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In
the global village we inhabit, it is difficult to answer the question
of where one comes from. Modern technology allows the rapid-fire
exchange of ideas across increasingly irrelevant borders, cultural
markers vanishing in the great melting pot that is our world. It
is easy to forget that a mere 50 years ago, travel across land and
sea took several months, the journey fraught with danger and not
undertaken lightly. The air travel that is taken for granted by
the children of the boomers was a luxury, restricted to a privileged
few. Emigrating to a distant land was thus a more final act than
it is today, contact with the home country harder to maintain.
Pulitzer
Prize-winning author Jhumpa Lahiri's newest book, The Namesake,
opens with Ashima Ganguli, a pregnant immigrant Bengali, fixing
herself a snack in a student apartment in Cambridge, Massachusetts.
Craving a taste found in grimy stalls throughout India and Calcutta,
she tries to recreate the flavour of her youth, but "as usual,
there's something missing." The first page thus sets the tone
for a book which explores the conflicted emotions of immigrant families
as they try desperately to reconcile their native traditions with
those of their adopted land.
Ashoke and Ashima Ganguli are in America to realise the former's
dream of being a professor. A scholar from the start, he lives for
his books, saved from the wreckage of a train by the flapping pages
of Nikolai Gogol's The Overcoat, the book quite literally giving
Ashoke another chance at life. The accident is a defining moment
for the young Ashoke, and determines the course that his life, and
that of his family, shall take. While Ashoke immerses himself in
academia in America, his wife is left to fend for herself. Starting
with her pregnancy cravings, Ashima typifies the conservative, lonely
immigrant. Re-reading letters in a desperate attempt to maintain
contact with an ever-removed home, she clings to the land of her
birth, socialising with a growing circle of similarly desolate Bengalis.
Her yearning for their native land is powerful, though the feeling
is mingled with the dim realisation that America is now home.
Written
in the third person narrative, the book is spread over a period
of 32 years - from 1968-2000. The lives of the Gangulis are presented
in moving tableaus, the reader allowed intimate glimpses every few
years. The book begins shortly before the birth of Gogol/ Nikhil,
the titular Namesake and Ganguli's son. Named after the author whose
book saved his father's life, Gogol grows to adulthood, painfully
aware of the incongruity of his name and appearance. Unable to empathise
with his parents' situation, he resents their quaint attachment
to a land they have not lived in for the better part of their adult
lives. Confused and embarrassed by the hyphenated identity forced
on him, Gogol yearns to break free from the cloistered world of
Bengali expatriates that he has grown up with. His parents' failure
to assimilate completely - their odd manners and accents - lead
him to dissociate from them as soon as he gets the chance. The life-giving
Namesake Gogol becomes Nikhil, the name a proud marker of the ethnic
identity he has struggled with for so long.
Following
émigré parents and their thoroughly westernised offspring,
the book is a telling portrait of expatriate life. Through the Gangulis,
Lahiri shows how the natural-born children of immigrant parents
are also conflicted in their cultural allegiances. As hyphenated
members of the societies of their birth, they carry with them their
parents' sense of alienation. This feeling is heightened by the
all too real awareness that, unlike their parents, they have no
alternate country to call home. Straddling the cultural divide,
these children are among a new breed of global citizens, belonging
everywhere and yet, nowhere. For an ever-increasing number, home
is, quite literally, where the heart is. 
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