sonalipawar26's reviews
196 reviews

I watched Harold & Kumar Go to the White Castle as a teenager who, for the first time, saw someone who looked like me in an American movie! I was fascinated as the idea of a brown person in Hollywood seemed wild to me at the time. I was probably too young to watch the movie (this is what happens when you've working parents and are home alone), but I developed a massive crush on Kal Penn.

Heartfelt, hilarious, and honest, You Can't Be Serious was a fun read (highly recommend getting the audiobook). From navigating his way to Hollywood in the sea of white actors to leaving his acting career for a while and working for the Obama administration (still bitter about his exit from House M.D.), Kal Penn bares it all. Well, almost.

He does not owe us his entire life story, but I was surprised that he didn't go into detail about his sexuality, especially how his parents reacted as there were plenty instances mentioned in the book where his parents wanted him to 'at least' go to law school and had strong opinions about his career choice. But we do get a cute little chapter on how he met his fiancé, Josh.

Reading about the racist remarks and microaggression he came across in the movie industry made me livid. It's no secret that systemic racism is prevalent in the West, and reading such stories just makes your stomach sink. This memoir is a great portrayal of how racist Hollywood truly is.

In fine, it was an interesting read, that was well-narrated. And I'm glad I got to read about one of my first crushes.

 This story transports us to the twentieth century Italian island, Sardinia, to a society divided by wealth and class. And in this world, our unnamed protagonist is born into poverty but does hard, honest work as a seamstress. She has her nonna to thank who taught her independence and instilled strong values in her so that she didn't have to be a damsel in distress, waiting for her knight in shining armour to rescue her from the poverty.

Through her eyes, we see different families living on this island and learn their secrets, struggles, and scandals. It is not only a commentary on class, this book is also peppered with the feminist undertones. The latter made this book quite a breath of fresh air when it comes to the genre of historical fiction.

It's a simple and gentle story, without any frills or complications. Do not expect big things to happen as it's a story of the (not so) mundane lives of people in the pre-war era. It is something you might enjoy on a cosy winter day with a cup of coffee.

Thanks to Harper Perennial for the e-arc! 

My newly teenaged cousin, a first-generation American, recently lost some weight. The reason behind it kind of baffled me but made me want to hug her, too. The reason behind her sudden weight loss was simple (or was it?)—her packed Indian lunch made her peers scrunch their noses.

@simuliu talks about such instances throughout his book, We Were Dreamers.
I am not an immigrant, but I am Asian, and have experienced some racism when I was travelling in North America. And I can never imagine what Asian-Americans go through since childhood!

The only commonality b/w Simu and me is a) we are millennials and b) we are Asians. Despite this, the level of relatability with what he said in the book was unmatched. We might be in different countries, but some of the experiences, especially what he went through at home, really hit home with me. Now, now, I won't wash my dirty laundry here, and I will say that although my parents never forced me to do anything I didn't want to, we did end up hurting each other in different ways, and the pain still lingers.

I have always said, I am no one to judge others' life, but reading this book was extremely heart-warming. His experiences as a Chinese-Canadian person and an actor, his life back in China with his grandparents (you could hear the love in his voice when he talked about his grandparents and it made me cry), and him landing the role of Shang Chi . . . all of this validated Asian experiences in the West. And these are the stories we need!
I strongly recommend this one. 

Thanks for the e-ARC, @harperperennial, in exchange for an honest review!
Whenever I read a book, I get lost in the imagery painted by the author in the form of words. And even when I am not reading, I am day-dreaming--either about the book or about random things. I have always been a dreamer, getting lost in my own thoughts, painting pictures, in my mind, of a world far better.
When Victoria, stuck in a dry, loveless marriage which is often difficult to read about at times, falls for a guy she saw in a cafe just because he was reading the same book as hers, it made sense to me. But that's where the 'sense' of it ends. At least, for me.

Victoria is a unhappy woman, privileged but has no agency of her own, who fantasizes about a relationship with this 'dream man', and often gets lost in her dark thoughts wherein she almost always ends up killing her husband.

This book was supposed to read like a fever dream, but it was a weak attempt. The story was repetitive, monotonous, and I pushed myself to finish it. The characters were all one-dimensional and irritating. Both the plot and writing lacked a strong foundation. Only halfway through the book, something seemingly interesting starts taking place, but then it soon fizzles out, like a day-old opened can of beer. Even the ending seemed abrupt.

The words 'bookworm' and 'fiction merging into reality' are just terms to entice a reader, but I was just disappointed.

People often think that all their problems will magically resolve once they start going to therapy. How I wish this were true! It is oft ignored how therapy is hard work. You require to put in the effort in you; it's just that there is someone to guide you.

Not many will relate to I Want to Die but I Want to Eat Tteokkbokki. And even if you do, there will still be parts you won't be able to resonate with--which is okay.

The unfiltered conversations b/w Sehee, who has dysthymia, and her therapist will bring you closer to your self. You will find a friend amongst the pages who is going through the same things.
This book doesn't handhold you into healing or even offer you epiphanies, it is just a short memoir of a very courageous woman who decided to tell it all. And in this memoir you will find yourself.
The biggest advantage of this book is that it is honest to the core.

If you are someone who has/had some form of depression or even anxiety disorders, you'll not feel alone. If you've never had to maneuver your ship around rogue waves, I envy you. Also, this book, then, might not be for you.

It's raining, and you are sitting on the terrace, with a mug of hot coffee between your palms. You are staring at the droplets that fall on the floor, trying to muffle the chatter in your head. But there is something deep in your chest that stops you from feeling content.
Reading The Garden of Evening Mists was exactly this--trying to find solace despite the palpitations in your chest.

After taking an early retirement as a judge, Yun Ling Teoh seeks solace in the Japanese gardens of Malay where she spent time helping the Japanese Emperor's former gardener finish his garden in her 20s, a time after she was the only one to be released alive from one of the Japanese camps.
This garden is where she decides to reminisce and write down her story before her memory fades, the only thing she is sure of.

This book has one of most beautiful writing I have come across; it's almost ethereal. Such beautiful quotes that will soothe your soul. And apart from this, it is also recollection of, albeit fictional to an extent, the Japanese's reign of terror in Malay, now Malaysia.

I had a three-month-long rendezvous with the book. I allowed it to envelope me in its saccharine prose and sour history, the latter often making me keep it on the side because I didn't feel the need to know 'what's next?'. It did get a tad slow, especially as it's laced with melancholy, but perseverance led to me finishing my first ever Malaysian literature.

Read it when you want something slow and soothing. Keep it aside when you want to, because you will get back to it. The book has such a power.

‘We might be suffering from different illnesses, but it means the same thing in the end, doesn’t it? Our memories are dying.’ says Yun Ling. More than anything else, this book is an ode to memory. 

Are children's books really for children? Or are they truly written for adults under the guise of children's books so that when adults read it to a child, they will pause for a while, absorbing what they've just read?

As adults, we seek comfort in being taken care of, in knowing all will be well no matter what because somewhere we went astray or have taken so much on our plate that we can't function with that burden anymore. And as society tames one, as adults, we ache to go back to our roots, a time when all was well and we didn't care about tomorrow.
And I reckon this novella provides one with that comfort. Although, it leaves you with sad, shocking revelations towards the end.

I don't think children, brimming with innocence, will really get this book. Only someone who has known loss or lost direction in life and is aching for the innocence of childhood will truly understand it. Although, don't expect an 'aha' moment while reading it.

This book will mean different things to different individuals. One of my favourite analogies from the book was how humans were compared to baobabs. I gave a knowing snort when I read that line.

The Little Prince isn't a book for children. It's a book for adults who, every now and then, feel their existence is in vain. You will absorb what you have been looking for. But what it will surely do is make us search within and awaken the innate innocence we carry, even as adults trying to move forward against all odds. 

I have been extremely lucky and privileged to be born in a family of food lovers. All my life, I have eaten food that others didn't even know existed, thanks to Nani, who'd cook something or the other every other day. And when you asked her to tell you the recipe, she'd smirk and ask us to guess the ingredients instead (we, of course, were never able to do so).
For me, food is life, life is food.

So, when I heard that Stanley Tucci (only my favourite person ever, who some of you may know from his viral Negroni apart from his movies) had written a food memoir, I knew I had to get my hands on it. The best part was listening to it in his own voice.
Tucci doesn't only love food, he romances it. Listening to him talk about food, how he came to love it (his Italian heritage definitely helped), and how he strives to keep several food-related traditions alive and pass on to the next generation was inspiring. From how Tucci developed a love for food to stories involving Hollywood celebs (there's a fun one with Meryl Streep), this book is full of anecdotes as well.

Towards the end, when he shared the experience of beating oral cancer, whilst knowing that he may lose his sense of taste and smell, I couldn't even imagine what must have been going through his head. It is a food lover's worst nightmare.

I don't think this is a book to simply 'read'. If you are a food lover--in fact, especially if you're a food lover--this book is to be savoured like that first sip of wine that will refresh you once the slight burn of tannins has settled.
This book is an ode to food, and I am here for it! 

Unrestrained. Sexy, weird, relatable, profound.
These are the words I'll use to describe this book that read like a fever dream.
Tbh, Lucy was me. I was Lucy . . . well to some extent, at least the pre-therapy me.

I was sceptical about the fantastical element in the story and wasn't sure about Lucy's melancholic world. I rolled me eyes at the fact that a merman will be romancing a human. 'That's odd. I won't like it,' I thought. But boy, was I proven wrong. Reading a book with no expectations and ending up loving it is one of the best feelings in the world.

Apart from being one huge, messy cocktail of addiction, loneliness, love—or lack thereof, it is much, much more than the fantastical creatures and the 'weird' bits. If you concentrate only on the raunchy parts of the book, you'll lose out on the message. This book is existential in nature. Not just Lucy, the women in her group therapy, too, feel they are nothing without the men who left them. They need them like they need oxygen. They are afraid to be alone. This book's about co-dependency and feeling bereft.

Broder is a fantastic storyteller. She is witty, she is blunt, but most importantly, her writing is as real and raw as it gets.

I inhaled this book. I enjoyed the raunchy bits of the story. Some of you might find them to be a tad (or a lot) gross, but I thought it was toe-curling. Will I recommend it? Perhaps. This is not a book for everyone, but it surely was for me. I reckon it's an acquired taste. So, tread carefully.