The Inscrutable Americans

A bumbling, wannabe-American, rustic Indian yokel who lands up in America, to be dazed by the sights and sounds of the western culture… makes an easy setting for humour, be it for a movie, or a book. The book came at a time when the whole “America” craze perhaps started gaining ground in India; when families from Gujarat, Punjab and rest of the states came up with ingenious and desperate strategies to get to US-of-A. The wave persisted in the 90s and the dying (hopefully) remains are still found in the country.

Go to a family get-together, where one of the relative families has moved to US, the rest of them who are left back in India, you will find, exchanging stories of embarrassment faced by that family because they were not conversant (read intelligent) with the American way of life. They too would have a lot of stories about the goofs of the now NRI relatives. Combine them with the stories that the NRI relatives themselves would narrate when they get to India, with a dash of ego and pride thrown in and you have “The Inscrutable Americans” narrated first hand. This book, however, is a fictional biography of Gopal, the kid from Madhya Pradesh who finds himself in America for his studies. He is quite intelligent, but not what his peer group would call “cool” in US. And the book goes on to narrate the adventures and exploits, of Gopal with his friend-in-need, Randy, in an alien country. His dreams, his fantasies, and his constantly bloating ego with the thought of having seen so much more than his friends at the village, and especially his letters back home do generate some chuckles, if not boisterous laughter, as you go through the book. And the growth of Gopal, through the two year journey is brought out quite empathetically in the end.

A lot of people had been raving about the book, positioning it as one of the stars of the “humour” genre. But I didn’t quite agree. It’s a nice book. But if someone asked me to name the list of good books I have read, Inscrutable Americans, wouldn’t feature in it. Because it’s plain… ordinary. Maybe in the time it was published, it had a lot of bearing. And people could relate to it. And though the thoughts and confusion and nostalgia of Gopal are well narrated, it seems a bit clichéd. Except for Gopal’s letters to his family. They are quite a riot. And as such the book is quite enjoyable. But not quite a masterpiece. But then, I am guessing the book was meant to be a light read and not a profound thought provoking literature representing the writings of the century. In that case, the book hits a bull’s eye.