Chetan bhagat biography pdf

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. I threw my phone down in disgust. I would deal with this nonsense later. I thought about Saurabh. Why was this fatso so oversensitive? Prerna had made him that way. But no, nobody can say a word against his fat bride-to-be.

Yeah, I called her fat. Fat just like Saurabh. Am I body-shaming? And why the hell do I still care so much about fatso? We rarely ate out in restaurants and when we did, we did so with caution, figuring out the cheapest and most-filling items on the menu Funnily enough, we never felt deprived.

I took the shortage of money as an essential factor of life. In a country like India, we were still better off than millions. Your email address will not be published. Save my name, email, and website in this browser for the next time I comment.