BY SONIA FALEIRO

Q. The relationship between employer and domestic worker is a complex one. It is also particular to India, because of the vast economic chasm that exists between the two people. What devices/research did you use to ensure that Bhima's life was as accurately represented as Sera's?

The 'research' used in the book was memory and observation. Observation of the interactions between servants and mistress that I witness when I'm in India. Also, memories of the same. But the description of life in the slums where Bhima lives--as well as the scene when Sera enters the slum for the first life--are based on teenage memories of visiting slums on several occasions. I recall the horror that I felt the first time I saw the inside of a slum--something that most middle-class people are not privy to--and tried to capture that horror in this novel.

Q. Who was the Bhima in your life when you were growing up in India? How has your attitude towards domestic workers changed since then, living abroad, and having written this book?

I don't think my attitude toward domestic servants has changed at all. Even as a child, I was aware of the inequity of status between women who worked side-by-side with each other but were unable to bridge the chasm of class, income, education. As a child I used to demand that the people working in our home be allowed to eat with us, sit on the sofa with us. I still cannot bear the thought of someone cleaning up for me after I've eaten when I'm perfectly capable of washing my own dishes.

My sensitivity toward this issue was probably sharpened by Bhima (her real name), a lady who used to work in our home when I was a child and an adolescent. I was very close to her, loved and respected and admired her very much. Her dignity, her stoic heroism were inspirations to me then, and also inspired the fictional character of Bhima.

Q. Ultimately Sera chooses to not stand up to for Bhima; she chooses to believe that inherently Bhima is untruthful, dirty, Ungrateful. Do you feel, from your experiences, that the employer-domestic worker relationship cannot but be unequal? That despite years spent together, simply too many differences separate them?

This is the sad conclusion that the novel arrives at, isn't it? And my desire was to make this book as realistic as possible, to not give it a Hollywood ending, even if this meant disappointing some readers. In some sense, books write themselves independent of the dictates of the writer. I think any other ending to this book would have been untrue. Sadly, the dictates of class and class differences are too powerful. Indeed, the space between them cannot be bridged despite the best of intentions--despite even something akin to love, that the two women have for each other.

Q. One of the critiques of your novel is that it stereotypes Parsis, particularly their manner of speech, and that this is a result of having been away from India. How would you respond? Also in that vein, do you feel that Indian writers living abroad are held to higher standards by Indian readers, than those living in India?

To be perfectly honest with you, this is not a criticism that I have come across. But I'm willing to accept that some reviewers may have said this. My answer to this critique is the following: when I am visiting India, I pay careful and particular attention

to patterns of speech, to the extent that if someone bends a phrase in a particular way, I may even jot it down in a notebook. So I try very hard to get the speech patterns and nuances correct. Could it be that

as a visitor, I am more aware of peculiarities of speech, may hear nuances, phrasing, that someone living in India daily may miss? Just a thought. :)

About your second question: I don't read enough book reviews in Indian publications on a regular basis to know if Indian writers writing abroad are held to a higher standard or not. I do know, from having read a handful of reviews in Indian publications, that the reviewing style in India is different than in America, that it's harsher, more personal. Also, there's often a note of , 'If you're living abroad, you have no right to say anything even mildly critical about India." I've noticed this attitude among friends and relatives, also. But these are the same people who bemoan aspects of Indian life every chance they get. To some degree, I understand this attitude: It's the equivalent of, "I can beat my kid but don't you dare touch him." But what these people are missing is that just because you've left a country, doesn't mean you stop having feelings--positive and negative--towards it. Or that you stop thinking of it as your country.

Q. How does living abroad influence your writing? Does it sharpen memories, do you feel the urge to go back through your writing; hence this and earlier novels set in Bombay?

I think what living abroad does is give you the perspective of distance, which can allow you to look at an issue or situation from a different vantage point. It's comparable to taking an aerial shot of something rather than shooting from the ground--you can see more. Of course, the flip side of that is that an aerial shot may not allow you to see the tiny details of what's happening on the ground. So it's always a trade-off. But one does what one can with the tools at one's disposal.

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