Category: Non-Fiction
Rights: All rights available
Imagine a three-year-old child, staring into the void, questioning his very existence. No words yet to articulate the turmoil within him. No language vast enough to hold his wonder or his wounds. Imagine him growing, sensing his difference before he could name it, before the world had words for it, before he had a role model to anchor him.
This is my story. A story that begins in India, in the hush of childhood confusion, in the silent scream of self-questioning. A boy who knew he was different before he knew what different meant. A boy who, for years, had no one to mirror back to him the truth of who he was. And when I finally found role models, they were as fractured as I was—survivors in a world that did not make space for them. They tried to shape me, guide me, love me, even as they, too, were lost.
Then came America. The land of reinvention, the land of possibility, and yet—the land where I was even more the other. I arrived in Manhattan with dreams of being an artist, but life had other plans. The colors of my art became flavors, my brushstrokes became spices, and I, the outsider, found belonging in kitchens. There, in the fire, in the rhythm of creation, I discovered something unexpected—a voice. A way to tell stories not with words, but with food.
I became a chef. And not just any chef, but a Michelin-starred one. I stood atop a world I never dreamed I would reach. I cooked in kitchens that carried my name, wrote books that fed souls, and loved deeply—fiercely. I had it all, or so I thought. But no matter where I stood, self-doubt followed. The mirror of my life reflected triumph, but also fracture. A man who belonged everywhere, yet never quite anywhere. A man who carried his difference like a quiet ache.
And then—illness. A reckoning. A body brought to its knees. I returned home to India, not to heal, but to die. I surrendered, not knowing what awaited me. But life had another plan. Instead of death, I found renewal. Instead of endings, I found a beginning I had never dared to imagine.
This book is that journey. From a questioning child to a silent adolescent. From a young man searching for identity to an artist who became a chef, a writer, a storyteller. From triumph to loss. From the heights of success to the depths of self-exile. And then—back to the beginning, back to India, back to a truth I had long avoided.
It is raw. It is cinematic. It is rich with alliteration, aching with honesty, unafraid of judgment. It is a book that looks into the mirror with unflinching clarity and does not turn away. It is a story for anyone who has ever questioned themselves, who has ever felt unseen, unheard, unloved. It is for those who have lived as the ‘other,’ who have searched for home in places that never felt quite right.
It is a book about finding the courage to live—even after you think your story is over.
And I want the world to read it. Because it is true. Because it is mine. Because it might be theirs, too.
The author: Suvir Saran