The Namesake: a review

You will not understand this book unless you've lived away from home sometime. You will never catch the little nuances of the story or the vast hollows in the hearts of the characters if you haven't lived alone, faced the world in all its wilderness all by yourself. You must have felt the need to find your roots, reminisce about your near and dear ones, missed them for the simple comfort and warmth of their welcoming smiles to be able to feel the theme of this book, The Namesake.

The story traces the life of a child born to Ashoke and Ashima Ganguli, who migrated to the USA when Ashoke came there to pursue his doctoral degree and post-doctoral faculty work. Through a quirk of fate, the name Gogol which they had originally thought of as a pet name for their son sticks with him for life. We see the life of this immigrant family through the eyes of their son as he grows up. Somehow the confusion of his name points to a more fundamental identity crisis in his generation. He never understands why he has to make the ritual trips to Calcutta, why the terms 'fun' and 'party' for his parents mean a cackling lot of other Bengali families converging bag and baggage in a small place and endlessly discussing nonsense. He grows up in a culture that seems phoney to him, thrust upon him just because he was born to such and such parents, and something that he comes to hate as the shackles of his freedom in the land of opportunity. Jhumpa Lahiri spins a masterpiece as the tale of Gogol or Nikhil Ganguli unfolds, along with the gradual trace of Ashoke and Ashima's metamophosis into old age.

The most poignant moment in the entire book is perhaps when Ashoke explains to his son how and why he had been named Gogol: what that name reminded him of. Through the turmoils of Gogol's romantic life, even as he discovers his friends and freedom in being with his American girlfriend, there is a haunting theme in the book that makes you want to sit quietly and read and ponder over it. Suddenly you will discover your own emotions taking shape in the words of those pages, and let out a silent prayer for those in whom you've seen the exact feelings and characters replicated in real life. Suddenly, like a flash of light that clears all darkness, you will find that it all makes sense: that you understand why or what is happening.

Somehow, I felt that I had extracted all of the juice in that book by virtue of being a Bengali, a graduate student in the US and being someone who has lived away from home for close to 14 long years now. I could feel the connection with almost every emotion that Gogol felt, I felt the silence and simplicity of Ashoke, and perhaps a little of the passionate heartthrob of Ashima. After finishing the book, I was suddenly happy and sad, perhaps a bit scared at the same time. I was happy that I had a place that I called home, I was happy that there were some people on earth who would welcome me with open arms and a warm smile whenever I went to them. I was sad because I suddenly realised (or was reminded of) what I have missed all these years. And I was scared, because I know not what the future holds for me. I had called home after I finished the book: just to hear their voices, just to hear my mother repeating her endless questionnaire about my well being. I would unconditionally recommend this book to anyone who has at some time wondered about the words family, roots and life.