Ryan had a scooter, which made it easy for us to get to Priya. 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. In any case, the movie was science fiction, which I should have
guessed given Ryan’s choice; he always picked sci-fi movies. 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. In ten minutes, the obscenely muscular hero’s heroics looked too silly to even
smirk at, and I was yawning uncontrollably.
“Wow!” Ryan said, bringing his hand to his face as the villain launched a torpedo from
his backpack.
“What the hell do you see in these movies?” I whispered, just to jack his trip.
“Man, look at all those gadgets.”
“But they’re all fake. It is fiction.”
“Yes, but we could have them one day.”
“Time travel? You really think we could have time travel?” Ryan’s ridiculous when he
gets excited.
“Hush, it’s hard enough to understand the accent guys,” Alok objected.
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.
“Surprise quiz. Strong rumour of one in ApMech,” Happy Surd explained as he furiously
riffled through his notes, for once not electrified at our company.
ApMech was Applied Mechanics, and apparently, some student in Nilgiri hostel had
visited the professor’s office in the evening to submit a late assignment. The professor had
sinisterly advised to “keep revising your notes”, waggling left eyebrow at the same time.
Enough to ring the alarm as news travelled through the campus like wildfire.
“Damn. Now we have to study for ApMech. It will take hours,” Alok said morosely.
“And we have the Quanto assignment to finish as well,” I reminded.
Everyone gathered in my room to study. It was at two in the morning that Alok spoke.
“This whole movie thing was a dumb idea, I told you.”
“How was I to know? Anyway, why are you taking arbit tension?” Ryan took offence.
“It is not arbit. It’s relative grading here, so if we don’t study and others do, we are
screwed,” Alok said, stressing the last word so hard even Ryan was startled.
Just then, a mouse darted out from under my bed.
“Did you see that?” Ryan said, eager to change the topic. 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.
“Yes, there are these creepy mice in my room. Little bastards,” I said, almost
affectionately.
“You want me to kill them for you?” Ryan offered.
“It’s not that easy. They are too smart and quick,” I said.
“Challenge?” Ryan said.
“I beg you brothel-borns, not now. Can we please study?” Alok said, literally folding his
hands. 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.
“Yes sir, let us mug and cram. Otherwise, how will we become great engineers of this
great country,” Ryan mock-sighed.
“Shut up,” Alok said, his face already immersed in his workbook.
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 finished our Quanto assignment in an hour and then revised the
ApMech notes until five, by which time Ryan was snoring soundly, I was struggling to stay
awake and even Alok’s eyes had started watering. 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. “Time for some
fun. Here is a quickie quiz of multiple choice questions,” he said.
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.
“Crap. We never got to the lectures for question five onward,” I whispered to Alok.
“We are screwed. Let’s get screwed in silence at least,” he said as he placed his head in
his ‘study’ position, left cheek almost touching the answer sheet.
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.
“Five? I got a five out of twenty,” I said to Alok, who sat next to me in class.
“I got seven. Damn it, seven,” Alok said.
“I have three. How about that? One, two, three,” Ryan said, counting on his fingers.
Prof Sen wrote the customary summary scores on the blackboard.
Average: 11/20
High: 17/20
Low: 3/20
He kept those written for a few minutes, before proceeding with his lecture on cantilever
beams.
“I have the lowest. Did you see that?” Ryan whispered to me, unmoved by cantilever
beams. 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.
Five Point Someone What not to do at IIT Novel Chetan Bhagat
Re: Five Point Someone What not to do at IIT Novel Chetan Bh
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. It’s in
these moments that Alok is most vulnerable, you nudge him just a little bit and you know
he’d cry. 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.
But take Ryan’s scores. 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 messworkers
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.
“So, now you don’t have anything to say?”
Ryan and I looked at each other.
“Say what?” I said.
“That how crap this is,” Alok said.
“The food?” I said, fully aware Alok meant otherwise.
“No damn it! Not the damn food,” Alok said, “The ApMech quiz.” His expression
changed from the usual tragic one to a livelier angry one. I found that expression marginally
more pleasant to look at and easier to deal with.
“What about the quiz? We’re screwed. What is to discuss in that?” Ryan simplified.
“Oh really. We are screwed, no damn doubt in that,” Alok said.
I think Alok picks up a word and uses it too much, which ruins the effect. There were too
many ‘damns’ in his dialogue.
“Then drop it. Anyway, you got the highest amongst us. So, be happy.”
“Happy? Yes, I am happy. The average is eleven, and someone got seventeen. And here I
am, at damn seven. Yes, I am happy my damn Terminator ass,” Alok scoffed.
I told you, Alok ruins the effect. I wanted to tell him that he should stop ‘damn’ right now
but something told me he would not appreciate the subtleties of cursing right now.
“What? What did you just say?” Ryan said, keeping his spoon down on the plate, “Did
you say Terminator?”
“Yes. It was a stupid idea. Your stupid damn idea,” Alok said.
Ryan froze. He looked at Alok as if he was speaking in foreign tongue. Then he turned
toward me. “You heard what he said? Hari, you heard? This is unbelievable man.”
I had heard Alok, nothing being the matter with my eardrums but I wasn’t paying attention
to anything apart from keeping count of the ‘damns’.
“Hari, you think I screwed up the quiz?” Ryan asked slowly.
I looked at Alok’s and Ryan’s faces in quick succession. “Ryan, you got three. You still
need me to tell you that you screwed up?” I counter-questioned, mediating on something I
did not understand yet.
“No. 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…?”
“That is not what I said…” Alok interrupted even as Ryan raised his hand to indicate
silence.
I understood Ryan’s question now, but I did not know how to answer it, without taking
sides.
“But how does that….”
“No, Hari tell me. Is that what you expect your best friends to say?” Ryan asked.
“It is not important. And besides, you did not drag us forcibly to see that crap movie,” I
said, reminding myself to never see sci-fi again.
Ryan was satisfied with the answer. He relaxed his raised hand and smiled, “See, there
you go.”
“But Alok is right too. We should have a limit on the fun factor. You can’t screw with the
system too much, it comes back to screw you – the quiz is an example.”
“Thank you sir,” Alok said, “That is exactly what I am saying.”
Cool, I had managed to come out clean in this one. Sometimes, if you just paraphrase
everyone’s arguments, you get to be the good guy.
Page No 20 completed...
answer sheet like he had the coke bottle, an expression of anxiety mixed with sadness. It’s in
these moments that Alok is most vulnerable, you nudge him just a little bit and you know
he’d cry. 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.
But take Ryan’s scores. 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 messworkers
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.
“So, now you don’t have anything to say?”
Ryan and I looked at each other.
“Say what?” I said.
“That how crap this is,” Alok said.
“The food?” I said, fully aware Alok meant otherwise.
“No damn it! Not the damn food,” Alok said, “The ApMech quiz.” His expression
changed from the usual tragic one to a livelier angry one. I found that expression marginally
more pleasant to look at and easier to deal with.
“What about the quiz? We’re screwed. What is to discuss in that?” Ryan simplified.
“Oh really. We are screwed, no damn doubt in that,” Alok said.
I think Alok picks up a word and uses it too much, which ruins the effect. There were too
many ‘damns’ in his dialogue.
“Then drop it. Anyway, you got the highest amongst us. So, be happy.”
“Happy? Yes, I am happy. The average is eleven, and someone got seventeen. And here I
am, at damn seven. Yes, I am happy my damn Terminator ass,” Alok scoffed.
I told you, Alok ruins the effect. I wanted to tell him that he should stop ‘damn’ right now
but something told me he would not appreciate the subtleties of cursing right now.
“What? What did you just say?” Ryan said, keeping his spoon down on the plate, “Did
you say Terminator?”
“Yes. It was a stupid idea. Your stupid damn idea,” Alok said.
Ryan froze. He looked at Alok as if he was speaking in foreign tongue. Then he turned
toward me. “You heard what he said? Hari, you heard? This is unbelievable man.”
I had heard Alok, nothing being the matter with my eardrums but I wasn’t paying attention
to anything apart from keeping count of the ‘damns’.
“Hari, you think I screwed up the quiz?” Ryan asked slowly.
I looked at Alok’s and Ryan’s faces in quick succession. “Ryan, you got three. You still
need me to tell you that you screwed up?” I counter-questioned, mediating on something I
did not understand yet.
“No. 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…?”
“That is not what I said…” Alok interrupted even as Ryan raised his hand to indicate
silence.
I understood Ryan’s question now, but I did not know how to answer it, without taking
sides.
“But how does that….”
“No, Hari tell me. Is that what you expect your best friends to say?” Ryan asked.
“It is not important. And besides, you did not drag us forcibly to see that crap movie,” I
said, reminding myself to never see sci-fi again.
Ryan was satisfied with the answer. He relaxed his raised hand and smiled, “See, there
you go.”
“But Alok is right too. We should have a limit on the fun factor. You can’t screw with the
system too much, it comes back to screw you – the quiz is an example.”
“Thank you sir,” Alok said, “That is exactly what I am saying.”
Cool, I had managed to come out clean in this one. Sometimes, if you just paraphrase
everyone’s arguments, you get to be the good guy.
Page No 20 completed...
Re: Five Point Someone What not to do at IIT Novel Chetan Bh
3
—
Barefoot on Metal
THE QUIZ MISHAP REINVIGORATED OUR COMMITMENT TO studies for a while.
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.
“Okay then,” he sighed one day, stapling his assignment. “I have finished today’s crap.
You guys going to mug more or what?”
“Why are you always calling this crap?” Alok asked, perplexed.
“Take a wild guess,” Ryan said, tossing his assignment on the table like a used tissue.
“But why?” Alok said, “I mean, surely you studied a lot to get into IIT right?”
“Yes, but frankly, this place has let me down. This isn’t exactly the cutting edge of
science and technology as they describe themselves, is it?”
I closed my book to join in the conversation. “Boss, mugging is the price one pays to get
the IIT tag. You mug, you pass and you get job. What let-down are you talking about?”
“That is the problem, there is this stupid system and there are stupid people like you.”
I hate Ryan. When he is on his own trip, we all turn stupid.
“Continuous mugging, testing and assignments. Where is the time to try out new ideas?
Just sit all day and get fat like Hari.”
Ryan doesn’t like mugging, therefore, I am stupid and fat. People like him think they are
god’s gifts to the world. What’s worse, they are.
“I don’t have any new ideas. And I am not that fat, am I?” I said turning to Alok. Looking
at him I instantly felt better.
“Fatso, look into a mirror. You should do something about it.”
“It is genetic, saw a TV documentary once,” I defended weakly.
“Genetic, my ass. I can make you lose ten kilos like that.” He snapped his fingers.
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. “Ryan, forget about me. If you don’t want to mug,
should we go to the canteen for a parantha?”
“Boss, this is the problem – all food and no exercise. I’ve decided, Hari has to go on an
exercise routine,” Ryan said, jumping up. “We start tomorrow morning then.”
Ryan decided for other people. I don’t know if it was his good looks or just his goodnatured
vanity that you didn’t want to prick, but mostly he got away with it.
“Wait Ryan, what the…” I began.
“Actually, Alok you should come, too. Interested?”
“Go to hell,” Alok muttered as he dived back into his books like a squirrel with a nut.
I thought about losing ten kilos. All my life people had called me Fat-Man, to the point
where plumpness was part of my identity now. 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.
“What do I have to do?” I capitulated.
“Early morning jogs around the whole campus, around four kilometers.”
No way, I can’t even walk four kilometers,” I dismissed.
“You wimp, at least try. You’ll feel great afterwards,” Ryan said.
Sure enough, Ryan mercilessly kicked at my door at five a.m. sharp the next morning. I
hate Ryan. Anyway, I opened the door and he stood there waiting for me to change into Tshirt
and shorts.
“Four kilometers?” I was drowsy and pitiful at the same time.
“Try, just try,” Ryan enthused.
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 fourkilometer
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. I passed Prof Dubey’s house. 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.
“I am so-so sorry,” a female voice announced. A young girl, around my age, in a loose Tshirt
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.
“I am so sorry. Are you all right?” she enquired, tucking her hair behind an ear.
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.
“Yeah. I guess,” I said, flexing my palms.
“Can I give you a lift?” she asked nervously, extending a hand to help me up.
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.
“I was actually jogging,” I said, holding her hand and getting up as slowly as I could
—
Barefoot on Metal
THE QUIZ MISHAP REINVIGORATED OUR COMMITMENT TO studies for a while.
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.
“Okay then,” he sighed one day, stapling his assignment. “I have finished today’s crap.
You guys going to mug more or what?”
“Why are you always calling this crap?” Alok asked, perplexed.
“Take a wild guess,” Ryan said, tossing his assignment on the table like a used tissue.
“But why?” Alok said, “I mean, surely you studied a lot to get into IIT right?”
“Yes, but frankly, this place has let me down. This isn’t exactly the cutting edge of
science and technology as they describe themselves, is it?”
I closed my book to join in the conversation. “Boss, mugging is the price one pays to get
the IIT tag. You mug, you pass and you get job. What let-down are you talking about?”
“That is the problem, there is this stupid system and there are stupid people like you.”
I hate Ryan. When he is on his own trip, we all turn stupid.
“Continuous mugging, testing and assignments. Where is the time to try out new ideas?
Just sit all day and get fat like Hari.”
Ryan doesn’t like mugging, therefore, I am stupid and fat. People like him think they are
god’s gifts to the world. What’s worse, they are.
“I don’t have any new ideas. And I am not that fat, am I?” I said turning to Alok. Looking
at him I instantly felt better.
“Fatso, look into a mirror. You should do something about it.”
“It is genetic, saw a TV documentary once,” I defended weakly.
“Genetic, my ass. I can make you lose ten kilos like that.” He snapped his fingers.
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. “Ryan, forget about me. If you don’t want to mug,
should we go to the canteen for a parantha?”
“Boss, this is the problem – all food and no exercise. I’ve decided, Hari has to go on an
exercise routine,” Ryan said, jumping up. “We start tomorrow morning then.”
Ryan decided for other people. I don’t know if it was his good looks or just his goodnatured
vanity that you didn’t want to prick, but mostly he got away with it.
“Wait Ryan, what the…” I began.
“Actually, Alok you should come, too. Interested?”
“Go to hell,” Alok muttered as he dived back into his books like a squirrel with a nut.
I thought about losing ten kilos. All my life people had called me Fat-Man, to the point
where plumpness was part of my identity now. 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.
“What do I have to do?” I capitulated.
“Early morning jogs around the whole campus, around four kilometers.”
No way, I can’t even walk four kilometers,” I dismissed.
“You wimp, at least try. You’ll feel great afterwards,” Ryan said.
Sure enough, Ryan mercilessly kicked at my door at five a.m. sharp the next morning. I
hate Ryan. Anyway, I opened the door and he stood there waiting for me to change into Tshirt
and shorts.
“Four kilometers?” I was drowsy and pitiful at the same time.
“Try, just try,” Ryan enthused.
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 fourkilometer
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. I passed Prof Dubey’s house. 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.
“I am so-so sorry,” a female voice announced. A young girl, around my age, in a loose Tshirt
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.
“I am so sorry. Are you all right?” she enquired, tucking her hair behind an ear.
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.
“Yeah. I guess,” I said, flexing my palms.
“Can I give you a lift?” she asked nervously, extending a hand to help me up.
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.
“I was actually jogging,” I said, holding her hand and getting up as slowly as I could