Author Anumeha Gaur was born in New Delhi and she had completed her degrees in engineering as well as in business management before entering the corporate world. Well, “Sahal” is her first book, wherein she has narrated her experience in the word of poetry which is near to her heart. This is her journey of survival and healing through poetry as a woman. Whereas, “The Women Who Stayed” is her latest release, which is a motivational and self-help title!

Questionnaire:

The Literature Today: Your transition from engineering and business management into writing is truly fascinating. How did your personal experiences shape your debut title, “Sahal” and your latest book, “The Women Who Stayed”?

Anumeha Gaur: My transition from engineering and business management into writing has been shaped by a gradual shift in perspective. While my professional background gave me structure and analytical thinking, writing allowed me to explore the human and emotional side of experiences. Sahal was born out of that early phase of reflection and self-discovery, where I was trying to make sense of people, situations, and inner thoughts through poetry. In contrast, The Women Who Stayed is more grounded in real stories and lived experiences, focusing on resilience, silence, and strength that often goes unnoticed. Both books, in a way, reflect different stages of my own journey from introspection to a deeper understanding of human experiences.

The Literature Today: The title, “The Women Who Stayed: Not Invisible But Unwitnessed” itself carries immense emotional depth. What inspired you to choose such a powerful and thought-provoking title?   

Anumeha Gaur: It came from a very personal space my own journey of healing, reflection, and discovery. As I was going through that process, I began to understand how often women’s experiences are present, but not truly witnessed or acknowledged in their full depth. The title reflects that realization. It is not just about invisibility, but about those moments, emotions, and struggles that exist very clearly in lived experience, yet are often overlooked in how they are seen or understood by others.

The Literature Today: Your book speaks about the “quiet emotional weight” that the women carry every day. Why was it important for you to focus on emotional exhaustion that often goes unnoticed by society?

Anumeha Gaur: It was important for me to focus on that because emotional exhaustion is often the most invisible form of struggle. It doesn’t always show on the surface, but it deeply shapes how women live, function, and cope every day.

Through my own journey of healing and observation, I realized that many women are constantly holding things together families, relationships, expectations without their emotional labour being acknowledged. And because it’s silent, it is often normalized or overlooked. With this book, I wanted to give language to that quiet weight, and create space where it is seen, understood, and not dismissed as something “normal” just because it is common.

The Literature Today: How much of the emotional honesty in this book comes from your own observations and lived experiences as a woman navigating personal and professional spaces?

Anumeha Gaur: Yes, it was very much a conscious choice from the beginning. I didn’t want to write something that tells people what to do or positions itself as a set of instructions. For me, the intent was always to create space for reflection something gentle, honest, and emotionally real. I feel that healing and understanding don’t always come from being taught; sometimes they come from feeling seen and resonating with someone else’s experience. So, the emotional intimacy was intentional. It was about staying true to lived experiences and allowing the reader to arrive at their own understanding, rather than being directed toward one.

The Literature Today: In the book, you beautifully discuss invisible emotional labour without turning the narrative into anger or bitterness. How did you maintain that balance between vulnerability and hope?

Anumeha Gaur: I think that balance came very naturally because my intention was never to blame or express anger, but to understand and acknowledge what exists beneath the surface. When you look at emotional labour closely, especially through a personal or reflective lens, it is already heavy in its truth. So instead of layering it with bitterness, I chose to approach it with honesty and compassion for the women experiencing it, and also for the complexities around it. Hope, for me, was not something I added separately. It was already present in the act of witnessing, in giving language to something that is often unspoken.

The Literature Today: Your background in the corporate world must have exposed you to different realities women face professionally and personally. Did those experiences influence the themes explored in this book?

Anumeha Gaur: Yes, very much. My corporate experience gave me a close view of how women navigate multiple layers of expectation professional performance on one side, and personal responsibilities and emotional labour on the other. What stood out to me was not always the visible challenges, but the quieter ones the constant balancing, the unspoken pressure to hold everything together, and the emotional exhaustion that often goes unacknowledged. Those observations naturally found their way into the book, shaping its themes and grounding it in very real, lived experiences rather than abstract ideas.

The Literature Today: The book reminds women that rest, softness, and choosing oneself are not selfish acts. Why do you think society still struggles to accept these ideas, especially for women?

Anumeha Gaur: I think society still struggles with this because for a long time, women’s worth has been closely linked to how much they give, endure, and accommodate others. Rest or choosing oneself is often misread as withdrawal or selfishness, rather than seen as a necessary part of being whole. There is also a deep conditioning around responsibility where women are expected to constantly be available for everyone else before themselves. So even basic acts of rest or self-prioritisation can feel unfamiliar, or even uncomfortable within that framework. Through this book, I wanted to gently challenge that idea and remind women that choosing themselves is not an absence of care it is a form of care that has often been overlooked.

The Literature Today: What challenges did you face while writing about deeply internal emotions that many people experience but rarely articulate openly?

Anumeha Gaur: The biggest challenge was finding language for emotions that are often lived but not spoken. Internal experiences don’t always have clear definitions, so translating them into words without oversimplifying or over-explaining required a lot of reflection. There was also a constant balance between staying authentic to the depth of those feelings and making sure the writing remained accessible and gentle for readers. I didn’t want to intellectualise emotions that are deeply personal, or dilute them in the process of expressing them. In a way, the challenge was also what made the writing meaningful learning to sit with silence, pause, and allow those emotions to be felt before they were written.

The Literature Today: If there is one message or feeling you hope the readers carry with them after finishing, “The Women Who Stayed” what would it be?

Anumeha Gaur: If there is one feeling I hope readers carry with them, it is a sense of recognition and gentleness toward themselves. That what they have felt especially the quiet emotional weight, the endurance, the moments of staying is real and valid, even if it was never fully witnessed by others. And more importantly, I hope it reminds them that choosing themselves, resting, and healing are not acts of escape, but acts of coming home to oneself.

The Literature Today: After exploring survival, healing, emotional resilience, and womanhood through your writing, what kinds of stories or themes are you excited to explore in the future?

Anumeha Gaur: I feel I will continue exploring themes that are rooted in human emotion and lived experience, but I’m also becoming more curious about what comes after survival how people rebuild, rediscover joy, and redefine themselves beyond what they have endured. I’m particularly interested in stories around quiet transformation, identity shifts, and the subtle ways people heal over time. The idea of emotional growth that is not always dramatic, but very internal and gradual, really fascinates me. So while the lens may expand, the core will remain the same honest, reflective storytelling that stays close to real human experiences.