Shubira Prasad is an educationist, an astrologer, and a writer. She has done her graduation in Psychology Honors and post-graduation in English literature. She has been the Principal of two schools, one of an Air Force in Bhatinda and another of a DAV school in Uttar Pradesh. She has been practicing astrology for more than two decades. She is married to an Air Force officer, and they have two sons. Shubira has written a trilogy of the war between human beings and demons, who survived the great war of Ramayan. Along with the above books, she has written a book in the romance genre, “Will You Love Me?”. She has also written children’s fiction – ‘The Mystery of the Magic Mirror.’ Her latest published book is ‘Girl of Destiny.’
In an exclusive interview with Nitish Raj; Editor-in-Chief, The Literary Mirror the acclaimed author talks about the writing process in various literary genres along with her varied works.
Q.1 Given your diverse background as an educationist, astrologer, and writer, how do these different parts of your life influence your storytelling and the themes you explore in your books?
SP: If one looks closely, all three aspects of my background—and perhaps a few more—are deeply interrelated, especially when it comes to understanding the human psyche. As an educationist and teacher, I had the unique opportunity to understand a child’s personality and observe the context that shapes them—their parents, siblings, friends, economic background, and family dynamics. These observations alone offer a wealth of insights, so much so that entire books could be written just on children and their sometimes-unexpected life circumstances.
Astrology presents a similar window into the human condition. No one seeks out an astrologer unless they’re facing a challenge. And astrology, being an expansive and profound subject, deals fundamentally with the impact of cosmic forces on individuals—their past karmas, their destiny, and their journey through life. In essence, it’s another way of studying human nature. Although I have not deliberately woven these observations into my writing, they often find their way in unconsciously. The characters, themes, and emotional undercurrents in my stories inevitably reflect what I’ve seen and understood in my other roles.
Q.2 You’ve been a principal of two schools. How did your experiences in the education sector shape your understanding of human nature, which is visible in Girl of Destiny?
SP: Girl of Destiny stands somewhat apart from the rest of my work—it came from a different, perhaps deeper, place. You might be surprised to know that many of the seemingly improbable or bizarre events in the novel are, in fact, drawn from real life. Though the narrative has been fictionalized, the heart of the story beats with truth. Take Shama’s childhood, for instance—losing both parents at a young age and growing up in a household where she shares no blood ties with those around her. It’s an unconventional setting, but one that is rooted in lived experience. Several such moments in the book may read like fiction, but they are reflections of real lives and real pain.
My years in education certainly sharpened my understanding of human nature. As a principal, I encountered countless stories behind every student’s eyes—many untold, many hauntingly similar to Shama’s. But Shama herself was not born solely out of my role as an educationist. She emerged from my broader observations of the world—the quiet suffering, the unacknowledged resilience, the strange fates people carry. In many ways, she wrote herself, and I was merely the scribe.
Q.3 Having practiced astrology for over two decades, do you believe in fate, free will, or a combination of both? How does this belief manifest in the choices and repercussions faced by Shama in Girl of Destiny?
SP: Astrology, to me, has always been a delicate interplay—a dance—between fate and free will, shaped also by karma, circumstance, and temperament. It doesn’t offer absolutes; rather, it sketches a map. Whether we follow its paths or forge new ones is where free will enters the story.
When I began writing Girl of Destiny, astrology was not at the forefront of my intent. What I set out to write was a deeply human story—a story of longing, rebellion, and quiet transformation. Shama, the protagonist, was not born out of astrological theory but from an urge to understand a life caught between misunderstanding and desire, chaos and inner strength. Shama makes choices—often impulsive, often misguided—and the consequences are harsh. She is stubborn, unsheltered, and almost entirely without guidance. And yet, time and again, she rises, scarred but unbroken. Her journey suggests a kind of destiny—not one that spares her the storms, but one that endows her with the resilience to survive them. In a way, her life is the perfect metaphor for the tension between fate and free will. Life throws her into fires, and she walks through them, not always wisely, but with a strange grace. Whether it was written in the stars or carved out by her will, I leave that to the reader to decide. But yes, if ever there was a soul who turned lemons into lemonade—often bitter, occasionally sweet—it was Shama.
Q.4 Your trilogy explores a war between humans and demons from the Ramayana. What drew you to revisit and reimagine such a significant epic, and what messages did you aim to convey through this reinterpretation?
SP: I’ve long been captivated by the great Indian epics—The Ramayana, The Mahabharata, and The Bhagavad Gita. Their layers are endless, their characters mythic yet profoundly human. Over the years, I read many retellings of The Ramayana, each more enthralling than the last. But amidst the glory of Rama’s victory and Ravan’s defeat, I found myself wondering: what happened to the surviving rakshasas? Where did they vanish? Did they reflect? Repent? Change?
That question stayed with me for years. Eventually, I arrived at a conclusion—perhaps unsettling, but consistent with the nature of myth. The rakshasas, I felt, were not designed for redemption. Their essence was cruelty, chaos, and the lust for destruction. But being born of the same cosmic lineage as the devas—sharing a father but born of different mothers—they were equally intelligent, equally cunning. So rather than being extinguished, they retreated: into the ocean’s deepest trenches, the earth’s hidden chambers, and the far reaches of space, slipping into hibernation. They would return, I imagined, not in Lanka or forests, but in the modern world, when least expected. In this vision, Bhagwan Ram—an avatar of Vishnu—foresees their return. He entrusts Hanumanji with a sacred task: to build Gurukuls across the world to train warriors in divine knowledge and martial arts. These were not immortals, but human beings—born, raised, and destined to die—chosen to rise in different ages and fight evil anew. My trilogy follows one such group, born in the 21st century, who rise to confront the ancient menace as it resurfaces.
When I write, I rarely begin with a conscious message. I follow the story, let the characters breathe. But as this tale unfolded, one message became clear: cruelty, oppression, and wickedness, no matter how ancient or powerful—cannot endure. When evil reaches its crescendo, a force will rise to meet it. Always. That is the eternal rhythm of dharma.
Of course, I’ve woven in humour, romance, and human warmth—elements that ground a cosmic war in relatable emotion. But at its heart, this trilogy is a reminder that darkness, no matter how long it hides, is always destined to be brought into the light.
Q.5 Shama experiences a series of tumultuous relationships – a “taboo relationship,” a “marriage of compromise,” a “hasty divorce,” and “abandonment.” What was your intention behind depicting such a challenging romantic life for her?
SP: From the very outset, Shama’s life is shaped by loss and upheaval. The only semblance of normalcy she ever knew was those fleeting early years—brief, almost dreamlike—before her mother’s death unraveled the fabric of her world. What followed was not merely hardship, but a kind of emotional dislocation. Thrust into a new household where she shared neither blood nor belonging, she grew up loved but unguided, precocious, breathtakingly beautiful, and dangerously unaware of her own emotional compass.
Shama’s romantic missteps were never about recklessness alone—they were the inevitable consequence of a girl left to chart her path in the dark. She defied her stepmother, dismissed authority, and held secret affections for her stepbrother—an infatuation born not from malice, but from confusion, vulnerability, and the absence of moral orientation. The only person who truly saw through her was Abhay, who loved her from afar, too afraid of her scorn to reveal his heart. Her marriage was yet another misjudgment—entered into with the hope of stability but doomed from the beginning. She found herself repelled by the very life she had tried to embrace, and the divorce, hasty though it was, became an act of survival. It was again Abhay, steadfast and silent, who stood by her—his loyalty a quiet counterpoint to her chaos.
I didn’t write Shama’s journey as a cautionary tale, nor as a critique. It was an honest exploration of what happens when a life unfolds without anchors. But even amidst the disorder, there is growth. There is learning. Shama emerges from the wreckage of her choices not broken, but forged—hardworking, focused, and self-assured. Her arc reminds us that the road to becoming is often littered with heartbreaks and missteps. And yet, it is in those very cracks that destiny seeps through. In the end, Shama finds not just success, but herself—and perhaps that was her truest destiny all along.
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Q.6 In your latest book, Girl of Destiny. Shama’s childhood is described as “daunting and dismaying.” What research or personal insights went into creating such a difficult early life for your protagonist?
SP: This is, in a sense, an easy question to answer—though not for the little girl who lived that life. As I’ve mentioned earlier, Girl of Destiny is not entirely a work of imagination. Much of it was drawn from a true story I personally witnessed—an experience that left me deeply disturbed and moved. What Shama endures may seem extraordinary on the page, but it was, in fact, someone’s lived reality. I merely gave it form and voice.
Here was a small girl whose life unraveled piece by piece: first her mother’s death, then her father’s decision to remarry—not for himself, but for her. And yet, fate was unkind again. The father too passes away, and Shama is left with her stepmother, Shanti, who in turn remarries a widower with two sons of his own. The resulting household was a strange, tangled web of relationships, with no real anchor for the child at its centre. It was a bizarre situation, not of my invention, but of reality’s own making. I simply observed, internalized, and eventually put it on paper.
Of course, elements were fictionalized—events restructured, characters expanded—to serve the arc of the story. But the emotional core of Shama’s childhood, that haunting sense of abandonment and confusion, came directly from life. Writing it was, in many ways, my attempt to make sense of the senseless, and to honour the quiet strength of a child who never quite lost her will to rise.
Q.7 The title, Girl of Destiny, suggests a predetermined path. Yet, Shama is described as making her “own life choices.” Can you elaborate on the interplay between destiny and individual agency in Shama’s life?
SP: Destiny, no doubt, casts a long shadow over our lives. But so does free will—it is that quiet defiance, that flicker of choice we are granted even within what seems written. I believe that when the divine scripts our journey, whether marked by light or shadow, there is always a small window left ajar. Through that window enters possibility. And what we do with that possibility is where our agency lies.
I didn’t set out to write a philosophical or spiritual treatise when I wrote Girl of Destiny. And yet, these themes inevitably found their way into Shama’s journey. Hers is a life shaped by immense loss and circumstance—one could easily call it fate. But at every turn, she makes choices, often flawed, sometimes impulsive, but unmistakably her own. She falls, rises, breaks, and heals—never passively, always with a certain wilfulness. I’ve always been drawn to protagonists—especially female protagonists—who possess strength, conviction, and complexity. Shama is no exception. She may be destined for certain trials, but how she navigates them, how she eventually claims her space in the world—that is entirely her doing. In that sense, Girl of Destiny is not about surrendering to fate, but about confronting it, wrestling with it, and ultimately shaping it into something purposeful.
Q.8 How much does the tale of ghosts hold the excitement and fear factor for young kids compared to the 80s and 90s kids? And has the Mystery of the Magic Mirror garnered new interest for the kids?
SP: The Mystery of the Magic Mirror is, at its heart, a playful and adventurous tale—designed to spark wonder rather than fear. As a child, I was completely enchanted by stories, especially those of Enid Blyton. Back then, our world was quieter—books, occasional films, and the thrill of a well-told ghost story were enough to set our imaginations racing. Films like Bhoot Bangla could make our hair stand on end and yet leave us asking for more.
Today, children are surrounded by an overwhelming abundance of entertainment on screens, devices, and digital platforms. Competing with that flood is no easy task for a book. And yet, that challenge is precisely what inspired me to write The Mystery of the Magic Mirror. I wanted to craft a story that could still catch a child’s imagination, not by terrifying them, but by inviting them into a world that is mysterious, magical, and just a little spooky.
The ghost in my story is not a creature of horror. He is quirky, kind-hearted, and refreshingly uninterested in haunting anyone. He doesn’t scare, he doesn’t drink blood—he simply wants to help. And perhaps that’s what makes the story resonate. At recent book fairs, I was delighted to see children picking it up with genuine curiosity—proof that, even in this digital age, the right kind of ghost story can still cast its spell.
Q.9 As an author with books across different genres, what advice would you give to aspiring writers who might feel pressured to stick to one specific genre?
SP: This is a question I’ve been asked often, and while there’s no singular answer that fits everyone, my own response is simply: to each their own. Life is vast, brimming with stories, emotions, and curiosities too rich to be confined within the borders of a single genre. Why limit oneself, especially when the creative impulse pulls you in different directions?
After completing my mythology-based trilogy, with all its research, structural demands, and the challenge of translating grand ideas into accessible prose, I found myself mentally exhausted. I needed a shift, a gentler rhythm. But the urge to write remained strong. So I turned to blogs, short stories—fragments of thought, often tender and introspective. Gradually, I realized that I wanted to explore other realms—a romance, Will You Love Me?, and a children’s story, The Mystery of the Magic Mirror. They felt right for that time in my life, like exhaling after a long, deep breath.
I’ve been fortunate that my readers have followed me across genres without complaint—perhaps because they trust the spirit behind the storytelling more than the category it falls into. And so, my advice to emerging writers would be this: write what stirs you. Don’t chase market trends or get trapped in labels. Genres are shelves in a bookstore. Your voice, your stories—they’re far more expansive than that. If your writing rings true, the reader will come with you, wherever you go.
