Lakshmi Bai, the Rani of Jhansi, also known as Manu, whom I mention in this novel as a friend of the heroine and who inspired me so much, was an actual Indian queen in the nineteenth century. Born in 1835, she lived in the princely state of Jhansi (inspiration for the fictional princely state of Joor) and was a fierce leader in the Indian Rebellion in 1857, fighting against British rule in India until her death in 1858. She was raised as a trained fighter, horsewoman, and independent thinker. When the maharaja she married (Gangadhar Rao) died, she became regent to their adopted son. However, the boy was not recognized as a true successor, and under the doctrine of lapse, the princely state was annexed to the British Crown. At a mere twenty-two years of age, Lakshmi Bai refused to surrender to the injustice and even pleaded her case to a court in London. As regent of Jhansi, she was at the forefront of the Indian Mutiny, and despite her bravery, she was killed in combat. In Solapur, Maharashtra, there’s a statue of her riding into battle with her son strapped to her back, sword raised and dauntless, which is just inspirational.

That said, colonialism was a very fraught period in history, and in no way do I want to make light of some of the terrible and unforgivable atrocities that occurred during this time. Having been born in a colonial country (Trinidad and Tobago got its independence from Britain in 1962) and having grown up on one of those sugar, cocoa, and coffee plantations that was taken over and farmed by locals and descendants of former indentured laborers, I have an intimate idea of the harm that was caused by colonization. My family might have risen out of the ashes of a violent, oppressed past, but we survived and it’s part of my history.

Writing this book also showed me that there are so many facets to a diaspora. One POC’s experience will not reflect another’s. My experience as a woman of West Indian descent will not be the same as someone who was born or raised in the United States, England, India, or elsewhere. I saw this when working through nine sensitivity reads during revisions (three Indian-Americans, two Muslim-Americans, two British-Indians, one West Indian-American, and one African-American) and each reader had a different but equally relevant worldview. This means that as a writer, I might not be the perfect representation for some South Asian readers or other members of a diasporic community. I can only write from my own experience and through the knowledge of my own sphere of existence. History might be shared, but cultural identity is vastly intersectional, and I hope that more diverse voices will be called to the publishing table to represent the amazingly rich narratives in the world.