Newly-minted author, Rupa Gulab, holds forth on her debut novel, Girl Alone, the capital’s stifling atmosphere and women loving their boyfriends without really liking them

Sipping a Smirnoff and lighting a cigarette at Geoffrey’s, a popular after-work watering hole in downtown Mumbai, 43-year-old Rupa Gulab sits back, ready to indulge in a girl-to-girl chat with Sitanshi Talati-Parikh about her first book, the one that was to have been a movie, but which got published as Girl Alone, instead.

Quirky and irrepressible, Rupa Gulab’s Girl Alone is compiled from her popular column in a glossy. An amusing read, the book recounts the story of Arti, a girl from Kolkata, finding her way in Mumbai, juggling work, men and heartbreak, with her ready stock of cough syrup. The colloquial and witty turns of phrase are reminiscent of everything from girl bonding and love trysts in Sex And The City to the dilemmas of Bridget Jones’ Diary.

“What I really wanted to pen were parodies...”

Fairy tale parodies are what I have written all my life. When I was working in Delhi, I missed writing. Then, I was introduced to writer-editor, Madhu Jain, who was with Friday Corporation, a content provider for the Internet. Friday Corporation tried to push the dating diary section down my throat, and I was like, ‘No way!’ Curious, I had a look at what was already written, and I died! Because, it was clearly written by a man – no woman would write like that! I told Madhu that it was atrocious, and she said, ‘Then start one of your own.’
So, that’s how it began.

“The reviews were a mixed bag...”

Some of them were very nice, and some of them were.... I want to write to all the reviewers personally and remind them that Arti, the protagonist, is not me! She is a pseudo-intellectual, a character. A leading newspaper said the book lacked in substance. And it’s completely true! The reason is that it was meant to be a fun read. If I wanted a Booker, I would have written a completely different story. There would have been a lot of pain, a lot of anguish, a lot of poverty and possibly, misery! But that’s not what I wanted to write. I’m never going to write a deep and meaningful book.

“High society would never accept me...”

For one, I am absolutely irreverent. It depends on what you are like – I don’t give a damn. I don’t really think high society stinks. They are entitled to have their fun, like we are. And if it makes them happy, wearing terribly ugly designer clothes, then good for them! I would not be caught dead stepping out of my bathroom in some of those outfits. Maybe I’d be happy if I was born really rich and into high society. It doesn’t mean that I resent the fact that they are wealthy.

“The book is not going to change your life, or the beloved country…”

It’s a fun read, period. I remember how I had walked into The Sunday Observer office and asked to meet their then editor, Vinod Mehta. I did not know him, nor did I know anyone who worked with him. He graciously granted me five minutes of his time, heard me out and categorically warned me, ‘Indians don’t have a sense of humour.’ So, if you don’t have a sense of humour, you are not going to like my book at all!

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