This book is a surprise. Not many would dare to deal with the mess of widowhood in a romance novel with a complex pseudo- progressive traditional Bengali joint family milieu as its base. Nandita, the protagonist, moves through the pages in lackluster slow steps to reclaim her identity, fearful and timid, in an alien climate in America after having lived as a widow of a known family in Calcutta.
Her bonds to her erstwhile husband—the hot-shot, dare-to-bare, fighter pilot—Sudipto (the passages of which, by the way, are the most wonderful parts of a youthful romance and a sheer pleasure to read) are deep. When she is widowed young, she sees her comfortable retirement as a school teacher there. She has finally found some financial stability, social status as a reigning matriarch and can live independently in her meager ways as a principal of a school in Kolkata.
Little does she know that a twist of fate will bring her to a point where she would give up her comfort, her home, her savings and all that she knows of her world to be with her son and grandchildren.
But this is a convenient love. Her beloved son Prodipto, who though in shades of grey, seems to love her, sees her as a caretaker to his children and to ease pressure off his wife Meeta. Very soon the patina wears off and the ugly face of American society shows itself.
One sees the IIT production of work force to American conglomerates, the NRI superiority of status, the amalgamation of local western culture to a vehement denial of one’s roots and values, only rediscovered once in a while, and more. It brings out relevant questions and contemplative stands which irk the consciousness of any Indian.
The book is peppered with local Bengali endearments and the mention of the characters oscillate between relation titles, pet names and also their actual names, causing a great deal of confusion for the reader. Too many explanations to local cuisine, names of dishes and Bengali twists to the recognised Hindi words further add to the chaos and do nothing for a deeper insight into their cultural contexts.
This, in a lengthy novel, is disastrous to the reader. But all is not lost. The author has been astute and intelligent in bringing out a wealth of information and wisdom on human life if one cares to read closely.
In all this is Nandita, struggling with her self-respect as an erstwhile matriarch who is of little use to her American lifestyled son and family. She is respected and tolerated kindly yet sidelined on social occasions, is isolated for want of company, provided for yet does not have the privilege to put her own needs and rights first and is soon taken for granted.
There is a constant tussle between past and present. The flashbacks can sometimes be difficult to cope with. Added to this is Nandita’s sense of righteousness and an oversensitive composure. It is no wonder when the kind, gentle Bill comes into her life she manages a romance in a delusionary, unsure manner.
All in all, a novel which would test your patience and take its time to seep in. If you do dare, you will be rewarded with an in-depth understanding of the internal life of men and women building and struggling with identities in a constantly shifting world where the bastions of culture are falling apart.