This was originally published in the July edition of DASHING MAGAZINE Pg 23-24
It was one of those days when
nothing made sense. Life seemed like a meaningless itinerary I had to stick to,
only the only places on it were work and home. I questioned life and its
purpose. I sat at work wondering why I was there in the first place. Aimless
blog hopping led me to a blog named ‘The diary of a white Indian housewife’.
Piqued, mostly by a picture of a tall brunette clad in a red lehenga, I
read more. In no time, I was on Flipkart looking for the cheapest copy of Henna
for the Broken–Hearted.
This is one of those books you
begin to like even before you read; it’s the essence of the theme, perhaps.
This book, you can quite judge by its cover. The calm waves, a blend of azure
and frothy white, nudging the side of a lonely boat and the intricately
patterned teal floral designs on top of the cover page are certainly indicative
of the pacifying story in the pages to follow. The illustrative description of
the henna/mehendi designs adorning a woman’s palm and the possible implication
of something on a level much beyond is nothing less than brilliant.
When Sharell’s husband breaks to
her one day, that he is having an affair, it ruins her happiness and breaks her
world apart. Suddenly life feels empty. Work was never fulfilling, but now, every
second seems to bellow that into her ear. Lost and anguished, she decides to
find a new life; one all for herself. She travels all the way to India, on a
volunteering stint. In Kolkatta, where she stays initially, she meets a lot of new
people: both Indians and visitors like her. One of those days, she meets Aryan,
a rather calm and a calming man with a beautiful smile. There is definite
attraction and liking. In India, Sharell finds something to keep her going, despite
the initial glitches. She learns a lot, to adapt: hindi, handling the pestering
vendors, bargaining, shooing away the pesky strangers and the nosey
acquaintances and also what she sees as the amusing Indian washroom ways. Eventually,
she quits her job back in Australia and moves to India. And that, she sees in
hindsight as the best decision she ever made. The story goes on, along with
Sharell, partying in Kolkotta, traveling to the Varkala beach down south and then
high up in the valleys nestled in between the frozen white peaks of the Himalayas
and then finally, to Mumbai which she makes her home and lives with Aryan for a
long time to come.
Sharell puts out her emotions in
every other paragraph of the book, hiding nothing. I empathized with her when
she had a tough time fitting in, when she was gazed at by strangers, when she
was unsure and scared and angry. To anyone that’s unsure or scared, the book is
comforting and heartening. Sharell becomes a new friend, you relate to.
Suddenly, all that you thought was not practical seems plausible. It certainly
leaves one with conviction and hope.
If you’re looking for just any
good book to lounge with after work, parts of this book might seem like a
repetitive rant. You might not want to read twenty two times in two hundred pages about
someone longing to run home and hide herself from people to find solace. Forty
instances of the concept of Indian time, unexpected visits and wet bathrooms
might not be the best choice for a world you want to engross yourself in. The
zigs and the zags and the ceaseless vacillation can cause the book to get
slightly draggy. The writing style is simple, too simple that it may seem
dreary. At a point, my dream to write a book didn’t seem like a task as
colossal as I thought it to be. However, this book is certainly more about the
experiences and emotions it recounts than the writing itself, which can cause
you to overlook the latter.
As the name goes, Sharell soothes
the broken-hearted, inspiring them to keep faith. For all the others, it can be
a fascinating read about a brave girl, a seemingly unfeasible decision and
inconstant, nomadic life which all ends well or a passable almost daily written
diary of a white Indian housewife.