Spotlight & Giveaway: Sari, Not Sari by Sonya Singh

Today it is my pleasure to Welcome author Sonya Singh to HJ!

Hi Sonya and welcome to HJ! We’re so excited to chat with you about your new release, Sari, Not Sari!

 
Thank you so much for joining me and reading my debut novel, SARI,NOT SARI!
 

Please summarize the book for the readers here:

Manny Dogra is a beautiful young entrepreneur and CEO of Breakup, a multi-million dollar company specializing in personal break-up management. As busy as she is with her company, she is also planning her own wedding to handsome architect Adam Jamieson. She is also dealing with the recent loss of her beloved parents.

Manny grew up disconnected from her South Asian heritage. Her born-in-India mother
and father wanted her to become an All-American girl. And she did. Manny knows little to nothing about being Indian and that’s never been a problem—until her whitewashed image appears on a magazine cover. Suddenly the woman who built an empire encouraging people to be true to themselves is having her own identity crisis.

A solution presents itself when she agrees, despite the disapproval of colleagues, to take on a strange request from a client in return for him giving her a crash course in being Indian at his brother’s week-long wedding. Seven days of dancing and dal, masala and mehndi follow.

This lively novel transcends cultural boundaries to present to readers not just a comical and chaotic world, but the happily-ever-after we could all use right now.
 

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

Dear Breakup,
How do you know when it’s time to break up with someone, or if you should just settle?
Denise

Please share a few Fun facts about this book…

• This novel is an ode to my own dating experiences, where over time I perfected the art of writing the exact-right breakup email or text.
• The client letters the book’s fictional company Breakup receives, describing various romantic entanglements and relationship splits, are based on situations I or my closest friends have experienced (with some details changed to protect the innocent and the guilty).
• The “uncle” and “auntie” matchmaking experiences have all happened to me.
• I was once asked to consider an arranged marriage. YIKES!
• Written during COVID lockdowns, SARI, NOT SARI is a positive result of finding my inner creative during tough times.

What first attracts your Hero to the Heroine and vice versa?

I think friendship. It’s an attraction she’s never had before. It goes past just the way someone looks, what they do for work…etc., etc. They build a genuine friendship.

Did any scene have you blushing, crying or laughing while writing it? And Why?

UMMM yes. The scene where Manny gets stuck in her Lengha in a change room – and Sammy having to rescue her out of it.

Readers should read this book….

• If they want to see female characters succeeding in non-traditional roles.
• If they want to explore how a romantic relationship (or even just a flirtation) can lead you to discover aspects of yourself—from a deep personality level to a cultural level.
• If they want a feel-good happy ending.
• If they want to learn about the rich beauty of Indian culture.
• If they want to read some funny Dear Breakup Stories.
• If they are a fan of Bollywood movies.

What are you currently working on? What other releases do you have in the works?

My second book, The Fake Matchmaker – it’s the second in this series and centers around the loveable character Manisha Patel.

And I am also writing a Hallmark movie! I am so happy to share that this will be Hallmark’s first Indian holiday film. My heritage is so important to me and Crown Media has given me an opportunity to share it!
 

Thanks for blogging at HJ!

Giveaway: We’re giving away a finished copy of SARI, NOT SARI to US readers!

To enter Giveaway: Please complete the Rafflecopter form and Post a comment to this Q: Apps and services for finding love abound, but there aren’t services to help you break up with someone—don’t we all wish we had the services of Breakup on speed-dial sometimes?

 
a Rafflecopter giveaway

 
 

Excerpt from Sari, Not Sari:

Dear Breakup,
What about putting the brakes on my relationship with my current girlfriend? I was dabbling in online apps, strictly out of boredom and curiosity, and I met this new girl—and I am intrigued.
Why can’t I just hit pause with my girlfriend of two years?
Daniel

I stepped off the elevator into the frenzy that always followed a media segment. The office floor buzzed with bright young men and women attending to their tasks, while the beautiful sound of ringing phones and clacking keyboards filled the air.
“Yes, that’s right, we were featured on Good Day with Alex and Maggie this morning.” The team’s excitement was palpable as they answered phones while, no doubt, calculating their next bonus. To a first-timer, the call center would have looked like complete mayhem, but the truth was that my staff was organized and effective, attending to our clients with near-military precision. I liked to see my staff working. That’s how I preferred to start each morning. It was one of the qualities that I found appealing about Adam. The way he talked about his team with pride and fondness. He loved being not only their leader but also their biggest cheerleader. Now I had that connection with my team, too.
I pushed through the private client entrance, moving far away from the noise of my team. The matte black glass doors etched with the Breakup logo closed behind me as I entered a serene, soundproof lounge. My shoes echoed across the gray-and-white hardwood, which added a soft glow to the room, providing a tem- porary distraction to clients who had come to split with someone they had once cared for. Soft music and the soothing sounds from a waterfall filled the air, triggering a relaxed feeling for the person who was about to go into panic mode at the thought of hiring us. Strategically placed reading material offered tips on being “Single and Ready to Mingle” or “Alone and Ready to Bone,” whichever the client wanted. The walls, a subtle purple, were complemented by flattering lighting that created the effect of a perpetual golden hour. After all, if you happened to catch a glimpse of yourself in the mirrors, it helped to have the perfect light to enhance your soon-to-be-single features. Clients who lacked confidence also lacked the resolve to carry through with their breakups. The better you thought you looked, the more comfortable you were with being single. It was that simple.
“Morning, Manny,” Anjali, our office manager, said as she popped up from behind the reception desk. The executive of- fices were behind the client lounge, away from the hustle and bustle of the busy call center. “You were such a boss on the seg- ment this morning. You totally slayed it. And was it just me or did Maggie look a little . . .” Anjali waved her hand around her face and lingered around her forehead.
“Yup, a little too much, huh? But she’s also one of our clients, so we respect all the bad decisions Maggie makes,” I jokingly reminded Anjali.
I placed my coffee and the red box with the Aja Raja logo on the glass desk.
“Is Rajiv actually selling Diwali boxes this year?” Anjali asked. “I was on him all last year to do this! I mean, sure, West Baskin isn’t exactly the nucleus of all things down with brown, but with the Indian families we do have, we can still celebrate and share our food with other Baskin residents.” She started to clean up the grease ring the box was slowing leaking. “Oh, by the way, Adam called a few minutes ago. He said he tried to reach you on your cell as well. Is he back from Europe yet?” she added, all in one quick breath.
“Not yet, but soon,” I said, reassuring myself more than her.
“It must not be easy to be in a long-distance relationship. I mean, these days I can hardly manage one in the same time zone. Which reminds me of a new Breakup package I was thinking about. You’ve Got Mail . . . kinda like the movie but focusing on how emails are just as important a love language as . . .” Anjali’s words trailed off as I thought about dating Adam long distance and our love language as of late.
It wasn’t easy. In fact, Adam and I had been trying to connect over the last few days. Trying, but not succeeding. Fall was one of our busiest seasons at Breakup. Most clients felt it was the season of reason, as in a reason to break up. It was the same every year: The summer, with its mixture of barely dressed beach bodies, barbecues, parties, and alcohol—a lot of alcohol, usually—all came together in a cocktail of euphoria and brain fog that in- spired men and women alike to jump into new romantic relation- ships. Some people found true love at a beachside house share, which meant cutting ties with their previous true love from the Upper East Side. Others felt an inexplicable connection to the local bartender, who listened attentively as they drowned their relationship sorrows in way too many margaritas—and eventu- ally in each other’s beds.
Whatever the reason, September to November were our bus- iest months, which meant that it would have been difficult to connect with Adam even if he weren’t spending so much time in Europe, with a time difference and lousy cell reception.
“You’ve got mail.” I said it out loud. “I like it. Nice work, An- jali. Book in a one-on-one with me later this week.”
“Thanks, Manny.” She pushed her red-framed glasses back up the bridge of her nose, smiling at her morning assertiveness. I knew she was also mentally checking another task off her list. She was more than organized, she was Netflix’s popular TV se- ries “The Home Edit” for our office. She had mastered a solution to digitally organizing Breakup, and she made it fun—at least she made it look fun.
“Manny, we have clients waiting for you. In fact, one is in- sisting on seeing you ASAP.” Anjali scrolled through her tablet. “His name is Sammy . . .” She pushed up her glasses again as she read. “Patel. Yes. Sammy Patel. He’s looking for a temporary Breakup, but I told Mr. Patel that Breakup is not in the business of pausing relationships. But he is adamant about seeing you.”
Anjali was right. There was no such thing as a pause with us. This wasn’t an episode of Friends. I mean, with all due respect to Ross and Rachel, there was no “break” in Breakup.
“Patel?” There weren’t many Indians in West Baskin as far as I knew. “Tall, green jacket, and a little too much attitude?” I asked.
“Yes! How did you know?”
“Let’s just say I’ve already had the ‘pleasure’ of meeting him.” “He’s waiting in Pod 3, and he really wants to see you now.” “Why don’t you tell Mr. Patel that you spoke to me, and we unfortunately will not be taking on his case.”
“Sure. Just like always, I promise to be gentle in my breakup with the client.” Anjali winked just like she always did when we were about to pass on a client.
“Good luck with Mr. Pessimistic Patel.” I grabbed my coffee and headed to my office.
My office was big—too big, some would say—but as I walked through the doors, it took me back to my mother and father’s work ethic, and how they would have approved.
Damn. It always hit me like this. A moment of thought about my parents and how much I loved them, then—bam, the dull ache when I felt their absence. I walked over to the wall-to-wall windows, taking a deep breath in as I stared at the clouds slowly floating along, reassuring me that my parents would always be nearby.
It had been three years since the car accident and Breakup was a one-woman show at the time. A year after that I had met Adam, and now Breakup was a publicly traded company. I had buried my heartache after their loss by building up my company. It wasn’t about money; it was his drive to “be the change” that inspired me to mirror his success and work even harder on the business. Adam could set aside friends, family, and the world around him for his company, and ultimately, I trained myself to do the same with my grief.
“Be the change,” I said to myself as I walked over to my desk, pushing away my pain as I had so many times before.
A few minutes after I had settled in, there was a knock on my door.
“Ready to get started?” Anjali popped her head in.
“Ready as I always am!” And I was. It was just like every morning, ready to get back into the business of Breakup.
Anjali was now carrying three tablets, each with its own col- ored case, as she always did for our morning meetings. She liked to color-code everything. Pear green was for new clients, indigo blue was for new packages, and fire red was for a crisis.
“Mr. Patel had a pretty interesting temporary breakup request, but I still asked him to leave. He wasn’t too happy about it.”
“They never are. I don’t think he’s a happy person, period.”
“He wants you to reconsider. He’s willing to do ‘whatever it takes,’” Anjali said, using air quotes to make her point.
“Mr. Patel should know we don’t need ‘whatever it takes,’” I said, already over the client and his request.
She looked down at a tablet and bit her lower lip.
“It’s fine, Anjali. This guy is insistent and pushy. That could make for a troubled client later. Mr. Patel can find someone else to help him with his breakup,” I assured her. “By the way, how was your date with that new Hinge guy? Vik?” I asked, tired of talking about the grumpy client.
Anjali was on all the millennial dating apps. She hadn’t been in a steady relationship for as long as I could remember. In fact, most of the guys she dated—impossible to call them men—had no ambition, living at home with their parents and saving up for a beer pong table. She needed a man with goals, a steady income, and his own place to live. Someone who was heading down the same adult path as she was, not veering off to get in line for the newest video game, like the last guy she had briefly dated. He apparently used up all his vacation time for VIP video gaming conferences. He had six vacation weeks a year.
“Oh, my gosh, Manny.” Anjali plopped down on the seat in front of my desk. “He actually showed up drunk for our date!”
“How drunk?” I asked, as if that even mattered.
“As in slurring-his-words drunk. He downed a couple of drinks at home alone.”
“Maybe he was just nervous to meet you?” I tried to reassure her with what I knew was a horrible excuse.
“Manny, our first date was breakfast.”
“Oh, geez. Mr. Vik sounds like he needs one of our emails—” “Yup. I pressed send on that one.”
“Speaking of emails, what’s on the agenda today?”
“I have one client who’s supposed to get married in two days but wants to call off the wedding. Cold feet.”
“Two days?” I said, startled. “That may be a new record. Could you schedule a call for that today?”
“On it. And I have another one who’s packed up her bags and is heading for Canada.”
“Why Canada?”
“She met this guy online—a ski instructor. She’s moving up there to be with him but needs help telling her family and friends because the guy turned out to be her father’s best friend.”
“So she needs an exit strategy. Gotcha. Okay, this is going to be a call to the family from her. Can you get her on the phone for a one-on-one session? I’m thinking the Family Feud package.”
“That’s what I was thinking, too, Manny. We may want to consider branching that package out. We seem to be getting a lot more requests from daughters falling for their dad’s friend.”
“Hmmm . . .” I sat back in my chair.
“It’s this whole silver fox thing that’s going on right now.” “Silver fox?” I leaned forward.
“Yeah, like the George Clooneys of the world are suddenly
hot to thirtysomething women.”
“And just happen to be close friends with your dad,” I added.
“All right, good idea. Split the package up. One for fathers and one for mothers. Who knows where this silver fox trend could take us?”
“On it.” Anjali swiftly typed something. “The last one is Scotch PR. They want us to help with Jennifer’s breakup—which makes it breakup number four for us. Timing’s an issue because she has a premiere next week.”
“Didn’t we just do the third?”
“Yes, um . . . exactly sixty-four days ago.”
“Well, then, we already have a template of emails. Can you gather them up and have them sent to me? I need to review them so we aren’t using the exact same copies, in case the exes go to the tabloids.”
“Gotcha.” She finished up her notes.
Breaking people up was our business. It didn’t matter if you were a celebrity on your fourth breakup with us or Client 54689 getting cold feet before your wedding, we weren’t in the business of judging.
It had seemed like a simple business idea, and it sort of was, now that I looked back on it. I was having a dinner party for my twenty-eighth birthday—a small celebration at my house— where a friend was consumed with emailing her boyfriend after several botched attempts to split with him. She spent almost the entire evening trying to figure out how to dump Chad. Finally I grabbed her phone and typed out a message, and at the end of the night, she hugged me on her way out.
“He just replied to your email. He was so happy we could remain friends. It worked! Your words worked!”
A few more rescues like that, and word got out that I was the Breakup Queen—#BQ. Just like that, I turned an obsessed girl’s birthday takeover into a multimillion-dollar business.
I met Anjali at another celebration. She was a young caterer who had recently moved to Baskin from a small town in the Mid- west to get away from her bad breakup. As I watched her manag- ing the logistics of food and catering, supervising the staff, and chatting with guests, I saw a spark and knew I had to have her on my team. A handful of phone calls and a little twist of her arm got her to abandon the world of food and beverage to help me out in the office, which at the time was my tiny condo. Our team of two quickly grew to a group of fifteen in an actual office, and, eventually, to a team of fifty in this penthouse suite.
The Breakup team cared about our clients. Breaking up was awful, but what was the alternative—having no closure or find- ing out through social media that the person you loved was busy loving someone else? Our crew made each breakup clean and kind. Respectful. Our clients may have checked out a long time ago, but we did everything we could to give their relationships proper closure. Losing someone you loved was difficult enough; not knowing why you lost them was devastating. Our track re- cord was clean, too. Nobody ever suspected the breakup came from us. That’s how we knew we were doing a good—scratch that—great job.
“Ooh, I almost forgot,” Anjali said. “This just came for you!” She placed a plain brown envelope on my desk. “Can’t wait to see it,” she added as she headed back out the door.
“The cover!”
I was about to peel back the tape on the envelope when An jali turned around. She was staring at her green tablet. “Mr. Patel is on line one.”
“All right, I’ll take it.”
“You will?” her voice cracked.
“Just the call, not the case.” Mr. Patel was getting annoying.
Time to set him straight.
“Manny Dogra speaking,” I answered the phone when the call came through. I used my don’t mess with me voice.
“Ms. Dogra, I really need your help, and I’ll do whatever it takes at this point. I am pressed for time, and the clock is ticking.”
“Mr. Patel, I’m sorry to disappoint you, but, as I’m sure Anjali explained to you, we just don’t do temporary breakups. It could get us in a lot of trouble with our stakeholders if we start going against our company policies and—”
“Ms. Dogra, you haven’t even heard my story. I just need you to make an exception. My request . . . it’s unique, and if you could just hear me out—”
“Mr. Patel, you have to hear me out. I get this all the time from clients, but—”
“This is different.”
Oh, here we go. It was always different. Just like the client who shared a dog with her boyfriend and needed help dognap- ping him before their breakup, or the client who was guided by voices to the new love of her life even though she was married at the time, or the client who was having an affair with her neigh- bor’s twentysomething son—we had heard it all.
“And you should understand,” he continued.
This was going to be good.
“You’re Indian, after all,” he said, stating the obvious.
“What does that have to do with anything?”
“The girl I’m dating . . . she’s not . . . you know . . . Indian. I can’t possibly take her to my brother’s wedding—”
“Because she’s not Indian?” I cut him off.
“It’s just never been done before. The oldest son bringing a non-Indian girl to his younger brother’s wedding. Hasn’t been done with any of the Patels. Never. So I need a week off from my girl, from us.”
I cocked an eyebrow. “Let me get this right. You want to tem- porarily split with your girlfriend while you attend your brother’s wedding, and you’ll return to her after the wedding, as if nothing happened?”
“Yes. At least by then, one Patel son will be properly married.”
My nostrils flared. “I’m sorry, Mr. Patel. I just can’t make an exception. And to be honest, I don’t understand. It sounds . . . it sounds silly to me.”
“Silly? You think Indian tradition is silly?”
“That’s not what I meant—”
Click.
I stared at the phone, and then put it down. I had learned
early in my business life not to take these things personally. I hated to turn down clients, but it was the right thing to do. What was that saying, when one door closes . . .
And with that, there was another knock on my door. “Manny, how did things go with Mr. Patel?” Anjali asked. “Come in for a second!” I signaled her to take a seat. “It was
a strange call, no doubt about it. Mr. Patel wants a temporary breakup because—did he also tell you this—he’s dating a non- Indian woman and can’t tell his family. He said something about tradition.”
Anjali looked at me with big eyes. “I wouldn’t be able to tell my family, either.”
“Really? How could you not tell your family if you loved someone? Surely, they want what’s best for you?”
“It’s just every Indian parent’s dream that his or her child will grow up and marry into another Indian family. My parents want me to have my happily ever after with an Indian doctor, lawyer, or engineer. They want to keep all the traditions in the family. Mr. Patel probably feels he would be bringing a kind of disgrace to the Patel family name if he married outside the culture.” An- jali obviously had some experience in the matter.
“Well, then, why bother dating a Smith or Jones . . .” I pressed her.
“Because not all the Viks are a dream and instead end up being your worst nightmare,” she said, obviously thinking back to her brunch bust.
“So, you’re telling me this client would rather lie to his own family and his girlfriend—?”
“At least until his brother gets married. Then it will be less pres- sure on him because at least one Patel son has married Indian.”
So he wasn’t making that up. I had never been exposed to this side of being Indian before. But, really, I hadn’t been exposed to much Indian culture at all. It just wasn’t the way in our family.
“He was still kind of a jerk to Rajiv this morning. And as you know, we don’t do—”
“Temporary breakups.” Anjali completed my sentence. “I know that Mr. Patel seems like a hothead, but after I spoke with him, I got the impression he’s just in a huge Patel . . .” She searched the room. “Retell. Patel retell.”
“Patel retell?”
“He’s about to make history here, Manny. He wants to change the course of who Patels can marry. This is a total Indian narra- tive. Most of us can relate to this in one way or another,” she said in a way that made me feel excluded from her new club with Mr. Patel. “Not that you can’t relate to it because you aren’t Indian, it’s just . . .”
I watched Anjali as she struggled for the right thing to say. “Don’t get me wrong, I love being Indian. But it comes with a lot of responsibilities, and families are rooted in tradition. That includes mine and, from the sound of it, Mr. Patel’s. I know it seems dated, but it’s like rice and dal. Culture and convention go hand in hand. From the arranged marriages to the oldest son not wanting to dishonor his family because he’s choosing to marry a non-Indian.” She got up and headed to the door. “Manny, I thought . . .” She hesitated. “I thought most Indians grew up just knowing that’s the way it must be. It’s like the plot to almost every Bollywood movie.”
I tried to recall the few movies that Rajiv had pressed me to watch, but the truth was I always fast-forwarded to the beautiful wedding scenes full of gorgeous dresses, so I missed out on most of the plot.
“Thanks, Anjali. Maybe I just need to watch a few more of those movies. I’ll see you in a few minutes with the rest of the team.”
When she left, I thought about my parents. They had never suggested I date anyone. I went out with guys I felt a connection with, and, growing up, I didn’t feel connected to anyone Indian. And in our house, dal and rice didn’t come together. It was pasta and red wine.
I sat back up in my chair and typed “I am Indian and want to marry a non-Indian” into Google.
Wow.
Forum after forum with men and women wondering how to break it to their parents that the person they were dating or even considering marrying was a non-Indian.
I shook my head. It didn’t matter if this was a real problem or not. It wasn’t my problem. I had said no.

Excerpt. © Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved.
 
 

Book Info:

In this “most delicious rom-com” (Marissa Stapley, New York Times bestselling author of Reese’s Book Club Pick Lucky), TV reporter-turned-debut author Sonya Singh introduces readers to beautiful CEO Manny Dogra. Manny runs a multi-million-dollar company that helps people manage their relationship breakups (couldn’t we all have used their services at one time or another?) and is planning her wedding to a handsome architect. But having been raised as an All-American girl by her late born-in-India parents, she’s realizing she knows next to nothing about her culture. When an irritating client named Sammy Patel approaches Manny with an odd breakup request, the perfect solution presents itself: If they both agree to certain terms, he’ll give her a crash course in being “Indian” at his brother’s wedding. Amidst dancing and dal and lovable—if endlessly interfering—Patel family aunties and uncles, Manny discovers much more than she could ever have anticipated.
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Meet the Author:

Sonya Singh is a former entertainment reporter turned communications professional who has followed her dream of telling stories in front of the camera and now behind the scenes. Her debut novel, Sari, Not Sari, is an ode to her own personal dating experiences, during which she honed the art of writing the perfect break-up email/text. Sonya lives in Toronto, Canada.
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