Leaving Home Behind

My homeland only exists in my mind. It used to be real, of course, but that was before the summer came and went. I lived in the same town since I was two and the same house since I was five. Over the summer, however, my parents sold the house and moved us to a different state altogether to be closer to my mom's father and siblings. I try to practice graciousness and to be grateful for our new home, because I know that so many people do not have homes, running water, or things of the sort. Nonetheless, I can't deny how much I hate the town. It has all the dead time of my old town with none of the friends. It has no corner that I can point at and say, "That's where..." It has no little deli where "we always" and "remember that one time?"
Before I knew that my family would be moving I felt so differently. In high school I cursed my house and my town for keeping me in a cage. I couldn't wait to move out of my house and be on my own, and I couldn't wait to leave my boring town far, far behind. When I found out around Thanksgiving time in 2008 that we would be moving, time shifted and I entered some sort of grace period. For almost a year and a half, I was held by feelings of sadness and visions of beauty. When my friends and I would meet up at home over breaks they would all speak like we did in high school, lamenting our town and all it didn't have to offer. I'd laugh along but on the inside I was thinking, I can't think that way anymore, maybe you can, but I can't. Somehow I had changed. By knowing that everything was one day going to be taken from me, I started to hold on tighter.

Since we've moved, I haven't been back to my town. I had a whole summer and could have gone back to visit with friends like my sister did. She's been back probably six or seven times. But I can't bring myself to do it. If I do, I am going to have to reenter a world that is no longer mine and feel the strangeness and separateness of it all. I am going to have to see that the town has moved on without me. And of course, I am always going to have my house in the back of my mind, and have to make the decision whether or not to drive past it and see that it is lived in by strangers. I fear all of these things, because I feel like I left a large part of myself behind, in the town, in my house.

This is all why the first story in Love and Longing in Bombay, "Dharma," was really poignant to me. When Jago Antia returned home to his nearly-empty house he was forced to confront his own ghost in the attic. I love most of all his interaction with Thakker, after Thakker tried to get rid of the ghost. Jago says, "'Well, get it out,'" and Thakker replies, "'I cannot. Nobody can move a child'" (23). There is so much honesty in this statement, especially if I compare it to my own situation. While I do not have my own literal ghost in my old home, it is true that the ghost of me as a child will always be in there. Perhaps, like Jago, I am afraid to confront it because of the ways that I have already changed since eight months ago. Although Jago fears his ghost because of the sadness within it, I think I fear mine because confronting it necessitates acknowledging that there is a ghost at all, that I am living in a separate world now.

Then, brilliantly, Chandra's Thakker says, "'Such a person must go up there naked and alone. Remember, alone and naked...'" (23). Chandra suggests that we must be naked, literally in the story, but more importantly symbolically, and therefore stripped down of our outer or new selves, and only then are we prepared to confront the ghosts of our childhood. In Jago's case, he left home and essentially never looked back, building himself up to be an invincible military man so that he could forget the pain he forged as a child. Hence, he left a part of himself at home. Though he left home willingly and I did not, I think it is safe to say that we both have ghosts which remain.

Homelands in Bombay

Love and Longing in Bombay by Vikram Chandra presents a most unique take on the concept of homeland, in that his single story is actually several. These five stories all take place in the same homeland, Bombay (Mumbai) India, but each story takes on different characters and different stories in general. Now one might tend to think this may cause sporadic storytelling, but it actually takes quite the opposite direction. With these different characters come different viewpoints, different ways of life: different aspects of the same homeland. What this does is paint a picture not in one but multiple colors and depth. As opposed to showing one character’s story to represent their individual aspect of home, Love and Longing in Bombay explores several aspects of Bombay through the lives and experiences of many characters.

Although these are different stories, they still contain the crucial fact that they are still individual stories. Among them is the story of Sheila Bijlani, one of the wealthier women of Bombay, and her in-house fighting with rival, Dolly Boatwalla. Her story illustrates a life of wealth and prestige; we see she is a clever businesswoman vying for the approval of other high status women. It is in this context the author gives a glimpse of a more financially prosperous community of Bombay, and that even though they are wealthy they always find some dispute. It would seem Bombay’s rich tend to be a more modern sect that does not show a lot of the more traditional aspects of the culture as much as some of the other characters in the book. It offers the question of whether tradition is accepted in a more modern context, and who exhibits a more traditional lifestyle in society. Shifting gears, the story shifts from a setting of wealth to a character that travels in all the various corners of the city. Among the other stories and characters in the book, I believe it is Sartaj Singh that best presents the most exciting and diverse aspects of Bombay.


Sartaj Singh is a Bombay detective, working the case of a recent murder in the gutters of the city. It in his line of work that Sartaj himself is open to various aspects that make up his city and define its culture. Through his investigation(s) Sartaj sees all walks of life from rich to poor, to in between. On one instance he is recalling the arrest of one of the city’s desperate men in a criminal case, and in another the text reflects on an instant of his own resentment to the upper class: “Sartaj felt, suddenly, a rush of hatred for the rich. He hated them for their confidence, their calm, how they thought everything could be managed.” (111) However Sartaj’s story, as well as the entire book, does not only question the role of wealth in a post-colonial world ( Bombay), but of the culture itself. Again in this story we see a combination of both modern age and cultural tradition. Among his fellow Indians Sartaj shares a common culture; one such example being on occasion where Sartaj is wearing traditional clothes , even at the jest of a friend. This shows that Sartaj is still connected with India’s culture, he embraces it, and yet at the same time he is different. Sartaj himself is a religious minority in his homeland.


While the majority of the people in India/Bombay are Hindu, Sartaj is a Sikh. In the book we previously read (Things Fall Apart) we see colonists coming into the indigenous world and bringing their own religion to replace the old tradition. In India, most of the country did not convert to the ‘new religion’ of Christianity, they retained Hinduism. This story asks what then is the reaction to Indians that do practice a religion other than the traditional faith of the land? Although they follow in a different faith are they still Indians or do the rest of the population consider them outsiders. According to the text, Sartaj, because of his different religion might have suffered from religious suspicion and maybe direct persecution just because he was of a religious minority: “What he meant was that for an outsider, a Sikh, to push a little was to push a lot.” (110) Such a passage leads one to ask if in some circumstances would colonialism harden the native people to accept others different among them even if they are their own. Reading this passage myself it made me wonder how religious and cultural minorities are seen even in our own diverse American culture. The truth is that a society can be diverse, wealthy and poor, traditional and modern, and still be at odds with one another. In one sense a nation can have a unified culture, yet as individual lines are drawn, people still find themselves different. Even to the point of outcast, even to the point of bitterness, but taking another stance, it is this diversity which makes a country great. Whether this be the case however, people still coexist side by side in the world, this in itself makes a homeland home, what makes it unique and yet unified. The beauty of Love and Longing in Bombay is that it provides a spectrum that shows these sides of a culture, the good with the bad just as it shows the different cultural aspects of India / Bombay in general. It completes the big picture that is Bombay.

Love and Longing in Bombay: What it means to be "at home"

Vikram Chandra’s novel and collection of short stories, Love and Longing in Bombay, introduced a theme of self-acceptance and a character’s struggle to display his inner self and emotions. In this particular homeland, certain societal expectations are placed upon the people. As the reader, we see a struggle for India as a whole to become a more modernized and industrialized society. More specifically, we see a number of characters who hide themselves behind a veil. A common theme throughout each story is the character’s struggle to truthfully display themselves.
Displaying inner weakness is not a trait that is looked favorably upon in Chandra’s novel. Jago Antia, the infamous war hero, is portrayed as a strong, driven man who fears nothing and no one. His willingness to amputate his own leg demonstrates the tough exterior that he has accumulated over the years. Nevertheless, Jago’s homeland introduces a whole new side to this fearless warrior. At home, Jago is faced with his lost inner self, a ghost of his childhood that visits him in the night and confronts him of his insecurities. Through this encounter, Jago is able to come to terms with his inner self and put his past to rest. I believe that Jago’s encounter with his childhood ghost demonstrates that Jago’s career as a military leader was only a device useful in masking his innermost weaknesses and fears.
In Chandra’s short story, “Shakti”, we are introduced to Sheila, a confident and driven young woman who is obsessed with her wealth and the wealth of others. It seems that Sheila’s only motivation in life is money but we soon see a sentimental side of her through her love for her son. Despite Sheila’s wealth and material-driven world, she possesses a deep love for her only son. She works hard at obtaining happiness for her son despite the costs and through this perseverance we see Sheila’s inner self and her nurturing, maternal instincts. Sheila’s ultimate happiness comes not from her material gain but rather from her son’s contentment. Hiding within each story is a character struggling to convey who they really are. Similarly, these characters often find themselves lost in a society where they are unsure of how they fit in. The “longing” in Chandra’s book title may point towards the longing of the characters to feel content in their surroundings and at home with themselves. In “Artha”, Iqbal is introduced as a young Indian man struggling with being a homosexual in a scornful society. His partner and best friend, Rajesh, faces the same struggles and is unfortunately lost amongst the demands of society because he is unable to live a truthful life. Chandra’s novel is a well-rounded portrayal of a transforming society. Further, it accurately conveys the differences between the upper and lower class and the similarities each side maintains in regards to inner struggles. Each character’s story is a message of discovering oneself and their role in society. I believe that a person’s homeland should be a place where they literally feel “at home”. In order to feel “at home” one must know who they are and what makes them an important contribution to their society. When we hear the word “home” we are usually flooded with emotions of joy and love. However, for many people, home is not a word associated with happiness and safety. I believe that a home does not have to be a particular location but rather contentment within oneself. These characters live in a society where demands and expectations are exceedingly high. In order to fully be “at home” they must accept who they are and discover who they want to become.

Solving the Idea of Home in "Love and Longing in Bombay"

Kama,” the third of five short stories in Vikram Chandra’s novel, Love and Longing in Bombay, reveals an interesting take on our connection to home in bodily form. While reading, I noticed this story’s emphasis on the human body and the variety of pains and pleasures it can experience all in a single lifetime. Sartaj, an inspector accustomed to identifying dead bodies, faces the greatest challenge in confronting his own physical form. Sartaj initially appears the most “detached” from his living body and the needs it requires to sustain a healthy, functioning life. In contrast to the murders he investigates, Sartaj’s ability to heed his own bodily clues and desires is less precise and unclear. He longs for his ex-wife, Megha, but is unable to control his bodily desires that he knows will later plague him.

The saying, “it’s in my blood,” is often uttered as an excuse or reason for a person’s particular devotion to or liking for something. Their commitment to this particular interest, hobby, or even food, is so strong that it can only be deemed “innate.” I have personally always found it refreshing when someone reveals his or her instinctive talents, like being able to mimic a piece of music using only their ear or whip up a perfect chocolate-soufflé from scratch. People like this always lead me to wonder where their innate abilities and born-talents derive. Did their mother and father teach them when they were young children? Did they take lessons or simply develop an irrepressible pursuance? How do you know when a desire stems from yourself or from something pressed upon you by others?

In each of our homelands, we are exposed to a variety of different customs, traditions, observances, and activities that all have the ability to peak our interest. We are introduced to a number of hobbies our own parents or relatives find “interesting” in hopes that we, too, may develop a certain desire to learn more. We are then encouraged to select two to three of these behaviors and cultivate them outside the mandatory requirements of everyday life. In my family, my sister and I chose from our father’s enthusiasm for architecture, painting, and cooking, as well our mother’s dedication to environmentalism, horses, and athleticism. Combined, these hobbies then shaped our interests and from where we continue to seek pleasure today. If someone were to identify a simple reason for why my sister and I both enjoy art they might say, “It’s in their blood.” It’s a part of our homeland that we nurture and develop in physical form. We use both our mental cognition and physical bodies to create an extension of what we find pleasurable in art or any other interest.

Sartaj appears to be unable to identify what’s “in his blood” compared to what he is able to discover in others’. Throughout his career, he has been told to investigate the accused by “going to their homes and watching their fear” (85). “You will be told everything” here, Sartaj’s friend Parulkar had taught him (85). The home to Sartaj was a place of investigation, trial, and confession. When he goes to investigate Mrs. Patel and Kshitij at their house for a second time he is suddenly overwhelmed with his own “case” in the form of numerous papers and documents from his impending divorce. Being in other people’s homes seemed conjure a fear and loneliness in Sartaj that magnified his own emptiness. The emotion occurs for a second time when he visits Mr. and Mrs. Kaimal and sees them as “a nice old pair, handsome and fine-drawn and cultured,” an older couple who may have reminded him or himself and Megha in future years (103). He is able to classify this couple easily, without much hesitation, yet he remains unsure of his place, where he finds “home.” Again, he is overcome with “a bitter little bubble of loneliness in his mouth” wondering why he was suddenly unable to “grasp the truth, to see the secret” of his own relationship “and fix it, forever” (103). He is unable to “fix” everyone else but his own pain.

“This is blood,” Sartaj declares when he examines Katekar’s car and discovers a trace of the crime scene (106). “No matter how much you clean there’s always a bit left,” he reminds Katekar (106). For Sartaj blood represents a part of his daily profession, his investigation into the world of the dead, where deceased bodies are a natural occurrence. It is not until Megha returns to Sartaj that his own body awakens from a similarly “nonliving” state. His body experiences pain just as much as it craves pleasure when Megha finally revisits their old home where they once existed in physical form with one another. This contrast leaves Sartaj’s character pulled between seeing home as a place of loneliness versus seeing it as a place of belonging where his physical body can be at peace and experience pleasure. Home suddenly became a “moment when everything was lost, but her,” the woman Sartaj had thought had vanished (125). For Sartaj, his perception of home and the feeling of something “real” in his blood come in the physical presence of Megha. For a brief moment, Sartaj’s physical being comes alive again and his sense of home is familiar, rather than mysterious. But even after the finalization of his divorce from Megha, there is a glimpse of Sartaj’s revival and attention to his own happiness and sense of home. He looks out over the moving traffic “waiting for his moment to plunge in” again (161). Rediscovering his physical body with Megha allowed him to gain control over himself as a living person and whatever is naturally “in his own blood.”

Memories and Love and Longing in Bombay

I think that one important aspect of a homeland is memory, and being “at home” or learning to accept and live with our memories is an important part of life. The phrase “being at home” seems, to me, to immediately connote a sense of peace and stability, and so to be at home with ourselves, we need to be able to accept all parts of ourselves, including our past. The past is inevitably a part of the present and can shape a person in many ways. However, a person need not be defined by his past, especially if he can accept in some way and learn to be at home with his memories. This certainly isn’t always easy to do. I know that I, personally, can tend to hold on to anger or resentment and may tend to relive the moments in my past that I regret or have brought me pain or sorrow. I think this is a natural human tendency. I’ve just started doing zen meditation on campus weekly, and am just discovering how difficult it is to still the mind and keep it from wandering to various thoughts and memories. We will always have our memories; they are a part of ourselves: our most basic home. And we cannot forget them, or stop our mind from wandering to them from time to time. I’m sure most of us have experienced the loss of a loved one or perhaps felt heartbreak or maybe had a fight that ended a friendship. However, I firmly believe that it is very important to find some sort of way to accept them for whatever they are, good or bad. They have, in fact, helped to make you the person you are today, but they alone are not who you are today.

The self and the mind, are really, in a way, the most basic or fundamental homeland any person has. Memories, and thoughts and dreams and fears amongst other things, might be likened to the rooms of our inner homes. We need the freedom to wander from room to room without dwelling in any one place for too long. I think it’s also important that our rooms are defined, just as they are in a house: the kitchen, the living room, the bedroom, etc. We have to see our memories for what they are and live with them. In a way, the homeland of ourselves is a postcolonial sort of space, where the indigenous past confronts the newly arrived present. These forces interact with one another and each may be altered, for our past can affect our present actions and our present can shape how we perceive our past. One may try to dominate the other, and they may even seem incommensurable at times. However, they interact often, and so it is important that they can do so in a peaceful way for us to feel tranquil in our “inner homeland.” Just as Achebe feels that one can be both Christian and Igbo, both a part of European and a part of Igbo culture, so I feel that it is important that I myself am a unified whole made up of a past I accept and a present that is influence but not defined by that past.

This view of homeland and the importance of memory certainly comes into play in Chandra’s novel. Memory is a factor throughout the novel in virtually all of the stories, whether it plays an important or minor role. For Jago Antia, for example, memory is first a “poisonous seep” (24), a potent and harmful force that has very drastically affected his present and determined many of the decisions in his life. He eventually must confront the ghost of his past, memory itself, within his childhood home, but within himself as well. It is not his physical meeting with the ghost that ends the haunting and the pain in his lost leg, but the encounter and struggle within his personal homeland or self that results in him crying out “Jehangir, Jehangir, you’re already at home” (31).

In Shakti, Sheila’s memory seems to have melded well with her present circumstances, so that she is a unified whole influenced by the past but living very much in the present. I believe that it is her peace within her homeland that allows her to truly see Ganga and her daughter when others, like Dolly, cannot. At the sight of Ganga’s daughter, Asha, Sheila is reminded of her own “eagerness” as a young airline hostess and remembers “driving in a bus with the other hostesses in the early morning” (65). Unlike Jago, she is not grappling with a past that has completely defined her or that she has not accepted. Her memories are just as much an accepted part of her homeland as is her present situation. She is informed by both in a positive way, it would seem, since her past allows her to relate to Asha and Ganga while her present allows her to help Ganga finance her home.

There are various examples of memory throughout the rest of the stories. In Kama, Sartaj is extremely affected by his past and the memory of his ex-wife. He has not accepted the divorce, and it is this that prevents him from being at home with himself. He “had never known anyone who had been divorced” (100) and so he cannot accept this part of his past, and cannot deal with the memories of Megha while he is now alone. In the end, he finds the strength to accept his memories and, therefore, can move forward in a positive direction in the present. Finally, in the story Shanti, it is clear that the past is an important force in both Shiv’s and Shanti’s lives. Shanti has been physically searching for her lost husband, and Shiv has been mourning his lost brother. It seems to me that the exchanging of the photographs at the end of the story is the ultimate creation of a united homeland made not only by two people together, but by the fusion of memory and present. Each photograph shows the past of each person, and these are exchanged, while both people acknowledge that they are changed individuals. The past and the present are together peacefully in each person’s homeland, and when the narrator returns to the present of the novel, the reader sees that these two people have, in fact, grown to resemble one another, representing their union that creates one united homeland in which they dwell together.

Post-Colonialism: Ashcroft and Achebe

Ashcroft sets out to underline and determine all of the ideas surrounding post-colonialism. In many ways, Achebe attempts to do the same in his novel Things Fall Apart. By analyzing the effects of colonialism, before and after, one can determine the direct effects that have taken place. In the essay Key Concepts in Post-Colonial Studies, post-colonialism is described as: “...the colonial experience of a great range of cultures...is to elide the differences between them” (190). Achebe brilliantly highlights these differences in the separation into parts of his novel.
One such difference, as written by Ashcroft, was orality. He writes: “Post-Colonial cultures have all, in various ways, been influenced by the interrelationship between orality and literacy” (165). This holds true in Achebe’s novel due to the oral nature of the Igbo nation. Achebe writes Things Fall Apart as if it is being orally spoken to the reader. The orality of the Igbo connects directly with the traditions and importance that they hold dear. For the Igbo, the oral tradition is what connects the tribe and makes the tribe function. This orality of the Igbo contrasts heavily with the literacy and reading in Christianity. The Bible is the main text and function of Christianity as opposed to oral tales and traditions filled with mysticism. Ashcroft sets out to determine the various aspects and results of post-colonialism. Achebe has taken the basic ideas and created a brilliant novel that demonstrates in content and structure the effects.

In our class discussion I was struck by the theme of fear, especially in Okonkwo’s character. This theme is represented in two ways; Okonkwo’s fear of love and the fear of losing his reputation. If you look carefully at the two it is clear that often times they worked against each other, meaning Okonkwo’s fear of love is easily dominated by his need for others to fear and respect him. A perfect example of this is the scene where Ikemefuma is murdered. Achebe describes Okonkwo’s feelings in one simple sentence, “He was afraid of being weak.”(61) The fact that Achebe does not show Okonkwo’s thought process about the murder, but rather just explains it simply is very important. By now we are halfway through the book and Achebe has made us feel as though we know Okonkwo. By stating so simply that he was afraid, it now seems that Okonkwo’s fear of weakness is so strong that he has fully blocked out any remains of love. Yet as we read on there are many instances where this subtle love resurfaces. We see his guilt about killing Ikemefuma surface in the next chapter when Achebe writes, “He tried not to think about Ikemefuma, but the more he tried the more he thought about him” (63). He has a complete loss of appetite, drinks all day long and does not sleep; it is as if he is punishing himself. This overwhelming sense of guilt seems to be a stepping stone to working his way through the barrier he has created between him and his loved ones. As the book progresses we see this guilt turn into concern when Okonkwo is looking for Ekwefi, “It was only his fourth trip that he had found Ekwefi, and by then he had become gravely worried” (112) His fear for once has moved from himself to his wife, whom he has never really shown kindness too. It seems that no matter much Okonkwo tries to avoid emotional connections to the people around him; his true being cannot fully reject them. This leads me to wonder if Achebe is trying to send his readers a message. Perhaps love leads to success in the heart and mind where as rejecting it leads to self punishment and guilt.