Based on a remarkable true story Seven-year-old Chellamuthu’s life—and his destiny—is forever changed when he is kidnapped from his village in Southern India and sold to the Lincoln Home for Homeless Children. His family is desperate to find him, and Chellamuthu anxiously tells the Indian orphanage that he is not an orphan, he has a mother who loves him. But he is told not to worry, he will soon be adopted by a loving family in America. Chellamuthu is suddenly surrounded by a foreign land and a foreign language. He can’t tell people that he already has a family and becomes consumed by a single, impossible question: How do I get home? But after more than a decade, home becomes a much more complicated idea as the Indian boy eventually sheds his past and receives a new name: Taj Khyber Rowland. It isn’t until Taj meets an Indian family who helps him rediscover his roots, as well as marrying Priya, his wife, who helps him unveil the secrets of his past, that he begins to discover the truth he has all but forgotten. Taj is determined to return to India and begin the quest to find his birth family. But is it too late? Is it possible that his birth mother is still looking for him? And which family does he belong to now? From the best-selling author of The Rent Collector, this is a deeply moving and gripping journey about discovering one’s self and the unbreakable family bonds that connect us forever.
|Publisher:||Shadow Mountain Publishing|
|Product dimensions:||5.90(w) x 8.90(h) x 1.30(d)|
About the Author
Camron Wright holds a master's degree in writing and public relations. He says he began writing to get out of attending MBA school, and it proved the better decision. His first book, Letters for Emily, was a Reader's Choice award winner, as well as a selection of the Doubleday Book Club and the Literary Guild. Camron is also the author of The Rent Collector.
Read an Excerpt
"Why have you kept your story a secret, Taj?" the interviewer asks me. A simple question. A difficult answer. I am a grown man, but I still hesitate. He prods. "Are you ready to tell your story because it may inspire others?" "No!" It's an answer that spills out before I can stop it. I take a breath. How do I explain? "You're both writers," I say. "You take ideas and words and confusing bits of life and weave them together into a captivating story-one that you hope not only entertains, but somehow makes sense of the world. Is that right?" The man holding his laptop closes the lid. His friend sets down his notepad and pen. A glance crosses between them. "Well, isn't it?" I ask again, my tone more edgy than I intend. "That's the goal," the writer by the camera admits. I lean closer. "This will appear selfish and I don't mean to sound that way." I lick my lips and lower my chin. "I'm ready to tell my story not just because it may help others-which I hope it will-but because it's time I try to make sense of my past. I hope that by finally talking about all of this, by pulling it out and casting a little light on it … my desire is to somehow … well, I guess I want to …" "What is it?" "I'm hoping to forgive God."