I realized, with a vague sense of sadness, that it was the first time I read a book that focused on Indian characters and incorporated aspects of the larger South Asian culture. Along with this joy-the joy at finding something at once exciting and familiar-was a sense of incredulity. As for me, I was in a state of wonder at the fact that I was reading about characters who felt so close to home: characters who looked like me and knew the name of the different spices you’d need to cook a traditional Bengali dish of fish. At no point does she stop to explain what a word means or make amends for the differences that anyone who was unfamiliar with the culture might notice. Lahiri writes about South Asian culture without preamble, without explanation, and without apology. My surprise grew as I read about Gogol’s parents and related to all the everyday things they did. The moment was a jarring one in my reading experience because it was the first time I read about the food that I ate at home being described in a book. The Namesake begins with a scene of a woman making a South Asian snack called chanachur in Bengali-but sometimes known as Bombay mix-made of puffed rice, minced onions, and dried lentils, all mixed with mustard oil.
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