Sunday, October 5

Chetan Bhagat's Half Girlfriend is Full Nonsense!

Book: Half Girlfriend
Author: Chetan Bhagat, best selling Indian author
Language: English




spoilers ahead…

I had to read it. , as the people who read books only while travelling in trains believe, is one of the best Indian writers. And it had been too long. 2 States was the last book I read of a Best-selling Indian Author.

So, I sat with a highlighter and opened the first page of the brand new Chetan Bhagat book, Half Girlfriend which had a few seconds teaser when the book was announced. A really really stupid teaser. Link for the lazy.

Premise and Plot


The book starts with Bhagat being stalked by a guy in his hotel in Patna. Bhagat tries to shrug him off but he’s very persistent and he carries a torn notebook with him. He wants Bhagat to read it, because he thinks a busy writer like Bhagat has nothing else on his schedule. After a while, when he’s not able to convince Bhagat to read the notes, he plays the death card and tells him these are his girlfriend’s notes who died some time ago. This troubles Bhagat greatly as he states, ‘you can’t pick up a chocolate when someone has just mentioned a death’. I know if it’s not someone close, death is merely a statistic. But surely, Bhagat can say it in a way so as to not appear as an unsympathetic idiot.

Saturday, September 20

A Drive With No Destination!

I’m on the passenger seat. The highway is dark and foggy. Our flight landed an hour ago and we were greeted with the sudden chill of Delhi’s winter. They told us it was going to be cold, but I didn’t know they meant we would be cracking our jaw. There is no stop to this. Madness. We are enroute Jaipur. It will take us this entire night to reach. I’m sitting on the front seat and when I look out of the glass, there’s nothing else but this darkness fighting with our Innova’s headlights. I’m scared the Innova would surrender and we’d be stuck in this eternal darkness. It’ll embrace us from everywhere. A big dark blanket and nothing will matter ever again.
I’m driving. Rain has paused. I hate driving during the rains. Those torrential downpours. The wipers of my i20 could have been manufactured with more love. They give up on wiping pretty easily. There’s no fight in them. I keep on flicking my headlights stick to ensure people driving alongside me know I am scared. I am really really scared. Rain finally stops and the world is beautiful and calm and pure again. I get out of my car. I think, the people who invented slow motion cameras were inspired by scenes after rain. The world sort of slows down. People folding their umbrellas, wiping their foreheads and spectacles, birds making their music, animals shaking their body to get into the groove, tree leafs holding on to those smallest of water droplets and there’s laughter somewhere, you can hear it, kids, some kids are always there, swimming in the rain puddles. Kolkata streets are full of them, the kids and the puddles.

Thursday, September 11

Book Review: Thoughts on John Green's Work!

If you stalk people on Whatsapp, there's a huge chance you've come across this author, John Green. The blue and white ‘okay, okay’ written in clouds display picture? Yeah, that one. The guy basically wrote the best book ever written, 'The Fault in Our Stars', a book most now claim to have read because they've seen the movie.


This book has gotten so famous that now people have started disliking it. 'Oh! it's really boring and a little slow, brah!'


I read this book a while back because-


a) I had never heard of it
b) my friends had not heard of it.

Seriously, that makes a lot of difference. Tell someone you've read 'The Fault in Our Stars', they will think you're a hobbyist reader or tell them you've read the English version of 'Bajo la misma estrella' and they'll be like 'oh, look, we've got a freaking scholar here.’ It just makes so much difference, in spite of the fact that both the titles mentioned are translations of the same book. Just the name and Shakespeare was asking what’s in the name?


Anyway, enough of trying to be funny here.

Tuesday, August 12

And they marched on, the new freedom fighters!

His room was empty. Empty in the sense that there was nobody else in his room, except him of course. How would he know otherwise? One has to be in the room, to know who else is in the room. His laptop was also in the room but since the laptop doesn’t breathe oxygen and it doesn’t speak in the tongue we humans understand, we don’t count it in our decision making. So this non-living thing, the laptop was sitting on the bed with its screen lid open emitting a saffron and green. He was trying to choose which tiranga he’d put as his WhatsApp display picture. On the internet, he could only find the tiranga in one colour combination but he wasn’t satisfied. All his friends somehow had gotten customized tirangas. He took out his phone, opened WhatsApp and scrolled through the display pictures of all his friends. They had various shades of tiranga, some had it in red-blue-green, some in yellow-blue-orange, some in some other colour. He wanted to ask them how they got these unique tirangas. This one combination in particular was really nice but he didn’t know what colours they were. Midway in his text, he looked up who he was texting, he realized it was one of his girl friend. Because the 'everywhere tiranga' thing had now replaced the overly cute emo quotes, he couldn’t differentiate between boys and girls. Back in the day when things were normal, all the girls ever put were normal pictures while the boys obviously went for those overly cute emo pictures. When he understood the gravity of his actions and what this mistake could have costed him, his throat went dry, he felt as if all his courage had been sucked out and his fingers couldn’t type the remaining question. Internet wisdom had taught him he simply couldn’t ask a girl about colours. That’d open the encyclopedia of colours. This discussion he’d reserve for another day when he’d be all lonely and desperate for human companionship obviously after having tried talking to all the living and nonliving things around. In spite of the sudden distraction, his mind wandered back to the ever persistent question, how do I get myself a customized tiranga? He looked around his empty room only to find there was no one else in it, no one else who could help. He sighed. He literally sighed.


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