The Lost Flamingoes of Bombay : Siddharth Dhanvant Shangvhi

Image Credit: Bookvistas

The last few weeks have been eventful. In a good way. In a fun way. In a 'good-is-stressful' way. Having one of my best friends visiting from Germany has meant that normal things like reading have just got shelved somewhere in the to-be-picked-up-after-two-months section. I have been a bad correspondent in mails, my parents have resorted to asking me for my identification papers when I finally land home, and today, I felt that I needed a day to just sit and well, just sit and do nothing. I find that my reading rhythm is gone - I have picked up and gone through no less than 4 books - and I find that I can't concentrate on my Chinese lessons either. That normally happens to me when I am pondering the meaninglessness of life and drinking in shots of depression - but no, this time, it's just the fun part of life that I am enjoying.

Fun though is not what you will find in Siddharth Shangvhi's dark novel, The Lost Flamingoes of Bombay. I remember reading Shanghvi's debut novel, The Last Song of Dusk in the beautiful island of Sanya, China. It was raining all through, and I had nothing to do except sit by the balcony and read this book that was there in the hostel I stayed in. I remember being gripped by Shanghvi's writing - even to the point that I kept aside War and Peace. Here, I thought, was the good-looking Indian author I have been waiting for who can also write. And write beautifully. The Lost Flamingoes of Bombay traces much of the same darkness I found in The Last Song of Dusk.

Author photo: Man Literary Prize

Shanghvi is an intense writer - he explores the darkest, deepest corners of human emotion, ripping it raw and tearing away at the layers of lies underneath. This book too is just that. The complex interplay of adult relations - that is what would have defined the novel to me. But Shanghvi, unfortunately, tries too hard - we have him interweaving the Jessica Lall story, and even the Salman Khan hit-and-run case as the backbone of his story. I found some of the aspects of the case, and Shangvi's thinly-veiled attack on the Hindu Peoples Party a bit well, weird. There is much talent in this writer, I think, to be wasted on diatribes on Indian society. Yet, despite that criticism, much of the focus of The Lost Flamingoes of Bombay is on relationships. Tortured relationships. There is much sorrow, much tragedy, much heartbreak and at the end of it all do I learn anything? That there is much sorrow, much tragedy, and much heartbreak. I am sure you are asking me, please, what's the story? Here's the blurb:

When photographer Karan Seth comes to Bombay intent on immortalizing a city charged by celebrity and sensation, he is instantly drawn in by its allure and cruelty. Along the way, he discovers unlikely allies: Samar , an eccentric pianist; Zaira, the reclusive queen of Bollywood; and Rhea, a married woman who seduces Karan into a tender but twisted affair. But when an unexpected tragedy strikes, the four lives are irreparably torn apart. Flung into a Fitzgeraldian world of sex, crime and collusion, Karan learns that what the heart sees the mind’s eye may never behold. This razor sharp chronicle of four friends caught in modern India ’s tidal wave of uneven prosperity and political failure is also a profoundly moving meditation on love’s betrayal and the redemptive powers of friendship.

There is much of Bombay or Mumbai's usual cliches - the Chor Bazar, the usual men with monkeys and the colors, sweat, dust and grime - all that attracts you to the 'beauty' within and the 'spirit' of the city. I am not going into that - what I did find fascinating is the relentless pull of the relationships in the book. And the prose that Shanghvi employs, was widely criticized, and there are instances that I found could have done with some editor's scissors. I quote the Hindustan Times review that picked up some of these gems : “smugness blasted out of her face like a fart”, “reading further would have been like bathing in vomit”, “Priya had a crusty librarian’s voice, one that could only be relieved by a dildo."

Umm, right. But beyond some of those, what shall I say, literary devices, there is some raw beauty in this book. And that's what had me reading it through the end. Much the pity that Shanghvi decided not to write another book. It takes courage to walk away from writing. Just as much courage as it takes to write.

Verdict : A raw intense take on Bombay, and an assorted bunch of characters you won't be able to fully understand, but the intensity is just what makes you read on.

Rating: 3/5