It is now 1984,
Gogol’s fourteenth birthday party. As usual the family is hosting a group of Bengali friends.
Ashima has cooked for days—a prospect she finds easier than when she had hosted a few of Gogol’s American friends for a low-key party, with half claiming to be allergic to milk and all refusing to eat their crusts. Forty guests come, wives in dazzling saris, husbands in pants and polo shirts. Gogol is older than most of the kids, but too young to be with the adults. The closest to his age is a girl named
Moushumi, recently arrived from England, but they have nothing in common. She rubs “7 Up”-flavored balm on her lips and reads
Pride and Prejudice while the others watch television. The children pester her to speak in her British accent, so she says “I detest American television,” to their delight, and then wanders away.