ALL SPARKLE, NO SPUNK

Priyanka Chopra Jonas’s new memoir lacks substance and does not do justice to the talented actor

- MANDIRA NAYAR

Unfinished By Priyanka Chopra Jonas Published by Penguin Viking

Never judge a book by its cover is a maxim for anyone who is serious about reading. Priyanka Chopra Jonas’s memoir Unfinished is, however, the exception to this principle. On the cover, her name in bold and her picture loom larger than the actual title, making no pretence about what lies inside: a brand with flash and little else.

The book is vain, vapid and, worse, dull. In the past few years, memoirs have acquired a much coveted place on a publisher’s list. Always in-depth, often revealing, even the reluctant politician has realised that to sell, you must tell. No longer just an airbrushed Insta version of life, a book with meat has almost become a rite of passage for a celebrity. Everyone does one. Sharon Stone is writing one. Karan Johar’s sold briskly. Chopra’s, however, is like seeing glossy holiday pictures on Facebook. Captured carefully, where the lighting is great and everyone looks happy.

A superstar actor, Chopra has displayed spunk in her acting, but her memoir offers none. It is also written for an American audience. Chopra helpfully explains why she stayed with her grandparents when she was young, and with her aunts and uncles while in high school in America. “I know this may seem strange to some, but it is simply a cultural thing. In India, taking care of one another’s children is just part of who we are. It is seen as duty and a responsibility, not an imposition,” she writes. Her explanation of India—a sort of tweetstyle simplification—is peppered through the book. There is also the not-so-subtle message of gender disparity, which she weaves in as a UNICEF Goodwill Ambassador.