Under the Tamarind Tree
By Nigar Alam
Penguin Random House
ISBN: 9780593544075
307pp.

They say communication is key to good relationships, but in fiction — especially fiction built entirely on relationships — open, forthright communication spells nothing but doom.

Nigar Alam’s debut novel Under the Tamarind Tree is about relationships nurtured over many years but, when push comes to shove, all that remains is a fading photograph and people wondering where they went wrong. What could they have done differently and, even then, would it have mattered? Would any of their plotting and scheming have given them power over their destinies, or would the grand plan have played out as it was always meant to?

On a warm July evening, as gusts of wind from the Arabian Sea charge into her garden, an elderly Rozeena receives a phone call from the past. More than half a century has gone by since she last heard that voice, but it sounds exactly the same, even though everything else has changed.

The first time she hears that voice, Rozeena is a child, living on Prince Road. Next door is Aalya, whose parents have sold the ground floor of their house to Zohair’s widowed father. Across the street lives Haaris, scion of one of Karachi’s wealthiest families.

An absorbing new Pakistani novel spans timelines from 1964 to 2019 and follows the lives of four friends, painting remarkably authentic portraits of social and family dynamics

The four children grow up together, being each other’s rock, having each other’s back. But after almost two decades of being the closest of confidants, who share everything from sweets to dreams to fears, they begin to keep secrets from one another.

Rozeena is teetering on the brink of becoming homeless. Aalya is playing with fire. She and Zohair are having a secret romance. A prospective rishta’s parents see them talking and her parents get very worried that not only will the prospectives reject Aalya, but will spread rumours about her character. Zohair’s impulsiveness is getting the better of him and Haaris is desperate to escape the ugliness that comes with being powerful and well-connected.

When Haaris’s family throws a glitzy soiree to celebrate his most recent return from England, the other three friends — who have never been to such a party, nor has Haaris ever invited them before — decide their attendance is in order, because this is the kind of exclusive gathering where glittering futures are launched.

But, as it turns out, not all futures are bright. What starts as an innocent scheme to meet influential people and make useful connections, whirlpools into a harrowing scramble of power plays, pulling favours and blackmail. Hearts, spirits, alliances — all are broken.

The four friends struggle to save themselves and each other but, in the process, lose everything that matters. Thus, when Rozeena receives the fateful phone call years later, she is hesitant. If she gives in to the voice on the other side, one of two things will happen: she will either find healing closure, or she will upend the life of someone more precious to her than her own self.

Under the Tamarind Tree spans two major timelines, 1964 and 2019, with occasional flashbacks to Partition, and Alam manages to capture the zeitgeist of each era perfectly. The ’60s are a time of stiff bouffants, saris and Instamatic cameras; 2019 is all about iPhones and Instagram. The 20-somethings of then buckle under the weight of rigid expectations forced upon them; the teens of now search for someone, anyone, to guide them in their quest to figure out what they want from life.

As she does with the atmosphere and environment of the eras, it is striking how Alam creates distinct pictures of her characters without ever going into long, winding detail. The way a visual artist would use white space, Alam builds the scene and setting such that a lone gold bangle on a withered wrist, a snarky turn of phrase, even a haughty stride across a crumbling roof, is somehow enough to let us imagine what the character looks like.

This is especially true of those parts of the story set in 1964. At times, it feels as though one is watching a film, except it is words on paper and the imagery is yours, not someone else’s vision.

The author also has a good sense of timing. Being a stickler for dates, I appreciated her well-researched chronology and precise delineation of her characters’ ages. Then, she gives out just the right amount of information at just the right moment. This keeps the pace of her novel consistent and sets the stage for revelations that are startling, to say the least.

Much of Under the Tamarind Tree revolves around social and family dynamics, and Alam references happenings, practices and superstitions that would be familiar to many of us. Adult women not allowed to wear lipstick simply because they’re not married seems such a quaint concept, but it was the norm when I was growing up and I’m not even a child of the ’60s!

A conversation about the effect of one’s name on one’s life had me nodding along — I’ve been a lifelong believer in that. And although this was quite an intense scene, I had to smile when an oil tanker breaks down on Gizri Road, blocking traffic. Of course, everyone would leave their cars, crowd around the disabled vehicle, peer underneath and yell instructions to the driver. What else are you supposed to do?

I did have some misgivings about one incident where a character loses a much-needed career opportunity because of the delirious ramblings of a sick woman. A group of highly educated and knowledgeable people consider this enough evidence to form a judgement, when they really should — and would! — know better. But weak as the premise is, the incident plays into the story’s recurring motif of “loag kya kahein gey” [what will people say], so I’m willing to not nitpick too much.

Sigh. Loag kya kahein gey — the bane of every South Asian’s existence. These four words have ruined so many lives, stolen so much joy, killed innumerable hopes, and they fulfil their duty with rabid enthusiasm in Alam’s book. To break away, or dare to be different, is an open invitation to the world to batter you down. The question is, how badly do you want what you want, and how far will you go to get it?

On that note, it was supposedly in the early 1900s that the Brits came up with the concept of ‘it’. The French call it ‘je ne sais quoi’, which translates to ‘I don’t know what’. This is used to describe someone — or something — that has a special quality one cannot quite put a finger on. As an exceptionally well written story and a completely absorbing read, it is safe to say that whatever ‘it’ is, Under the Tamarind Tree certainly has it.

The reviewer is a former staffer. X: @Sarwat_Y_Azeem

Published in Dawn, Books & Authors, February 4th, 2024