Anushka's Bookish Shenanigans

Day 3 in St. John, USVI: Learning to breathe underwater and scuba diving🐠🤿

A quiet morning and an early start 📖🌅

I woke up early and read a chapter of my book while looking out over my stunning east-facing view. Water, mountains, light shifting slowly.

Today was scuba diving day, and I wanted to be out the door early, so I’d have time for one beach.

Hawknest Beach 🌊

I stopped at Hawknest Beach for a short but perfect visit.

I lounged with my book, took a refreshing dip, and tried snorkeling again. Still learning, still adjusting, but feeling calmer than before. After that, I parked the jeep back at the rental spot and mentally prepared for the main event.

At this point, I was genuinely praying scuba would not get canceled because of the wind.

Snorkel prep, wind wisdom, and Brunch 🍤☀️

Before brunch, I made a crucial pit stop at the snorkel rental.

This time, I actually understood how the life jacket works, which already felt like growth. I also discovered an app called Windy, which tells you wind direction and conditions. It made planning water activities much easier. The islanders are so helpful and lovely.

Fueling up next, I headed to Sun Dog Cafe and got the shrimp quesadillas, which hit exactly right. I also wandered into Bamboula, all conveniently located in Mongoose Junction, a great little marketplace in Cruz Bay.

Then it was time.

Discover Scuba Diving With Low Key Watersports 🤿

I signed up for a Discover Scuba Diving course with Low Key Watersports, which included two dives.

Before diving, I had to pass three skills tests in about four feet of water. I felt confident going in, but the first dive humbled me quickly. I only managed to get through one of the three skills, and panic crept in fast.

Breathing underwater using only your mouth is a completely foreign sensation. I genuinely thought I might have to abort the mission if I could not calm myself down.

Enter Steve, my instructor. God bless his patience.

Fear, adjustment, and a breakthrough 🫧

The second dive changed everything.

Once my body stopped fighting the experience, something clicked. I demonstrated the required skills, felt stable, and finally believed that I could scuba dive. It helped that I started noticing the world around me, even at just four feet.

Coral. Schools of fish. Movement. Life.

Before medical school, I really wanted to be a marine biologist, and this experience brought all of that rushing back. The dive itself was short because of how long it took me to learn, honestly, how to live underwater.

But those 12 minutes felt impeccable.

Steve told me he was proud of how well I did, and that alone made the whole experience worth it. I will absolutely be doing this again.

Ending the day sweet and satisfied 🍫🌴

Afterward, I treated myself to a chocolate sea salt Irie Pop, wandered through markets and gift shops, and then drove back home for the day. I picked up a fridge magnet which had footprints – very symbolic of my trip so far.

Tired. Proud. Calm.

I ended the night with a plan to properly snorkel tomorrow, armed with more knowledge, more confidence, and a much deeper appreciation for the ocean.

Day 2 in St. John, USVI: wildlife, wind, and learning to snorkel 🐢🌊

Waking up to wildlife in Coral Bay 🦎🐦

Day 2 started in the most unexpected way.

I woke up to an iguana, a hummingbird, layers of bird sounds, and endless views of water and mountains. One of those moments where you just sit still because moving feels like it might break the magic.

This was the first morning where Coral Bay truly sank in.

Island time is very real here ⏳🌴

Before getting anywhere, I learned something important.

Island time is not optional.

Things take longer. Roads wind. Parking fills up. Plans shift. And instead of fighting it, I slowly started adjusting my expectations. It helped that every delay came with a view that made waiting feel worth it.

North shore beach hopping 🌊☀️

I spent the morning hitting three beaches on the north side of St. John:

Francis Bay
Maho Bay
Jumpie Beach, that felt like a hidden gem, jumpy waves included

I wanted to visit Trunk Bay, but parking was completely full, so that plan was quickly abandoned. As I was trying to find a spot, two deer casually crossed the road. It felt like a reminder that on St. John, nature always comes first.

Heading to Cruz Bay for the afternoon 🚙

I had to be in Cruz Bay by 1:30 PM so I could park and head out for my only planned activity of the day.

This trip was intentionally loose, but I had booked a few things in advance.

I had really good chicken quesadillas at Greengos for a quick lunch.

Planned activities and a wind reality check 🌬️🐢

The plan was a snorkeling and kayaking tour with sea turtles.

Spoiler alert, it was canceled. The winds were intense and completely changed the plans. Apparently, winds are usually heavier on the south side of the island, but of course, while I am here, the opposite decided to happen. Rescheduled this to another day (day 6)!!! I did snap a picture of a plushie with mama and baby turtle that I may or may not purchase if I do end up seeing turtles.

Still determined, I rented snorkeling equipment and used YouTube tutorials to teach myself how to snorkel properly.

Snorkeling at Hansen Beach 🐠

I ended up snorkeling at Hansen Beach, a quieter private beach on the south side.

I saw:

Two tiny white crabs fighting, which was unexpectedly entertaining
A yellowtail snapper gliding past multiple times
Crabs and other Molluscs doing their thing
Some very colorful and slightly terrifying marine worms

The only issue?

I could not figure out how to inflate my life jacket, which meant I stayed stuck in shallow water. Not my finest moment, but honestly kind of funny in hindsight. I will absolutely fix this tomorrow!

Ending the day at Extra Virgin Bistro 🍽️✨

To end the day, I had a very fancy dinner at Extra Virgin Bistro, taking me back to Cruz Bay.

I went for the tasting menu, which was decadent. Not the best thing I have ever eaten, but definitely worth it if you want to splurge a bit. I am fully planning to balance this out with supermarket meals for the next few days.

It is all about equilibrium.

Driving home and resting up 🌙

Driving back in the dark was not nearly as scary as I expected. The roads felt familiar now, and the confidence carried over.

I ended the night with a good, deep sleep and a plan to wake up early the next day for more snorkeling adventures, hopefully with better wind and a properly inflated life jacket.

Day 1 in the USVI: NYC to St. John, wild taxi rides, rainbows, and Coral Bay magic 🌴✨

From NYC to St. Thomas ☀️✈️

Day 1 was mostly about getting there, but honestly, the journey itself felt like an initiation.

I flew from NYC to St. Thomas (STT), feeling tired, excited, and emotionally ready for this trip to begin. I did not know then that the real adventure would start the moment I left the airport.

The wild taxi ride to Red Hook 🚕😬

The taxi ride from STT airport to Red Hook ferry terminal deserves its own paragraph.

It took about 40 to 50 minutes, and the roads were steep, narrow, winding, and dramatic in a way that makes you grip the seat a little tighter. If you are new to island driving, this can feel genuinely scary. Sharp curves, elevation changes, and ocean views that are stunning but also slightly distracting.

That said, the roads are well-maintained, and once I settled in, it felt less chaotic and more thrilling.

Important ferry info if you are doing this route:

Ferries from Red Hook to St. John leave roughly every hour
The last ferry is around 11 pm

I picked up some groceries from Moe’s fresh market and withdrew some cash right opposite Red Hook.

Ferry chaos, luggage fees, and a small panic 🛥️

I had booked my ferry online, thinking I was all set.

Turns out, you still have to pay $6 per bag for luggage (does not include bagpacks or other small items), which I did not know. Even though I was almost first in line to board, I had to step aside, scramble to get a baggage ticket because the websites were not loading, and hope I did not miss the ferry.

Stress levels were high for a minute, but I made it just in time.

St. John arrival with rain and a double rainbow 🌈🌧️

As the ferry approached St. John, it started raining lightly.

And then, a double rainbow appeared.

I have photos, and yes, it felt symbolic. After everything this year has thrown at me, being welcomed like that felt gentle, like the island was saying, you can exhale now.

Jeep pickup and an unexpected win 🚙✨

Once I arrived in Cruz Bay, I called the jeep rental folks, and they picked me up in their shuttle. Easy, friendly, and zero stress.

On the way, they even pointed out a few places around the area, which was such a nice touch. The biggest win though?

I could park at their spot for free.

Parking on the island can cost up to $25 an hour, so this felt like a travel victory.

Driving to Coral Bay

Driving in St. John is an experience. You drive on the left side of the road, and the roads are steep, twisty, and full of tight curves that loop through the hills.

It can feel intimidating, but ten years of driving in India absolutely came in clutch here. Instead of fear, I felt oddly prepared.

The drive from Cruz Bay to Coral Bay was stunning. Green hills, open water, and that quiet realization that I was finally far away from everything that had been weighing on me.

Coral Bay Is everything 💙

Let me say this clearly.

Coral Bay is AMAZING.

It is calm, slower, and deeply peaceful. My stay has the best views I have ever experienced, and while I am not sharing the name, the photos will do the talking.

This trip is a reset for me. After a long, mentally draining period in my life, being here feels like choosing myself. It is also a conscious effort to challenge the belief that I do not deserve nice things.

Being here is me unlearning that.

Christmas eve boats, fried chicken, and sleep 🎄🚤🍗

As if Day 1 had not already delivered enough, there was a boat lights show near Johnny Lime for Christmas Eve. Boats glowing against the dark water, soft music, and that unmistakable island magic. The town folk put a lot of love and effort into decorating their boats and Santa made an appearance to greet us all.

I grabbed a full plate of fried chicken with two sides: rice with beans and potato salad, and a key lime pie, drove back through the quiet winding roads, and went straight to sleep.

Tired, full, calm, and content.

Resting without guilt: Finding tranquility and self-trust in St. John, USVI

“A year turned into several years, and several years turned into all the years. One morning you wake up with more life behind you than in front of you, not being able to understand how it’s happened.”

— Fredrik Backman, Britt-Marie Was Here

Somewhere along the way, time stopped feeling like something I moved through and started feeling like something I carried. Years folded into each other quietly, without ceremony. Responsibilities accumulated. Wins went uncelebrated. Rest was postponed, again and again, for a version of the future where I might finally feel deserving of it.

I think this is an oldest daughter thing. Learning early how to hold weight. Learning how to be dependable before learning how to be kind to myself. Living with the unspoken belief that if I stop, even briefly, everything might slip. That rest is a risk I cannot afford. That achievement is a requirement, not a choice. That love must be earned through effort and vigilance and doing more than asked or required.

So when I decided to take myself to the USVI, it wasn’t to escape my life. It was to interrupt a pattern. I went looking for tranquility and solace, yes, but more than that, I went to see what would happen if I stopped negotiating my right to rest.

St. John felt like home to my nervous system almost immediately. Not in a dramatic way. But in a quieter one. The kind of home that doesn’t demand proof or productivity. The island met me with fullness: the color of the water changing with the light, trees that seemed unhurried, animals moving through the world without apology. Nothing there asked me to perform.

Some mornings, I woke up early to watch the sunrise from my Airbnb. No plans, no urgency. Just light arriving when it was ready, filling the world slowly.

Some days were shaped by a simple quest: finding a turtle. And when I finally did, something in me went completely still. I floated above it, suspended in the Atlantic waters, and for once, my mind did not rush ahead or pull me backward. I didn’t want to leave. I didn’t want to name the moment or make it useful. I stayed there longer than I meant to, my body completely still.

“You live in a single moment. I live in a thousand.”

— Leigh Bardugo, Ruin and Rising

I have lived in a thousand moments at once for as long as I can remember. Anticipating, planning, compensating. Carrying what has been and what might be and what could go wrong if I stop paying attention. On St. John, something softened. The thousand moments loosened their grip, if only briefly, and I learned what it felt like to live inside just one.

There is something humbling about the ocean. It doesn’t rush. It doesn’t explain itself. It doesn’t apologize for taking up space. It moves with its own timing, and in doing so, gives permission to exist. Stillness found me without force: in floating without effort, in watching waves repeat themselves endlessly, in letting color and motion be enough.

What surprised me most was not the peace, but how quickly my body recognized it. How natural it felt once I stopped resisting it. The constant internal urgency quieted. The fear that rest might make me less capable or less worthy faded. I realized how long I had been equating pressure with care, effort with love.

And somewhere between the water and the mornings, a gentler realization settled in. I hadn’t been cruel to myself. I hadn’t been withholding love. I had been loving myself the only way I knew how: through responsibility, through vigilance, through doing what needed to be done.

“As I could, I loved you.”

— Katherine Arden, The Winter of the Witch

A way of honoring the past without excusing the cost of it. A way of understanding that my ambition, my endurance, my refusal to rest did not come from self-loathing, but from a belief that this was how worth was maintained.

This trip gave me more than memories. It gave me evidence. Evidence that peace is not a luxury. Evidence that I can plan a life, pay for it, drive myself through it, without needing to be relentless. Evidence that independence does not require self-denial. That rest does not undo ambition. That I can carry responsibility without letting it consume me.

The islands did not fix my life. They did not erase the weight I carry. But they showed me that I can carry it differently. With less clenchedness. With more presence. With more color.

And when I think about who I am now, returning from that stillness back into motion, I know this to be true:

“I am not ruined. I am ruination.”

— Leigh Bardugo, Ruin and Rising

Not broken by what I have carried. Not diminished by choosing rest. But sharpened. Claimed. Fully my own.

^{P.S. Logistics and travel notes can be found here <LINK COMING SOON>. This essay was written by me and edited for clarity and flow with AI assistance.}

Happiness – Annu’s version

I thought I knew what happiness meant.
Until last week, when I decided to take an actual break.

Not the kind where I tell myself I’m taking a break but end up doing things anyway.
But a real one — where I just exist.

I’m grateful I could do that, because it reminded me what the happy me sounds like, and what she feels like.

I read books, telling myself just one more chapter.
I listened to music — something I’ve only used as background noise for I don’t know how long.
And I started breaking into song, sometimes even dance, at the slightest hint of a lyric or a rhyme.

“Nahi hoga” became kaati raat maine kheton mein, tu aayi nayi.

“Can you turn on the light?” became
Flashing lights, I ain’t got a worry on my mind,
Know that you’re mad, I realized,
That I don’t need ya, I don’t need ya.
(“Confetti” by Little Mix)

“Be careful” became
Something ‘bout you makes me feel like a dangerous woman.

“It tastes really nice” became
Super Machi

Among many others.

When I practiced my Kuchipudi routine, I felt alive — like I never have before.

My smile feels different.
My skin feels different.
My heart feels different.

It’s nice to be reminded of what happiness actually feels like.
And I will hold on to it for dear life.

Fragments, 25 September 2025

I am scared that life is slipping.
I am caught between my own ambitions and my parents’ expectations.
I have not read a book in two months.
I have not slept without an alarm in years.
Despite the alarm, I wake from nightmares of not doing enough.
I am always either anxious or burnt out.
Burnout feels safer than anxiety.
At least then my heart rests.
I regret being an ‘overachiever’.
It feels like a weight I cannot drop.
I wonder if I can keep this up.
People tell me I will rest someday.
I do not believe them.
I fear that despite proving myself every day, I will have to fight until my last breath to show my birthgivers I am enough.
I hate fighting them so they will not undersell me to “prospective future husbands.”
I hate that not having a Y chromosome makes me somehow less in their eyes.
They do not say it.
Their actions speak it anyway.
I feel close to crumbling.
I fear it is only a matter of time.

The Arranged Marriage Connundrum – Why Was I Always Asked to Be Better, but He’s Good Enough for Simply Existing?

On the double standards in raising daughters vs marrying them off

TW: Suicidal ideation, anxiety, coercion

Where do I begin?

I am a 28-year-old “older” daughter with MBBS and MPH degrees, and a full-time job in a field I absolutely love and feel deeply passionate about. I’m preparing for my USMLE steps while juggling a full-time job, my health, meals (often meal-prepping), cleaning, doctor and dentist appointments when needed, and workouts. I’m fully financially independent and actively paying off my student loan.

I love dancing, and every Thursday, I take formal Kuchipudi classes — I also practice on other days because I take it seriously. I used to read a lot more, but due to time constraints, I now read or listen to books and review them much less than I’d like, but I still do. I also enjoy exploring new restaurants and staying in touch with family and friends.

Do I love keeping busy? Sure.
But as someone in therapy for anxiety, and a lot of introspection behind me, I know that I do so much of it just to be worthy of my parents’ love. I often feel like a disappointment, because I’ve been made to feel that way — even though my parents say they’re proud of me, I know they’re not satisfied.

I’ve always been pushed to work harder and do better.

I got a 9.5/10 GPA in my 10th SSC (state board, Andhra Pradesh).
I ranked #2 in the state during my 11th boards.
I lost my grandfather in January 2014 — he was my whole world.
I didn’t receive the emotional or mental support I needed.
I gave my 12th boards in March and my medical entrance in May of the same year.
I got a combined 96.8% in 11th and 12th (because 12th boards didn’t go as well).
I ranked around 1050–1060 in the entrance (don’t remember exactly).

Could I have done better? Sure. But I remember hearing my parents telling people I didn’t perform well because I lost my grandfather. While that might be partly true, I couldn’t help wondering — why was an excuse needed? Was my performance that bad?

I got into a government medical school.

In my first year, I got 2 distinctions out of 3 subjects. I missed the overall distinction, which made me sad. But still — 2 out of 3!

My dad wasn’t happy.
I still remember the day he lashed out at me in front of close relatives, saying I’d been a constant disappointment in his life since 10th grade. I was 18.

That was the first time I wanted to kill myself. I thought about how easy it would be to hang from the fan. I laughed bitterly, thinking it might break — our house was old. I didn’t know what to do.

But I survived, never feeling enough, always feeling I had to do more.

In school, I had the opportunity to swim, skate, run (I was the fastest 100m runner in school without training), play hockey, and basketball. Many of my coaches asked me to join classes. But I was never sent. Let’s be honest — I have a lazy dad.

Don’t get me wrong — I absolutely love him to pieces, and I wouldn’t want anyone else in his place. I cannot imagine my life without him. I have felt the immense love he holds for me.

But both things can be true.
He can be the best dad, and also the one who put this unbearable pressure on me.

I’ve seen parents bend over backward to give their kids the best opportunities. I don’t think I got those shots. I was given the bare minimum — which I’m extremely grateful for — but I could’ve done without the outrageous expectations that came with it.

I think I was forced to grow up too soon.

My mom told me in 5th grade that we weren’t financially stable and I should stop asking for things.

In 9th grade, I needed a new uniform — mine was faded, and I was getting punished at school. Instead of asking, I saved up every rupee I’d ever been gifted to buy one myself. Months later, when I was almost successful, my dad finally said, “Oh, let me get it for you.” Not when they saw my faded uniform, but when I’d nearly solved it alone.

In med school, I needed a laptop for PG prep. It took 8 months to get one. I don’t even remember how long it took me to ask. My med school fees were 10,000 rupees a year, by the way. And it’s not that we were poor, I’ve seen money spent in other ways. Also, dad wanted me to clear both Civils and PG entrance while doing my very gruelling internship. 🙃

So basically, I was a financially insecure, underconfident ball of anxiety, hoping someday I’d make my parents proud.

I chose research over clinical practice.
Did I get support? Yes, immense support.
But I had to lie — had to say I was doing this while preparing for my Steps. I knew deep down that was a huge lie.

I won the Academic Excellence Award during my MPH. Did it make them happy? Sure.
But it still wasn’t enough. Why? Because I wasn’t in clinical practice.

I remember hearing:
“How can I tell people that you’re in public health?”

Yes, I’m venting. But only because:

If it was so important to put that much burden on my then little shoulders and still make me feel like I’m not doing enough (while outwardly praising me),
WHY ARE YOU NOT HOLDING MY FUTURE HUSBAND TO THE SAME STANDARDS?

“The family is great!”

“They’re not asking for a dowry!”

“They’re very interested in you!”

All fine. But if I don’t feel it, I don’t feel it.
Can you please not pressure me into marriage?

I’m scared.
As strong as I am in standing against manipulation, I’m scared I might give in — not because I want to, but because I don’t want to keep fighting for you to hear me.
I don’t think I can fight for much longer while doing everything else I’m doing.

A cherry on top?
The nonchalant comment from my parents:
“Oh, it would’ve been nice if you found someone in our caste yourself and saved us the time.”

You know what the problem with that is?
My mom once told me during med school that she would absolutely kill herself if I brought someone home.

Here’s hoping I don’t have to settle for someone who dims my shine.
Here’s hoping I find someone who doesn’t think I’m “too much,” and wants to live life with me.
Here’s hoping I meet someone as passionate as I am — if not more.
Here’s hoping I never have to marry a homophobic, racist, or toxic “macho” man.
Because honestly, I would rather die than call such a man my husband.

📚 Book Review: Everything is Tuberculosis by John Green — A Curable Disease, a Deadly Injustice 🦠💔✨

I’ve been reviewing books on this blog for a while now, but Everything is Tuberculosis wasn’t just another title on my list.

Tuberculosis research has quietly become the heartbeat of my work. It’s not just what I study, it’s how I see the world. A lens that colors my understanding of justice, equity, and health. I could not not read this book.

I’m a physician by training.
I stepped away from clinical practice to pursue research and public health, a decision that some of my family and friends still don’t fully understand. In many of the circles I belong to, becoming a doctor is the goal. Anything else? It raises questions. Quiet ones. Loud ones. And a lot of inner conflict.

This book gave me language for what I’ve felt for years.

📖 Goodreads Blurb

John Green, the #1 bestselling author of The Anthropocene Reviewed and a passionate advocate for global healthcare reform, tells a deeply human story illuminating the fight against the world’s deadliest disease.

Tuberculosis has been entwined with humanity for millennia. Once romanticized as a malady of poets, today tuberculosis is a disease of poverty that walks the trails of injustice and inequity we blazed for it.

In 2019, John Green met Henry, a young tuberculosis patient at Lakka Government Hospital in Sierra Leone while traveling with Partners in Health. John became fast friends with Henry, a boy with spindly legs and a big, goofy smile. In the years since that first visit to Lakka, Green has become a vocal and dynamic advocate for increased access to treatment and wider awareness of the healthcare inequities that allow this curable, treatable infectious disease to also be the deadliest, killing 1.5 million people every year.

In Everything is Tuberculosis, John tells Henry’s story, woven through with the scientific and social histories of how tuberculosis has shaped our world and how our choices will shape the future of tuberculosis.

🧬 Genre

Non-fiction, Global Health, Narrative Medicine, Medical Humanities

⚠️ Trigger Warnings

🩸 Illness and death
🧍‍♂️ Healthcare injustice
💔 Systemic neglect
👶 Pediatric illness
🇸🇱 Global health inequity

📚 A Book About TB… But Also About Us

John Green set out to write about tuberculosis.
But what he ended up writing is much more than a medical narrative; it’s a call for empathy, a spotlight on injustice, and a deeply human story.

“The cure is where the disease is not, and the disease is where the cure is not.”

TB is curable. It has been since the 1950s.
So why are we still losing 1.5 million people a year to it?

“How can I accept a world where over a million people will die this year for want of a cure that has existed for nearly a century?”

💡 When you’re surrounded by like-minded people, it’s easy to become a frog in a well. It might be the best well in the world, but it’s still a well.

This book reminded me that empathy isn’t a given. We have to keep choosing it. Over and over again.

As Green puts it:

“Why should we move mountains to save a patient? Because he is ONE PERSON.”

👦 Henry and the Power of One

The data is overwhelming. The numbers are devastating.
But Green doesn’t throw charts at you. He gives you Henry.

“The problem with statistics is I cannot take in that we lose one million two hundred and fifty thousand people each year to a curable illness… but I can just barely fathom Henry.”

He invites you to imagine yourself in his shoes. To remember all you’ve lived through, all who have loved you into being. And then, only then, to multiply that by 1.25 million: people, lives, families.

That’s when the number starts to feel real.
That’s when the urgency stops being theoretical.

TB is still here. Still unjust.
And the reason isn’t science. It’s systems.

“The real cause of contemporary tuberculosis is, for lack of a better term, us.”

📊 Rating Table

Category	Rating
✍️ Writing	⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐
🌍 Setting	⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐
💡 Insight	⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐
📚 Relevance	⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐
⭐ Overall	⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐

🌟 Final Thoughts

I read this book because TB is at the center of my life’s work.
Because TB quietly changed my life.

But I’m asking you to read it because this isn’t just a book about medicine.
It’s a book about people. About humanity. About the choices we make, and the ones we look away from.

You don’t have to be in public health to care.
You just have to be human.

📣 Read it and feel empathy coursing through your veins.
💥 Read it and understand what fuels our work.
🌎 Read it and know that you, too, can be part of the change.

Read it and pass it on.

Bungalow by Vikas Khanna NYC Review: Fine Dining Indian Food with Heart

Take this review with a generous pinch of masala — I’ve been a huge fan of Chef Vikas Khanna since his MasterChef India days (yes, the crush was real), so dining at his NYC restaurant, Bungalow, was kind of a dream come true.

✨ The Vikas Sighting

I didn’t expect him to actually be there, let alone serve us food with the warmest smile like we were guests in his home. I’m not even sure I was breathing properly — but I somehow managed to stay cool (I think??). He was gracious, humble, and made the experience so personal. Truly unforgettable. [HE SAID I LOOK BEAUTIFUL AND THAT THE LIGHT WAS FALLING PERFECTLY]

📲 Getting a Reservation

Getting a table at Bungalow takes some strategy. Pro tip: reservations drop at 11 AM, 20 days in advance. You’ll need decent Wi-Fi and some determination — but it’s totally doable and 100% worth it.

🌆 The Vibe

The space is gorgeous. Think luxe without being stuffy. Yes, it was a bit loud at times — but that mostly depends on the crowd. For us, it felt lively and full of joy. The music was an absolute vibe — if you’re a ’90s kid, you’ll be bopping along between bites. Service was quick, friendly, and refreshingly Indian in its warmth and attentiveness.

🍤 Starters That Slap

We began with the Shrimp Balchao Cones and Ammi’s Lamb Chops.

They started us off with a little complementary something that tasted like an elevated version of sukha puri (sorry, I forgot the name of the dish)
The shrimp cones were playful, punchy, and wrapped in a crisp pastry shell — a savory twist on something that felt nostalgic yet new.
But the lamb chops? Chef’s kiss. Tender, juicy, and bathed in a sauce that I quite literally licked clean. No shame.

🍛 Mains That Mean Business

For our entrées, we ordered the Chicken Salli (apparently pronounced sAAli) and the Biryani, with a side of the Five-Cheese Kulcha.

The salli and kulcha? Absolutely nailed it. Rich, flavorful, and comforting.
The biryani, though, fell a bit short for me. I’m the daughter of a Hyderabadi caterer — biryani is sacred in our house — so my bar is impossibly high. It wasn’t bad by any means, just didn’t hit that deep as I was hoping for.

Still, the food overall was coma-inducing — in the best way. We boxed up leftovers to save space for dessert (pro move).

🍨 Dessert with a Side of Celebration

We ended with the Rose Kulfi Falooda, a rich rabdi-based dessert that looked almost too pretty to eat — until Chef Khanna himself stepped in to help us cut into it. Iconic.
We were celebrating my friend’s PhD defense, and to top it off, they surprised us with a complimentary Tiramisu (which just so happened to be their favorite dessert). A+ for thoughtful touches.

🧂 The Final Bite

The bill came with a jar of complimentary Amla powder. A 20% gratuity was already included in the bill, but that’s what we typically tip anyway, so no complaints there.

Would I go back? In a heartbeat.

⭐ My Standard Ratings (out of 5):

Category	Score
Menu Variety	⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️☆ (4.5)
Presentation	⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️ (5)
Taste (Food & Drinks)	⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️☆ (4.5)
Portion Size/Cost	⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️☆ (4.5)
Ambiance	⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️☆ (4.5)
Staff & Service	⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️ (5)

Overall Rating: 4.8/5

Despite its star-studded aura, Bungalow isn’t intimidating — it’s soulful, warm, and bursting with heart. And honestly? It wasn’t wildly expensive either, especially considering the quality, ambiance, and personal touches.

If you love Indian food that’s bold, beautiful, and cooked with soul — and if you’re even half as starstruck as me — Bungalow is a must.

📚 Book Review: The Bookshop: A History of the American Bookstore by Evan Friss – 5/5 ⭐ | A Bookworm’s Dream ✨📖☕

In my ✨ highly ambitious and slightly chaotic ✨ project to read every 2024 Goodreads Choice Award winner (because why not torture myself with genres I usually avoid 😂), I stumbled onto The Bookshop by Evan Friss…
AND OMG 🫶 THIS. WAS. THE. BEST. DECISION. EVER.

As someone who loves spending hours in cozy book cafes ☕📚 (and who may or may not secretly plan to open one someday with fairy lights and hidden nooks 🧚‍♀️✨), this book was like a giant warm hug. It’s a love letter to every bibliophile’s dream. 🥹

📚✨ Scroll down for a list of bookstores mentioned in the final chapter — spoiler alert: they’re all (or were!) owned by famous authors! 💬💥 Bookish dreams, incoming!

👉 Goodreads Blurb:

“An affectionate and engaging history of the American bookstore and its central place in American cultural life… from Benjamin Franklin’s first store to Amazon Books, via iconic indies like The Strand and Gotham Book Mart. The Bookshop draws from rich archival material to celebrate the evolution—and endangered magic—of bookstores.”

Bookstores have always been unlike any other kind of store, shaping readers and writers, and influencing our tastes, thoughts, and politics. They nurture local communities while creating new ones of their own. Bookshops are powerful spaces, but they are also endangered ones. In The Bookshop, we see those stakes: what has been, and what might be lost.

Evan Friss’s history of the bookshop draws on oral histories, archival collections, municipal records, diaries, letters, and interviews with leading booksellers to offer a fascinating look at this institution beloved by so many. The story begins with Benjamin Franklin’s first bookstore in Philadelphia and takes us to a range of booksellers including The Strand, Chicago’s Marshall Field & Company, Gotham Book Mart, specialty stores like Oscar Wilde and Drum and Spear, sidewalk sellers of used books, Barnes & Noble, Amazon Books, and Parnassus. The Bookshop is also a history of the leading figures in American bookselling, often impassioned eccentrics, and a history of how books have been marketed and sold over more than two centuries—including, for example, a 3,000-pound elephant who appeared to sign books at Marshall Field’s in 1944.

The Bookshop is a love letter to bookstores, a charming chronicle for anyone who cherishes these sanctuaries of literature, and essential reading to understand how these vital institutions have shaped American life—and why we still need them.

🏷️ Genre: Nonfiction 📚; History 🏛️;

🚨 Trigger Warnings: None! (Unless you count heartbreak over closed bookstores 😭)

✍️ Review:

📚 Plot / Structure:

Unlike a dry academic history (which, let’s be real, I feared), this book FLOWS like a beautifully told story. 🌊 Evan Friss weaves together adorable anecdotes 🐘 with deeply fascinating cultural shifts 📜, from Franklin’s printing days to the rise (and sometimes sad fall) of bookstore legends.

Each chapter felt like wandering into a different quirky bookstore aisle—some familiar, some wildly unexpected (Aryan Bookstore?? Yikes 😬). And there’s even a chapter about the smell of bookstores 🥰📖 (scientifically proven magic, I’m convinced).

🧑‍🤝‍🧑 Characters / People:

Okay, technically nonfiction = no fictional characters… but THE PEOPLE!!!
Friss introduces unforgettable real-life legends: from Marcella Burns Hahner (aka “The Czarina” who literally dragged customers to buy books 😂) to powerhouse booksellers shaping not just bookstores but publishing history itself.

And let’s not forget all the quirky, passionate, slightly bonkers booksellers that make you want to immediately apply for a job at Three Lives & Company.

🌎 Setting / Atmosphere:

America’s bookstore landscape is a full-on character here. 🗺️ Every city, every little dusty shop, every massive superstore like Marshall Field’s feels so vivid you could smell the paper and coffee. ☕📖

The decline in independent bookstores absolutely broke my heart 💔 (5,591 bookstores in 2021 vs. 13,499 in 1993 😭) but the love Friss shows for these sanctuaries shines SO BRIGHT. ✨

✅ What Worked:

Luscious storytelling ✍️
Brilliant research 🕵️‍♂️ without info-dumping
Anecdotes that kept it light and unputdownable 🫶
Pure nostalgia and emotional resonance for book lovers 📚💕

❌ What Didn’t Work:

Honestly??? NOTHING.
(Unless you count me wishing it had an extra 300 pages 😂 I could live in this book.)

📊 Rating Table:

Category	Rating
✍️ Writing	⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐
🌍 Setting/World-Building	⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐
🧑‍🤝‍🧑 Historical Figures / Characters	⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐
🏛️ Research & Accuracy	⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐
⭐ Overall	⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐

🌟 Final Thoughts:

The Bookshop is a rich, affectionate love song to bookstores—both the ones we know and the hundreds we can only dream of visiting. 🎶✨
If you’re the kind of person who thinks heaven probably smells like old books and fresh coffee ☕📖, this needs to be your next read.

Every day, I feel incredibly grateful that I live in Boston 🏙️❤️—a city that not only breathes history but also fiercely cherishes its indie bookstores.
In fact, reading this made me even more determined to finally walk the Freedom Trail 🚶‍♀️🗺️! The Old Corner Bookstore, which played such a huge part in American literary history, is a stop along the way! 🏛️📚
It’s like this book planted a little adventure seed in my mind—and now I can’t wait to explore my city’s bookish past even deeper. 📜✨

P.S. Evan Friss… can we PLEASE get a sequel covering bookstore history in other parts of the world too? 🇮🇳🙏 Because I would devour a history of Indian bookshops! 📚❤️

📚✨ Bookstores by Authors I Took Note of and will definitely try to visit:

Lawrence Ferlinghetti – City Lights Bookstore, San Francisco 🌉📚
Larry McMurtry – Booked Up, Archer City, Texas 🤠📖 (Permanently closed now)
Jonathan Lethem – Red Gap Used Books, Blue Hill, Maine 🌲📚
Louise Erdrich – Birchbark Books and Native Arts, Minneapolis, Minnesota 🌿✨
Garrison Keillor – Common Good Books, St. Paul, Minnesota 📚🌟 (I think it’s sold?)
Jeff Kinney – An Unlikely Story, Plainville, Massachusetts 🏡📖 (DIARY OF A WIMPY KID AUTHOR HAS A BOOKSTORE IN MA? WHY HAVE I NOT VISITED?)
Judy Blume – Books & Books, Key West, Florida 🏝️📚
Emma Straub – Books Are Magic, Brooklyn, New York ✨📚 (IK what I am doing when I visit NY next)
Lin-Manuel Miranda – Drama Book Shop, New York City 🎭📖

✨ TL;DR:

Run, don’t walk, to grab The Bookshop if you love:
🏡 Cozy bookstores
📜 History that reads like a story
📖 Bibliophile dreams coming to life

5/5 ⭐ A soul-soothing masterpiece. ✨