Although
the main character in this novel is Devi, a young American woman who is having
troubles both in her family and at her high tech firm in California, it’s her
mother, Saroj who I was most concerned about in this story. Devi tries to kill herself, refuses to speak,
and then charges into her ma’s kitchen and starts whumping up a storm. Although Saroj isn’t presented in the best
light, often described as going into melodrama and hystrionics at the drop of a
hat, I liked her the most. Not that I
didn’t like Devi, but despite her actions, I felt she’d come out just
fine. The mom, not so.
While
Devi creates one bizarre recipe after another, her concerned family surrounds
her, eating the crazy concoctions and complimenting them non stop. Honestly, raisins in a laddoo? It makes my teeth itch thinking about
it. A laddoo is already so sweet,
although I liked the addition of hazelnuts.
Anyway, I seem to be getting off track.
You won’t be reading this book for the recipes. Although they all have a fright factor, they
don’t necessarily live up to their titles, thank the Lord.
Meanwhile,
Saroj who flutters helplessly about Devi, (what mother wouldn’t feel helpless
when her daughter tries to kill herself?)poor Saroj, she gets no support from
anyone, what so ever. Her daughters get
angry when her tears fall, and how couldn’t those tears fall? Her husband is cold and has shut her out
years earlier, justifying his behavior because she has always wanted to return
to India. Saroj’s main problem isn’t her
family though. Nor is it the fact that
she’s never worked outside her home, although her family looks down on her for
this traditional behavior. (Even Saroj’s
mother is contemptuous of her, for not having entered the great world out
there). Saroj’s real problem may be her
insularity. On the one hand I identified
with her irritated reaction to her family’s preferring American percolator
coffee over her carefully made South Indian coffee, which, trust me, is
infinitely better. But on the other, I
was alarmed at the degree to which she never ventures outside of her American
Indian community. Her eldest daughter
had had only two friends while growing up.
Saroj never so much as learned the names of them both, as one of them
was Chinese. Her thinking is that it’s
unecessary to involve herself in a ‘foreign girl’, despite the fact this is her
daughter’s best friend from elementary to college. I think of the joy that Saroj has missed out
on, never taking any interest or part in her daughters' friendships. Much later, when this daughter is dating,
Saroj complains that the boy (man actually) is either Scottish or Irish, and
therefor unmemorable and to be dismissed.
In fact he’s Italian, which reinforces just how insular Saroj has
allowed herself to become.
I
can see that if an immigrant isn’t approached or invited in by others outside
of her community, she could just go the safest route and stay with ‘her own
kind’, but it couldn’t help her to live fully.
If I could jump into this novel, and enroll her in neighborhood
activities where she’d be mixing with other cultures, I certainly would. If you too have fallen into a rut like this,
or you know someone who has, get this title at once. In many ways it’s like having some cold water
splashed into your face, but in the long run, I think it's an awakening
experience.
I think most of us are guilty, to some degree, of the insular rut. By nature, we humans surround ourselves with the familiar. Your post is a good reminder to us all, that we need to venture beyond our comfort zones now and then.
ReplyDeleteHi Darcia,
ReplyDeleteWell said. It's not just some people who need to venture out. To be free, we all need to occasionally leave that comfort zone. Thanks for visiting the blog, and for your insightful comment.
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