13/50: Everything That I Never Told You (Celeste Ng)

As a new parent struggling in the middle of a pandemic, this was a tough Book to read. Apparently, Celeste Ng wrote it four times before the final draft was published. Lo and behold, it really does work. Both her books dig deep into race, parenting, motherhood, guilt, and all else that happens in the lives of those living at the borders of what’s normalized. Parenting within a biracial marriage can feel daunting, but you also realize how similar it can feel to any family.

The tug of war between the individual and what a parenting unit becomes together is all too real. So is the inherent impact things have on small children or their ability to sense without specifics. It scared me. I don’t know if there’s ever a perfect way, but this past year, I’ve struggled with more self-doubt bringing up a human that all my senses are attuned to this weird fear of doing something wrong.

This is a beautifully written book whether or not you’re a parent. Ng is a master crafter of human emotions, and I can’t wait for her to write more and pick up books that make me question everything that I ever knew, or did not observe before. Brace yourself for a deeply touching midwestern saga that will find its way to creep into your heart.

14/50: Love, Loss, and What We Ate: A Memoir (Padma Lakshmi)

I didn’t know much about Padma except her left-leaning Twitter persona, and Top Chef stardom. So, in many ways, this book was simply a journey into her life as a model, a TV host, and an American who’s also Indian. After a point in the book, it felt like a response to various tabloid stories, and Padma sharing her side of controversies.

I heard the audiobook format (in her voice), and for the life of me could not understand how Padma could mispronounce Rushdie’s (her ex-husband) name. While I am no one to judge someone else’s authenticity, as an Indian who had no idea about the author’s life or style, and was trying the very best to listen, I found the writing very vacuous. It has been written for the Western reader and tries to give India this colorful, spicy image.

Lakshmi constantly harps upon her Brahmin identity. Self-awareness in itself is not wrong, but she doesn’t seem to see her entitlement or privilege as off-putting. There’s also a severe lack of research in that she generalizes her personal Brahmin experience as the truth (especially when it relates to food). This came in conflict with her self-portrayed left-leaning liberal stance in the United States. I mean, imagine saying, oh but white people only eat fish from lake Walloon, anything else is beneath them. Isn’t that weird? That’s how she sounds. I’ve decided to stay open to books this year, so I finished it. It didn’t merit much thought and was openly casteist (here’s a great review).

On to more reading now