The ten short stories in Ranjan Adiga’s Diversity Quota deliver a full range of rich and complicated human emotion. Like some of his characters, Adiga is a Nepali immigrant to the United States, but these are not simply immigrants’ tales. These layered and nuanced stories range broadly. Adiga’s characters encounter unexpected setbacks, become enmeshed in complicated relationships, and sink into sadness and cruelty. No story fully illuminates its own situation.

Some stories are set on college campuses and out-of-the-way failing Indian restaurants as well as in office parties in Trumpian America. Other stories are set in Nepal and feature characters hoping to immigrate or who remain despite poverty, cruelty, and conflict. Nepali food, music, clothing, aphorisms, and superstitions enrich the narratives without need for explanation, evincing a skilled and subtle authenticity. 

Father-son relationships are woven through several stories. In “A Short Visit,” Nirmal realizes his father’s trip to visit him in the U.S. has been a failure. Nirmal’s does not believe his father is disappointed in him. Rather, Nirmal is disappointed in his father. Neither can live up to the other’s hopes. 

There are frequent cross-directional arguments and emotional sleights of hand.  In “Leech,” Ram is unsure of his friend Juneli’s intentions: “She once came out of the bathroom in her house covered in nothing but a towel, exposing wet hair and shoulders. Ram wasn’t sure if this was an invitation, or if such display of comfort cancelled out any possibility of romance.” After Ram takes money from Juneli’s purse, he wants to return it but can’t find an opportunity. Juneli condemns him: “‘I don’t know if I’ll ever feel comfortable seeing you. What made you steal my money? It’s such a deep betrayal.’” Ram doesn’t have an answer that can release the tension.

‘I’m sorry,’ is all that he can say. He means it, though the banality makes the apology sound disingenuous. When the rain came down in a light shower, it made him sadder than he had ever been.

Ram is miserable. So is the reader—who perhaps better understands the situation. Ram is the perpetrator, but Juneli plays a role too: she mixes messages, casually exposes her money and her body, and makes it difficult for Ram to know her mind. The story of what finally breaks his will is complicated. He seems to have no idea. Perhaps neither does she. 

Adiga’s characters often don’t fully understand themselves, whether the matter is romance or career ambition or assimilation. In “Denver,” Sameer looks at his wife and feels conflicted: “Seeing her bare legs in public turns him on, a feeling that mingles with mild irritation.” But Adiga does not limit his exploration of conflict simply to emotion. In a poignant final scene in “Spicy Kitchen,” two friends part ways:

We wait for the bus in silence, trapped in our own secrets […] I don’t know what triggers him. But he punches me in the face so hard that I’m blinded for a few seconds. When I open my eyes, I see him walking away.

The stories read like therapy sessions in which Adiga’s characters reveal their unique anxieties while the reader’s awareness expands. These are tales of ambition, uncertainty, instability, confidence, and poverty that sometimes looks like wealth. People make mistakes, and they try to make up for them, only to make everything worse. Deportation is an underlying fear. And among those where it isn’t a fear, there’s an appalling arrogance. 

In the story “High Heels,” Sarita, a shy, hard-working female banker turns to Christianity for guidance. After an upsetting experience with an awful co-worker, Sarita reports the man to her manager. Reluctantly, the manager decides to act on the accusation. Adiga’s line in the moment is a beauty: “We meet our destiny on the path we’re not supposed to take, Sarita had heard. Did she have to go through this trial for something to finally move in her favor?”

This question is threaded throughout Diversity Quota, and it makes for an excellent tapestry. 

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Ranjan Adiga is a Nepali American author whose stories and articles have appeared in Story Quarterly, the New York Times, Huffington Post, and the Salt Lake Tribune, among others. He teaches creative writing at Westminster College in Salt Lake City, Utah. 

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Nancy Freund has work in Fictive Dream, Citron Review, Bending Genres, Hobart, Splonk, and others. She has Creative Writing degrees from UCLA and Cambridge. She lives in Switzerland.