Chitra Banerjee Divakaruni... her books make me think about .... a lot of things

Over the past few days I have found myself literally devouring the books by Chitra Banerjee Divakaruni. Perhaps, the fact that all her books are related to people from India, my country, holds me so much under its spell. All her works have a rather fascinating innuendo in them and speak about old “Indian-ess” which I somewhere along my quest for modernity seem to have left behind. Her books speak about Bengal and Bengalis whose culture is so far removed from mine (I am a south Indian army product) that I find myself puzzling over the stronghold they seem to have over me. The stories linger on in my mind long after I finish reading them, each of them making me think and analyze the depths of my own thoughts (some of them murky) which I had so far been unable to fathom. The fact that all her stories are so deeply engulfed with reality makes me think a lot about my country which I have left behind. I find my self wondering with awe over the deep rooted culture of ours, about the traditions and superstitions which form the backbone of the rural-India

Surprisingly, I also find in myself a yearning to live in those traditions and make some of them mine. . I have always prided on the fact that I have had a modern upbringing (by Indian standards), with mom who has always been my bestest friends but, this yearning to know more about my culture and traditions brings with it a thunderous flash of edification about myself !!! (I have always so far mocked at the so called ol’ fashioned ways and outdated thoughts which people still stick onto) However now I am forced to admit that our culture which at times seems so stifling to me (even now) brings along with it the undeniable love of elders. The old try to seep u into their ways, we revolt and think of them as fools, but wat we forget to c is the immense love that they have for us which makes them want to pass on their traditions, their ways to us.

Reading these books take me down the dusty lane of my memories and I remember the love of my grandmom (my mom’s mom) when she would put us to sleep by telling us stories and making us pray. I remember combing her white silvery hair and of her making my favorite “Tamarind rasam” (YUM). I remember sitting with her while she read books to me (I think I may have gotten my love of reading from her and ma) and her feeding me those rice balls with her hand. I miss her and my eyes fill with tears as I write this. In this moment of introspection, I hope somewhere down the lane in future my children at least learn to appreciate these love soaked traditions and culture which binds the hearts of the family so closely and tightly and makes India unique from the rest of the world.