The novel chronicles the ramblings of Damayanthi, an intelligent 26 year old, who wants to be “anyone but me and anywhere but here.” Although she aced her examinations, she is now cooped up in a family friend’s office and subjected to torturous “boy-seeing” sessions all the time. No wonder then that she vents out all her frustrations, diary-form, to a femme fatale named Victoria. Only much, much, later do we learn that this Victoria is an imaginary alter-ego created out of a doll. So, tired of this staid life, Damayanti makes an effort to venture out. She is naturally elated when she lands a job in Mumbai, and bids good bye to Chennai in a trice. As the jacket informs us, she moves from the stolid 32 Amman Kovil Street to the chic-sounding 124 Pine Crest.
And does she justify the “change” in the title? That is a no-brainer. All of us know exactly how Dummy’s life will turn out – which of the men in her life she will choose, who her gay best friend is, who will stab her in the back, how she and her supermodel roommate will be chums by the end. In that sense, there is nothing new. It travels the well-worn path of chick-lit and chick-flick, a romantic comedy at that. But the best part about the book is that the author does not apologize for knowing exactly what she is catering, and to which strata of the audience. A la the Bridget Jones series, she provides what her section of the audience craves for. And this honesty is definitely endearing.Also noteworthy is Subramanian’s superior control of language, colloquial language, that is. She writes as effortlessly as we talk, jumping from this incident to other, from this person to that. Her descriptive skills are above average, especially the ones where she effortlessly switches to the funny mode. Some perfect examples are the paragraphs where she describes Damayanti’s roommate, Sonya. After a few strokes from the author’s pen, Sonya stands alive before us, and we know her down to the lime and lemony fragrance of her bathroom; or the portions where she introduces us to Mumbai – the trains, bookstores, natives – all quite credible.
Subramanian has devoted most of her time and effort to the development of Damayanthi’s character, and though some may brush it off as flimsy, the majority will agree that it has been done well. Damayanthi is no goody-two-shoes. She is frank about wanting to have fun, unrepentant about her romantic forays, eager to learn and grow. Yet she does not hesitate to admit if she is in the wrong. She is often confused, rarely beaten, highly sensitive. All of these qualities work for her, in this particular novel. And most of all, she is funny, either intentionally or not.
The writer has shown her heroine’s funniness as stemming from a lack of self-confidence and an overdose of repression, brought about by her strict upbringing. And it sits well on her. The scene when she is shifting into her new flat in Mumbai and confusedly begins dreaming of a gigolo when queried if she requires a maid is outrageous. Equally hilarious is her LV (Little Voice) that often tries to squeak out the truth, though she has to regularly squelch it in polite society. A sample from page 15 goes like this:
Gomati Maami (GM): “So, this is your daughter.”
Little Voice (LV): “No, I’m actually her son. I love cross-dressing for special occasions like these.”
Through Damayanthi’s viewpoint, the author also makes constant references to contemporary pop culture, literature and movies. This is surprisingly cute – such as when she talks about Harry Potter, Shah Rukh Khan or Lara Croft – rather than snobbish or omniscient, because the whole attitude of the novel is a peppy rather than preppy one. Damayanthi’s outlandish dreams, intricate visions, and the interruptions that keep jarring them are what make the novel move forward smoothly.
A major weakness of the book is that in its effort to be ultra-friendly and contemporary, it gets over the top, screechy and breathy at times. There is that thin line between funny and exaggerated, and the author crosses that sometimes, trying to masquerade as funny those things that are not. Also, the author has not been able to do away with the bane of all writing – clichés. The whole of this sentence is a cliché: “Little did I know that they were lulling me into a false sense of security.” Other examples would be “chaotic whirl” or “down in the dumps.” However, slick editing makes up for these lapses somewhat.
This is one of those books which will not make you sit up and ponder, and does not pretend to do so, either. But it will give you a couple of good laughs, and is worth going through just for that.
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