I don’t feel very connected to my culture. I am the grandchild of Indian immigrants on both sides of my family, and truthfully, I’ve always felt a little more English than Indian. I observe some of the festivals, but barely speak the languages. I consume the food, but not the religion. I know that it’s a little sad not to feel my cultural roots, but I recognise that much of this is by choice – I can blame my parents for not teaching me Hindi growing up, but I can’t really blame them for the fact that I, at 26 years old, have made little effort to immerse myself in media about or by Indians (if that wasn’t already obvious by the usual types of books I enjoy and preference for the English countryside over the Indian climate). Which is why I was so excited to read E.M Forster’s A Passage to India – I’ve seen it on countless ‘Top 100 books’ lists, and it’s frequently the only one on the list about India. Knowing the basics of the plot, over the years I’ve come to put this novel on a pedestal. I had high expectations, and felt that this book would be a sort of awakening, a novel to open my eyes to the importance of my heritage and its place in the cruelty of the British empire. Yet while it is impossible to read A Passage to India without thinking about the effects of colonialism, I can’t honestly say that I felt a connection with this book as I hoped – but I’ve come to understand that not only is this okay, it’s really the only outcome I should have expected. Here’s why:
Warning: this article contains a major plot spoiler, but it is one that is featured on the blurb of most editions of this book. I’ve covered up all other spoilers with tags for you to reveal if you choose.
A Passage to India Refused to Let Me Take Sides
The central conflict of the book occurs when two English women visiting the English-created (fictional) town of Chandrapore express a desire to see ‘the real India’. They are taken on a picnic to the Marabar caves (also fictional) by Dr. Aziz. However the trip becomes a disaster after Adela accuses Aziz of assaulting her in the caves.
The plot is a difficult one to digest on a surface level – the book takes on the position that Adela shouldn’t be believed because Aziz is proved to be a man of great character. This won’t be enough for most readers who will know that even those considered to be great men are capable of doing awful things. This isn’t helped by the fact that Aziz, and many of his friends, are not particularly likeable. They are often rude and prove themselves capable of being just as cruel as their English counterparts. I really appreciated that Indians were not presented as cliched symbols of love and compassion – however, if the reader can’t sympathise with India, who then can they identify with? Perhaps it must be the English, with Fielding and Mrs. Moore being the only people from the English community who stand with Aziz after the accusations, or perhaps even Adela.
But actually, all three of these characters come across as sanctimonious when it comes to their beliefs on justice (a whiff of ‘white savior’ complex hangs around most of their dialogue) and actual indifference.
Forster did a terrific job of making me very suspicious of everyone’s intentions, while somehow emphasising that the best any of us can do is practice kindness as far as possible.
Dense Descriptions of Ritual and Religion
The main reason why I failed to connect with A Passage to India is due to the intense focus on religion and rituals. Both the English and Indian cast play into the hands of superstition to such an extent that my eyes did start to glaze over at the tenth discussion of whether God is meaningless.
This isn’t far off from my reaction to religion (often Hinduism) at home. While I recognise that religion can enrich the lives of others, I personally find chanting & praying washes over me at most religious functions I attend. I wasn’t expecting a religious awakening, but I was hoping for a glimmer of understanding about why these rituals persist. This was left unanswered, but definitely not unintentionally, as I would come to realise..
A Passage to India Avoids Superficial Descriptions of Indian nature
This book doesn’t shy away from describing nature, and it is certainly an important symbol within the text. There are obvious metaphors, chiefly that the Marabar caves represent the English community’s lack of control over the people of Chandrapore (and by extension, India). They also symbolise the lust for bureaucracy that many colonists had, and the desire to chart the uncharted no matter how impractical or mundane it may be. It places the British at odds with the natural world of India. However it also frames Indians in this way too – Aziz himself has never seen the caves before the events of the novel, nor did he have a desire to, and they are frequently described as fairly mundane (as far as thousand year old caves go). Likewise the sun and summer months seem to siphon all of the joy from those living in or visiting the country due to its intensity and considerable health risk – regarded as rather unsentimental compared to the gentle warmth of ‘England’s sun’. In short, A Passage to India avoids romanticising nature as seen in the superficial world of Chandrapore. It is only Mrs. Moore who is finally able to rejoice in the beauty of the Indian landscape, and this happens in the form of a fleeting glance out of a train window, as she is leaving it for the final time.
Finishing Thoughts
I felt dejected after turning the final page of A Passage to India. Then, as I sat down to write my review, I reflected on what my expectations were.
To make me fall in love with a heritage I know only superficially?
To make me understand, in the span of 300 pages, thousands of years of history behind a culture?
To find more reason to relate to my culture and become fully aware of the consequences of the British empire?
In short, I wanted what Adela and Mrs. Moore wanted: ‘to see the real India’ – embarking on a superficial journey in the hope that it imparts something worthwhile. Which doesn’t mean anything really – a whistle stop tour to reveal ‘secret truths’ just doesn’t exist. Adela and Mrs. Moore both come to realise how impossible and purely cosmetic such a thing is; real meaning doesn’t come from participating in surface level interactions. So ultimately, it’s all right that I didn’t connect with this book. I was never supposed to connect with a book written by an Edwardian white man, any more than Adela and Mrs. Moore were meant to spiritually connect with a version of India created by Edwardian White men. And while I will admit that I didn’t find my time reading A Passage to India to be especially groundbreaking, taking a moment later on to explore the novel a little more deeply has made me feel a little more connected to both my Indian heritage and English upbringing.
Have you read A Passage to India? Is there a book that is particularly meaningful to you for cultural reasons? Let me know below.
