I wasn't surprised that this story is all about feeling valued within a family, or the extended family. This is
'Lara's Theme' by Madhuri Vijay, published in The New Yorker on November 16, 2025.
Set in Bangalore in the late nineties, the narrator is thirteen-year-old Kushal. He is the younger son in a family of four. Kushal sees himself as the 'observer' in the family. His older brother sixteen-year-old Tarun calls him a "fence-sitter". Tarun too, is used to being the smartest person in the room, and also has angst of his own, and a deep fear that he might not be as smart as he thinks he is.
The narrator happily described what he observed of his family, their quirks and what they pursued, be it whether they're good at or not. We watch the family live their lives for a few months, and it also included a potential girlfriend of Tarun's, a very clever girl named Kavitha. She was introduced to the family and began to visit regularly.
In an interview with the same journal, the author explained about this idea of being 'exceptional' in the family or at least not be like the others in the community.
The irony being, of course, that everyone around Kushal is equally convinced of his or her own exceptionalism. Kushal’s mother takes great pains not to act like other mothers. Tarun’s academic excellence sets him apart from his peers. Kavitha, Tarun’s classmate, holds herself at arm’s length from the world. Even Kushal’s father tells a story about how he, growing up, felt himself to be distinct from his brothers.
He noted that his father is "a man without shadows". The father had no known hobbies until he decided to pick up the saxophone. He remains dogged about it learning the alto saxophone as an adult, but he's mediocre at it. We realized that the father plays this now because as a child, his father didn't allow any of the children to play a musical instrument after fourteen years old, for reasons best known to the strict and dogmatic parent.
We see Kushal's mother and her need to be unlike the others too. After all, we're shown the intimate sides of this family. Please don't forget that as 'neutral' as this narrator is, he is only thirteen years old. Heh. Read between the lines then. That's half the fun of this story.
For a while after that, our mother would be subdued, confining herself to household chores. Then something else would catch her interest, and the cycle would begin anew: the bloom of love, the roar, the fall. And beneath it, like a subterranean stream, ran the refrain, the murmured self-reproach, “I must be crazy.”
Crazy. My mother’s deepest hope covering her darkest fear. Her only way of indicating that she was not like every other housewife of her class and station, packing her kids’ lunches and grousing about her husband. I must be crazy. Not even Tarun dared to disagree.
I can see why Kushal's mother feels like that. But she would have to find something that she excels at and hones it. I suppose all of us want to stand out among the crowd. I certainly want to, and yet I do not want to. I know I am unique, but I don't need someone to tell me that or be presented with an award. I wish to stand away from the crowd. I'm my own person and I don't need affirmation from other people. It's either we choose iconoclasm or group affinity.
I was wondering what's with 'Lara's Theme'. I didn't understand why this story is named as such. Yes, it's the song, and it's adapted into the theme song of the film 'Dr Zhivago' (1965); Lara is the protagonist in the film who has traumatic affairs and complicated relationships with different men in the chaos of the Russian Revolution.
Every night, the father practiced this same song. The one time he finally played it in public to an audience, was at his jazz instructor's funeral. But he made mistakes in the song, although no one said anything. Although his wife praised him and said she was proud of him and meant it, he rejected the praise and sneered at her for being flippant at her hobbies. Oh dear. The father didn't touch the saxophone since he last played at the funeral.
We didn’t talk on the way home. But once we were parked in front of our house my father said, “Whatever you want to do in life, Kushal, it’s O.K. with me. As long as you’re serious about it.”
“That song,” I said, ignoring him, “it’s called ‘Lara’s Theme’?”
“Yes.” He sounded thankful not to have to finish his lecture. “It’s from an old film.”
“Which one?”
“ ‘Doctor Zhivago.’ ”
“What’s it about?”
“Never watched it.” He gave me a wan smile. “But I’m pretty sure it’s a sad story.”
The ending of the story was sort of a sobering reality. At Tarun and Kavitha's graduation, we finally understood why Kavitha had never been forthcoming about her parents. Her parents confronted Tarun and Kushal's parents, and accused them and Tarun of leading Kavitha astray. There was a mild confrontation and that was the end of Tarun and Kavitha.
It was written that the father never picked up the saxophone again, and the mother stopped learning French. The narrator didn't seem to have graduated with a university degree. He stayed on in Bangalore but never seemed to be able to keep a job for more than six months.
At the end of the story, I shuddered. It's already difficult enough finding my own way in this world. I don't think I want to be pegged as a woman with a family, say a husband and two children and wondering where would we fit, as a unit, within the society. Arrrrgh.
So 'Lara's Theme'. Was it the same sort of romantic tragedy? The relationship between Kushal's parents, and Tarun and Kavitha? Or was it simply alluding to complicated life stories? I'm still not sure if I understood the title.
