THIRTEEN years after Time magazine captioned her ‘the Jackie Collins of India’, Shobhaa De still rails against that comparison with Hollywood’s Duchess of Dirt. ‘‘I hate that title,’’ says the 56-year-old, whose books outsell everything save the Mahabharata. ‘‘I have been a journalist for 25 years. I’m not defined by my fiction.’’And as she settles into a plush velveteen sofa in her South Mumbai home, her sick 15-year-old daughter Anandita’s head on her lap, you begin to see why she finds that description so ill-fitting. That despite the resounding success of her sizzling bestsellers, after two husbands plus six children, De sees herself as something far simpler than her public persona: as just a wife and mother.So it’s apposite that De has just finished a work of non-fiction called Spouse. Over eight months, she wrote in long hand on eleven, 100-page lined notepads, a book, which ‘‘is not a marriage manual’’ meant to fix problems, but a look at why so many things go wrong. A self-confessed traditionalist when it comes to the big M, De, sounding rather matronly, says she’s alarmed by the ridiculous reasons due to which so many marriages unravel these days. ‘‘I know a wife who left her husband in the parking lot because he criticised her driving. That’s just unacceptable.’’ Also unacceptable is a bad sex life. ‘‘It’s very, very important,” she says, trying not to utter the ‘s’ word within earshot of her youngest child. “It is the most primal instinct we have. If two people don’t have that connection, then it’s not a marriage, just a friendship,’’ says the woman who has extensively documented the licentiousness of upper crust boorish husbands, philandering wives, hungry starlets and cheesy gigolos. Her passion and commitment—to work as much as to her family—is probably why De is regarded as one of the most hardworking writers in the country. ‘‘When I write, I’m like a woman possessed,’’ she says. Through 13 books, five TV scripts and innumerable columns, De has worked on her dining table eight conscientious hours a day. Now back at her dining table, she’s working on a children’s book for the “contemporary urban kid”. She just finished penning two soaps that are already under production, both for Manish Goswami, her producer on Kitty Party. The first, for Zee, is the story of a powerful political family and the three women at its core. Flashing a naughty smile, she says, ‘‘No prizes for guessing what that’s about.’’ Sex is very, very important. It is the most primal instinct we have. If two people don’t have that connection, then it’s not a marriage, just a friendship The next, for Star, delves into the competition between two sportsmen. A third, for Hungama, is about the loves and lives of teenagers. But what about the pulp fiction that put her name on literary syllabi across the world? ‘‘Fiction is where I get to go all out,’’ she says. ‘‘There are no limits to how far you can go. There’s definitely another book coming.’’ De’s sexy fictional works and piquant columns have definitely gained and lost her some popularity. A certain high-brow hostess recently included De on her guest list with some reluctance, after rationalising that it’s always better to be on the columnist’s good side. A reaction that De, predictably, believes is misguided because she says she’s always been fair—with the praises as well as the brickbats. ‘‘I’m not in PR. I write about public figures doing public things; I just write what I see.’’ Ask about rumours that she’s penning the Indian version of Sex And The City, and that forthright commentator in her kicks in: ‘‘If you want a copy, you don’t hire Shobhaa De.’’
