What Rupa Publications Does Not Want You to Know (First Person)

How the termination of This Country Called Us is categorically different from Penguin's withdrawal of Joe Sacco's book — and what it reveals about the Indian publishing industry's deepest ethical crisis. First Person: Saket Suman

When Penguin India refused to distribute Joe Sacco's The Once and Future Riot — a 135-page graphic investigation of the 2013 Muzaffarnagar riots that killed at least sixty people and displaced over sixty thousand, mostly Muslim — the Indian literary world reacted with appropriate alarm. Arundhati Roy called it "a terrible loss to Indian readers." The Wire reported it. The Print published Sacco's own account of what he was asked to remove. He refused. Penguin India walked away. Tharoor and Guha shouted condemnations. 

Representational Image: Home Minister Amit Shah at a Rupa book launch.  

The story was covered. The author was heard. The book is available through parallel channels — imported from the UK by independent South Delhi bookstores, sourced through online platforms from British wholesalers. Joe Sacco is not silenced. He is inconvenienced. And the inconvenience itself has become the story, generating more attention for the book in India than a quiet distribution arrangement might have.

I want to tell you about a different story that has not been appropriately covered, and that the publishing establishment at the centre of it is counting on remaining uncovered.

Two Cases, One Industry

The Sacco-Penguin case is what I would call visible cowardice. A publisher declines to distribute a book it did not commission, did not invest in, and does not own. It cites a map. The real reason is named by the author himself. The record is clear. The industry can debate it.

What happened to This Country Called Us: On Memory,Nationhood, and the Future We Imagine — a work of literary nonfiction field-reported across India over nearly three years, contracted, edited, copyedited, legally reviewed, endorsed by sitting Members of Parliament, scheduled for an All-India release in January 2026, and terminated five days before the press date — is something the Indian publishing industry does not have a word for. I am going to try to spend the rest of this piece providing one.

I signed a publishing agreement with Rupa Publications India Pvt. Ltd. for This Country Called Us — originally titled The Great Indian Dream at the time the agreement was executed on October 19, 2023.

I did not sign this contract from a position of security but I signed it as a professional commitment to a project I believed in and to a publisher I thought I trusted.

What the Publisher Said About the Book

On November 16, 2024, Rupa's structural editor Richa Tewari assessed the first draft of the manuscript and wrote: "I think this book has great potential." And: "This could be a brilliant book."

I want you to stay with those two sentences for a moment because they are the baseline against which everything that followed must be measured. A publisher's own structural editor, in writing, describing the manuscript as having great potential and as being capable of brilliance. That assessment is documented. It is in the arbitration record. It was written before the termination, before the legal notice, before any of the events I am about to describe.

The book that Rupa called potentially brilliant is the same book Rupa terminated five days before its scheduled press date.

What the Author Did

Between November 2024 and November 2025, I produced three full revised drafts of the manuscript in response to Rupa's editorial demands. I responded to 101 copyediting comments. I delivered structural rewrites in response to every feedback, was open till the very end to accommodate legal review in texts. I delivered blurbs, biography, dedication, and acknowledgements. I met every deadline Rupa set, often returning materials a day or two early. I am reciting this timeline because it is the factual foundation of what came next.

On November 11, 2025, I submitted three endorsements for the book. They came from Dr. Shashi Tharoor MP, who wrote: "Written with sensitivity and feeling, this is a work of heart as well as of mind, one that rewards engaged reading. I warmly commend it to a discerning readership." From Manish Tewari MP, former Union Minister for Information & Broadcasting, who wrote: "A denouement of our democracy's disquiet, an urgent call to action." And from Saikat Majumdar, Professor of English and Creative Writing at Ashoka University, who wrote: "A heartrending account of the profoundly unequal nation that has cast great walls between millions and their aspirations to humane lives."

Rupa's editor acknowledged receipt of these endorsements the same day with: "Great. Thanks, Saket." The press date was November 17, 2025. Six days away.

What the Publisher Did

On November 12, 2025 — one day after acknowledging the endorsements, five days before the scheduled press date — Rupa Publications signed a termination letter. The termination letter falsely claimed that I had requested termination.

I had made no such request. I had not requested the unilateral termination of the publishing agreement. When I challenged this, Rupa's editorial head Dibakar Ghosh attempted to reframe the communication history. I responded in writing on November 13, demanding delivery of the legally reviewed manuscript, the final cover design, the complete metadata, the marketing roadmap. On November 14, I wrote again. On November 15, I wrote to Kapish Mehra directly, the Managing Director whose name appears on the corporate filings, narrating the circumstances and requesting his intervention.

On November 17 — the day the book was supposed to go to press — Rupa again falsely claimed the termination was at my request and asked me to meet them to "discuss the closure formalities, including the return of advance." I said I could meet them virtually and asked for schedule of the same but that was not provided. On November 28, I had to send a legal notice demanding resumption of the publication process.

The Character Assassination

When I sent a legal notice on November 28, 2025, demanding resumption of the publication process, Rupa's counsel replied on December 8, 2025. The reply is a document worth reading in full, because it reveals the strategy Rupa adopted once the contractual argument became difficult to sustain.

The reply called the allegations of negligence, sabotage, and mala fide "baseless, defamatory, and contrary to our client's established reputation." It described my communications as "replete with disparaging, condescending, and misogynistic remarks directed at our client's female employees." It said my conduct had "caused significant harassment and created a toxic and unworkable environment." It warned that should I pursue legal proceedings, Rupa "will be constrained to produce all communications from your client, including those containing disparaging and offensive remarks, before the appropriate forum."

The specific evidence of misogyny cited was one email. One sentence from one email. Let me quote it in full so that no one has to take either party's word for its character.

On November 11, 2025, Rupa's editor Padma Pegu wrote to me:

"Hi Saket, updating that the legal review is in and we are in the process of updating the file. The additions will be marked in track-change mode. We will send the updated file to you tomorrow. Warm regards, Padma."

That same evening, at 8:59 PM, I submitted three endorsements — from Dr. Shashi Tharoor MP, Manish Tewari MP, and Prof. Saikat Majumdar. Padma Pegu acknowledged them at 9:04 PM: "Great. Thanks, Saket."

Tomorrow came. The file did not. November 12: no file.

November 13, at 4:03 AM — after a sleepless night, five days from the press date, waiting for a file that had been promised two days earlier — I wrote:

"Hi Padma, You were supposed to have sent the file yesterday, and I still haven't heard from you! Am I missing something here? What are you Nirma girls up to? Washing away deadlines instead of stains? If you've started a new campaign called 'Detergent of Delay,' plz consider me your unwilling brand ambassador. Now, hand over that file before I start humming the jingle in praise of your procrastination."

This is the email Rupa's lawyers called misogynistic. This is the email they said made continuation of the publishing relationship untenable. This is the email they threatened to produce before a forum to expose my "disparaging and offensive remarks."

Read it again. It is a sardonic joke about a missed deadline, written in the dark hours of the morning by an author whose press date was five days away, whose file had been promised and not delivered. The Nirma reference — a famous Indian detergent brand whose advertising jingle is embedded in the memory of every Indian who grew up watching television — is a cultural reference deployed as a joke about washing away deadlines. There is no slur. There is no abuse. There is frustration, expressed with the voice of someone who has run out of patience but not out of wit. 

And there is one more thing. The termination letter was signed on November 12. The Nirma email was sent on November 13. The termination came first. The remark Rupa cited as making the relationship untenable came after the termination letter had already been terminated — on a false pretext.

Rupa did not terminate because of the Nirma email. Rupa terminated, then looked for an email it could call misogynistic. The sequence is in the timestamps. The timestamps are in the documents. The documents are before the arbitrator.

The Missed Deadline and What It Means

Rupa Publications has missed the deadline to file its Statement of Defence before the Delhi International Arbitration Centre. This is a procedural fact with legal consequences. It means the case should proceed on the record as it stands, without Rupa having formally contested the claim in the prescribed manner before the tribunal.

The misogyny allegation — made in a legal notice reply, not before the arbitrator in a filed statement of defence — now exists in the correspondence record as an unsubstantiated characterisation. It was made in writing. It was made by lawyers. And it was made against a named individual in connection with a contractual dispute.

That is precisely the material a defamation action is built from. And a criminal conspiracy case, where the pattern of conduct — false pretext in the termination letter, retroactive construction of a justification, occupation of the suppressed manuscript's thematic terrain after formal warning, character assassination in legal correspondence — is offered as evidence of coordinated intent rather than a series of isolated errors.

The arbitration will proceed on its own terms. But the record is what it is, and the record is now public.

What Happened After

The termination of a publishing agreement five days before the press date is, in itself, a serious matter. What happened after makes it something else entirely.

On March 5, 2026 — after I had sent a legal notice, after arbitration proceedings had been initiated at the Delhi International Arbitration Centre, after Rupa had been formally warned against exploiting my manuscript's content — Rupa published Gangs of Punjab: Guns, Greed, and Girlfriends. This book directly overlaps with contents of my manuscript, which documents the Lawrence Bishnoi network and the intersection of organised crime and politics to the exact formulations in the message to readers.

On April 10, 2026 — again after formal warning, again during active arbitration — Rupa published Char Dham: Four Sacred Shrines. This book’s social media posts occupies the identical terrain as Chapter 8 of my manuscript, which is the product of extensive field reporting. 

Rupa then actively promoted both books through social media to the precise literary audience that constitutes the natural market for This Country Called Us. These are not incidental overlaps. They are the publisher that holds my manuscript, and was formally warned against exploiting it, publishing books on my manuscript's documented terrain while that manuscript remains suppressed.

The Difference Nobody Is Talking About

Joe Sacco visited Muzaffarnagar in 2014. He spent three weeks there. He interviewed survivors, politicians, officials, and village leaders from both communities. He wrote a 135-page graphic account of what he found. Penguin UK published it in October 2025. Penguin India declined to distribute it in India, citing a map and unspecified red flags. The real demand was named by Sacco himself. He refused. The book circulates through parallel channels. Sacco speaks about it openly. The Indian literary community is appropriately exercised.

The structure of that case is: author completes work, global publisher publishes it, Indian arm declines distribution, author names the real demand, industry debates it.

The structure of my case is different in every dimension.

Rupa commissioned the book. Rupa signed the contract. Rupa's editor called it potentially brilliant. Rupa set the production schedule — three times. Rupa's editors sent dozens of rounds of feedback that I responded to in full and on time. Rupa's legal team reviewed the manuscript. Rupa confirmed the press date. Rupa acknowledged the endorsements from two sitting Members of Parliament. And then, five days before the book was supposed to go to press, Rupa issued a termination letter on a false pretext — claiming the author had requested it, a claim that is factually incorrect and that Rupa itself subsequently abandoned when challenged.

Penguin's withdrawal of Sacco's book is institutional cowardice in the face of political risk. What Rupa did is something the Indian publishing industry does not have a name for — the extraction of full performance from an author over twenty-five months, followed by last-minute termination on a false pretext, followed by occupation of the suppressed manuscript's thematic terrain with competing titles, while the manuscript remains in the publisher's possession wrongfully and the author is locked out of approaching any other publisher by the very arbitration proceedings necessitated by the breach. 

It is pertinent to mention here that Rupa, even after wrongful termination had no right to retain the manuscript but it has continued to hold it as leverage which has no contractual basis. That is a violation of copyright and a tight slap on free expression. Sacco's book can be imported. Mine cannot be published. And I see each one of You who are trying hard to prove this is okay: I see You, I hear You, and I want You to know I will be there for You! 

What the Indian Publishing Industry Owes Its Authors

I am writing this piece as a record. The Indian publishing industry has a well-developed vocabulary for talking about censorship when it comes from the state or from organised social pressure groups. It is comfortable discussing Wendy Doniger, Joe Sacco, the books that are banned or withdrawn under political pressure. These are the cases it can debate without examining itself.

It does not have a vocabulary for what happens inside publishing relationships — for the author who delivers three drafts of the manuscripts, responds to 101 copyediting comments, secures endorsements from sitting Members of Parliament, meets every deadline, and then receives a termination letter on a false pretext five days before the press date. It does not have a vocabulary for the publisher that, after termination and after formal legal warning, publishes books on the suppressed manuscript's documented terrain. It does not have a vocabulary for the 20-month pipeline disruption — the frozen next manuscript under the exclusivity clause, the due diligence obstacle, the January 2026 window that will not return.

These things happen. They are happening. They are happening to authors who are less visible than Joe Sacco, who do not have the platform of Palestine and Footnotes in Gaza to fall back on, who do not have ThePrint and The Wire and Al Jazeera calling for comment. They happen in between a termination letter and an arbitration filing, in the gap between what a publishing contract promises and what the Indian publishing industry's ethical culture actually delivers.

The matter is before the Delhi International Arbitration Centre — DIAC Case No. DIAC/12707/04-26. The claim is Rs. 50,00,000/- plus interest at 18 per cent per annum from November 13, 2025.

I have filed the claim. I have told the story. Rupa has already missed its deadline to file the statement of defence or any counter claim; the deadline was on or before 15 June. The arbitrator will decide the law. Every day lost here, however, is a loss to the claimant. 

But the industry — which was so quick to rally around Joe Sacco, which published Arundhati Roy's statement within hours, which treated Penguin India's distribution refusal as a crisis of literary culture — owes the question of what happened to This Country Called Us the same seriousness it brought to the Sacco case.

The difference is that Penguin's refusal cost Sacco nothing except Indian distribution. Rupa's termination cost me three years of my life, a January 2026 publication window that cannot be recovered, and a manuscript that sits in a publisher's illegal possession while that publisher also occupies its terrain.

This Country Called Us was about the gap between India's aspirations and the realities lived by its people. The irony of its suppression by the publisher that called it brilliant does not escape me and it should not escape the industry either.

(Saket Suman is the author of The Psychology of a Patriot, published by Rupa Publications in 2021. He is a journalist and the editor of IndianRepublic.in. DIAC Case No. DIAC/12707/04-26 is currently before Delhi International Arbitration Centre, New Delhi.)