Muhammad Noor's Reviews > Between Father and Son: Family Letters

Do you recall the time when the realization that you are now considered an ‘adult’ dawned on you? For some that could have been when they take on the responsibility of taking care of others, receive their first real paycheck or when the fruit of their loins screams into this world, and perhaps for others, that moment will always remain elusive.

I remember my moment clearly. I was reading a newspaper article about a person who had done something really bad, the details elude me though. The report then mentions his age, somewhere near the middle of the of the opening paragraph, you've read something similar before I reckon, it’s the sentence that goes something like this “the man, aged 20, was apprehended after an extensive…”.

That’s when it hit me. The ‘man’ was younger than I was at that stage. So, if I was caught doing something that I shouldn’t, the papers will classify me as ‘man’. Not a youth, not a boy, nor a child.

I told my dad that in our fortnightly letter. I was away from home and in those days without internet or mobile phones and prohibitive international phone calls, the blue papered aerograms were the main means of communication to the folks back home. We wrote to each other quite regularly the 12 months that I was under training, more than ever before and after.

The letters were a salve to cure the homesickness off being away, the pressure of a new venture and the loneliness of wanting to fit in a new group. Dad had beautiful writing. His cursive was elegant and stylish, bold strokes with the sign of practiced penmanship evident, honed from an era when that skill was highly valued and appreciated. Mine, in contrast, was abysmal and messy, still is to a large extent, unfortunately.

Letters are so different than words. They are able to build bridges and create special connections in ways that their verbal counterparts fail. And the act of creating thoughts to paper, takes extra effort and consideration, respect to the permanency that letters have. I kept and cherished those letters, now close to 3 decades in age. Priceless heirlooms in my reckoning. Now that dad is no longer with us, reading the letters brings to mind his voice to my ears, narrating the antics of mischievous younger siblings and news updates from home scene long past.

Picking up V.S Naipaul’s ‘Letters between a father and son’ ignited some of those thoughts. We bring our thoughts and memories when we read books, often using our own experiences to create links and shared connections. Perhaps that’s why I enjoyed this one immensely.

Vido (the younger Naipaul’s nickname) went off to Oxford to study, leaving his tropical sunny Trinidad for balmy Oxford. He tackles issues of food, exam stress, making friends and juggling financials while looking to cement his calling as a writer. The letters were peppered with intimate details shared between family members, the gossips, secrets, financial concerns, veiled jealousy, dreams, and concerns.

Plus, the letters between Vido and other family members, especially Kamla, his older sister, is included, adding a trifecta angle to the real-time narrative that the letters provide. The young author lays bare his insecurities, dreams, and hopes in his letters to his dad and sister. As the years go by, we see the boy turn slowly to a man, the letters providing an insight to how perhaps this Nobel winning author crafted some of his future stories. Through it all, his dad and other family members continue to be the stabilizing factor as the young man battles with his insecurities and concerns.

Reading someone else’s letters can be immensely interesting. Perhaps we all have voyeuristic tendencies that excite us when we get to delve into the innermost thoughts and feelings of others. The book was a quick read for me. Was a little sad when it was over.