All of us are flawed, I guess…. I did see amazing hypocrisy in the society I grew up in, still do, as a matter of fact. The idea is not for me to admire or hate my characters, but more to render them as accurately as I can

Longlisted for the literary Orange Prize for Women last year, Rupa Bajwa's debut novel, The Sari Shop, is a sensitive attempt to understand the complex structure of life. In an interview with Verve, the reclusive, full-time writer talks about the strange state of creation and the intellectual vacuum that shocked her into writing

Rupa Bajwa

Rupa Bajwa's first novel, The Sari Shop, follows the fortunes of its protagonist, a sensitive young salesman in the Sevak Sari Shop in Amritsar. Ramchand's dreary routine of home and work is leavened by innocent fantasies about his landlord's wife and going to the movies with his colleagues.

The novel was longlisted for the £30,000 Orange Prize for Women alongside the likes of veteran British author, Margaret Atwood and the Pulitzer prize-winning, Jhumpa Lahiri. It is typical of the low profile Bajwa that she was no more than 'vaguely glad' at being chosen and was more pleased with the appreciative letters from readers that she has received.

Bajwa, 27, is a full-time writer but did not study literature formally. "I can't say I always wanted to be a writer, but I was always sure that books and reading and the act of trying to write meant a lot to me," she says, in an interview with voracious reader and senior journalist, SHERNA GANDHY.

How would you describe the experience of writing your first novel?

How can I compress into a few words every thought, every breath, every idea, the moments of satisfaction, those of frustration and then the apprehensive feeling in your stomach when you look at the finished manuscript?

The circumstances weren't easy. From where I come, it is very irregular to be a young woman who isn't married. It is worse to be one who doesn't have a stable, regular job. And if you also don't live with your family, you are just unacceptable.

Is the act of writing and creating very intense?

During the time I was writing the novel, Ramchand almost lived with me, peering over my shoulder while I boiled eggs, standing at windows looking out towards the sunshine on cold winter mornings and walking silently by me whenever I went out. His pain was mine, his headaches became mine, I was happy and hopeful when he was. Imagination merged with reality. And somewhere down the line, it became sheer hard work, 15 hours a day (I am a little immodest about this; my teachers always called me lazy, dreamy and careless). When the final draft was over, I felt strangely bereft, as if I had lost someone. I miss Ramchand.

The ending is curious. Ramchand undergoes a kind of moral crisis when he sees the exploitation and hypocrisy of people around him, yet his eruption of anger is momentary and he lapses back into being a quiet onlooker. Kamla's rage has tragic consequences for herself. The message is that it's better to conform than fight.

Not at all. I strongly disagree with you. That would be going against the whole idea of the novel, for that matter, against any novel that ends like that. I think the ending is appropriate. For one, there is no 'message' as such, there shouldn't be any in a novel. I don't think literature can change the world.

For the rest of the article, pick up VERVE’s January-February, 2005 issue