Reflections: The Lowland

Jhumpa Lahiri’s Lowland is a sweeping saga revolving around complicated characters reconciling with their individual loss and guilt, and connecting with the people they truly love.

The story starts in Calcutta, with two brothers - Subhash and Udayan. Subhash is the elder, more serious, studious, practical brother, while Udayan is the  impulsive, idealistic, smart, and charming younger sibling. The two brothers share a close relationship of love with a sprinkling of envy for each other. Their underlying tussle of sibling rivalry motivates each other to move in different directions. While Subhash heads to the U.S for his PhD, Udayan fervently joins  the newly emerging Naxalite movement. The brothers lead their separate lives, discovering new experiences and revelations, while mostly unaware of each other’s journey. Inevitably, Udayan quickly finds himself embroiled in the movement and faces the danger of being killed. The disconcerting issue is - he now has a young scholarly wife, who is carrying his child. Subhash, playing the role of  the dutiful elder brother, needs to make some tough decisions to pick up where his brother left and restore some balance to his broken family. The story swoops and sweeps across two generations with each character struggling to cope with the chain of events unleashed by Udayan and desperately seeking to fill the gaping voids in their lives.

It was refreshing to read a book by Jhumpa Lahiri that had little to do with immigration and identity. Yes, there are surely parts of the book that deal with it, but it doesn’t take center stage. The story primarily explores the aftermath of loss, and the journey through recovery and guilt. It shows how one person’s actions can ripple and affect so many people’s lives over so many years in the most crippling ways possible. Actions multiply and mutate as they pervade the emotions of people around them, and Lahiri very sensitively showcases this. At its heart, it is a simple story, but it is brought out beautifully by knitting socio-cultural elements with the political atmosphere of India in the 60’s. What is just a footnote in history translates to a rumbling storm in so many people’s lives. The emotional tapestry swirling in the storm flows with all the elements, and no stitch seems jarring or out of place.

The characters define this book. Although every character is unique and interesting, I could not relate to anyone, except perhaps Subhash. I was initially drawn to Gauri, because she was the most complicated one with the greatest emotional turmoil, but there were many moments in the story where she is hard to sympathize with. She distances herself from even you, the reader. I find that Lahiri sometimes over-complicates her characters while portraying their external reactions to their inner tumult. I don’t think it is completely realistic or even necessary for characters to always act out in irrational, bizarre and exaggerated ways to deal with emotional trauma. So, Gauri’s progression through the story was a little frustrating, although arguably, the most intriguing. On the other hand, Subash’s character was excruciatingly touching and endearing. Initially, his motives seemed dubiously double-edged and I wasn't convinced of his good nature. I fearfully expected him to turn “crazy” or weird and complicate things, but he consistently remained "simple" in his motivations and just kept going with the beat. His character was rendered true to many real life souls whose patience, kindness and resilience are inspiring. Bela’s journey from child to adult was honest in its portrayal, but her rebellious stage seemed a little too long. I guess that’s just a slice of reality. I grappled to understand her during her years of emotional estrangement with Subhash, because I was uncomfortable in the knowledge that no matter how much one parent does, children need both parents, a complete home and a family to grow into their own, find themselves and mature into confident, secure individuals. It broke my heart that despite all of Subhash’s unconditional love and effort, Bela still loses her way and meanders for a long while.  

This is another book that is mainly driven by characters. Lahiri delicately handles the mess of emotions that plague a family after a tragedy. I was emotionally invested while reading this book and remained interested in the characters’ individual journeys to make peace. This is a quiet, introspective, and absorbing read. 

Reflections: The Namesake

I may just be one of the last few people on this planet, especially among Indians, who is reading this book now. I usually don’t pick up books that are causing the current wave of hysteria. I tend to go with great expectations and a very critical pair of eyes, so I have learned it’s best to wait for the hype to subside before curiosity eventually leads me to the book. With The Namesake, there is an additional reason why I consciously stayed away from both the book and the movie. I went through this phase of aversion until last year regarding all topics related to immigration woes, the culture shock and the rift between the first and second generation immigrants. Wherever I turned within family or friends, I saw this topic being beaten to death with the innumerable (often closed-minded) discussions and vociferous arguments. Yes, I understand the crux of the issue, but I resent the exaggerated perspectives of both sides of the argument. I also get tired of the stereotypical portraits that are repeatedly perpetuated in movies and books - they seem to turn the issue into a satire, and a mockery.

Anyway, I eventually drifted to the book to see what the fuss is all about. The synopsis is probably all too familiar. Gogol Ganguli is a second generation Indian American, born to traditional Bengali parents. His father is the quintessential Indian academic - a professor of Electrical Engineering, and his mother is the perennially home-sick and lost stay-at-home wife and mother. Starting from his name, everything about his culture, his family and his roots are unfathomable to Gogol. The story is about Gogol’s tussle to break-free of his stringent family and how he gradually learns his way through his heritage and comes to identify with his roots.

It was heartening that Jhumpa Lahiri did not stereotype the characters. She manages to bring out the very subtle aspects of being an Indian family and how drastically different those aspects are in contrast to the Western families. And I appreciated the fact that she made the distinction between which of these aspects are endearing and make us unique, and which aspects are not necessarily healthy to keep practicing down the generations. In most movies, the stark differences are either shown as acute embarrassments or glorified to unnecessary heights, and I hate either approach.

It was also a refreshing relief to me that the culture battles didn’t take centre stage and dominate the book. The core of the book is on one’s search for identity. Lahiri dwells on how the second generation leads bitter and confused lives because of their ceaseless need to rebel almost all through their life, even when their parents no longer present the stifling circumstances for it. The constant subconscious pressure to seek the forbidden and make a statement is shown to take precedence over leading a normal life. She shows that the search for one’s identity intensifies, especially after they break-free from their family.

However, there is one aspect of the first generation immigrants that I never fully comprehend or empathize with. True, living in a country that in no way resembles home is daunting. And I can imagine how acute it must have been in the 70s and 80s when there was no technology to help us stay connected with family, hardly any Indian stores or restaurants to resort to authentic dishes etc. But the class of highly qualified professionals have a very clear choice - they don’t have to suffer the misery and can go back home. Lahiri calls these people brave and courageous to continue to stay away from home and make a living abroad. I definitely don’t agree with the adjectives, “brave”, or “courageous” , or to even call it a sacrifice!

All of us make a clear, deliberate, conscious decision between the two choices - return home or live abroad. A professor of Electrical Engineering can lead a very comfortable life in India, but if he chooses to stay in a country that helps him advance in his career much better and promises a greater standard of living for his family, then his choice doesn’t stem out of anything noble or brave! We all make this choice time and again to fulfill our selfish goals. We choose to compromise, and according to me, when the compromise turns into an unbearable sacrifice, then nobody is stopping us from making the move. But to put on a facade of constant suffering and sacrifice to live in this country with the implication that they are somehow tied to the place out of no other choice, is unfair. It’s not like we are refugees who can’t return to our own country, or our country is so impoverished or war-torn and filled with political conflict that we can’t set up a secure home. There are many immigrants who are unfortunately driven away from their countries - I sympathize with them, not with those of us who are assured a decent life in either countries. And that is why I don’t like the drama surrounding the Indian Diaspora's “dilemma”. Those who complain the most and talk of being home-sick all the time, are the first ones to wonder if they will be able to cope with the traffic and cows on the road if they are to go back. It’s hypocritical.

I also resent the fact that even after spending two decades in a country away from home, some immigrants still refuse to see the place as their home (away from home) or mingle with people other than one’s own nationality or community. Pockets of Indians, no matter how long they have lived here, continue to mix and mingle only with each other. If we decide to isolate ourselves from a community we choose to live in and which is clearly helping us reach our ambitions, then we can’t complain of being treated as aliens.

Anyway, that’s my rambling two cents on the issue. The compromises are clear, but I see us making the same choices and mistakes over and over again, and then complaining about them. Also, the false, rosy expectations of second generation children never seem to change.

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Digested thoughts: Rerouting my derailed thoughts back to the book, I definitely found it an interesting read. I appreciated that Lahiri explored much subtler and deeper issues about the clash between first and second generation Indian Americans. Her characters were realistically drawn out and were not stereotypical caricatures. Her writing was simple; it was mostly insightful, but sometimes I found her sentences to be stilted in their construction. In all, I would give it a favorable rating.