Tuesday, September 29, 2009
Monday, July 27, 2009
The cut off
Hindustan Times Brunch
July 26, 2009
http://www.hindustantimes.com/thecutoff
Everyone will give you an opinion on how to live your life. No one, no one will give you good advice on how to end it. Worse, they will tell you to continue living, without any respect for individual choice. Yes, hi, I’m Gautam Arora, and after eighteen wonderful years in Delhi, I’ve decided to end my life.
I sat with my best friend Neeraj and his girlfriend Anjali at Costa Coffee, DLF Metropolitan Mall in Saket. The coffee is way overpriced, but considering I had a day to live, I didn’t mind getting ripped off.
“The joke isn’t that funny,” Neeraj said, tearing open the second sachet of brown sugar and mixing it for his girlfriend. If this girl can’t mix sugar in her coffee, I wonder what she will be like after marriage.
“Do I look like I am joking? You are in medical college, and as a friend and someone two years elder to me, I am asking your advice on what is the most painless, graceful way to go. And ideally, it should be available at the friendly neighbourhood chemist,” I said. I ordered a chocolate fudge cake. What are a few extra calories on your last day?
Anjali kept quiet, her iPod plugged in her ears. She had come to the mall to shop with her boyfriend rather than meet me. Neeraj said he only dated Anjali as her father had given her a car and driver, which made it easy to go around. Besides, she looked ok. She was pretty enough to invite a second stare from men, though that’s hardly an achievement in Delhi where men’s standards can be quite modest.
“Dude, you topped your school. How much did you score in your class XII boards again?” Neeraj said.
“Ninety two per cent,” I said.
“Ninety what?” Neeraj said as he ripped out Anjali’s earphones, “Anjali, the dude scored ninety two per cent in commerce! Do you know of anyone who has scored that much?”
Anjali shook her head.
“Wow, you must have studied a lot,” she said.
I nodded. I had done nothing but study in the last two years.
“No time for hobbies?” she said.
I shook my head. My only hobbies were eating three meals and sleeping five hours a day. The rest of the time was with my books.
“With ninety two, you should be fine,” Neeraj said.
“Not according to SRCC, not according to Stephen’s and not according to Hindu, oh what the heck,” I said as I opened my rucksack.
I gave him the special admissions supplement from the newspaper. I had snucked it out early morning so mom and dad wouldn’t see it.
“Wow, check out Lady Sri Ram. B.Com Honours is at 95.5 per cent!” Neeraj said.
“That’s a girl’s college,” Anjali said.
“I know,” I said.
“Don’t worry, he wouldn’t have made it anyway. Anjali, why don’t you go spend some of your father’s money,” Neeraj said and winked at me.
Anjali and I both gave Neeraj a dirty look. Neeraj air-kissed Anjali and gestured to her to leave.
Seriously, don’t kill yourself. To us, you are still the school topper,” Neeraj said after Anjali left.
“So what do I do?” I said, my voice loud, “stay back in school? This topper tag makes things worse. My parents already threw a party for our friends and relatives like I have made it big time in life. I cut a cake with the icing ‘family superstar’.”
“Nice,” Neeraj said.
“Not nice at all. All relatives congratulated my mother. They see me as the next hotshot investment banker on Wall Street. The least they expect me to do is get into a good college in DU.”
“There are still some colleges that you will get,” Neeraj said as I cut him off.
“But none with the same brand value. Thus, you can’t get a decent job after them. You can’t get into the top MBA school.”
Neeraj pushed my coffee cup towards me. I hadn’t touched it. I picked it up and brought it close to my mouth but couldn’t drink it.
“I made one tiny calculation error in my math paper,” I said, “read one stupid unit conversion wrong. That’s it. If only...”
“If only you could chill out. You are going to college, dude! Branded or not, it is always fun.”
“Screw fun,” I said. “What kind of kids are they taking in anyway?” Neeraj said, “you have to be a bean-counter stickler to get ninety seven per cent. Like someone who never takes chances and revises the paper twenty times.”
“I don’t know, I revised it five times. That stupid calculation...”
“Gautam, relax. That paper is done. And sticklers don’t do well in life. Innovative and imaginative people do.”
“That’s not what DU thinks. You don’t understand, my father has proclaimed in his office I will join SRCC. I can’t go to him with a second rung college admission. It’s like his whole life image will alter. Hell, I won’t be able to deal with it myself.”
An SMS from Anjali on Neeraj’s phone interrupted our conversation. At Kimaya, tried fab dress. Come urgently, want your opinion. Neeraj typed the reply back. Honey, it looks great. Buy it.
Neeraj grinned as he showed me his response. “I think you should go,” I said. Rich dads’ daughters can throw pretty nasty tantrums. Neeraj took out the money for coffee. I stopped him. “My treat,” I said. Leave people happy on your last day, I thought. “Of course, I take this as your treat for cracking your boards,” Neeraj said and smiled. He ruffled my hair and left. I came out of the mall and took an auto home.
I met my parents at the dinner table. “So when will the university announce the cut-offs?” my father said.
“In a few days,” I said. I looked up at the dining table fan. No, I couldn’t hang myself. I can’t bear suffocation.
My mother cut mangoes after dinner. The knife made me think of slitting my wrists. Too painful, I thought and dropped the idea.
“So now, my office people are asking me, ‘when is our party?’,” my father said as he took a slice.
“I told you to call them to the party we did for neighbours and relatives,” my mother said.
“How will they fit with your brothers and sisters? My office people are very sophisticated,” my father said.
“My brothers are no less sophisticated. They went to Singapore last year on vacation. At least they are better than your family,” she said.
My father laughed at my mother’s sullen expression. His happiness levels had not receded since the day I received my result.
“My office people want drinks, not food. Don’t worry, I’ll do another one for them when he gets into SRCC or Stephen’s.”
My father worked in the sales division of Tata Tea. We had supplied our entire set of neighbours with free tea for the last five years. As a result, we had more well-wishers than I’d have liked.
“Even my country head called to congratulate me for Gautam. He said – nothing like Stephen’s for your brilliant son,” my father said.
“Gupta aunty came from next door. She wanted to see if you can help her daughter who is in class XI,” my mother said.
Is she pretty, I wanted to ask, but didn’t. It didn’t matter. I came to my room post dinner. I hadn’t quite zeroed down on the exact method, but thought I should start working on the suicide letter anyway. I didn’t want it to be one of the clichéd ones – I love you all and it is no one’s fault, and I’m sorry mom and dad. Yuck, just like first impressions, last impressions are important too. In fact, I didn’t want to do any silly suicide letter. When it is your last, you’d better make it important. I decided to write it to the education minister. I switched on my computer and went to the Education Department website. Half the site links were broken. There was a link called “What after class XII?” I clicked on it, it took me to a blank page with an under construction sign. I sighed as I closed the site. I opened Microsoft Word to type.
Dear Education Minister,
I hope you are doing fine and the large staff of your massive bungalow is treating you well. I won’t take much of your time.
I’ve passed out of class XII and I’ve decided to end my life. I scored ninety-two per cent in my boards, and I have a one foot high trophy from my school for scoring the highest. However, there are so many trophy holding students in this country and so few college seats, that I didn’t get into a college that will train me to the next level or open up good opportunities.
I know I have screwed up. I should have worked harder to get another three per cent. However, I do want to point out a few things to you. When my parents were young, certain colleges were considered prestigious. Now, forty years later, the same colleges are considered prestigious. What’s interesting is that no new colleges have come up with the same brand or reputation level. Neither have the seats expanded in existing colleges fast enough to accommodate the rising number of students.
I’ll give you an example. Just doing some meaningless surfing, I saw that 3.8 lakh candidates took the CBSE class XII exam in 1999, a number that has grown to 8.9 lakh in 2009. This is just one board, and if you take ICSE and all other state boards, the all India total number is over ten times that of CBSE. We probably had one crore students taking the class XII exam this year.
While not everyone can get a good college seat, I just want to talk about the so-called good students. The top 10 per cent alone of these one crore students is ten lakh children. Yes, these ten lakh students are their class toppers. In a class of fifty, they will have the top-5 ranks.
One could argue that these bright kids deserve a good college to realise their full potential. Come to think of it, it would be good for our country too if we train our bright children well to be part of the new, shining, gleaming, glistening or whatever you like to call the globalised India.
But then, it looks like you have stopped making universities. Are there ten lakh top college seats in the country? Are there even one lakh? Ever wondered what happens to the rest of us, year after year? Do we join a second rung college? A deemed university? A distance learning programme? A degree in an expensive, racist country?
Your government runs a lot of things. You run an airline that never makes money. You run hotels. You want to be involved in making basic stuff like steel and aluminum, which can easily be made by more efficient players. However, in something as important as
shaping the young generation, you have stepped back. You have stopped making new universities. Why?
You have all the land you want, teachers love to get a government job, education funds are never questioned. Still, why? Why don’t we have new, A-grade universities in every state capital for instance?
Oh well, sorry. I am over reacting. If only I had not done that calculation error in my math paper, I’d be fine. In fact, I am one of the lucky ones. In four years, the number of candidates will double. So then we will have a college that only has 99 per cent scorers.
My parents were a bit deluded about my abilities, and I do feel bad for them. I didn’t have a girlfriend or too many friends, as people who want to get into a good college are not supposed to have a life. If only I knew that slogging for twelve years would not amount to much, I’d have had more fun.
Apart from that, do well, and say hello to the PM, who as I understand, used to teach in college.
Yours truly,
Gautam
(Poor student)
I took a printout of the letter and kept it in my pocket. I decided to do the act the next morning. I woke up as the maid switched off the fan to sweep the room. She came inside and brought a box of sweets. A fifty-year-old woman, she had served us for over ten years. “What?” I said as she gave me the box. It had kaju-barfi, from one of the more expensive shops in the city. The maid had spent a week’s salary distributing sweets to anyone known to her. “My son passed class XII,” she said as she started her work. “How much did he score?” I said, still rubbing my eyes. “Forty two per cent. He passed English too,” she said as her face beamed with pride. “What will he do now?” I said. “I don’t know. Maybe his own business, he can repair mobile phones,” she said. I went to the bathroom for a shower. I realised the newspaper would have come outside. I ran out of the bathroom. I picked up the newspaper from the entrance floor. I took out the admissions supplement, crumpled it and threw it in the dustbin kept outside the house. I came back inside the house and went back into the shower.
I left the house mid-day. I took the metro to Chandni Chowk and asked my way to the industrial chemicals market. Even though I had left science after class X, I knew that certain chemicals like Copper Sulphate or Ammonium Nitrate could kill you. I bought a pack of both compounds. As I passed through the lanes of Chandni Chowk, I passed a tiny hundred square feet jalebi shop. It did brisk business. I thought my last meal had to be delicious. I went to the counter and took a quarter kilo of jalebis.
I took my plate and sat on one of the two rickety benches placed outside the shop.
A Muslim couple with a four-year-old boy came and sat on the next bench. The mother fed the boy jalebi and kissed him after each bite. It reminded me of my childhood and my parents, when they used to love me unconditionally and marks didn’t exist. I saw the box of Ammonium Nitrate and tears welled up in my eyes. I couldn’t eat the jalebis. I came back home. I wondered if I should use my chemicals before or after dinner. Maybe it is better after everyone has slept, I thought.
We sat at the dinner table. Dad had told mom not to cook as he’d brought Chinese takeaway for us. Mom brought the soya sauce, chilli oil and the vinegar with cut green chillies in little katoris. We ate American chopsuey on stainless steel plates. I looked at my watch, it was 8 pm. Three more hours, I thought as I let out a sigh.
“One thing Kalpana,” my father said to my mother, “job candidates aren’t what they used to be these days. I interviewed for new trainees today, disappointing.”
“Why, what happened?” my mother said.
“Like this boy from Stephen’s, very bright kid. But only when it came to his subjects.”
“Really?” my mother said.
“Yeah, but I asked him a different question. I said how would you go about having a tea-shop chain like the coffee shop chains, and he went blank,” my father said, an inch of noodle hanging outside his mouth. My mother removed it from his face.
“And then some kid from SRCC. He topped his college. But you should have seen his arrogance. Even before the interview starts, he says ‘I hope at the end of our meeting, you will be able to tell me why I should join Tata Tea and not another company’. Can you imagine? I am twice his age.”
I could tell my father was upset from his serious tone.
“If you ask me,” my father continued, “the best candidate was a boy from Bhopal. Sure, he didn’t get into a top college. But he was an eighty per cent student. And he said ‘I want to learn. And I want to show that you don’t need a branded college to do well in life. Good people do well anywhere.’ What a kid. Thank God we shortlisted him in the first place.”
“Did he get the job?” I said.
“Yes, companies need good workers, not posh certificates. And we are having a meeting to discuss our short listing criteria again. The top colleges are so hard to get in, only tunnel vision people are being selected.” “Then why are you asking him to join Stephen’s or SRCC?” my mother said.
My father kept quiet. He spoke after a pause. “Actually, after today, I’d say don’t just go by the name. Study the college, figure out their dedication, and make sure they don’t create arrogant nerds. Then whatever the brand, you will be fine. The world needs good people.”
I looked at my parents as they continued to talk. Excuse me, but I have a plan to execute here. And now you are confusing me, I thought. “So should I study some more colleges and make a decision after that?” I said. “Yes, of course. No need for herd-mentality. Kalpana you should have seen this boy from Bhopal.”
Post-dinner, my parents watched TV in the living room while eating fruits. I retracted to my room. I sat on my desk wondering what to do next. The landline phone rang in my parent’s room. I went inside and picked it up.
“Hello Gautam?” the voice on the other side said.
It was my father’s colleague from work. “Hello, Yash uncle,” I said. “Hi,” he said, “congratulations on your boards.” “Thanks uncle,” I said, “dad is in the living room finishing dinner, should I call him?” “Dinner? Oh, don’t disturb him. Just tell him his mobile is with me. It is safe. We were on a field trip today. He left it in my car.” “Field trip? For interviews?” I said. “What interviews? No, we just went to the Chandigarh office,” he said.
I wished him good night and hung up the phone. I switched on the bedside lamp in my parents’ room. Confused, I sat down on my father’s bed, wondering what to do next. To make space, I moved his pillow. Under the pillow lay a crumpled newspaper. I picked it up. It was the same admissions supplement I had tossed in the bin this morning. My father had circled the cut-offs table.
I left the newspaper there and came to the living room. My father was arguing with my mother over the choice of channels. I looked at my father. He smiled at me and offered me watermelon. I declined.
I came back to my room. I picked up the chemical boxes and took them to the toilet. I opened both boxes and poured the contents in the toilet commode. One press, and everything, everything flushed out.
“Gautam,” my mother knocked on the door, “I forgot to tell you. Gupta aunty came again. Can you teach her daughter?”
“Maybe,” I said as I came out of the toilet, “by the way, is she pretty?”
July 26, 2009
http://www.hindustantimes.com/thecutoff
Everyone will give you an opinion on how to live your life. No one, no one will give you good advice on how to end it. Worse, they will tell you to continue living, without any respect for individual choice. Yes, hi, I’m Gautam Arora, and after eighteen wonderful years in Delhi, I’ve decided to end my life.
I sat with my best friend Neeraj and his girlfriend Anjali at Costa Coffee, DLF Metropolitan Mall in Saket. The coffee is way overpriced, but considering I had a day to live, I didn’t mind getting ripped off.
“The joke isn’t that funny,” Neeraj said, tearing open the second sachet of brown sugar and mixing it for his girlfriend. If this girl can’t mix sugar in her coffee, I wonder what she will be like after marriage.
“Do I look like I am joking? You are in medical college, and as a friend and someone two years elder to me, I am asking your advice on what is the most painless, graceful way to go. And ideally, it should be available at the friendly neighbourhood chemist,” I said. I ordered a chocolate fudge cake. What are a few extra calories on your last day?
Anjali kept quiet, her iPod plugged in her ears. She had come to the mall to shop with her boyfriend rather than meet me. Neeraj said he only dated Anjali as her father had given her a car and driver, which made it easy to go around. Besides, she looked ok. She was pretty enough to invite a second stare from men, though that’s hardly an achievement in Delhi where men’s standards can be quite modest.
“Dude, you topped your school. How much did you score in your class XII boards again?” Neeraj said.
“Ninety two per cent,” I said.
“Ninety what?” Neeraj said as he ripped out Anjali’s earphones, “Anjali, the dude scored ninety two per cent in commerce! Do you know of anyone who has scored that much?”
Anjali shook her head.
“Wow, you must have studied a lot,” she said.
I nodded. I had done nothing but study in the last two years.
“No time for hobbies?” she said.
I shook my head. My only hobbies were eating three meals and sleeping five hours a day. The rest of the time was with my books.
“With ninety two, you should be fine,” Neeraj said.
“Not according to SRCC, not according to Stephen’s and not according to Hindu, oh what the heck,” I said as I opened my rucksack.
I gave him the special admissions supplement from the newspaper. I had snucked it out early morning so mom and dad wouldn’t see it.
“Wow, check out Lady Sri Ram. B.Com Honours is at 95.5 per cent!” Neeraj said.
“That’s a girl’s college,” Anjali said.
“I know,” I said.
“Don’t worry, he wouldn’t have made it anyway. Anjali, why don’t you go spend some of your father’s money,” Neeraj said and winked at me.
Anjali and I both gave Neeraj a dirty look. Neeraj air-kissed Anjali and gestured to her to leave.
Seriously, don’t kill yourself. To us, you are still the school topper,” Neeraj said after Anjali left.
“So what do I do?” I said, my voice loud, “stay back in school? This topper tag makes things worse. My parents already threw a party for our friends and relatives like I have made it big time in life. I cut a cake with the icing ‘family superstar’.”
“Nice,” Neeraj said.
“Not nice at all. All relatives congratulated my mother. They see me as the next hotshot investment banker on Wall Street. The least they expect me to do is get into a good college in DU.”
“There are still some colleges that you will get,” Neeraj said as I cut him off.
“But none with the same brand value. Thus, you can’t get a decent job after them. You can’t get into the top MBA school.”
Neeraj pushed my coffee cup towards me. I hadn’t touched it. I picked it up and brought it close to my mouth but couldn’t drink it.
“I made one tiny calculation error in my math paper,” I said, “read one stupid unit conversion wrong. That’s it. If only...”
“If only you could chill out. You are going to college, dude! Branded or not, it is always fun.”
“Screw fun,” I said. “What kind of kids are they taking in anyway?” Neeraj said, “you have to be a bean-counter stickler to get ninety seven per cent. Like someone who never takes chances and revises the paper twenty times.”
“I don’t know, I revised it five times. That stupid calculation...”
“Gautam, relax. That paper is done. And sticklers don’t do well in life. Innovative and imaginative people do.”
“That’s not what DU thinks. You don’t understand, my father has proclaimed in his office I will join SRCC. I can’t go to him with a second rung college admission. It’s like his whole life image will alter. Hell, I won’t be able to deal with it myself.”
An SMS from Anjali on Neeraj’s phone interrupted our conversation. At Kimaya, tried fab dress. Come urgently, want your opinion. Neeraj typed the reply back. Honey, it looks great. Buy it.
Neeraj grinned as he showed me his response. “I think you should go,” I said. Rich dads’ daughters can throw pretty nasty tantrums. Neeraj took out the money for coffee. I stopped him. “My treat,” I said. Leave people happy on your last day, I thought. “Of course, I take this as your treat for cracking your boards,” Neeraj said and smiled. He ruffled my hair and left. I came out of the mall and took an auto home.
I met my parents at the dinner table. “So when will the university announce the cut-offs?” my father said.
“In a few days,” I said. I looked up at the dining table fan. No, I couldn’t hang myself. I can’t bear suffocation.
My mother cut mangoes after dinner. The knife made me think of slitting my wrists. Too painful, I thought and dropped the idea.
“So now, my office people are asking me, ‘when is our party?’,” my father said as he took a slice.
“I told you to call them to the party we did for neighbours and relatives,” my mother said.
“How will they fit with your brothers and sisters? My office people are very sophisticated,” my father said.
“My brothers are no less sophisticated. They went to Singapore last year on vacation. At least they are better than your family,” she said.
My father laughed at my mother’s sullen expression. His happiness levels had not receded since the day I received my result.
“My office people want drinks, not food. Don’t worry, I’ll do another one for them when he gets into SRCC or Stephen’s.”
My father worked in the sales division of Tata Tea. We had supplied our entire set of neighbours with free tea for the last five years. As a result, we had more well-wishers than I’d have liked.
“Even my country head called to congratulate me for Gautam. He said – nothing like Stephen’s for your brilliant son,” my father said.
“Gupta aunty came from next door. She wanted to see if you can help her daughter who is in class XI,” my mother said.
Is she pretty, I wanted to ask, but didn’t. It didn’t matter. I came to my room post dinner. I hadn’t quite zeroed down on the exact method, but thought I should start working on the suicide letter anyway. I didn’t want it to be one of the clichéd ones – I love you all and it is no one’s fault, and I’m sorry mom and dad. Yuck, just like first impressions, last impressions are important too. In fact, I didn’t want to do any silly suicide letter. When it is your last, you’d better make it important. I decided to write it to the education minister. I switched on my computer and went to the Education Department website. Half the site links were broken. There was a link called “What after class XII?” I clicked on it, it took me to a blank page with an under construction sign. I sighed as I closed the site. I opened Microsoft Word to type.
Dear Education Minister,
I hope you are doing fine and the large staff of your massive bungalow is treating you well. I won’t take much of your time.
I’ve passed out of class XII and I’ve decided to end my life. I scored ninety-two per cent in my boards, and I have a one foot high trophy from my school for scoring the highest. However, there are so many trophy holding students in this country and so few college seats, that I didn’t get into a college that will train me to the next level or open up good opportunities.
I know I have screwed up. I should have worked harder to get another three per cent. However, I do want to point out a few things to you. When my parents were young, certain colleges were considered prestigious. Now, forty years later, the same colleges are considered prestigious. What’s interesting is that no new colleges have come up with the same brand or reputation level. Neither have the seats expanded in existing colleges fast enough to accommodate the rising number of students.
I’ll give you an example. Just doing some meaningless surfing, I saw that 3.8 lakh candidates took the CBSE class XII exam in 1999, a number that has grown to 8.9 lakh in 2009. This is just one board, and if you take ICSE and all other state boards, the all India total number is over ten times that of CBSE. We probably had one crore students taking the class XII exam this year.
While not everyone can get a good college seat, I just want to talk about the so-called good students. The top 10 per cent alone of these one crore students is ten lakh children. Yes, these ten lakh students are their class toppers. In a class of fifty, they will have the top-5 ranks.
One could argue that these bright kids deserve a good college to realise their full potential. Come to think of it, it would be good for our country too if we train our bright children well to be part of the new, shining, gleaming, glistening or whatever you like to call the globalised India.
But then, it looks like you have stopped making universities. Are there ten lakh top college seats in the country? Are there even one lakh? Ever wondered what happens to the rest of us, year after year? Do we join a second rung college? A deemed university? A distance learning programme? A degree in an expensive, racist country?
Your government runs a lot of things. You run an airline that never makes money. You run hotels. You want to be involved in making basic stuff like steel and aluminum, which can easily be made by more efficient players. However, in something as important as
shaping the young generation, you have stepped back. You have stopped making new universities. Why?
You have all the land you want, teachers love to get a government job, education funds are never questioned. Still, why? Why don’t we have new, A-grade universities in every state capital for instance?
Oh well, sorry. I am over reacting. If only I had not done that calculation error in my math paper, I’d be fine. In fact, I am one of the lucky ones. In four years, the number of candidates will double. So then we will have a college that only has 99 per cent scorers.
My parents were a bit deluded about my abilities, and I do feel bad for them. I didn’t have a girlfriend or too many friends, as people who want to get into a good college are not supposed to have a life. If only I knew that slogging for twelve years would not amount to much, I’d have had more fun.
Apart from that, do well, and say hello to the PM, who as I understand, used to teach in college.
Yours truly,
Gautam
(Poor student)
I took a printout of the letter and kept it in my pocket. I decided to do the act the next morning. I woke up as the maid switched off the fan to sweep the room. She came inside and brought a box of sweets. A fifty-year-old woman, she had served us for over ten years. “What?” I said as she gave me the box. It had kaju-barfi, from one of the more expensive shops in the city. The maid had spent a week’s salary distributing sweets to anyone known to her. “My son passed class XII,” she said as she started her work. “How much did he score?” I said, still rubbing my eyes. “Forty two per cent. He passed English too,” she said as her face beamed with pride. “What will he do now?” I said. “I don’t know. Maybe his own business, he can repair mobile phones,” she said. I went to the bathroom for a shower. I realised the newspaper would have come outside. I ran out of the bathroom. I picked up the newspaper from the entrance floor. I took out the admissions supplement, crumpled it and threw it in the dustbin kept outside the house. I came back inside the house and went back into the shower.
I left the house mid-day. I took the metro to Chandni Chowk and asked my way to the industrial chemicals market. Even though I had left science after class X, I knew that certain chemicals like Copper Sulphate or Ammonium Nitrate could kill you. I bought a pack of both compounds. As I passed through the lanes of Chandni Chowk, I passed a tiny hundred square feet jalebi shop. It did brisk business. I thought my last meal had to be delicious. I went to the counter and took a quarter kilo of jalebis.
I took my plate and sat on one of the two rickety benches placed outside the shop.
A Muslim couple with a four-year-old boy came and sat on the next bench. The mother fed the boy jalebi and kissed him after each bite. It reminded me of my childhood and my parents, when they used to love me unconditionally and marks didn’t exist. I saw the box of Ammonium Nitrate and tears welled up in my eyes. I couldn’t eat the jalebis. I came back home. I wondered if I should use my chemicals before or after dinner. Maybe it is better after everyone has slept, I thought.
We sat at the dinner table. Dad had told mom not to cook as he’d brought Chinese takeaway for us. Mom brought the soya sauce, chilli oil and the vinegar with cut green chillies in little katoris. We ate American chopsuey on stainless steel plates. I looked at my watch, it was 8 pm. Three more hours, I thought as I let out a sigh.
“One thing Kalpana,” my father said to my mother, “job candidates aren’t what they used to be these days. I interviewed for new trainees today, disappointing.”
“Why, what happened?” my mother said.
“Like this boy from Stephen’s, very bright kid. But only when it came to his subjects.”
“Really?” my mother said.
“Yeah, but I asked him a different question. I said how would you go about having a tea-shop chain like the coffee shop chains, and he went blank,” my father said, an inch of noodle hanging outside his mouth. My mother removed it from his face.
“And then some kid from SRCC. He topped his college. But you should have seen his arrogance. Even before the interview starts, he says ‘I hope at the end of our meeting, you will be able to tell me why I should join Tata Tea and not another company’. Can you imagine? I am twice his age.”
I could tell my father was upset from his serious tone.
“If you ask me,” my father continued, “the best candidate was a boy from Bhopal. Sure, he didn’t get into a top college. But he was an eighty per cent student. And he said ‘I want to learn. And I want to show that you don’t need a branded college to do well in life. Good people do well anywhere.’ What a kid. Thank God we shortlisted him in the first place.”
“Did he get the job?” I said.
“Yes, companies need good workers, not posh certificates. And we are having a meeting to discuss our short listing criteria again. The top colleges are so hard to get in, only tunnel vision people are being selected.” “Then why are you asking him to join Stephen’s or SRCC?” my mother said.
My father kept quiet. He spoke after a pause. “Actually, after today, I’d say don’t just go by the name. Study the college, figure out their dedication, and make sure they don’t create arrogant nerds. Then whatever the brand, you will be fine. The world needs good people.”
I looked at my parents as they continued to talk. Excuse me, but I have a plan to execute here. And now you are confusing me, I thought. “So should I study some more colleges and make a decision after that?” I said. “Yes, of course. No need for herd-mentality. Kalpana you should have seen this boy from Bhopal.”
Post-dinner, my parents watched TV in the living room while eating fruits. I retracted to my room. I sat on my desk wondering what to do next. The landline phone rang in my parent’s room. I went inside and picked it up.
“Hello Gautam?” the voice on the other side said.
It was my father’s colleague from work. “Hello, Yash uncle,” I said. “Hi,” he said, “congratulations on your boards.” “Thanks uncle,” I said, “dad is in the living room finishing dinner, should I call him?” “Dinner? Oh, don’t disturb him. Just tell him his mobile is with me. It is safe. We were on a field trip today. He left it in my car.” “Field trip? For interviews?” I said. “What interviews? No, we just went to the Chandigarh office,” he said.
I wished him good night and hung up the phone. I switched on the bedside lamp in my parents’ room. Confused, I sat down on my father’s bed, wondering what to do next. To make space, I moved his pillow. Under the pillow lay a crumpled newspaper. I picked it up. It was the same admissions supplement I had tossed in the bin this morning. My father had circled the cut-offs table.
I left the newspaper there and came to the living room. My father was arguing with my mother over the choice of channels. I looked at my father. He smiled at me and offered me watermelon. I declined.
I came back to my room. I picked up the chemical boxes and took them to the toilet. I opened both boxes and poured the contents in the toilet commode. One press, and everything, everything flushed out.
“Gautam,” my mother knocked on the door, “I forgot to tell you. Gupta aunty came again. Can you teach her daughter?”
“Maybe,” I said as I came out of the toilet, “by the way, is she pretty?”
Tuesday, July 21, 2009
Tropical treats
Keep going strong with Navneet Mange’s fruity cocktails to help you keep the heat at bayCOCKTAIL CORNER
Navneet Mange whisks cocktails at a restaurant that has been dubbed one of the most romantic in the world. For that’s how The Dome, the rooftop restaurant at InterContinental Marine Drive, has been tagged ever since it was listed among the world’s top 20 sky bars by The Telegraph, UK and Times Online, UK. He also mans the hotel’s equally exclusive watering hole — the Czar Bar.
Head bartender and mixologist, Mange believes that he’s learning on the job all the time by regularly exchanging notes with his guests. “They share a whole lot of information about places they have travelled to and the drinks they have knocked back,” he says.
Now that summer’s here with a vengeance, he says that it’s time for cocktails high on tropical fruit and juices. We recommend his Mango Batida that’s made with Cachaça, a Brazilian spirit and fresh mango.
On his list of favourites, however, are tipples with bases of vodka and champagne. He says: “They allow one to play with the taste and flavour, while retaining the strength of the drink.”
Long Island Iced Tea
Glass: tall Glass
Ingredients 15ml rum 15ml vodka 15ml tequila 15ml Grand Marnier 15ml gin Lime juice (a dash) Coke (to top up) 2 half slices Mandarin orange 2 Maraschino cherries
Method Shake the five spirits — rum, vodka, tequila, Grand Marnier and gin — with lime juice in a cocktail shaker. Pour into a large 550ml, 12-inch tall glass with lots of ice and top up with Coke. Garnish with slices of Mandarin Orange and Maraschino cherries.
Marine Drive Malibu Breeze
Glass: Margarita
Ingredients 60ml coconut rum (Malibu) 60ml pineapple juice 60ml cranberry juice Lime juice (a dash) 1 cherry 1 slice pineapple
Method Shake the rum and the juices with a dash of lime juice in a cocktail shaker. Strain and pour into a margarita glass. Garnish with a slice of pineapple and a cherry.
Chocotini
Glass: martini
Ingredients 45ml vodka 15ml Baileys Irish Cream 15ml Crème de cacao
Method Shake the ingredients well in a cocktail shaker over ice. Then strain and pour into a white and dark chocolate rimmed martini glass.
Navneet Mange whisks cocktails at a restaurant that has been dubbed one of the most romantic in the world. For that’s how The Dome, the rooftop restaurant at InterContinental Marine Drive, has been tagged ever since it was listed among the world’s top 20 sky bars by The Telegraph, UK and Times Online, UK. He also mans the hotel’s equally exclusive watering hole — the Czar Bar.
Head bartender and mixologist, Mange believes that he’s learning on the job all the time by regularly exchanging notes with his guests. “They share a whole lot of information about places they have travelled to and the drinks they have knocked back,” he says.
Now that summer’s here with a vengeance, he says that it’s time for cocktails high on tropical fruit and juices. We recommend his Mango Batida that’s made with Cachaça, a Brazilian spirit and fresh mango.
On his list of favourites, however, are tipples with bases of vodka and champagne. He says: “They allow one to play with the taste and flavour, while retaining the strength of the drink.”
Long Island Iced Tea
Glass: tall Glass
Ingredients 15ml rum 15ml vodka 15ml tequila 15ml Grand Marnier 15ml gin Lime juice (a dash) Coke (to top up) 2 half slices Mandarin orange 2 Maraschino cherries
Method Shake the five spirits — rum, vodka, tequila, Grand Marnier and gin — with lime juice in a cocktail shaker. Pour into a large 550ml, 12-inch tall glass with lots of ice and top up with Coke. Garnish with slices of Mandarin Orange and Maraschino cherries.
Marine Drive Malibu Breeze
Glass: Margarita
Ingredients 60ml coconut rum (Malibu) 60ml pineapple juice 60ml cranberry juice Lime juice (a dash) 1 cherry 1 slice pineapple
Method Shake the rum and the juices with a dash of lime juice in a cocktail shaker. Strain and pour into a margarita glass. Garnish with a slice of pineapple and a cherry.
Chocotini
Glass: martini
Ingredients 45ml vodka 15ml Baileys Irish Cream 15ml Crème de cacao
Method Shake the ingredients well in a cocktail shaker over ice. Then strain and pour into a white and dark chocolate rimmed martini glass.
Top Indian novelist tells youngsters it's OK to fail
4 days ago
JAIPUR, India (AFP) — By day he's an investment banker, by night he's India's biggest-selling English-language novelist -- even though most people outside the country have never heard of him.
Chetan Bhagat's witty "Five Point Someone" about three academically flailing students; "One Night @ the Call Centre," about the love lives of youngsters in the call centre industry; and "The 3 Mistakes of My Life," a story about suicide, business and friendship, have sold more than two million copies in India.
Bhagat, 35, is the first to admit he's no Arundhati Roy, the Indian Booker Prize-winning author, and says he knows critics feel his books are shallow.
But Bhagat, who enjoys a rock star-like popularity among his readers, aged mainly 13 to 30, said he has the ultimate riposte -- "my books sell".
Bhaghat says he writes for "ordinary young people" who feel suffocated by their parents' desire for them to become doctors, lawyers or engineers.
"Indian youngsters live under pressure-cooker conditions to succeed," Bhagat, clad in jeans and a T-shirt and looking as young as many of the characters in his novels, told AFP in an interview.
There's cut-throat competition to win places in India's elite universities with youngsters compelled to score highly from primary to high school. Entrance to top universities often require 90 percent-plus averages and most children have after-school tutoring to attain such marks.
"Every cousin of mine is becoming a doctor or engineer," remarks the hero of his novel "One Night @ The Call Centre," who answers phone calls from clueless Americans about their cooking appliances.
"You can say I am the black sheep of my family," he said.
Bhagat believes India needs to have an academic and social revolution to prevent young people simply regurgitating what they learn without thinking.
"I tell them even if they don't get stratospheric marks, they're still entitled to a happy life -- and it's not the end of the world if they fail," he said at the recent Jaipur Literature Festival in northern India.
"I talk about youngsters' worries, their anxieties -- all the things that preoccupy them," he said.
Those subjects include parental academic pressure along with pre-marital sex, drinking and other topics taboo in socially conservative India.
At any public appearance, he's mobbed by young people seeking his autograph.
"He's talking to my generation, we connect to him," said college student Poorvi Mathur, 18, who lined up for his signature at the festival.
Bhagat, who attended one of India's elite management schools, began writing in his spare time while an investment banker for Goldman Sachs in Hong Kong.
He is now employed in Mumbai by Deutsche Bank where he deals in "distressed assets" -- a growth area with the global economic downturn -- and said he tries to keep the two parts of his life separate.
"It's a different me," he said, referring to his button-down banker role.
At night and on weekends, he honed his first manuscript about the academically stress-filled life on campus to get the breezy, fast-paced tone right. The tale, published when he was 29, was an instant hit.
"The secret to his success is he writes in ordinary English -- and it's reassuring for young people to know someone knows what they're going through," said Rashmi Menon, senior editor at Bhagat's publisher Rupa.
"If you want to know what many young people in India are thinking about, read Chetan Bhagat," she said.
Part of his success may lie in the cost. His books retail for 95 rupees or two dollars, a pocket-friendly price that he calls a marketing "master-stroke" because it was cheap enough to allow youngsters to buy them.
With his third book published last October, Bhagat says he could now afford to live on his writing but likes his day job and has no plans to quit.
The book has been selling at the unheard of rate of one copy every 17 seconds in India, according to his publishers.
"Chetan's sales are enormous -- God has been good to both of us," said Rupa publisher and owner R.K. Mehra, who added that an English-language book that sold 10,000 copies would be considered a success in India.
Initially Bhagat feared he might be a one- or two-book wonder and fretted about how he would support his family: He has a wife and twin boys.
The financial payback is the bonus to the personal feedback he gets from his many fans who email him regularly with ideas and tales about their own lives.
"Only I know how much of a feeling of reward I get from my readers," he said.
JAIPUR, India (AFP) — By day he's an investment banker, by night he's India's biggest-selling English-language novelist -- even though most people outside the country have never heard of him.
Chetan Bhagat's witty "Five Point Someone" about three academically flailing students; "One Night @ the Call Centre," about the love lives of youngsters in the call centre industry; and "The 3 Mistakes of My Life," a story about suicide, business and friendship, have sold more than two million copies in India.
Bhagat, 35, is the first to admit he's no Arundhati Roy, the Indian Booker Prize-winning author, and says he knows critics feel his books are shallow.
But Bhagat, who enjoys a rock star-like popularity among his readers, aged mainly 13 to 30, said he has the ultimate riposte -- "my books sell".
Bhaghat says he writes for "ordinary young people" who feel suffocated by their parents' desire for them to become doctors, lawyers or engineers.
"Indian youngsters live under pressure-cooker conditions to succeed," Bhagat, clad in jeans and a T-shirt and looking as young as many of the characters in his novels, told AFP in an interview.
There's cut-throat competition to win places in India's elite universities with youngsters compelled to score highly from primary to high school. Entrance to top universities often require 90 percent-plus averages and most children have after-school tutoring to attain such marks.
"Every cousin of mine is becoming a doctor or engineer," remarks the hero of his novel "One Night @ The Call Centre," who answers phone calls from clueless Americans about their cooking appliances.
"You can say I am the black sheep of my family," he said.
Bhagat believes India needs to have an academic and social revolution to prevent young people simply regurgitating what they learn without thinking.
"I tell them even if they don't get stratospheric marks, they're still entitled to a happy life -- and it's not the end of the world if they fail," he said at the recent Jaipur Literature Festival in northern India.
"I talk about youngsters' worries, their anxieties -- all the things that preoccupy them," he said.
Those subjects include parental academic pressure along with pre-marital sex, drinking and other topics taboo in socially conservative India.
At any public appearance, he's mobbed by young people seeking his autograph.
"He's talking to my generation, we connect to him," said college student Poorvi Mathur, 18, who lined up for his signature at the festival.
Bhagat, who attended one of India's elite management schools, began writing in his spare time while an investment banker for Goldman Sachs in Hong Kong.
He is now employed in Mumbai by Deutsche Bank where he deals in "distressed assets" -- a growth area with the global economic downturn -- and said he tries to keep the two parts of his life separate.
"It's a different me," he said, referring to his button-down banker role.
At night and on weekends, he honed his first manuscript about the academically stress-filled life on campus to get the breezy, fast-paced tone right. The tale, published when he was 29, was an instant hit.
"The secret to his success is he writes in ordinary English -- and it's reassuring for young people to know someone knows what they're going through," said Rashmi Menon, senior editor at Bhagat's publisher Rupa.
"If you want to know what many young people in India are thinking about, read Chetan Bhagat," she said.
Part of his success may lie in the cost. His books retail for 95 rupees or two dollars, a pocket-friendly price that he calls a marketing "master-stroke" because it was cheap enough to allow youngsters to buy them.
With his third book published last October, Bhagat says he could now afford to live on his writing but likes his day job and has no plans to quit.
The book has been selling at the unheard of rate of one copy every 17 seconds in India, according to his publishers.
"Chetan's sales are enormous -- God has been good to both of us," said Rupa publisher and owner R.K. Mehra, who added that an English-language book that sold 10,000 copies would be considered a success in India.
Initially Bhagat feared he might be a one- or two-book wonder and fretted about how he would support his family: He has a wife and twin boys.
The financial payback is the bonus to the personal feedback he gets from his many fans who email him regularly with ideas and tales about their own lives.
"Only I know how much of a feeling of reward I get from my readers," he said.
Toffee toast
Talk about doing it the old school way. In an age when dark chocolate and truffle cake are standard accompaniments when it comes to breaking the good news, publisher Rupa & Co. still prefers to stick to traditions we left behind a good couple of decades ago. Last week, when the sales figure of their latest Chetan Bhagat book The 3 Mistakes of My Life hit the five-lakh mark, the publisher steered past new-age formalities to send out tiffin boxes full of Mango Bites, and Melodies — do those names ring a bell? — in classic schoolboy fashion to its list of well-wishers. Needless to say, the gesture evoked fond memories and was greatly appreciated. Nothing like saying it with toffees.
So many stories
So many stories - Chetan Bhagat, banker and best-selling author, came to town.
POULOMI BANERJEE
On Sunday evening, the entrance to Big Bazaar at Hiland Park was teaming with people. On the floors above, every inch of railing space was taken by people, some of whom had been waiting for over an hour. No, they weren’t waiting for Shah Rukh Khan or Sourav Ganguly. The wait was for an investment banker, whose storytelling has struck a chord with the youth.
Chetan Bhagat had come calling on Calcutta to launch his third book, The Three Mistakes of My Life. The author of best-selling novels Five Point Someoneand One Night At The Call Centre was touched by the response. “My readers are the ones who love me. And it is their love that has made me what I am. I have a long way to go as a writer, but as they say, when you love someone you don’t see the scars,” laughed Bhagat, as he interacted with the audience, took questions, read an excerpt from his new release and signed copies for his audience. The venue, Depot at Big Bazaar, is a place not many writers would like to see their work released, but for the country’s top-selling writer, it seemed just right.
There was also a treat in store for the “city of his in-laws”, a preview of the film Hello, based on One Night At The Call Centre starring Salman Khan and Katrina Kaif…
t2 in conversation with the author…
The Three Mistakes of My Life starts with an email, a suicide note from an unknown reader. Did you really receive such an email?
No, not this one. But I do receive many emails from my readers and sometimes they do share their problems with me. Often I get freaked. I don’t know what to do or say. At times I try to give general replies.
From where do you draw your subjects?
Initially, they were my stories. Now they are stories of my readers and people around me. Five Point Someone is my story. Hari is Chetan Bhagat. The idea of One Night At The Call Centre was born as I heard stories of BPO workers, from my cousins and sister-in-law. Many of my cousins work at call centres.
Plus, as I said, many people write to me. That also helps me to write.
The language you use is the anguage the youth speaks today. Was that a conscious decision?
I don’t know whether it is conscious, but then everyone has a style and that is my style. I do believe that books should be written in the language of the people.
I can write something that the English teachers appreciate very much, but if it fails to connect with the masses, the purpose is defeated.
I want literature to be taken out of the hands of a few people in the metros and reach everyone. I don’t mind critics. Of course one has to improve.
But why change what is my strength? The sale of my books has shown that my readers appreciate this style. I am making many people happy.
Your books have had Bollywood-style endings, with a big climax and everything falling in place...
I agree. I grew up on Hindi films. I love my big, grand ends, with some things working out and falling in place. I have
done it in The Three Mistakes of My Life too.
Your stories are all very ‘now’ — be it in the choice of subject or language. Do you think they will continue to appeal some years from now?
I frankly don’t know. But I think I have to connect with the times.
Five Point Someone is based in the 1990s. There are no cellphones in that book. But it is still selling. I hope the others too will continue to appeal.
Maybe time would have changed, but people would still like it for nostalgic reasons, like a Dil Chahta Hai.
And you don’t want to address a wider readership with more global subjects?
No. There are so many stories to tell here. In India stories have not been told for so many years. I have to make up for lost time.
Would you say you have given voice to contemporary India?
I think, like films that are made for the film festival audience, books were being written for a niche market. I have taken it out and delivered a potboiler.
Your style and subjects were very fresh when you started. Do you think it might be losing some of its novelty?
I am always ready to try something new. Maybe in the next book…. But I haven’t thought of it yet and, as of now, have no themes or ideas in mind.
All your books are very male-centric. Why?
Yes, I have been told that and I must do something about it. Fifty per cent of my readership consists of women. I now want to write a book with a woman protagonist.
Would you say that you have been the male alternative to chick lit?
My books are not chick lit or its male alternative. Yes, it is not awesome writing, there is scope for improvement. But it does address social issues. You have to give it that.
Finally, how involved have you been with Hello? Did you worry about how the director would interpret your book?
Well, I am the scriptwriter of the film, so I knew exactly what was happening. But I don’t mind the director adding his touch. I’m not possessive about my book.
***
Bestseller (Fiction)
1. The Three Mistakes Of My Life — Chetan Bhagat, Rupa & Co, Rs 95
2. Unaccustomed Earth — Jhumpa Lahiri, Random House India, Rs 495
3. A Prisoner of Birth — Jeffrey Archer Pan Books, Rs 260
4. The Enchantress of Florence — Salman Rushdie, Jonathan Cape, Rs 595
5. The Palace of Illusions — Chitra Banerjee Divakaruni, Picador India, Rs 495
Bestseller (Non- Fiction)
1. Cold Steel — Tim Bouquet, Little Brown, Rs 650
2. The Last Lecture — Randy Pausch, Hodder and Stoughton, Rs 295
3. The Age Of Innovation — C. K. Prahalad, Tata McGraw Hill, Rs. 695
4. Foreign Correspondent: Fifty Years of Reporting South Asia — Edited by John Elliott, Bernard Imhasly and Simon Denyer, Penguin, Rs 695
5. Superstar India: From Incredible to Unstoppable — Shobhaa De, (picture above) Penguin India, Rs 395 Courtesy: Crossword
POULOMI BANERJEE
On Sunday evening, the entrance to Big Bazaar at Hiland Park was teaming with people. On the floors above, every inch of railing space was taken by people, some of whom had been waiting for over an hour. No, they weren’t waiting for Shah Rukh Khan or Sourav Ganguly. The wait was for an investment banker, whose storytelling has struck a chord with the youth.
Chetan Bhagat had come calling on Calcutta to launch his third book, The Three Mistakes of My Life. The author of best-selling novels Five Point Someoneand One Night At The Call Centre was touched by the response. “My readers are the ones who love me. And it is their love that has made me what I am. I have a long way to go as a writer, but as they say, when you love someone you don’t see the scars,” laughed Bhagat, as he interacted with the audience, took questions, read an excerpt from his new release and signed copies for his audience. The venue, Depot at Big Bazaar, is a place not many writers would like to see their work released, but for the country’s top-selling writer, it seemed just right.
There was also a treat in store for the “city of his in-laws”, a preview of the film Hello, based on One Night At The Call Centre starring Salman Khan and Katrina Kaif…
t2 in conversation with the author…
The Three Mistakes of My Life starts with an email, a suicide note from an unknown reader. Did you really receive such an email?
No, not this one. But I do receive many emails from my readers and sometimes they do share their problems with me. Often I get freaked. I don’t know what to do or say. At times I try to give general replies.
From where do you draw your subjects?
Initially, they were my stories. Now they are stories of my readers and people around me. Five Point Someone is my story. Hari is Chetan Bhagat. The idea of One Night At The Call Centre was born as I heard stories of BPO workers, from my cousins and sister-in-law. Many of my cousins work at call centres.
Plus, as I said, many people write to me. That also helps me to write.
The language you use is the anguage the youth speaks today. Was that a conscious decision?
I don’t know whether it is conscious, but then everyone has a style and that is my style. I do believe that books should be written in the language of the people.
I can write something that the English teachers appreciate very much, but if it fails to connect with the masses, the purpose is defeated.
I want literature to be taken out of the hands of a few people in the metros and reach everyone. I don’t mind critics. Of course one has to improve.
But why change what is my strength? The sale of my books has shown that my readers appreciate this style. I am making many people happy.
Your books have had Bollywood-style endings, with a big climax and everything falling in place...
I agree. I grew up on Hindi films. I love my big, grand ends, with some things working out and falling in place. I have
done it in The Three Mistakes of My Life too.
Your stories are all very ‘now’ — be it in the choice of subject or language. Do you think they will continue to appeal some years from now?
I frankly don’t know. But I think I have to connect with the times.
Five Point Someone is based in the 1990s. There are no cellphones in that book. But it is still selling. I hope the others too will continue to appeal.
Maybe time would have changed, but people would still like it for nostalgic reasons, like a Dil Chahta Hai.
And you don’t want to address a wider readership with more global subjects?
No. There are so many stories to tell here. In India stories have not been told for so many years. I have to make up for lost time.
Would you say you have given voice to contemporary India?
I think, like films that are made for the film festival audience, books were being written for a niche market. I have taken it out and delivered a potboiler.
Your style and subjects were very fresh when you started. Do you think it might be losing some of its novelty?
I am always ready to try something new. Maybe in the next book…. But I haven’t thought of it yet and, as of now, have no themes or ideas in mind.
All your books are very male-centric. Why?
Yes, I have been told that and I must do something about it. Fifty per cent of my readership consists of women. I now want to write a book with a woman protagonist.
Would you say that you have been the male alternative to chick lit?
My books are not chick lit or its male alternative. Yes, it is not awesome writing, there is scope for improvement. But it does address social issues. You have to give it that.
Finally, how involved have you been with Hello? Did you worry about how the director would interpret your book?
Well, I am the scriptwriter of the film, so I knew exactly what was happening. But I don’t mind the director adding his touch. I’m not possessive about my book.
***
Bestseller (Fiction)
1. The Three Mistakes Of My Life — Chetan Bhagat, Rupa & Co, Rs 95
2. Unaccustomed Earth — Jhumpa Lahiri, Random House India, Rs 495
3. A Prisoner of Birth — Jeffrey Archer Pan Books, Rs 260
4. The Enchantress of Florence — Salman Rushdie, Jonathan Cape, Rs 595
5. The Palace of Illusions — Chitra Banerjee Divakaruni, Picador India, Rs 495
Bestseller (Non- Fiction)
1. Cold Steel — Tim Bouquet, Little Brown, Rs 650
2. The Last Lecture — Randy Pausch, Hodder and Stoughton, Rs 295
3. The Age Of Innovation — C. K. Prahalad, Tata McGraw Hill, Rs. 695
4. Foreign Correspondent: Fifty Years of Reporting South Asia — Edited by John Elliott, Bernard Imhasly and Simon Denyer, Penguin, Rs 695
5. Superstar India: From Incredible to Unstoppable — Shobhaa De, (picture above) Penguin India, Rs 395 Courtesy: Crossword
Priceless @ 95
Chetan Bhagat has become the biggest-selling English author in India, outselling Shobhaa Dé and Vikram Seth to register sales of over a million copies of his first two books combined. Anirban Das Mahapatra meets Bhagat — and discovers that being billed a celebrity makes him blush
At Rs 95, a business plan can hardly ever go wrong. But that isn‟t merely what Chetan Bhagat is harping on — as an Indian Institute of Management alumnus he‟d know that price alone cannot sell a product. “I don‟t want to be India‟s most admired writer,” he writes in the “acknowledgement” section of his new book. “I just want to be India‟s most loved writer. Admiration passes. Love endures.”
Bhagat knows best. Love has endured to the extent of making him the biggest-selling English author in India. And that‟s not even counting his third book, The 3 Mistakes of My Life, which hit the bookshelves over the weekend.
In four years, Bhagat has outsold Shobhaa Dé and Vikram Seth to register sales of over a million copies of his first two books combined. The first, Five Point Someone, has sold over 700,000 copies. One Night @ the Call Centre, his second literary venture, sold at the rate of one copy every three seconds in the first week after its launch. His annual royalty, according to a publishing insider, exceeds Rs 1 crore.
The 34-year-old investment banker has touched gold — and he thinks it‟s all because of love. “You see, admiration demands perfection. Love accepts you with all your flaws,” he says. “It‟s amazing how my readers have taken me as I am.”
Penguin, Dé‟s publisher, does not divulge sale figures, but the story at the micro level is stark. Her latest book, Superstar India, was released across India two weeks ago. Until Friday, Om Book Shop — one of South Delhi‟s biggest retailers — reported a sale of 250 copies. That very evening, Bhagat‟s novel was released, and sold 300 copies. “Till date, we‟ve sold 20,000 copies of his books, compared to 4,000 by Vikram Seth, and about 2,000 copies of Arundhati Roy‟s The God of Small Things,” says proprietor Amit Vig.
TOP SELLER Total copies of Bhagat‟s books sold till date in India: Over 10 lakh Five point Someone: Over seven lakh copies in the domestic market and counting One Night @ the Call Centre: Sold at the rate of one every three seconds at its peak hour. Now around the 5 lakh mark The 3 Mistakes of My Life: First print order of 2 lakh copies Courtesy: Rupa & Co -------------------------------------
Even as he speaks, Bhagat‟s publisher Kapish Mehra furiously tries to meet the escalating demand pouring into his Daryaganj office from distributors across India. Confident that Bhagat‟s new book will do well, the Rupa boss had placed an ambitious print order of 200,000 copies, in a country where print runs for a paperback seldom exceed 5,000. Even before the launch, he managed to pre-sell nearly three-quarters of it. “I‟m already thinking of a reprint,” he says.
But Bhagat, who has just been given as royalty a jumbo cheque of Rs 10 lakh, similar to those handed out after cricket matches, refuses to be carried away by all the jazz. Yet to grow out of his IIT-Delhi mould, he talks in Hinglish, the lingo of young India. Eleven years in Hong Kong haven‟t affected his accent. And being billed a celebrity makes him blush with embarrassment.
“Writing is only for fun. It has nothing to do with selling. I‟d write even if I made nothing from it,” says Bhagat, now with Deutsche Bank in Mumbai.
In 2004, when Bhagat wrote Five Point Someone, he was no different from other authors on Rupa‟s catalogue. He was paid a nominal advance, and the book was released with modest expectations. But as a publisher-cum-distributor, Rupa could penetrate the Indian market to push his books in every small town. And aware that it would be read by youngsters living on parental dole, Mehra priced it at an affordable Rs 95. The rest was history.
Bhagat has a nice way of putting it. “I always had a problem with how writing that paraded as „Indian‟ literature was only read by a few thousand people in big cities. The rest of the country never got a chance to flip through it. My biggest achievement is that at Rs 95, I have managed to make India read again.”
But Mehra‟s strategy of underpricing Bhagat has its share of detractors. “Underpricing could potentially be counter productive, as a section of dedicated readers who associate price with quality might steer clear of a book offered at such a low price,” says P.M. Sukumar, CEO of HarperCollins India. “We‟d love to have Bhagat on our catalogue, but not if we had to sell his books at Rs 95.”
Shobhaa Dé, while congratulating Bhagat, raises precisely that question. “There is a difference between selling a book at Rs 95 and claiming big numbers, as compared to selling other paperbacks, mine included, at Rs 300. Can one compare the Nano story with a Mercedes?”
Perhaps not. But Bhagat‟s fans couldn‟t care less. Critics have slammed his writing, using phrases such as “juvenile trash” and “classic Bollywood farce.” But the bad press never told on his sales.
Renuka Chatterjee, head of Osian‟s literary agency, explains why. “In the mass market, it is the reader and not the reviewer who matters. As long as books strike a chord with the masses, it doesn‟t matter how much they are panned in the review pages.
“That‟s exactly where Bhagat‟s strength lies. And his popularity can be best vouched for by his readers. “He is easy to read, he uses the language of our generation, and he knows how to connect with us by stepping into our shoes,” says 24-year-old Tanushree Upadhyay. “Within my circle of friends, any new book written by him is hot.”
Upadhyay‟s words only corroborate academic and critic Alok Rai‟s hunch. “In his own ground-breaking way, Bhagat has perhaps allowed his readers to live the „now‟ experience, and that‟s what has worked in his favour,” he says. Bookseller and agent Anuj Bahri is more direct. “If other writers have tried to click by churning out arthouse stuff, he‟s doing it Rang De Basanti style,” laughs Bahri.
There are, however, other cogs in the well-oiled wheel that spins out the mega bucks. Like a tie up with Big Bazaar — the quintessential people‟s retail outlet — for the launch of his new book in Mumbai and Gurgaon. “They‟re super aggressive, man, they know how to sell,” says Bhagat. “During the Mumbai launch, they were throwing in a free copy with every five copies bought, like dal chawal. And people were actually falling for it.” Om Book Shop, Delhi, says, Shobhaa Dé‟s latest book Superstar India, released nearly two weeks ago, has sold 250 copies so far. Bhagat‟s new book sold 300 copies on the launch day The store has so far sold 20,000 copies of Bhagat‟s works, compared to 4,000 of all Vikram Seth‟s books combined, and just about 2,000 copies of Roy‟s 1996 classic The God of Small Things The figures pertain to only one book shop and are indicative ------------------------------------- Current annual royalty: In excess of Rs 1 crore
Bhagat has now decided to take a year off from writing to muse over his life and vocation, but fans could look forward to Hello, a film based on his second book starring Salman Khan and Katrina Kaif, due for release this year.
Meanwhile, Rupa is making the most of the time to give those who‟ve never read Bhagat a chance to catch up on his works. A premium boxset, featuring all three books, is now out for sale. The price? Elementary mathematics — Rs 285.
Pic: Ramakant Kushwaha
At Rs 95, a business plan can hardly ever go wrong. But that isn‟t merely what Chetan Bhagat is harping on — as an Indian Institute of Management alumnus he‟d know that price alone cannot sell a product. “I don‟t want to be India‟s most admired writer,” he writes in the “acknowledgement” section of his new book. “I just want to be India‟s most loved writer. Admiration passes. Love endures.”
Bhagat knows best. Love has endured to the extent of making him the biggest-selling English author in India. And that‟s not even counting his third book, The 3 Mistakes of My Life, which hit the bookshelves over the weekend.
In four years, Bhagat has outsold Shobhaa Dé and Vikram Seth to register sales of over a million copies of his first two books combined. The first, Five Point Someone, has sold over 700,000 copies. One Night @ the Call Centre, his second literary venture, sold at the rate of one copy every three seconds in the first week after its launch. His annual royalty, according to a publishing insider, exceeds Rs 1 crore.
The 34-year-old investment banker has touched gold — and he thinks it‟s all because of love. “You see, admiration demands perfection. Love accepts you with all your flaws,” he says. “It‟s amazing how my readers have taken me as I am.”
Penguin, Dé‟s publisher, does not divulge sale figures, but the story at the micro level is stark. Her latest book, Superstar India, was released across India two weeks ago. Until Friday, Om Book Shop — one of South Delhi‟s biggest retailers — reported a sale of 250 copies. That very evening, Bhagat‟s novel was released, and sold 300 copies. “Till date, we‟ve sold 20,000 copies of his books, compared to 4,000 by Vikram Seth, and about 2,000 copies of Arundhati Roy‟s The God of Small Things,” says proprietor Amit Vig.
TOP SELLER Total copies of Bhagat‟s books sold till date in India: Over 10 lakh Five point Someone: Over seven lakh copies in the domestic market and counting One Night @ the Call Centre: Sold at the rate of one every three seconds at its peak hour. Now around the 5 lakh mark The 3 Mistakes of My Life: First print order of 2 lakh copies Courtesy: Rupa & Co -------------------------------------
Even as he speaks, Bhagat‟s publisher Kapish Mehra furiously tries to meet the escalating demand pouring into his Daryaganj office from distributors across India. Confident that Bhagat‟s new book will do well, the Rupa boss had placed an ambitious print order of 200,000 copies, in a country where print runs for a paperback seldom exceed 5,000. Even before the launch, he managed to pre-sell nearly three-quarters of it. “I‟m already thinking of a reprint,” he says.
But Bhagat, who has just been given as royalty a jumbo cheque of Rs 10 lakh, similar to those handed out after cricket matches, refuses to be carried away by all the jazz. Yet to grow out of his IIT-Delhi mould, he talks in Hinglish, the lingo of young India. Eleven years in Hong Kong haven‟t affected his accent. And being billed a celebrity makes him blush with embarrassment.
“Writing is only for fun. It has nothing to do with selling. I‟d write even if I made nothing from it,” says Bhagat, now with Deutsche Bank in Mumbai.
In 2004, when Bhagat wrote Five Point Someone, he was no different from other authors on Rupa‟s catalogue. He was paid a nominal advance, and the book was released with modest expectations. But as a publisher-cum-distributor, Rupa could penetrate the Indian market to push his books in every small town. And aware that it would be read by youngsters living on parental dole, Mehra priced it at an affordable Rs 95. The rest was history.
Bhagat has a nice way of putting it. “I always had a problem with how writing that paraded as „Indian‟ literature was only read by a few thousand people in big cities. The rest of the country never got a chance to flip through it. My biggest achievement is that at Rs 95, I have managed to make India read again.”
But Mehra‟s strategy of underpricing Bhagat has its share of detractors. “Underpricing could potentially be counter productive, as a section of dedicated readers who associate price with quality might steer clear of a book offered at such a low price,” says P.M. Sukumar, CEO of HarperCollins India. “We‟d love to have Bhagat on our catalogue, but not if we had to sell his books at Rs 95.”
Shobhaa Dé, while congratulating Bhagat, raises precisely that question. “There is a difference between selling a book at Rs 95 and claiming big numbers, as compared to selling other paperbacks, mine included, at Rs 300. Can one compare the Nano story with a Mercedes?”
Perhaps not. But Bhagat‟s fans couldn‟t care less. Critics have slammed his writing, using phrases such as “juvenile trash” and “classic Bollywood farce.” But the bad press never told on his sales.
Renuka Chatterjee, head of Osian‟s literary agency, explains why. “In the mass market, it is the reader and not the reviewer who matters. As long as books strike a chord with the masses, it doesn‟t matter how much they are panned in the review pages.
“That‟s exactly where Bhagat‟s strength lies. And his popularity can be best vouched for by his readers. “He is easy to read, he uses the language of our generation, and he knows how to connect with us by stepping into our shoes,” says 24-year-old Tanushree Upadhyay. “Within my circle of friends, any new book written by him is hot.”
Upadhyay‟s words only corroborate academic and critic Alok Rai‟s hunch. “In his own ground-breaking way, Bhagat has perhaps allowed his readers to live the „now‟ experience, and that‟s what has worked in his favour,” he says. Bookseller and agent Anuj Bahri is more direct. “If other writers have tried to click by churning out arthouse stuff, he‟s doing it Rang De Basanti style,” laughs Bahri.
There are, however, other cogs in the well-oiled wheel that spins out the mega bucks. Like a tie up with Big Bazaar — the quintessential people‟s retail outlet — for the launch of his new book in Mumbai and Gurgaon. “They‟re super aggressive, man, they know how to sell,” says Bhagat. “During the Mumbai launch, they were throwing in a free copy with every five copies bought, like dal chawal. And people were actually falling for it.” Om Book Shop, Delhi, says, Shobhaa Dé‟s latest book Superstar India, released nearly two weeks ago, has sold 250 copies so far. Bhagat‟s new book sold 300 copies on the launch day The store has so far sold 20,000 copies of Bhagat‟s works, compared to 4,000 of all Vikram Seth‟s books combined, and just about 2,000 copies of Roy‟s 1996 classic The God of Small Things The figures pertain to only one book shop and are indicative ------------------------------------- Current annual royalty: In excess of Rs 1 crore
Bhagat has now decided to take a year off from writing to muse over his life and vocation, but fans could look forward to Hello, a film based on his second book starring Salman Khan and Katrina Kaif, due for release this year.
Meanwhile, Rupa is making the most of the time to give those who‟ve never read Bhagat a chance to catch up on his works. A premium boxset, featuring all three books, is now out for sale. The price? Elementary mathematics — Rs 285.
Pic: Ramakant Kushwaha
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
