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ARE YOU THERE, KRISHNA? (Adult Humorous Memoir)

Title:

Are You There Krishna, It’s Me Reshma. Or Rachel. Or Whatever; Essays on Talking to Ghosts, Accosting Celebrities, One-night Stands Gone Wrong, Sexism, Race, and First-Generation Woes

Author:

Rachel Khona

Genre:

Adult Humorous Memoir

Word Count:

70,000 words

Query:

I am seeking representation for my memoir entitled Are You There Krishna, It’s Me Reshma. Or Rachel. Or Whatever; Essays on Talking to Ghosts, Accosting Celebrities, One-night Stands Gone Wrong, Sexism, Race, and First-Generation Woes. It is a humorous collection of stories dealing with race, sexism, culture, first-generation woes, and day-to-day life. Think Aziz Ansari’s “Master of None.” But in book form.

Born to a shrill hyper mother and bipolar father and living with a sister who owned a Japanese sword collection, I knew even as a young child that I wasn’t like the rest of my Indian family. While my parents were plotting how I could make it into med school with my mediocre grades in chemistry and biology, I had other things on my mind. I was busy fantasizing about making out with the quarterback, how I could be a cheerleader and a pageant queen yet still be so unpopular, and how I could get the family dog (a Husky-Lab mix) to get off his fat ass and take me sledding.

After living with such lunacy, I knew I had to escape. I went to college, appeared on “Singled Out” (I stood right next to Jenny McCarthy), got high in Amsterdam, worked at a male modeling agency, met Gwen Stefani in a bathroom, argued with a ghost, had a one-night stand with an amnesia victim and got pulled over way too many times.

Along the way, Are You There Krishna weaves observations on race, class, sex, and culture with scenes from my life from elementary school to present day. Should I be embarrassed by my period? Do I have to date Indian men? Should I wax down there? Why do people keep asking me if I was born in India? How can I straddle two cultures while still retaining my sense of self? Am I abandoning my culture by changing my name to “Rachel”? Am I slut if I sleep with two guys in the same day?

A cross between Mindy Kaling’s “The Mindy Project” and Caitlin Moran’s How to Be a Woman Are You There Krishna, It’s Me Reshma. Or Rachel. Or Whatever.; Essays on Talking to Ghosts, Accosting Celebrities, One-night Stands Gone Wrong and Girl Power is a memoir that tackles topics as diverse as modern-day feminism, first-generation awkwardness, kooky family members, messy sex, expensive shoes, and puppies that don’t behave with humor, candor, and intelligence.

I am active on Twitter (@rachelkhona), Instagram (@rachelkhona and @crimsonandclover_studio), and Facebook (facebook.com/Rachel.khona.the.blog). As far as promotion, I will reach out to all of those networks, as well as run ads on FB, host giveaways, and reach out to local stores for readings. I also have a PR rep who I will reach out to for book PR. Through her and my own devices, I have been featured on the morning show “Indy Style”, radio shows such as Playboy’s “Tiffany Granath”, “Poundstone Power” and “Broadminded” on Sirius XM, “Rudy Maxa’s World”, “Los Originales”, as well as Redbook How About We, Coed Magazine, Sex Lies and Dating, The Grindstone, What’s Wear and Gloss Magazine. I was also filmed for an upcoming feminist documentary The Goddess Project as well as a for Modern Love by award-winning filmmaker Topaz Adizes about love, sex, and dating in the modern age.

An established freelance writer, I have written for Playboy, Penthouse, Cosmopolitan, Maxim, Marie Claire, The New York Times, and The Washington Post among others. I have performed at the Word Bookstore, Inner Monologues, Standard Issues, and Speakeasy Stories.

First 300 words:

My friends and I were lunching at a restaurant in Santa Monica when who comes in but Gwen Stefani and Gavin Rossdale. Not too many people knew about it, but Gwen Stefani was my secret best friend. As in, I knew we were best friends, she just didn’t know it. Yet. And now we were breathing the same air! I hoped once we met she would realize how much fun I was and want to be my best friend too. We would have pillow fights and bedazzle our pants together. It would be pure magic. A match made in heaven. Gwen and Gav were sitting three tables down from us in an otherwise empty restaurant. So I pretty much had an obstructed view of Gwen and her bright red lipstick.

“You guys!” I hissed to my friends.

“What is it?” Samantha asked.

“It’s Gwen-fucking-Stefani!”

“Where is she?” Samantha asked.

“The table behind us. Don’t look now!” Samantha and Selena both swiveled around to look immediately.

“Oh, that’s cool,” Selena responded. She returned to studying the menu.

“I’m sorry am I missing something? How can you guys be so calm at a time like this?”

“Honestly, I don’t think Gwen Stefani is that big of a deal,” Samantha responded.

“Oh right, she’s not the fabulous fucking Jimmy Buffet,” I muttered. For some inexplicable reason, Samantha had a complete and total infatuation with Jimmy Buffet. How anyone could enjoy the music of someone who sang songs like “Cheeseburger in Paradise” and “Fruit Cakes” is beyond me.

The first time I saw the video for “Just a Girl” my brain almost exploded. After years of listening and watching men express themselves, it never occurred to me that women were blatantly missing from most of rock music. Though as a girl I often felt frustrated by my parents’ draconian Indian ways, my irritation was often only expressed by rebelling against everything they thought was appropriate, i.e. men with tattoos.

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