LATE BLOOMERS

The Ramans were your typical Indian American family. Dad's a computer guy at Central Texas State University, Mom made sure the house was immaculate, the family well fed. Their son is an Ivy League lawyer in New York, their daughter a medieval history professor in Austin. But then, a year ago, Lata very untypically left her husband of 30-odd years, and now the ripples are starting to look more like a tsunami.

Meet Suresh. He took early retirement last year and now rattles around the family home in Clayborn. With Lata gone, he lives off frozen burritos and omelets. Taking care of the yard was another Lata job, one he handles more successfully, finding he likes getting his hands dirty. But his real pastime is dating. He Googles “Indian internet dating” one day and can’t stop searching. When he meets Mallika, he thinks he may have found his first second date. Across town, Lata’s living in a condo, working at the university’s music library, and faring better. She’s got a new friend, Deanna, the pierced and tattooed Ph.D. student she works with, and even a love interest, Len Greenberg, a jazz professor who brings her CDs. Now, at 57, Lata’s about to go on her very first first date. Daughter Priya is 35 and single, which in Raman world is not ideal, but worse: She’s seeing a married man, and she smokes. Even No. 1 son Nikesh is showing some cracks in his picture-perfect life: Glossy high-powered “wife” Denise refuses to celebrate their son’s first birthday with Nikesh’s parents unless he comes clean that they are actually not married. Varadarajan’s novel gives all four full voice to tell their stories. The parents’ come with affectionate Indianisms (when Deanna tells Lata about her own family troubles, Lata “[makes] a mental note to bring her a large Tupperware of lemon rice”); the kids’ with sharp takes on same (Priya explains that resenting an Indian mother’s love of a son was “like resenting the orbit of the moon”). Varadarajan has written her characters with intelligence and compassion, imbuing them with complexity; each narrative mirrors, refracts, refutes, and informs the others in what’s ultimately a tender exploration of family patterns, choices, regrets, and the possibility for change.

Warm, hopeful, often charming. The Ramans are an idiosyncratic oasis in the world of literary unhappy families.