arma by Cathy Ostlere. Remember my resolutions for this year? Well, I haven't forgotten. I started reading this book a couple of days ago and I'm really impressed with it. It's not written in a typical novel style, but more of a poetic verse style. It's a story set in 1984 when a 15-year old Indian girl travels to India with her father after her mother's suicide in Canada. They go to India to deliver her mother's ashes to their final resting place. However, the day they arrive the Prime Minister of India (true story) is assassinated causing the country to go into chaos. I haven't gotten too far into the story to see what will happen next, but it is a beautiful book. Just this morning while I was reading about her mother's depression leading to her suicide I was struck by how much I could relate to her story. Both my parents were immigrants to Canada in the 80s and I could see how coming to a brand new country could be so lonely and depressing. Lots of people talk about North America as the land of opportunity and a place to go to give a better life to their children, but it's all at a cost. My parents had a good life in Korea. They both had good jobs and lots of family and friends. I'm not sure why they decided to leave that all behind and move to Canada with 3 young children, but they did. Luckily my parents moved to a city where there were lots of other Korean immigrants, but in this story, set in Elsinore... basically in the middle of the prairies, the mother didn't have any friends. I'm not sure if I'm breaking any copyright rules by including an excerpt from the story, but I want to share with you what really brought a tear to my eye:Taken from page 70-71:
No one in town ever talks to me, Amar (Amar is the husband)
Then you must talk first. Be friendly. It takes time.
Time? We've lived here nine years.
You have to try harder.
Why should I have to be the one to try so hard? Do you know that one day a woman actually reached out and touched my sari? Like I was a bolt of fabric in a store. Such rudeness.
Then wear a dress. Some pants. Leave the sari for home.
Never. Canadian clothes are hideous. They are little better than a scarecrow's. Would you consider not wearing your turban?
That's different.
Oh, yes, Amar: That's different. If you're a man. If you're a Sikh. I'm just a Hindustani woman in this godforsaken place.
You must learn to hold your head high, Leela.
I can't any longer. Their eyes burn through my skin. I feel like I must apologize and I don't even know for what!
Well, then stay home. And never go out again if that pleases you.
I can't live like this, Amar. You must take me home.
There's no money, Leela. The shop needs new tools.
Then just one ticket. Please.
You'd leave your daughter and husband behind?
For a visit, Amar. A few months. That's all.
Stop these selfish thoughts, Leela! Your life is here.
But this isn't life! It's a slow death.
When I read these pages I thought of my mother. I thought of how much she had to suck in her pride to live here. She's worked hard all her life. I know that I couldn't uproot my family and move to a country where I didn't know anyone and didn't speak the language. It's unthinkable to me. Now that I'm a mother I constantly think about how brave my parents were. I could never do what they did. Of course now they love it here and couldn't imagine not living here, but I know how hard it was for them to make this their home.
appy New Year's Eve everyone!
