How does it feel to have your book translated into Nepali?

I am very excited. The book is based among Nepali-speaking people, and now it gets to reach the very audience it is about. Many of the characters in the book do not speak any English—think Parvati in The Cleft, Munnu in Let Sleeping Dogs Die, Rajiv’s grandmother in Missed Blessing, the mothers in The Gurkha’s Daughter, the characters in No Land Is Her Land—and while writing the book, I was perpetually translating conversations from Nepali into English while trying to keep the ‘Nepalipan’—the Nepali flavour—alive. That these conversations are now being translated back into Nepali makes me feel that the book has come a full circle. Of course, it’s not just the conversations that have been translated but the entire book. I think the translation is better than the original.

I understand your parents were involved in the translation. How did that go? That is, as a process that a family was working together on?

It goes back to a day when, aided by delusion and sleep-deprived bravado, I decided that it’d be a good idea to attempt a translation of one of the stories. The logic behind it was a memory of having a good command of Nepali grammar—verb-gender agreements and knowledge about cases (because these are ohsoimportant to the translation process)—and the 88 in my ICSE Nepali. You must remember here that the last time I wrote in Nepali was in 2000 when I took my ICSE exams, and the 88 in Nepali would probably have dwindled to a 44 (or a 22) had it been graded by an SLC examiner. So, I started translating, and, boy, was it difficult! I’d call home seven to 10 times a day asking for help. I then jokingly suggested to my parents that they should translate the book. Mua wasn’t that keen, but Bua thought it’d be a fun thing to do. Just as an experiment, they translated one story, and then another. And before long, they were bang in the middle of the translation process. I was on book tour, away from Kalimpong, where much of the translation happened, but I’d often get calls with queries. They’d accuse me of not showing much interest one day and being over-involved the next day. It was a fantastic process.

The translated version will be able to reach a wider Nepali audience. How do you think the Nepali diaspora will receive it?

Some people will love it. Some will hate it. Others will be indifferent toward it. Some will find the original lacking after reading the translation. Ha. That’s one of the great things about writing a book—you don’t know the kind of dialogue it will trigger (or if it will provoke any discussions at all). An excellent publishing house has decided to publish the Nepali translation, and I am very excited about what’s to come.

Which is your favourite story in the Gurkha’s daughter? Why?

Missed Blessing—the story about a young man in Darjeeling preparing for his relatives’ arrival while negotiating his relationship with a missionary couple—would be my favourite story in The Gurkha’s Daughter. I quite like the way it ends. I dislike nothing about the story. Interestingly, not one of the major reviews has singled this story out. And to date I’ve come across no one else whose favourite story it is. It leads me to believe that I am the worst judge of my own stories.

And which do you like the least?

I love answering this one precisely because it reinforces my belief that I am the worst judge of my own stories. There’s one story in the book that’s always made me cringe. I was so close to not including the story in my collection when my agent circulated the manuscript among her publishing contacts in London. Susan Yearwood, my agent, was insistent that I not withdraw the story, though. She said it was the strongest in the collection. When I met with Jon Riley, the editor in chief of Quercus, when he expressed interest in publishing the book, I asked him if this particular story deserves to be in the book. He was shocked—he thought it was the best story in the book. Then, the reviews started coming, and almost every review that mattered had an aside-a positive aside-about this story (off the record: The Financial Times called it “gorgeously subtle”; I think there’s nothing gorgeous or subtle about it). The story is The Immigrants. It’s the last story in the book, the only story that’s not based in the Nepali-speaking belt of the sub-continent. It’s also the only love story—well, kind of—in the book. Perhaps we are all suckers for love stories at the end of the day. What do I know?

You have authored two books. Between the short stories and the novel, which do you think was better received by your readers?

As far as sales and acclaim went, Land Where I Flee trumped The Gurkha’s Daughter. The Gurkha’s Daughter made a lot of noise and sold well, but more marvelous things have happened to the novel. Just last week, for instance, there was a highly flattering review of Land Where I Flee in the Independent, whose reviews are among the most respected. That this review should appear a year—yes, a full year—after the book was published makes it wonderfully bizarre. But there are people out there who didn’t like that the novel was more complex than the collection of short stories. Some complained about the long sentences. Others didn’t quite get the novel. Some said there were too many ‘big’ words. I think the novel wasn’t as accessible as the collection was—it wasn’t meant to be. The novel is deeper, more complicated and more intelligent.

 What can your fans look forward to next? Do you think you’ll try other genres?

That’s a big secret. I’ve been more and more interested in writing books for children, which cracks me up because I hate kids.

Nepal’s literary scene has been abuzz with young writers recently. How do you see the future of Nepali writing in English?

I think there’s a lot of excellent writing coming out of Nepal. Look at all the events you have—spoken word performances, the sheer number of readings, book discussions, etc. I was at the N-Cell Nepal Literature Festival last year and was amazed at the number of people who attended it. I also had the pleasure of interacting with members of a group called Bookaholics—all they did was discuss books. These are good places for talent to spawn. When I was growing up in Sikkim, there was absolutely nothing until I was in the ninth grade, and a paper called The Weekend Review was started. I credit that paper with having kickstarted my writing career. Kids in Kathmandu have many avenues where they can improve their skills. There will be more writers.

Your writing is mostly about a section of the Indian society that didn’t seem to have been represented in English literature before you. What’s your take on that?

I think that was precisely one of the reasons there was so much hype right before The Gurkha’s Daughter came out. That might have helped the book. Sometimes, like when a Bhutanese refugee in Philadelphia emails you saying he was grateful to you for your having thrown light on an issue much of the world has ignored, you realise you are in a position to make a difference. In the beginning I tried distancing myself from this ‘difference-making’ claptrap, claiming I wrote fiction with the simple purpose of telling a story. Now I feel that if it encourages dialogue somewhere, it is okay.