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

It feels good to be spoiled for choice when it comes to reading books written by Indians about India and Indians. Agreed, literature should have no cultural or geographical boundaries, but occasionally it's a relief not to have to journey to English villages or American cities and, instead, breathe in the familiar smell of frying pakoras and overboiled tea on a street corner in Amritsar, enjoy the ritual of buying saris from a sari shop and empathise with the desire of a salesman bent on learning English from pedantic text books bought in second-hand bookshops.

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.

When he is sent with some saris to the luxurious home of the very rich Kapoor family, which is in the throes of a lavish wedding, he witnesses a whole new way of life and living. Excited at the possibilities this opens up, he tries to improve himself, which, typically, means learning English, the language of upward mobility and buying new clothes.

His efforts at mastering the English language, narrated with sympathetic humour, have made him familiar with the phrase 'every coin has two sides'. And it is his realisation of this truth that precipitates a major moral crisis. He may be excited by and envy the huge possibilities that lie in the world of the educated and the rich, but when he sees also its indifference and arrogance and meets one of its victims, the tragic Kamla, he undergoes an immense inner upheaval that threatens to overturn his life.

Not surprisingly, 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.. I was, and still am, all three. It didn't make writing any easier.

Also, having no literary background and no contacts, I had no sure knowledge whether what I was writing would ever be published or not. I didn't know whether I would be able to write this story well, or even complete it - or whether it would disappear somewhere midway in the process. While writing this novel, I stayed in different cities, in rented rooms, worked on rented computers.

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.

When I was writing The Sari Shop, I was trying to learn and explain - it was a desperate attempt to make sense of the complete chaos around me, to recognise the complex structure of life as I saw it. I experienced anger at the society I live in, as well as the undying hope that keeps us all going. At the same time, I was simply trying to tell a story as truly and as humbly as I could.

Writers have to actively promote their books these days with TV appearances and book readings. Are you comfortable with that?

I am certainly not very comfortable with the promotion bit. I did not have a grand Delhi launch in a five-star hotel. I don't like the prevailing notion that a writer has to behave like a performing animal in a circus before anyone will deign to read his or her book. On the other hand, I did a few book readings in bookshops, and interviews about this novel, both of which I am okay with, because they are about the process of writing.

Your choice of chief protagonist - a young, sensitive male sari shop attendant - is a bit unusual. What made you choose to centre the book on such a character?

It wasn't a conscious choice. The character of Ramchand came into my mind and stayed there. It did not matter that he was a male, because his hopes and sorrows and losses are those of any individual. I had written a short story about him when I was 21 and I felt the need to develop it further. I needed a longer narrative. That is how it started to become a novel.

How do you relate to living in Amritsar when some of our bigger cities would be more intellectually stimulating?

I don't live in Amritsar the year round. I travel a lot and come here only for my family. Unfortunately, all my friends are in other cities. I still haven't figured out how I relate to Amritsar.

I love it and dislike it at the same time. When I was growing up, I found this place very claustrophobic.At the present stage, I like to come back and stay here for a couple of months. It is intellectually stimulating in the reverse way now. There is an immense vacuum here, a vacuum so huge that it startles you, even shocks you into writing on days when you feel lazy.

The book depicts different worlds, that of the very rich and that of the lower middle classes. It seems to me that you describe the situation of the latter very well while the rich come out a little caricaturised. Why is that?

Perhaps it is because when I was growing up in Amritsar, some of the characters I saw around me had made such sad, obvious caricatures of themselves that it would take a much more skilled writer than me to find subtle undertones in their characters. Honestly, it is too absurd. I can see that myself when I am writing. I do ask myself if a certain character is becoming two-dimensional, but sadly, that's the truth. So much shallowness cannot lead to too many dimensions.

All of us are flawed, I guess. And 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.

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.The idea is not to come to conclusions but just raise questions.

I tried to tell the story as honestly as I could, and if you are honest with yourself, you will find that the end of the novel was what the natural course of events would lead to. I was being realistic, not cynical. I still have hope. I don't think literature can change the world. However, it does help us as individuals and as a society to see ourselves more clearly.