NOTEWORTHY among the dazzling new crop of Asian crime writers is Ram Murali, who has come up with Death in the Air, a remarkably clever murder mystery (where it’s difficult to guess the identity of the killer).
Among crime writers, Abir Mukherjee and Vaseem Khan are now established names. In fact, the latter was elected chairman of the Crime Writers’ Association in 2023.
This year has belonged to AA Dhand, one of whose crime novels set in Bradford has been turned into a six-part TV series, Virdee, by the BBC. Another author showing promise is Atima Srivastava.
Murali’s novel is set in Samsara, a world-class hotel spa in Rishikesh in the Himalayas.
His central character is Ro Krishna, whose family come from Tamil Nadu. He has easy charm and an Oxford education behind him, but he has come to Samsara to decide what to do next in life, since he was forced out of his last job by a woman described as a “latrine with a face”.
There are other characters – Indian, American and British– who gather at Samsara, which is owned by a Mrs Banerjee. The resident yoga teacher is Fairuza. Sanjay Mehta is a not very nice Indian politician. Ro appears destined to have an affair with a ravishing Bengali beauty, Amrita Dey, who has turquoise-coloured eyes. But, alas, she turns out to be the first murder victim. Ro becomes a sort of assistant to an Inspector Singh, who takes charge of the investigation.
There is a feel of an Agatha Christie thriller about Death in the Air. In fact, her 1935 novel, Death in the Clouds, about murder on an aeroplane, had been published originally as Death in the Air.
It turns out Murali is a devotee of the “Queen of Crime” and has scattered Christie references and clues through his novel as though he was organising a treasure hunt for the reader.
He told Eastern Eye: “I’ve probably read every Agatha Christie book five times, and I probably read them all three times by the age of 15. She’s like a deity to me. She’s the best-selling fiction writer ever in the English language, but I don’t think she gets enough credit for the quality of her writing. She was a huge influence on me as I was writing the book. It’s filled with secret Agatha Christie jokes.”
Murali said he loves Conan Doyle as well – “one of my first memories is my father reading me The Hound of the Baskervilles”.
His favourite authors also include John Buchan and Somerset Maugham, as well as the writer Hector Hugh Munro, who was better known as Saki.
But if he were ever on Desert Island Discs, “I would say that I’m not taking Shakespeare, but the classic works of Agatha Christie instead. I can read Agatha Christie over and over and over again. I probably read at least some Agatha Christie every week.”
He does not consider himself to be a professional writer and reveals Death in the Air came about almost by accident. “I never wanted to be a writer, at all. I never wrote a word of fiction until I wrote this book. It was not a dream of mine. But I have always been a reader. I probably read almost a book a day.
“Just before the pandemic, in Christmas 2019 I had left my last job and was taking time to figure out what to do next. I ended up at a hotel called Ananda in Rishikesh, just like Samsara. And while I was there, I kept thinking, well, this would be such a great place for an Agatha Christie-style murder mystery, but I’d never written in my life.
Agatha Christie
“For the first time in my life, I started taking random notes. And actually, almost all the characters in the book are based on people I saw there.” When he imagined the character of the yoga teacher Fairuza, the plot fell into place. In the summer of 2021, he rented a cottage in Scotland. His 100-page outline became the manuscript. He found an agent the following April and the book “sold to HarperCollins in the US a year and a week after I started writing. I was very lucky. It has been published by Atlantic in the UK and Penguin in India”.
He has his own ideas about how a murder mystery should end. “To be honest, I think a lot of crime writers want everything sort of tied up at the end and feel like there was justice.
But I don’t know. I think one of the points of my book was there’s more than one kind of justice.” He said the story of Ro Krishna, “is very similar to mine. My family’s from Tamil Nadu. My parents came to the UK to study. They are both doctors who lived in Scotland for a very long time. My sister was born in Scotland. Then my father went to New York for a fellowship, and I was born there (in 1978). They never left. I grew up in New York.”
His parents now live in California, but London has been Murali’s home for the past seven years. Prior to that, he lived in Paris for 15 years. He first attended Dartmouth College, an Ivy league institution in New Hampshire in the US. He said: “I then did a master’s at the LSE in London, then went to Law School in Columbia. Then I did a LLM in commercial law at Queens’ College, Cambridge (where he got a First).”
As a lawyer in private practice in London and Paris, his CV says he worked for many years across all aspects of film and TV development, production and distribution.
Death in the Air is written in a deceptively simple style, but that disguises its depth and subtleties. He said: “I wanted the book to be very accessible. I wanted this to be a book that an 11-year-old could read, but then maybe read it again when they are 25 and find it completely different.“There’s not a single obscenity in the book, which was one of the first choices I made as I started writing it, because the book is dedicated to my grandmother. And it’s a love letter to Agatha Christie, so I wanted it to be a book that the two of them could have read and not found distasteful. The book was going to be very chaste, because also I was always thinking about India. I wanted it to be a book that Indian people could appreciate. I wanted it to be a book that my parents could read and send to their friends.”
Murali added: “Maybe my biggest motivation in writing the book was to make India look glamorous and desirable and alluring as a place. My father always says that the west is obsessed with making India look dirty and poor and filthy. I wanted to write something very different.
“Really, for me, the core of the book was I wanted to tell the story of reconnecting to your ancestors, and talk about the cost of immigration and being uprooted from your past and from your ancestors and where they lived.
“Every person in the last 1,000 years of my family on both sides probably was born within the same 500-square-mile part of India. And so what does that mean when you’re the first person not to have been born there?
“That territory has obviously been covered in books like TheNamesake by Jhumpa Lahiri. But I wanted to write that in an entertaining way. I wrote a murder mystery because I wanted to make it fun. But those were the themes I really wanted to explore.”
Death in the Air by Ram Murali has been published by Atlantic Books. £16.99
Philip Pullman has announced that The Rose Field, the sixth and final novel centred around Lyra Silvertongue, will be published on 23 October. The book concludes the saga that began with Northern Lights, the first in his award-winning His Dark Materials trilogy, and continued in The Book of Dust series.
The upcoming release will follow Lyra’s story into her early twenties. She was introduced to readers as an 11-year-old in Northern Lights in 1995, a novel that went on to become a global bestseller.
Speaking to BBC Radio 4’s The World At One, Pullman, 78, said he felt “relieved” to have completed the book. “I’ve come out of the end alive and able to see it being made into a book and published,” he said.
The title, The Rose Field, refers to a concept introduced in the early chapters of Northern Lights, where scholars at Lyra’s Oxford college discuss Dust—a mysterious substance tied to human consciousness. Pullman explained that the final instalment would see Lyra on the brink of uncovering the true nature of Dust.
“In this final book, Lyra is on the verge of discovering what Dust is and what it means, and the story is about how that happens,” Pullman said. He also noted that the narrative explores the nature of imagination. “I’ve got a view of what the imagination is, and Lyra discovers what she thinks the imagination is, so we’re talking about that as well.”
While grounded in the fantasy world of Dust and daemons, The Rose Field is also influenced by real-world issues. Pullman said the rise of tech billionaires and the growing influence of powerful industries had shaped his thinking over the last decade.
“It has become clear to me in the last 10 years that the influence of money and the power of the billionaire class, the power of the tech industry and all those extractive things like oil and gas and so on, have a much deeper effect on the world than I had thought,” he said.
Reflecting on wider geopolitical shifts, Pullman added, “The world has changed enormously. We’re either at the end of a long period of American power, which will end, presumably, like the end of any empire, in chaos, destructiveness, and then the gradual coming together of nations in a new form. That’ll be interesting to watch, if I’m still alive to watch it.”
He also remarked on the abundance of historical knowledge now available through digital means. “We’re at an age where we’ve got the wisdom of centuries and millennia to draw on. It’ll be interesting to see if we do or we don’t. I suspect that most of us won’t, but some of us might.”
The Rose Field arrives six years after the publication of The Secret Commonwealth, the second book in The Book of Dust trilogy. According to publisher Midas, the first two titles in the trilogy have sold 49 million copies globally.
With the series drawing to a close, Pullman has revealed that his next focus may be a memoir, provisionally titled Before I Forget.
“I’ve been talking for quite a while about writing a memoir before I forget everything, and that’s something that’s possibly on the horizon,” he said.
Reflecting on his upbringing, he noted, “I was born in 1946. I was brought up as a child of the British Empire, which still existed then. And I’ve seen a very great number of changes, as everyone of my age has.”
He said he hoped to record and celebrate the experiences that had shaped him. “There’s nothing remarkable about that, but I’ve seen a lot of things that I loved, enjoyed, made me happy, made me excited in various ways. And I’d like to remember those and write them down, because I think it’s a shame if they’re not celebrated and remembered.”
WILL Neil Basu’s memoirs, Turmoil: 30 Years of Policing, Politics and Prejudice, make a movie – something along the lines of In the Heat of the Night starring Sidney Poitier as the black detective ‘Mr’ Virgil Tibbs, who is much cleverer than the racist white police chief, Bill Gillespie, played by Rod Steiger?
After all, Basu rose to be the most senior non-white officer in the Metropolitan Police, and indeed in the country.
There isn’t one but multiple stories in his book, which is dedicated to his children, James, Tom and Joshua.
His CV says he “served for 30 years in the Metropolitan Police, rising from police constable and beat bobby to assistant commissioner at New Scotland Yard and the UK head of counter-terrorism policing.
“He was a detective with a distinguished career as a senior investigating officer of anti-corruption, homicide, serious and organised crime, and kidnap. He was later the chief superintendent of Barnet Northwest London, and a commander of Southeast London, armed policing and gangs and organised crime.
“He was also responsible for investigating Rupert Murdoch’s media empire for phone hacking and public sector corruption before being promoted into counterterrorism policing.
“He was commended multiple times during his career for bravery, leadership and detective ability, and was awarded the Queen’s Police Medal for distinguished service in 2016.”
According to Basu, the Met was and still remains “institutionally racist”. What makes it worse is that its senior officers, including Sir Mark Rowley, the current commissioner, remain in denial.
Basu counts Rowley as a friend and says “he’s one of the brightest people I know, a Cambridge graduate with a degree in maths”. But it is a matter of regret for him that Rowley “replaced ‘institutional’ with words like systemic, managerial and cultural”.
He attended a memorial service to mark the 30th anniversary of the death of Stephen Lawrence, a black 18-year-old who was knifed to death by a feral gang of white youths.
“Many of those present – me, the Lawrence family and plenty of others there to celebrate Stephen’s life – knew that Mark, charged with changing the current face of policing, refused to fully accept the problem and so stood no chance of fixing it.”
Basu observes: “I found the Met wasn’t recruiting enough non-white officers to represent the communities it policed. Those we did recruit were less likely to be promoted and more likely to resign. The non-white officers also had less chance of promotion, more chance of being subject to misconduct, and were also more likely to have their grievances ignored.”
After a spate of terror attacks in Paris in 2022, “we started to recruit armed officers at great speed. It would be an uphill battle to recruit sufficient women and ethnic minorities, though.
His memoir
“Firearms is a particularly white, male section of the police. Firearms officers themselves admit to a lack of diversity in their specialism, and unfortunately, those in charge of training firearms officers often perpetuate that alpha white male dominance.
“In 2023, Baroness Casey would shine a light on this aspect of the Met, highlighting a toxic and discriminatory culture. Her report would suggest firearms officers ‘further embed’ that culture, selecting officers in their own ‘image, while keeping out those whose faces don’t fit their ideal of a firearms officer’.
“The lack of diversity meant that in investigations, we had precious few brown Muslim officers with the deep cultural and religious knowledge to help us identify the real threats and get communities on board – communities who were terrified.”
He points out: “When I joined (in 1993), we were less than two per cent of colour in a force policing a city that was 22 per cent ethnic. In 2024, the Met has 17 per cent black and brown officers, which looks like progress – until you realise London is over 46 per cent [ethnic].
“And at present recruitment rates, it would take decades for the Met to look like the city it serves.”
Eastern Eye readers will perhaps be drawn to the personal side of Basu’s story – and his confessions. “I had come within touching distance of commissioner – the top police job in the Met and the UK – but it had all been at huge cost. Two divorces, three marriages, three children, near financial ruin and an asthma diagnosis. Thousands of hours of trauma, facing terror attacks, murders, kidnaps, extortion, rape and sudden violent death, had taken their toll and changed the very fabric of me.”
Basu is the son of a Bengali doctor from Calcutta (now Kolkata) and a Welsh mother, Enid Roberts. “I’m mixed race, half Indian and half white Welsh,” he says. “I don’t feel at home in rooms full of Indians. I don’t feel at home in rooms full of white people.
“I know what it feels to be different, because I am different, everywhere.”
Despite the frustrations of having to deal with politicians such as Boris Johnson, Priti Patel and Suella Braverman (“selfhating Asian”) and his bitter disappointment at being denied not only the job of commissioner but also the post of director general of the National Crime Agency, policing has been very much in Basu’s DNA.
His parents Dr Pankaj and Enid Basu
“The commissioner’s job and policing has become impossible, not because of its scale and complexity, but because of politics, the press and prejudices – its own prejudice that brings it low and the prejudice it brings out in others about them.”
At the end of the book, he reveals: “My name is not Neil, because that’s the anglicised name white people gave me, and I hid behind. My real name is Anil Kanti Basu. I never knew whether I was black, brown or white, but I always knew I was definitely blue.”
One of the most moving sections in the book deals with the death of his father, who had worked as a police surgeon and given decades of service to the NHS.
“In January 2015, my world was rocked in a way I couldn’t comprehend,” writes Basu. “My father, Dr Pankaj Kumar Basu, passed away and part of me died with him. I was with him when he died and it wasn’t peaceful. It remains the worst day of my life.
“He had retired in 2010, aged 76, always saying medicine was his life, always putting his patients first; but his role as a police surgeon was the very last gig he gave up – I think because he loved telling Staffordshire police he had a son who was one of them.
Dr Basu as a grandfather
“Gandhi, as I would affectionately call him, dedicated his life to saving others and he was my hero. In the 1960s, he would see and hear National Front [NF] marches and await the inevitable call to patch people up who hated him simply for the colour of his skin.
“Despite the chanting of ‘P***s go home’ and ‘there ain’t no black in the Union Jack’ – which I would come to know and fear – my mother told me he was called out to a stabbed NF member during a march who refused treatment from him.
“‘No P*** is touching me.’
“‘I can touch you and stop the bleeding, or you can die.’
“He then saved the life of a man who would have happily taken his. His abject refusal to see colour or retaliate against the sting of racism is something I’ve always tried to emulate.”
TRANSLATION and writing are similar as both involve interpreting and expressing something that already exists, the English translator of Heart Lamp, shortlisted for the International Booker Prize, said.
A collection of short stories by Banu Mushtaq, a Karnataka-based writer, activist and lawyer, the book was translated from Kannada to English by Deepa Bhasthi. It captures the daily lives of women and girls in Muslim communities in southern India through 12 tales written between 1990 and 2023.
Heart Lamp’s selection on the shortlist for the International Booker Prize 2025 was announced in London last Tuesday (8).
“When you’re translating a work, you’re translating something that already exists. And when you’re writing something new, you’re also translating – an experience, a thought, or an event. It’s about using the tool of language in whatever ways are available,” Bhasthi told Eastern Eye.
Kannada is the language spoken in the south Indian state of Karnataka, of which Bengaluru is the capital.
It is the first time a Kannada title has made it to the shortlist of the International Booker Prize.
Bhasthi, 41, who studied journalism at university, said, “Kannada is my mother tongue, so it’s not a difficult language for me. But translation brings its own challenges. It’s not simply about substituting one word for another. It’s about carrying an entire culture across and making it live in another.”
She recalled how she got involved in the book, saying, “Banu approached me around three years ago. At the time, I hadn’t read much of her work – just a couple of stories here and there – but not in any depth.
“When I finally read them, I found them incredibly compelling, deeply relevant, and strikingly universal in their themes. I knew this was something I wanted to take on, simply because I genuinely enjoyed the stories. That, for me, is one of the key criteria when choosing a translation project. I connected with these stories and felt a desire to share them with a wider audience.”
Bhasthi added, “Generations of women around the world have always resisted the violence of patriarchy and religious fanaticism. But what’s remarkable is that they’ve done so while holding on to their sense of humour, their resilience, and their spirit of dissent.
“Heart Lamp is a collection that pays tribute to such women. It celebrates those who, despite being bound by the weight of patriarchal and religious expectations, continue to live fully – resilient, strong, and wonderfully funny lives. It’s a celebration of women like that.”
Bhasthi added, “I was very clear from the beginning that I had complete freedom – both in choosing which stories I wanted to translate and in how I translated them. Of course, Banu was available if I needed to ask questions or clarify something about the text. But, otherwise, the translation is entirely my own independent work.”
Bhasthi said she chose Heart Lamp because very few books by female Kannada writers have been translated into English.
“I’m drawn to women’s writing, partly because translation itself is an under-represented field, and very few works from Kannada are translated into English, to begin with. Among those, the number of women writers who get translated is even smaller – whether in Kannada or in other languages,” she told Eastern Eye from her home in Madikeri, a scenic hill town in Karnataka.
“I find myself gravitating towards women’s writing, as it often resonates more closely with my own experiences. Even though Banu’s stories are rooted in a particular social context and within a specific community, their themes are remarkably universal.
“These are women’s experiences that echo around the world – not just in India, or south India, or within the Muslim community. That universality in her storytelling is what captivated me from the outset.”
Bhasthi is optimistic that the Booker nomination would generate interest from international publishers, not only for works in Kannada but also for other Indian reg i o n a l languages. For her, the moment carries a deeper sense of pride.
“Many people in the UK and US don’t even know how to pronounce ‘Kannada’. They have no awareness this language even exists – despite it being spoken by millions around the world. It’s one of the oldest languages in the Dravidian family, with a long and rich literary history.”
She believes translation plays a vital role in changing this narrative. “It takes these lesser known languages out into the world and says ‘Hey, look at this culture. There’s so much happening here.’”
Bhasthi hoped the spotlight on Heart Lamp will bring attention not only to Kannada, but also other languages in India.
“When people think of India, they usually think of Hindi or Urdu, maybe Bengali or Tamil. But we have more than 700 languages. That needs to change,” she said.
Interestingly, she pointed out that many Kannada speakers cannot read or write the language. “They’re happy to find something in English. They speak Kannada, but if they studied in English-medium schools or grew up in cities, or abroad, they often don’t use Kannada daily.
“So I don’t just translate for nonKannadigas. I translate for people from my own language community too,” Bhasthi said.
For her, this linguistic gap is not a limitation, it is an opportunity.
“I’m glad translation as a field is getting so much attention these days. It’s a good thing. Not just in Kannada, there are incredible stories in all our Indian and south Asian languages. That richness needs to be shared.”
She is an avid reader of translated literature herself. “Some of the best writing I’ve read recently has been in translation. The only reason I can access those stories is because someone translated them. It opens up the world.”
Asked if the Booker nomination would enhance the appeal of non-English and non-fiction work, she said, “I hope so. It reminds people just how many languages exist globally. Europeans might know French, German, Spanish, and so on, but how many of them have accessed writing from the global south?”
She extended the question to Indian readers as well. “Even among ourselves, how many of us have access to literature from neighbouring states, if not for translation? The cultural wealth that translation brings is incredible.”
Her advice to aspiring young writers and translators was to “read widely, because this is something many people overlook. They want to pursue writing or translation, but often don’t read enough. I would also advise reading across genres. There’s a common perception that popular fiction isn’t particularly valuable, but in reality, when you read, you’re learning language. So, I would say, read as broadly and extensively as you can.”
Published by Penguin Random House India, Heart Lamp is one of six titles to make it to the prestigious list. Each shortlisted title will receive £5,000, shared between the author and translator. The winner will be announced on May 20 at a ceremony set to be held at the Tate Modern in London.
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Cauvery Madhavan on Dursey Island in the Beara Peninsula
IN HER novel, The Inheritance, Cauvery Madhavan writes beautifully, with lyrical descriptions of the Beara Peninsula in West Cork in Ireland.
Here, in the tiny village of Glengarriff, 29-year-old Marlo O’Sullivan has inherited a cottage high up in the rugged mountains. Along the nearby coastline around Bantry Bay, the fury of the heaving Atlantic often finds its way.
It is April 1986 and Marlo, who has arrived from London, is still reeling from the discovery that his sister is his mother. Hoping to make a fresh start, he takes in the breathtaking landscape as a local villager, called Dolores, gives him a lift.
“They were following the coast quite closely now, the road dropping steadily to sea level. The tide was coming in, filling up the rocky coves, pushing up gently against the mouths of rivers, creating eddies that swirled silently, and, in the crystal-clear waters of the shallows, fields of seaweed swayed, slapping the rocks to the rhythm of the current.
“All along to the left as they drove, a few houses, some new and proudly sporting green-fronted lawns, dotted the lush lower hills that were abundant with trees and wide untidy hedgerows that hid deep ditches. On the slopes above them, the contrast was stark. Ancient stone walling rose vertically up the mountains behind derelict farmhouses that were shrouded by gorse left unfettered. And even higher still, the mountains were treeless, with meagre layers of grassy soil smeared in the nooks of fantastical limestone folds.
“They drove past villages that were signposted but not to be seen, and as they rounded the tiny cove at Coomhola, he was surprised to see a small flock of swans bobbing in the sea.
“Dolores smiled. ‘There’s a good more than swan around here that’ll have ye wondering. It’s a different world altogether is Beara.’
“Marlo nodded. ‘And d’you know what, Dolores? I think I’m going to love it.’”
When a neighbour dies unexpectedly, Marlo takes over as the driver of his minibus service to Cork. He befriends Kitty, whose six-year-old son, Sully, cannot speak. The child rides the bus backwards and forwards, with the passengers keeping a kindly eye on him, allowing his mother to work.
Into the contemporary tale, Madhavan has woven in historical events from 400 years ago when English soldiers massacred an Irish clan led by Donald Cam O’Sullivan Beare on Dursey Island in 1602.
Madhavan, in fact, owns the 200-yearold cottage in Glengarriff, where she wrote The Inheritance. The novel is dedicated to “Beara and all who belong there”.
The Inheritance, which paints a portrait of life in a small Irish village (with no Asian characters), is a novel of exceptional charm.
Her new novel
When she began writing The Inheritance, there was a huge controversy about a novel called American Dirt by Jeanine Cummins about the Mexican immigrant experience, Madhavan said.
The debate was about “who is allowed to write whose story”.
As she hesitated about whether she was equipped to write an Irish story, her son lost patience with his mother and told her to get on with it.
Madhavan has clearly soaked up the Irish culture. She told Eastern Eye: “A good few people said to me, ‘We can’t believe this was written by somebody who is not native Irish.”
Madhavan and her husband, a vascular surgeon, live with their three children in Straffan, a “really tiny” village in County Kildare situated on the banks of the River Liffey, 25 km upstream of Dublin.
Her novel has been published in the UK by HopeRoad, which was founded in 2010 by Rosemarie Hudson, who wanted to find new authors with Asian, African and Caribbean heritage. Last year, it entered into a partnership with Peepal Tree Press, a Leeds-based publisher with a similar ethos.
Her cottage in Glengarriff
Madhavan’s debut novel, Paddy Indian, came out in 2001, followed by The Uncoupling in 2003, and The Tainted in 2020. She is currently writing a fifth novel, a political one set in India between 1930 and 2010 (“I don’t intend to mince my words!”)
The Inheritance is set in 1986, which happens to be the year when she and her husband, Prakash, a junior doctor, who had been married for six months, arrived in the small Irish town of Sligo from Chennai. They chose not to go to England, which insisted Indian doctors first had to pass PLAB (Professional and Linguistic Assessments Board) tests.
“It was cheaper for us to go to Ireland,” she said. “It was a huge change. Sligo had 12,000 people and we were coming from Madras (renamed Chennai in 1996), which had, God knows, how many millions.”
About 25 years ago, she heard “a true story about a family that had a child who went on a bus to give them respite. I parked it away in my brain, thinking I am going to write a short story about it. Only in the last four or five years did I start thinking of it as maybe a novel. And about 23 years ago, we bought this small cottage in Glengarriff. Out cottage is not coastal, but three miles inland and we are on top of a mountain overlooking a forest.”
She recalls: “When I was three chapters into writing the book, I discovered the ridge where our cottage is, would have seen all the action I have described from the past. To the left of the ridge was where the English were camped and to the right is where the Irish were hiding in the forest. That location was witness to history. That spurred me on. I just felt the book was mine to write.”
The view of the Caha mountains
The landscape is an important character in the novel, but Madhavan said: “I definitely didn’t think of the landscape being its own character in the book. That just happened. You can’t escape the landscape in Beara. Wherever you look, there is something incredible to see. Whether you’re looking towards the sea or the hills, the forest, or even if you’re just having a walk, either side of the path, you’ll see just amazing stuff.”
She said children being born out of wedlock “was a common thing in Ireland. Multiples of thousands of women gave up their babies. I can’t tell you how many people have written to me or told me, ‘That’s my story. I found out my mother was my sister or my aunt was my mother.’”
It is fortuitous that chance took her to Ireland. “As first-generation immigrants in Ireland, we had no family, like zero family. Something as simple as, ‘Can you go and pick up my child, I’m stuck in the dentist?’ or ‘My car’s broken down, my child is in school.’ You became so dependent on your neighbours. And then your neighbours became the family that you don’t have.
“And, so, for me, that Irish saying, ‘It is in each other’s shadow that people live,’ is the gospel truth. Probably one of the reasons we felt very much at home in Ireland is because it was so much like India.”
It is no surprise that books by Saumya Dave have an emotional impact.
The New York-based author, psychiatrist and mental health advocate uses her immense knowledge to create compelling stories connected to the human psyche.
For her latest novel, The Guilt Pill, she presents a unique story of a working mother and wife who seems to have everything, but is in fact constantly swimming against the tide and struggling to stay afloat.
She is offered a solution – a magic pill that removes all guilt and enables her to be the successful, happy woman projected to the world. As she is propelled down a guilt-free rabbit hole, her life takes a potentially dangerous turn.
Eastern Eye caught up with the writer to find out more about The Guilt Pill, which has been described as a feminist exploration of motherhood, race, ambition, and how the world treats ambitious women. She also revealed her inspirations and what makes for a great story.
'The Guilt Pill' her latest booksaumyadave.com
What first connected you to writing?
Reading. My parents worked around the clock in the first years we moved to the United States. As an immigrant and child of immigrants, I was curious about the world around me. I also spent a lot of time by myself. Reading was a way for me to escape and feel anchored at the same time. I loved series – Nancy Drew, Hardy Boys, Babysitters Club and Sweet Valley. Staying with different groups of friends helped me feel less alone and, over time, taught me about people living differently from me.
What inspired your new novel?
My first child turned three months old in March 2020.
I felt like I was introduced to new motherhood in a pressure cooker. The fear of an unknown virus impacting people around the world, combined with the isolation of new motherhood, took me to emotional places I had never been before. I was craving a story about the overwhelm in parenting – of love, exhaustion, fear and wonder. As I began to read more about the psychological changes that can happen in parenthood, Maya’s story became clearer.
Tell us a little about the story.
The Guilt Pill is about Maya Patel, a CEO, founder and new mother who discovers a supplement that turns off guilt in women. At first, Maya is empowered with the ability to turn off her guilt for hours at a time. She can do it all and feel great about it. But as she becomes addicted to the no-guilt feeling, her life starts to unravel in ways she never could have expected.
How does this compare to the other books you have written?
This is both a departure and has many of the elements of the first two. On the surface, this story has a speculative element and mystery woven throughout it. All my books explore personal relationships and how people discover who they are in the midst of chaos. All three also have an eldest daughter character because that is the type of character I am always drawn to.
Who are you hoping connects to this story?
I hope anyone who has experienced guilt, wondered ‘what if I could selectively control how I feel’, or felt a contradiction of emotions will connect with Maya’s journey. I wrote this because it is the book I craved when I was a new mum and early in my career.
What inspired the interesting title?
I must give full credit to my friend and brilliant author, Leah Konen. My original title was The Mother Who Swallowed Her Guilt. Leah immediately said the title needed to be short and catchy, then suggested The Guilt Pill.
How much does your work as a board-certified psychiatrist and mental health advocate inform your writing?
My work greatly informs my writing. Psychiatry gives me the privilege of learning about people, hearing their stories, and seeing if there is a small way I can provide support. When I began working with new mothers in my private practice, I heard the term ‘mum guilt’ repeatedly. I began to study what went into the idea of ‘mum guilt’ and discovered there are many layers to it.
Are any characters or situations in this book based on real life?
While the book is not autobiographical, many of the conflicts and emotional tensions come from places I have experienced or witnessed in loved ones. The fulfilment and overwhelm of modern parenting, how workplaces treat new parents and caregivers, how relationships change with life transitions – all of these are things I have personally grappled with and wanted to explore in the tech world for Maya.
How do you feel emotionally ahead of a book getting published?
I am feeling a mixture of emotions. Excitement for the book to be in the world, anticipation for what readers will take away from it, relief that the time is almost here after working on it for years, and a sense of surrender. Once it is published, it is no longer fully mine, and I want to hold on to the freedom that comes with that.
What, according to you, makes for a great story?
Immersion. If I can be immersed in a story, whether that is because of excellent character development, a compelling plot, or because I love the world the creator has put me in, I am in.
What do you enjoy reading yourself, and do you have a favourite book?
I love reading across genres. Fiction, of course. Nonfiction focused on mental health and well-being. I also enjoy poetry and essay collections. My favourite poetry collection is What Kind of Woman by Kate Baer.
What inspires you creatively?
Being present in my own life. In our modern world, we have every reason to be distracted. Putting away my phone and truly taking in the moments I am part of – whether that is playing with my kids, taking clinical notes, reading an article about modern motherhood, or watching television with my husband. All those moments have the potential to inspire me if I am open to them.
What can we expect next from you?
My next novel is about women’s anger – what it means, why it is often misjudged, and what can be done when it becomes a source of power. I am also working on a non-fiction book.
Why should we all pick up your new book?
One of the kindest descriptions I heard about The Guilt Pill is from my amazing UK editor, Keshini Naidoo, during our first call – “The Guilt Pill is a book that explores important issues with the pulse of a thriller.” My hope is that readers find a story that entertains and provides empathy for caregivers, self-identified people-pleasers, or anyone feeling overwhelmed in their roles.
The Guilt Pill by Saumya Dave was published last Monday (7)