Mrs. Bennet has nothing on Mrs. Mehra or South Asian mothers in general. As the eldest daughter of "marriagble age" in a desi household, this was a nightmarish experience akin to being trapped in a fun house hall of mirrors: suffocating, clausterphobic, and painfully reflective of reality. The writing is so vivid that I found myself transported back to the drawing room of every single traumatic family gathering. It unlocked memories I've spent years distancing myself from. So, in a way, this was pure genius? I'm not just not sure if it makes for a very pleasant reading experience. 5 stars.