About the Book:
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The Many Lives of Ruby Iyer
By: Laxmi Hariharan
Pages: 300
Release Date: November 13, 2014
Publisher: Books@Jacaranda
A YA action thriller, with strong dystopian undertones and a kick-ass protagonist, taking you on a white knuckle ride through a disintegrating Bombay City.
A terrifying encounter propels Ruby Iyer from her everyday commute into a battle for her own survival. Trusting her instincts, she fights for the things she believes in, led on a mysterious path between life and death on the crowded roads of Bombay; and when her best friend is kidnapped by the despotic Dr Braganza, she will do anything to rescue him. Anything, including taking the help of the sexy Vikram Roy, a cop-turned-rogue, on a mission to save Bombay. The city needs all the help it can get, and these two are the only thing standing between its total destruction by Dr Braganza's teen army. As Bombay falls apart, will Ruby be able to save her friend and the city?Will she finally discover her place in a city where she has never managed to fit in? And what about her growing feelings for Vikram?
Amazon US | Amazon UK | Amazon India | Paperback
Guest Post:
He smashed the
Stratocaster on the wooden floor of the stage, the sound of the breaking chords
echoing around the empty auditorium, circling once, twice, thrice before it
penetrated the darkness inside his soul lighting it up like the Fourth-of-July
fireworks. He raised his head to the heavens above and screamed, his vocal
chords standing out green and blue, almost but not quite blending in with his
blue-brown skin.
The peacock feather he wore around his neck a reminder of all he had loved and lost swayed, tickling him, gently reminding him that he still belonged to this world. But she did not. She was gone, and there was nothing that would bring her back. But Mishaal was not one who would take no for an answer. Not now, not ever.
He cringed as the word forever ricocheted around the corners of his mind before settling in a hard lump behind his eyes. He blinked as the tears gathered at the corner of his eyes, feeling the lump grow like a meteor from outer space, looming in size, larger, darker, till it encompassed his heart. Shaking his head—his waist-length-dirty-brown hair shivering as if it were a lion’s mane—he angrily shoved it back from his face and lifting the broken one-piece maple neck of the electric guitar he stretched his left arm back till the wood almost touched the curve of his back, and putting the weight of his six-feet-two-inch lean body behind it he flung it with all his might into the empty audience ranks.
Not caring where it landed he sank to his knees the tears now running down his cheeks unchecked and touched his forehead to the sawdust ridden floor. “Hey! Watch where you throw your broken pieces okay?” The indignant female voice had him jerking to his feet in a reflex action.
The unexpectedness of being caught in an intensely private moment of grief made him forget his misery for just a moment as he peered through the darkness of the spotlight which shone in his eyes. Squinting he held the palm of his hand over his eyes shielding them from the overhead glare, trying to make out who was out there.
The figure walked towards him, stepping out of the darkness slowly, giving his eyes ample time to travel up from her converse clad feet, over the long bronzed legs clad in blue jeans-shorts, up over the tantalizing peek of her midriff then the simple black T-shirt which formed a V shaped chain around her neck which held up a strong square jaw framing a delicate nose and almond shaped brown eyes which currently threw sparks of anger at him. She held the broken neck of the Stratocaster in her right arm. His left arm automatically rose again, this time to catch the piece of wood which she had angrily flung back at him.
“You are not the only one on this planet you know?” She continued her tirade as if not having noticed what she had interrupted.
“I believe you” he replied softly “I know I am not alone now.”
The peacock feather he wore around his neck a reminder of all he had loved and lost swayed, tickling him, gently reminding him that he still belonged to this world. But she did not. She was gone, and there was nothing that would bring her back. But Mishaal was not one who would take no for an answer. Not now, not ever.
He cringed as the word forever ricocheted around the corners of his mind before settling in a hard lump behind his eyes. He blinked as the tears gathered at the corner of his eyes, feeling the lump grow like a meteor from outer space, looming in size, larger, darker, till it encompassed his heart. Shaking his head—his waist-length-dirty-brown hair shivering as if it were a lion’s mane—he angrily shoved it back from his face and lifting the broken one-piece maple neck of the electric guitar he stretched his left arm back till the wood almost touched the curve of his back, and putting the weight of his six-feet-two-inch lean body behind it he flung it with all his might into the empty audience ranks.
Not caring where it landed he sank to his knees the tears now running down his cheeks unchecked and touched his forehead to the sawdust ridden floor. “Hey! Watch where you throw your broken pieces okay?” The indignant female voice had him jerking to his feet in a reflex action.
The unexpectedness of being caught in an intensely private moment of grief made him forget his misery for just a moment as he peered through the darkness of the spotlight which shone in his eyes. Squinting he held the palm of his hand over his eyes shielding them from the overhead glare, trying to make out who was out there.
The figure walked towards him, stepping out of the darkness slowly, giving his eyes ample time to travel up from her converse clad feet, over the long bronzed legs clad in blue jeans-shorts, up over the tantalizing peek of her midriff then the simple black T-shirt which formed a V shaped chain around her neck which held up a strong square jaw framing a delicate nose and almond shaped brown eyes which currently threw sparks of anger at him. She held the broken neck of the Stratocaster in her right arm. His left arm automatically rose again, this time to catch the piece of wood which she had angrily flung back at him.
“You are not the only one on this planet you know?” She continued her tirade as if not having noticed what she had interrupted.
“I believe you” he replied softly “I know I am not alone now.”
Meet the Author:
A near life experience told Laxmi Hariharan to write. She never stopped.Laxmi is the creator of Ruby Iyer, and the Amazon bestselling, eLit Gold winner The Destiny of Shaitan (Bombay Chronicles, 1). She has been a journalist with the Independent, and a global marketer with NBCU and MTV. Laxmi also blogs for Huffington Post, among others.London is where she writes. Bombay is what fires her imagination.
Twitter - Laxmi | Facebook | blog | Twitter - Ruby
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