I have a bit of suburban cliche in my life, and I'm okay with it. Case in point, I drive a minivan. Also, I am part of a book club.
I was invited by a friend to an existing book club and on my very first book club meeting, they were discussing Jhumpa Lahiri's book Unaccustomed Earth. I really like Lahiri's books, but since it was about immigrants to America from India and their subsequently-raised American children, and that has some overlap with my own life, I tried to repeat to myself to just keep calm, don't champ at the bit, give them a chance to get to know you before spouting off as if you know everything about the subject, which you don't anyway. (I'd like the think I was able to do that, but by the way all the members were able to recount my stories to newer members recently, I fear I was not successful.)
Anyway, since then we've read only non-gori-wife-related books, but last month's selection for this month's meeting was Secret Daughter by Shilpi Somaya Gowda. The proponent of the book had briefly described it, something about another country, giving up a girl for adoption. I usually read these things pretty late in the game and I forget about them until the "Oh, we're meeting this Monday!" email comes along. That's exactly what happened last week. Actually, when I responded that I wasn't finished but hoped I'd get through it in time, my friend said she was surprised I hadn't jumped all over the book. By that time I was actually 50 pages in. As soon as I opened it, I DID jump all over it, because one of it's main characters, Somer, is a gori wife!!!
(From Booklist, via Amazon: In her engaging debut, Gowda weaves together two compelling stories. In India in 1984, destitute Kavita secretly carries her newborn daughter to an orphanage, knowing her husband, Jasu, would do away with the baby just as he had with their firstborn daughter. In their social stratum, girls are considered worthless because they can’t perform physical labor, and their dowries are exorbitant. That same year in San Francisco, two doctors, Somer and Krishnan, she from San Diego, he from Bombay, suffer their second miscarriage and consider adoption. They adopt Asha, a 10-month-old Indian girl from a Bombay orphanage. Yes, it’s Kavita’s daughter. In alternating chapters, Gowda traces Asha’s life in America—her struggle being a minority, despite living a charmed life, and Kavita and Jasu’s hardships, including several years spent in Dharavi, Bombay’s (now Mumbai’s) infamous slum, and the realization that their son has turned to drugs. Gowda writes with compassion and uncanny perception from the points of view of Kavita, Somer, and Asha, while portraying the vibrant traditions, sights, and sounds of modern India. --Deborah Donovan)
So I had to repeat to myself all over again, just like at my first bookclub meeting; shut up, don't dominate the conversation, give other people a chance to talk. I resisted the urge to ask the hostess if I could bring all the foods mentioned in the book; pav bhaji, chaat, and potato pakoras (my specialty!) I could have taken all the book club members on a personal tour of my life - I even have a Gujrati speaker living in my basement for translations and pronunciation help! Luckily, I was able to calm myself down and in the end the only over-the-top thing I did was to bring a sari with me and ask if anyone wanted to be wrapped up in it.
(I mean, besides totally dominating the conversation, of course...)
The book, I think, was a really enjoyable read. I was so engrossed in it I really did finish the whole 300+ book in less than two days. I'm not sure how much of that is because the subject matter is so intimately connected to my own life (I have both a desi connection and some prior exposure to adoption - also, M & I want to adopt one day) and how much of it was because I really wanted to know how the story turned out. I think I'd recommend it, though, because even if you didn't marry into parts of the book it's still a compelling story, especially considering that gender disparity is a current problem in India and other places in the world - this still happens today. By the end I felt like I was on a will-they-or-won't-they roller coaster ride.
As far as the Gori Wife part of the story, a lot of it really resonated with me. Though I did feel that Somer was the least fleshed out character in the book, it was almost like the author was really great at exploring the dynamics of the myriad different relationships among women except when it came to writing from an American woman perspective. Still, so much of what was written rang true for me and for experiences I've heard about from other wives of desis. I was a bit disappointed that the story of intercultural marriage was the stereotypical take on it, unyielding western wife refuses to bend or blend cultures, overly compliant immigrant husband suddenly realizes late into the marriage that he wishes there were more of his heritage imparted to his children. But I guess that, too, is a truth for many people, and perhaps it was even more so in the 1980's setting of the book. And, well, I certainly do know of experiences like that taking place right now among other intercultural marriages, so it's also a relevant story to be told.
I asked Shilpi Gowda on Twitter (Ya'll know I'm on Twitter, right?) if I could post a few paragraphs that I found particularly compelling from the book and got an answer from Harpercollins that I could. First, from the perspective of Krishnan, an Indian-born immigrant to America:
Back in medical school, even after his relationship with Somer became serious, he avoided telling his family about her. They would never think to ask him about a girlfriend: he was not expected to have any extracurricular interests, much less romantic ones. By waiting, he reasoned, he could prepare Somer to meet his family: teach her a few words of Gujarati, expose her to the food. But in reality, he didn't share very much with her about his life in India. She was, after all, thoroughly American, and he wasn't sure how she would react to reports of living in an extended family, or pigeons flying into the living room through windows that stayed open all summer. This love was new and intoxicating, and he didn't want to risk it. It would have required a concerted effort, and more courage than he felt at twenty-five, to bring the two spheres of his life together. As it turned out, it took very little effort to let them remain separate.
He hoped his parents would support him, but if he had to choose between their approval and marrying Somer, he planned to choose Somer. He was in love with her in a way he could never be with a woman chosen by his parents - she was his intellectual partner, and they had shared experiences. In India, such a relationship was unusual, if not impossible. So he chose a life in America, intending to embrace in completely. It was easier for him, and Somer, he thought, to assimilate to her way of life. But now it is clear to Krishnan that he'd done her a disservice. By the time she met his parents, it was clear that superficial gestures wouldn't make up for the reality that they were worlds apart.
And from Somer, Krishnan's wife:
She had always expected Kris to be the one to assimilate to her culture, as he had in the beginning. Even after they adopted an Indian baby, even when he missed home, even when he asked her to go with him. Somer felt she had given so much to their family already. But her mother always said the key to a successful marriage was for each spouse to give as much as they thought they possibly could. And then, to give a little more. Somewhere in that extra giving, in the space created by generosity without score keeping, was the difference between marriages that thrived and those that didn't. Every time Sundari asked one of her many questions about India and its culture, questions Somer couldn't answer and had never asked herself, it made her think there could have been another way. She could have embraced what she tried to push away. A slight shift in perspective, one small change in focus, might have made the difference.
At the bookclub meeting, I was kind of on both sides of the argument. One friend was very critical of the Somer character, and I defended her, saying that this happens a lot, men hide parts of themselves and don't give an accurate picture of what their married life might look like, what expectations might be placed on their new wives. Marrying interculturally takes a lot of patience, a lot of hand-holding, expecting someone to adapt without help, without even being told about it beforehand, is ludicrous. But then I flip-flopped, Krishnan wasn't a terrible guy, who at 25 knows exactly what they want? And shouldn't a marriage be about growing and changing together? It's a complicated equation, one I live every day, and I was impressed with Gowda's ability to navigate experiences like mine so authentically. And even if it wasn't exactly my personal experience, it was thrilling to read about it in a real, live, bestselling novel.
(And it was fun to wrap up those ladies in a sari, too!)
I was invited by a friend to an existing book club and on my very first book club meeting, they were discussing Jhumpa Lahiri's book Unaccustomed Earth. I really like Lahiri's books, but since it was about immigrants to America from India and their subsequently-raised American children, and that has some overlap with my own life, I tried to repeat to myself to just keep calm, don't champ at the bit, give them a chance to get to know you before spouting off as if you know everything about the subject, which you don't anyway. (I'd like the think I was able to do that, but by the way all the members were able to recount my stories to newer members recently, I fear I was not successful.)
Anyway, since then we've read only non-gori-wife-related books, but last month's selection for this month's meeting was Secret Daughter by Shilpi Somaya Gowda. The proponent of the book had briefly described it, something about another country, giving up a girl for adoption. I usually read these things pretty late in the game and I forget about them until the "Oh, we're meeting this Monday!" email comes along. That's exactly what happened last week. Actually, when I responded that I wasn't finished but hoped I'd get through it in time, my friend said she was surprised I hadn't jumped all over the book. By that time I was actually 50 pages in. As soon as I opened it, I DID jump all over it, because one of it's main characters, Somer, is a gori wife!!!
(From Booklist, via Amazon: In her engaging debut, Gowda weaves together two compelling stories. In India in 1984, destitute Kavita secretly carries her newborn daughter to an orphanage, knowing her husband, Jasu, would do away with the baby just as he had with their firstborn daughter. In their social stratum, girls are considered worthless because they can’t perform physical labor, and their dowries are exorbitant. That same year in San Francisco, two doctors, Somer and Krishnan, she from San Diego, he from Bombay, suffer their second miscarriage and consider adoption. They adopt Asha, a 10-month-old Indian girl from a Bombay orphanage. Yes, it’s Kavita’s daughter. In alternating chapters, Gowda traces Asha’s life in America—her struggle being a minority, despite living a charmed life, and Kavita and Jasu’s hardships, including several years spent in Dharavi, Bombay’s (now Mumbai’s) infamous slum, and the realization that their son has turned to drugs. Gowda writes with compassion and uncanny perception from the points of view of Kavita, Somer, and Asha, while portraying the vibrant traditions, sights, and sounds of modern India. --Deborah Donovan)
So I had to repeat to myself all over again, just like at my first bookclub meeting; shut up, don't dominate the conversation, give other people a chance to talk. I resisted the urge to ask the hostess if I could bring all the foods mentioned in the book; pav bhaji, chaat, and potato pakoras (my specialty!) I could have taken all the book club members on a personal tour of my life - I even have a Gujrati speaker living in my basement for translations and pronunciation help! Luckily, I was able to calm myself down and in the end the only over-the-top thing I did was to bring a sari with me and ask if anyone wanted to be wrapped up in it.
(I mean, besides totally dominating the conversation, of course...)
The book, I think, was a really enjoyable read. I was so engrossed in it I really did finish the whole 300+ book in less than two days. I'm not sure how much of that is because the subject matter is so intimately connected to my own life (I have both a desi connection and some prior exposure to adoption - also, M & I want to adopt one day) and how much of it was because I really wanted to know how the story turned out. I think I'd recommend it, though, because even if you didn't marry into parts of the book it's still a compelling story, especially considering that gender disparity is a current problem in India and other places in the world - this still happens today. By the end I felt like I was on a will-they-or-won't-they roller coaster ride.
As far as the Gori Wife part of the story, a lot of it really resonated with me. Though I did feel that Somer was the least fleshed out character in the book, it was almost like the author was really great at exploring the dynamics of the myriad different relationships among women except when it came to writing from an American woman perspective. Still, so much of what was written rang true for me and for experiences I've heard about from other wives of desis. I was a bit disappointed that the story of intercultural marriage was the stereotypical take on it, unyielding western wife refuses to bend or blend cultures, overly compliant immigrant husband suddenly realizes late into the marriage that he wishes there were more of his heritage imparted to his children. But I guess that, too, is a truth for many people, and perhaps it was even more so in the 1980's setting of the book. And, well, I certainly do know of experiences like that taking place right now among other intercultural marriages, so it's also a relevant story to be told.
I asked Shilpi Gowda on Twitter (Ya'll know I'm on Twitter, right?) if I could post a few paragraphs that I found particularly compelling from the book and got an answer from Harpercollins that I could. First, from the perspective of Krishnan, an Indian-born immigrant to America:
Back in medical school, even after his relationship with Somer became serious, he avoided telling his family about her. They would never think to ask him about a girlfriend: he was not expected to have any extracurricular interests, much less romantic ones. By waiting, he reasoned, he could prepare Somer to meet his family: teach her a few words of Gujarati, expose her to the food. But in reality, he didn't share very much with her about his life in India. She was, after all, thoroughly American, and he wasn't sure how she would react to reports of living in an extended family, or pigeons flying into the living room through windows that stayed open all summer. This love was new and intoxicating, and he didn't want to risk it. It would have required a concerted effort, and more courage than he felt at twenty-five, to bring the two spheres of his life together. As it turned out, it took very little effort to let them remain separate.
He hoped his parents would support him, but if he had to choose between their approval and marrying Somer, he planned to choose Somer. He was in love with her in a way he could never be with a woman chosen by his parents - she was his intellectual partner, and they had shared experiences. In India, such a relationship was unusual, if not impossible. So he chose a life in America, intending to embrace in completely. It was easier for him, and Somer, he thought, to assimilate to her way of life. But now it is clear to Krishnan that he'd done her a disservice. By the time she met his parents, it was clear that superficial gestures wouldn't make up for the reality that they were worlds apart.
And from Somer, Krishnan's wife:
She had always expected Kris to be the one to assimilate to her culture, as he had in the beginning. Even after they adopted an Indian baby, even when he missed home, even when he asked her to go with him. Somer felt she had given so much to their family already. But her mother always said the key to a successful marriage was for each spouse to give as much as they thought they possibly could. And then, to give a little more. Somewhere in that extra giving, in the space created by generosity without score keeping, was the difference between marriages that thrived and those that didn't. Every time Sundari asked one of her many questions about India and its culture, questions Somer couldn't answer and had never asked herself, it made her think there could have been another way. She could have embraced what she tried to push away. A slight shift in perspective, one small change in focus, might have made the difference.
At the bookclub meeting, I was kind of on both sides of the argument. One friend was very critical of the Somer character, and I defended her, saying that this happens a lot, men hide parts of themselves and don't give an accurate picture of what their married life might look like, what expectations might be placed on their new wives. Marrying interculturally takes a lot of patience, a lot of hand-holding, expecting someone to adapt without help, without even being told about it beforehand, is ludicrous. But then I flip-flopped, Krishnan wasn't a terrible guy, who at 25 knows exactly what they want? And shouldn't a marriage be about growing and changing together? It's a complicated equation, one I live every day, and I was impressed with Gowda's ability to navigate experiences like mine so authentically. And even if it wasn't exactly my personal experience, it was thrilling to read about it in a real, live, bestselling novel.
(And it was fun to wrap up those ladies in a sari, too!)
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