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Sameer Gudhate Presents the Book Review of Valedictorian by Shrestha Raychaudhuri

  • Writer: Sameer Gudhate
    Sameer Gudhate
  • 6h
  • 3 min read

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I remember the first time I watched a reality show unfold in real life—the bright lights, the cheers, the subtle whisper of alliances forming in shadows—and felt a strange thrill, a mix of envy and fascination. That same pulse ran through me as I turned the pages of Valedictorian by Shrestha Raychaudhuri, a book that sneaks up on you like a whispered confession and refuses to let go. Shrestha, already celebrated for her keen insight into human psychology, delivers a story that is dazzling, unsettling, and profoundly alive—a dark mirror reflecting our obsession with perfection.

 

At its heart is Nandini, an IIM graduate, always “the perfect daughter,” the one who scores ten out of ten in every arena of life. Her world is crisp and immaculate, like freshly ironed sheets or the precise clink of a well-arranged bookshelf. Enter Arjun, a stand-up comedian whose chaotic humor and irreverent charm slice through her carefully constructed universe. Their meeting is electric—a collision of precision and spontaneity. You feel the tension in your chest: will she bend, break, or triumph?

 

Shrestha’s prose is both sharp and fluid, quickening with Nandini’s ambitions. The narrative races like a high-speed train through obsession, jealousy, and desire. Short sentences hit like drumbeats when tension spikes; longer, lyrical stretches linger in Nandini’s mind. Social media, applause, and public scrutiny aren’t mere backdrops—they’re characters themselves, whispering and cajoling, shaping choices in ways that feel hauntingly real.

 

Nandini is terrifyingly relatable. Her brilliance and drive are seductive, yet it’s her fragility beneath the veneer of perfection that haunts you. I found myself rooting for her, even as I recoiled at the parts of all of us that chase impossible standards, molding lives for approval rather than authenticity. A quiet mid-book moment—when her carefully ordered world begins to slip—stayed with me long after closing the pages.

 

The structure keeps you hooked without overwhelming. Pacing mirrors her mental and emotional swings—fast when the show dominates, introspective when she is alone. The tension escalates naturally, culminating in a finale both shocking and inevitable. Themes of obsession, ambition, love, and the destructiveness of perfection thread through the story like golden embroidery on dark fabric, glinting and unsettling in equal measure.

 

Emotionally, I laughed, flinched, and paused to catch my breath, struck by how much of myself I saw reflected in Nandini’s extremes. The book doesn’t preach; it shows. Accessible yet profound, it’s a modern parable for anyone who has ever felt the weight of expectations—internal or external.

 

The strengths are abundant: psychological depth, unrelenting tension, Nandini’s relatability, and the incisive commentary on social media and modern life. A few heightened moments of melodrama might feel overblown, but they serve to underscore the stakes in Nandini’s world.

 

Valedictorian isn’t just a story about a reality show or the pursuit of excellence—it’s a reflection on what we sacrifice to be “perfect” and how obsession can masquerade as love. For those who crave psychological depth, emotional intensity, and stories that linger long after the last page, this book is a must-read. It left me contemplating ambition versus authenticity, control versus freedom—like a melody echoing long after the music stops.

 

Pick up this book, and let Nandini’s world pull you in. You may find yourself questioning perfection, applauding unpredictability, and perhaps, recognizing a bit of yourself in her beautifully complicated madness.

 

 

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