” Vinegar in My Veins” (soon available via Amazon Kindle)
“Vinegar in My Veins” was already at the printers when the terrible news came that Anil Ramdas had taken his own life. As a tribute, I dedicated the book to this gifted writer.
“Vinegar in My Veins” deals with a very loaded topic: suicide among Hindustani girls. In 2012, 1 in 5 Hindustani girls attempted suicide. And I had the idea that this had been the case for years, with no change in sight. I felt powerless and that’s why I wrote this book.
I presented the first copy on May 23, 2012, to former Speaker of the House Khadija Arib. She had previously raised the alarm about this issue.
As a result of my book, Khadija Arib also asked parliamentary questions. Read the questions in .pdf .
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Since Salman Rushdie’s Satanic Verses, this had not happened before in our country. There was a lot of media attention for the book, including in the Volkskrant. Read the attention in .pdf.
Ezra de Haan’s review gets to the heart of “Vinegar in My Veins”—the call to make the topic discussable and thereby prevent more suicide attempts.
Review of “Vinegar in My Veins” by Ezra de Haan:
“‘How did they commit suicide?’ I asked.
‘They drank vinegar. Undiluted vinegar.’
‘Why vinegar, mama?’
‘Vinegar flows in our veins. It’s in our genes, passed down from generation to generation.’
‘Do I have vinegar in my veins?’
‘You have everything your heart desires. I’ll take care of that.’
‘And you, mama?’ The answer remained hidden in the silence.”
“Vinegar in My Veins” starts with the suicides of Tara Ishara and Johnnie Bodiem, two Bollywood stars. Anjani, a high school student, is shocked by this and starts keeping a suicide diary.
Teela, a girl from her class, catches Anjani cutting herself in the bathroom with a potato peeler. She knows about “cutting,” and soon they decide to become “blood sisters.” From that moment on, they share joy and sorrow. The difference in their lives is stark. While Anjani lives in luxury, Teela has to make do with the meager income her mother, who resides illegally in the Netherlands, earns by making rotis. Teela’s uncle, who endlessly promises to bring the necessary papers, exploits her mother. And Teela herself experiences his true nature when he can’t keep away from her. Anjani faces very different problems. Her parents have chosen the ugliest boy on earth for her to marry. Chocolate liqueur, a tongue piercing, boys, and joints provide temporary distractions. Until Teela turns out to be pregnant. An abortion seems to be the only solution.
The novel consists of two parts. The first is set in The Hague, the second in Mumbai. The first part can best be described as a mix of realism and contemporary chick lit. Mostly because Bachnoe maintains the pace.
“‘I’ll tell you a story,’ Teela says.
‘Promise me you’ll tell it further.’
‘What kind of story?’ I asked.
‘The story of my parents,’ she replied.
‘Okay. Promise,’ I said. Teela turned on her stomach and began to speak.
‘Do you know why I’m in the Netherlands? My dad caught my mom with a friend. “Caught in the action.” He went totally crazy. Went bonkers and almost killed them. Mom ran out of the house with me and fled to the Netherlands. There, the deal with the devil was waiting. Baking rotis in exchange for a residence permit. What a life. Uncle Katahar is a real devil. I swear he smells like poop. He promised us a residence permit a year ago, but we haven’t seen anything yet.'”
As soon as the second part of the book begins, the tone changes. Anyone who has seen a Bollywood film recognizes the atmosphere and fantasy that characterizes this genre. I’ve never encountered this crossover between Bollywood and literature before. It gives the author the space to make things happen that normally wouldn’t. The changes in pace, conversations with the dead, the grotesque—everything falls into place. At least, as long as you’re willing to dive into the world Orchida Bachnoe presents. If you do, you’ll find yourself in a rollercoaster where one intense scene alternates with the next hilarious one. Shaam Malaam, the Bollywood tycoon responsible for Tara Ishara and her lover’s death, meets someone against whom he is powerless for the first time. Tara seeks revenge, and Anjani will help her in a way that can only happen in a Bollywood film.
With “Vinegar in My Veins,” Orchida Bachnoe has added a new genre to Dutch literature: Bollywood chick lit. But I shouldn’t forget to mention that this very readable novel is especially important because of its content. By describing the world of students accessibly, Bachnoe manages to highlight the poignant cases of suicide in the Hindustani world. “Vinegar in My Veins” should be mandatory reading for high school students. Perhaps this will finally break the silence surrounding suicide and the reasons behind it.