At the start of this book, the author notes that as the descendent of Indians, she had to set aside her natural aversion to the British Raj and admiration for Udham Singh to tell the story in as unbiased a way as she could. I often felt similarly while reading this book. India did not gain its independence until 1947. My paternal grandfather told me once that he remembers as a child watching the British soldiers march through his rural village during the mass exodus after independence was granted. The effect that the colonization had on the country – the greatest of which may be the deep discord sown between the different religions – are palpable today.
And at the same time, I am also quite familiar with the Indian penchant for creating larger-than-life legends out of its heroes – the cinematic plastering over the cracks in real stories to make symbols out of people (and of course there are quite a few movies about the massacre and Udham Singh’s story – at least as it’s commonly told). I appreciated that the author made the effort to unpack who Udham really was – a flawed, sometimes vain figure who chose violence as his avenue to make a statement for Indian independence and for his own personal legacy at the same time.
This book is also an excellent introduction for unfamiliar to the effects of the British Raj on India, and the long-winding road toward independence, which reached many more shores than one might have expect. It’s a snapshot of a certain aspect of the story, one serves in many ways as a microcosm of the entire story. And though I’ll certainly never feel sympathetic to the likes of Sir Michael O’Dwyer, who ordered the massacre, this book did at least make me think more about how he came to be where he was, and decide what he chose to do as well.