Reclaiming “Bad Daughter”: Soul Sutras Founder on Feminism, Healing, and Telling South Asian Women’s Stories
Sangeeta, the force behind Soul Sutras and the award-winning Masala Podcast, has built a career out of dismantling silence. Her new book, Bad Daughter, traces her journey from growing up in Mumbai’s slums to becoming one of the boldest feminist voices in the South Asian diaspora.
I sat down with her to talk about reclaiming the label “bad daughter,” navigating trauma, and how storytelling can be a form of resistance.
What inspired you to reclaim the label of “bad daughter”?
In South Asian culture, being a “good daughter” is very binary. You get the degree, the job, the marriage, the kids. And if you don’t do those things, you’re automatically labeled a “bad daughter.”
I grew up in Mumbai in a slum, with an alcoholic and abusive father. When I refused an arranged marriage, I was called a bad daughter. Instead of letting that shame define me, I decided to reclaim it. That label gave me the freedom to build my own life — to create Soul Sutras, to write this book, to live on my own terms.
Can you share more about your upbringing in Mumbai and how it shaped your feminism?
I was born in Kerala, and we moved to Mumbai when I was four. My father lived in a slum, and that’s where we ended up. My dad would come home drunk every night and beat my mother.
At the same time, I was being told what a “good Indian girl” should do. But I looked at my mother — she had been a good daughter, a good wife — and still she had no way out. She had no money, no independence. Watching that, I decided early on that I wouldn’t follow the script.
I became the first girl in my family to go to university, worked in advertising, made my own money, and eventually moved to London. All of that came from rejecting the idea that being “good” was the only path.
Writing Bad Daughter must have been intense. What was the hardest part?
It took me seven years. The hardest part was writing about trauma — my father’s violence, my PTSD, and especially my mother’s death. She was murdered. Putting that on paper required reliving it, while also staying objective enough to write clearly.
I also struggled with how to tell my story without it becoming a “misery memoir.” My aim was to show that no matter what happens to you, you can still create the life you want.
Do you feel like you mythologized yourself in the book?
Not at all. I wrote with as much clarity as I could. I didn’t want it to be about feeling sorry for me. It’s about power — how to turn pain into strength. My hope is that women read it and realize they, too, can have the life they want, no matter what anyone says.
How did podcasting change your relationship with storytelling?
Completely. I call myself an accidental podcaster. After leaving advertising, I ran workshops with South Asian women in the UK called Masala Monologues. Those became theater shows, and then I thought, “Why not try podcasting?”
I literally had to Google what a podcast was. Then I won a Spotify competition, which kickstarted Masala Podcast.
Podcasting taught me discipline. Unlike a three-hour rambling conversation, you have to keep it sharp, emotional, and structured. It taught me to craft arcs, to think about pacing — to tell stories within 40 minutes that still move people.
Can you share a moment from your community projects that stayed with you?
There are so many. At UC Berkeley, I ran workshops with South Asian students who told me, “We don’t have spaces to talk about this.” That was powerful.
But the most dramatic was in India. A woman reached out to meet me, and over coffee she told me, “Your podcast changed my life.” She had been in an abusive marriage, trapped after her arranged marriage to a man who turned out to be gay. Listening to Masala Podcast gave her the courage to leave. Today she’s thriving, working as a social media manager in another city.
How do South Asian women’s struggles overlap across the diaspora?
The cultural taboos are universal. Whether you’re in the UK, US, or India, we’ve all grown up with silence around periods, sex, body hair, shame, and “what good girls do.”
The difference I’ve noticed is that in India, there’s more feminist organizing happening on the ground now. Diaspora communities often assume India is still stuck in the past, but a lot of change is happening there.
What role did healing play in your journey?
Therapy was part of it, but I quickly realized it wasn’t enough. Therapy helped me understand myself, but it didn’t move me forward. So I explored other modalities: hypnotherapy, craniosacral therapy, acupuncture, tantra. Healing is somatic — it has to involve the body.
The most profound healing came from reconnecting with Kerala, my roots. I traveled alone for the first time, across villages and backwaters, discovering Kerala’s goddess culture and feminist traditions. That rootedness helped me more than anything else.
Finally, what advice would you give someone who feels pressured to always be the “good girl”?
Ask yourself: who benefits from me staying in this “good girl” box? And then ask: if I wasn’t so busy being good, who would I be? What kind of life would I have?
You don’t have to rebel overnight. Start small. Question things. Choose which parts of culture you want to carry forward and which ones you want to leave behind. The point is not to be “good.” The point is to be fully yourself.