Spotlight & Giveaway: A Rebel’s Mantra by Sapna Srinivasan

Today it is my pleasure to Welcome author Sapna Srinivasan to HJ!

Hi Sapna Srinivasan and welcome to HJ! We’re so excited to chat with you about your new release, A Rebel’s Mantra!

To start off, can you please tell us a little bit about this book?:

A Rebel’s Mantra is the story of Laila Sood, an uncompromising, strong-willed Indian American rockstar who doesn’t conform to her family’s traditions and norms. She doesn’t care what the aunties in her life think. Laila is undeterred in chasing her dream, which is to sign with a major record label, but her heart is sidetracked when she meets Hari Singh. He’s handsome, he hails from a wealthy Indian American family in Seattle; he’s a doctor—a freakin’ pediatrician. Basically, he’s everything Laila has poo-pooed in her life, thus far. Hari’s an Indian mama’s dream son-in-law. And as the chemistry between them churns and grows, and with it, Laila’s prospects of moving to L.A. to realize her rockstar dreams, Laila is left to make the ultimate decision of her life. Follow her rebel instinct and go for gold, or eat her words, and succumb to her heart—and Hari Singh.
 

Please share your favorite lines or quote(s) from this book:

The first would be the opening line of the book, which is:

“When life gives you lemons, you do tequila shots.” This statement summarizes Laila Sood—her personality, her priorities, her mantra.
The second quote would be from a scene between Laila and Hari where he’s trying to convince her to take a chance on him, and she’s trying to decide whether or not she should:
Laila kept her gaze steady on his because what she was about to say next had the potential to make or break the moment. “I need you to remember I’m not perfect. I may be a rock star by profession, but I’m far from being a rock star in the true sense. I’ve got my flaws, I’ve got my quirks, and you’ve barely scratched the tip of the iceberg, Doctor.”

What inspired this book?

My first book in The Sood Family series, A New Mantra, featured a more traditional heroine, Mira. Laila featured in this first book as Mira’s rebel cousin, and as I developed the narrative, and Laila’s character, the latter came into focus more and more as someone I wanted to bring into the spotlight. I wanted my heroine in book two, A Rebel’s Mantra, to have a strong, compelling voice, but someone who was also flawed—relatable. Laila felt like a character that needed her own story, and Hari Singh was the man who would pull her out of her comfort zone. It worked out organically as a second story in the series.

How did you ‘get to know’ your main characters? Did they ever surprise you?

Laila Sood is the main protagonist in the story, and Hari Singh is her love interest. The other secondary characters in the story are Laila’s aunt, Sharmila Sood, who is called “Mummyji” and also Laila’s cousin, Sahana, who Mummyji is trying to match to Hari.
Laila definitely surprised me. I’m a plotter more than a pantser, when it comes to developing a story, but I’ve found that characters can sometimes grow through the book in unplanned ways. I can predict some of that growth, but I’m happy that a small part of it remains unplanned. Laila’s softer side, I felt, came to my attention in the story. I wanted to portray her as an unapologetic heroine, but she surprised me in that her compassionate side rose to the surface as I developed the narrative. It became something I could use to help her grow.

What was your favorite scene to write?

My favorite scene in the book is a family gathering Laila attends at her aunt, Sharmila a.k.a. Mummyji’s, house where her aunt is trying to match her own daughter, Sahana, to Hari Singh. Sahana and Laila don’t get along. And their dynamic is strained because Hari’s captivated by Laila. Now, Laila is attracted to Hari but she’s trying to fight it, so it’s this sort of intentionally awkward, (hopefully) funny scene—a love triangle where Hari’s trying to woo Laila, and Sahana’s trying to woo Hari with her mom facilitating, and Laila is flirting with Hari while trying to appear perfectly casual. In the meantime, there are a bunch of relatives in the scene, who all witness the emotional calamity that unfolds between these three.

When Laila returned, the living room was overflowing with people—her family, of course: Mummyji, Mira, Andy, and Papaji, who’d emerged from his study. And Hari’s parents. His dad was a cheerful, tall man with the same evergreen smile that Hari seemed to carry on his face. His mother was rather sophisticated, a prim-looking woman in her fifties with defined features and dark, wavy hair. Unlike Auntie Sharmila, who was wearing an eggplant-purple sari, Hari’s mom wore black slacks and a paisley-printed open jacket. They each held a drink in their hand, and plates of samosas, kachoris, and sweets were spread on the large antique coffee table.
“Ah, here comes, Laila,” Auntie Sharmila said, as if her arrival was a final step. “Laila,” she then gestured to her niece to come closer for an introduction. “These are Hari’s parents, Dev and Mona Singh, both doctors,” her auntie gushed. “Laila is the only child of Vinod’s youngest brother, Sanjay, and his wife, Sonia.”
“Very nice to meet you, Laila.” Mona smiled.
“Likewise, Auntie,” Laila said, moving closer. And before she knew what she was doing, she bent low and touched Mona’s feet. AW, SHIT.
Too late, even for swear words. Laila erected herself, frazzled by her own behavior. And when she turned around, she faced an equally shocked audience—Auntie Sharmila and Mira with jaws unanimously dropped, Andy who mostly appeared amused, Sahana who appeared livid, Uncle Vinod who looked moderately surprised, and—Oh, someone punch me—Laila cringed when she caught sight of Hari as he sported a smile. He appeared to have entered the room at some point without her realizing it and in time to witness her most humbling moment.
“Bless you, my dear,” Mona said as she placed a customary hand on Laila’s head.
“Pleasure to meet you, Laila,” Hari’s father, Dev, said, rising up from his seat next to Uncle Vinod.
Oh God, no. Laila realized she now had to do it again. One couldn’t just touch the feet of one elder and not the other. That would be the epitome of disrespect. Normally, that would never have bothered her, but normally, she’d never have touched anyone’s feet in the first place. Laila bit down on her lip. Bending low a second time, she proceeded to touch Dev’s feet. “God bless you,” he said, gently placing his palm on her head as she rose up again.
Numb from embarrassment, Laila quietly walked over to take a seat at the far end of the sectional. Before she knew it, Hari walked over to take the seat right next to her. “I thought you were anti-culture?” he whispered to her as he sat down.
“I am anti-talking right now,” Laila muttered, only to find Sahana staring at her.
“I’m so glad our families could get together tonight,” Auntie Sharmila was saying to Mona as she gestured to Sahana to offer their guests some samosas. The latter obeyed, bringing the plate around to make the first offering to Hari.
“Would you like a samosa? I made them,” she said to him with a smile.
“Oh, I’m good, thanks,” he replied.
“I’ll take one,” Laila said, which immediately transformed Sahana’s smile into a frown. And before Laila could reach out to grab one, Sahana turned sharply and walked away in the direction of Dev and Mona.
“I don’t think she likes you much,” Hari casually observed to Laila.
“Thanks, I needed that clarified.”
Auntie Sharmila continued to hold the floor. “You know, we are so excited about Hari’s promotion,” she began, glancing briefly at him from her spot on the opposing end of the sectional.
“Tag, you’re it,” Laila whispered to him.
“Er, well, Auntie, nothing’s confirmed yet,” he tried to protest.
“Oh, nonsense. I’m sure you’ll get it, Hari. You’re such a good doctor,” Auntie Sharmila insisted. “Mira was telling me she was trying to get you to be her new baby’s pediatrician but she was wait-listed?” she added.
“They did tell me you were one of the most sought-after pediatricians at Eastside Children’s,” Mira said with a smile.
“And Sahana is also up for a promotion this year,” Auntie Sharmila continued.
“What kind of work do you do?” Dev asked Sahana, who’d been closely watching Laila and Hari all this while. The question appeared to catch her by surprise.
“Oh, I, er, I work for a law firm in downtown Seattle, Yolanda and Wiseman?” she replied.
“Sahana is a corporate lawyer.” Auntie Sharmila beamed. “She’s very bright…and she’s always been ambitious, but she’s also very homely. She loves children.”
“Are you listening?” Laila muttered to Hari. “Why aren’t you taking notes?”
“I don’t need to take notes. The girl I like doesn’t think I’m her type,” he replied.
“Wow.” She frowned. “You really don’t take rejection well, do you?”
“If she likes kids, maybe, Hari, you can talk to Sahana about the volunteer program at Eastside?” Mona suggested, turning to her son and catching the latter by surprise.
“Volunteer program at Eastside?” Sahana asked, turning eagerly to Hari.
“Well, yeah, we’ve got a great volunteer program,” he said quickly. “But the job requires serious commitment. It puts the volunteers directly in contact with some of our most vulnerable patients. The ones in our Cancer and Critical Care Unit, for instance. These kiddos need consistency, they need hope and genuine support, so I’d only recommend it if you can commit to the hours and the work.”
“Sahana, maybe you can ask Hari more about it while giving him a tour of the house and the backyard?” Auntie Sharmila urged, trying—and failing—not to appear overzealous.
“Oh, most of the information’s on our website,” Hari tried to say, but Laila cut him off.
“That’s a great idea, Mummyji.” She nodded with a devious smile. “Sahana, you should show him the rosebushes—he’ll love that,” she added, turning to watch Hari grow pale. She then watched as the two of them rose up and walked out the back door.

What was the most difficult scene to write?

Laila is a headstrong, individualist, so the hardest scene for me to write was the bend in the road where Laila begins to start feeling stronger emotions toward Hari. He’s not her type, she knows this. He’s everything she’s rebelled against—he’s the kind of man her aunt would choose for her own daughter to marry, not the kind of man Laila, the rebel rockstar, would choose to fall for. So, when Laila feels her heart gravitating toward Hari, she panics. The scene takes place right after Laila’s demo is turned down by an agent. She’s over at Hari’s house, and that’s when it happens:

She let out a soft laugh. The pain, the disappointment appeared to have vaporized inside her. As she stood, encased in Hari’s arms, looking up into his soft, deep-set eyes, Laila suddenly felt an uncanny tug on her heart strings. A feeling that brought with it a sense of comforting calm all over her while dwarfing everything else around it—the demo, Mark’s text, her anger toward Sahana—they all seemed insignificant against that moment. Her heart was racing. She’d never felt that way before with anyone—with any man. It was beautiful, but it also scared her. Am I falling for him? She had to question herself. And she had to pull away.
“Y-you know, I just—I think I should go,” she said softly. She needed some time to herself. To think, to ponder, to understand. Too much had happened in one night, and she felt herself going into emotional overdrive.
Hari seemed to understand this. “Okay, sure. If you really want to.” He looked disappointed, but he nodded. “Let me go grab my car keys, and I’ll drive you back.”

Would you say this book showcases your writing style or is it a departure for you?

The writing style reflects my personality, but this book definitely forced me out of my element in that I’m not a rebel like Laila Sood. I’m a classic rule-follower. I had to manually override my thought process and force myself to “think” like a rebel. Because, you know, I had to make Laila proud—she stands for all those incredible, brave women out there who fight for what they believe in regardless of the consequence. I owed it to them to write a character, and a story that remained true to that type of individual.

What do you want people to take away from reading this book?

A Rebel’s Mantra is a celebration of love between genuine-hearted people. But more than that, it’s a story of how unpredictable the heart can be in matters of love. My greatest hope is for readers to enjoy the book, enjoy the characters, and walk away feeling emotionally tickled. For me, storytelling is all about providing good entertainment to my audience. If that can be achieved, I’m a happy camper.

What are you currently working on? What other releases do you have planned?

I’ve got two more books in The Sood Family series that are in the works. Book three, A Mantra for Miss Perfect, features Sahana Sood (Laila’s nemesis in A Rebel’s Mantra) who’s been unlucky in love. This book is slated to release January 19th 2023. Book four in the series, A Homecoming Mantra, features a male lead character, Shaan Sood, who’s a single-dad to his daughter, Misha. This book is set to release March 21st 2023.

Thanks for blogging at HJ!

Giveaway: An ebook copy of A Rebel’s Mantra & 3 Tule ebooks

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Excerpt from A Rebel’s Mantra:

“When life gives you lemons, you do tequila shots,” Laila Sood said, leaning against the counterspace before the vanity mirror inside the greenroom, backstage the Mural Amphitheatre in Lower Queen Anne. The room had been assigned to her band, Kali and the Juggernauts, who’d been recruited to perform as part of opening night for the city’s annual three-day Seattle Rockfest.
“Are you seriously equating not going to your own auntie’s golden wedding anniversary party to doing tequila shots?” Mira asked. She was Laila’s pregnant cousin who was sitting with her legs stretched out on a couch a few feet away. Her husband, Andy Fitzgerald, sat by her side. The two had been married a little over a year following a whirlwind romance, turning Mira Sood into Mira Sood-Fitzgerald.
“Mummyji can’t stand me,” Laila replied. “And I’m not exactly president of her fan club, either. Right there are my life’s lemons.” She shrugged. “Trust me, I’ll be sparing Mummyji some grief on her special day by not showing up.” Her auntie, Sharmila Sood, was the matriarch of their traditional Punjabi-Indian family. Everyone called her Mummyji. She and her husband, Vinod Sood, who everyone called Papaji, had immigrated to America forty-five years ago. Following the death of Badi Maa, Vinod Sood’s mother, Auntie Sharmila and Uncle Vinod had become the official heads of the Sood family. But none of that changed the fact that Laila and her auntie were always locking horns.
“You know, your auntie had no problem accepting me, a white American, into the Sood family,” Andy said with a smug smile.
Laila swatted the idea away. “That’s because you’re the glorious son-in-law. She had no choice but to welcome you with open arms. Tradition would’ve demanded it.”
Mira sighed. “Well, regardless of your relationship with Mummyji, I don’t think you can skip attending their wedding anniversary tomorrow.” She then let out a groan. “God, I’m so hot.”
Andy instinctively leaned over and kissed her forehead. “Of course you are, baby.”
“No, I mean, I’m hot hot. I need something cool, or I’m going to melt,” she replied. It was midsummer, and although the night air felt cool outside with the sunset, the small greenroom felt rather stifling.
Andy turned to Laila. “Does your greenroom have an AC?”
She raised a brow at him. “No, it doesn’t. What am I, Lady Gaga?” Uprighting herself, Laila walked over to a mini refrigerator to the far right of the room. Opening it, she stared blankly at its white light as she considered the predicament before her. Her auntie’s fiftieth wedding anniversary party was the last place on Earth she wanted to be. Heck, it was the last place on Earth she’d go to die. For one, Laila was the family rebel. The twenty-nine-year-old dark horse. A lone rock star in a family of miscellaneous traditionalists. While the other cousins had chosen to get married and have many, many babies, Laila had followed her heart, her dream to be a musician.
She’d left Punjab, India, at just nineteen and moved to America, despite the pushback from her family. She’d put herself through college, found a day job, and eventually started her band, Kali and the Juggernauts, three years ago. But none of her life choices had ever received her auntie’s approval. To the latter, Laila was a cautionary tale. A mutineer Sood with no family values. So, why then should Laila attend the older woman’s golden-whatever party? Because Mira asked her to? Laila sighed. She adored her cousin Mira. They’d always been close and had grown especially closer when Mira had gone through a nasty divorce before Andy had entered her life and made the sun shine brightly for her again. He was the best thing that had ever happened to her. And with Mira pregnant, Laila was especially protective of her cousin. The last thing she wanted was to stress out Mira over a stupid, inconsequential party. Grabbing three Coke cans out of the refrigerator, Laila walked back to the couch to Andy and Mira.
“Here,” she said, handing one to Andy.
“Thanks,” he replied, accepting it. “Are you planning to drink the other two? Because I sure as hell don’t want my wife drinking any caffeine.”
“Relax, Romeo,” Laila comforted and walked over to place one of the two cans between Mira’s swollen ankles. She then opened the third soda can and took a long, cool sip.
“Ahhh,” moaned Mira. “That feels so good.”
Sitting down on the coffee table next to the couch, Laila looked hopefully at Mira. “So, how badly do you want me to go to this anniversary thingy?” She paused, then added, “While remembering how much you care about me and how much I don’t care about weddings or wedding anniversaries or any of that happily-ever-after shit.”
Mira squinted back. “Really badly,” she said. “Besides, it’s a party, Laila. How bad could a party be?”
“It’s a Sood party, Mira. Meaning there will be nothing but gossiping relatives, samosas, grease-laced air, earth-shattering Bollywood beats, and, oh, did I mention gossiping relatives?”
At that very moment, the door to the greenroom opened, letting in a gentle flood of background music, cheering, and laughter from the festival that was getting ready to kick off outside. A lanky young man stepped in with a bass guitar strapped across his body. A dense frown clouded his eyes, standing out against the golden-brown hair that dripped down the sides of his face and interlaced with his beard. “You coming? We’re on in a few,” he said, holding the door open as he spoke.
Laila breathed in and nodded. “I’ll be right out, Sawyer.”
This didn’t appear to wipe the frown off his face. He took another second to study Laila. He then exited the room, closing the door behind him and engulfing the room in silence again. She now turned back to Mira. “Why do you care so much about me going anyway?”
“We’re family.” Mira shrugged. “If you snub Mummyji by not going to her golden anniversary party tomorrow, it’ll stir up all kinds of tension in the family.”
Laila closed her eyes and let out a forlorn sigh. “Fine, I’ll think about it.”
“Think fast because I’m not leaving the concert tonight without a yes from you,” warned Mira as she stood up from her seat with Andy’s assistance.
Laila shook her head as she followed suit, leading the way to the door. “You’re bossy tonight.”
“It’s the hormones.” Mira smiled, then reached over to give her cousin a warm hug. “Now, go rock the crowd’s socks off!”

Laila watched as Mira and Andy melted away into the dusk light and into the sea of concert attendees that had gathered before the stage. With Mira unable to stand very long, Andy planned to find her a seat in a back, close to the food and drink stands, where they could watch Kali and the Juggernauts and where they planned to catch up with Laila after the show.
It was now twenty minutes to go-time, so Laila headed backstage to meet Sawyer and the rest of her band as they prepared to go on.
“Where’ve you been?” Roland asked as she approached. He was a bespectacled man wearing a leather jacket and stretchy leather pants. He was the band’s keyboardist. The stage curtains were still drawn, so Laila could no longer see the crowd. But their roaring laughter, chatter, and the concert’s background music were impossible to drown out.
“I was chatting with some of my family. Why? I’m not late,” Laila replied, trying to keep her voice above the noise.
“No, you’re not late,” said Tig, the band’s sitar player with flowing, blond dreadlocks. “We were just wondering where you were, that’s all.”
“Well, you disappeared after our second sound check, and Sawyer said you were back in the greenroom drinking sodas,” Tommy countered. He was their broad-shouldered percussionist with a half-shaved head, body art, and cheekbone piercings.
Laila frowned. “Dude, I was chatting with my cousin. What’s the problem?”
“You know what, forget it,” Sawyer said, cutting in. His eyes then scanned Laila from head to toe. “Wait, don’t tell me that’s what you’re wearing?” he asked, pointing to her outfit.
Laila frowned, then turned to consider her reflection in the full-length mirror resting against a brick wall a few feet away from the stage wings—her five-feet-eight frame sported a tartan mini skirt and a strapless leather corset top with thigh-high, black leather boots. Her dewy caramel skin came to life against the shade of her scarlet lipstick. Dark brown hair flowed unabashedly down her shoulders, embellishing the rose-vine tattoos on her arm, along with a few more tattoos that were spread out across her body—some exposed, and others hidden. Laila turned back to Sawyer. “I don’t see a problem.”
He sighed just as one of the event coordinators walked up to them.
“Okay, guys, you’re on in five,” she reported with anticipatory eyes.
“Okay. Thanks,” Sawyer replied with a smile before turning back to Laila. “We talked about this, Laila. All costumes have to be preapproved by a band majority. That’s us,” he said, circling his finger around to the other members in their group.
Laila intently crossed her arms before her chest. “You mean at least one of the four men out of the five band members have to approve what I wear onstage?”
“Oh, here we go.” Roland sighed. “Why do you always hurl your feminist shit at us?”
“Why is it shit if women hurl it, and if men do it, it’s a progressive thought?”
The event coordinator reappeared. “You’re on!” she declared with urgency just as they heard the crowd cheer behind the curtains.
Laila nodded at her tentatively. “Thanks.” Breathing in, she then turned to her band. “Listen, could we just keep it together through this one, please?” she asked them in a tepid voice. “This is the first big gig we’ve booked in months. If we can smash it out of the park tonight, we might just spotlight ourselves in the news enough to catch the eye of a major label. Isn’t that what we ultimately want?”
“It’s definitely what we want,” Sawyer replied, his eyes panning the others.
“All right, then.” Laila nodded. “That’s all the band majority I need.”

Excerpt. © Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved.
 
 

Book Info:

She’s never done what was expected of her…

Laila Sood has always resisted tradition and her parents’ wishes, from leaving her small town in India and moving to Seattle to start a rock band, to rejecting the groom her parents chose for her arranged marriage. Now twenty-nine, Laila’s band has critical acclaim on the indie scene, but she hasn’t attained her goal that will cement her rock star status—signing with a major L.A. label.

Marriage is the last thing on Laila’s mind when she meets Hari Singh. He’s an Indian mama’s dream—a handsome pediatrician from a rich, well-connected Indian family—and everything Laila’s rejected her entire life. Even worse, sparks fly between them like Diwali fireworks, and though Laila’s aunt is hoping to match Hari with her daughter, Hari is fascinated by Laila. She thinks a few dates will prove that he’s too boring and traditional for her, except Laila only falls harder.

Does Laila still chase her rock star dream, or has Hari shown her a new way to fly her rebel flag that just might be anchored in tradition?

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Meet the Author:

Sapna lives in Seattle, WA with her perfectionist husband and perfect daughter. Her name in Hindi means “dream” and true to its meaning, Sapna finds gratification in dreams and storytelling. She was born in southern India, raised in northern India, and spent the better part of her adult life in the United States. She, therefore, unabashedly clutches her Indian roots while embracing the American in herself. She loves to cook traditional Indian food and, yes, she uses cilantro in practically everything. When she isn’t cooking, writing, or being intellectually stumped by her daughter, she may be found running down the nearest trail by her Pacific Northwest home. The inspiration for her debut novel, A New Mantra, has been her own journey as both a woman of color and a runner; the latter being a sport that was introduced to her by her husband.
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