If You Hate Chetan Bhagat, Ignore His Work.

Mohammad Jesus Chaturvedi is an avid reader. He was born with an account on GoodReads and is one of the most active bookworms ever known to the medical community.

As a self-proclaimed descendant of Geoffrey Chaucer, he hates Chetan Bhagat to the core. He blames Bhagat for everything that is wrong with the modern day English literature in India, nay, world. He loathes his literary skills so much that he reads every column CB spits out, every tweet he farts and buys every single one of his 'books'. He will be awake late into the wee hours at night, carefully gliding through each character just to critique CB's skills he so actively despises.

Such self-annointed literature nazis have cropped up across all social platforms. Release of CB's books is followed by week long tweets/posts quoting excerpts from his books, mentioning how degrading his portrayal of point of view of women really is.

They then go home, counting likes and retweets like a cocaine dealer counts his cash, and wonder how the hell is CB one of this country's bestselling authors.

Chetan Bhagat may not go down in history as the most popular English language author of the country, but his seven million sold copies, Filmfare award for best screenplay and much more, will be quoted to justify his popularity and presence in the bookshelves across the globe. Sigh!

Compact Disks and Nostalgia

My laptop has aged well. Still works like a charm. No out of the ordinary demands. It’s been almost 4 years. No Botox. Except when it was opened up and its soul was cleansed some 6 months back. It came back refreshed. One fine day, its CD Drive popped open without being asked to. This became frequent in due course of time. It was like a stroke, in laptop terminology, a cry for help. I don’t know. But the day the drive first popped out surprisingly, I realized that those things had become obsolete. No self-respecting laptop wants it. A complete piece of shit, from a modern digital age perspective.

I have never seen a floppy drive in action. I did, however, had the honor of witnessing a Floppy Drive before they bowed down to evolution and were phased out to accommodate the CD drives.

But thanks to my laptop’s CD Drive’s cry for help, I was reminded of those days when CDs were the norm. That scratch-less, shiny rainbow-ish surfaces were alluring. Scratch CD pe nahi, dil pe lagta tha. Teachers too adopted the hipster way of asking us to submit projects digitally, on CDs. One lousy doc file or a PPT amounting to mere KBs submitted on a 700 MB CD. Dafaq? Pirated Himesh Reshammiya songs were sold in CDs for meagre sum. Oh and computer games – wonderful way of fucking one’s life. Classrooms were the exchange spots for computer games, music CDs, movies and whatnot. Encarta’s, Encyclopedia’s digital copies were exchanged in complete visibility of the teacher. Ladke padh likh ke naam roshan karenge, the teacher thought. Max Paynes, GTAs, IGIs exchanged hands hidden conveniently inside random notebooks.

Those delicate sensitive CD surfaces had to be provided additional security. Along came plastic CD cases, capable of accommodating a couple of the bad boys. Upgraded to CD wallets, comfortably holding tens of them bad boys. DVDs were a welcome upgrade in storage capacity. But what blew my mind were the re-writable CDs/DVDs. Those were a revelation straight from the heaven of digital age. And Nero – the magical software to write data onto the drives. What an age to be alive.

In the near future, the bulky, now useless CD drives will be replaced by an additional hard disk or something. They will be phased away for a more compact, more elegant storage medium, flashier than the flash drives. 2.0 USB ports are already making way for the 3.0 USB ports as our CDs lie peacefully, buried in their comfortable graves in some corner back home. Corrupted, forgotten.

Let’s vow not let the memories of Compact Disks fade away.

Late Night BS - When Your Wi-Fi/Mobile/Laptop Tank

When your Wi-Fi dies on you, you start exploring the rest of your laptop and realize there are a lot more applications installed besides your browser.

You dive into the storage, discovering a whole lot of things, scavenging through some weird folders created couple of years ago. The 2 year old you was weird but he was still you, so you decide not to delete the weirdness and hope your computer password is strong enough to prevent this from being exposed to the outside world, you know, where people judge people.

You end up watching a couple of episodes of F.r.i.e.n.d.s because when you have nothing, you have friends (the TV series of course).

A few minutes later your laptop gives up too because the U.P. government kicked in and electricity went back to it's hometown like 3 hours ago.

You power up your 'smart'phone to find some solace this time of the night/morning. You have no Wi-Fi as has already been established and an Airtel mobile connection is a myth. You end up listening to music, starting off with some soulful ones and all of a sudden Himesh Reshammiya nasal bombs your hearing abilities. It's time to update the playlist but...

'What do we say to effort ??'

'Not today.'

Your android 'smart'phone goes into power saving mode with one of the most annoying sound ever. You are helpless because it's still U.P. and power banks are a just expensive paper weights in these parts.

A little while later, your last escape from the reality - your phone tanks too.

You start introspecting. Guilt and shame surrounds you and that's when you, an atheist, turn into a theist, praying to the old gods and new (of Uttar Pradesh government) for the wonderful gift to humanity - bijli.

The Struggle to Adapt at Home After 4 Years of Hostel Life

Having lived in a carefree, responsibility free hostel life for 4 long, disappointing years, I’m learning to cope with the authority at home. I am not used to wake up early in the day. Okay maybe I am. I wake up at around 7 am but that’s mostly because of the obnoxious beds and slightly nauseous air of the hostel and even the slightest of noise, alarm in my case, is enough to force me out of the uncomfortable slumber.

However, my parents wake up at the dawn of the day – 5 am and by law of lineage I am supposed to inherit that property. My day usually begins at 8 or 9 am which is pretty damn late according to the Home Standard Time and pretty damn impressive by Hostel Standard Time. The usual taunts follow after my failure to break past the sweet lure of sleep – ‘Ghar pe itna late jaagta hai to hostel mein to sota rehta hoga. College to jaata nahi hoga nalayak.’

Hostel has no one to comment on your physical appearances – the overgrowing hair, smelly clothes and whatnot. At best they’d just ‘Ugh’ and move along. Deep down we all know that we suck and accept others who really do. Home is a different place altogether. Your bath patterns are scrutinized and in spite of your willingness, you cannot miss a bath. On top of that, your hairstyles, beards, moustaches are under constant monitoring. Weekly reports are prepared and sent to the Ministry of Home Affairs which in return sets a strict deadline for the haircut.

Another aspect that hugely differentiates lives in a hostel and home is the food. Hostels are hated in unison the world over. Food there is awful. At home, everything is a delicacy. But there are complications as well. Every night I have to answer the routine question – ‘Kal kya khayega ?’ and the same question annoyingly comes across every day. 4 years of eating in the hostel mess has made me averse to half the food products. I haven’t had Rajma since I started living in the hostel. At home it reminds me of the tasteless Rajma of the hostel. With the preferences for food drastically reduced, I run out of answers for the above question. And one day I just have to blurt out, ‘Kuch bhi bana lo.’ But unfortunately this doesn’t free me from the responsibility. A specific answer is a must.

Also it’s forbidden to skip a meal. But is so happens that due to rising late and the delays in the usual morning chores, sometimes it becomes necessary to merge the breakfast and lunch. Lunch is followed by a lighter munching-session in such a case.

My parents are early sleepers as well. Myself being habitual late sleeper, I’m left alone to fend for myself past the 9 o’clock period. It mostly includes regular trips to the refrigerator and kitchen and scavenging for edible things. Some trips lead to disappointment but mostly I come back with something or other. I lay down and wonder about life and future plans and how I should start spending my time productively. Then I watch a movie or something before embracing sleep.

So far, life is good.

The Stigma of Vegetarian Meal at KFC and Asking for Extra Ketchup

Quite a lot of my friends are non-vegetarians. So by unanimous polling, KFC is generally agreed upon as the mid-journey eating joint. Or in general whenever we feel like getting far away from the stinking mess food and we have adequate amount of coupons, KFC is the go-to place to hangout. I have no issues hanging out with friends who prefer the red packaging over the green one. But what sucks is being an out-of-place alien.

Let’s face it, us vegetarians are not supposed to frequent a restaurant named Kentucky Fried Chicken in the first place. But being with a group of friends, there aren’t really many alternatives when vegetarians are outnumbered. And there is nothing you can do about it. Instances when we vegetarians enjoy the majority come but rarely and those moments are cherished. So we are on the back foot the moment we enter that door.

It’s a sight worth something when the entire troupe places the order and there are a couple of veg burgers trying to discretely slip into the order receipt. The employees at the counter look up at us, silently confirming whether it was a mistake and if we’d like to reconsider our order. Then they scan through the group trying to figure out the odd ones. It must be a pretty neat game among themselves – guessing the number of vegetarian creeps each one of them comes across during the day. The loser gets to eat the veg meal.

Sometimes I could picture the employees handling the vegetarian meals the same way a stranger’s underwear is handled – with one hand covering the face, on the verge of throwing up. But that’s just my imagination. May be.

Anyway, once we get our order, the vegetarian meals stand out. The green packaging shining like a diamond in a mine of redness. It’s especially freaking in a crowded KFC when those forced to gobble their chicken wings and leg pieces and breasts and other body parts while uncomfortably standing up and one of them accidently looks at out green packaging while we cozy up at out tables. At least one of them must, MUST be cursing us,”BC ghaas khani hai to McD mein jaake mar na.” However, KFC has been gracious enough to accommodate vegetarian meals. There must be a sizeable populations of us that may have been too valuable to ignore.

Another practice that is looked down upon by employees regardless of your choice of packaging but especially if you happen to prefer the green one is asking for an extra pouch of ketchup. We should be gratified at being bestowed upon us that extra ketchup we asked for by the generous hosts, but instead we pile up our demands – certain flavor of ketchup, an extra straw, an extra napkin. And like crows, they hold a grudge against you if you dared to ask for one more sachet of that delicious ketchup.

It’s still kind of ironical – vegetarian meals at a restaurant named after a poultry bird. But as I mentioned before, on behalf of all vegetarians out there, I am grateful for KFC’s generosity to grant us some worthwhile options. I would normally prefer KFC burgers over the McD ones without having been paid a penny by KFC.

Game of Thrones

Hygiene?? What is that??

Hygiene and cleanliness are top words hostellers are most oblivious to. Most citizens of country are, too, but hostellers even more so. Our idea of ‘cleaning the room’ is abandon the room for good, pack a tent and move to the Himalayas. Our idea of bathing is body deodorants. Our idea of hygiene is, well we have none. Some boys do keep their room clean and tidy, they are called girls. Sorry for being incredibly sexist. Truth hurts. Tough luck.

When I lived with my parents, back during the school days, I HAD to clean my room. It was horrible. But I still did it as I considered it as an alternative to paying rent. I had to stack up my books and notebooks. The protocol was to put the larger books at the bottom and move upwards to smaller ones. But I went for a little detour every once in a while. I became obsessed with my study table once. Had different stacks for books categorized on the basis of importance. It was fun. For some time. And I have learnt just recently that I was supposed to make my bed too. Bummer.

For the complete article, please visit this link - Campusghanta.

An Ode to the Indian Middle Class

Middle class is typically defined as a group of humans not poor enough to have no dreams and hopes at all and just not rich enough to afford big, seemingly unrealistic dreams. And just like with most products of globalization, we Indians have come to own this category with a touch of our own – don’t take risks, study hard to become an engineer or doctor, ‘if it’s not free you don’t need it’, ‘how the fuck did you dare to dream big’, and most underlying and obvious commandment of all – ‘paise ped par nahi ugte.’ The rich bigots use the term ‘middle class’ as an offense. But in fact, it’s more of a complementary adjective for an average citizen, bank-balance wise. Jugaad, bargaining are some of the most familiar terms to characterize this class of humans, as we’ll visit them briefly.

There was a time, not so long ago, when we survived on the SMS packs provided by different mobile operators before the practice was brutally crucified after the advent of free messaging services like WhatsApp, Hike, Line etc. Forwarded messages to our loved ones were a sign of friendship and affection and an indication of our sense of humor. This practice seems to be dying, albeit not entirely eradicated just yet. STOP. IT. PLEASE.

To keep on the same track, these SMS packs of the good old days were null and void on special occasions, for instance national holidays and Diwali, Holi, Christmas etc. Then some human, filled to the core with overflowing Indian-ness, decided to send the affectionate messages prior to the said special occasions and voila! – advance wishes. Suck it Airtel. But this seemed to the logical thing to do, where is the Indian middle class virtue?? It’s in the fact that even after the arrival of free messaging services, the advance messaging mentality thrives. We like to play it safe. Just in case, they decide to fuck with us and start charging. I got some wishes for the New Year 10 days before the calendar said so. Because life is uncertain like that.

Moving on. How many of us bought a pen stand during the days when studies WERE interesting?? I mean I never did. I made one from my mother’s old bangles and Fevicol and it worked fine until just recently. Currently I am using a Fastrack watch packaging as a pen stand. This is the simplest of the wonderful thing that Jugaad is. And we Indians have mastered it. We essentially beat the shit out of the elite space nations by successfully sending Mangalyan to Mars through Jugaad. Google ‘jugaad’ and you’ll be amazed by the innovation coming from even the smallest of communities.

And how can the description of Indian middles class be complete without our finest trick – bargaining. We don’t budge without winning a concession, however small, meaningless it may be to our financial situation. Discounts and sales are collective orgasms for Indian consumers and it’s exploited by brands shamelessly. Even if we are affluent, discounts seal the deal. Be it buying vegetables, clothes or an unrecognizable product we won’t ever need, bargaining is essential. Shopkeepers start questioning your IQ if you don’t bargain. To survive as a consumer in this country, either learn the subtleties of bargaining of befriend someone who has mastered this art-form. As Russell Peters famously put it – “Indians and Chinese cannot business together. Chinese cannot give a bargain and Indians cannot live without one.”

Growing up in an Indian middle class family, of which a majority of us inadvertently a part of, teaches us a lot. We get to learn about resource management, which is just a very civilized alias for jugaad. No matter how limited the resources, if you can’t work something out, you will struggle in life. From the makeshift pen-stands to achieving the final result to be proved by any means necessary (even if it means committing numerous mathematical sins), Jugaad is an essential survival skill. We also learn to annoy the shit out of shopkeepers with our top-of-the-class bargaining skills and with the unwarranted longevity of a simple transaction all because neither the shopkeeper nor the buyer would budge from their respective stance.

The middle class is an integral part of an overwhelming majority of Indians based on per capita income. There are positives and there are negatives. But that doesn’t change anything. Even those who graduate from lower to higher middle class of cross over the barrier into the elite rich suckers find it difficult to shed the so called middle class customs – bargaining and jugaad among others. But it’s fun no matter what.

And instead of blabbering on and on, may I recommend Sarabhai vs Sarabhai to better understand the Indian middle class. Also 'Do Dooni Chaar'.

Also published on Campusghanta.com.