Ok. I know AMBARISH RAY and I never expected this from him. This is a mother of an MIND F#$K. It raises an ethical question, does the author has the right to blatantly force a reader for a ride without an agreement or argument.
Why did I buy this book? Is a different question after wading through a parallax of conversations that aimlessly zero on to its intended target like a well guided confused tracer? Let me answer the question, Why did I buy this book? Because, I like new authors. Because I like promoting everyone sense of story telling. Because I know this guy called Ambarish Ray, and I was expecting a time pass over a flight kind of light reading. Because, I saw him silently promoting his book on the twitter timeline. Because, I was hurt that Ambarish did not send me a copy to read and review.
“Is this what you think this is all about?” It looked like he could slit the envelope any time now, just for the heck of it. There was amusement in his voice. Definitely. There was no doubt about that. But what she also realised with a horrifying feeling, was that there was pain behind that amusement as well. Clear and present pain. “Do you really think I want you to carry on listening like a dumb, mind-fucked school girl?” The harshness in his voice, the illogic behind the selection of the words and their scorching viciousness spoke more than any further words could have. There must have been a second envelope that he was hiding. Page 48.
So, What is it all about? It is about our protagonist, an advertising bloke told to search for himself. It is a series of conversations that he has with the young 26 years old a shack owner on one of the deserted beaches of Goa. She has a story, and a past that she is carrying as a pointless burden on her ego. It is about taped-eyes that hide a lot more than they say. It is about not looking too deep in the eyes. It is about fishing at places where it should have been forbidden. It is about developing an understanding and an openness in a relationship that got no name, meaning or destiny.
It was then that he could have kissed her; held her mouth over his and breathed in her sunshine through the sea. It was then that he could have kissed her; latched on to her lips and floated out of the sea. It was then he could have kissed her; anchored to her tongue and found ground deep below the sea. It was also then that he realised; he shouldn’t throw it all away by doing so. At that time. For that reason. Page 98.
It does serve you some jewels of learning, but it is no spiritual story. It teasingly takes you to tantalizing act of possible coming together of two hearts, and it is no romantic story. It deep dives into the mind space and the act of fishing in conversation, reading and defining unspoken boundaries, and it is no warfare story. It is possibly a slice of life from a spectrum of promising rainbows that exist somewhere in the land no one has read. It may be a series of stories that Ambarish may want to hold back to himself, having shown you a glimpse of possibilities.
Two hours and seven whiskies later, she was still dancing. She danced like red moonlight dances over ruins. She danced like mad moth dance in the warlord’s orchard. She danced like the lyrics of a song yet to be written. She danced like the two sides of a sword could meet any moment now. And she danced with him – sweeping him along in her wild current. Floating with him till the lighthouse and beyond. There was a careless quality about the way they held each other. The greater cause of getting the moves right sanctioned any intimacy between them without coloring it. Right now, he was trying to dance to a song that had quick lyrics broken by slow music. It required him to alternately hold her very close and at arm’s length. He loved the song. It smelt of a paradox. The song finished on a high note, with a loud climax that signaled the end of the story. PAGE 91
I loved the book a hell lot more than I expected. He took me on a ride, and I willingly flicked through the pages that had one mirage of an impression and portraits that changed with every page. It was a train that was on thin water, defining its own path with every changing moment. YES GO AHEAD AND BUY IT.
“ I can’t make up my mind, whether to slap you or to kiss you”
This was his life. Coming back was not an option for him. He never allowed that ever before. He no longer knew how to now. With a blinding clarity, he realised where the derision was headed. He lost sight of the fondness. It might surface later, bobbing in the choppy sea of his dead life.
“I could have answered that ASAP” There was a particular breed of sadness in her voice. A longing, crying kind of sadness. A sadness that wailed across the chasm in tearing desperation. A sadness that leapt over burning pyres with reddened eyes and sooty blistered feet. A sadness that bled quietly beside beds where parents and brothers lay dying. But it was a sadness that she understood. A sadness that she had met before. “But I don’t think you would know the difference between the two anymore.” PAGE 96
There is the uncanny fluidity, confidence and lack of adherence to templates and patterns. It is something like a
song that breaks into its own undefined but appreciated. Dear Ambarish, you force me to take few of my work, that I was proud of, back to writing desk. Maybe this was just the right time for me to experience Bastard Hearts.
Thanks for an experience and the magic that came with it uninvited.
I find it lovely. And if there was ever a possibility to create a moving visual experience of this conversation for people to share and experience, I would be ASAP and I know the right girl to run the shack.
…… BLOG/37/2017/BOOK/ 7 …….
Sanjeev Kotnala with 29 years of corporate experience is the founder of Intradia World; a Brand, Marketing & Management Advisory. Additionally, he focusses on Ideation, Innovation, design thinking and BRAND-I, be the brand. Email firstname.lastname@example.org tweet @s_kotnala web: www.intradia.in www.sanjeevkotnala.com.