'From An-Other Land' - Book Review

Tanushree Ghosh’s ‘From An-Other Land’ is an insightful look into the lives of the immigrant population in the US. This book deftly explores what it means to be an ‘outsider’ and to be constantly seen as the ‘other’, particularly, in the current political climate of the country. It also gives the readers both an insider’s and an outsider’s perspective presented through compelling situations and narratives.

The collection interestingly starts at the very point where this journey to the coveted land begins – the airport. Where we see a steady flow of anxious and nervous passengers waiting eagerly for their turn to ‘check-in’ to their dreamland. This community of people is a jumble of students, young professionals, new brides, and even bystanders, whose only motive is to get inspired by this force of people enthused with dreams and aspirations.

The author very skillfully picks each individual story from this mass of people and examines their circumstances, and situations, through the prism of immigration. While a young Meera is forced to leave her husband in a small town in Punjab, to fulfill the family’s notion of success and prosperity. There are people like Tarun and Raji on the other hand, who despite making it in their dreamland, are still faced with problems much bigger than their hopes and aspirations.

All the thirteen stories focused around individual struggles and trappings are unique in their own way and represent a prototype we come across in real life. This makes the stories both relatable and believable. Through her characters, the author also explores the ideas of dreams and reality, and hopes and disillusionment. The stories also echo the idea that some of the basic human biases are prevalent throughout the world. And sometimes, even an advanced nation like the US can be fraught with deep-seated biases and hypocrisies that can take the human race back by many decades. In that sense, this book will resonate with everyone regardless of his/her bearings.

The writer’s experience of living in the US for a substantial number of years, helps her look at the unique nuances of the immigrant community - the impact of remittance money on a family’s economic and social situation, ageing parents and their day-to-day struggle back home, social media’s contribution to keeping the world connected, the conscious acknowledgement while spotting a fellow countryman in a foreign land, the infamous Indian Standard time, the awareness that comes with the color of one’s skin etc.

The stories also address some of the topical issues such as - gun violence, Islamophobia, post-partum mental health, LGBT rights, and domestic violence. The writer has made sure that each aspect of this community of people is given a voice, and are represented well. 

Just as the journey of each story begins at the airport, they are tied neatly at the final chapter with references to airport scenes. And despite the stories of their trials and tribulations, they end at a hopeful note. Some of the stories run a few pages longer than the other. And some might come across as too descriptive, where the narrative could have easily broken into dialogues. The language is simple but can get wordy, particularly when the narrator’s perspective is presented. But overall, the stories manage to effectively map the very essence of the immigrant population living in America, with a special focus on the Indian community. 

  

'The Pact' by Jodi Picoult- an overview

 The success of a mystery novel perhaps lies in how precise, exacting and therefore, compelling it is to its readers. And while at it, if the writer manages to explore some deeply philosophical, ethical and moral stances that often get brushed aside in the wake of an engaging tale, I think it is worth giving it a shot.

I had bumped into Jodi Picoult’s books at friends’ and family many times – books upturned and splayed across beds, a comb efficiently doing a bookmark’s job; on busy counter tops, tempting the reader to drop everything else and crawl back to figure out its end. ‘It is that easy to immerse yourself in her books,’ I had been told. That probably is a standard line one could expect to hear about a best-selling author. Only that, anything she writes about, is ever made out of the ordinary. That much I had figured. Yet the fact that it has struck a chord with so many readers will make us think of the extraordinary times we are living in. Does it say a thing about us as a race? Maybe.

Following my little ritual before I begin a book, I had glanced over some of Jodi’s short interviews. They have such a way of giving a peek into a writer’s soul. And somehow, over the years, it seems to have become so important to me -  to like the person, before I could like her/his work. That probably is the exact opposite of what one should do. And try one’s best to leave aside the biases, and take the work for what it is. But since I am doing this largely for myself, I thought I would go with what comes naturally to me.

The story of ‘The Pact’, surges through you like a powerful force that refuses any respite till the end. And yet, it is a meditative take on some relevant issues of today. This probably is the book’s biggest triumph. With just the right peppering of mystery, conflict, and drama, Picoult has managed to weave a compelling ‘love story’ in ‘The Pact.’ That’s how she has sub-titled it – A love story.  And one doesn’t have to wait too long to see the irony. Even without coming anywhere close to experiencing the turbulence, the grief and the bereavement that this tale entails, it resonates with its readers on a basic human level. And once it has your full attention,  it explores concepts of – truth, perception, trust, faith, hope, without losing touch with its stoic vein. And also pushes one to look inward to grapple with issues of mental health, marriage, teenage life, parental expectations, and perceptions of love.

When we talk about lasting impressions, what we refer to usually is that lingering feeling that endures long after the story has ended. In this book, those would be the courtroom scenes, that run over a chapter or more, that make a permanent mark in the reader’s psyche. And despite the many references one might have of such scenes, these manage to bring a fresh perspective. The best part of a book however, is when you are confronted with astounding and unexpected realizations, put across in the most matter-of-fact tone. Like all along, this had been the goal, this is what all the fuss was about, only that the author, with her clever narration, wouldn’t let you see it at first.  And those are moments I seek out in a book like this one.

But what is a story if it didn’t leave you feeling exalted at the end, despite everything? And how wonderful, if it left you marveling over the limitless human potential,  of ordinary men possessing extraordinary courage. And the very next moment, sweeping the foundation of belief underneath your feet, turning around and asking, but is it possible that what is courage to one, is cowardice to another?

It is no news that Picoult’s best-selling books have been adapted into movies one after the other, and we have one based on this book too. I would probably wait for my reader’s experience to settle down and find a comfortable place, and for the feelings to become less raw, so that I can appreciate the film without the baggage of the book. And who knows, I might just find a whole new dimension that I might have missed in the book.  

The usual me...not

Ever so often, I disappear. I vanish, without a trace. And allow this space to collect the virtual cobwebs. And with the same brazen abruptness, I make a sudden appearance, and catch you in the middle of something. And feign a casual air about the long and awkward silence I often subject this place to. I act like all this is normal – this coming and going. But I return, because I am assured that these erratic visits have become a part of a ritual now. An unspoken bond that you and I have formed. An understanding - that doesn’t demand any explaining. An assurance - that thrives on the knowledge that, ‘life’ comes in the way, and focus, like other things, gets pushed away. So with that score settled, here is another attempt to keep the words flowing...to keep the story going.

I remember last time I left you with me gushing over a movie that I had immensely liked. That was roughly two months ago. I must have enjoyed it so much that I saw to it that the word spreads steadily around. Particularly because the movie had not made it to the tier one cities in India. And that information had killed me. And I passed on the ‘link’ (horror!) to the film like I was getting paid for it. And I remember I chuckled with satisfaction when friends left notes saying that they had watched the film based on my review, and had really liked it. And then I seem to have forgotten all about it, and drifted to other things, and abandoned this space yet another time with a callousness that comes so naturally to me. And even if I take solace in knowing that this sporadic blogging is a common trait with our brood, I do feel obliged to do some explaining.

So what kept me busy all this while you ask? I really wish I had an answer as impressive as my vanishing acts, but alas! I would have to disappoint you, and say that, my life continues to be as sedated as the last time you checked on me. Expect that, I went out quite a bit (strictly by my standards), stuffed my face with all kind of food, met with new people, got invited for dinners, made dinner plans, some guests visited, retail therapy ruled the roost, read some great books that I had picked at a dream book-sale, some of my potted plants survived the summer, some couldn’t withstand the severe spread of a powdery fungus that took the life out of my chilies and tomatoes. And my heart bled and wept while giving them a funeral when I finally let them go. I took part in festivals I had never been part of before, and then, I even wrote a little, scribbled rather, every now and then. Wrote full-fledged book reviews.  Now that was progress in my book. Because it turned out to be lot different from reviewing manuscripts as an Editor at some point in my life. And demanded lot more patience than writing a quick Goodreads review which I had done ample times. And I took to Twitter to share them because I needed closure (and validation).  But was too chicken to share it on this platform. But what I hadn’t expected was to stumble upon an amazing world of bloggers over Twitter, that gave me access to a thriving world of creative writers. Witnessing this tribe encourage each other with writing prompts and story ideas was inspiring to say the least. This seemed to have done wonders for me, it kept me focused and got me into a reading and writing cycle. Occasional frustration with writing was natural, particularly when there were huge lapses between the first and the last chapter of a book I was reading, thanks to duty-calls. But I was just grateful for my days falling into a routine where I was more productive than usual. More importantly, I could shut out nursery rhymes on loop, and keep hazardous cups of imaginary tea from my girl’s pantry at bay. It was like I was growing wings, and was about to fly!

Everything looked bright and sunny till the month of August made its grand entry. And as you know it, August translates to Birthdays, and Birthdays mean August in my life. Hence without saying much, you understand that the pattern I had fallen into started to fizzle out even before I could fully embrace it, and got replaced with ‘chaos’ and ‘planning’ (of all kinds) for the daughter’s second birthday, that was leading up to be the friends’ reunion party too. The celebration went on for two weeks. The holiday weekend following the birthday weekend made room for a longish party. And goes without saying, there was not a single dull moment to kick my feet up on a chair, and recap the events in my head that whizzed by like snapshots. Towards the end of the second weekend, when the last guests were saying their goodbyes, entered an unexpected guest from the backyard door - Hurricane Irma. ‘Hurricane August’ was not enough apparently. And in a matter of a day, leaving everything behind as they were (scattered), we fled for our lives as evacuation warnings started to buzz in the state of Florida, and drove across three states in search of a safe haven. And when things had normalized, we got back to base, and heaved a sigh of relief to find that the house was in one piece. And the next day my brother and sis-in-law dropped by on their way back from a vacay. And we realized the holiday mood got extended by two more days. So you get that saying my hands were full last few days would be a gross understatement. And you do realize that I am bursting at my seams with stories that you wouldn’t hear the end of. But for now, this will have to do. In between the madness, I made two trips to the movie theatre too. A big bold event in my motherhood calendar. Both turned out to be mediocre movies, but that was hardly my concern. This was baby girl’s first ever theatre visit, and I was on my seat’s edge to run out lest she showed her true colors, and brought the roof down. But to her credit, she was most well-behaved, except singing ‘good-morning’ to her heart’s fill close to midnight, and glaring at the screen only when it would break into a song. I could go on and on, there’s so much to pour out, but I want you to come back for more. Till the next post then, adios amigos.