This book for me was an awakening of all sorts, a dissection of the Anglo-Indian experience as much as it is about being displaced. It also awoke memories of tales passed on through family and friends about the countless acts of injustice meted out by the British during their colonization of India, and the bloodbath they left a fledgling country in. That their officers fathered children with their Indian concubines is probably the mildest casualty.
It is a marvel that Alison McQueen, with her heritage and having grown up in Britain should feel so strongly about all this, and she does, as someone who would like to know where she came from. The first part of the book, that unfolds on the tea plantations of Assam was the most detailed and heartbreaking one of all. It is especially so because the children, Mary and Seraphina, the protagonists of the book are hidden from the world, for no fault of their own. Their questions are met with silence or reprimands, as they struggle to understand why people look at them they way they do.
As the children grow up, however, the chapters move on to Haflong in Assam, and Bombay. And there, McQueen seems less interested in furnishing details, less inclined to paint picturesque, expansive landscapes, and skimming over the relationships that mattered once. It seemed as though McQueen herself did not have actual facts to support her story at this juncture and had abandoned effort. As fiction though, I was dying to know more about some of the central characters in the story, especially the father, whose distant gaze and moody retreats represented his guilt over his thoughtless ways. Such a dynamic character should have been given more space in the latter half of the book, and yet, he disappears to distant lands, retreating from his past and his mistakes. Perhaps, this is what McQueen's grandfather actually did.
However, this is a small snag in a story that is otherwise well-written, a beautiful tale of sorrow and loss. The kind one feels from not belonging, of feeling alien in one's own country, or worse, not knowing. That must be a sad place to be in.