On They Called Us Exceptional

I believe in the signs the universe sends me. Sometimes when something keeps showing up without me asking for it or looking for it, I take it as the universe saying, “Hey, I’m talking to you!”

That’s exactly what happened with this book. For no particular reason, it kept appearing on my feed. People were praising it, saying how good it is and how important its message is. Eventually, I caved. I said, “Okay, let’s see what you’ve got,” and I was hooked from the very first chapter.

This is the autobiography of an American-Indian journalist who courageously shares the dark sides of growing up as a second-generation immigrant in America, in a so-called “successful” family, where she was constantly under scrutiny to meet her father’s impossibly high expectations.

It’s a heartbreaking story and, for some, could even be triggering. But it’s an important story to tell. Too much of the world still knows so little about other cultures beyond the stereotypes we’ve been fed by the media. And, as is too often the case, the stories buried deepest under fear and false pretenses are women’s.

This book lets you step into each character’s shoes and feel for them. Even the father—the villain of the story—becomes someone you can empathize with as you understand his struggles with mental health and the misery he brought upon himself and his family.

It captures the nuances of a complicated family history and the sorrow of living with someone who will never give you the recognition you need for who you are. It’s a story of rebellion, resistance, fear, bravery, loneliness, and clarity. I saw parts of myself in Prachi’s story, especially that nagging voice in your head that says, “This isn’t how life is supposed to be.” That hidden power pushing you to make choices you know will get you into trouble—but you do it anyway.

And then comes the moment you realize you’re on a different path from the people you love deeply. You know you risk losing them, but you can’t stop yourself. Because yes, you only get one life.

For most of the book, the narrator speaks directly to her mother, whom she calls Mummy. These passages are filled with longing and sorrow. No matter how certain you are about your choices or how happy you are with the person you’ve become, there’s a part of you that still wants your mother to feel the same way. The hold a mother has on a child’s psyche is powerful, almost unexplainable.

There’s a part where she describes the paradox of visiting India: in America, she was accused of being “too Indian,” while in India, she was called “too American.” It’s the endless limbo children of immigrants live with, always searching for where they belong and which group truly reflects who they are.

And when you finally crawl outside the cocoon your traditional family tries to keep you in, you see more, read more, experience more—and suddenly, you realize that the people you hold dear may not align with the values you now live by. How do you keep loving a misogynistic father? How can you adore an enabling mother? These are the real struggles people don’t talk about enough.

Too often, these conflicts are reduced to jokes about Thanksgiving dinners or “that racist uncle.” But what if it’s your brother who’s racist? What do you do then? Are you supposed to bury all the good memories you share because of what you’ve learned about who they are now? How much power do you really have to change anything? And how do you live with the disappointment you see in their eyes, knowing they might be thinking the exact same thing about you: “Where did we go wrong? Why did she turn her back on us?”

I admire Prachi Gupta’s courage for putting all her vulnerabilities out there. For facing the shame, pain, fear, and self-doubt that must have weighed on her for years. And I thank her for showing that it’s possible to choose a different path—not just to survive but to thrive.

It isn’t easy. It isn’t a single battle. It’s a lifelong war. But at the end of the day, it’s worth fighting.