In this frank debut memoir, Rajeev outlines the difficulties of growing up in America as the daughter of Indian immigrants.
“My father was so upset that I was born a girl, he literally became mad at God,” reflects Rajeev who was born in Queens in 1990. Being a daughter meant that she was not only “unwanted,” but “born without a voice.” The author seeks to understand her heritage, accomplish the dreams her parents abandoned, and find a voice of her own. She starts by recalling her father’s arrival in the United States—a boat worker who entered the country as an undocumented immigrant by jumping ship in New Orleans. She recounts his struggle to obtain a green card after venturing to New York and how her mother gave birth to her while in the U.S. on a visitor visa. Rajeev explains the precariousness of the immigrant experience, which often depends on the kindness of strangers. She describes enduring racism, particularly after 9/11, and some of her triumphs, including earning her doctorate in sociology. Rajeev’s writing provides a fresh, forthright catalog of the demands placed on immigrant families, which are “always compromising their wellbeing, whether that be mental or physical, to provide structure to their family.” The author’s balanced viewpoint considers her parents’ hidden pain as well as her own: “He was ok with having his daughter hate him. He hated himself right now too.” Rajeev places significant emphasis on her father’s experiences, which are integral to her story, but in a memoir that explores female subjugation, some readers may expect the narrative to be framed with women as a priority. Also, the dialogue, which is presented in script form, is bland, and would benefit from being integrated into the text: “Other kids: You’re Indian? Me: Yes. Other kids: So, you must be really smart. Me: I don’t know.” Still, this is a valuable unpacking of Indian immigrant life—its restrictions and possibilities—from the perspective of an astute author.
Tenderly balanced, deeply insightful writing with a few minor flaws.