Early on in Mira Nair’s The Namesake, a young Ashoke Ganguli is taking his annual trip from Calcutta to Delhi. In a cramped rail car, fellow traveler Ghosh asks him what he’s reading. It’s a collection of stories by Russian writer Nikolai Gogol. Ghosh asks Ganguli if he’s ever traveled, and the student replies that he’s been to Delhi many times. No, Ghosh says—has Ganguli ever lived abroad? It’s “like a dream,” he rhapsodizes. “That’s what books are for,” Ganguli counters, quoting the words of his grandfather—“to travel without moving an inch.”

In her sixth full-length theatrical release, Nair delivers the strongest possible argument that films can do the same thing. The story she tells takes us from 1977 Calcutta to contemporary New York City, following the pivotal events that lead Ganguli to study and work abroad, to return home to find a wife, to take her with him to New York, and to raise his children in a culture which at times seems as foreign to us as it does to them. Along the way, every cultural detail seems pitch-perfect, every shock and conflict based on keen observance of reality, every generational gap simultaneously universal and specific.

One of the first cultural barriers Ashoke and his bride Ashima encounter together is the American custom regarding birth certificates, in which a child’s legal name is established prior to leaving the hospital. In India, Ashoke explains, a child is given a nickname; as many as six years later, the parents finally settle on the child’s “good name”—the legal, permanent name that will define who the child is and will become. Ashoke and Ashima settle on “Gogol” as the boy’s nickname, using the rationale that “we are all here because of Gogol.” Later, Gogol is given “Nikhil” (Nikolai) as his “good name.”

When it’s time for Gogol to go to school, of course, legal names are the order of the day; but Gogol tells his teacher that he prefers to go by “Nikhil,” knowing that the name will be much easier to Americanize than his legal name. Ashima is surprised by Gogol’s choice, but says little. Ashoke reminds her that it’s America, and everyone can do as they please.

By the time he graduates from high school, naturally, Gogol has become “Nick,” a dope-smoking, disaffected (if academically competent) youth who has little patience for his still culturally-Indian parents. He also totally disregards the gift his father has for him: a copy of the collected stories of Nikolai Gogol. “We all came out of Gogol’s overcoat,” Ashoke cryptically explains.

During a post-graduation family visit to India and the Taj Mahal, Nick decides to study architecture. By the time he’s done with college, he’s almost thoroughly Americanized. As he starts his career, he has a white blueblood girlfriend and rarely contacts his parents. The remainder of the film is about the events that lead Nick to grapple with the significance of his legal name, of his American nickname, and of his father’s words about his namesake, Nikolai Gogol. And finally, the film becomes as poignant a meditation on the power of memory as anything I’ve ever seen.

As Gogol, Kal Penn is almost surprisingly good. He’s been a pleasant enough screen presence in Harold and Kumar and the Van Wilder movies; but those wastrel roles have hardly evidenced his solid potential as a leading man, and here he’s more than just watchable. He’s compelling. But that doesn’t set him apart from his main castmates: Indian stars Irfan Khan and Tabu as Ashoke and Ashima are also brilliant, as is Persian beauty Zuleikha Robinson (memorable from HBO’s Rome and Hidalgo) as Gogol’s eventual wife, Moushumi.

The stars have aligned in a curious, timely, and fortunate way for moviegoers. Since 1988’s Salaam Bombay! (and before), Nair has been steadily acquiring a reputation as a solid commercial (and yet artistic) director, with one foot firmly planted amidst her Indian roots and the other in the American film industry. During that time, India’s “Bollywood” film industry has for the first time produced stars (such as Khan and Tabu) with influence and reputations to match those of their Western counterparts. Also during that time, Kal Penn—born Kalpen Modi in New Jersey to Indian immigrant parents—has matured into “the most recognized South Asian face on the American screen today,” as the film’s official website notes. While all that was going on, novelist Jhumpa Lahiri was working on The Namesake, published in 2003 to wide popular success.

We can be deeply thankful for the way in which the artistry of each of these Indians has matured and converged to produce this virtual masterpiece, one that might, hopefully, establish a new mode for “coming of age” stories. Long ago, such tales used to be about emotional awakening; since the 1960’s, they have largely centered on the discovery of sexual organs and girlfriends’ mothers.

Now, in an era when young adults are not truly achieving independence until deep into their twenties, The Namesake offers a new vision for the genre—tales which take emotional and sexual awareness for granted, and instead focus on a different kind of awakening: of identity and purpose, of cultural, societal, and familial reconciliation.

Will they all be this good? I doubt it. But we can hope, can’t we?

The Namesake is rated PG-13 “for sexuality/nudity, a scene of drug use, some disturbing images and brief language.” All in all, this is pretty tame stuff. For goodness sake—Norbit was rated PG-13, too! Someone needs to get a grip. Still, I don’t think many teenagers will have much interest in this film.

Courtesy of a local publicist, Greg attended a press screening of The Namesake.