An Ode to 9 Thought-Provoking Life Quotes from Bonnie Garmus’s Lessons in Chemistry

I recently came to know that there is an Apple TV series based on Bonnie Garmus’s Lessons in Chemistry. Still, like many book lovers who believe the original story is always better than any adaptation, I chose to read the book first. And I am glad I did.

Lessons in Chemistry is warm, quirky, and emotional. It begins at a quick pace and later slows down to let the reader focus on how the characters are feeling. The fictional novel explores women empowerment, career, ambition, love, grief, and self discovery.

The story is about two unconventional scientists who view the world through logic. Their relationship feels unusual to others because their conversations revolve around research, experiments, and what most people would call nerdy banter. But the connection they feel with each other is real. They believe they are soulmates.

The female scientist eventually steps into an unexpected phase of her life and has to leave her career only to soon become the host of a cooking show. The show goes on to gain popularity dude to her unique, scientific approach towards food. She treats every recipe like a science experiment. She explains why each ingredient matters and the chemical composition that affects taste and cooking. This fresh perspective inspires her audience and transforms the way they think about cooking.

If you enjoy fiction that blends romance, feminism, science, and character driven storytelling, Lessons in Chemistry is worth adding to your reading list.

I also want to list some of my favourite thought-provoking quotes from the book. Hope you enjoy them as much as I did.

One thing I’ve learned, Calvin: people will always yearn for a simple solution to their complicated problems.

It’s a lot easier to have faith in something you can’t see, can’t touch, can’t explain, and can’t change, rather than to have faith in something you actually can.

From his own lessons, he knew repetition was important. The key was not to overdo the repetition—not to make it so tiresome that it actually had an inverse result and caused the student to forget. That was called boredom. According to Elizabeth, boredom was what was wrong with education today.

No wonder people didn’t understand animals. They could barely understand each other.

Having a baby, Elizabeth realized, was a little like living with a visitor from a distant planet. There was a certain amount of give and take as the visitor learned your ways and you learned theirs, but gradually their ways faded and your ways stuck. Which she found regrettable. Because unlike adults, her visitor never tired of even the smallest discovery; always saw the magic in the ordinary.

“What I find interesting about rowing,” Dr. Mason was saying, “is that it’s always done backwards. It’s almost as if the sport itself is trying to teach us not to get ahead of ourselves.” He opened his car door. “Actually, when you think about it, rowing is almost exactly like raising kids. Both require patience, endurance, strength, and commitment. And neither allow us to see where we’re going—only where we’ve been. I find that very reassuring, don’t you? Except for the flip-outs—of course. I could really do with fewer flip-outs.”

But as she read, she’d found herself wondering—did the artist ever get distracted? Ink an asp instead of a goat? And if so, did he have to let it stand? Probably. On the other hand, wasn’t that the very definition of life? Constant adaptations brought about by a series of never-ending mistakes?

“I don’t have hopes,” Mad explained, studying the address. “I have faith.”
He looked at her in surprise. “Well, that’s a funny word to hear coming from you.”
“How come?”
“Because,” he said, “well, you know. Religion is based on faith.”
“But you realize,” she said carefully, as if not to embarrass him further, “that faith isn’t based on religion. Right?”

“Whenever you start doubting yourself,” she said, turning back to the audience, “whenever you feel afraid, just remember. Courage is the root of change—and change is what we’re chemically designed to do. So when you wake up tomorrow, make this pledge. No more holding yourself back. No more subscribing to others’ opinions of what you can and cannot achieve. And no more allowing anyone to pigeonhole you into useless categories of sex, race, economic status, and religion. Do not allow your talents to lie dormant, ladies. Design your own future.

When you go home today, ask yourself what you will change. And then get started.”

***

Photo by Ron Lach

An Ode to This American Woman

Zarna Garga's This American Woman Book Cover

As someone living in India, I enjoy hearing the stories of the Indian-American diaspora. In many ways, we are alike, yet also very different. While India itself holds a wide diversity of thoughts, the experiences of Indian-origin people abroad offer something unique – they make you see your own country from a fresh perspective. Zarna Garg’s This American Woman was one such story that offered me a deep dive into that view.

I have to admit, at first, I was put off by Zarna’s description of India in the few Instagram reels I came across. My patriotism made me defensive. But over time, she grew on me, and I realized that everyone sees a country through their own lens. As an ex-NRI myself, my perspective on India is very different from Zarna’s and her family’s. They see the USA as the best, while I believe India is the best – and that’s okay. Different views deserve respect. It was this curiosity about Zarna’s unique journey that ultimately led me to buy her book.

I loved this book. It made me both laugh and cry. Zarna’s life reads like a movie. Born in Mumbai, she ran away to the US as a teenager after her father tried to force her into an arranged marriage following her mother’s death. From there, she stayed with her sister and slowly built her life in America. Her journey has been tough, leaving her with mental blocks about returning to India. Yet she tells it all with such lightness, as if life itself is a comedy not meant to be taken too seriously.

Pain is my destiny and my company and my affinity. Embracing pain and not wasting time wondering “Why me?” will put you on the fast track to success.

What truly brought me to tears was the chapter her daughter dedicated to her. Even now, writing about it makes my eyes well up (though, to be fair, it might also be that time of the month – we women never really know what’s behind the tears). It’s a chapter worth reading. Everyone faces moments of self-doubt, especially women who’ve had to set aside their careers for family. But when that same family becomes your greatest support system, it’s a blessing. Zarna has that blessing in Zoya.

“For many parents, their children’s careers are their greatest accomplishment, but for me my mom’s is mine” – Zoya

The final part with Zarna’s brother was truly heart-warming. The speech she delivers on stage is pure heart.

I would strongly recommend reading This American Woman. It’s inspirational, funny, and heartwarming, capturing life in its own uniquely Indian-American way.

Book Review: “A House Without Windows” by Nadia Hashimi

Afghan women walking in front of a blue building image

I just finished A House Without Windows by Afghan-American writer Nadia Hashimi. These days, I gravitate more toward non-fiction and find it more engaging. Still, I’m not ready to give up fiction entirely. A House Without Windows was my fiction pick of the month.

What’s It About?

The story begins with a murder in an Afghan home. A woman, Zeba, is accused of killing her husband and is detained, with almost no chance of survival under Afghanistan’s strict laws for women in such cases. An Afghan-American lawyer, Yusuf, arrives in the country to connect with his roots, stumbles upon her case, and decides to defend her.

Thoughts

I really enjoyed the storyline, though I found the narration slow and somewhat predictable. What stood out most was how Nadia Hashimi portrayed the Afghan-American lawyer’s struggle to balance two cultures in America. This is a story familiar to many migrants. They want to embrace the new, yet can’t fully let go of their roots.

When Yusuf starts dating, everything boils down to one question: Will she bond well with my mother? That’s such a desi trait: wanting your partner to get along with your parents, and if there’s friction, it’s often the partner who pays the price. I also liked the part where he decides to travel to Afghanistan to reconnect with his roots, eventually making peace with the country’s imperfections, because where there’s love, hate doesn’t stand a chance.

The storyline is unique, with a blend of mystique, magic, and sacrifice. I wouldn’t say I strongly recommend the book, as I personally found it slow. However, what’s slow for me might be perfectly paced for someone else.

Ending this post with some quotable quotes from the book:

Alone and free of angst and sorrow
I’ve bled enough for today and tomorrow
Now it is time for my bud to bloom
I’m a sparrow in love with solitude
All my secrets contained within me
I sing aloud—I’m alone, finally!

SHE DID NOT REGRET THE CHILDREN, BUT AT TIMES SHE DID resent them. All mothers did, didn’t they? How could they not bear a little resentment toward people who took took took all the time? How could she be expected to feed them all? Where was Kamal when they were sick or tired or unreasonable?

Medicine is what this man calls his liquor
Strange is the remedy that only makes him sicker.

“And women?” she asked thoughtfully. “What is the world to us?”
Gulnaz offered a meek smile. “Do you not know, my daughter? Our world is the spaces between the rocks and meat. We see the face that should but doesn’t smile, the sliver of sun between dead tree branches. Time passes differently through a woman’s body. We are haunted by all the hours of yesterday and teased by a few moments of tomorrow. That is how we live—torn between what has already happened and what is yet to come.”

People only say nice things about the dead, so you never know what the truth is. You can be a brute in life, but the moment you die, all is forgiven. It used to make me mad, but now that I’m old and know what people say about me, I’m glad for it.

Men were always so frightened by their mortality that they obsessed over ways to live forever: sons to carry on their work, grandsons to carry on their name, their legacies in books, on streets, or in newspapers. Some became more desperate as their black hairs turned silver.

***

Photo by Wasim Mirzaie

Book Review: Convenience Store Woman

The protagonist of Convenience Store Woman by Sayaka Murata is unlike anyone I’ve encountered in any book. Keiko is quietly charming, yet deeply unconventional. She’s content with her simple routine at a convenience store, a place she has worked for over 18 years. This does not gel well with people around her who expect her to climb the career ladder, or “at least get married”, instead of sticking to this “lowly” job. They are unable to comprehend her happiness or her emotional detachment in situations where strong feelings are typically expected. In her own words, she’s a “foreign object.”

There are parts of Keiko’s personality I could relate to, especially her tendency to operate more from the brain than the heart. I’ve often questioned this trait in myself, particularly in political matters, where I naturally lean toward a calculated, strategic view rather than reacting emotionally. This sometimes makes people see me as cold. But that’s where my similarities with Keiko end.

I tend to get deeply emotional about things that may not always move others in the same way. My responses aren’t absent, like Keiko’s. I cry easily when I see children being affectionate with their parents or when animals are hurt. I feel emotional and distraught when I see small children picking up guns or stones in conflict zones. I want them to study and grow up contributing to society in peaceful ways. I well up seeing warmth in society. For example, when the visually impaired children sang “Happy Birthday” to our Indian President Murmu, she cried, I cried, we all cried. I’m also deeply moved by the struggles of elderly people, perhaps because I’ve spent time with them and seen what many others, especially those living far from their parents, often overlook. I do feel deeply, just not always in ways others expect, a bit like Keiko.

If you are wondering what makes Keiko strange, this snippet from the book gives an idea:

I wouldn’t say I loved Convenience Store Woman, but it was certainly thought-provoking, especially how society treats you as a “foreign object” that needs to be discarded if you don’t follow the rules. Society insists Keiko must adapt to its norms to be seen as “normal.” It does not matter to them how fulfilled or happy she is. Keiko’s struggle to meet societal expectations forms the core of the novel. Many of us might relate to this struggle with conformity. Not everyone is wired to follow every rule or expectation to the letter.

Ending this post with some thought-provoking quotes from the book:

The normal world has no room for exceptions and always quietly eliminates foreign objects. Anyone who is lacking is disposed of.

He seemed to have this odd circuitry in his mind that allowed him to see himself only as the victim and never the perpetrator l thought as I watched him.

It occurred to me that it wasn’t such a stretch to say that contemporary society was still stuck in the Stone Age after all. So the manual for life already existed. It was just that it was already ingrained in everyone’s heads, and there wasn’t any need to put it in writing. The specific form of what is considered an “ordinary person” had been there all along, unchanged since prehistoric times I finally realized.

“Look, anyone who doesn’t fit in with the village loses any right to privacy. They’ll trample all over you as they please. You either get married and have kids or go hunting and earn money, and anyone who doesn’t contribute to the village in one of these forms is a heretic.”

***

Photo by Caio

Book Review: “Pretty Girls” by Karin Slaughter

It took some time to complete Karin Slaughter’s Pretty Girls. This is not because the plot wasn’t interesting, but because I was trying to divide my time equally among other interests in life. The storytelling is intense, descriptive, and graphic. So, I had to take breaks. Anyone who cannot handle violence should stay away from the book. It’s by far the most violent book I have ever read.

The crime thriller follows the story of three sisters. One of them has been missing for years, while the other two navigate their lives without their eldest sister’s presence. Their parents are separated, unable to cope with their daughter’s absence. What happened to their eldest? Why aren’t the cops providing clear answers? This mystery forms the crux of the story.

If you enjoy thrillers, I’d highly recommend Pretty Girls. Personally, I felt the descriptions were a bit lengthy at times, which slowed the pace for me. However, readers who appreciate detailed scenes and emotional depth may find that aspect especially engaging.

Ending this review with some interesting quotes from the book:

That she ended up with a boy who had grown up less than twenty miles from her childhood home was just further proof that no matter how far you ran, you always ended up back where you started.

People did not change their basic, core personalities. Their values tended to stay the same.

“The world stops for you when you’re pretty. That’s why women spend billions on crap for their faces. Their whole life, they’re the center of attention. People want to be around them just because they’re attractive. Their jokes are funnier. Their lives are better. And then suddenly, they get bags under their eyes or they put on a little weight and no one cares about them anymore. They cease to exist.”

“Reductio ad Hitlerum.” Claire couldn’t stop quoting Paul. “It’s when you compare someone to Hitler to win an argument.”

“Dyadic Completion,” Paul would’ve told Claire. “The human brain tends to assume that, if there’s a victim, there has to be a villain.”

He reminds me of the worst kind of student I used to have—the kind who is certain that they already know everything worth knowing

12 Hard-hitting Quotes from A Thousand Cuts

I purchased A Thousand Cuts because I wanted to know Professor T.J. Joseph’s side of the story. Those who don’t closely follow news from South India might not have heard of him. I will offer an introduction before moving on to the quotes from his book.

Who is Professor TJ Joseph?

Professor T.J. Joseph is a retired college professor from Kerala, India. He gained significant attention after he became a victim of religious extremism. The tragedy that occurred in 2010 shook Kerala to the core and impacted the communal harmony of the state. Never had Kerala witnessed such a radical act in modern history. How and why did this happen?

The Tragic 2010 Incident

In 2010, while working as a Malayalam professor at Newman College in Kerala, Professor Joseph set up a question paper for an exam. One of the questions unexpectedly became viral due to its controversial nature. Professor T.J. Joseph did not mean any harm when he drafted the question. He had simply taken influence from a book that he had read. But alas, many misunderstood the actual intention behind the question and accused the Professor of blasphemy.

Despite offering an apology, communal tensions refused to die down. The religious were angry. Fearing for his life, and feeling utterly unsafe in his surroundings, he ran away from home. After moving from one district to another, he finally decided there was no point in hiding, especially when he had done no wrong. He returned home, only to be eventually attacked by PFI members. He was mercilessly beaten up, and his right hand, which the extremists accused of writing the “dreaded” question, was severed in front of his family, neighbors, and other village folk who stood shellshocked, too scared to intervene. It took multiple complex surgical procedures to re-attach his hand.

Kerala is a state that is renowned for its communal harmony. But it is also known for its appeasement politics. The state government, politicians, and media did little to help Professor TJ Joseph. His Church abandoned him out of fear and ego. The Professor ended up losing his job in the college on the grounds of misconduct, although he was later reinstated after public outcry and intervention by authorities. He was the sole breadwinner in his family, and his wife and children had to endure many hardships due to his job loss. His wife, Salomi, slowly went into depression and died by suicide. The chapter on his wife is the only chapter without a title. It’s as if words aren’t enough to encapsulate the depth of his grief.

I bought his book because I had only heard the media’s version of his story till now. We all know by now how the media often tries to cover up facts based on their own biases. The present state of mainstream media made me purchase the book. I am glad I did it. The details are chilling. The points I am giving are only a summary of the things that happened. When you read the book, you are transported into Professor Joseph’s world of art, cinema, poetry, desperation, fear, courage, and resolve. He explains every little incident in vibrant detail. You can’t help but shed a few tears. I feel Kerala collectively failed him. Yet, his optimism and his dry sense of humor prevail and serve as a source of inspiration. Here’s a teacher who is teaching everyone in his own unique way how to combat the extremes that life throws at you.

Professor T.J. Joseph’s case remains one of the most shocking cases of religiously motivated violence in Kerala. The incident sparked widespread anger and discussions about freedom of expression and religious intolerance. The PFI members involved were later arrested and convicted. But, sadly, as a society, we still remain religiously intolerant. If you take a peek at the comments under any of his videos or news articles, you will know what I mean.

Quotes from Professor TJ Joseph’s Book

In an apology of a democracy, the interests of the mob got weightage over anything else, even if those interests were born out of ignorance, against truth and flagrantly unethical. Vote banks comprise such mobs. They shoulder the chair of power.

Marital life is a kind of war. An extraordinary war that lasts a lifetime. In a normal war, the one who defeats the opponent wins the war. In a marriage, the one who defeats the other will also lose. Therefore, marriage is a war where one must win without defeating the significant other.

My rationale was that as I had taught thousands of students, a large number of whom were Muslims, even if some misguided elements wanted to harm me, wouldn’t they first ask my students, and wouldn’t my students stand up for me and disabuse them of their wrong notions about me?

The mind of a student of literature must be dispassionate. Only in a place where there is no entrenched emotion can all emotion enter. Only in spaces where no one belief has nested itself can enlightenment enter and soar.

As I lay there accepting gifts and graces, I thought I must not merely forgive my attackers but thank them as well. For until then, I had never received so much love and care.

The attack on me was condemned even by Muslim organizations. The Church authorities alone remained silent.

I have been told that the gang that attacked me was made up of active members of an organization called Popular Front of India (PFI) and its political wing known as the Social Democratic Party of India (SDPI). All the members of the attack gang were then sent to various safe houses and shifted from one to another frequently with the help of many sympathizers.

The fish seller in our area in Muvattupuzha was a Muslim. Earlier, if we asked for half a kilo, we would receive exactly half a kilo. That has changed since: when we ask for half a kilo, we get at least three-fourths of a kilo. Only when I threatened to stop buying his fish if he didn’t accept payment did he, very reluctantly, start to accept money from me again.

Pinarayi Vijayan said that the whole of Kerala was on my side and that there was no difference between the extremists from PFI who had chopped off my hand and the church diocese that owned and managed the college.

At one time, having run out of funds, when I was at the end of my tether, Yukthivadi Sanghatana (Rationalists Organization) turned up with the money they had collected for me. I asked myself, why would they need other gods when they are themselves playing the role of God?

After I was attacked and maimed, I appealed to the state chief minister and home minister to withdraw the blasphemy case filed by the police against me of their own accord. The government had no will or courage to withdraw a case they had got instituted for communal appeasement.

The view that the suicide was caused by the unjust and immoral ways of the Newman College authorities predominated. One thing is certain, a dead Salomi is more powerful than a live Salomi. Because what she couldn’t achieve while alive, she could, by dying—bring the management to change their mind.

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Photo by Bithinraj Mb