Tag: Immigrant

  • Short Story Review: “The Narayans” by Akhil Sharma

    (The short story “The Narayans” by Akhil Sharma appeared in the August 26th, 2024 issue of The New Yorker.)

    Illustration by Sargam Gupta

    Gossipy neighbors; We all have them. They seem to live on the edges of most stories, novels, and sitcoms. Sometimes it’s not the neighbors, but the community as a whole that is a gossip. People will talk, and make conclusions, and jump to conclusions. It never works out well. And the neighbors do talk in Akhil Sharma’s “The Narayans,” but the clichés and tropes that usually develop and deftly avoided in this work.

    First of all, Akhil Sharma makes an ingenious choice with the narrative of this story, which sets an impactful tone. The narrator of this story is third person limited, and is also a member of the community from which the story takes place. (Maybe it’s first person limited…) It makes the narrative of the story feel as if it’s second hand, possibly unreliable. Any insight from this story comes from the narrator, and not from any of the other characters.

    The narrator tells us about the Narayan family, who live in an Indian immigrant community in Edison, New Jersey. Mr. Narayan is an unpleasant man, while his wife is overly generous. They have two children, an older son, Vikas, and a younger daughter, Madhu, whom Mr. Narayan is overly protective of. We also meet the neighbors, Dr. Shukla and her daughter, Nehali, who is the same age as Madhu, fourteen. Soon it is discovered that Madhu is pregnant, and at first the rumor is that Vikas is the father. Then the rumor is that Mr. Narayan is the father. Madhu is then sent to India, while Vikas is attacked at school by a pack of white girls. The community turns on the Narayans, wherein Mr. Narayan also returns to India, and receives what the narrator implies is his comeuppance. Then time goes by, and the community changes as a new wave of immigrants from India arrive. Soon notions and stigmas also begin to soften, and Mrs. Narayan is no longer judged in the same way. This leads to the climax of the story, and Madhu’s return to this community in New Jersey.

    This story was a kick to my gut. It completely created a sympathy in me for Madhu, and to be empathetic to her situation. But it also left me feeling conflicted with how the community reacted to this situation. How this community blamed, possibly correctly, one person, while ignoring the victims. The swift kick this story gave me had the effect of making me question my need to assign blame first, and not sympathize and help those that have been hurt. How that lack of sympathy and empathy can add to a person’s trauma.

    As with all stories that deeply affect me, I am having trouble putting my finger on all the aspects and details in this story that give it such a full breath, and life. But, that’s also the sign of a very good writer, and Sharma is that. And still I was left wondering if everything I was told, was in fact, true. That isn’t a knock against this story, just an acknowledgment that the theme and tone were spot on for this piece.

  • Short Story Review: “Occupational Hazards” by Jamil Jan Kochai

    (The short story “Occupational Hazards” by Jamil Jan Kochai appeared in the May 23rd, 2022 issue of The New Yorker.)

    (Yes, there are SPOILERS, so just go read the story!)

    I liked this story, and I liked this story a lot. And let me tell you why.

    “Occupational Hazards” by Jamil Jan Kochai tells the story of a man’s life, starting at Logar Province Afghanistan in 1966, and ending in the present day in West Sacramento, California. The story takes the form of job descriptions for different periods of this man’s life; from being a Sheepherder, to Grade-School Student, to Mujahid Recruit, to Refugee, to Lawn Technician, and so on. It was a form that, at first, I felt was a little gimmicky, almost like it was making lite of the subject.

    But as the story progressed, and as the boy became a high school student, his “job” is to be loyal to the constantly changing national leadership, then to the Communists, and to hear about purges and coups, and the disappearances of leaders, thinkers, and imams. A dread begins to fill the story, and even with a very basic American knowledge of Afghanistan’s recent history, we know that the Soviets are coming, and years of civil war and strife. I mistakenly thought that the cold dryness of the job descriptions would take away from the drama. Jamil Jan Kochai is in control of this story, and the effect of the descriptions, keeping them detached from emotions, only heightens the horror and tragedy that this man experiences. The fact that so much befalls him, but he keeps fighting, pushing forward, and seemingly holds all of this in. We know what this man does, but we don’t know how he feels about it. What does it feel like to lose loved on after loved one, to fight for your survival, to be uprooted and move half the world away, and try to start over in a new country and culture? But then the final job description comes, and there is such a cathartic release for this man as his new job is as a witness; describing to his oldest son, who has asked him questions, about Logar, and Afghanistan, and the brother who had been murdered at the hands of the Communists. That all that this man had done to survive, and build a life, to ensure that his children were all educated, and had opportunities, and still, he never forgot about his younger brother that he couldn’t save. Just heartbreaking.

    I also loved how this story rejected the sentimentality and cliché of this immigrant story. I think a lesser writer would have played on our emotions, and thus created a very predictable story. What Jamil Jan Kochai gives us is a very full-throated argument why immigrants are a necessary and vital part of this nation, but it is never preachy, or romanticizes this man’s experience. It also reminded me that for some people, getting to the United States is monumentally difficult, and it does deserve respect from the rest of us.

    This is the type of story where I wish I could shake Jamil Jan Kochai’s hand, and say thank you for sharing this.

    (Say, don’t forget to like this post, or share it, or leave a comment. I got bills to pay, you know.)