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Ryan often dozed off between assignments, or stared unseeingly at the wall, whispering curses frequently every time he opened a new book. You guys going to mug more or what?

You mug, you pass and you get job. What let-down are you talking about? When he is on his own trip, we all turn stupid. Where is the time to try out new ideas? Just sit all day and get fat like Hari.

And I am not that fat, am I? Looking at him I instantly felt better. You should do something about it. I can make you lose ten kilos like that. I did not know where Ryan was going with this, but it could not have been pleasant for me. Being fat was more appealing to me than running behind the insti bus or climbing the stairs of these buildings fifty times a day.

I thought about losing ten kilos. Of course, I hated that part of my identity and Ryan did seem to know what he was doing, and his own body was great. Heck, I thought, it was worth a try. Sure enough, Ryan mercilessly kicked at my door at five a. I hate Ryan. Anyway, I opened the door and he stood there waiting for me to change into T- shirt and shorts. It was still dark outside when I left Kumaon. I was happy for that small mercy � no one would see an eighty-kilo globe-shaped creature bouncing along the road.

To do the four- kilometer route meant reaching the other end of campus, past the hostels, sports grounds, insti building and the faculty housing. I thought I could cheat and cut corners, but I wanted to give Ryan a chance, not that I hated him any less for it. My entire body groaned as muscles I never knew existed made themselves known. In ten minutes, I was panting like a trekker on Mount Everest without oxygen, and in fifteen, I felt a heart attack coming on.

I panted for a few minutes and started again till I passed the insti building and was in the faculty-housing colony. Dawn broke, revealing manicured lawns and picture postcard bungalows of our tormentors in class. It was hard to imagine this man out of class, living in a home, watching TV, peeing, eating at a dining table. By now, I was wet with sweat and my face beyond red, reaching rare shades of purple. I stopped, huffing and puffing, when I went bump at the knees.

Stumbling at the unexpected impact, I kind of whooshed forward, extending my hands just in time to save myself from a bad fall. I sat stunned on the road, recovering from the shock and breathlessness, and then turned around.

A red Maruti car was the culprit! I continued panting as I squinted my eyes to see the driver through the windscreen. Who was trying to kill me when I was already dying? I wondered, waiting for my breath to return to normal.

A young girl, around my age, in a loose T- shirt and knee-length shorts, clothes that one usually wore at home. She skipped forward in a silly way, which was probably her attempt to run toward me.

I noticed she was barefoot. Are you all right? I was not all right, and it was her damn fault. But when a young girl asks a guy if he is all right, he can never admit he is not. I looked at her carefully as she came closer. Maybe I was seeing a female after a long time or something, but I thought she was really pretty.

And the whole just-out-of-the-bed look blew me. Only girls can look hot in their nightclothes: Alok, for instance, looks like a terminally ill patient in his torn vest and pajamas. Anyway, I had to after I was standing up.

I am Neha by the way. That is understandable, I thought, you are allowed to hit people if you are learning to drive, especially if you are eye-candy. Still, I wanted to milk this moment.

Then she placed her bare foot on the accelerator. Now maybe it is because I am an engineer, but that was hot. Bare female skin on metal is enormously sexy. There was dark red nail polish on her toenails, with one or two toes encircled in weird squiggly silver ringlets that only girls can justify wearing.

I just wanted to keep looking at her feet but she started to talk. First year, mechanical engineering. So how are you finding it, college and everything? What do guys call it � mugging. Some damn profs get this vicious joy driving students nuts�. The car had passed the housing blocks now, and we were nearing the insti building. I had heard the name, but never seen Prof Cherian.

Then I remembered our first class. Sensing my anxiety, she patted my arm while shifting into third gear. So relax. We chatted for a few more minutes along the insti-hostel road. She told me about her college, where she was studying fashion design.

She had lived in this campus for over ten years and knew most of the professors. She apologized again when we came near Kumaon, and asked if she could do anything for me.

So will I see you again when you jog? Maybe sometime, I can drive you to the deer park outside campus, lots of joggers there. And you get excellent morning tea snacks there. I was nervous at meeting the daughter of my head of department again. But her offer, and mostly she herself, was too irresistible. Keep bumping me. Her image still floated in my head as I reached the Kumaon lawns.

Ryan was already waiting there, doing push-ups or pull-downs or something. He had seen me get out of the car and demanded full explanation. I had to then repeat it to Alok. But they had neither seen her nor talked to her.

I was dying to meet her again, was waiting for the next time I bumped into her and could feast silly at the sight of those two bare-naked feet! His parents sent him a dollar cheque as a Christmas gift as everybody else around them was doing in Europe. Ryan was not a Christian and cared two hoots about Christmas, but loved the cheque and cashed it; voila scooter � a beautiful Kinetic Honda in gleaming metallic blue.

When Ryan got it to Kumaon, all the students gathered around it to pay homage, but only Alok and I got to park our butts on it. Meanwhile, classes got worse.

The professors kept up the pressure and the overworked students worked even harder to beat the average, thereby pushing the average higher. We still studied together, but the resolve to concentrate was breaking down. We had managed to reach average grades in a few assignments, but in physics we had messed up.

One night Alok got a call from home. His father had had a seizure or something and someone had to take him to the hospital pronto. There was a strong rumour of a physics quiz circulating but Alok had no choice. Hence Ryan had to go as well. I did not want to be alone, so I went along. I told you he was kind of poor, I mean not World Bank ads type starving poor or anything, but his home had the barest minimum one would need for existence.

There was light, but no lampshades, there was a living room, but no couches, there was a TV, but not a colour one. Man, I could totally see where Alok got his whining talent. Anyway, I hired an auto and Ryan and Alok lifted the patient into it.

We returned to Kumaon at three in the morning exhausted and nauseated by hospital smells. We got like two on twenty or some such miserable score. Alok tried to ask the professor for a re-quiz, who stared back as if he had been asked for both his kidneys. That physics quiz episode broke Alok a bit. Now he was less vigilant when Ryan distracted us from studies. We were in my room. I expected Alok to ignore Ryan, but this time he led him on with a monosyllable.

But has IIT ever invented anything? Or made any technical contribution to India? I knew that with Alok not keeping us in check, we were not going to study any more that day. Everyone agreed. Ryan continued to muse. Using tents and stools, the alfresco dining menu included paranthas, lemonade and cigarettes.

At two rupees each, the butter paranthas were a bargain, even by student standards. Proprietor Sasi knew the quality of food in the mess and did a voluminous business serving dozens of students each day from every hostel. We got three plates of paranthas, and the dollop of butter on top melted and produced a delicious aroma. And frankly, money is just an excuse. If there is value, the industry will pay for research even at IIT.

I seriously wanted Ryan to shut up, now that the food was here. I mean, if he did not want to study, fine, but spare us the bloody lecture, it wreaks havoc on digestion. But Ryan had more. I mean it kills the best fun years of your life. But it kills something else. Where is the room for original thought? Where is the time for creativity? It is not fair. I knew I was annoying Ryan like hell, but I really wanted him to shut up or at least change the topic.

That lazy bastard would find any reason to goof off. Connaught Place? And then maybe check out some girls in the market. I had not bumped into her again, maybe I should go jogging again. Or will you mug all day? We did go to Connaught Place that weekend and had quite a blast. However, the heroine was new and eager to please the crowds so she bathed in the rain, played tennis in mini-skirts and wore sequined negligees to discos.

Since all her hobbies involved wearing less or transparent clothing, the audience loved her. The hero had no damn assignments to finish and no freaky profs breathing down his neck. I know, these Hindi movies are all crap, but they do kind of take your mind away from the crap of real life like nothing else. After movie came lunch.

The dhabha was great as Ryan is never wrong about these things. He ordered for everyone, which he always does. And he orders big � right from boneless butter chicken to daal to paranthas to raita. The spoilt brat even orders the overpriced Coke, I mean, which student orders Coke in restaurants? Anyway, the meal was great, and an overactive desert-cooler sprayed water on our faces and kept the ambience cool.

Tearing his rotis like a famished Unicef kid, Alok got chatty. I had enjoyed my day so far and watching these jokers go at it is really not funny after a while. He took a deep breath. I have been thinking. But it was too late. They really are. I mean, especially for someone like Alok. I mean, I know you love your dad and everything. But like, you were just nursing him and studying for the past two years. I mean, you will earn and everything, and maybe hire a servant.

But still, would you be able to have this kind of fun? Boy, this must have affected him. Usually, the Fatso will not leave chicken for his life. Is that a big deal? I mean, if Alok could love his dad, who if you think about it, is no more than a vegetable with vision, how could this brat not love his parents? And his parents were nice, I mean they gave him everything - the blue scooter, clothes from Gap and money for the damn colas at restaurants.

His parents had worked their asses off all their lives, started selling flower pots with two potters, and then moved all over India to make a name until two years ago when they went overseas.

Yeah right, that when I listened to this idiot all the time. I mean, I have been in boarding school when I was six. Of course, like every kid I hated it and cried when they left me. But then, it was at boarding school I got everything. I did well in studies, got noticed in sports, learnt how to have fun and live well and made my best friends.

Just kind of outgrew them. Sure, we meet at vacation time and they send letters, cash, and everything but I mean, for me my friends are everything, they are my family.

Ryan, however, came back to his earlier theory. So either we can mug ourselves to death, or tell the system to stuff it. We can study two-three hours a day, but do other stuff, say sports, have you guys ever played squash? Or taken part in events � debates, scrabble and stuff, an odd movie or something sometimes. We can do so much at the insti. We just draw the line. A day of classes, then three hours a day of studies and the rest is our time.

A kind of decentralization of education. Ryan had a point. He would not have stopped otherwise anyway. Ryan was elated, and he drove us back to Kumaon at speeds that made the traffic police dizzy. I covered the number plate with my foot, so that cops could not take it down. After all, this was a celebration of drawing the line. Meanwhile, I ran into Neha at the campus bookstore.

Mostly that whole jogging plan was a bad idea. Even with the prospect of meeting Neha, I just could not wake up. I did try once again, but I was late and did not see her car. After that, all my motivation dropped and Ryan gave up on waking me up. He had to, cause I kind of threatened to withdraw from his draw-the-line study plan. She looked at me, and then kept looking, her face expressionless. She acted as if she did not recognize me. Then she went back to flipping pages of the notebooks she had just bought.

Remember the car accident in the morning? This time the shopkeeper looked at me like I was a regular sex-offender. The girl bumped me and gave me a lift and all dammit, I wanted to scream, even as I bought my pencils and loose sheets. So I am not that attractive and that is reason enough not to recognize someone in public because I guess being friends with ugly people kind of rubs off badly on you.

I had been some sort of a loser in school as well, so this was not a total shock. I walked out of the shop as quickly as possible to get away from the humiliation. I was feeling crap. I was walking alone on a narrow path connecting the bookshop to the hostel, when someone tapped my shoulder. I turned around and guess who? Go to hell, was my instant mental reflex. But I turned to look at her and damn, she was pretty. Neha, right? Hey, I am really, really, really sorry, I could not reply to you properly there.

Just greeting someone? And campus rumours always get blown out of proportion. Please, I am sorry. We can go to the Hauz Khas market. Do you feel like some ice-cream? I said yes, and she instructed me to walk out the campus gate and walk two blocks to an ice-cream parlour.

She would come there as well, but gave me a five-minute headstart, walking sedately behind me. Food is almost as good as girls. Did I scare you off? Girls do this all the time, say something half-funny, and laugh at it themselves.

You have this pretty girl all smiley and sorry and touching your arm; better than ice-cream I tell you. There are two kinds of pretty girls in Delhi. One is the modern type, girls who cut their hair short, wear jeans or skirts, and tiny earrings.

The second is the traditional type who wears salwar-kameez, multi-coloured bindi and large earrings. Neha was more the second type, and she wore a light-blue chikan suit with matching earrings. However, she was not a forced traditional type, like fat girls who have no choice but to wear Indian clothes. Neha was just fine, and actually way out of my league, with her long light brown hair, which she mostly left open, a curl catapulting carelessly on to her forehead.

Her face was completely round, but not because she was fat or anything, just a natural cute shape. I just kept looking at her as my strawberry ice-cream melted. You know, when you ignored me there, I first thought it was because of the way I am.

I told Neha about our harebrained scholastic plan. Pretty brave I must say. I shrugged my shoulders. Learnt driving now? She started taking stuff out of her handbag and a million things came out � lipsticks, lip balms, creams, bindis, earrings, pens, mirrors, wet tissues and other stuff that one can live without. She found what she was looking for eventually. I did not know if it meant something. I mean, did she want me to know what kind of men she liked, or did she want me to be like the men she liked, or did she like me.

Who knows? Figuring out women is harder than topping a ManPro quiz. I decided to keep it when I got this licence made. What does your brother do? We were just two years apart, so you can imagine how close I was to him. Her beautiful face was turning sad and I wished I could do something clownish to change subjects.

He was crossing the rail-tracks and got hit by a train. I mean, that is how shallow I was. She was all choked up and everything, but all I could think of was if I could make my move. I shifted my hand closer, but she startled me by talking again.

I pulled my hand back. I sensed this was not the best moment. She returned with these two big sundaes, and she was smiling again. In Delhi? It was hardly interesting, but it changed the topic. Separately though right? I stood up, too. I would have been satisfied with the ice-cream and everything but this was kind of neat, and now I had no choice anyway.

Neha, would you like to go out�with me? Almost as stressful as vivas. Meet me at this parlour next Saturday, same time as today.

Leave now. It just so happened that both countries had heaps of oil and that made the whole world take notice. Big dictator refused and very soon it became clear that he would be attacked. But this was not sci-fi, and the three of us considered ourselves lucky to complete the ManPro welding assignment on time, let alone provide superior war technology.

No, the Gulf war did not personally invite our involvement but it was a big bang that swallowed our first semester majors, a catalyst for all our competitive, macho instincts.

As per plan we studied for three exact hours every day, mostly late unto night, which meant we had the evenings free for fun. Unless you are like a champion or something, you probably know how difficult the damn game is. The rubber ball jumps around like a frog high on uppers, and you jump around it to try and connect it to your racket.

Ryan had played it for years and Alok and I were hopeless at it. I missed connecting the ball to the racket five times in a row, and Alok did not even try moving from his place. After a while, even I gave up. Ryan tried to keep the game going as we stood like extra pillars on court. The guy is such a loser. He dragged us to court for ten days in a row, but Alok and I got no better. We found it hard enough to even spot where the ball had gone, let alone chase it. Yeah right, maybe in thirty years, I thought grimly.

Ryan had already decided, no point arguing with him. Alok and I shrugged and we left the court. After squash came something tamer and less active, chess. Alok and I felt somewhat up to this one, for, unlike squash, we could at least touch and move the game pieces. But Ryan usually won, and I would never be passionate about bumping off plastic pieces like him.

We caught every new movie, visited every tourist destination in Delhi, did everything, went everywhere. For the most part, we managed fine within the three hours assigned to studies. Sometimes assignments took longer, leaving no time for revision. That worried Alok, especially when the end-semester exams edged closer, and he suggested increasing the limit.

Now wars happen all the time and India alone has fought more than it can afford. But the Gulf war was different, as it came right on TV. Alok, Ryan and I looked up from our chess game. It was sensational, spectacular and unlike anything we had ever seen on TV. To put it in context, this was before cable or any private channels came to India. Until then we had two crummy government channels in which women played obsolete instruments and dull men read news for insomniacs and retards.

Colour had only arrived two years ago, and most programs were still black and white. Then, in one quick week, we had the glitzy, jazzy and live � CNN. I mean is this happening? You think this is a play? A CNN reporter asked them questions about their mission. The soldiers told about bombing a godown, and taking down a power station that gave electricity to Baghdad. I mean, you stop doing that when you are twelve I think Superman or Batman? I liked watching the war as well, though I primly took no sides.

Iraq was kind of anonymous then, and we unabashedly cheered on America. Most of our foreign aid came from rich American firms and quite a large percentage of our alumni went on scholarship there and for jobs, constituting a chunk of the brain drain. So, unsurprisingly, our heart bled for the US.

At the same time, the war visuals became more gruesome. Americans pounded Baghdad non-stop, and Saddam hid himself deep in one of his oil wells I think. Many times, Americans hit civilian targets and people died and everything, and that was crap. I mean, the aid to IIT was fine, but how can you justify bombing kids? But then, Saddam was kind of this loser General anyway, and apparently shot his own people when he was grumpy. Oh, it was impossible to take sides in the Gulf war.

And it was all pointless for us anyway. These guys would realize this soon. Luckily, the war ended five days before the majors.

America won big-time, and Iraqis ate crow before ground battle. Saddam left Kuwait alone and Americans were happy all the oil in the world was theirs to burn and Ryan did not eat for a day or so. Americans got what they wanted. Now can we study? US is a schoolroom bully. Squash, chess and the war � all ate into our studying hours.

In the five days before exams, we dropped the three-hour rule, well we had to; the heaps of course material was un-doable even if we studied thirty hours a day. It was important to clamp down on Ryan and we studied until three in the morning ever y day and passionately prayed India would go to war on the morning of our first majors. A day before the majors were practical tests.

It was the only part of the course Ryan enjoyed, and he dragged us early to the physics lab. We were in the same group and had to conduct an electrical setup and then answer questions in a viva-voce. We got a resistance- voltage relationship testing experiment. I hated practical tests.

Most of all, I dreaded the viva-voce. My body freezes, sweat beads cover me brow to groin, and I lose my sense of voice. How I hated vivas and when Ryan was all excited assembling the circuit for the experiment, I hated him too. Alok looked up from his notebook. Ryan spent the next ten minutes connecting resistors, capacitors, switches and cables to each other.

Do they have a small speaker here? He moved a few connections, and soon Hindi music came from the speaker. That is Ryan. The guy will do clever things but only at the wrong time and wrong place. Alok panicked, too. We just about managed to finish the circuit on time when Prof Goyal walked in.

Ryan had made the circuit; he was good at this, we trusted him. But Prof Goyal was not done. Despite my frantic hopes, he turned to me. The current flow depends on how one connects the new resistor, in series or parallel.

In series, the current would drop. In parallel, it would increase. Yes, this was the answer. I think so, right? I had recited the answer in my mind. But Prof Goyal stared at me and me alone while asking the question, not surprising since he prefixed the question with what was a good facsimile of my name. My condition was upon me. I mean, I totally knew the answer but what if it was wrong? I tried articulating, but the thoughts did not cash into words. Prof Goyal raised his forefinger.

There was no use, I had given up. What are you, commerce students? The institute was the temple of science and anyone below standards was an outcaste or a commerce student. Ryan caught it, I think. We did not have much of a chance to discuss the physics practicals, as the majors started the next day. I had even postponed my next rendezvous with Neha until after the exams.

She freaked out, telling me not to call home without notice. How the hell was I supposed to give her notice? Anyway, we had fixed to meet the day after my majors. Majors were when everyone studied in Kumaon, lights remained on in rooms until dawn, people rarely spoke � and then only on matters of life or death � and consumed endless cups of tea in the all-night mess.

Ryan, Alok and I scrambled to revise our six courses. The exams schedule was three continuous days, leaving little time to discuss the tests. I knew I had done fine in some tests and screwed up some. Alok had developed a permanent scowl and Ryan could maintain his laid-back air only with the utmost effort; no jokes, majors blow the wind out of anyone.

ManPro, ApMech, physics, mathematics, chemistry and computing. One by one, we finished them. When majors ended, it did seem like the worst was over though the results come only after two weeks. Those two weeks between the end of majors and the results were bliss. The profs were busy evaluating tests, going easy on new assignments, giving us plenty of time to kill. Ryan upgraded us from chess to crossword puzzles, taking us from cryptic clues to rhyme words to anagrams.

Meanwhile, I met Neha again on a summery evening early into the second semester even though she had short-circuited when I called her. It was the same ice-cream parlour. She held my hand as she took the cone from me. God, she is beautiful, I tell you. Why 11th? You see, my brother died on 11th May. So on every 11th my parents go to this temple near the rail-tracks where he died.

They are gone most of the day. But it used to remind me of Samir a lot. You want to talk more often? I mean, I just thought it weird that I could call her only on that one day a month, like I had a dental appointment or something. But girls are weird, I was learning. Results come in one week or so. She giggled as if she had got me. Like I thought I believed she could help me with my grades or something. Girls love laughing at their own jokes but Neha amused is better than Neha looking around furtively.

I suddenly leaned forward, bringing my face close to hers. Catching her breath, stifling that laugh and pink tongue, she watched me wide-eyed. I removed the wallet from my back pocket and sat down casually again. Ha, gotcha. We reached the insti where a crowd of students had gathered to see their first set of grades. From these one could determine their first grade point average, or GPA, on the 10point scale. The topper would be close to We, however, were closer to the bottom.

Clicking through the scientific calculator, Alok calculated our scores. Topped amongst us, I thought. As if we were the high-brain society or something. These were pathetic grades: we ranked in the high s in a class of students.

Alok recalculated his score, hoping for some miracle to happen on the calculator. But miracles never happen in IIT, only crap grades do. Bloody hell, I am just a 5. This is so below average. What do you want to do? Mug more in mourning?

From him, it sounded peculiar, I mean he is still a kid. Ryan had damn well heard what Alok said. In fact, all the twittering students around us had heard it too. They were in no mood to let go and for a moment I thought they were going to ignore me and have a fisticuff right there. Ryan rode us back to the hostel as rashly as he possibly could, intentionally going over ever y bump on the road.

He has his own strange way of sulking I tell you. I had thought a little about my little GPA. Yes, a five-pointer was pretty crap. From now on, every prof would know that I was a below average student and that would influence my grade in future courses. I knew a few five-pointers who were panned at campus recruitment last year.

This was crap, how did I get into this situation? Was I just not smart enough? At the dinner table, other students were either plain morose or extremely excited. There was the studious Venkat, who never left his room and was always quiet at meals. Today, he was smiling.

He had a nine point five. He sat next to Alok, and told his stories of topping in four out of six courses. Alok was talking only to him and totally ignoring us. There were others too. Even the Smiling Surd in our wing had managed a respectable seven point three.

I think the three of us were the lowest in Kumaon or something. Nobody opened a book, looked at each other or said a word. I wondered if we were going to stay quiet forever. We could attend class, study together and eat together, quiet as mice. Maybe our grades would improve as well. But my rosy fantasy of silence was finally broken by Ryan. Hari, can you believe this?

I should apologize. Let the two nuts figure it out amongst themselves. Ryan kept silent. I mean, I really wanted to know what I was missing in this moronic conversation.

Today I got a GPA of 5. Damn it, a 5. Over students have done better. Do you know in my twelve years in school I never even got a second rank. To announce that you were like this nerd in school is hardly something to be proud of. But that is Alok for you. And who cares about how much you mugged.

Why the hell should I apologize? Now that was whacko. Poor Ryan had just managed to scrape a five, and now he was getting crap from Alok. My fault. Hey Alok, have you gone nuts or something? If Hari does not have the guts to say it, I can. You and your ideas, Ryan. Study less, draw the line, enjoy the best years, this system is a machine, crap, crap and more crap all the time.

I came to this institute with a purpose. To do well, get a good job and look after my parents. And you have fucked it up. That is the problem. No one can say anything to you. You propose something, Hari blindly agrees and we all end up doing it. You are just a spoilt brat. Someone who wants to do whatever he wants without caring for his friends. Though his voice was notched at a menacing pitch, I noticed his hands starting to shiver a little bit.

You just want to have your fun. From now on, I am not going to hang out with you anymore, it is official. From now on, I am going to be with Venkat. He has agreed to let me study with him. He got a nine point five you know?

He had a good GPA and everything, but he was hardly human. Venkat woke up at four in the morning to squeeze in four hours of muggins before classes.

Every evening he spent three hours in the library before dinner. Then after dinner, he studied on his bed for another couple of hours until he went to sleep. Who on earth would want to be with him? My future is important to me. Does that make me sick? This heredity factor fascinated me; was there a how-to-cry gene? Or was this something he had picked up while growing up? I have to do well to support my family. He needed to blow his nose. Ryan sat down to watch Alok, intrigued. I mean, how do you argue with that?

How many sarees a year is reasonable? Ryan wants to play chess, see TV, enjoy his years. I hate enjoyment. But this shifted Alok into higher gear. How could you? You never had them. I mean I still have them. But at least I am not crying like a baby. A sissy-fat baby. Yes, sometimes people say something so messed up that all bets go off.

Even Alok noticed the change in expressions and froze. Twenty solid, slow and long seconds of silence followed. I stayed silent. Alok stayed silent. Go to Venkat or whichever prick you want to be with. I had nothing to do with all this. Yet, I had to now choose between my friends. You are the one who is leaving. There were no more words. Alok got up and left. Ryan shut the door behind him as hard as he could.

It was purely symbolic, as we never shut the door in our rooms. And he expected you to go with him, ha! In fact, I did not feel like talking to anyone. I can be quite a prick if I want. Now are you going to tell me or what? They are like half your size or something, but if they know you like them, they boss you around. Who the hell did she think she was? I mean that is kind of low by insti standards.

It is this place. I hate it. Just how people would die to get in here. Why does she do this all the time, tell jokes that are funny to her alone? She held my hand and turned her face toward me. I loved people who did not have a GPA. I loved anyone who was not at IIT. Uploaded by Unknown on August 7, Search icon An illustration of a magnifying glass.

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Soon many Indian writers belonging to varied disciplines started penning down their experiences in college. This sub genre of campus novel has made a noteworthy contribution in the progress of the contemporary Indian English literature of the recent times. Writers of these campus novels provide a fascinating reading experience to their readers by interestingly weaving their stories in a limited setting of campus premises.

The stories of the campus novels are simple, having a general appeal which enables them to captivate the attention of the readers of every age by providing them with the desired information, knowledge and entertainment. The present study focuses on the significant aspects of the contemporary Indian English campus novels that make these novels popular and soughtafter.

Keywords: Contemp. Postmillennial has a furious competitive world in every sphere of life like sports, jobs, politics and especially in the field of education. If student needs to prove his or her talents, he must prove his potential in science and technology. These are the key factors to success. Postmillennial Indian English novelists are mostly young. It has one of the largest youth populations in the world. The youth show strong passion, motivation and will power.

This makes them the most precious human resource. It helps in the economic, cultural and political development of a nation. They are responsible for change, advancement and innovation which lie on their shoulders.

They can raise or ruin the society. Some great Indian English novelists are vividly portraying Indian youth in a normal way. It is a wakeup call for elite technical institutions to uphold the innovative teaching style. Log in with Facebook Log in with Google. Remember me on this computer. Enter the email address you signed up with and we'll email you a reset link. Need an account? Click here to sign up. Download Free PDF. Tathastu Nayak. Abstract Novel. Related Papers.

Both his books have inspired major Bollywood films. The 3 Mistakes of My Life is his third novel. After eleven years in Hong Kong, the author relocated to Mumbai in , where he works as an investment banker. Apart from books, the author has a keen interest in screenplays and spirituality. Any resemblance to actual persons�living or dead�events or localities is entirely coincidental. This digital edition published in e-ISBN: Chetan Bhagat asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.

Digital edition prepared by Ninestars Information Technologies Ltd. All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, transmitted, or stored in a retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic, mechanical, print reproduction, recording or otherwise, without the prior permission of the publisher. Any unauthorized distribution of this e-book may be considered a direct infringement of copyright and those responsible may be liable in law accordingly.

At best, this was my dream. There are people in this world, some of them so wonderful, that made this dream become a product that you are holding in your hand. I would like to thank all of them, and in particular: Shinie Antony � mentor, guru and friend, who taught me the basics of telling a story and stayed with me right till the end. All of them also stayed with me in the process, and handled me and my sometimes out-of-control emotions so well.

Anusha Bhagat � a wife who was once a classmate, and was the first reader of the draft. Apart from being shocked by some of the incidents in the book, she kept her calm as she had to face the tough job of improving the product and not upsetting her husband. My mom Rekha Bhagat and brother Ketan, two people with an irrational, unbreakable belief in me that bordered on craziness at times. My relationship with them goes beyond the common genes we share, and I, like every author, needed their irrational support for me.

This is a work of fiction, but fiction needs real inspiration. I love them all so much that I could literally write a book on them. Hey wait, have I? My friends in Hong Kong, my work colleagues, my yoga teachers and others that surround me, love me and make life fun. The editor and the entire team at Rupa for being so professional and friendly through the process.

And lastly, it is only when one writes a book that one realizes the true power of MSWord, from grammar checks to replace-alls. It is simple � without this software, this book would not be written. It was kind of creepy. Like a hospital was suddenly asked to pack up and move. Instruments, catheters, drips and a medicine box surrounded two beds.

There was hardly any space for me and Ryan to stand even as Alok got to sprawl out. I guess with thirteen fractures you kind of deserve a bed. Alok lay there unrecognizable, his eyeballs rolled up and his tongue collapsed outside his mouth like an old man without dentures.

Four front teeth gone, the doctor later told us. It is not a guide on how to live through college. I mean, if they wanted their version out there, they could have written one themselves. But Alok cannot write for nuts, and Ryan, even though he could really do whatever he wants, is too lazy to put his bum to the chair and type. So stuff it boys � it is my story, I am the one writing it and I get to tell it the way I want it.

Also, let me tell you one more thing this book is certainly not. This book will not help you get into IIT. I think half the trees in the world are felled to make up the IIT entrance exam guides.

Most of them are crap, but they might help you more than this one will. All we would say as advice is, if you can lock yourself in a room with books for two years and throw away the key, you can probably make it here.

And if your high school days were half as miserable as mine, disappearing behind a pile of books will not seem like such a bad idea. My last two years in school were living hell, and unless you captained the basketball team or played the electric guitar since age six, probably yours were too.

I think I have made my disclaimers, and it is time for me to commence. Well, I have to start somewhere, and what better than the day I joined the Indian Institute of Technology and met Ryan and Alok for the first time; we had adjacent rooms on the second floor of the Kumaon hostel.

As per tradition, seniors rounded us up on the balcony for ragging at midnight. I was still rubbing my eyes as the three of us stood to attention and three seniors faced us. A senior named Anurag leaned against a wall. Another senior, to my nervous eye, looked like a demon from cheap mythological TV shows � six feet tall, over a hundred kilos, dark, hairy, and huge teeth that were ten years late meeting an orthodontist.

Although he inspired terror, he spoke little and was busy providing background for the boss, Baku, a lungi-clad human toothpick, and just as smelly is my guess.

Rascals, who will give an introduction? He was my height, five feet five inches � in short, very short � and had these thick, chunky glasses on. Ryan Oberoi, I repeated his name again mentally. Relatives abroad for sure, I thought. Nobody wears GAP to bed otherwise. Nakedness made the difference between our bodies more stark as Alok and me drew figures on the floor with deeply embarrassed toes, trying to be casual about our twisted balloon figures.

You could describe his body as sculpture. Baku told Alok and me to step forward, so the seniors could have better view and a bigger laugh. The demon joined him in laughter. Anurag smiled behind a burst of smoke as he extinguished another cigarette, creating his own special effects.

Let you go? His eyes were invisible behind those thick, bulletproof spectacles, but going by his contorted face, I could tell he was as close to tears as I was. He and Baku seemed to share a symbiotic relationship; Baku needed him for brute strength, while the servile demon needed him for directions. Alok and I bent down on all fours.

More laughter, this time from above our heads, ensued. The demon suggested racing both of us, his first original opinion in a while but Baku overrode him. Just wait, I have to go to my room.

Meanwhile, the demon made Ryan flex his muscles and make warrior poses. In each of his hands, Baku held an empty Coke bottle. And who the hell are you to ask me? As Baku put the bottles in position, Ryan abandoned his pin-up pose and jumped. Baku released his hands and the bottles were with Ryan, James Bond style. Each bottle now was butt-broken, and he waved the jagged ends in air. Baku and the demon retreated a few paces. Anurag, who had been smouldering in the backdrop, snapped to attention.

How did this happen? What is your name - Ryan, take it easy man. This is just fun. I was hoping Ryan knew what he was doing. I mean sure, he was saving our ass from a Coke bottle, but broken Coke bottles could be a lot worse. Actually, he was shuffling backward slowly and steadily till he was almost flying in his haste to get away, the demon following suit. Anurag stood there gaping at Ryan for a while and then looked at us.

Alok and I got up and wore our clothes. There is a reason why they say men should not cry, they just look so, like, ugly. That Baku guy is sick. Though you think they would have done anything?

Trust me, I have lived in enough boarding schools. Besides, we were hostelite neighbours and in the same engineering department.

They say you should not get into a relationship with people you sleep with on the first date. But our troika was kind of inevitable. As we entered the amphitheatre-shaped lecture room, we grabbed a pile of handouts each. The instructor sat next to the blackboard like a bloated beetle, watching us settle down, waiting for the huddled murmurs to cease. He appeared around forty years of age, with gray hair incandescent from three tablespoons of coconut oil, wore an un-tucked light blue shirt and had positioned three pens in his front pocket, along with chalks, like an array of bullets.

I am Professor Dubey, Mechanical Engineering department�so, first day in college. Do you feel special?

The class remained silent. We were busy scanning our handouts and feeling like a herd. The course was Manufacturing Processes, often shortened to ManPro for easier pronunciation. The handouts consisted of the course outline. Contents covered the basic techniques of manufacturing � such as welding, machining, casting, bending and shaping. Along with the outline, the handout contained the grading pattern of the course. Then he turned to us.

Everything you learn finds application in machines. Now, can anyone tell me what a machine is? As the students on the aisles felt even more stalked and avoided eye contact, I turned around to study my new classmates. There must have been seventy of us in this class, three hundred of us in a batch. I noticed a boy in front of me staring at the instructor intently, his head moving to and fro, mouth ajar; a timid sort, whom Baku could polish off for snack any given day.

It was the first time the condition struck me, where tongue cleaves unto dental roof, body freezes, blood vessels rupture and sweat bursts out in buckets. What do you think? Our admission criteria are just not strict enough.

Busted my butt for two years for this damn place. It is anything that reduces human effort. So, see the world around you and it is full of machines.

Well, that sounded simple enough. A spoon, car, blender, knife, chair � students threw examples at the professor and there was only one answer � machine. In fact, it increases it. Boy, did Ryan really have a point? I am sure many professors will tell you about their courses. But I care about ManPro. After an hour on how iron melts and foundry workers pour it into sand moulds, he ended the session. Best of luck once again for your stay here. Remember, as your head of department Prof Cherian says, the tough workload is by design, to keep you on your toes.

And respect the grading system. You get bad grades, and I assure you � you get no job, no school and no future. If you do well, the world is your oyster. IN THE first semester alone, with six courses, four of them with practical classes, time dragged so slow and comatose, fun was conspicuous by its absence.

Every day, from eight to five, we were locked in the eight-storey insti-building with lectures, tutorials and labs. The next few hours of the evening were spent in the library or in our rooms as we prepared reports and finished assignments. And this did not even include the tests! Each subject had two minor tests, one major and three surprise quizzes; seven tests for six courses meant forty-two tests per semester, mathematically speaking.

Luckily, the professors spared us surprise quizzes in the first month, citing ragging season and the settling-in period of course; but the ragging season ended soon and it meant a quiz could happen any time. Meanwhile, I got better acquainted with Ryan and Alok.

I also got familiar with Kumaon and other wing-mates. Next to him was the studious Venkat, who coated his windows with thick black paper and stayed locked inside alone. Ryan, Alok and I often studied together in the evenings. One month into the first semester, we were sitting in my room chasing a quanto-physics assignment deadline.

You call this a life? He always writes this way, head near the sheet, pen pressed tight between his fingers, his white worksheets reflected on his thick glasses. I was sitting on the bed cross-legged, attempting the assignment on a drawing board. I needed a break, so I put my pen down. It really is.

You put students in jail? Working away like moronic drones until midnight. Anyone for a movie? I stood up and took his pen, put it into his geometry box. Yes, Alok had a geometry box, like he was about twelve years old. I lifted the brushes, painting imaginary arcs in air. To give colour to your circuit diagrams?

I went motionless, fingers in mid-air. Ryan saw my face and pressed his teeth together to be simultaneously tch-tch sympathetic to Alok and stop laughing at me. The bastard, scoring over me for no fault of mine. It was a long while ago. When we walked out, Ryan was with Alok, me trailing six steps behind. But it must be pretty difficult for you. I mean how did you manage?

My mother is a biology teacher. That was the only income. Elder sister is still in college. It was illegal for three people to ride together in a triple sandwich, but cops rarely demanded more than twenty bucks if they stopped you. Chances of getting caught were less than one in ten, so Ryan said it was still cheap on a probability weighted basis. Priya cinema at night was a completely different world from our quiet campus. Families, couples and groups of young people lined up to catch the hit movie of the season.

We bought front row tickets, as Alok did not want to spend too much. Personally, I think he was just too blind to sit far away. I hate sci-fi movies, but who asks me?

This one had time travel, human robots, laser guns, the works, presented in an unfunny way. It is fiction.

You really think we could have time travel? When we returned to Kumaon at midnight, our asses were set on fire, I mean not literally, but everyone from Venkat to Sukhwinder were running around with notepads and textbooks. Enough to ring the alarm as news travelled through the campus like wildfire. Now we have to study for ApMech. Everyone gathered in my room to study. It was at two in the morning that Alok spoke. Anyway, why are you taking arbit tension?

Just then, a mouse darted out from under my bed. He removed his slippers, hoping to take aim and strike the rodent down. However, the rodent had other ideas on his own demise and dived diplomatically back under the bed. Can we please study?

The guy is too dramatic. Ryan eased back into the chair and wore his footwear. He opened the ApMech book and exhaled deep through his mouth. Ryan did shut up after that, even though he kept bending to look under the bed from time to time. I was sure he wanted to get at least one mouse, but the little creatures smartly maintained a low profile. We still had around a third of the course left, but it was necessar y to catch some sleep.

Besides, the quiz was only a rumour, we did not know if it would actually materialize. But rumours, especially ugly ones, have a way of coming true.

Thirty minutes into the ApMech class, Prof Sen locked the door and opened his black briefcase. Prof Sen passed the handouts to the front row students, who in turn cascaded them backward. Everyone in class knew about the rumour, and the quiz was as much a surprise as snow in Siberia. I took the question sheet and glanced over the questions. Most of them were from recent lectures, the part of the course we could not revise.

We never discussed the quiz upon our return to Kumaon that day. Other students were talking animatedly about some questions being out of course. Obviously, we never finished the course, so we did not know better. We did not have to wait for results too long either.

Prof Sen distributed the answer sheets in class two days later. How about that? Prof Sen wrote the customary summary scores on the blackboard. Did you see that? It was hard to figure out what he was feeling at this point. Even though he was trying to stay calm and expressionless, I could tell he was having trouble digesting his result.

He re-read his quiz, it did not change the score. Alok was in a different orbit. His face looked like it had on ragging day. He viewed the answer sheet like he had the coke bottle, an expression of anxiety mixed with sadness.

But for now, the quiz results were a repulsive enough sight. I saw my own answer sheet. The instructor had written my score in big but careless letters, like graffiti written with contempt. Now I am no Einstein or anything, but this never happened to me in school.

My score was five on twenty, or twenty-five per cent; I had never in my life scored less than three times as much.

Ouch, the first quiz in IIT hurt. I wondered if it had been worth it for him to even study last night. I was two points ahead of him, or wait a minute, sixty-six per cent ahead of him, that made me feel better. Thank god for relative misery! Alok had the highest percentage amongst the three of us, but I could tell he did not find solace in our misery.

He saw his score, and he saw the average on the board. I saw his face, twisting every time he saw his wrong answers. We kept our answer sheets, the proof of our underperformance, in our bags and strolled back to Kumaon.

We met at dinner in the mess. The food was insipid as usual, and Alok wrinkled his pug nose as he dispiritedly plopped a thick blob of green substance mess- workers called bhindi masala into his plate. He slammed two rotis on his stainless steel plate and ignored the rest of the semi-solid substances like dal, raita and pulao.

Ryan and I took everything; though everything tasted the same, we could at least have some variety of colors on our plate. Alok finally brought up the topic of the quiz at the dinner table. I found that expression marginally more pleasant to look at and easier to deal with. What is to discuss in that? I think Alok picks up a word and uses it too much, which ruins the effect. Anyway, you got the highest amongst us. So, be happy. Yes, I am happy. The average is eleven, and someone got seventeen.

And here I am, at damn seven. I told you, Alok ruins the effect. What did you just say? It was a stupid idea. Ryan froze. He looked at Alok as if he was speaking in foreign tongue. Then he turned toward me. Hari, you heard? This is unbelievable man.

I mean Alok is saying I screwed up the quiz for both of you because I took you to the movie. You think so or�? Is that what you expect your best friends to say? Ryan was satisfied with the answer. We should have a limit on the fun factor. Ryan was quieter when we studied in the rooms, controlling his urge to discuss emergency topics ranging from movies to food to new sci-fi movies, leading to more productive study sessions.

Though our scores moved closer to class average, assignments can get dull as hell after a while, and you need a break. Ryan often dozed off between assignments, or stared unseeingly at the wall, whispering curses frequently every time he opened a new book. You guys going to mug more or what? You mug, you pass and you get job. What let-down are you talking about? When he is on his own trip, we all turn stupid. Where is the time to try out new ideas?

Just sit all day and get fat like Hari. And I am not that fat, am I? Looking at him I instantly felt better. You should do something about it. I can make you lose ten kilos like that. I did not know where Ryan was going with this, but it could not have been pleasant for me. Being fat was more appealing to me than running behind the insti bus or climbing the stairs of these buildings fifty times a day.

I thought about losing ten kilos. Of course, I hated that part of my identity and Ryan did seem to know what he was doing, and his own body was great. Heck, I thought, it was worth a try. Sure enough, Ryan mercilessly kicked at my door at five a. I hate Ryan. Anyway, I opened the door and he stood there waiting for me to change into T- shirt and shorts. It was still dark outside when I left Kumaon.

I was happy for that small mercy � no one would see an eighty-kilo globe-shaped creature bouncing along the road. To do the four- kilometer route meant reaching the other end of campus, past the hostels, sports grounds, insti building and the faculty housing.

I thought I could cheat and cut corners, but I wanted to give Ryan a chance, not that I hated him any less for it. My entire body groaned as muscles I never knew existed made themselves known. In ten minutes, I was panting like a trekker on Mount Everest without oxygen, and in fifteen, I felt a heart attack coming on. I panted for a few minutes and started again till I passed the insti building and was in the faculty-housing colony.

Dawn broke, revealing manicured lawns and picture postcard bungalows of our tormentors in class. It was hard to imagine this man out of class, living in a home, watching TV, peeing, eating at a dining table.

By now, I was wet with sweat and my face beyond red, reaching rare shades of purple. I stopped, huffing and puffing, when I went bump at the knees. Stumbling at the unexpected impact, I kind of whooshed forward, extending my hands just in time to save myself from a bad fall.

I sat stunned on the road, recovering from the shock and breathlessness, and then turned around. A red Maruti car was the culprit! I continued panting as I squinted my eyes to see the driver through the windscreen. Who was trying to kill me when I was already dying? I wondered, waiting for my breath to return to normal. A young girl, around my age, in a loose T- shirt and knee-length shorts, clothes that one usually wore at home.

She skipped forward in a silly way, which was probably her attempt to run toward me. I noticed she was barefoot. Are you all right? I was not all right, and it was her damn fault. But when a young girl asks a guy if he is all right, he can never admit he is not. I looked at her carefully as she came closer. Maybe I was seeing a female after a long time or something, but I thought she was really pretty.

And the whole just-out-of-the-bed look blew me. Only girls can look hot in their nightclothes: Alok, for instance, looks like a terminally ill patient in his torn vest and pajamas. Anyway, I had to after I was standing up. I am Neha by the way. That is understandable, I thought, you are allowed to hit people if you are learning to drive, especially if you are eye-candy.

Still, I wanted to milk this moment. Then she placed her bare foot on the accelerator. Now maybe it is because I am an engineer, but that was hot. Bare female skin on metal is enormously sexy. There was dark red nail polish on her toenails, with one or two toes encircled in weird squiggly silver ringlets that only girls can justify wearing. I just wanted to keep looking at her feet but she started to talk. First year, mechanical engineering.

So how are you finding it, college and everything? What do guys call it � mugging. Some damn profs get this vicious joy driving students nuts�. The car had passed the housing blocks now, and we were nearing the insti building. I had heard the name, but never seen Prof Cherian. Then I remembered our first class. Sensing my anxiety, she patted my arm while shifting into third gear. So relax. We chatted for a few more minutes along the insti-hostel road.

She told me about her college, where she was studying fashion design. She had lived in this campus for over ten years and knew most of the professors.

She apologized again when we came near Kumaon, and asked if she could do anything for me. So will I see you again when you jog? Maybe sometime, I can drive you to the deer park outside campus, lots of joggers there. And you get excellent morning tea snacks there. I was nervous at meeting the daughter of my head of department again.

But her offer, and mostly she herself, was too irresistible. Keep bumping me. Her image still floated in my head as I reached the Kumaon lawns. Ryan was already waiting there, doing push-ups or pull-downs or something. He had seen me get out of the car and demanded full explanation. I had to then repeat it to Alok. But they had neither seen her nor talked to her. I was dying to meet her again, was waiting for the next time I bumped into her and could feast silly at the sight of those two bare-naked feet!

His parents sent him a dollar cheque as a Christmas gift as everybody else around them was doing in Europe. Ryan was not a Christian and cared two hoots about Christmas, but loved the cheque and cashed it; voila scooter � a beautiful Kinetic Honda in gleaming metallic blue.

When Ryan got it to Kumaon, all the students gathered around it to pay homage, but only Alok and I got to park our butts on it. Meanwhile, classes got worse. The professors kept up the pressure and the overworked students worked even harder to beat the average, thereby pushing the average higher.

We still studied together, but the resolve to concentrate was breaking down. We had managed to reach average grades in a few assignments, but in physics we had messed up.

One night Alok got a call from home. His father had had a seizure or something and someone had to take him to the hospital pronto. There was a strong rumour of a physics quiz circulating but Alok had no choice.

Hence Ryan had to go as well. I did not want to be alone, so I went along. I told you he was kind of poor, I mean not World Bank ads type starving poor or anything, but his home had the barest minimum one would need for existence. There was light, but no lampshades, there was a living room, but no couches, there was a TV, but not a colour one.

Man, I could totally see where Alok got his whining talent. Anyway, I hired an auto and Ryan and Alok lifted the patient into it. We returned to Kumaon at three in the morning exhausted and nauseated by hospital smells. We got like two on twenty or some such miserable score. Alok tried to ask the professor for a re-quiz, who stared back as if he had been asked for both his kidneys.

That physics quiz episode broke Alok a bit. Now he was less vigilant when Ryan distracted us from studies. We were in my room. I expected Alok to ignore Ryan, but this time he led him on with a monosyllable. But has IIT ever invented anything? Or made any technical contribution to India? I knew that with Alok not keeping us in check, we were not going to study any more that day. Everyone agreed. Ryan continued to muse. Using tents and stools, the alfresco dining menu included paranthas, lemonade and cigarettes.

At two rupees each, the butter paranthas were a bargain, even by student standards. Proprietor Sasi knew the quality of food in the mess and did a voluminous business serving dozens of students each day from every hostel.

We got three plates of paranthas, and the dollop of butter on top melted and produced a delicious aroma. And frankly, money is just an excuse. If there is value, the industry will pay for research even at IIT. I seriously wanted Ryan to shut up, now that the food was here. I mean, if he did not want to study, fine, but spare us the bloody lecture, it wreaks havoc on digestion. But Ryan had more.

I mean it kills the best fun years of your life. But it kills something else. Where is the room for original thought? Where is the time for creativity? It is not fair. I knew I was annoying Ryan like hell, but I really wanted him to shut up or at least change the topic.

That lazy bastard would find any reason to goof off. Connaught Place? And then maybe check out some girls in the market. I had not bumped into her again, maybe I should go jogging again. Or will you mug all day? We did go to Connaught Place that weekend and had quite a blast. However, the heroine was new and eager to please the crowds so she bathed in the rain, played tennis in mini-skirts and wore sequined negligees to discos.

Since all her hobbies involved wearing less or transparent clothing, the audience loved her. The hero had no damn assignments to finish and no freaky profs breathing down his neck. I know, these Hindi movies are all crap, but they do kind of take your mind away from the crap of real life like nothing else. After movie came lunch. The dhabha was great as Ryan is never wrong about these things. He ordered for everyone, which he always does. And he orders big � right from boneless butter chicken to daal to paranthas to raita.

The spoilt brat even orders the overpriced Coke, I mean, which student orders Coke in restaurants? Anyway, the meal was great, and an overactive desert-cooler sprayed water on our faces and kept the ambience cool.

Tearing his rotis like a famished Unicef kid, Alok got chatty. I had enjoyed my day so far and watching these jokers go at it is really not funny after a while. He took a deep breath. I have been thinking. But it was too late. They really are.

I mean, especially for someone like Alok. I mean, I know you love your dad and everything. But like, you were just nursing him and studying for the past two years. I mean, you will earn and everything, and maybe hire a servant.

But still, would you be able to have this kind of fun? Boy, this must have affected him. Usually, the Fatso will not leave chicken for his life. Is that a big deal? I mean, if Alok could love his dad, who if you think about it, is no more than a vegetable with vision, how could this brat not love his parents?

And his parents were nice, I mean they gave him everything - the blue scooter, clothes from Gap and money for the damn colas at restaurants. His parents had worked their asses off all their lives, started selling flower pots with two potters, and then moved all over India to make a name until two years ago when they went overseas.

Yeah right, that when I listened to this idiot all the time. I mean, I have been in boarding school when I was six. Of course, like every kid I hated it and cried when they left me.

But then, it was at boarding school I got everything. I did well in studies, got noticed in sports, learnt how to have fun and live well and made my best friends. Just kind of outgrew them. Sure, we meet at vacation time and they send letters, cash, and everything but I mean, for me my friends are everything, they are my family. Ryan, however, came back to his earlier theory.

So either we can mug ourselves to death, or tell the system to stuff it. We can study two-three hours a day, but do other stuff, say sports, have you guys ever played squash? Or taken part in events � debates, scrabble and stuff, an odd movie or something sometimes. We can do so much at the insti. We just draw the line. A day of classes, then three hours a day of studies and the rest is our time.

A kind of decentralization of education. Ryan had a point. He would not have stopped otherwise anyway.

Ryan was elated, and he drove us back to Kumaon at speeds that made the traffic police dizzy. I covered the number plate with my foot, so that cops could not take it down. After all, this was a celebration of drawing the line.

Meanwhile, I ran into Neha at the campus bookstore. Mostly that whole jogging plan was a bad idea. Even with the prospect of meeting Neha, I just could not wake up. I did try once again, but I was late and did not see her car. After that, all my motivation dropped and Ryan gave up on waking me up. He had to, cause I kind of threatened to withdraw from his draw-the-line study plan. She looked at me, and then kept looking, her face expressionless. She acted as if she did not recognize me. Then she went back to flipping pages of the notebooks she had just bought.

Remember the car accident in the morning? This time the shopkeeper looked at me like I was a regular sex-offender. The girl bumped me and gave me a lift and all dammit, I wanted to scream, even as I bought my pencils and loose sheets. So I am not that attractive and that is reason enough not to recognize someone in public because I guess being friends with ugly people kind of rubs off badly on you.

I had been some sort of a loser in school as well, so this was not a total shock. I walked out of the shop as quickly as possible to get away from the humiliation. I was feeling crap. I was walking alone on a narrow path connecting the bookshop to the hostel, when someone tapped my shoulder. I turned around and guess who? Go to hell, was my instant mental reflex.

But I turned to look at her and damn, she was pretty. Neha, right? Hey, I am really, really, really sorry, I could not reply to you properly there. Just greeting someone? And campus rumours always get blown out of proportion. Please, I am sorry. We can go to the Hauz Khas market. Do you feel like some ice-cream? I said yes, and she instructed me to walk out the campus gate and walk two blocks to an ice-cream parlour. She would come there as well, but gave me a five-minute headstart, walking sedately behind me.

Food is almost as good as girls. Did I scare you off? Girls do this all the time, say something half-funny, and laugh at it themselves. You have this pretty girl all smiley and sorry and touching your arm; better than ice-cream I tell you. There are two kinds of pretty girls in Delhi. One is the modern type, girls who cut their hair short, wear jeans or skirts, and tiny earrings. The second is the traditional type who wears salwar-kameez, multi-coloured bindi and large earrings.

Neha was more the second type, and she wore a light-blue chikan suit with matching earrings. However, she was not a forced traditional type, like fat girls who have no choice but to wear Indian clothes. Neha was just fine, and actually way out of my league, with her long light brown hair, which she mostly left open, a curl catapulting carelessly on to her forehead.

Her face was completely round, but not because she was fat or anything, just a natural cute shape. I just kept looking at her as my strawberry ice-cream melted. You know, when you ignored me there, I first thought it was because of the way I am.

I told Neha about our harebrained scholastic plan. Pretty brave I must say. I shrugged my shoulders. Learnt driving now? She started taking stuff out of her handbag and a million things came out � lipsticks, lip balms, creams, bindis, earrings, pens, mirrors, wet tissues and other stuff that one can live without.

She found what she was looking for eventually. I did not know if it meant something. I mean, did she want me to know what kind of men she liked, or did she want me to be like the men she liked, or did she like me. Uploaded by Unknown on August 7, Search icon An illustration of a magnifying glass. User icon An illustration of a person's head and chest. Sign up Log in. Web icon An illustration of a computer application window Wayback Machine Texts icon An illustration of an open book.

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