Cloud 9 Minus One

I have a recurring nightmare. I am in the Amazon jungle, and a rare Indian tribe is planning to do weird things to my body, including eating me up. I wake up just as the chief is starting to chop off my pinkie.
In real life, I’m always within my comfort zone. From my middle class neighbourhood in Bombay to my supermarket to the movie theatre to the airport, I’m always inside familiar territory. I like it this way. I hate to be placed in a position where I’m an alien. Yes, so I’m a coward.
As a writer, the opposite is true. I’m fascinated by what would happen if someone were to be ejected from their comfort zone and jetpacked into a completely strange place. I don’t mean another planet, or even another country. The neighbouring slum is good enough. What if my heroine were to be forced into a situation about which she knew nothing? How would she respond? What reservoirs of courage would she draw upon to deal with different people, different houses, different languages and even different ways of expressing oneself? How would she deal with a tax inspector, for instance? Or the slumlord? Or the bootlegging mamma? Or the resident whore? Would she run, or would she display her humanity by dealing with such people as she deals with all people, with empathy, compassion and a bit of true, old-fashioned grit?
This is one of the things that I’m dealing with in my new novel, and it’s proving to be one interesting journey!