Despite being written as different chapters, they are juxtaposed so that the past, present and future are all linked together. There also seems to be a correspondence that goes even further back than the ‘past’ itself. What inspired that particular detail?

We’ve taken to calling that correspondence the ‘super-past’, and the backstory for this detail goes way back to 1983 and ’84, which was so long ago! I was a student in London at the time, and that’s where I met my future husband. We were very good friends, and eventually, we started to date. But because we had a two-year age gap, he finished his studies earlier than I did. At the time, we definitely didn’t have the expediency of social media. We resorted to phone calls where you feed your pennies into a coin box that was near the lift in the hostel I was staying at. We used the old-fashioned way of flying aerogrammes to each other. I’d tell him how my day was and all sorts of crazy things that happened to me.

In a way, the correspondence was really just the precursor to my storytelling, and I thought to include that sense of nostalgia into the story as well.

Who was your favourite character to write and why?

It’s got to be Terlochan Singh—also known to his friends and patients alike as ‘Tochi’. You’ll be seeing him in the early quarter of the novel. He's my favourite to write is because he’s just got this pure, childlike innocence despite the novel’s darker moments. He’s a see-the-glass-half-full kind of guy that can come across as naïve to some, but that’s the beauty of Tochi; he’s always trying to see the brighter side of things, which is the hardest thing to do when the world’s gone mad.

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Can you give us an excerpt from your favourite chapter?
I’ll try not to give away too much, but it’s from the chapter where I first introduce Tochi. And even though I’m not Sikh, the two lines that begin his story are: “Ik’ o’mkaar Sat-naam" ("God is One, Truth is His Name”) and they’re just so profound to me. There’s so much truth in them, so much spiritual energy that grounds me.

Which chapter was the hardest to write and why?
I’ll only tell you this—that the reality of war is, and will always be, plagued with loss. It was one the toughest topics I’d had to face.
 
It’s clear that the novel doesn’t shy away from the ugliness of war and the aftermath of conflict. Was there ever a moment when you had to pause?
I'd taken 15 years years to prepare for this novel, and the one, crucial piece to the puzzle is Gurchan Sigh’s role in the resistance against the Japanese and the sacrifices he as well as the Singa Organisation made for Malaysia. He’s an unsung hero despite being hailed as the ‘Singa of Malaya’. He was a policeman who went undercover as he kept the Malayan people informed about the true events that went on during the Second World War. I even have his memoirs, Singa, The Lion of Malaya, that I found in a secondhand bookshop, which is at once a heartbreaking and inspiring read.

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