Reviewed By Shikha Malaviya

As she nears her mid-thirties, Sharmila, a beautiful, talented and successful Indian immigrant woman, finds herself succumbing to an Indian-style arranged marriage. She travels from the US to New Delhi, India,  to meet her match in sophisticated, ruggedly good-looking Raj, a jet-setting business executive. But as Sharmila gets to know Raj and his family, a world of deception and secrecy unravels, leaving this strong yet confused woman to turn to her fiancé's college friend, Prem, a compassionate, educated man who, for lack of job opportunities and his status as an untouchable, becomes Raj's chauffeur. As circumstances bring Sharmila and Prem closer, Sharmila also gets closer and closer to finding out why Raj is cold and distant, and why his mother Mrs. Khosla, would rather have Sharmila on the next plane home. 

Scenes from a Bollywood Movie? Or the next episode of One Desi Life to Live? Or Bharti Kirchner's latest novel Sharmila's Book? Okay, so One Desi Life to Live doesn't exist. But Sharmila's Book does, along with the possibility of its story line being used by a plot hungry Bollywood movie director. 

I first came across Bharti Kirchner as a newlywed in Maryland. To satisfy my culinary urges, and sharpen my growing culinary skills, I walked three blocks to the local library and found Kirchner's cookbooks tucked between American and Thai food. The recipes were easy to follow and simply written: a tinge of the exotic, a dollop of the west. The same could be said for Kirchner's fiction. Her grammar is impeccable and her sentences are crafted perfectly. A little too perfectly. For voracious readers like myself, I was able to zip through Sharmila's Book with ease. And then forget about it the next day. I longed for a little juiciness in words and metaphors. A little sizzle in the descriptions of people and places. And some adventure in the plot and sub-plots that didn't feel trite or formulaic. Another thing, which I did not appreciate in both of her novels, is this need to explain things which most South Asian readers and culture-savvy westerners already might know. From an explanation of the Salwar Kameez (in Shiva Dancing) to a documentary-like description of Hijras/eunuchs and Bindis (in Sharmila's Book), you get the sense that Kirchner's targeted audience is exotically ignorant, interested only in the romance of being torn between cultures and continents. 

All this said and done, I give Kirchner credit for being a solid writer. Both of her novels are consistent in style and language. And her ideas are good. Writing is not an easy thing, especially in first person, which Kirchner handles well in Sharmila's Book. I also like the portrayal of her protagonists, Indian women that are bold and independent. But unlike her cookbook recipes, much is left to be desired in Kirchner's fiction. One can't help but think that Bharti Kirchner's best is yet to come.