Read Online Download. Great book, Five Point Someone pdf is enough to raise the goose bumps alone. Add a review Your Rating: Your Comment:. Half Girlfriend by Chetan Bhagat. One Indian Girl by Chetan Bhagat.
Anyway, the meal was great, and an overactive desert-cooler sprayed water on our faces and kept the ambience cool. Tearing his rotis like a famished Unicef kid, Alok got chatty. I had enjoyed my day so far and watching these jokers go at it is really not funny after a while.
He took a deep breath. I have been thinking. But it was too late. They really are. I mean, especially for someone like Alok. I mean, I know you love your dad and everything. But like, you were just nursing him and studying for the past two years. I mean, you will earn and everything, and maybe hire a servant. But still, would you be able to have this kind of fun? Boy, this must have affected him. Usually, the Fatso will not leave chicken for his life.
Is that a big deal? I mean, if Alok could love his dad, who if you think about it, is no more than a vegetable with vision, how could this brat not love his parents? And his parents were nice, I mean they gave him everything - the blue scooter, clothes from Gap and money for the damn colas at restaurants.
His parents had worked their asses off all their lives, started selling flower pots with two potters, and then moved all over India to make a name until two years ago when they went overseas. Yeah right, that when I listened to this idiot all the time. I mean, I have been in boarding school when I was six.
Of course, like every kid I hated it and cried when they left me. But then, it was at boarding school I got everything. I did well in studies, got noticed in sports, learnt how to have fun and live well and made my best friends. Just kind of outgrew them. Sure, we meet at vacation time and they send letters, cash, and everything but I mean, for me my friends are everything, they are my family. Ryan, however, came back to his earlier theory. So either we can mug ourselves to death, or tell the system to stuff it.
We can study two-three hours a day, but do other stuff, say sports, have you guys ever played squash? Or taken part in events — debates, scrabble and stuff, an odd movie or something sometimes. We can do so much at the insti. We just draw the line. A day of classes, then three hours a day of studies and the rest is our time. A kind of decentralization of education. Ryan had a point. He would not have stopped otherwise anyway. Ryan was elated, and he drove us back to Kumaon at speeds that made the traffic police dizzy.
I covered the number plate with my foot, so that cops could not take it down. After all, this was a celebration of drawing the line. Meanwhile, I ran into Neha at the campus bookstore. Mostly that whole jogging plan was a bad idea. Even with the prospect of meeting Neha, I just could not wake up. I did try once again, but I was late and did not see her car. After that, all my motivation dropped and Ryan gave up on waking me up. He had to, cause I kind of threatened to withdraw from his draw-the-line study plan.
She looked at me, and then kept looking, her face expressionless. She acted as if she did not recognize me. Then she went back to flipping pages of the notebooks she had just bought. Remember the car accident in the morning?
This time the shopkeeper looked at me like I was a regular sex-offender. The girl bumped me and gave me a lift and all dammit, I wanted to scream, even as I bought my pencils and loose sheets. So I am not that attractive and that is reason enough not to recognize someone in public because I guess being friends with ugly people kind of rubs off badly on you. I had been some sort of a loser in school as well, so this was not a total shock. I walked out of the shop as quickly as possible to get away from the humiliation.
I was feeling crap. I was walking alone on a narrow path connecting the bookshop to the hostel, when someone tapped my shoulder. I turned around and guess who? Go to hell, was my instant mental reflex. But I turned to look at her and damn, she was pretty. Neha, right? Hey, I am really, really, really sorry, I could not reply to you properly there. Just greeting someone? And campus rumours always get blown out of proportion.
Please, I am sorry. We can go to the Hauz Khas market. Do you feel like some ice-cream? I said yes, and she instructed me to walk out the campus gate and walk two blocks to an ice-cream parlour. She would come there as well, but gave me a five-minute headstart, walking sedately behind me. Food is almost as good as girls. Did I scare you off? Girls do this all the time, say something half-funny, and laugh at it themselves.
You have this pretty girl all smiley and sorry and touching your arm; better than ice-cream I tell you. There are two kinds of pretty girls in Delhi. One is the modern type, girls who cut their hair short, wear jeans or skirts, and tiny earrings. The second is the traditional type who wears salwar-kameez, multi-coloured bindi and large earrings.
Neha was more the second type, and she wore a light-blue chikan suit with matching earrings. However, she was not a forced traditional type, like fat girls who have no choice but to wear Indian clothes.
Neha was just fine, and actually way out of my league, with her long light brown hair, which she mostly left open, a curl catapulting carelessly on to her forehead. Her face was completely round, but not because she was fat or anything, just a natural cute shape. I just kept looking at her as my strawberry ice-cream melted.
You know, when you ignored me there, I first thought it was because of the way I am. I told Neha about our harebrained scholastic plan. Pretty brave I must say. I shrugged my shoulders. Learnt driving now? She started taking stuff out of her handbag and a million things came out — lipsticks, lip balms, creams, bindis, earrings, pens, mirrors, wet tissues and other stuff that one can live without.
She found what she was looking for eventually. I did not know if it meant something. I mean, did she want me to know what kind of men she liked, or did she want me to be like the men she liked, or did she like me. Who knows? Figuring out women is harder than topping a ManPro quiz. I decided to keep it when I got this licence made. What does your brother do? We were just two years apart, so you can imagine how close I was to him. Her beautiful face was turning sad and I wished I could do something clownish to change subjects.
He was crossing the rail-tracks and got hit by a train. I mean, that is how shallow I was. She was all choked up and everything, but all I could think of was if I could make my move.
I shifted my hand closer, but she startled me by talking again. I pulled my hand back. I sensed this was not the best moment. She returned with these two big sundaes, and she was smiling again. In Delhi? It was hardly interesting, but it changed the topic. Separately though right? I stood up, too. I would have been satisfied with the ice-cream and everything but this was kind of neat, and now I had no choice anyway. Neha, would you like to go out…with me?
Almost as stressful as vivas. Meet me at this parlour next Saturday, same time as today. Leave now. It just so happened that both countries had heaps of oil and that made the whole world take notice. Big dictator refused and very soon it became clear that he would be attacked. But this was not sci-fi, and the three of us considered ourselves lucky to complete the ManPro welding assignment on time, let alone provide superior war technology.
No, the Gulf war did not personally invite our involvement but it was a big bang that swallowed our first semester majors, a catalyst for all our competitive, macho instincts. As per plan we studied for three exact hours every day, mostly late unto night, which meant we had the evenings free for fun. Unless you are like a champion or something, you probably know how difficult the damn game is. The rubber ball jumps around like a frog high on uppers, and you jump around it to try and connect it to your racket.
Ryan had played it for years and Alok and I were hopeless at it. I missed connecting the ball to the racket five times in a row, and Alok did not even try moving from his place. After a while, even I gave up. Ryan tried to keep the game going as we stood like extra pillars on court.
The guy is such a loser. He dragged us to court for ten days in a row, but Alok and I got no better. We found it hard enough to even spot where the ball had gone, let alone chase it.
Yeah right, maybe in thirty years, I thought grimly. Ryan had already decided, no point arguing with him. Alok and I shrugged and we left the court. After squash came something tamer and less active, chess. Alok and I felt somewhat up to this one, for, unlike squash, we could at least touch and move the game pieces. But Ryan usually won, and I would never be passionate about bumping off plastic pieces like him. We caught every new movie, visited every tourist destination in Delhi, did everything, went everywhere.
For the most part, we managed fine within the three hours assigned to studies. Sometimes assignments took longer, leaving no time for revision. That worried Alok, especially when the end-semester exams edged closer, and he suggested increasing the limit.
Now wars happen all the time and India alone has fought more than it can afford. But the Gulf war was different, as it came right on TV. Alok, Ryan and I looked up from our chess game.
It was sensational, spectacular and unlike anything we had ever seen on TV. To put it in context, this was before cable or any private channels came to India. Until then we had two crummy government channels in which women played obsolete instruments and dull men read news for insomniacs and retards.
Colour had only arrived two years ago, and most programs were still black and white. Then, in one quick week, we had the glitzy, jazzy and live — CNN.
I mean is this happening? You think this is a play? A CNN reporter asked them questions about their mission. The soldiers told about bombing a godown, and taking down a power station that gave electricity to Baghdad. I mean, you stop doing that when you are twelve I think Superman or Batman? I liked watching the war as well, though I primly took no sides. Iraq was kind of anonymous then, and we unabashedly cheered on America. Most of our foreign aid came from rich American firms and quite a large percentage of our alumni went on scholarship there and for jobs, constituting a chunk of the brain drain.
So, unsurprisingly, our heart bled for the US. At the same time, the war visuals became more gruesome. Americans pounded Baghdad non-stop, and Saddam hid himself deep in one of his oil wells I think. Many times, Americans hit civilian targets and people died and everything, and that was crap. I mean, the aid to IIT was fine, but how can you justify bombing kids?
But then, Saddam was kind of this loser General anyway, and apparently shot his own people when he was grumpy. Oh, it was impossible to take sides in the Gulf war. And it was all pointless for us anyway. These guys would realize this soon. Luckily, the war ended five days before the majors. America won big-time, and Iraqis ate crow before ground battle. Saddam left Kuwait alone and Americans were happy all the oil in the world was theirs to burn and Ryan did not eat for a day or so.
Americans got what they wanted. Now can we study? US is a schoolroom bully. Squash, chess and the war — all ate into our studying hours. In the five days before exams, we dropped the three-hour rule, well we had to; the heaps of course material was un-doable even if we studied thirty hours a day. It was important to clamp down on Ryan and we studied until three in the morning ever y day and passionately prayed India would go to war on the morning of our first majors.
A day before the majors were practical tests. It was the only part of the course Ryan enjoyed, and he dragged us early to the physics lab. We were in the same group and had to conduct an electrical setup and then answer questions in a viva-voce. We got a resistance- voltage relationship testing experiment. I hated practical tests. Most of all, I dreaded the viva-voce. My body freezes, sweat beads cover me brow to groin, and I lose my sense of voice.
How I hated vivas and when Ryan was all excited assembling the circuit for the experiment, I hated him too. Alok looked up from his notebook. Ryan spent the next ten minutes connecting resistors, capacitors, switches and cables to each other. Do they have a small speaker here? He moved a few connections, and soon Hindi music came from the speaker.
That is Ryan. The guy will do clever things but only at the wrong time and wrong place. Alok panicked, too. We just about managed to finish the circuit on time when Prof Goyal walked in. Ryan had made the circuit; he was good at this, we trusted him. But Prof Goyal was not done. Despite my frantic hopes, he turned to me. The current flow depends on how one connects the new resistor, in series or parallel. In series, the current would drop.
In parallel, it would increase. Yes, this was the answer. I think so, right? I had recited the answer in my mind. But Prof Goyal stared at me and me alone while asking the question, not surprising since he prefixed the question with what was a good facsimile of my name.
My condition was upon me. I mean, I totally knew the answer but what if it was wrong? I tried articulating, but the thoughts did not cash into words. Prof Goyal raised his forefinger. There was no use, I had given up. What are you, commerce students?
The institute was the temple of science and anyone below standards was an outcaste or a commerce student. Ryan caught it, I think. We did not have much of a chance to discuss the physics practicals, as the majors started the next day.
I had even postponed my next rendezvous with Neha until after the exams. She freaked out, telling me not to call home without notice. How the hell was I supposed to give her notice? Anyway, we had fixed to meet the day after my majors. Majors were when everyone studied in Kumaon, lights remained on in rooms until dawn, people rarely spoke — and then only on matters of life or death — and consumed endless cups of tea in the all-night mess.
Ryan, Alok and I scrambled to revise our six courses. The exams schedule was three continuous days, leaving little time to discuss the tests. I knew I had done fine in some tests and screwed up some. Alok had developed a permanent scowl and Ryan could maintain his laid-back air only with the utmost effort; no jokes, majors blow the wind out of anyone. ManPro, ApMech, physics, mathematics, chemistry and computing.
One by one, we finished them. When majors ended, it did seem like the worst was over though the results come only after two weeks. Those two weeks between the end of majors and the results were bliss. The profs were busy evaluating tests, going easy on new assignments, giving us plenty of time to kill. Ryan upgraded us from chess to crossword puzzles, taking us from cryptic clues to rhyme words to anagrams. Meanwhile, I met Neha again on a summery evening early into the second semester even though she had short-circuited when I called her.
It was the same ice-cream parlour. She held my hand as she took the cone from me. God, she is beautiful, I tell you. Why 11th? You see, my brother died on 11th May. So on every 11th my parents go to this temple near the rail-tracks where he died. They are gone most of the day. But it used to remind me of Samir a lot. You want to talk more often? I mean, I just thought it weird that I could call her only on that one day a month, like I had a dental appointment or something.
But girls are weird, I was learning. Results come in one week or so. She giggled as if she had got me. Like I thought I believed she could help me with my grades or something. Girls love laughing at their own jokes but Neha amused is better than Neha looking around furtively.
I suddenly leaned forward, bringing my face close to hers. Catching her breath, stifling that laugh and pink tongue, she watched me wide-eyed. I removed the wallet from my back pocket and sat down casually again.
Ha, gotcha. We reached the insti where a crowd of students had gathered to see their first set of grades. From these one could determine their first grade point average, or GPA, on the 10point scale. The topper would be close to We, however, were closer to the bottom. Clicking through the scientific calculator, Alok calculated our scores. Topped amongst us, I thought. As if we were the high-brain society or something. These were pathetic grades: we ranked in the high s in a class of students.
Alok recalculated his score, hoping for some miracle to happen on the calculator. But miracles never happen in IIT, only crap grades do. Bloody hell, I am just a 5. This is so below average. What do you want to do? Mug more in mourning? From him, it sounded peculiar, I mean he is still a kid. Ryan had damn well heard what Alok said.
In fact, all the twittering students around us had heard it too. They were in no mood to let go and for a moment I thought they were going to ignore me and have a fisticuff right there.
Ryan rode us back to the hostel as rashly as he possibly could, intentionally going over ever y bump on the road. He has his own strange way of sulking I tell you. I had thought a little about my little GPA. Yes, a five-pointer was pretty crap. From now on, every prof would know that I was a below average student and that would influence my grade in future courses.
I knew a few five-pointers who were panned at campus recruitment last year. This was crap, how did I get into this situation? Was I just not smart enough? At the dinner table, other students were either plain morose or extremely excited. There was the studious Venkat, who never left his room and was always quiet at meals. Today, he was smiling. He had a nine point five. He sat next to Alok, and told his stories of topping in four out of six courses.
Alok was talking only to him and totally ignoring us. There were others too. Even the Smiling Surd in our wing had managed a respectable seven point three. I think the three of us were the lowest in Kumaon or something. Nobody opened a book, looked at each other or said a word. I wondered if we were going to stay quiet forever. We could attend class, study together and eat together, quiet as mice.
Maybe our grades would improve as well. But my rosy fantasy of silence was finally broken by Ryan. Hari, can you believe this? I should apologize. Let the two nuts figure it out amongst themselves. Ryan kept silent. I mean, I really wanted to know what I was missing in this moronic conversation. Today I got a GPA of 5. Damn it, a 5. Over students have done better.
Do you know in my twelve years in school I never even got a second rank. To announce that you were like this nerd in school is hardly something to be proud of. But that is Alok for you. And who cares about how much you mugged. Why the hell should I apologize?
Now that was whacko. Poor Ryan had just managed to scrape a five, and now he was getting crap from Alok. My fault. Hey Alok, have you gone nuts or something? If Hari does not have the guts to say it, I can. You and your ideas, Ryan. Study less, draw the line, enjoy the best years, this system is a machine, crap, crap and more crap all the time.
I came to this institute with a purpose. To do well, get a good job and look after my parents. And you have fucked it up. That is the problem. No one can say anything to you. You propose something, Hari blindly agrees and we all end up doing it. You are just a spoilt brat. Someone who wants to do whatever he wants without caring for his friends.
Though his voice was notched at a menacing pitch, I noticed his hands starting to shiver a little bit. You just want to have your fun. From now on, I am not going to hang out with you anymore, it is official. From now on, I am going to be with Venkat. He has agreed to let me study with him. He got a nine point five you know? He had a good GPA and everything, but he was hardly human. Venkat woke up at four in the morning to squeeze in four hours of muggins before classes.
Every evening he spent three hours in the library before dinner. Then after dinner, he studied on his bed for another couple of hours until he went to sleep. Who on earth would want to be with him? My future is important to me. Does that make me sick? This heredity factor fascinated me; was there a how-to-cry gene? Or was this something he had picked up while growing up? I have to do well to support my family. He needed to blow his nose.
Ryan sat down to watch Alok, intrigued. I mean, how do you argue with that? How many sarees a year is reasonable? Ryan wants to play chess, see TV, enjoy his years. I hate enjoyment. But this shifted Alok into higher gear. How could you? You never had them.
I mean I still have them. Five Nights at Freddy's Game. Every template is just a starting point. It takes the reader into the lives of these friends as they toil hard to cope with the strong competition at their college. Hari, Alok, and Ryan enter this institute with a dream to beat the competition and come out successful to become the few chosen ones. The protagonists have to deal with tough teachers, with the unending exams, and the difficult academic schedule.
How will these three friends manage to complete their graduation in ruthless world of IIT? Will they manage to survive? Thank you for visiting nature. You are using a browser version with limited support for CSS.
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Significant others provide individuals with a sense of safety and security. However, the mechanisms that underlie attachment-induced safety are hardly understood.
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