolerant” of ethnic groups’ demands and favor a “homogenization” of Canadian society. In 1992, the federal government conducts its own opinion poll, reporting that 46% of polled Toronto residents felt that there were too many “visible minorities” in the city, particularly Arabs, blacks, and Asians. In 1994, the federal government conducts another opinion poll which reports a 21% increase in immigrant intolerance. Now, 67% of polled Toronto residents complain that there are too many immigrants in the city, which in 1994 had a 38% immigrant population, the largest in Canada.
1914: The Komagata Maru is detained and quarantined in a Vancouver port. Of the 376 passengers on board, all from Asia and many of Sikh background, only 22 are allowed to land. The rest are rejected on grounds of possible contagion. In an attempt to get its passengers off board, the ship remains docked for two months, during which time it is refused the transmission of food, water, passengers, and garbage. One young male Sikh is removed from the ship and presented as a “test case” for eligibility for Canadian entry. The courts reject him and the Komagata Maru is ordered to return to Asia.
1930s: Canada charges standard landing fees of $25 - $50 to Americans, depending on whether they are black or white, while Asians are charged “head taxes” of $200 to $250.
1993: Herbert Grubel, a member of the conservative Reform Party and Professor of Economics at Simon Fraser University, declares new immigrants are a burden to Canadian society (reported in the October 15, 1993 The Globe and the Mail ). John Tillman, also a member of the Reform Party, calls women and minority groups “parasites of society” ( The Globe and Mail, October 29, 1993).
1986: Employment Equity Act enacted in Canada. Sets up quotas to increase employment of women, aborigines, visible minorities, and the disabled in federal jobs.
1993: Job Mart, an Ontario Public Service employment listing, posts an ad that reads: “The competition is limited to the following employment equity designation groups: aboriginal peoples, francophones, persons with disabilities, racial minorities and women.” Political groups are outraged at this blatant expression of “reverse” discrimination.

often more fervent in countries of emigration than in India itself. In fact, they interpret the political activism that led to the Flight 182 bombing as having been fostered entirely on Canadian soil. Mukherjee and Blaise attribute the radical Khalistani presence to the structure of Canadian immigration law in the 60s and 70s, which engendered Sikh communities of working class background concentrated in British Columbia. In contrast, Hindu emigration was Ontario-centered and generally constituted by the professional-managerial class. These class differences and the glaring material discrepancies between Hindu and Sikh in the “new world” fueled their tradition of enmity. Mukherjee and Blaise suggest that Canadian Khalistani leaders prey on financially and socially struggling immigrants, offering them a sense of belonging and strong leadership, thereby redirecting their frustrations over Canadian social inequalities to their Indian and Indian Canadian countrymen. They also appeal to second-generation immigrants who perhaps have never been to India, but nurse romantic fantasies about Sikh independence.

The leadership of Sikh groups in Canada consists of middle-class, professional “family men.” One interviewed Khalistani leader in New York , who was making a six figure income, told Mukherjee and Blaise: “Six days a week I work for Reagan [this was 1988]. Seventh day, for Khalistan.” Another leader invited them to his comfortable suburban home and introduced them to his well-adapted children, who were probably unaware that their father was quite literally a “weekend warrior.” At the time of the bombing, there were several prominent Sikh organizations in North America dedicated to an independent Sikh nation, not all of which employed terrorist tactics: the World Sikh Organization (WSO - members are usually middle-class professionals), Khalistan Youth (a moderate group that disbanded in 1986 to protest other groups’ endorsement of violence), the International Sikh Youth Federation (ISYF) and Babar Khalsa (both groups have slightly different political and religious ideals, but both are committed to violence). Competition for prestige and money among these groups often exacerbates violent actions.

“The Management of Grief” was virtually universally acclaimed in North America . It is the poignant, closing story of Mukherjee’s 1988 collection The Middleman and Other Stories, which won the National Book Critics Circle Award for fiction that year. Not all the stories in The Middleman received unmitigated praise; one reviewer disdained the collection’s overall obsession with “sleaze spiced with violence” (Gillian Tindall in “East Meets West and Writes It” in The Times, April 26, 1990). Mukherjee and her supporters respond that such “unsavory” events and topics are the reality of North American immigrants. They praise Mukherjee for having the courage to honestly represent such realities in all their raw brutality.

In Middleman, Mukherjee writes from the point of view of several ethnicities: Vietnamese, Caribbean, Afghanistani, and Phillipino, to name a few. Johnathan Raban writes in the June 19th, 1988 New York Times Book Review, that these immigrants explode stereotypes; they are “not tired, huddled or even poor.” In contrast, they are daring and full of bravado, operating small businesses, legal and illegal, or jetsetting on American Express cards. Though Mukherjee claims affinity with writers like Bernard Malamud , Raban insightfully notes that her immigrants are not the “introspective and overmothered sons of the ghetto.” Their “lives are too urgent and mobile” to be nostalgic for a lost “home” and “they hit the page in full flight, and . . . move through the stories as they move through the world, at speed, with the reader straining to keep up with them.” Despite the often less than perfect outcomes of these protagonists’ lives, many ending in violence and murder, “[e]very story ends on a new point of departure. People are last seen walking though an open door . . .”

“The Management of Grief” is different in tone from the majority of stories in Middleman . It is somber, understated and melancholy, but in accordance with Raban’s analysis, closes on the optimistic note of an “open door,” however bittersweet. Consistent with Mukherjee’s preference for America’s “melting pot” ideal over the Canadian “mosaic,” the story ends on a note of productive and progressive adaptation, a life of dynamic combination of “old” and “new” cultures. Shaila’s hope-filled choice at the end of the story is contrasted with those of others who find comfort in reverting back to “Indian-ness” in their time of crisis.

The story was also praised for highlighting and memorializing the effects of the Air India Flight 182 crash. “The Management of Grief was the offspring of her non-fiction account of the crash, The Sorrow and the Terror (1987), co-authored with husband, Clark Blaise. In both works, Mukherjee criticizes the Canadian government’s handling of the event, connecting their attitude of

negligence and dismissal to the national policy of multiculturalism. This policy, Mukherjee argues, encouraged the nation to see the crash as an “Indian” event, inextricable from the exotic machinations of terrorism, when over 90% of the passengers were Canadian citizens. This kind of nationally sanctioned compartmentalizing of people by race is exemplified in the figure of Judith Templeton.

The “open door” Mukherjee supports in this and the other stories of Middleman implicitly expresses an assimilationist ideal. While this word often has the negative connotations of mimicry and cultural betrayal, Mukherjee is more concerned with assimilation’s positive aspects, urging immigrants to be creatively adaptive and resilient in their new environment. They have, after all, left a country for a chance to change and transform, not to stagnate in familiar modes of behavior. She contrasts her resilient, dynamic immigrants with expatriates who, with psychological and political ties to the “homeland,” pine for an impossible and romanticized image of “home.” As she writes in the introduction to Darkness, “Indianness is now metaphor.” She herself had fashioned her identity as an expatriate during her years in Canada (1966-1980) and did not fully appreciate and embrace the “exuberance” of immigration until she left the “mosaic” for America’s “melting pot.”

But while new worlds force a change on its immigrants, these immigrants also engender transformations in mainstream culture. As Mukherjee comments in a 1989 interview with The Iowa Review, the relationship between the immigrant and her new country is like “two-way traffic.” Though she has lived a decade in Canada and continues to be concerned with Canadian topics, she has settled in America, moving to New York in 1980. Having declared American citizenship, she considers herself not as an ethnic writing about ethnic characters, but as an American writing about Americans.

Mukherjee has been criticized for what are perceived to be regressive ideas about gender. She was sharply criticized by Ms . magazine in their review of Wife (1975) for its representation of women as submissive. Mukherjee wryly remembers a line from the review: “ Ms . magazine had a review which said, ‘Some books can be allowed to die, but others have to be killed’” (from 1989 Iowa Review interview). Jasmine (1989), a novel developed from the short story of the same name in “Middleman” was similarly criticized because the main character, “Jasmine,” seems only to be able to find her identity through a series of husbands or live-in lovers. However, Mukherjee counters that her characters are not mere mouthpieces of feminist theory. In fact, they are excluded by color and class from the white, middle-class dominated feminist movement. Instead, she portrays these immigrant women’s “in-between” realities that may well disturb the privileged feminist theorists pontificating from their sheltered university positions. Mukherjee has vocally criticized “feminist imperialists” who mandate how “third world” women should behave. She points out in the Iowa Review interview that the feminism “being offered by the Ms . magazines are not at all appropriate [for women of color and poor women]; they just don’t work in their lives, they don’t ring true for their psychologies.” Fakrul Alam paraphrases Mukherjee in a 1990 interview: “She claims that she would much rather show them [women] in the process of acquiring the power that would enable them to control their fates than make them mouthpieces of white, upper-class feminist rhetoric.”

Yoonmee Chang

Yoonmee Chang is a Ph.D. candidate in the English Department at the University of Pennsylvania . She is currently working on her dissertation, which explores class and labor issues in Asian American literature . In the following essay, she interprets Mukherjee’s story as part of a critique of Canada’s controversial policy of multiculturalism .

“Multiculturalism?” is Shaila’s brief and somewhat enigmatic response to Judith Templeton’s introduction in Bharati Mukherjee’s “The Management of Grief.” Judith is the social worker sent by the Ontario government to “reach out” to the families of the victims of Air India Flight 182. She enlists Shaila to give the “right human touch” to her work, in other words, to act as the cultural liaison between a Euro-Canadian government and its ethnic citizens. Shaila’s response indicates that Judith’s work is partially decreed by the national Ministry of Multiculturalism or Ontario’s provincial equivalent. Enacted in 1971, by Prime Minster Pierre Trudeau, the Canadian Multiculturalism Act announced:

It is hereby declared to be the policy of the Government of Canada to . . . recognize and promote the understanding that multiculturalism reflects the cultural and racial diversity of Canadian society and acknowledges the freedom of all members of Canadian society to preserve, enhance and share their cultural heritage. (quoted from Neil Bissoondath, Selling Illusions: The Cult of Multiculturalism in Canada, 1994)

The non-specific yet self-righteously benevolent language obscures the political motivations behind the act (namely appeasing the secession oriented Quebecois) and makes it a flexible, easy to manipulate tool in political battles that hinge on varying interpretations of the general language. Not surprisingly then, the Multiculturalism Act has proliferated, rather than resolved, a phalanx of petty political-cultural battles. For instance, in 1990, a group of outraged RCMPs (Royal Canadian Mounted Police) presented a 210,000 name petition to their Commissioner for allowing Sikh members to wear turbans on duty. The doctrine of multiculturalism plays a contradictory and central role in this conflict: does it support the Sikhs officers’ right “to preserve, enhance and share their cultural heritage,” or can it be invoked to protect non-Sikhs’ own “freedom of religion.” The vexed answer to both questions is “yes.” This is just one of the

What Do I Read Next?

Darkness (1985) by Bharati Mukherjee is Mukherjee’s first collection of short stories. It includes an interesting introduction by the author sketching out her conception of “immigrant” versus “expatriate.”
Jasmine (1989) by Bharati Mukherjee is an outgrowth of the short story “Jasmine” in The Middleman and Other Stories . The story of a young woman who immigrates to America after her husband is killed by political terrorism in India. She goes through an agonizing but ultimately fulfilling process of personal development as evinced by her name changes from the dense, unpronounceable “Jyoti” to the spontaneous and casual “Jas” and finally to the stable midwestern, “Jane Ripplemeyer.”
Junglee Girl (1995) by Ginu Kamani is a collection of short stories about the hold of oppressive Indian traditions on young women’s awakening sexuality. “Junglee” is derived from the Sanskrit root “jungle” and is often used as an epithet to describe a reckless and uncontrollable woman. The work also touches upon intra-ethnic tensions among Indians.
Leave it to Me (1997) by Bharati Mukherjee is Mukherjee’s latest novel. His work heavily explores the theme of violence, which Mukherjee has commented is central and necessary to an immigrant’s experience, whether it be physical or psychological.
Masala (1993) directed by Srinivas Krishna is a bleakly humorous film account of the effects of the Air India bombing on a young man, Krishna, who has lost his entire family in the crash. Humorously criticizes Canada’s clumsy policy of multiculturalism stereotypical image of Sikhs as violent terrorists.
Of Customs and Excise (1991) by Rachna Mara is a piece of short fiction exploring the conflict between rapidly westernizing second-generation children and their tradition-holding parents. Focuses on the cultural oppression of women.
Selling Illusions (1994) by Neil Bissoondath is a personal critique of Canada’s official policy of multiculturalism. Novel writer Bissoondath argues in the same vein as Mukherjee that multiculturalism creates ethnic ghettoes, political and social divisiveness and a strata of second-class citizens.

inadequacies of the ambiguous policy. A survey of the recent conflicts it has engendered reveals it as Canada’s Frankenstein. Novelist Neil Bissoondath writes: “As a political statement it [the 1971 Multiculturalism Act] is disarming, as a philosophical statement almost naive with generosity. Attractive sentiments liberally dispensed— but where, in the end do they lead?” ( Selling Illusions ).

The Air India crash brought the racialized structure of Canada’s social, political and economic structures into sharp relief. Shortly after learning of the tragedy, the then Prime Minister, Brian Mulroney, sent condolences to the Prime Minister of India at the time, Rajiv Gandhi . As the majority of the passengers on the Delhi and Bombay bound plane were Canadian citizens of South Asian ancestry, this action was, on the one hand, a compassionate cross-cultural gesture. But in light of the subsequent delayed and lackadaisical Canadian investigation, the gesture took on a politically charged meaning. It soon became all too clear that Canadian leadership, despite the Canadian citizenship of the victims, considered the crash an “Indian” event.

As such, it was not worthy of the sincerest efforts or dedicated resources of the federal government. The bombing remained unresolved for 12 years, during which time more than 100 tapes of evidence were “accidentally” destroyed or lost

“A dominant theme in her work is the criticism of such immigrants who suffer arduous and often violent journeys into America or Canada, only to settle in isolated, insulated ethnic ghettoes where opportunities are as narrow as in the ‘homeland’ they left.”

(according to the The Toronto Star, June 5, 1995). The government refused persistent demands for a public inquiry, claiming that it would interfere with the criminal investigation, and conceded in 1991 to an internal inquiry in the CSIS’s (Canadian Security Intelligence Service) botched procedures. A leading suspect, Talwinder Singh Parmar, was not named until ten years after the crash and at that time, he had been dead for nearly three years. Yet the CSIS had been tracking Parmar, a leader of a Canadian Khalistani radical cell, the Babar Khalsa (“Pure Tigers”), for years. In fact they were monitoring him until six days before the bombing and even witnessed him detonating “test” bombs off a Vancouver highway with Inderjit Singh Reyat, a Barbar Khalsa associate, who was charged in 1991 with manslaughter for the related Narita Airport bombing. In 1995, the RCMP announced a $1 million reward for information leading to arrests in connection with the Air India bombing, but the action— “too little, too late”— was scorned as a clumsy, belated attempt to recognize the Canadian victims ten years after the fact. In 1997, the RCMP announced that it was about to charge six Khalistani terrorists for the bombing.

The tragedy is “unhoused” as Deborah Bowen writes in “Spaces of Translation” ( Ariel, Vol. 28, No. 3, July, 1997). Mukherjee’s non-fictional account of the crash, The Sorrow and the Terror, co-written with husband and Canadian citizen, Clark Blaise, poses the provocative question: “Why was the Canadian government slow to dedicate its political, social, and psychological resources to the crash that killed 280 Canadian citizens of South Indian ancestry?” Like Shaila’s in “The Management of Grief,” Mukherjee and Blaise’s response is: “Multiculturalism.”

Since multiculturalism encourages cultural practices to be “preserved” and “enhanced,” Canadian immigrants encounter few incentives to transform their lives and identities. Under its rubric, various “ethnic-towns” have emerged (e.g. Chinatown, Sikh communities, Hindu communities). Today, an Indian can travel straight from Delhi to Vancouver or Toronto, and ensconce herself in one of the many Sikh or Hindu communities, depending on her affiliation, get a job in an Indian store or agency catering to Indians, continue to dress in Indian clothes, and have easy access to Indian groceries. All this without a drop of English. Mukherjee views this kind of immigrant life as cultural stagnation. A dominant theme in her work is the criticism of such immigrants who suffer arduous and often violent journeys into America or Canada, only to settle in isolated, insulated ethnic ghettoes where opportunities are as narrow as in the “homeland” they left. This is expressed in the repulsion Shaila feels when she visits the elderly Sikh couple with Judith. The apartment building is a veritable Indian and West Indian ghetto with a “sprinkling of Orientals.” The women at the bus stop are all dressed in saris and the “ferocity of onions” which denote the “distinctive and immediate Indian-ness of frying ghee” makes Shaila uncomfortably aware that Canada and its multiculturalism is encouraging the wholesale transplant of “chunks” of India. One could argue that this enclave of Toronto “Indian-ness” is a felicitous manifestation of Canada’s atmosphere of free cultural practice. But what to make of the poverty?

The dire reality of most ethnic “communities” is that they are poverty-laden, urban ghettoes. Despite the eye-candy they provide for tourists, the majority of residents in places like Chinatowns around the “western” world live alarmingly below the poverty line. The scope of this essay cannot address the forces that link spatial ethnic communities with poverty, but it is generally apparent that these communities and poverty are structurally linked, and that life in such ethnic ghettoes is severely delimited. While such “communities” can initially provide comfort, information, and networks to newly landed immigrants, the preservation of these spaces as proper, appropriate, and perhaps the only suitable habitation for ethnic immigrants perpetuates their ghettoization. With little incentive to learn English and adapt to mainstream cultural practices, immigrants who chose to “preserve” their culture in this way deprive themselves of the skills necessary to personal and professional advancement that often demands they step outside the ethnic ghetto. In the case of Canada, the government supports such ghettoization under the banner of multiculturalism, protecting these poverty and crime-stricken enclaves as “natural” “expressions” of culture.

By privileging the “there” over the “here,” Canada, as a result, has become a land of “us” and various “thems,” with the Euro-Canadian dominated political body still holding power. Moreover, the multiculturalist recognition of diverse cultural practices has provided a convenient excuse to deny protection to all its citizens, especially those of color. Mukherjee and Blaise charge that the government had deep and detailed knowledge of Khalistani terrorist activities in Canada, including Parmar and Reyat’s “bomb practice” in Duncan, British Columbia, 19 days before the bombing. They accuse the Canadian government of dismissing the import of such information because Khalistani radicalism was after all, an “Indian” matter. And Indian matters are best settled in the Indian community along Indian rules.

An analogous case is invoked by Bissoondath in Selling Illusions: The Cult of Multiculturalism in Canada (1994). In 1994, Quebec judge, Raymonde Verreault, ruled a lightened sentence for a Muslim man charged with sexual assault (23 months in prison instead of the prosecution’s requested four years). Over a period of two and a half years, the man repeatedly sodomized his eleven year old stepdaughter, refraining from vaginal intercourse to preserve her virginity, thereby keeping her eligible for marriage by traditional Muslim standards. The judge claimed that the man “spared” the young girl by respecting his cultural tenets and that these tenets must duly be respected and recognized by the Canadian court. As Bissoondath remarks, this reasoning is perverse and absurd. More disturbingly, it points up the deeply inimical potential of multiculturalism. The judge effectively deprives a segment of the Canadian population of the full protection of Canadian law on the basis of race and ethnicity while hiding under the supposedly humanistic policy of multiculturalism. Had the victim been a white girl, it would be difficult to imagine the judge favoring the Muslim man’s cultural mores over the girl’s personal right to protection under Canadian law. Along the same lines, had the victims of the Flight 182 been British or white Canadian, the government response and investigation may have been more devoted. Mukherjee and Blaise argue that it is precisely this negligence of its minority citizens that made Canada the perfect incubator for radical Khalistani terrorism. Where else but Canada to develop and execute violent, political plans under the guise of “cultural practice”?

“The Management of Grief” critiques Canada’s policy of multiculturalism and its invidious consequences in many ways: through Shaila’s repulsion at the Indian ghetto she visits, as mentioned, the proliferation of Judith’s insensitive and ignorant comments about her work with “them,” and through the negative portrayal of Kusum’s return to India. The measure of the characters’ “Indian-ness” is adumbrated through their mourning style, or as the title suggests, how they manage their grief. Extreme and destructive “Indian-ness” is embodied by Shaila’s grandmother. When her young husband died, she, at age sixteen, sequestered herself in mourning, denying all her personal needs like a proper Hindu widow. She even neglected to raise her infant daughter, who was consequently passed on to an uncle. Shaila’s parents exhort her not to fall prey to a similar “mindless mortification.” Kusum follows this path. After recovering her husband’s body and taking it to India for burial, she embarks on a life of itinerant, religious asceticism, searching for the reincarnated faces of her lost ones. Like Shaila’s grandmother, Kusum has abjured the living, similarly disregarding the needs of her surviving daughter, Pam. Shaila accuses her of “running away” and withdrawing from her daughter and the world. Importantly, Kusum’s personal and psychological regression is paired with oppressive aspects of Indian culture. In this way, engagement in this kind of life-paralyzing mourning is metonymic of a similarly unproductive revival of traditional Indian ways that may have no bearing on an Indian immigrant’s Canadian life.

Shaila, on the other hand, ultimately rejects such oppressive paralysis/Indian-ness, though it is a slow and painful process. Like Kusum, she returns to India to receive the succor of her “homeland.” Her parents do not want her to follow the fate of her grandmother, but they are happy to have her stay in India to be coddled by their affection and luxuries. But Shaila recognizes that succumbing to such a lifestyle, however seductive, is neither recovery nor progress. She asks a vision of her husband: ‘ “ Shall I stay! ” He replies: “ What are you doing here? . . . You must finish alone what we started together. ” From this moment Shaila realizes that in order to recover a forward moving life, she must return to Canada. Implicit in this realization is that Canada, not India, is her homeland.

By rejecting a life of mind-numbing mourning, self-deprivation associated with oppressive aspects of “Indian-ness,” Shaila gestures towards a transformative, productive vision of recovery and life. In the last line of the story, Shaila narrates that she has dropped a “package” and “started walking,” ostensibly in a literal and symbolic new direction. If this direction is the opposite of Kusum and her grandmother’s “mindless mortification” / retreat into Indian-ness, Shaila’s life will likely favor negotiating the challenges of mainstream Canadian life, discarding the burden of a repressive, insular Indian one. Her choice to be Canadian Indian with a stress on the Canadian defies the national policy of multiculturalism which would remand their ethnics to psychological and geographical ghettoes.

It is possible to criticize Mukherjee and her characters as “assimilationist.” Though this word is freighted with negative and troubling connotations, the cultural vision that Mukherjee supports does not necessarily require a wholesale abdication of one’s ancestors’ culture. It is important to note that she does not laud assimilation for its inherently superior qualities, but as a resistant alternative to the ghettoizing nature of multiculturalism. Assimilation is a remedy, not a final solution. In her introduction to Darkness (1985), Mukherjee writes that for years she haughtily considered herself an “expatriate,” psychologically and politically connected to India, with Canada’s multiculturalism feeding her attitude. But moving to America and experiencing its so-called “melting-pot” philosophy, she realized that immigration was “exuberance” and expatriation, a mere aloof and ironic defense mechanism . Thus to support “assimilation” is not to be a cultural traitor, but to refuse being cast as a racialized, second-class denizen of the ethnic ghetto, excluded from the white, mainstream structures which are the repositories of advancement and power. Assimilation is tactical. As Bissoondath writes: “My history, my past, my ‘roots’— the people, places and events that have shaped me— are an integral part of myself. Just as no one can take them away, so I cannot rid myself of them. This does mean, though, that I must be their prisoner ( Selling Illusions ). On a general level, “The Management of Grief” uses the plane crash to symbolize the inevitably failed and destructive nature of trying to return to India. The survivors are resilient characters like Shaila or Kusum’s daughter, Pam, who “survives” precisely because she prefers to stay in Canada rather than visit the mythic “homeland.” Both Pam and Shaila’s life as immigrants embracing the “new” world are by no means glamorous. Both have undergone severe emotional trauma and Pam is living on less than enviable means as a makeup counter salesperson. Their lives are merely dynamic, creatively adaptive and bittersweet.

Source: Yoonmee Chang, for Short Stories for Students, The Gale Group, 2000.

Diane Andrews Henningfeld

Diane Andrews Henningfeld is an associate professor at Adrian College. She holds a Ph.D. in literature and writes widely for educational publishers. In the following essay, she examines Mukherjee’s use of contrasts and unbridgeable gaps in “The Management of Grief.”

Bharati Mukherjee’s short story, “The Management of Grief” serves as the final story in the 1989 collection The Middleman and Other Stories . Mukherjee won the National Book Critic Circle Award for fiction for this collection, and in 1989, the story appeared in The Best American Short Stories, 1989, edited by Margaret Atwood and series editor Shannon Ravenel. Critics have continued to review the collection favorably.

Jonathan Raban, for example, in The New York Times Book Review, June 19, 1988, writes that Mukherjee’s “writing here is far quicker in tempo, more confident and more sly than it used to be.” However, although many critics and scholars comment on the quality of the collection as a whole, and although they also investigate closely a number of the stories, few have written specifically on “The Management of Grief.” It seems that most literary critics prefer to concentrate on stories that seem more characteristic of Mukherjee’s work. Nevertheless, reviewers like Elizabeth Ward in the Washington Post, July 3, 1988, call “The Management of Grief” “a quietly stunning story. . . .”

“The Management of Grief” is the story of how one woman copes (and does not cope) with the deaths of her husband and two sons in an airplane crash. It seems apparent that Mukherjee developed the idea for this story while working on a nonfiction, book-length study of the 1985 Air India crash near Ireland, a book she co-authored with her husband Clark Blaise. On board the plane were hundreds of Indo-Canadians, traveling between Toronto and India. According to Ann Mandel in The Dictionary of Literary Biography, Mukherjee attributes the crash to “[r]acism, prejudice and ethnic estrangements born of multicultural policy.” Mukherjee blames the Canadian government in large part for its failure to address the issues of Sikh terrorism, leading to the planting of bombs in the Air India jetliner. Mandel further writes, “Particularly moving are the portraits of those who died and of the other victims, those who still remember the dead and who now ask both for justice and for honor.” Certainly, these portraits, shifted and fictionalized, find their way into “The Management of Grief.”

The story, however, is more than a series of portraits. Mukherjee skillfully builds “The Management of Grief” on a series of contrasts and unbridgeable gaps. As Avrinda Sant-Wade and Karen Marguerite Radell assert in “Refashioning the Self: Immigrant Women in Bharati Mukherjee’s New World,” “Mukherjee weaves contradiction into the very fabric of the stories: positive assertions in interior monologues are undermined by negative visual images; the liberation of change is undermined by confusion or loss of identity; beauty is undermined by sadness.” Through the protagonist Shaila Bhave, a member of the Toronto Indian community who loses her husband and her two sons in the crash, the reader stands poised between contradictions, balanced between two worlds. As Fakrul Alam suggests in his book Bharati Mukherjee, Shaila is a person in the middle, thematically linking the story to the other stories in the collection The Middleman and Other Stories .

Early in the story, Shaila reports on the scene in her house as members of the Indian community gather to receive news about the tragedy that has overtaken them. She tells the reader, “Two radios are going in the dining room. They are tuned to different stations.” This very early image helps to establish a sense of duality. Each radio reports the same event, but in different words. A listener would have to choose to listen to one radio or the other to make sense of the story being reported. The two radios together, their words out of synch with each other, produce meaningless noise. Shaila, numbed and distant from the event itself, finds herself unable to make sense of the tragedy. Instead, she seems to be trapped between the two radios, trapped between worlds.

Initially, it appears that the two worlds are India and Canada. Kusum’s daughters Pam and her sister highlight the gap between the two. Pam, the older

“Of course, the greatest division of all in the story is the unbridgeable gap between the living and the dead.”

sister, decides to stay in Canada for the summer, choosing to work at Wonderland (a Canadian amusement park) rather than visit her grandparents in Bombay. Pam “dates Canadian boys and hangs out at the mall, shopping for tight sweaters.” Her younger sister, on the other hand, chooses traditional Indian values and boards the ill-fated flight to Bombay with her father.

Likewise, Mukherjee emphasizes the contrast between Indian and Canadian culture through the introduction of the character Judith Templeton, the government social worker sent to help the Indians “manage” their grief. Templeton tries to recruit Shaila to help her with this task, placing Shaila in the middle between the government and her fellow immigrants. Mukherjee’s portrayal of Judith Templeton slices to the heart of her own discontent with the Canadian’s government failure to understand Indian culture. As Alam argues, “Judith is basically well-meaning but ultimately ill-equipped to ‘manage’ the grief of the Indo-Canadian community because of the cultural distance separating her from them.” By failing to recognize that Shaila’s outward calm is a signal of internal upheaval, Judith reveals her own lack of understanding of the people she is trying to help. Her mistaken assumption that Shaila is managing well places Shaila in an impossible situation. Like the two radios, Indian and Canadian cultural assumptions play in Shaila’s ears until she is unable to make sense of her own grief or her role in the healing process.

Another important dichotomy in the story is that between the genders. The men and the women handle their grief differently, with the women wishing that they could commit suicide and the men trying to provide explanations for the tragedy. In India, during the months following the crash, the men who have lost their wives find that their living relatives quickly line up new families for them: “Already the widowers among us are being shown new bride candidates. They cannot resist the call of custom, the authority of their parents and older brothers. They must marry; it is the duty of a man to look after a wife.” However, the women’s families do not try to arrange marriages for them. As Shaila reports, “No one here thinks of arranging a husband for an unlucky widow.”

Mukherjee also suggests that there are two radically different ways to respond to grief: a return to life, or a retirement from life. Dr. Ranganathan, an engineer who has resisted his relatives’ efforts to remarry him, represents the gradual, active return to life. At first, this return to life manifests itself by a change in jobs, although he is still unable to change his home. Eventually, he not only changes jobs and homes, he changes careers, and moves from Montreal to Texas to start life in a place “where no one knows his story.” Shaila’s neighbor Kusum, on the other hand, represents the other response to grief. She leaves Toronto and moves to an ashram, or retreat, in India. She relies on a swami for advice and counsel. Through her retreat from the world, Kusum finds serenity. She is in contact with her dead husband and believes that she hears her daughter singing while on a pilgrimage. Again, Mukherjee places Shaila in the middle of these two extreme positions. Shaila returns to Toronto, determined to do as the spirit of her husband has instructed her: “You must finish alone what we started together.” Although she actively attempts to return to life by writing letters to “the editors of local papers and to members of Parliament” so that they will acknowledge that the crash was an act of terrorism, at the same time, she retreats from active life, shunning Judith Templeton and living alone with the memories of the dead.

Of course, the greatest division of all in the story is the unbridgeable gap between the living and the dead. Throughout the story, Mukherjee contrasts the living with the dead. In the second paragraph of the story, Mukherjee introduces Dr. Sharma’s wife, “monstrously pregnant,” who is the mother of four boys. One of the boys walks through the scene at this moment and Shaila recognizes him by his “domed and dented forehead.” Such reference reminds readers that Shaila’s boys, too, must have literally “dented foreheads,” the result of the trauma of the crash. Further, the picture Shaila keeps in her mind of her boys and her husband, as they were alive, prevents her from identifying their bodies when presented with the bloated corpses of several victims. Readers are unable to determine if the corpses truly are Shaila’s sons. Does her need to think of them as living prevent her from recognizing their corpses, or are these not her sons at all, as she asserts?

Shaila again finds herself suspended between two worlds, the world of the living and the world of the dead, not knowing how to join either fully. “I am trapped between two modes of knowledge,” she says. “At thirty-six, I am too old to start over and too young to give up. Like my husband’s spirit, I flutter between worlds.” While Kusum learns to live with her grief by identifying with the dead, and Dr. Ranganathan by identifying with the living, Shaila tells the reader, “I wait, I listen, and I pray, but Vikram has not returned to me. The voices and the shapes and the nights filled with visions ended abruptly several weeks ago.” This suggests that Shaila has been occupying the land of the living during the day while seeking the land of the dead at night. Even her downtown apartment locates Shaila in the middle, “equidistant from the Ontario Houses of Parliament and the University of Toronto.”

As the story closes, Shaila reports, “I heard the voices of my family one last time. Your time has come, they said. Go, be brave ” Shaila’s response is to begin walking. Although the ending is inconclusive because neither Shaila nor the reader know where she is heading, it is at least a sign that she is moving from the middle. The closing words of the story are also the closing words of the collection: “I do not know which direction I will take. I dropped the package on a park bench and started walking.” These words leave the reader with a sense of movement, a sense that Shaila no longer stands motionless and trapped between worlds, but rather walks toward her unknown future, finishing what she and her husband started in a new land, a new world.

Source: Diane Andrews Henningfeld, for Short Stories for Students, The Gale Group, 2000.

Deborah Bowen

In the following essay, Bowen discusses Mukherjee’s depiction of how the various cultural groups in “The Management of Grief” deal with tragic loss, “translating” grief according to their cultural experience .

The word “translation” comes, etymologically, from the Latin for “bearing across.” Having been borne across the world, we are translated men. It is normally supposed that something always gets lost in translation; I cling, obstinately, to the notion that something can also be gained. SALMAN RUSHDIE, Imaginary Homelands

In the final article of the special January 1995 issue of PMLA on “Colonialism and the Postcolonial Condition,” Satya Mohanty observes that “vital cross-cultural interchange depends on the belief that we share a ‘world’ (no matter how partially) with the other culture, a world whose causal relevance is not purely intracultural.” There are occasions on which such a shared world is traumatically imposed upon diverse groups of people. If ever there were an occasion for a human compassion that transcends boundaries of race and culture in the need for vital cross-cultural interchange, the Air India crash of 1985 surely must have been it—an occasion when the attempt to be “borne across” the world was itself “translated” in a particularly macabre way. During the spring and summer of 1995, the anniversary of this disaster brought it back into the Canadian news, specifically because the belief that “its causal relevance [was] not purely intracultural” had led some people to continue to fight for a Royal Commission of Inquiry into an unresolved crime.

The initial tragedy of the plane’s destruction was, in the eyes of many, compounded by the fact that the Canadian government treated the event precisely as an Indian intracultural tragedy, not immediately relevant to the ordinary Canadian citizen. Bharati Mukherjee and her husband Clarke Blaise published a book about the disaster in 1987. They pointed out that over 90% of the passengers on the plane were Canadian citizens. They described the disaster as, politically, an “unhoused” tragedy, in that Canada wanted to see it as an Indian event, and India wanted to see it as an “overseas incident” that would not train an international spotlight on the escalated Sikh-Hindu conflicts in India. In the last sentence of that book, The Sorrow and The Terrror, one of the bereaved requests, “Mr. Clarke and Mrs. Mukherjee, tell the world how 329 innocent lives were lost and how the rest of us are slowly dying.” Blaise and Mukherjee declare in their introduction that in researching the book they spoke with a wide range of people directly and indirectly involved with the tragedy; “mainly, however, we have visited the bereaved families and tried to see the disaster through their eyes” (xii). It was perhaps in order to manage the grief involved in such seeing that Mukherjee found it necessary to write not just The Sorrow and The Terror but also the short story “The Management of Grief,” which appears in her 1988 collection The Middleman .

It is a story about the effects of the Air India disaster on Toronto’s Indian community and specifically on the central character and narrator,

“Shared ethnicity is in itself no guarantee of the presence of ‘the right human touch.’ In the story, the customs officer at Bombay airport, who is presumably Indian, is as obnoxious an example of petty officialdom as one might hope to avoid, and unlike Judith he is therefore treated to vociferous anger from Shaila.”

Mrs. Shaila Bhave, who loses her husband and her two sons in the crash. Because she is rendered preternaturally calm by the shock, she is perceived by the government social worker, Judith Templeton, as “coping very well,” and as “a pillar” of strength, who may be able to help as an intermediary—or, in official Ontario Ministry of Citizenship terms, a “cultural interpreter”—between the bereaved immigrant communities and the social service agencies, though of course she has had no training. Shaila wants to say to Judith but does not, “I wish I could scream, starve, walk into Lake Ontario , jump from a bridge.” She tells us, “I am a freak. . . . This terrible calm will not go away.” In fact, then, the “pillar” and the “temple” are both unstable; figured as tottering buildings in a collapsing of hierarchy, both women are initially beyond knowing what to do. Death is the great leveller, even of the social worker’s neocolonial benevolence. “I have no experience with a tragedy of this scale,” says Judith; and Shaila interjects, “Who could?” When Judith suggests that Shaila’s apparent strength may be of practical help to others who are hysterical, Shaila responds. “By the standards of the people you call hysterical, I am behaving very oddly and very badly, Miss Templeton. . . . They would not see me as a model. I do not see myself as a model.” Instead, she says, “Nothing I can do will make any difference. . . . We must all grieve in our own way.”

Judith is caught between worlds; she does not know how to translate the grief she shares with Shaila and the Indian community into cultural specifics that will be acceptable to both Indian and Western modes of thought. Shaila is initially caught, too, between different impulses coming from different cultural models which she has internalized within herself. The question of how to effect moral agency while practising the acceptance of difference is in both instances a tricky one. Satya Mohanty addresses the question of the immobilizing effects of difference by proposing a revisionary universal-ist perspective. “Given the relativist view of pure difference, difference can never represent genuine cross-cultural disagreement about the way the world is or about the right course of action in a particular situation” because cultures are seen as “equal but irredeemably separate.” Edward Said had already taken an overtly polemical stance against such separateness, at the end of Culture and Imperialism:

No one today is purely one thing. . . . No one can deny the persisting continuities of long traditions, sustained habitations, national languages, and cultural geographies, but there seems no reason except fear and prejudice to keep insisting on their separation and distinctiveness, as if that was all human life was about. Survival in fact is about the connections between things.

But the practical question remains intransigent: how are such connections to be made?

Mohanty argues that “[g]enuine respect depends on a judgment based on understanding, arrived at through difficult epistemic and ethical negotiations”; otherwise, “the ascription of value (and of equality among cultures) is either meaningless or patronizing.” Mohanty proposes what he calls a “post-positivist ‘realism”’ of socially negotiated knowledge, undergirded by a moral univer-salism: “Perhaps the most powerful modern philosophical ally of modern anticolonial struggles of all kinds is this universalist view that individual human worth is absolute; it cannot be traded away, and it does not exist in degrees.” Such a universalist claim concerns a basic capacity for agency shared by all humans; it invites cultural articularization but does not depend upon it for support of the underlying claim, and thus provides “the strongest basis for the multiculturalist belief that other cultures need to be approached with the presumption of equal worth.” Perhaps this is not to say more than Gayatri Spivak, quoting Derrida—“there are no rules but the old rules.” But then, perhaps this is to say something quite momentous. Universalism has had a bad press, associated as it has been with a manipulative essentialism and the blindnesses of liberal humanism to inherent racism, sexism, paternalism, phallocentrism, Eurocentrism, and all those other distressing -isms from which we in the late-twentieth-century West are anxious to dissociate ourselves. But perhaps a universalist ethic always already underlies much of our ism-rejection: on what other basis do we respect difference? On what other basis do we assume worth?

In Mukherjee’s story, the assumption of moral universalism is a necessary precursor to the problems of negotiating social knowledge. Judith wants to help exactly because she is presuming the equal human worth of the Indian bereaved. But Mukherjee addresses questions of cultural particularization head-on by showing how inadequately translatable are institutionalized expressions of concern: as Judith says to Shaila when she is trying to persuade her to help, “We have interpreters, but we don’t always have the human touch, or maybe the right human touch.” This distinction between “the human touch” and “the right human touch” is crucial: one is universal, the other particular. The grief is transcul-tural; the management of grief is not. Thus it is that grief shared rather than managed may have more chance of adequate translation.

Here is how the issue could be formulated: a shared world: the trauma of violent death; a universal: the experience of grief; a cultural, even intracultural particularization: grief “in our own way.” For the bereaved relatives in Mukherjee’s story, this grief is figured as “a long trip that we must all take.” The story enacts a kind of diaspora through death, a doubling of cultural displacement for those immigrants whose chosen initial passage was to Canada, and who must now embark on a voyage out grimly parodic of those earlier “civilizing missions” of the colonizers, journeying first to Ireland, to identify the wreckage from the ocean, then to Bombay, to mourn and reassess in the mother-country, and thence back to step-mother Canada, to find another new identity.

Both in Mukherjee’s story and in the non-fiction account of the tragedy, the people most able to connect viscerally with the grief of the bereaved are the Irish, off whose shores the plane went down. They have the quintessentially “human touch.” They weep with the bereaved; strangers hug strangers in the street; once one mourner has picked flowers from a local garden to strew on the ocean, a newspaper article asks residents to please give flowers to any Indian person they meet. All this really happened. Such transcultural expressions of erapathetic connectedness, however impractical, construct an equal and opposite subjectivity; even the difference between the Eastern mode of management, the “duty to hope”, and the Western, the spelling out of grim knowledge and the request to “try to adjust your memories”, is rendered tolerable by grief so obviously felt and shared and by a compassionate regard for the privacy of pain. In fact Blaise and Mukherjee suggest in The Sorrow and The Terror that there may also have been a kind of cultural knowledge at work here, in that the Irish, as a chronically subalternized people who have firsthand experience of terrorism, may have been particularly sensitive to a tragedy like the Air India disaster.

The practical distinction between universal human emotions and their particular cultural manifestations seems to be one that a writer like Neil Bissoondath does not clearly draw, when he declares that “Culture, in its essentials, is about human values, and human values are exclusive to no race.” The visceral connection made between the Irish and the Indians would seem to support Bissoondath’s view. But Mukherjee does not allow the reader to be lulled into sentimentality by such a connection: she presents the reader also with the dissonance between Shaila and Judith. More useful here is Homi Bhabha’s distinction between “the semblance and similitude of the symbols across diverse cultural experiences,” including death, and “the social specificity of each of these productions of meaning.” In Shaila and Judith, Mukherjee figures the problems of this social specificity: how does one translate even shared grief into practical action? What is more, this is a story in which the characters are not merely “shuttling between the old and the new world,” as Mukherjee has remarked of her characters elsewhere. She does not allow the reader a straightforward binarism between Shaila and Judith; here there are also differences within the “old” culture—differences of sensibility and differences between different generations and belief-systems.

Shared ethnicity is in itself no guarantee of the presence of “the right human touch.” In the story, the customs officer at Bombay airport, who is presumably Indian, is as obnoxious an example of petty officialdom as one might hope to avoid, and unlike Judith he is therefore treated to vociferous anger from Shaila. Even though “[o]nce upon a time we were well brought up women; we were dutiful wives who kept our heads veiled, our voices shy and sweet”, the universal human experience of grief can be so extreme as to free such a woman from the patriarchal customs of her culture into the beginnings of an effective moral agency. The women get the coffins through the customs, despite the official’s officiousness. That is, grief neither shared nor decorously managed may itself translate into a power of cultural resistance.

Moreover, when Shaila finds herself “shuttling” between Indian and Western modes of managing grief, the sense of being “trapped between two modes of knowledge” is not unlike what she had experienced within her Indian upbringing, which had pitted the irrational faith of her grandmother against the nonsense rationalism of her mother. In Bombay after the rituals of death are over, Shaila struggles: “At thirty-six, I am too old to start over and too young to give up. Like my husband’s spirit, I flutter between worlds.” Shaila’s response at this point is to make her journey one of “courting aphasia”—dancing, riding, playing bridge. She is in any case paradoxically “luckier” than some: because the bodies of her family did not surface from the wreckage, she is marked as unlucky, and therefore does not have parents arranging a new husband for her. In a wry reversal of patriarchal oppression, she has widowers, “substantial, educated, successful men of forty,” phoning her and saying, “Save me. . . . My parents are arranging a marriage for me.” Most will succumb, because “they cannot resist the call of custom” that decrees it is “the duty of a man to look after a wife.” But Shaila returns to Canada alone: in the end, she is saved by faith—by visions and voices, by the irrational world of temple holy men and prophetic dreams.

“[O]n the third day of the sixth month into [her] odyssey, in an abandoned temple in a tiny Himalayan village,” her husband appears to her and tells her two things: “You’re beautiful,” and “You must finish alone what we started together.” Like other travellers, Shaila returns to her starting-place “translated” in more than physical being: she returns to Canada with “something . . . gained”—with a personal affirmation and a mission. It is through the universalizing power of grief that she experiences metaphysical intervention and the freedom to choose even between different Indian behaviors within her own cultural background. Thus in her translating and her translation, the narrator not only experiences the aporias inherent in attempts to communicate between cultures; she also recognizes the gaps in her own cultural constructedness. These gaps are traversed most powerfully in the story not by Mohanty’s cognitive negotiations—Judith trying so hard to understand— but by the metaphysical “translations” of mystical experience: the voices and forms of the longed-for dead who comfort the living and direct them through their grief. This unapologetic introduction of the metaphysical is of course, on Mukherjee’s part, in itself a “writing back” to the poststructuralist theorists of the West. Back in Canada, Shaila is surrounded by the spirits of her deceased family who, “like creatures in epics,” have changed shapes and whose presence brings her both peace and rapture. But what is the shape of her mission?

Initially on her return she gets involved in trying to help Judith help the bereaved. She realizes that she has become Judith’s confidante. As Judith’s management skills lead her to compile lists of courses on bereavement, charts of how the relatives are progressing through the textbook stages of grief, lists of “cultural societies that need our help,” Shaila tells her politely that she “has done impressive work.” She goes with Judith to translate for her to an elderly Sikh couple who had been brought to Canada two weeks before their sons were killed in the crash, and who refuse to sign any of the papers which would secure them money, lodging, and utilities, because they are afraid, and proud. The interchange is laced with the ironies of half-translation, mistranslation, and non-translation. Because Shaila is Hindu and the couple are Sikh (something she, though not Judith, has recognized from their name), there are already unspoken stresses. Shaila stiffens involuntarily, and remembers “a time when we all trusted each other in this new country, it was only the new country we worried about.” In Toronto as in India, Mukherjee explores the doublenesses and duplicities of intracultural differences. The Indian characters in Canada are united by their grief at the very moment that they are also divided by their fear and suspicion of those supposedly of their community who have caused that grief: Sikh extremists were likely responsible for the bombing. It is only when Shaila identifies herself to the Sikh couple as another of the bereaved, and not merely a translator, that real communication begins between them. The common reference provides a shared world; nevertheless, the cultural particularizations erect barriers, and those separating Judith from the Sikh couple are all but insuperable, because her neo-colonial expressions of concern inadvertently enact a recolonization. Shaila is drawn more to the Sikh couple’s obstinate and impractical hopefulness than to Judith’s anxious and bureaucratic goodwill. After all, Shaila too has lost sons. After all, the Sikh couple too are managing their grief.

The scene is interwoven with Shaila’s awareness of the difficulties of translation: “How do I tell Judith Templeton?” “I cannot tell her”; “I want to add”; “I wonder”; “I want to say”; “I try to explain.” But in the end, reading without words the elderly Sikh couple’s stubborn dignity, their determination to fulfil their cultural duty to hope, she asks to be let out of Judith’s car on the way to the next appointment. Judith asks, “‘Is there anything I said? Anything I did?’ I could answer her suddenly in a dozen ways, but I choose not to. ‘Shaila? Let’s talk about it,’ I hear, then slam the door.” Words will not do. Words cannot enable the Sikh couple to appreciate Judith’s concern; words here can construct only a kind of cultural enmeshment, Judith’s mode of managing grief. Mukherjee seems in this moment of decisive action to be making an equal and opposite point to that of Gayatri Spivak when she writes, “If the subaltern can speak, then, thank God, the subaltern is not a subaltern any more.” Sometimes silence itself may be a choice, against both subalternity and forced assimilation, a kind of “claiming ownership of one’s freed self,” as Mohanty puts it. Hybridity is not of itself necessarily productive: Ella Shohat has distinguished between the hybridities of forced assimilation, internalized self-rejection, political co-optation, and social conformism, as well as creative transcendence. If, to use E.D. Blodgett’s formulation, we posit translation as a threshold, a kind of “ur-language” or “langue” that is between languages, preventing assimilation while allowing for interpretation, then Shaila lives on this threshold in her dealings both with Judith and with the Sikh couple; and it is her choice to translate into silence.

In fact, the relationship to one’s own language is also problematized in this story. One of Shaila’s first responses to news of her husband’s death is to lament that “I never once told him that I loved him” because she was so “well brought up.” Her bereaved friend Kusum says, “It’s all right. He knew. My husband knew. They felt it. Modern young girls have to say it because what they feel is fake.” This distinction between words and feelings reinforces the notion of a prelinguistic realm of universal capacities. But later in Ireland Shaila lets drift on the water a poem she has written for her husband: “Finally he’ll know my feelings for him.” Not that her feelings are fake; rather that words are a survival technique, a management tool for her, just as, at the beginning of the story, the woman who got the first news of the crash must tell her story “again and again.” After the second diaspora and return, Dr. Ranganathan, alone in Montreal, having lost his whole huge family, calls Shaila twice a week as one of his new relatives: “We’ve been melted down and recast as a new tribe” in which “[t]alk is all we have.” Eventually he accepts “an academic position in Texas where no one knows his story and he has vowed not to tell it. He calls me now,” says Shaila, “once a week.” Inside the tribe, he chooses speech, outside, silence; each is a means of survival, a mode of agency.

At the end of the story, Shaila’s voyage is still incomplete. She accepts the mission to “go, be brave,” received through the final message of the other-worldly voices of her dead family; she “drop[s] [her] package on a park bench and start[s] walking”; but she tells us that “I do not know where this voyage I have begun will end. I do not know which direction I will take.” The story is encircled in unknowing: it opens, “A woman I don’t know is boiling tea the Indian way in my kitchen. There are a lot of women I don’t know in my kitchen, whispering, and moving tactfully.” Where that first unknowing conveyed shock and repressed hysteria, the last unknowing figures acceptance and reconstruction, another journey, willingly undertaken beyond the pages of the story. Acceptance and reconstruction: Judith would recognize these words, the last two stages of her textbook description of the management of grief. She might not, however, recognize their manifestation in Shaila, who hears voices, who drops packages, for whom grief is ultimately managed more through metaphysical translations than physical ones. True, she has sold her pink house for four times what she and her husband had paid for it; she has taken a small apartment downtown; she has plenty of money from her husband’s careful investments; she is even looking for a charity to support. In Western terms, it seems that she has managed her grief very well. But this alone would be what Bhabha calls colonial mimicry; it is not where the story ends.

Grief must in the end also manage Shaila— almost, stage-manage her. If grief shared rather than managed is the most effectively translated, it is perhaps appropriate to point to the doubleness of Mukherjee’s title. “The Management of Grief” can mean “how people manage grief,” or “how grief manages people”—in other words, “grief” in this phrase can be understood as grammatical object or subject of the action of managing. Moreover, the phrase can be read as what Roland Barthes calls a “structure of jointed predication” in which the translator figures as the fulcrum, the pre (and post) position “of.” This little word itself contains and signifies the space of translation, whose function is to hold substantive concepts together, a liminal space, an almost unnoticed minimal word signifying possession—in this case, possession of the ability to construct the self.

Thus when Shaila hears the voices of her family giving her her mission, “I dropped the package on a park bench and started walking.” Interpreting for propositional meaning, a reader might wonder if she is going mad. If so, what happens now? Does she get home for supper? If not, who finds her? Looking for symbolic meaning, a reader might think that it is now that the most personal journey begins, in privacy and solitude. But a postcolonial reading is likely to note the performative structure of the text, and to recognize the tension between these two interpretations—the cognitive and the phantasmatic, the rational and the intuitive—as precisely that experienced both interculturally and intraculturally by Shaila as translator throughout the story. We know that she got back to her apartment: the story is composed in such a way that she is telling us about the final moment of insight a week after it happened. She is herself the fulcrum, the translator and the translation, undoing the traditional oppositions between West and East, reason and faith, physical and metaphysical. She is settled in a good apartment, and she walks off the page. Nor is this merely a West-East difference of response: Shaila’s mother and grandmother themselves represented this same difference. Shaila is a figure for productive cultural hybridity. Standing on the translator’s threshold, looking in both directions, she comes to possess the power to understand her liminality as itself a space for “effective (moral) agency” (Mohanty).

The phrase “space of translation” is Bhabha’s: in discussing the language of critique, he suggests that such language is effective

to the extent to which it overcomes the given grounds of opposition and opens up a space of “translation”: a place of hybridity, figuratively speaking, where the construction of a political object that is new, neither the one nor the other, properly alienates our political expectations, and changes, as it must, the very forms of our recognition of the “moment” of politics.

In Mukherjee’s story, Shaila journeys into figuring just such a language of critique, just such a place of hybridity, and she stands at a new and unexpected political “moment”: the immigrant translator who learns how to be translated, how to inhabit the productivity of the threshold. The package that she drops stands synechdochally for the weight both of her grief and of her translator’s role. Having journeyed thus far in her odyssey, she leaves behind the weight of translating as she steps beyond the narrative into her own translation: she “started walking.” In moving from translator to translation she breaks open the management of grief, each part of the substantive proposition falling away from her because the preposition has taken upon itself its own self-possession. Through this figure, Mukherjee suggests that, despite the cultural misunderstandings inescapably exposed in a transcultural tragedy, the experience of being “borne across”—or through—grief itself opens up a space of translation in which, as Salman Rushdie hopes, “something can also be gained”: Shaila deconstructs apparently opposing modes of knowledge into a productive hybridity without denying either of them. Shaila thus becomes in herself an embodiment of Mohanty’s “understanding, arrived at through difficult epistemic and ethical negotiations.” No longer “fluttering between worlds,” Shaila reinscribes herself through self-translation, and possesses her own space beyond the page, outside the sentence, a space of moral agency where the place of both words and silences is a chosen one.

Mukherjee has written of “colonial writers” like herself that “[h]istory forced us to see ourselves as both the ‘we’ and the ‘other,’” and that this kind of training has enabled her to inhabit a “fluid set of identities denied to most of my mainstream American counterparts.” In a similar way, she chooses to write of immigrant characters for whom re-location is a positive act requiring “transformations of the self.” This story suggests that such an embracing of hybridity can actually be empowered by the experience of grief, because grief first exposes an inner world irrevocably divided and estranged by loss, a world from which there is no turning away, and then acts as a form of energy to enable the dislocated mourner in the task of management, reconstruction, and translation into acceptance. In writing out of the political and personal tragedy of the Air India crash, Mukherjee achieves a particularly fine figuring-forth of such transforming hybridity; I would argue that this is because the universal nature of grief is a powerful if complex force for change, cultural resistance, and moral choice. It is partly because such transcultural grief is still at work that two years ago a million dollar reward was offered by the RCMP for information leading to the prosecution of the six prime suspects in “the worst terrorist act involving Canadians.” Indeed there are many mourners who hold to the strong hope that their grief may yet translate into a Royal Commission of Inquiry into the Air India crash, even though it is more than a decade after the fact.

Source: Deborah Bowen, “Spaces of Translation: Bharati Mukherjee’s ‘The Management of Grief,’” in ARIEL: A Review of International English Literature, Vol. 28, No. 3, July, 1997, pp. 47-60.

Alam, Fakrul. Bharati Mukherjee, New York: Twayne, 1996.

Bissoondath, Neil. Selling Illusions: The Cult of Multiculturalism in Canada, Ontario: Penguin, 1994.

Connell, Michael, Jessie Grearson, Tom Grimes. “An Interview with Bharati Mukherjee,” in The Iowa Review, Vol. 20, No. 3, Fall, 1990, pp. 7-32.

Mandel, Ann. “Bharati Mukherjee,” in Dictionary of Literary Biography, Vol. 60, Gale, 1987.

Mukherjee, Bharati. Darkness , Ontario: Penguin, 1985.

Mukherjee, Bharati and Clark Blaise. The Sorrow and the Terror, Ontario: Penguin, 1987.

Raban, Jonathan. A review of The Middleman and Other Stories, in The New York Times Book Review, June 19, 1988, pp. 1, 22-23.

Sant-Wade, Arvindra, and Karen Marguerite Radell. “Refashioning the Self: Immigrant Women in Bharati Mukherjee’s New World,” in Studies in Short Fiction, Vol. 29, No. 1, Winter, 1992, pp. 11-7.

Tindall, Gillian. “East meets West and Writes It,” in Times, April 26, 1990.

Ward, Elizabeth. “Notes from a new America,” in Book World—The Washington Post, July 3, 1988, p. 9.

Alam, Fakrul. Bharati Mukherjee, New York: Twayne Publishers, 1996.

A concise critical study of the various stage of Mukherjee’s fiction writing, and her psychological transformation from expatriate to immigrant.

A convincing, personal and political argument against Canada’s official policy of multiculturalism.

A casual and informative interview with Mukherjee and husband Clark Blaise. Conducted in the Thanksgiving of 1989, shortly after the publication of Jasmine . Mukherjee and Blaise discuss a range of Mukherjee’s work including non-fiction co-authored with Blaise, Days and Nights in Calcutta (1977) and The Sorrow and the Terror (1987). Mukherjee also discusses her political and personal vision of fiction writing.

Dhawan, R. K., ed. The Fiction of Bharati Mukherjee: A Critical Symposium, New Delhi : Prestige Books, 1996.

A collection of critical essays that covers the span of her fiction up until 1996. Separated according to work, with sections devoted to The Tiger’s Daughter (1972), Wife (1975), Darkness (1985) and The Middleman and Other Stories (1988), Jasmine (1989), and The Holder of the World (1993).

Frideres, James S., ed. Multiculturalism and Intergroup Relations, Westport, Conn.: Greenwood Press, 1989.

A collection of critical essays discussing the issues plaguing multiculturalism in Canada and the United States .

A moving and thorough reconstruction of the bombing and possible events leading up to it, including interview of relatives of the victims and terrorism-linked Khalistani agitators. Criticizes Canada’s policy of multiculturalism and differentiates the radical pro-Khalistani faction from Sikhs in general.

Nelson, Emmanuel S., ed. Bharati Mukherjee: Critical Perspectives, New York: Garland Publishing, 1993.

A diverse collection of critical essays on Mukherjee’s work with introduction by Nelson.

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Home — Essay Samples — Life — Grief — The Management of Grief by Bharati Mukherjee

The Management of Grief by Bharati Mukherjee

Categories: Grief

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Words: 435 |

Published: Jan 30, 2024

Words: 435 | Page: 1 | 3 min read

Introduction, summary of "the management of grief", cultural identity and loss, coping mechanisms and strategies, the role of memory and remembrance, references:.

Mukherjee, B. (1988). The Management of Grief. The Middleman and Other Stories
Kogawa, J. (1981). Obasan. Penguin Random House Canada.
Hirsch, M. (2008). Mourning and its relation to cultural identity. Mortality, 13(2), 123-135.

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After a tragic plane crash just off the coast of Ireland, members of Shaila Bhave ’s community gather in her house in Toronto. Shaila’s husband and two sons were killed in the crash, as were the husband and youngest daughter of Shaila’s friend and neighbor, Kusum . The majority of the people on board the plane were of Indian descent. At first, no one knows who or what to blame for the crash, but they eventually find out that Sikh terrorists planted and detonated a bomb. Shaila is in shock and uses Valium prescribed by a doctor to assuage her emotions.

Judith Templeton , a well-meaning but culturally incompetent Canadian social worker, asks Shaila to help communicate with relatives of those killed by the attack. Judith explains that she has been unsuccessful in communicating with some relatives and thinks Shaila will be an asset because of her calmness and strength. Shaila views her own calmness with suspicion and says others will view her similarly. She tells Judith that everyone must grieve in their own way, but she also tells Judith that she will call her when she returns to Ireland.

Shaila—along with other relatives of those killed in the attack, including Dr. Ranganathan and Kusum—travel to Ireland to identify the bodies of their loved ones. Kusum identifies her husband and daughter quickly and then travels to India to prepare their funerals. Shaila feels buoyed by hope and optimism after Dr. Ranganathan, a renowned electrical engineer who lost his entire family in the attack, tells her that a strong swimmer might have been able to survive the crash and swim to shore. She leaves Ireland for India without having identified her husband and sons.

In India, Shaila stays with her parents for a few months and then travels throughout the country. Six months into her travels, she sees a vision of her husband in a temple in a small Himalayan village. In the vision, her husband, Vikram Bhave , tells her she must “finish alone what we started together.” Shaila returns to Canada, while Kusum sells her house to move to an ashram in the Indian city of Haridwar (referred to in the story as Hardwar) to pursue inner peace. Dr. Ranganathan turns his house into a shrine to the family he lost before eventually selling that house and moving to Texas, where no one will know his story.

When Shaila returns to Toronto, Judith Templeton asks her to help reach out to relatives of the attack with whom she has had trouble communicating. Together, they visit an elderly couple . Judith wants Shaila to help get the couple to sign a paper that will ensure they receive benefits from the Canadian government. The couple is reluctant to sign the paper, convinced that it would mean giving up hope that they would see their sons again, and Judith and Shaila leave without convincing them to sign. As they travel to their next appointment, Judith complains about the person they’re about to meet. Shaila, unable to bear Judith’s complaining, asks to stop the car and then leaves without explaining to Judith why.

Shaila sells her house and moves to an apartment in downtown Toronto. On a rare sunny day in winter, she walks in a park and sees a vision of her family for the last time. In the vision, her family tells her that her “time has come” and to “go, be brave.”

“The Management of Grief” by Bharati Mukherjee

Introduction.

In her short story The Management of Grief , Bharati Mukherjee describes the feelings of a person, who has lost her family. The author shows how the main character Shaila Bhave tries to overcome this tragedy. Apart from that, she compares her reaction to that of other people, who have suffered similar lot. The title of this novella contains the word “management”, which is certainly hardly applicable in this case, because grief cannot be managed or controlled in any way. In this regard, we may remember Judith Templeton with her “textbook on the grief management” (Bharati, 363). This person is willing to help but she clearly lacks the understanding. As for Shaila Bhave, we may say that she passes through several stages and eventually, the protagonist finds the strength to move ahead.

At the very beginning, Shaila is surrounded by her neighbors, who try to help her around the house; she is so utterly shocked that she does not pay any attention to them. Everything reminds of her husband and sons. Subconsciously, she still believes that her most near and dear ones have not perished. The only consolation for her is to sit with Kusum: the woman who has also been bereft of her husband.

They practically do not speak with one another, because there is no need to exchange words as they understand each other perfectly well. Shaila is a paragon of calmness and reserve, and in part, this is the reason why Judith Templeton appeals for her help. However, Shaila acknowledges to herself “I wish I could scream, starve, walk into Ontario Lake, jump from a bridge” (Mukherjee, 357). By suppressing her most intimate emotions, the protagonist hopes to live through the feeling of loss. Furthermore, she does not want other people to see her sufferings because hysteria for her is a sign of impermissible weakness.

Overall, we can single out two ways in which she “manages” her grief: first, she immediately associates herself with her companions in misfortune such as for instance Kusum and Dr. Ranganathan, who are able to put themselves in her position. But the main reason is that they give her at least some illusion of hope. They believe that there is the slimmest chance of someone surviving in the air crash.

Nevertheless, later she realizes that this hope is a kind of self-deception, which cal leads only to a deadlock. Many of her acquaintances refuse to accept that their relatives have died, and they blame themselves for their deaths, as an old man whom Shaila encounters. The author describes it in the following way “I have protected this woman as best I could. She is the only person I got left. …. I will not sign for it I will not pretend that I accept” (Mukherjee, 366). Finally, the main character comes to the belief that the only way to survive is not to deny this fact but to accept it.

It should be pointed out that the author makes the ending of this novella very abrupt and readers can only make conjectures concerning Shailas future. The main character admits that she does not know “where the voyage she has begun will end” (Bharati, 367). Certainly, it is extremely difficult to start life anew but hopefully she can do it. It seems that Bharati Mukherjee deliberately makes readers form their own conclusions. I am not sure that I can identify myself with the narrator in any way, because fortunately, I have never had similar experience. Thus, it is impossible for me to say how exactly I would have reacted.

Perhaps, I would have also sought company of those who can feel empathy for me. Nonetheless, Shailas calmness is not typical of me. Besides, much depends upon a persons age, Shaila is in her middle thirties, and I cannot tell how I would have behaved at such age. Again, I would like to emphasize the idea we do not know anything about this womans future, probably, she will manage to find a way of living even despite such horrible scar.

Janet E. Gardner, Jack Ridl, Beverly Lawn, Peter Schakel. “Literature: A Portable Anthology”. Bedford/St. Martin’s, 2003.

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The Management of Grief Essay

The Management of Grief by Bharati Mukherjee

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There are two types of irony working in this story: situational and tonal. The first can be defined as the difference between the expected and the actual outcome of an event. One example of situational irony in this story lies in the feud: “We, who stayed out of politics and came halfway around the world to avoid religious and political feuding, have been the first in the New World to die from it” (195-196). Another, less tragic irony is in the fact that Bhave’s Indian parents happen to be non-religious. When visiting a temple with her mother, Bhave must keep her husband's “visitation” a secret. By contrast, she is able to commune more openly with her dead husband and sons in Toronto, a place that has more of a secular reputation than a mystical one.

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The Public and Private Management of Grief pp 23–59 Cite as

Grief as a Psychological Object of Study

Caroline Pearce 2
First Online: 10 May 2019

390 Accesses

This chapter critically reviews the literature on grief and bereavement examining how grief became an object of psychological study. The review moves chronologically beginning in 1917 with Sigmund Freud’s essay ‘Mourning and Melancholia’ up to present-day debates concerning ‘complicated grief’ and ‘prolonged grief disorder.’ In this chapter Pearce argues that the dominance of psychological studies into grief has transformed grief into a problem of the individual psyche, necessitating the creation of bereavement counselling and therapies. The chapter examines the type of assumed subject on which the psychological view rests, questioning its validity. In conclusion the chapter reviews social theories of grief that have sought to describe the ways in which grief is socially shaped and constructed.

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Pearce, C. (2019). Grief as a Psychological Object of Study. In: The Public and Private Management of Grief. Palgrave Macmillan, Cham. https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-030-17662-4_2

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“The Management of Grief” by Bharati Mukherjee is a narrative about a woman, Shaila Bhave, heading to cope with the passing of her partner and sons in a tragic accident. It is a story about grief, cultural heritage, and how we adapt to demise. The report examines societal pressures concerning how to cope with grief through its protagonists and their backdrop. Shaila, in particular, is captured between the anticipations of her cultural Indian heritage and those of the Colonially culture in which she resides. This inner turmoil is finally solved when Shaila accepts her despair and cultural heritage. The chapter starts with Shaila in the vicinity of her grief. She is distraught and struggles to comprehend the truth of her deficit. She is compelled to face the anticipations surrounding her as the narrative unfolds. She must adhere to a particular societal standard regarding how one mourns in the Indian community. She is assumed to be in deep despair over several months and to express her grief publicly. The Western civilization, on the other hand, intends her to keep moving on, to find peace, and to “handle” her distress. Therefore, her prose style is calm and precise, and her most distinguishing feature is her unbiased self -consciousness. This is also a controversial trait because it implies she cannot ignore the truly horrible incident that occurred to her. Bharati Mukherjee, therefore, employs the personalities of Shaila Bhave and Kamla Bhave to exemplify the intricacies of grieving and the idea that despair is invariably an internal personal feeling.

Bharati Mukherjee employs the personalities of Shaila and Kamla Bhave to showcase the subtleties of despair, and that grieving is a personal internal feeling. Therefore, Mukherjee’s utilization of the two-character types’ emotional responses to their common deficit makes it possible for the reader to comprehend that pain is an intensely personal voyage that no one experiences the same as one. Shaila Bhave illustrates a protagonist who expresses her despair to the general populace. She joins a governmental support network and depicts her narration with the other member nations, seeking solace in her interactions with them and sharing her tale. This public spectacle helps her comply with her anguish because it allows her to comprehend her condition, connecting it to that of others and conveying her grief in front of a sympathetic listener. Kamla Bhave, on the contrary, takes a more secret technique, infrequently discussing her experiences or emotional responses with anybody. She proceeds to do her usual house chores and other responsibilities to distract herself from the anguish of her deficit, and her surrender reflects her need for confidentiality. Their connections further show Mukherjee’s employing the two protagonists to demonstrate the complexities of misery. Shaila finds solace in Kamla’s cocksure attitude and stoic distress, while Shaila’s phonation of her emotional pain illustrates what Kamla might do to seek comfort. The two protagonists take comfort in one another’s reactions to a similar common tragic incident, realizing that distress is a personal story with no proper or incorrect mourning manner. Mukherjee highlights the reality that pain is an individual thing that cannot be extrapolated through the protagonists of Shaila and Kamla Bhave. The different responses of the main individuals to the same tragic incident demonstrate that no two individuals mourn comparably.

Mukherjee utilizes Shaila’s personality to demonstrate how anguish can be repressed, as Shaila avoids expressing feelings and asserts that her family’s tragedy was “inevitable.” Her actions reflect her conviction that by suppressing her emotional states, she can escape the distress of her deficit. She depends heavily on her belief and the love of her family and close companions to assist her in coping with her despair. Still, she persists in being resolute and eschews showing emotion. This mindset is evidenced by her connections with Mrs. Sahib, the social worker. Shaila declines Mrs. Sahib’s assistance, claiming she is ” Not the type of woman who requires guidance on what to do”( Mukherjee): Remaining calm and reluctant to express her feelings by maintaining her composure, thus attempting to control her emotional pain. On the other hand, Kamla’s personality exemplifies that distress must be conveyed for it to be maintained where she prefers to confront her despair head-on, expressing her feelings through temper tantrums of rage and weeping. In contrast, to Shaila’s polite demeanor, Kamla is boldly sentimental and expresses her grief on the cusp of her family’s bereavement. She also participates more in her grieving process management, desiring Mrs. Sahib’s assistance and participating in collective grieving ritual practices. Kamla can work through her feelings and healthily task her anguish by conveying her distress. Mukherjee depicts the complexities of despair and the necessity of individualized approaches to its administration through the protagonists of Shaila and Kamla. Mukherjee illustrates the value of enabling people to regulate their anguish in the manner that is most effective for them by demonstrating that despair can be repressed or articulated, implying that People can only start recuperating from their deficit through this method of self-exploration. As a result, Bharati Mukherjee engages the character traits of Shaila Bhave and Kamla to illustrate the complexities of grief and the notion that frustration is inevitably an intrinsic and private emotion.

Mukherjee’s writing style delves deep into the protagonists’ emotional responses throughout the book, demonstrating that anguish is an internal power battle. The writer’s application of vivid description language and visual information aids in engaging the reader and establishing a correlation between both the protagonists and the readers at large. Mukherjee writes of Shaila crying in the airport, that she could not control the tears that ran down her cheeks and left blotchy paths of loreal on her face. This detailed depiction of Shaila’s weeping conveys the essence of her emotional anguish and aids the audience in comprehending the depth of her anguish. Correspondingly, Mukherjee writes explaining that Kamla trawled for a way to resolve her blame for her behavior and rifled her heart for some sign of compassion, and found only desolation. The author’s symbolism throughout the story supports the notion that distress is inherent. The sanctuary, for example, represents the protagonists’ inner battle with grieving. A temple is a place where the protagonists can find some peace and comfort, and it also serves as a realization of their internal distress. Correspondingly, the protagonists’ dress represents their inner turmoil. Shaila and Kamla dress in white to represent their pure and innocent natures. Mukherjee points out that distress is an individual’s perception by using emblems to depict the character types’ internal turmoil.

In conclusion, Bharati Mukherjee’s short story “The Management of Grief” is a heartfelt examination of emotional pain, loss, and fortitude in the aftermath of a tragic situation. Mukherjee portrays the complexities of despair and the notion that it is an intimate encounter through the protagonists of Shaila and Kamla Bhave. Her writing style design is quiet and concise, and her most notable characteristic is her impartial self-consciousness. This is also a contentious attribute since it presupposes that she cannot forget the horrific event that happened to her. Therefore, Bharati Mukherjee’s “The Management of Grief” reminds us of the strength of anguish and the conscious spirit’s adaptability. Besides the horrific event that has bedeviled the Bhave household, they assemble to memorize and respect their deceased loved ones and, eventually, to figure out how to move forward. In this manner, Mukherjee’s narrative serves as a powerful cautionary tale of the resilience we all acquire in times of difficulty.

Mukherjee, Bharati. “The management of grief.” (1988): 304-15.

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Sheryl Sandberg’s essay on grief is one of the best things I’ve read about marriage

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Sheryl Sandberg with her husband in 2013.

When my closest friend got married a few years ago, I asked her if anything felt different after the ceremony. "Yes," she said. "Realizing that my best-case scenario is now that I die first." Her tone was flip, and we both laughed. But there was truth to what she said.

I love my husband so much that I hesitate to write about him — it feels unseemly, like bragging. It is impossibly painful to even imagine life without him: his presence is the source of my greatest joy in life, just as the idea of losing him is one of my worst fears. The best-case scenario is that I die first.

Sheryl Sandberg lost her beloved husband, Dave Goldberg, 30 days ago. To mark that occasion, she has written one of the best essays I have ever read about what it feels like to confront that terrible fear, and to deal with the profound grief that comes from losing someone you love. Her description of her grief since Goldberg's death feels true not just as a statement of what it is like to lose someone you love, but also what it means to deeply love someone, and the value that our loved ones hold in our lives.

A childhood friend of mine who is now a rabbi recently told me that the most powerful one-line prayer he has ever read is: "Let me not die while I am still alive." I would have never understood that prayer before losing Dave . Now I do. I think when tragedy occurs, it presents a choice. You can give in to the void, the emptiness that fills your heart, your lungs, constricts your ability to think or even breathe. Or you can try to find meaning. These past thirty days, I have spent many of my moments lost in that void. And I know that many future moments will be consumed by the vast emptiness as well. But when I can, I want to choose life and meaning.

Strangely enough, the perfect companion piece to Sandberg's essay is not about loss, but about the joy of having children. Michelle Goldberg (no relation to Dave Goldberg) wrote in New York Magazine last week about what inspired her and her husband to grow their family.

"Not long ago," she writes , "I learned the Arabic word Ya'aburnee . Literally, 'you bury me,' it means wanting to die before a loved one so as not to have to face the world without him or her in it."

Goldberg realized that those words captured her feelings for her husband, and that having a child would be a way to bring more of him into the world — and a way to hold on to part of him if someday she lost him.

Goldberg and her husband now have two children, and they have enriched her life, she writes, in ways she would never have believed possible. "Before there was one person in the world for whom I would use the word Ya'aburnee , and now there are three."

Reading Sandberg's essay with Goldberg's is a reminder that the pain of loss is a worthwhile price to pay for the joy of love and marriage. Although Sandberg's husband has died, the life they built together still remains. Her essay closes with a moving promise to support what they built, and the children they had together, even as she mourns him:

I can’t even express the gratitude I feel to my family and friends who have done so much and reassured me that they will continue to be there. In the brutal moments when I am overtaken by the void, when the months and years stretch out in front of me endless and empty, only their faces pull me out of the isolation and fear. My appreciation for them knows no bounds. I was talking to one of these friends about a father-child activity that Dave is not here to do. We came up with a plan to fill in for Dave. I cried to him, "But I want Dave. I want option A." He put his arm around me and said, "Option A is not available. So let’s just kick the shit out of option B." Dave, to honor your memory and raise your children as they deserve to be raised, I promise to do all I can to kick the shit out of option B. And even though sheloshim has ended, I still mourn for option A. I will always mourn for option A. As Bono sang, "There is no end to grief . . . and there is no end to love." I love you, Dave.

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The anxiety you’re feeling might be pandemic grief.

D espite a global pandemic that caused the deaths of millions of people and drastically altered our way of life, we still haven’t mastered the art of recognizing grief when it shows up.

Four years ago, life as we knew it slipped away. As news of the covid death tolls rose around the world, we watched footage on television of our front-line workers struggling with overcrowded hospitals, our children were sent home from school, weddings and graduations were canceled, jobs came to a halt, and toilet-paper flew off the shelves. Everywhere you turned someone was losing something or someone. But instead of grief rising to the surface, it was anxiety that was soaring.

By November of 2020 research shows that in the United States reports of anxiety increased to 50% and depression to 44%—six times higher than in 2019. The World Health Organization (WHO) reports that globally the prevalence of anxiety and depression increased by 25%, with women and young people being affected the most. But what hasn’t been studied as closely is the amount of grief we were also experiencing. I believe there is a direct correlation between the two. As a therapist specializing in grief for almost two decades now, I’ve come to understand that anxiety is a common response to loss. At its core, loss is about change, and when we lose someone or something we care about the landscape of our world changes. Feelings of uncertainty arise, fear surfaces, and anxiety blooms.

I’ve also come to understand is that while loss is something that happens to us, how we grieve is up to us. We can choose to move through the experience of loss consciously and with intention, or we can avoid it and suppress it. Grief is a process that requires support, attention, and room to breathe. When we attempt to avoid or suppress grief it almost always spills out in the form of anger, anxiety, and irritability.

There was a moment, early in the pandemic, when it seemed as though a new wave of grief understanding was cresting and that perhaps Americans were finally willing to acknowledge all the ways loss impacts our lives. In July of 2020, sociologist Ashton Verdery and his team at Pennsylvania State University introduced the COVID-19 Bereavement Multiplier and calculated that for every person who died of covid-19, nine grieving loved ones were left behind. Then in February of 2021 a coalition of national bereavement organizations and grief experts urged President Biden to fund grief intervention, services, and training for front-line workers. Later that same year, prolonged grief disorder was added as an official diagnosis to a revision of the Diagnostic and Statistical Manual of Mental Disorders, outlining a type of grief that can persist in a seemingly endless cycle of mourning that impacts daily functioning.

During that same time grief started trending on TikTok and Instagram. Art installations centered around mourning cropped up in major cities. The phrase “disenfranchised grief” was being used to validate all the kinds of loss (divorce, racial injustice, illness, lost jobs, and canceled vacations) that typically go unrecognized.

Now, on the fourth anniversary of the onset of the pandemic, many of these efforts have been thwarted or dismissed. It seems as though we have slipped back into our age-old habit of sneaking out the back door of the funeral home and dusting our hands of all that grief. The majority of my clients who lost a loved one directly or indirectly to COVID-19 tell me how no one recognizes their grief anymore. Even with COVID still surfacing, people have moved on.

Read More: Experts Can’t Agree If We’re Still in a Pandemic

We have long been a “grief illiterate nation,” as Maria Shriver wrote in her introduction to Elisabeth Kubler Ross’s On Grief and Grieving. People tend to show up in the beginning of a loss, attending memorials, dropping off casseroles, and sending grief books, but after a few weeks or months, even the most well-meaning folks move on. When this drop-off in attention to the bereaved occurs it sends a message that they too are supposed to be ready to move on from their loss.

When we lose someone significant the fallout can be immense. Grief can be a lengthy process and secondary losses in the form of finances, identity shifts, childcare help, and even physical health are common occurrences. But because of the lack of available and affordable grief support, many Americans are being denied the opportunity to grieve in healthy ways. And for someone who doesn’t know where to turn in their grief, they often struggle in silence, attempting to suppress their grief in the same ways our culture does externally.

When this happens an undercurrent of anxiety thrums beneath our surface. The world no longer feels like a safe place. Uncertainty and catastrophe loom on every corner. Panic attacks, social phobias and healthy anxiety take hold. We even become anxious about anxiety. But what if much of this anxiety is due to repressed grief?

The COVID-19 pandemic unleashed a new realm of grief for many of us–not just for all the deaths that occurred, but also grief for jobs lost, for the overwhelming technological advances, marriage inequality, racial disparity, illnesses, and political strife we have experienced, not to mention the loss of safety and certainty in the future. We don’t know what to do with these kinds of losses, all that accumulated and collective repressed grief is now showing itself in soaring rates of anxiety, making anxiety the most common mental illness in the world .

It's time our culture does the same. We need to acknowledge the individual and collective grief we are carrying. We need to lean into it, embrace it, memorialize it, and let it teach us more about ourselves. I always say that grief asks a lot of us because I believe that is true, but in turn, grief can offer us a new lens with which to discover what really matters to us, what is meaningful in our lives, and who we want to be going forward.

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‘If You See a Fox, and I’ve Died, It Will Be Me’

An illustration shows a woman with dark hair and in a blue coat looking between two trees at a fox.

By Sarah Wildman

Ms. Wildman is a staff writer and editor in Opinion.

A block from my house at the edge of Washington, there is a winding park with a road running through it. One Sunday recently, walking my regular loop along the trail, I heard leaves rustling on the wooded hill above me. I often see deer here; this time it was a bright young fox.

She paused. We stood there for a moment, she and I, aware. I wanted desperately for her to come closer, to stay in her orbit a moment longer. I lingered long after she left.

Sometime in my daughter Orli’s last months of life she told me, lightly, “If you see a fox, and I’ve died, it will be me.” I had never seen a fox in my neighborhood before. Over the last several months, I have seen maybe a half dozen, here and elsewhere. Each time I try to quell my desire to shout out, to ask the animal to stay, to call it by her name. It feels crazy, it feels sane.

I had never believed in signs; now I notice when an interview runs exactly 1 hour and 13 minutes, or when the hour is exactly 1:13. Orli was born on Jan. 13. It means nothing, it means something. A double rainbow stretched over a farm in Maine represents more than beauty.

March 17 will be one year since Orli died in our house, in her room, in my arms; March 20 a year since her burial. (In a quirk of this year’s Jewish calendar, the date of her yahrzeit, or memorial date, is some weeks further on.)

A year is a strange and terrible marker of time, simultaneously endless and instant. A year of loss is a new form of permanence: This is the life we lead. It will not change. A year furthers us on the long march toward our altered future. In the life of a child, a year is transformative. Her peers have molted in the year from 14 to 15. They no longer attend the same school; they have begun new sports, met new friends, moved forward, moved on.

There is an immutability to a year of grief, a sense of solidity to the loss, a movement from the surreality of her absence into a hardened space. It’s not as though I believe she might return, but in the year between her death and now I remain connected to her presence. My partner, Ian, has spent part of this year adding tattoos to his arms, each an ode to Orli, permanent signifiers of permanent loss. My younger daughter, Hana, has written through her grief; she notes, often, the lack of insight her peers have into the depth of losing a sister. Meanwhile, I wonder if I should keep every item of clothing I can picture Orli in, I wonder what she would say about each movie I attend, each book I read. I yearn for her commentary.

On Orli’s birthday, one of her long-distance friends wrote to me, “Whether you consent or not, I bring Orli along in every escapade,” in good decisions, in hidden poor ones. She understood the essence of being human is to be mischievous; of both choosing well and of making bad decisions. I never craved a perfect child, just a living one.

The day before our first birthday without Orli, Hana, Ian and I — walking from separate directions — had come upon a fox idling on a street corner, as though waiting for us.

Most of this year I have worked to center memories of Orli’s better moments, the joy she infused in each minute she got to live. One month after her first brain tumor surgery, when she’d rebounded better than any of us could have hoped, we met old friends from Spain for dinner. As we ate, a sudden, drenching storm came up. Orli got up and ran into the warm rain with our friends’ children, dancing, thrilled. It was, she told me, a “bucket list moment.”

She seemed to realize, far earlier than I, she had to lean into each experience, to expand it, to let it fuel her for whatever came next. In her journal she worried she might not see ninth grade. She did not share that with her friends.

Each of us in our rump family has felt an almost visceral physicality of these last few weeks; the slide from her birthday toward this anniversary, the terrible knowledge that we each hold of the last moments of her life, the good minutes we had, the harder hours; the terror of those final days.

In her last week, one doctor cornered me at the hospital to tell me Orli shouldn’t be here anymore. It was not clear if he meant here, still receiving palliative treatment, or here — on earth. She was fading, I knew. But it felt an awful thing to say; unforgivable really. I thought of Abraham arguing with God to save the wicked towns . I wanted to ask: But what if I get 15 good minutes with her each hour? Or five? Orli was adamant she did not want to die.

In Judaism a child who is an avel, or mourner, is to stop saying Mourner’s Kaddish for her parent at 11 months as she re-emerges into the community. But because parents who have lost a child have no obligation beyond the first 30 days, this marker holds no meaning. And because those who have lost children are, in many ways, forever seen as mourners, forever noted for their loss, we remain on the margin — in the community, but not entirely of it. Once, early in Orli’s illness, on that same path where I saw the fox, I overheard a woman, just slightly still within my earshot, who passed me. “That’s Sarah Wildman, the woman whose daughter …”

I tend to walk alone on this path. Grief of this kind is simultaneously universal and unshareable; loneliness is its inherent point of reference. I cannot conceive that March 18 will be drastically different from March 17.

When 2023 turned to 2024, I thought: It is a terrible thing to buy a calendar for a year Orli will not see. Still, I put up a calendar in her old room, the same feminist calendar she chose each year. As February turned to March, I found the page hard to flip over. Until this point I have been able to look at the photos in my phone and say, this time last year we were at this concert, we were at this movie, we had this meal; now those memories slide further back. These days Ian now often sits in her room, working. He likes to be near her, and so, most nights, in homage to her, I straighten up after him — he is a mess, she craved order. I do it for her, I do it for me.

In early September, not quite six months after Orli died, I interviewed the actor Rob Delaney, who wrote a bracing, visceral book about his young son Henry’s life and death from brain cancer. “You probably at this point regularly — what, every day? — are shocked by the fact that she’s gone. Right?” Mr. Delaney asked me halfway through our call. “For better or for worse — I guess for the survival of the species it’s for the better — but the acute physical pain will not go away. But it’ll weave itself into your life in a way where threads of Orli will be in the tapestry of your life forever,” he said.

“And in a few years, you’re going to wrap yourself in the tapestry of your life and marvel at the beauty of the threads of Hana and Orli and Ian, and it’ll all be — you will metabolize her life and her death, in a way where you feel a thousand things.” One of those things will always be “disbelief and pain,” he said. “That won’t go away.”

In the first days of March, Hana and I went to speak at Orli’s old school at a Women’s History Month assembly held in her honor. Orli had an “intuitive sense of justice, about doing what’s right in the world, about showing up for her friends, and herself,” I told sixth, seventh and eighth graders, aware some of them would have known Orli only as “that girl who died.”

It was Hana who spoke best. “Orli was like an emotion,” she told the assembled children, all older than she. “I think I will never get over her. It might get less hard, but I will never not be sad.”

It wasn’t until that night, in bed, that I wept. The teachers still knew her as she was, I realized. I craved their memories.

How are you? each of them asked, as people often do. “Aquí estoy,” I said, as I have come to say. I’m here.

Sarah Wildman is a staff editor and writer in Opinion. She is the author of “Paper Love: Searching for the Girl My Grandfather Left Behind.”

The Times is committed to publishing a diversity of letters to the editor. We’d like to hear what you think about this or any of our articles. Here are some tips . And here’s our email: [email protected] .

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Competence or Experience The Missing Voice in Pediatric Decision-Making

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INTRODUCTION

One night in 2016, I fell sound asleep, then awoke to painkiller-induced, nightmarish hallucinations in the ICU. Despite being unable to identify myself or surroundings, I can clearly remember the discordant beeping of hospital monitors, acrid smell of saline wash, and taste of sickly sweet orange amoxicillin syrup. I was unaware that, the morning after I’d fallen asleep, I’d skied off an unmarked 30-foot cliff, breaking my legs, jaw, eye socket and nose, rupturing my right ear canal, and shattering nearly all of my teeth. Over the years that followed, I was fortunate enough to receive care from skilled, compassionate physicians. This not only allowed me to return to ski racing, but to dream of becoming a surgeon. Having grown older and thus more aware throughout my years as a pediatric patient, I’ve developed a nuanced understanding of what treatment made me feel heard.

In fact, I found the most radically varying aspect of my care to be the degree to which I was addressed as a conscious, capable individual versus an extension of my parents. This is unsurprising as the proper amount of authority lended to pediatric patients persists as highly disputed in bioethics. Over the course of this paper, several perspectives will be considered in order to evaluate the current position of the pediatric patient in medical decision-making. First, the ambiguity of maturity and reactions to pediatric autonomy will be considered through the Mature Minor Doctrine, especially important in the refusal of life-saving therapies. Next, the need for improved pain management, rooted in the misalignment of experienced and perceived pain in pediatric patients. Finally, this paper will prove, through the lenses of communitarianism and mosaic decision-making, the need for a more nuanced approach to pediatric care that structurally accounts for the patient’s voice without neglecting their place within a greater network. Therefore, there exists a great need for a more direct, balanced integration of pediatric patients’ as well as revisiting prevailing notions of where pediatric patients stand in relation to reason and experience.

To begin, Fleischman’s Pediatric Ethics opens with an exploration of what makes pediatric bioethics distinct. [1] Fleischman quickly runs into the most problematic of principles in the treatment of pediatric patients– autonomy. The ethical ambiguity of the degree of autonomy to offer pediatric patients and at what point in their lives is a central point of conflict. Many in favor of expanded authority point to the neurobiological similarity between young adults and late teenagers. [2] Furthermore, while parents are treated as natural decision-makers for their children, there are several cases of minors facing pressure to undergo medical treatment against their wishes. [3] , [4] In response to these concerns, the Mature Minor Doctrine was created, a common law exception to the parental consent requirement. The doctrine allows a minor “to refuse or consent to medical treatment if [they possess] sufficient maturity to understand and appreciate the benefits and risks of the proposed medical treatment.” [5] The doctrine has spurred extensive and impassioned bioethical discourse, especially in relation to the refusal of life-saving therapies.

In “Health Care Decisionmaking by Children'', Ross draws a clear distinction between the notion of competence, often cited in psychological justifications of the Mature Minor Doctrine, and sound judgment. [6] Her points against child liberationists can be simplified as follows: (a) children need time to develop virtues that preserve their life-time autonomy versus their present-day autonomy, (b) pediatric patients possess “limited world experience and so [their] decisions are not part of a well-conceived life plan,” [7] and (c) it serves parents and children alike for parents to make decisions in line with their view of a good life. I find all three points convincing, but each of them to be uniquely rooted in this same, critical lack of experience possessed by pediatric patients. I can attest to this. There were times where I suffered so desperately that I longed for relief by any means. I even told my mother that I was content only hearing out of one ear, willing to do anything to prevent another surgery. Now, I am fearful to imagine a world where, at my lowest, I had full autonomy.

Hence, the broad aversion to expanded pediatric autonomy is largely rooted in potential misuse, especially in the possibility of a unilateral, misinformed decision in favor of death via refusal of life-sustaining therapy. [8] , [9] Yet, one might argue, the desire for death has concrete rationale beyond lack of life experience— pain and suffering. As Foley describes, “The public's fear of pain and the media's portrayal that physician-assisted suicide and euthanasia are the only reliable options for pain relief… demand that health care delivery systems commit their efforts to improve pain relief at an institutional level.” [10] Indeed, the issue of insufficient pain management is all too common in pediatrics. One study comparing postoperative pain assessments surveyed 307 patients, 207 of whom were verbal. Across the board, nurses’ pain estimations produced significantly lower pain scores than parents and children, and were consistently closer to estimated pain scores of independent observers. [11] In another study, a total of 356 nurses across 22 Japanese PICUs were surveyed, and despite possessing a median of 4 years of experience, a mere 32.6% expressed confidence in their ability to accurately assess pain. [12] It is alarming and telling that even in verbal pediatric patients, pain is significantly underestimated by medical personnel, reflecting a real gap in pediatric patient-professional communication. I can, again, personally attest to this. In the children’s ward, I was offered only Tylenol for severe nerve pain in my legs that kept me awake most nights.

Relatedly, the spirited debate in response to the Mature Minor Doctrine is somewhat disproportionate. Despite the suggestion of various commentators that the law broadly recognizes the doctrine or that states are trending in its direction, only eight states have adopted a mature minor exception, and even these states condition this authority greatly. [13] With this in mind, a crucial issue is illuminated– an aversion to the pediatric patient voice altogether. As Flesichman writes, “Children should be informed about the nature of their condition, the proposed treatment plan, and the expected outcome… appropriate to their developmental levels.” [14] Hence, it is vital to curtail pediatric autonomy in complex and life-threatening choices, but it is worth seriously considering that the current landscape might excessively minimize or avoid pediatric patients’ expression, merely serving to inform them rather than account for their voice.

The experience that pediatric patients do possess, in the form of knowing their body, past medical experiences, and thus present pain-related needs, is systemically underrepresented. This is a pressing issue. Before considering expansion of the pediatric voice, though, it is first important to consider the manner in which the patient’s capacity is further complicated by their role within a larger community. It is worthwhile explicitly mentioning communitarianism, a prevailing school of thought in modern bioethics, defined by Callahan as “a way of… assum[ing] that human beings are social animals… and whose lives are lived out within deeply penetrating social, political, and cultural institutions and practices.” [15] Pediatric patients present a uniquely communitarian case as the perspectives of parents and the needs of patients’ families are vital considerations in offering care. The pediatric patient’s role in a larger family unit and community should be kept in focus so long as the well-being of the patient isn’t compromised, such as in potentially life-threatening religious preferences, as the obligation of the physician is, first and foremost, to the patient.

Nonetheless, the status quo demands a more thoughtful and structural accounting of the pediatric voice to ensure that they feel heard and empowered in complex decision-making and regular care alike. Hence, it is necessary to develop and evaluate clinical models and frameworks that directly account for the pediatric voice, that integrate pediatric patients’ input as continuous, regular, and required elements of treatment. For instance, there may be promise in a model similar to that of mosaic decision-making, a means of restoring the capacity of reemergent patients following brain injury. Rather than enabling complete surrogate authority, the model would enable a pediatric patient’s emergent voice to be accommodated but to not “speak beyond its range and capabilities” via group deliberation between surrogate and patient, a medical professional, and a patient advocate. [16] Opting for such a model would enable the active involvement of pediatric input without excessively empowering the patient in a manner that neglects their communitarian role and lack of experience.

In the heated response to the largely unenforced mature minor doctrine, one finds the invaluable and lacking factor of experience in pediatric patients, especially in decisions to withdraw or refuse life-sustaining medical treatments. In this same response, however, one finds a sharp aversion to the pediatric voice, reflected in pervasive under-medication. Deficits in pain management must be addressed to more effectively treat discomfort, an effort bolstered by a more structural accounting of the pediatric voice and thus pain-related needs. Finally, frameworks that regularly involve the pediatric patient perspective while valuing their communitarian importance and lacking experience, such as the mosaic model, hold real promise moving forward.

[1] Fleischman, Alan. Pediatric Ethics: Protecting the Interests of Children. (Oxford: Oxford University Press, September, 2016), p. 1-16.

[2] Coleman, Doriane & Rosoff, Philip. “The Legal Authority of Mature Minors to Consent to General Medical Treatment.” (Itasca: American Journal of Pediatrics, March 2013), p. 1.

[3] Hawkins, Susan. “Protecting the Rights and Interests of Competent Minors in Litigated Medical Treatment Disputes.” (New York: Fordham Law Review, March 1996), p. 1.

[4] Derish, Melinda & Heuvel, Kathleen. “Mature Minors Should Have the Right to Refuse Life-Sustaining Medical Treatment.” (Boston: The

Journal of Law, Medicine & Ethics, January 2021), p. 1-14.

[5] Derish, Melinda & Heuvel, Kathleen. “Mature Minors Should Have the Right to Refuse Life-Sustaining Medical Treatment.” p. 7.

[6] Ross, Lainie. “Health Care Decisionmaking by Children. Is It in Their Best Interest?” (Garrison: The Hastings Center Report, November-December 1997), p. 1-5.

[7] Ross. “Health Care Decisionmaking by Children''. p. 5.

[8] Penkower, Jessica. “The Potential Right of Chronically Ill Adolescents to Refuse Life-Saving Medical Treatment - Fatal Misuse of the Mature Minor Doctrine.” (Chicago: DePaul Law Review, 1996), p. 1-8.

[9] Burk, Josh. “Mature Minors, Medical Choice, and the Constitutional Right to Martyrdom.” (Charlottesville: Virginia Law Review, September 2016), p. 1-15.

[10] Foley, Kathleen. “Pain Relief Into Practice: Rhetoric Without Reform.” (Alexandria: Journal of Clinical Oncology, 1995), p. 1-3

[11] Hla et. al. “Perception of Pediatric Pain: A Comparison of Postoperative Pain Assessments Between Child, Parent, Nurse, and Independent Observer.” (Melbourne: Pediatric Anesthesia. 2014) p. 1-5.

[12] Tsuboi et. al. “Nurses' perception of pediatric pain and pain assessment in the Japanese PICU.” (Tokyo: Pediatrics International, February 2023), p. 1-3, 10-12.

[13] Coleman, Doriane & Rosoff, Philip. “The Legal Authority of Mature Minors”. p. 1-3.

[14] Fleischman, Alan. Pediatric Ethics . p. 115.

[15] Callahan, Daniel. “Principlism and communitarianism.” (Garrison: The Hastings Center Report, October 2003), p. 2.

[16] Fins, Joseph. “Mosaic Decisionmaking and Reemergent Agency after Severe Brain Injury”. (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, September 2017), p. 6.

Jonathan Tenenbaum

Third place winner of Voices in Bioethics' 2023 persuasive essay contest.

Disclaimer: These essays are submissions for the 2023 essay contest and have not undergone peer review or editing.

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This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution 4.0 International License .

A generative AI reset: Rewiring to turn potential into value in 2024

It’s time for a generative AI (gen AI) reset. The initial enthusiasm and flurry of activity in 2023 is giving way to second thoughts and recalibrations as companies realize that capturing gen AI’s enormous potential value is harder than expected .

With 2024 shaping up to be the year for gen AI to prove its value, companies should keep in mind the hard lessons learned with digital and AI transformations: competitive advantage comes from building organizational and technological capabilities to broadly innovate, deploy, and improve solutions at scale—in effect, rewiring the business for distributed digital and AI innovation.

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Companies looking to score early wins with gen AI should move quickly. But those hoping that gen AI offers a shortcut past the tough—and necessary—organizational surgery are likely to meet with disappointing results. Launching pilots is (relatively) easy; getting pilots to scale and create meaningful value is hard because they require a broad set of changes to the way work actually gets done.

Let’s briefly look at what this has meant for one Pacific region telecommunications company. The company hired a chief data and AI officer with a mandate to “enable the organization to create value with data and AI.” The chief data and AI officer worked with the business to develop the strategic vision and implement the road map for the use cases. After a scan of domains (that is, customer journeys or functions) and use case opportunities across the enterprise, leadership prioritized the home-servicing/maintenance domain to pilot and then scale as part of a larger sequencing of initiatives. They targeted, in particular, the development of a gen AI tool to help dispatchers and service operators better predict the types of calls and parts needed when servicing homes.

Leadership put in place cross-functional product teams with shared objectives and incentives to build the gen AI tool. As part of an effort to upskill the entire enterprise to better work with data and gen AI tools, they also set up a data and AI academy, which the dispatchers and service operators enrolled in as part of their training. To provide the technology and data underpinnings for gen AI, the chief data and AI officer also selected a large language model (LLM) and cloud provider that could meet the needs of the domain as well as serve other parts of the enterprise. The chief data and AI officer also oversaw the implementation of a data architecture so that the clean and reliable data (including service histories and inventory databases) needed to build the gen AI tool could be delivered quickly and responsibly.

Our book Rewired: The McKinsey Guide to Outcompeting in the Age of Digital and AI (Wiley, June 2023) provides a detailed manual on the six capabilities needed to deliver the kind of broad change that harnesses digital and AI technology. In this article, we will explore how to extend each of those capabilities to implement a successful gen AI program at scale. While recognizing that these are still early days and that there is much more to learn, our experience has shown that breaking open the gen AI opportunity requires companies to rewire how they work in the following ways.

Figure out where gen AI copilots can give you a real competitive advantage

The broad excitement around gen AI and its relative ease of use has led to a burst of experimentation across organizations. Most of these initiatives, however, won’t generate a competitive advantage. One bank, for example, bought tens of thousands of GitHub Copilot licenses, but since it didn’t have a clear sense of how to work with the technology, progress was slow. Another unfocused effort we often see is when companies move to incorporate gen AI into their customer service capabilities. Customer service is a commodity capability, not part of the core business, for most companies. While gen AI might help with productivity in such cases, it won’t create a competitive advantage.

To create competitive advantage, companies should first understand the difference between being a “taker” (a user of available tools, often via APIs and subscription services), a “shaper” (an integrator of available models with proprietary data), and a “maker” (a builder of LLMs). For now, the maker approach is too expensive for most companies, so the sweet spot for businesses is implementing a taker model for productivity improvements while building shaper applications for competitive advantage.

Much of gen AI’s near-term value is closely tied to its ability to help people do their current jobs better. In this way, gen AI tools act as copilots that work side by side with an employee, creating an initial block of code that a developer can adapt, for example, or drafting a requisition order for a new part that a maintenance worker in the field can review and submit (see sidebar “Copilot examples across three generative AI archetypes”). This means companies should be focusing on where copilot technology can have the biggest impact on their priority programs.

Copilot examples across three generative AI archetypes

“Taker” copilots help real estate customers sift through property options and find the most promising one, write code for a developer, and summarize investor transcripts.
“Shaper” copilots provide recommendations to sales reps for upselling customers by connecting generative AI tools to customer relationship management systems, financial systems, and customer behavior histories; create virtual assistants to personalize treatments for patients; and recommend solutions for maintenance workers based on historical data.
“Maker” copilots are foundation models that lab scientists at pharmaceutical companies can use to find and test new and better drugs more quickly.

Some industrial companies, for example, have identified maintenance as a critical domain for their business. Reviewing maintenance reports and spending time with workers on the front lines can help determine where a gen AI copilot could make a big difference, such as in identifying issues with equipment failures quickly and early on. A gen AI copilot can also help identify root causes of truck breakdowns and recommend resolutions much more quickly than usual, as well as act as an ongoing source for best practices or standard operating procedures.

The challenge with copilots is figuring out how to generate revenue from increased productivity. In the case of customer service centers, for example, companies can stop recruiting new agents and use attrition to potentially achieve real financial gains. Defining the plans for how to generate revenue from the increased productivity up front, therefore, is crucial to capturing the value.

Upskill the talent you have but be clear about the gen-AI-specific skills you need

By now, most companies have a decent understanding of the technical gen AI skills they need, such as model fine-tuning, vector database administration, prompt engineering, and context engineering. In many cases, these are skills that you can train your existing workforce to develop. Those with existing AI and machine learning (ML) capabilities have a strong head start. Data engineers, for example, can learn multimodal processing and vector database management, MLOps (ML operations) engineers can extend their skills to LLMOps (LLM operations), and data scientists can develop prompt engineering, bias detection, and fine-tuning skills.

A sample of new generative AI skills needed

The following are examples of new skills needed for the successful deployment of generative AI tools:

data scientist:
prompt engineering
in-context learning
bias detection
pattern identification
reinforcement learning from human feedback
hyperparameter/large language model fine-tuning; transfer learning
data engineer:
data wrangling and data warehousing
data pipeline construction
multimodal processing
vector database management

The learning process can take two to three months to get to a decent level of competence because of the complexities in learning what various LLMs can and can’t do and how best to use them. The coders need to gain experience building software, testing, and validating answers, for example. It took one financial-services company three months to train its best data scientists to a high level of competence. While courses and documentation are available—many LLM providers have boot camps for developers—we have found that the most effective way to build capabilities at scale is through apprenticeship, training people to then train others, and building communities of practitioners. Rotating experts through teams to train others, scheduling regular sessions for people to share learnings, and hosting biweekly documentation review sessions are practices that have proven successful in building communities of practitioners (see sidebar “A sample of new generative AI skills needed”).

It’s important to bear in mind that successful gen AI skills are about more than coding proficiency. Our experience in developing our own gen AI platform, Lilli , showed us that the best gen AI technical talent has design skills to uncover where to focus solutions, contextual understanding to ensure the most relevant and high-quality answers are generated, collaboration skills to work well with knowledge experts (to test and validate answers and develop an appropriate curation approach), strong forensic skills to figure out causes of breakdowns (is the issue the data, the interpretation of the user’s intent, the quality of metadata on embeddings, or something else?), and anticipation skills to conceive of and plan for possible outcomes and to put the right kind of tracking into their code. A pure coder who doesn’t intrinsically have these skills may not be as useful a team member.

While current upskilling is largely based on a “learn on the job” approach, we see a rapid market emerging for people who have learned these skills over the past year. That skill growth is moving quickly. GitHub reported that developers were working on gen AI projects “in big numbers,” and that 65,000 public gen AI projects were created on its platform in 2023—a jump of almost 250 percent over the previous year. If your company is just starting its gen AI journey, you could consider hiring two or three senior engineers who have built a gen AI shaper product for their companies. This could greatly accelerate your efforts.

Form a centralized team to establish standards that enable responsible scaling

To ensure that all parts of the business can scale gen AI capabilities, centralizing competencies is a natural first move. The critical focus for this central team will be to develop and put in place protocols and standards to support scale, ensuring that teams can access models while also minimizing risk and containing costs. The team’s work could include, for example, procuring models and prescribing ways to access them, developing standards for data readiness, setting up approved prompt libraries, and allocating resources.

While developing Lilli, our team had its mind on scale when it created an open plug-in architecture and setting standards for how APIs should function and be built. They developed standardized tooling and infrastructure where teams could securely experiment and access a GPT LLM , a gateway with preapproved APIs that teams could access, and a self-serve developer portal. Our goal is that this approach, over time, can help shift “Lilli as a product” (that a handful of teams use to build specific solutions) to “Lilli as a platform” (that teams across the enterprise can access to build other products).

For teams developing gen AI solutions, squad composition will be similar to AI teams but with data engineers and data scientists with gen AI experience and more contributors from risk management, compliance, and legal functions. The general idea of staffing squads with resources that are federated from the different expertise areas will not change, but the skill composition of a gen-AI-intensive squad will.

Set up the technology architecture to scale

Building a gen AI model is often relatively straightforward, but making it fully operational at scale is a different matter entirely. We’ve seen engineers build a basic chatbot in a week, but releasing a stable, accurate, and compliant version that scales can take four months. That’s why, our experience shows, the actual model costs may be less than 10 to 15 percent of the total costs of the solution.

Building for scale doesn’t mean building a new technology architecture. But it does mean focusing on a few core decisions that simplify and speed up processes without breaking the bank. Three such decisions stand out:

Focus on reusing your technology. Reusing code can increase the development speed of gen AI use cases by 30 to 50 percent. One good approach is simply creating a source for approved tools, code, and components. A financial-services company, for example, created a library of production-grade tools, which had been approved by both the security and legal teams, and made them available in a library for teams to use. More important is taking the time to identify and build those capabilities that are common across the most priority use cases. The same financial-services company, for example, identified three components that could be reused for more than 100 identified use cases. By building those first, they were able to generate a significant portion of the code base for all the identified use cases—essentially giving every application a big head start.
Focus the architecture on enabling efficient connections between gen AI models and internal systems. For gen AI models to work effectively in the shaper archetype, they need access to a business’s data and applications. Advances in integration and orchestration frameworks have significantly reduced the effort required to make those connections. But laying out what those integrations are and how to enable them is critical to ensure these models work efficiently and to avoid the complexity that creates technical debt (the “tax” a company pays in terms of time and resources needed to redress existing technology issues). Chief information officers and chief technology officers can define reference architectures and integration standards for their organizations. Key elements should include a model hub, which contains trained and approved models that can be provisioned on demand; standard APIs that act as bridges connecting gen AI models to applications or data; and context management and caching, which speed up processing by providing models with relevant information from enterprise data sources.
Build up your testing and quality assurance capabilities. Our own experience building Lilli taught us to prioritize testing over development. Our team invested in not only developing testing protocols for each stage of development but also aligning the entire team so that, for example, it was clear who specifically needed to sign off on each stage of the process. This slowed down initial development but sped up the overall delivery pace and quality by cutting back on errors and the time needed to fix mistakes.

Ensure data quality and focus on unstructured data to fuel your models

The ability of a business to generate and scale value from gen AI models will depend on how well it takes advantage of its own data. As with technology, targeted upgrades to existing data architecture are needed to maximize the future strategic benefits of gen AI:

Be targeted in ramping up your data quality and data augmentation efforts. While data quality has always been an important issue, the scale and scope of data that gen AI models can use—especially unstructured data—has made this issue much more consequential. For this reason, it’s critical to get the data foundations right, from clarifying decision rights to defining clear data processes to establishing taxonomies so models can access the data they need. The companies that do this well tie their data quality and augmentation efforts to the specific AI/gen AI application and use case—you don’t need this data foundation to extend to every corner of the enterprise. This could mean, for example, developing a new data repository for all equipment specifications and reported issues to better support maintenance copilot applications.
Understand what value is locked into your unstructured data. Most organizations have traditionally focused their data efforts on structured data (values that can be organized in tables, such as prices and features). But the real value from LLMs comes from their ability to work with unstructured data (for example, PowerPoint slides, videos, and text). Companies can map out which unstructured data sources are most valuable and establish metadata tagging standards so models can process the data and teams can find what they need (tagging is particularly important to help companies remove data from models as well, if necessary). Be creative in thinking about data opportunities. Some companies, for example, are interviewing senior employees as they retire and feeding that captured institutional knowledge into an LLM to help improve their copilot performance.
Optimize to lower costs at scale. There is often as much as a tenfold difference between what companies pay for data and what they could be paying if they optimized their data infrastructure and underlying costs. This issue often stems from companies scaling their proofs of concept without optimizing their data approach. Two costs generally stand out. One is storage costs arising from companies uploading terabytes of data into the cloud and wanting that data available 24/7. In practice, companies rarely need more than 10 percent of their data to have that level of availability, and accessing the rest over a 24- or 48-hour period is a much cheaper option. The other costs relate to computation with models that require on-call access to thousands of processors to run. This is especially the case when companies are building their own models (the maker archetype) but also when they are using pretrained models and running them with their own data and use cases (the shaper archetype). Companies could take a close look at how they can optimize computation costs on cloud platforms—for instance, putting some models in a queue to run when processors aren’t being used (such as when Americans go to bed and consumption of computing services like Netflix decreases) is a much cheaper option.

Build trust and reusability to drive adoption and scale

Because many people have concerns about gen AI, the bar on explaining how these tools work is much higher than for most solutions. People who use the tools want to know how they work, not just what they do. So it’s important to invest extra time and money to build trust by ensuring model accuracy and making it easy to check answers.

One insurance company, for example, created a gen AI tool to help manage claims. As part of the tool, it listed all the guardrails that had been put in place, and for each answer provided a link to the sentence or page of the relevant policy documents. The company also used an LLM to generate many variations of the same question to ensure answer consistency. These steps, among others, were critical to helping end users build trust in the tool.

Part of the training for maintenance teams using a gen AI tool should be to help them understand the limitations of models and how best to get the right answers. That includes teaching workers strategies to get to the best answer as fast as possible by starting with broad questions then narrowing them down. This provides the model with more context, and it also helps remove any bias of the people who might think they know the answer already. Having model interfaces that look and feel the same as existing tools also helps users feel less pressured to learn something new each time a new application is introduced.

Getting to scale means that businesses will need to stop building one-off solutions that are hard to use for other similar use cases. One global energy and materials company, for example, has established ease of reuse as a key requirement for all gen AI models, and has found in early iterations that 50 to 60 percent of its components can be reused. This means setting standards for developing gen AI assets (for example, prompts and context) that can be easily reused for other cases.

While many of the risk issues relating to gen AI are evolutions of discussions that were already brewing—for instance, data privacy, security, bias risk, job displacement, and intellectual property protection—gen AI has greatly expanded that risk landscape. Just 21 percent of companies reporting AI adoption say they have established policies governing employees’ use of gen AI technologies.

Similarly, a set of tests for AI/gen AI solutions should be established to demonstrate that data privacy, debiasing, and intellectual property protection are respected. Some organizations, in fact, are proposing to release models accompanied with documentation that details their performance characteristics. Documenting your decisions and rationales can be particularly helpful in conversations with regulators.

In some ways, this article is premature—so much is changing that we’ll likely have a profoundly different understanding of gen AI and its capabilities in a year’s time. But the core truths of finding value and driving change will still apply. How well companies have learned those lessons may largely determine how successful they’ll be in capturing that value.

The authors wish to thank Michael Chui, Juan Couto, Ben Ellencweig, Josh Gartner, Bryce Hall, Holger Harreis, Phil Hudelson, Suzana Iacob, Sid Kamath, Neerav Kingsland, Kitti Lakner, Robert Levin, Matej Macak, Lapo Mori, Alex Peluffo, Aldo Rosales, Erik Roth, Abdul Wahab Shaikh, and Stephen Xu for their contributions to this article.

This article was edited by Barr Seitz, an editorial director in the New York office.

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Introduction. In her short story The Management of Grief, Bharati Mukherjee describes the feelings of a person, who has lost her family.The author shows how the main character Shaila Bhave tries to overcome this tragedy. Apart from that, she compares her reaction to that of other people, who have suffered similar lot.

The Management of Grief Essay. Bharati Mukherjee. This Study Guide consists of approximately 61 pages of chapter summaries, quotes, character analysis, themes, and more - everything you need to sharpen your knowledge of The Management of Grief. Print Word PDF. This section contains 8 words

Psychosomatic medicine has a long and storied history of studying the health effects of bereavement. The death of a loved one has been recognized as the greatest life stressor that we face as humans, heading the list of stressful life events compiled by Holmes and Rahe().These researchers were attempting to quantify the relationship between life events that require an ongoing adjustment (e.g ...

1. Introduction. Grief is a natural and individualized response to different losses (), which can come in many forms, such as death of a loved one, loss of a job, breakdown of a relationship, and other unexpected events and changes ().While loss is an inevitable part of life, the experience of grief can often result in emotional distress, suffering, and potentially negative health outcomes ().

Freudian Beginnings. The academic study of grief is a relatively modern phenomenon with systematic research on death and dying only emerging in the aftermath of the Second World War (Small 2001).Grief study and its expression was previously the domain of the arts and literature (Archer 1999).The publication of Freud's essay 'Mourning and Melancholia ' in 1917 is considered to be the ...

"The Management of Grief" by Bharati Mukherjee is a narrative about a woman, Shaila Bhave, heading to cope with the passing of her partner and sons in a tragic accident. It is a story about grief, cultural heritage, and how we adapt to demise. ... Use our essay writing service and save your time. We guarantee high quality, on-time delivery ...

Religion Religious conflict sets the scene for the plot of "The Management of Grief'. The men and boys at Shaila's house as the story opens, mostly Hindus, believe that Sikh activists planted the ...

Reading Sandberg's essay with Goldberg's is a reminder that the pain of loss is a worthwhile price to pay for the joy of love and marriage. Although Sandberg's husband has died, the life they ...

This study examines how others indicate that our emotions violate social norms and how people feel about and respond to those indications. The data come from in-depth interviews with thirty-two people who had recently lost a loved one to murder ("bereaved victims"). Through the symbolic interaction process, bereaved victims came to appreciate the burden their grief imposed on others, and ...

The COVID-19 pandemic unleashed a new realm of grief for many of us-not just for all the deaths that occurred, but also grief for jobs lost, for the overwhelming technological advances, marriage ...

Grief of this kind is simultaneously universal and unshareable; loneliness is its inherent point of reference. I cannot conceive that March 18 will be drastically different from March 17.

Voices in Bioethics is currently seeking submissions on philosophical and practical topics, both current and timeless. Papers addressing access to healthcare, the bioethical implications of recent Supreme Court rulings, environmental ethics, data privacy, cybersecurity, law and bioethics, economics and bioethics, reproductive ethics, research ethics, and pediatric bioethics are sought.

18 likes, 1 comments - wellnessnorthcounselling on September 18, 2023: " You are not alone on this journey. 欄 At Wellness North, we stand with survivors, offering..."

It's time for a generative AI (gen AI) reset. The initial enthusiasm and flurry of activity in 2023 is giving way to second thoughts and recalibrations as companies realize that capturing gen AI's enormous potential value is harder than expected.. With 2024 shaping up to be the year for gen AI to prove its value, companies should keep in mind the hard lessons learned with digital and AI ...

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ACHILLES yacht (CRN, 55.29m, 1984)
ACHILLES Yacht
Achilles Luxury yacht 46 meter
Achilles Luxury yacht 46 meter
Yacht ACHILLES, CRN
Achilles Luxury yacht 46 meter

VIDEO

37m ARCHELON
Achilles 9 for sale by YACHTS CO
Achilles 9m
Achilles 24 Sailing Yacht
First time sailing my Achilles 24. Got hit by a STORM!
Another LAKE TARAWERA TRIP

COMMENTS

ACHILLES Yacht
The 55m/180'5" motor yacht 'Achilles' (ex. New Santa Mary) was built by CRN in Italy. Her interior is styled by French designer design house Zuretti and she was completed in 1984. This luxury vessel's exterior design is the work of CRN and she was last refitted in 2016.
Achilles Inflatable Crafts
Achilles Inflatable Boats. Every Achilles boat is made with our own proven four-layered fabric reinforced with Achilles CSM fabric. We are one of the few inflatable boat companies that manufacture our own fabric, and have for over 30 years. This ensures consistent quality year-to-year and boat-to-boat.
ACHILLES yacht (CRN, 55.29m, 1984)
ACHILLES is a 55.29 m Motor Yacht, built in Italy by CRN and delivered in 1984. Her top speed is 17.0 kn and she boasts a maximum range of 4000.0 nm when navigating at cruising speed, with power coming from two Deutz diesel engines. She can accommodate up to 14 guests in 7 staterooms, with 14 crew members. She has a gross tonnage of 558.0 GT ...
55.3m Achilles Superyacht
Achilles, previously known as Princess Lauren and Lady Fiesta is a 55.30m motor yacht, custom built in 1984 by CRN. The yacht has exterior styling by CRN, with interior design by Zuretti. She was last refitted in 2008 by Alpha Marine. Achilles has a steel hull and aluminium superstructure with a beam of 8.20m (26.90ft) and a 4m (13.12ft) draft.
Yacht ACHILLES, CRN
A General Description of Motor Yacht ACHILLES. This motor yacht ACHILLES is a 55 metre 181 (ft) impressive steel vessel which was newly built at CRN Yachts (Ferretti Group) and devised from the design board of Crn and Martin Francis. Accommodating 16 passengers and 13 qualified crew, motor yacht ACHILLES was named Genros; New Santa Mary; Azteca ...
CRN Motor Yacht Achilles For Sale
The 55.2 metre motor yacht Achilles has been listed for sale by Fergus Torrance at Torrance Yachts.. Built in steel and aluminium by Italian yard CRN to a design by Martin Francis, Achilles was delivered in 1984 and has had the same owner for the past 15 years with a continuous programme of upgrades and refits, most recently in 2018. Accommodation in a spacious interior by Francois Zuretti is ...
Motor yacht Achilles
About Achilles. Achilles is a 55.29 m / 181′5″ luxury motor yacht. She was built by CRN in 1984. With a beam of 8.26 m and a draft of 3.66 m, she has a steel hull and aluminium superstructure. This adds up to a gross tonnage of 558 tons. She is powered by Deutz engines of 2200 hp each giving her a maximum speed of 17 knots and a cruising ...
Achilles Yacht Owners Association: Origins of Achilles Yachts
Origins of Achilles Yachts. By Chris Butler, Designer and builder of the Achilles range of yachts, and the manufacture of high quality G.R.P. mouldings since 1954. Winner in the single handed classes of the 1979 Azores and Back, and the 1984 TransAtlantic yacht races. September 2008. on a blustery day. In recent years I have been beleaguered ...
Achilles Yacht
Achilles is a motor yacht with an overall length of m. The yacht's builder is CRN from Italy, who launched Achilles in 1984. The superyacht has a beam of m, a draught of m and a volume of . GT.. Achilles features exterior design by Francis Design and interior design by Zuretti Interior Design. Up to 16 guests can be accommodated on board the superyacht, Achilles, and she also has accommodation ...
Achilles Boats for Sale
Achilles yachts are popular due to their reputation, and their design hits a perfect balance between performance and accommodation. Several yacht types have been manufactured under the name Achilles: Achilles 24, Achilles 840, Achilles 9m, Achilles 7m, Achilles 7.5m & Sparta. By far, the most popular was the Achilles 24, of which over 600 were ...
Achilles 9m boat review
Achilles 9m. Price as reviewed: £10,000.00. While cruising offshore in the Achilles 24 was 'adventurous', the 9m was designed for long-distance, short-handed sailing and today makes a good choice as a cheap but safe and strong introduction to cruising. Despite having six berths the accommodation was cramped, with small spaces for the chart ...
Guyer Boatworks
Achilles is a brand synonymous with quality, innovation, and reliability in the maritime industry, boasting a heritage that spans decades. Renowned for its commitment to excellence, Achilles has consistently set benchmarks by producing inflatable boats that seamlessly blend cutting-edge technology with time-tested craftsmanship. Our dealership ...
Achilles 24 boat review
Achilles 24. Price as reviewed: £2,000.00. Chris Butler designed and built a seminal range of small but tough offshore cruisers that found themselves in all corners of the world. They sold in large numbers for the times (late 60s to late 70s). Performance across the range tended to be moderate to good and the interiors on the small side due to ...
Achilles boats for sale
Achilles is a yacht manufacturer that currently has 9 yachts for sale on YachtWorld, including 6 new vessels and 3 used yachts, listed by experienced yacht brokers mainly in the following countries: United States and United Kingdom. YachtWorld offers a diverse array of models, showcasing a comprehensive range of sizes and lengths, extending ...
Achilles Boats
Achilles proprietary fabric is constructed using 4 layers: two inner layers of Chlorprene for unsurpassed air retention, a core layer of heavy duty nylon for strength and rigidity and an exterior of chlorosulphonated polyethylene, or CSM, for toughness and ultimate durability. When combined, these 4 layers create an inflatable boat fabric with ...
Achilles Yacht Owners Association
Calor Gas discontinues its 4.5kg butane cylinders - Practical Boat Owner (pbo.co.uk) Update 12 April 2023: Looks like they have changed their mind, from the Cruising Association. "⚠️Member Alert⚠️. Calor Gas has decided to continue exchanging and refilling its 3.9kg propane and 4.5kg butane cylinders for the immediate future.
ACHILLES 9M
Consider, though, that the typical summertime coastal cruiser will rarely encounter the wind and seas that an ocean going yacht will meet. Numbers below 20 indicate a lightweight racing boat, small dinghy and such; 20 to 30 indicates a coastal cruiser; 30 to 40 indicates a moderate bluewater cruising boat; 40 to 50 indicates a heavy bluewater boat;
2022 Achilles Hb
The Achilles HB-LX boats provide the critically acclaimed performance of the Achilles DX deep "V" fiberglass hull design in a lighter RIB. They also have the same tube design as the DX series, yet a modification of the deck design and removing the bow locker results in a RIB that is on average 20% lighter than the same size DX model.
"Metallurgical Plant "Electrostal" JSC
Round table 2021. "Electrostal" Metallurgical plant" JSC has a number of remarkable time-tested traditions. One of them is holding an annual meeting with customers and partners in an extеnded format in order to build development pathways together, resolve pressing tasks and better understand each other. Although the digital age ...
40 Facts About Elektrostal
40 Facts About Elektrostal. Elektrostal is a vibrant city located in the Moscow Oblast region of Russia. With a rich history, stunning architecture, and a thriving community, Elektrostal is a city that has much to offer. Whether you are a history buff, nature enthusiast, or simply curious about different cultures, Elektrostal is sure to ...
Rupert Murdoch Broke Back, Had Recent Health Scares, Report Says
Rupert Murdoch reportedly fell and sustained serious injuries while aboard his son's yacht in 2018, an incident that led the media mogul to spend a night in a European hospital parking lot ...
Elektrostal
Elektrostal, city, Moscow oblast (province), western Russia.It lies 36 miles (58 km) east of Moscow city. The name, meaning "electric steel," derives from the high-quality-steel industry established there soon after the October Revolution in 1917. During World War II, parts of the heavy-machine-building industry were relocated there from Ukraine, and Elektrostal is now a centre for the ...
pershing 115 yacht
The 35.37m/116'1" open yacht 'Pershing 115/11' was built by Pershing in Italy. Her interior is styled by Italian designer design house Fulvio de Simoni and she was completed in 2016. This luxury vessel's exterior design is the work of Fulvio de Simoni. Range & Performance.