What would you think of the story of an unsophisticated young girl, Parvati, who hails from the oh-so-backward Amravati? She lands in the glitzy city of Mumbai to pursue her aspiration of becoming an art director.

The author wastes no time in bringing you into the thick of the story, if there is a story, that is. Our protagonist Parvati gets herself her job as a set designer in an ad agency, jumps into a ‘damaging’ liaison with the cameraman, and ends up having a heart-break and even an abortion.

Such things happen in a big city, you might say— chalta hai— and that at best describes Rajashree’s first attempt at writing a novel. At worst of course, Trust Me is a dismal failure, even as chick-lit romance.

The pitfalls are many— mainly malapropism and false tone. But all that later. Coming back to the story as it unfolds in the City of Dreams, Paro’s (as Parvati is lovingly called) boss tries to heal her abortion and heartbreak wounds, and in the process of consolation makes a pass (read kiss) at her.

Drat. Paro is too shocked to react! Clichés galore follow, and the plot limps and limps to never reach a tempo. 
Paro’s friends Saira and Kavita, who seemingly know everything about males— guide her through the mess in her life. She manages to land a job as a film-assistant, but the new director is again no less than her ex-boss. Jambuwant Sinha (aka Jumbo) keeps telling her to “feel free”. Amongst all this hackneyed happening, a debutant actor (Rahul Kapoor) falls for Paro. She stays away initially, deluding herself into believing that she suffers from Electra complex. 

Done to death
Through her experience of movie production, Rajashree seeks to open your eyes and ears to the seamier aspects of Bollywood: of how item girls are required to ‘thrust’ according to box office demands, and other related issues like sexual exploitation, all of which, pray, have been done to death as news stories on our 24/7 entertainment channels. More clichés follow. Despite her misgivings, love wins and Paro settles for Rahul. 
Quite like late 90s Govinda movies, Trust Me applies tried-and-tested recipes. But the ingredients are too insipid and inane dialogues mar its pace. Rajashree uses a slapdash first person narrative, least exploring the wealth and the flexibility of the English language. The author’s command over the language is poor, or it’s meant to be that way. Sample this: 
“The monkey refused to give him any bhav… the monkey’s owner deposited the monkey on Rahul’s lap …forty big fat buffaloes descended on our set, shitting all over the place… groundnut oil applied on their backs… make it look photogenic… very fresh steps, no?”
Rajashree treats her readers as fairly uncouth. She spares no time on subtle emotions and heart-touching moments.
What she is seemingly interested in, apart from melodrama, song, dance and tears, is bosom. In the 242 pages of the novel there are at least a hundred mentions of the bosom, ‘trust me’!

TRUST ME by RAJASHREE