HAVING lived in diverse places, including Sri Lanka, has enabled prolific writer Jeevani Charika to deliver an interesting array of work, including her latest novel A Convenient Marriage.
The versatile British-born writer, who also pens romantic comedies under the name Rhoda Baxter, has delivered another page turner with a neatly crafted novel that revolves around a young woman torn between her duty to family and life in the UK. This leads to a marriage of convenience between two unlikely individuals hiding life-changing secrets.
Eastern Eye caught up with Jeevani Charika to find out more about her latest novel, writing and inspirations.
As a writer, what draws you to a subject?
I’m usually drawn to odd situations that people (usually minor characters in films) are in. I look at them and think ‘I wonder how they feel?’. A lot of my books are explorations sparked by tiny moments. For example, This Stolen Life was sparked by that moment when your child first calls their nursery key worker ‘mummy’.
What inspired your latest book?
I wrote this book in my twenties, when some of my Sri Lankan friends were meeting partners introduced by their parents. In England, a friend of mine once met a man sitting on a park bench, crying. He told her about how he was desperately unhappy because he was in love with another man, but was married and loved his kids. These two ideas collided in my head. Not long afterwards, I was doing a creative writing exercise and (the characters) Gimhana and Chaya showed up. A Convenient Marriage is their story.
Tell us more about the story and the characters?
Chaya gave up the love of her life to avoid upsetting her family and devoted herself to her career. She doesn’t want to get married, but her family are pressuring her. Gimhana is gay, but passes for straight and needs to get married in order to progress at work. They decide that marrying each other will free them to get on with what they want to do. Together they create a perfect looking marriage, with two successful careers.
Tell us more…
But when Gimhana falls in love with another man and Chaya sees her lost love again, they have to choose between following their hearts and destroying everything they’ve built together. Gimhana has a mix of charm and vulnerability that I love. Chaya is reserved and anxious, but underneath it she’s kind and caring. As a pair, they are fun to watch.
What was the biggest challenge while writing the book?
The biggest challenge is getting the words down. With A Convenient Marriage, I was writing a story that spans 17 years, so I had to balance the different time frames. I also hadn’t written a gay man’s point of view before, so I had to ask a gay friend to look through the manuscript and check that I had not messed up.
How does this compare to your other books?
This book is always going to be special because it was the first one I wrote. It just so happens that I published 10 other books before this one was published. Reading it again to edit it, I fell in love with Chaya and Gimhana all over again. It’s also the book with the most about Sri Lanka in it. A lot of it is set in Colombo in the 1990s and early 2000s, which is a setting I knew quite well.
Who are you hoping connects with this book?
I’m hoping anyone who likes character-driven women’s fiction will like it. Chaya struggles with anxiety and depression, but to the outside world, appears to be functioning well. She keeps telling herself it’s fine and soldiering on until she breaks down. Many of us do this. If one person reads this and realises they can get help with anxiety and depression, then that would be wonderful.
What can we expect next from you?
I would like to write a story about PCOS and fertility issues, featuring Sri Lankan characters again. Obviously, these aren’t issues that are particular to Asian people, but I think we need more stories that are universal, but just happen to have main characters who are Asian. Under my other pen name Rhoda Baxter, I write light hearted rom-coms with British-Asian characters, because there aren’t enough of those around.
What according to you makes for a good novel?
A book that lets you experience the story through a characters eyes and leaves you feeling satisfied, ideally with a smile on your face.
Who is your own writing hero?
Terry Pratchett. His later books are thought-provoking and beautiful. I love that he uses the fantasy world to talk about ideas that affect people in the real world.
What inspires you as a writer?
I used to write to amuse myself. I still do, but now I’m aware of my children too. If I can help people understand other people and become a bit more tolerant, I’ll be making the world a better place for my children.
A Convenient Marriage by Jeevani Charika is out now.
Jay's grandma’s popcorn from Gujarat is now selling out everywhere.
Ditched the influencer route and began posting hilarious videos online.
Available in Sweet Chai and Spicy Masala, all vegan and gluten-free
Jayspent 18 months on a list. Thousands of names. Influencers with follower counts that looked like phone numbers. He was going to launch his grandmother's popcorn the right way: send free bags, wait for posts, pray for traction. That's the playbook, right? That's what you do when you're a nobody selling something nobody asked for.
Then one interaction made him snap. The entitlement. The self-importance. The way some food blogger treated his family's recipe like a favour they were doing him. He looked at his spreadsheet. Closed it. Picked up his phone and decided to burn it all down.
Now he makes videos mocking the same people he was going to beg for help. Influencers weeping over the wrong luxury car. Creators demanding payment for chewing food on camera. Someone having a breakdown about ice cubes. And guess what? The internet ate it up. His popcorn keeps selling out. And from Gujarat, his grandmother's 60-year-old recipe is now moving units because her grandson got mad enough to be funny about it.
Jay’s grandma’s popcorn from Gujarat is now selling out everywhere Instagram/daadisnacks
The kitchen story
Daadi means grandmother in Hindi. Jay's daadi came to America from Gujarat decades ago. Every weekend, she made popcorn with the spices she grew up with, including cardamom, cinnamon, and chilli mixes. It was her way of keeping home close while living somewhere that didn't taste like it.
Jay wanted that in stores. Wanted brown faces in the snack aisle. It didn’t happen overnight. It took a couple of years to get from a family recipe to something they could actually sell. Everyone pitched in, including his grandmom, uncle, mum. The spices come from small local farmers. There are just two flavours for now, Sweet Chai and Spicy Masala. It’s all vegan and gluten-free, packed in bright bags that instantly feel South Asian.
The videos don't look like marketing. They look like someone venting at 11 PM after scrolling too long. He nails the nasal influencer voice. The fake sympathy. “I can’t believe this,” he says in that exaggerated influencer tone, “they gave me the cheaper car, only eighty grand instead of one-twenty.” That clip alone blew up, pulling in close to nine million views.
Most people don't know they're watching a snack brand. They think it's social commentary. Jay never calls himself an influencer. He says he’s a creator, period. There’s a difference, and he makes sure people know it. His TikTok has around three hundred thousand followers, Instagram about half that. The comments read like a sigh of relief, people fed up with fake polish, finally hearing someone say what everyone else was thinking.
This fits into something called deinfluencing; people pushing back against the buy-everything-trust-nobody cycle. But Jay's version has teeth. He's naming names, calling out the economics. Big venture money flows to chains with good lighting. Family businesses with actual stories get ignored because their content isn't slick enough.
Jay watched his New York neighbourhood change. Chains moved in. Influencers posted about places that had funding and were aesthetic. The old spots, the family ones, got left behind. His videos are about that gap. The erosion of local culture by money and aesthetics.
"Big chains and VC-funded businesses are promoted at the expense of local ones," he said. His content doesn't just roast influencers. It promotes other small food makers who can't afford to play the game. He positions Daadi as a defender of something real against something plastic.
And it's working. Not just philosophically. Financially. The videos drive traffic. People click through, try the popcorn, come back. The company can't keep stock. That's the proof.
Daadi popcorn features authentic Gujarat flavours like Sweet Chai and Spicy Masala, all vegan and gluten-free Daadi Snacks
The blowback
People unfollow because they think he's too harsh. Jay's take: "I would argue I need to be meaner."
In May, he posted that he's not chasing content creation money like most people at his follower count. "I post to speak my mind and help my family's snack biz." That's a different model. Most brands pay influencers to make everything look perfect. They chase viral polish, and Jay does the opposite. In fact, he weaponises rawness and treats criticism like a product feature.
The internet mostly backs him. Reddit threads light up with support. One commenter was "toxic influencers choking on their matcha lattes searching their Balenciaga bags." Another: "Influencers are boring and unoriginal and can get bent." The anger is shared. Jay simply gave it a microphone and a snack to buy.
Jay's success says something about where things are going. People are done with curated perfection. They can smell the artificiality now. They respond to brands that feel like humans rather than committees. Daadi doesn't sell aspiration. Doesn't sell a lifestyle. Sells popcorn and a point of view.
The quality matters, including the spices, the sourcing, and the family behind it. But the edge matters too. He’s not afraid to say what most brands tiptoe around. “We just show who we are,” Jay says. “No pretending, no gloss. People can feel that and that’s when they reach for the popcorn.”
Most small businesses can't afford to play the traditional game. Can't pay influencers. Can't hire agencies. Can't fake their way into feeds. Maybe they don't need to. Maybe honesty and humour can cut through if they're sharp enough. If the product backs it up. If the story is real and the person telling it isn't trying to sound like a PR script.
This started with a list Jay didn't use. The business took off the moment he stopped trying to play by the usual rules and started speaking his mind. Turns out, honesty sells. And yes, the popcorn really does taste good.
Daadi Snacks merch dropInstagram/daadisnacks
The question is whether this scales. Whether other small businesses watch this and realise they don't need to beg for attention from people who don't care. Right now, Daadi keeps selling out. People keep watching. The grandmother's recipe that was supposed to need influencer approval is doing fine without it. Better than fine. Turns out the most effective marketing strategy might just be giving a damn and not being afraid to show it.
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