Who could be as diverse as an author who lives in Singapore, grew up in Japan, Russia and the Philippines, studied in the USA, taught in Australia and Istanbul, and writes predominantly about the Punjabi diaspora? 

 Balli Kaur Jaswal is known both as a voice of the Punjabi diaspora and a critic of Punjabi communities. Though reluctant to be pigeon-holed, she has a lot to say about Punjabi women and their identities, almost like an advocate for their true selves. Her books have a wide audience often making it to the top of bestseller lists and are usually set in important contexts and studded with social messages. 

In this edition of Writers on Reading, we ask Jaswal about censorship, sensitive topics in conservative communities, older women owning their sexuality, writing both as an outsider and insider, recurring themes, the ‘elasticity of relationships’ and her writing routine.

 In your 30s, you’ve already achieved what many writers aspire to. You’re a successful author with four acclaimed novels out and a fifth one on the way. Tell us if the journey has turned out just like you thought it would. 

I don’t think there’s a typical writer’s trajectory. Mine certainly wasn’t a direct route from first drafts to publication, and I never anticipated the wide interest in my books from film producers. I didn’t have a particular fantasy of how this would all look – I just had things to say and I wanted people to listen.

What parts of being a well-known author do you not enjoy?

Sometimes I encounter people in a social setting who turn a casual conversation into an interview. “What time of the day do you write? How long did you spend on your first novel? Do you revise as you go along, or finish a draft first?” That sort of thing. Or they’ll ask about specific scenes in my books, and suddenly I’m doing publicity instead of chilling out. These questions are okay in the right context (like a media interview) and they come up in conversation with friends, of course, but it’s different when acquaintances zero in on you and expect you to give them a writing crash course. Also, it’s my job. I love it, and I’m so grateful that I get to do it, but it’s my job and nobody wants to talk shop at a party.   

Has your work been informed by the two countries you occupy, the one your family immigrated from and the one you now live in? Is there a sense of the outsider looking in, in any of these two places that you belong to? If so, which and why? 

Yes, certainly. I grew up in a few different countries and always had the sense of peering in from the edges of societies. I feel this way everywhere – a strong sense of belonging, and a sense that my identity is caught between places. When you grow up feeling that your identity is incomplete, you feel a compulsive need to build narratives to help yourself and others understand exactly who you are and what you’ve experienced. 

In an interview you mentioned a friend almost choked on his coffee when he heard the title of your novel was ‘Erotic Stories for Punjabi Widows’, while another friend said he would just call it ‘Stories for Punjabi Widows’. Does it ever bother you or make you uncertain about your work or decisions? 

Nope. The title itself is a test of how we react to the idea of elderly Indian women owning their sexuality. Those people who avoid the word “erotic” are the ones who are questioned and confronted in the novel. It gives me great pleasure to make them choke on their coffee. 

Since you’re known to give a voice to conservative Punjabi ladies and criticise parts of the community you don’t agree with - how does your close community behave around you now? 

I get a lot of messages and emails of support from both women and men in India and the wider Punjabi diaspora about how much they related to the themes of my books. Many members of the Punjabi community in Singapore have reacted positively to the novels, and have told me they are happy to see themselves represented in mainstream fiction. 

You handle sensitive topics like deep-seated patriarchy, mental health, honour killings and child marriage in the Punjabi community. How much hate do you get from traditionalists? Is there a ‘Brotherhood’ policing your work in real life?

There aren’t fundamentalists in my life like the Brothers in the novel, who police their community, although these people certainly exist. I don’t get much hate from traditionalists; confusion, yes, but not so much hate. I’ve had the occasional internet troll proudly listing all of the reasons he thinks my book is terrible for society while also admitting that he’s never read it. 

You write in a way that is accessible to most readers - with pithy dialogue and lots of colloquialisms. Keeping this style in mind, what’s more important to you - critical acclaim or reaching out to every reader? 

Neither is a priority or a goal necessarily. I write because I have questions and I want to engage with those questions. I also want to build worlds where underdogs succeed because we don’t have that happening in real life. I write out of a strong sense of justice and setting things right. When the book goes out into the world, I have no control over acclaim or reach, but I do have a story that has come to life.  

In an article you wrote for the New York Times, you mentioned that you had started writing erotica for your classmates as a fun activity in 1992. In the wake  of Singapore’s censorship, you couldn’t continue. Are your books like ‘Erotic Stories for Punjabi Widows’ a continuation or realisation of that idea that got nipped in the bud?

The novel was inspired by the experiences and questions that I had pertaining to desire, secrecy and the ways social structures work to keep women in the dark about what they’re capable of doing and feeling. “Writing erotica” is probably too generous a phrase for what I was doing, which was essentially copying the scenes in romance novels and getting thrills from the illicit spreading of these forbidden stories. But the same thrill returns to me whenever I write stories that break silence or question our acceptance of certain norms.   

In the same article, you say about Singapore that ‘The censorship I’ve grown up with is insidious, and unsettling.’ Do you think Singapore and India - especially parts of the traditional Punjabi community you write about have that censorship in common, which underscores many of the themes in both your past and upcoming novels?

The most unsettling element of censorship from any source or context is the way it creeps into your language and creative process. You begin to question certain lines or ideas, and anticipate how they will be interpreted by a person who is looking for an agenda where there is none. I am aware of the potential for self-censorship and try not to let this stifle my writing. Conservative societies are wary of anybody who questions power, because they see individualism as a threat. My writing often explores how people persist in asking questions despite the risks. 

Avni Doshi in an interview with Soup said “the compartmentalisation of self and work, particularly when writing or making art, is murky at best.” Do you agree? How much of you is in your characters, like in Nikki from Erotic Stories, for instance?

I love Avni Doshi’s debut novel “Burnt Sugar” and although I bristle a bit when people assume that I am my characters (because I am them in some ways, and in some ways, they are entirely independent beings), I completely fell into that trap when I read her work because it was so sharply immersive that it had to be based on her life. I was floored to discover that she hadn’t grown up in an ashram and actually had a good relationship with her mother. Nikki is a little bit me in all of my loudmouth, outraged glory, and a little bit the sort of person I find tiresome for wearing all of that self-righteousness on her sleeve. I think that’s generally the composition of all of my characters. As flawed human beings, they represent all of the things that frustrate and delight me, but I aspire towards their growth. 

What is your writing routine? Do you tend to make notes, lay the plot of the story beforehand and eke out each character? Or do you take it as it comes along, allowing it to become a spontaneous, living sort of thing? 

I’m a planner but I also tell myself that the plan doesn’t matter. Having an outline for a scene or a chapter provides me with a sense of security about where I’m heading, but when the work inevitably veers off course, I try not to resist it. Roadmaps are suggestions and they are useful crutches, but the best adventures come from spontaneity and allowing the story’s characters to show you who they are and where they want to go. 

Sisters and their relationships seem to be a recurring theme in your novels. Is there any personal relationship from which you take inspiration for this dynamic?

I don’t have a sister but I’m fascinated by them. I have many friends with sisters close in age, and I’m endlessly curious about the elasticity of their relationships. They can be best friends and worst enemies and there is a fundamental bond that keeps the relationship from breaking or ceasing altogether. 

Has there been a list of books or a particular book that you have found to be a source of comfort during the anxious atmosphere of the pandemic we're all in?

I loved Madhuri Vijay’s novel The Far Field. It got me through the challenges of our partial lockdown in Singapore in 2020, when the world suddenly felt very small and restrictive. It’s been a year since I read it and I still think about it. 

Tell us about 3 books you just couldn’t get through. And your top 3 books - ones you keep returning to.

I’d rather not throw another author under the bus – this work is hard enough without hearing other authors criticise their books. Top Three: Station Eleven by Emily St. John Mandel (relevant for these times); Persepolis by Marjane Satrapi; Gifted by Nikita Lalwani. 

Where do you like to read? Since we’ve all been restricted to our homes and specific spaces, was there a corner in your home that you found perfect for reading?

My home is pretty small and my 3.5 year old son barrels through every space like a hurricane, so I take whatever space I can get. Sometimes on the living room couch, sometimes it’s my bed. I get a lot of reading done on trains and in waiting rooms. 

How important is research to your writing, how do you go about it, do tell us more about this aspect of your work. 

It depends on the work. I think research is important, but you can get really bogged down by it. There are writers who spend years on research because it’s easier to gather information to feed your imagination, than to actually get the story down on paper. There’s also the risk of not wanting your research to go to waste so you end up writing lots of exposition about historical milestones and architecture instead of getting to the story. If research is needed, I do just enough to get me going, but my primary focus is getting to know the characters and the journey. After I’m finished with the first draft, I do a second and more intense round of research because I have a better sense of what’s relevant.

What advice would you give to young writers on the brink of writing/pitching their first novels?

Hire an editor before you put your work out there. No matter how polished you think the manuscript is, get another pair of eyes to look at the work and your pitch. 

As interviewed by Shaista Vaishnav