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“A Temporary Matter,” by Jhumpa Lahiri | The New Yorker

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The notice informed them that it was a temporary matter: for five days their electricity would be cut off for one hour, beginning at 8 p.m. A line had gone down in the last snowstorm, and the repairmen were going to take advantage of the milder evenings to set it right. The work would affect only the houses on their quiet tree-lined street, within walking distance of a row of brick-faced stores and a trolley stop, where Shoba and Shukumar had lived for three years. “It’s good of them to warn us,” Shoba conceded after reading the notice aloud, more for her own benefit than for Shukumar’s. She let the strap of her leather satchel, plump with files, slip from her shoulders, and left it in the hallway as she walked into the kitchen. She wore a navy-blue poplin raincoat over gray sweatpants and white sneakers, looking, at thirty-three, like the type of woman she’d once claimed she would never resemble. She’d come from the gym. Her cranberry lipstick was visible only on the outer reaches of

Save this story Save this story The notice informed them that it was a temporary matter: for five days their electricity would be cut off for one hour, beginning at 8 p . m . A line had gone down in the last snowstorm, and the repairmen were going to take advantage of the milder evenings to set it right. The work would affect only the houses on their quiet tree-lined street, within walking distance of a row of brick-faced stores and a trolley stop, where Shoba and Shukumar had lived for three years. “It’s good of them to warn us,” Shoba conceded after reading the notice aloud, more for her own

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