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Have gobbled this book up, and greatly admire Arundhati Roy, her fiction, non-fiction and her first memoir. But perhaps, the only thing that I wish this had, was a little bit of regret. Arundhati, is never really wrong. And perhaps the mistakes she made are too vulnerable for her to talk about…

All other characters feel a bit shallow, none of the husbands feel fleshed out, overall it feels like an overwhelmingly superficial take

Draupadi is written as a bit of a pick me girl.

I feel like 2/3 chapters ago the name-dropping and the lifestyle was so much more unbearable. Now, it’s coming back to feelings, mourning and understanding grief.