I, You and Pune is a gritty and unapologetic examination of contemporary love, desire, and emotional frailty, architecturally placed in the rain dotted streets of Pune. The novel centers on the story of Ananya Sharma, an MBA graduate, who is quite a person of modern India: ambition, routine, social expectations, and who has some unknown wounds. Veer Singh, opposite her, is not an ideal prince, but someone who seems charming, attentive, visceral. He opens doors, listens profoundly, kisses profoundly-but he too has a burden: he is not entirely healing. Their relationship is more about what they do not give each other than what they do. It is this strain in their relationship that makes the book so powerful: love, longing, confusion at times.
The writing by B. S. Dara is said to be unfiltered, unfaced, undone, sensual, stark. He has no scruple against emotional and sensual material; he even speaks of intimacy in a manner that is crude and uncomfortable, in the sense that the awkwardness is itself part of the truth. The prose does not provide clear solutions. Rather, it exists in regretful, yearning, the minor interruptions. It is the relationship arc of meeting, falling, moving together, falling apart, but the most interesting aspect is the way internal landscapes of the characters are expressed: their desires, their shame, their errors.
The most remarkable aspect of I, You and Pune is a voice of the writer who does not hesitate to be so bold. The messy bits are not glossed over, shame, desire, regret are placed in the limelight. The story is a surgical dissection of the wounds that most authors would keep hidden: love, loneliness, sex, shame, and shame. Dara is unashamed of his euphemisms and writes raw, wet and unedited. This makes a tone that goes both towards tenderness and harshness: moments of love are filled with longing, yet, moments of intimacy are filled with unspoken price. This puts the reader in an uncomfortable situation, in a good way--what begins to feel like attraction or comfort turns to discomfort, doubt, and even remorse.
One of the central themes is autonomy: Ananya is characterized as sensual, independent, not scared to leave. It is insisted that she is not merely her injuries; that aspect of contemporary love, at least in urban India, is that one has options--but that these options are not without consequences. The novel asks itself questions about what occurs when sex is survival, or desire is betrayal. Veer Singh is not a villain in the conventional meaning of the word; he is not always out to harm--but expectations do not meet and the relationship collapses. And betrayal is also implicit--betrayal of promises, maybe, or of emotional accessibility. It is a situation where the reader gets to experience the betrayal and not just told about it.
The city of Pune in monsoon is not a mere background location--it is almost a personality itself. The rainy-pavement streets of Pune are turned into allegorical places of contemplation, of desire, of intimacy and of solitude. The weather, the loneliness of the city, the sounds of rain, the material proximity of individuals but the emotional remoteness of people, all these environmental details increase the register of emotion of the story. Dara employs the setting to intensify the emotions of characters: as the skies get darker outside, the storm in Ananya could reflect inside. Once the monsoon hits, it cleanses the world and obscures it, the beauty of rain and the manner that it conceals things.
What I, You and Pune provides is not solace but acknowledgement. It poses the question to the readers: What occurs when love is genuine and insufficient? What can you do when you are with someone and the parts of you that are to be healed are still in pain? There is no happy-ending here, not because Dara does not hope for one, but because that is part of being human to carry the unfinished, the regrets, the portions of wishes not fulfilled. This can be annoying to the reader who wants polished romance. Yet to those who wish to see the mess and the moments of beauty, this novel will be not only stinging but comforting. It is between love and loss, it questions more than answers--and, by questioning, leaves a trace