One fine day at Champaca Bookstore, I found this book, The Girl Who Kept Falling in Love. Catchy enough to pique my interest, I brought it home. The die-hard romantic in me didn’t touch it for three months, waiting for the right moment. Then one day, I skimmed through the blurb. That was it. It was time.
This is no regular rom-com. I realized that right in the first chapter. But was I disappointed? Not at all. The book felt like that cup of chai you have after years of coffee addiction, and suddenly you’re left wondering why you ever gave it up in the first place. There were many moments where I caught myself thinking, this is what I’ve been wanting to read all along, I just didn’t know it.
The story follows Kaya, a US passport holder with an upper-caste Hindu surname, in her forties, seeking love and validation, and eventually becoming a voice for minority communities. She is a writer, a liberal, and largely unaware of her own privilege until she meets A. The name is conveniently left blank for the reader to decide. It could be Ahmad, Anzar, or Ajmal.
Kaya finds the love of her life in Anna, but their story meets a tragic end. She also speaks of Zack and Yonas from the early chapters of her life. And finally, she lands with A. Then there is Millie, her confidante, her companion, her vindicator. The book unfolds against the backdrop of the anti-CAA protests, the chaos, the unrest, the quiet and not-so-quiet resistance. But is that all the book is about? It quietly asks a harder question too. Under all the layers of façade we put up, aren’t we all gray?
Kaya unapologetically throws Millie under the bus. There is no guilt. But when she learns that someone else knows about the betrayal, she feels threatened. Then she is willing to confess to A. That contradiction is what makes her feel real. We aren’t saints. To err is human.
“The rewiring of your brain comes more easily when the intensity of the trauma you experience is an option.” This line captures the essence of Kaya’s life. She carries a void that only love seems capable of filling. Maybe it comes from a neglected childhood. Maybe from the identity crisis of growing up abroad. But if you are a romantic, you will meet yourself in her at many points. The protests, the empathy, the betrayals, everything she experiences eventually becomes an option because she is privileged and she has a future to protect. And she is ready to choose, again and again, love over principles.
Now, to what I couldn’t fully digest. The book often feels like reality is being viewed through tinted glass. Yes, it clearly stands against Islamophobia and fights for marginal rights. That is necessary and important. But somewhere along the way, does it also slip into the territory of propaganda? I remain apolitical. Period. A final note to the author. I can’t help but wonder, is Daphne another version of Kaya? Just more brutal. More unapologetic.
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