You Are Here, Meenakshi Reddy Madhavan, Penguin, Rs 199
Teenage girls, messy kisses and men who cry — it is like printouts of a virtual diary

The internet is the most wonderful medium, making actors, filmmakers, singers and writers of all of us. The danger is when the democracy of the worldwide web gets translated on to the print, an album, or even a film release.
Such is the case with blogger and journalist Meenakshi Reddy Madhavan’s debut book, wonderfully monikered, You Are Here (as in road maps). She is also the writer of a blog called “The Compulsive Confessor” and the book is less of a novel and more a selection of printouts of her virtual diary. Nothing much happens in You Are Here, there really isn’t a tale to be told or a narrative to be understood. It’s just a series of Madhavan’s opinions on various topics, ranging from pimples to maids to men who cry and, of course, underwear. Ironically, the book’s first line is: “No one should tell their story unless they’re absolutely certain they have something to say.”

Arshi is 25, single and living in big, bad Delhi. She works in a PR firm but is never at office, at least not in the book, nor is she schmoozing hacks and tailing celebrities. The father has remarried an American, who is aching to be Indian and applies a tikka on all her houseguests, and the mother is superbly adjusted with the divorce. The parents want Asinine Arshi to study abroad and make a brilliant career for herself, but the 18-till-it’s-cool girl would rather hold a job she has no passion for all the while plonking Old Monk and White Mischief.

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