Nelofar Currimbhoy’s Tara is not just another story of romance or rebellion—it is a finely crafted tale of a woman’s search for freedom, caught between the shimmering illusion of royalty and the hard truth of her own desires.

Tara, born into Rajput nobility, is a modern-day princess without the promise of a fairytale. Behind palace walls lie cold neglect, a mother’s iron grip, and the suffocating decorum of aristocracy. When she flees a loveless marriage, it is not just an act of rebellion—it is an act of survival. In Mumbai, a city that sparkles with promise and conceals its own wounds under the neon lights of Marine Drive, she dares to reinvent herself.

Her encounters form the emotional core of the novel. Kabir, the sensitive photographer, sees her as more than the sum of her scars—he offers her healing and the possibility of intimacy without conditions. But just as Tara begins to breathe freely, Bollywood superstar Vivan Mehta sweeps her into a whirl of desire, glamour, and temptation. The city becomes both sanctuary and stage, and Tara must navigate between love and lust, freedom and captivity, authenticity and performance.

Currimbhoy brings cinematic richness to her storytelling. The Marine Drive skyline glitters like a dreamscape, while the high society parties of South Bombay echo with pretentious charm. The tension tightens when Vikram, Tara’s estranged husband, and Aishwarya, her imperious mother, enter the narrative with their brittle egos and relentless obsessions. Vikram, drowning in scotch and smoke, stalks her shadow with unnerving desperation; Aishwarya, adjusting the diamond on her finger, guards the crumbling facade of royal dignity. Together, they embody the suffocating weight of heritage and power Tara is desperate to escape.

At its heart, however, Tara is not about palaces, penthouses, or film stars—it is about the inner revolution of a woman learning to choose herself. Currimbhoy’s prose is lyrical yet sharp, peeling back the layers of female vulnerability, strength, and longing. She does not paint Tara as an idealized heroine but as a flawed, restless, yearning human being—a woman who dares to step into uncertainty rather than surrender to silence.

With its blend of romance, suspense, and psychological depth, Tara is both a page-turner and a meditation on the price of freedom. It reminds us that the most powerful fairytales are not about being rescued, but about walking away to rescue oneself.

A novel of shadows and light, obsession and release—Tara lingers like the sea breeze of Mumbai: intoxicating, unsettling, unforgettable.