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Jeet Thayil (author), The Elsewhereans: A Documentary Novel, Fourth Estate, 2025. 219 pgs.
With time and the evolution of human civilisation, the significance of stories has become increasingly apparent. It would not be inaccurate to suggest that, had stories never existed, we would have merely complemented the desolation of a murderous desert. Even amid states of despair, we encounter stories that can articulate our wordless, formless testimonies. We call them thoughts, and they arise when we construct narratives about the fundamentals of our lives. Some of these lives unfold before us; others belong to our past. Imagination takes a generous leap when a story is penned—or told—that traverses the continuum of time and its manifold dimensions. Jeet Thayil’s recent novel The Elsewhereans is concerned precisely with such traversals: bridging generations, eras, and disparate individuals who harbour both a morbid darkness and a visceral allure within their psyches. It is a narrative that urges the personal to emerge from its cocoon and invites the vast outer world to penetrate inward—without delimiting the story’s potential reach.
In Sai Paranjpye’s film Sparsh (1980), we encounter a romance that resists portraying love in its idealised form. Instead, it magnifies human flaws, compelling both the protagonists and those around them to recognise that love finds its essence in freedom. Through the course of their companionship, Anirudh (Naseeruddin Shah) and Kavita (Shabana Azmi) come to understand the nature of what exists between them. Their sense of fulfilment ensures that—even after parting ways—they seek no other refuge in another. In The Elsewhereans, Ammu and George enter their marriage with a quiet clarity, their choices articulated through subtle gestures rather than grand declarations. There is no derision between them, for they believe that love, untainted, retains a form. Surveillance and control erode the very foundations of a healthy relationship—one in which dialogue provides the base. Both characters discover love almost inadvertently, only to be confronted later by its burdens, its crises, its moments of renewal, and ultimately, its insignificance. Yet they allow the emotion to persist—threaded through their disagreements, their ventures, and their differences.
The novel also engages with the culture of principled dissent—even from diametrically opposed positions. It is indeed true that the conditions of the present are, in many ways, the consequence of our past silences and fanaticisms. Yet what remains indisputable is that the citizens of this country have often defined it through words rather than through a deafening silence. In numerous instances, George and his friends find themselves fundamentally at odds in terms of ideas and opinions, yet they refrain from imposing their views upon one another, thereby resisting the notion that a single perspective must prevail as absolute.
Simultaneously, when George writes critically of the government’s decision to allow the Portuguese to remain in India, Ammu holds a differing opinion—yet she does not intrude upon George’s intellectual space to assert her own stance. The conversations between George and his son are prompted either by the son’s curiosity or by the father’s impulse to unburden himself. They engage with one another’s minds in a spirit of openness, maintaining a deliberate refusal to disparage each other’s—and their own—thoughts. Jeet draws attention to the way in which homes and families serve as personal guidebooks, enabling each individual to navigate both the external world and the interior self.
The intricate interplay of customs that flourish across diverse communities and faiths has proved both a blessing and a curse for humanity. In a culturally pluralistic country such as India, one may either dismantle foundational norms in pursuit of unfettered freedom, or adopt an agnostic acceptance of plurality. Jeet’s characters do both—without resorting to overt violence. They accept, and subsequently reject, established structures in an effort to reconcile them with their own inner yearnings. These characters are far from perfect. While exploring the theme of alienation, Jeet presents a situation in which Ammu is instructed to speak Marathi rather than Malayalam, should she wish to remain in Maharashtra. Ammu thus becomes a victim of linguistic extremism.
And yet, the author turns this into a moment of satire through her son’s remark: when six people die in a flash flood in Cochin, it becomes the subject of extended lamentation—yet when sixty perish in Bombay, it barely elicits notice. In doing so, the writer reveals that the act of alienating others has become, paradoxically, a universal condition. Even a victim such as Ammu is shown to have internalised the impulse to marginalise those who are not Malayali.
The cultural identity of a nation is shaped by many other cultural communions across diverse geographies. These identities are affirmed by places that influence one another through the migration of people, the circulation of ideas, and the transmission of documents. It is not travel that occupies the centre here, but rather the journey that life itself imposes—a journey that sows the seeds of all that is at once wearying and wise in our existence. In a similar vein, the writer explores the grotesque nature of rumour and its corrosive effect on communities, ridiculing the very bonds that once held them together. When a rumour takes root, it first affects the individual, and through that individual, whole branches of society begin to shed their leaves—ostensibly in defence of the supposed truth of a manufactured narrative.
There is also a subtle thread of self-criticism woven through the text, where the writer reflects upon his own missteps. Simultaneously, he interrogates ideologies that present themselves as sacred or salvific, offering readers a vital proposition: in this world, anything that appears perfect is invariably, and profoundly, flawed.
Thayil’s work also ventures into an examination of both attachment to—and detachment from—the legacy of colonisation. The contemporary process of decolonisation is portrayed as one marked by a new form of violence, rooted in manipulation and censorship. The characters in this novel are deeply connected to their country, yet they also recognise the value of certain legacies that emerged from the colonial past. Nevertheless, the narrative remains firmly committed to the decolonisation of the Indian psyche—while also highlighting how the yearning for colonial modes of thought has led many to make disparaging remarks about revolutions in Vietnam, Cuba, and elsewhere. The psychological conditioning wrought by colonisation cannot easily be undone. Jeet’s endeavour, therefore, is not to strip the phenomenon bare, but to invite us to observe it with nuance. He provokes through sensitivity. He speaks truthfully without dismantling the comforting fictions that sustain people through moments of distress. It is not a safe approach—it is one that foregrounds care. In addressing the self, the writer has chosen to surrender this story like a bare, unguarded canvas.
The Elsewhereans is an indispensable novel for understanding the ways in which culture shapes—and sometimes distorts—human experience. It unpacks what it means to cultivate objectivity towards one’s own body and mind, suggesting that through this objectivity, one might arrive at a subjective, non-judgemental engagement with the wider world. The book is a melancholic journey, but never a monotonous one. A work of such richness deserves to be celebrated—especially in an age when the act of celebrating difference is itself treated as transgression. Jeet Thayil once again demonstrates why the stories that emerge from his works do not dissipate with time. Their molecules draw closer, their density increases—and with every reading, they reveal a sky wide enough to take flight in.
How to cite: Deb, Kabir. “When Time Flies With Us, We Live Many Lives: Jeet Thayil’s The Elsewhereans.” Cha: An Asian Literary Journal, 14 Jul. 2025, chajournal.blog/2025/07/14/elsewhereans.
Kabir Deb is a writer based in Karimganj, Assam. He is the recipient of the Social Journalism Award (2017); the Reuel International Award for Best Upcoming Poet (2019); and the Nissim International Award (2021) for Excellence in Literature for his book Irrfan: His Life, Philosophy and Shades. He reviews books—many of which have been published in national and international magazines. His most recent work, The Biography of the Bloodless Battles, has been shortlisted for the Sahitya Akademi Yuva Puraskar (2025) and the Muse India Young Writer’s Award (2024). He currently serves as the Interview Editor for the Usawa Literary Review. Instagram: @the_bare_buddha [All contributions by Kabir Deb.]
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