The Story of Jurgis

The story of Jurgis, in the beginning seemed like the story of any immigrant worker, but as one reads through the book and reaches the end, the everyman character Jrugis becomes a strong man and a strong leader. The story of Jurgis seemed somewhat familiar to me, it felt like a tune I have heard before. That is when the it struck me, my father, as an immigrant in the 70’s had a similar story, maybe not the same facts, but definitely a similar texture. Even though the story is about the meat packing industry, for me the story was about the chaos, the jungle that Jurgis and his family had moved into. It is not necessary a physical jungle, but a jungle of the mind, a jungle which one had to cross to take care of family and the future.

One of the first things that caught my attention reading the first chapter was the music. “…floats away in spirit upon the wings of a dreamy waltz.” (pg 13). I often wondered why my dad used to listen to the old Bollywood songs. They were cheesy, outdated and boring. However, now that I am twenty five, I understand what music and melody can bring. They bring memories. “And this is their utterance; merry and boisterous, or mournful and wailing, or passionate and rebellious, this music is their music, music of home” (pg 9). At the age of eighteen when my dad left home from a small town in Kerala, India, and traveled to north India in search of a job, music became the dots that connected the present with the past. A year later when he moved to Doha, Qatar, the music he had heard in his motherland, stuck with him, even after almost fifty years, toiling in the desert sun for a future generation. My father, Rajan Abraham, like Jurgis had left India in search of job, a job that will secure a more promising and wealthy future. While packing for their departure, their calculations had to be precise; money, acquaintances, future plans and a selfless attitude.

Like any other immigrant, there are two things that are absolutely necessary to the formula, fantasy and fear. Fantasize about the place and plans you have and the fear the first step you take when you reach the other shore. Reality is the enemy of dreams. The reality of Chicago was different from the dream that Jurgis had about the U.S. Living conditions, working conditions, family life, nothing aligned up with what he had heard or dreamt. The same was the case for my father. Sleeping on the roof of the house (houses in the middle east have flat roofs), walking miles to get some cold water in the burning heat, these were the realities. There was an attempt to learn the new language, Arabic, or one had to be really good at sign language. During lunch break my dad used to walk around the shops for almost an hour, because the room he stayed in was too far away to go and rest. Maybe walking doesn’t sound that