Category Archives: Why we all deserve Bharat Ratnas

Bharat’s Day (My Guest Post For Rachna Srivastava Parmar)

When Rachna, the superhumanly talented blogger behind Rachna Says – a blog that sees phenomenal footfalls – asked me to write something for her several weeks ago, I was in a fix. You see, she is a ‘responsible’ blogger, someone who talks about practical and meaningful things without muddling them in convoluted prose or hyperbole. I, on the other hand, can only be described as a muddle. Someone who can’t tell a serious tale with a straight face. So what was I to do?

This post is the genesis of that dilemma. I won’t call it a short story – it is more of a slice-of-life observation of an urban Indian middle class household and how that juxtaposes with larger morality issues facing our country today. I’m afraid it is a rather long piece, so do continue to read on at Rachna’s blog after this snippet.

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Bharat’s Day : A Slice-of-Life Of The Urban Indian

“Daaaaaad!” yelled the eleven year old Dhruv from his duodenum as if he had just witnessed the end of the world.

It was 6.20 am. For the unversed, this was a typical initiation to the raucous Joshi household.

Dad, as in, Bharat, had been awake for twenty minutes but had continued to tumble inside his sheets trying to sop up the last pitiful ounces of rest before the long day ahead. His wife Neena had leaped out of bed at first beep, with enough kinetic force to smash his sound sleep to smithereens, but he was determined not to give in that easily. Sadly, despite all his obstinate tossing and turning, it was going to be a lost cause this morning.

“Dad! Wake up!” screeched Dhruv, this time only inches from his father’s ear.

“What is it, bachchey? What is wrong?” said the father, his mental pendulum halfway between sleepy and groggy.

Continue to read on at Rachna Says…

Five (Indian) People You Meet (Near) Heaven : (Decidedly Not) By Mitch Albom

Right vs Wrong

The situation was getting from bad to worse. Quite like the colossal traffic jams at the Delhi-Gurgaon toll plaza, the Pearly Gates were clogged with huge masses of the Formerly-Living (a.k.a Newly-Dead) waiting in line to gain entry to the domicile of their After-Life. The common wisdom is – if you lived how God intended you to during your living years, you got a free passage to Heaven. If not, then off you went to Hell, shunted to that nasty town where the air was smoggy, people were petty, crimes were common, women were unsafe, prices were high, garbage stacked up in piles, roads were broken, and power went off frequently (Kindly refrain from making mental comparisons with places you may already know on earth)

The entry protocol for the Twin Cities was quite simple – When earthlings conked off and went ‘upstairs’, they were cheerfully greeted at the Reception counter at the Pearly Gates, welcomed to the After-World, and made to fill out the paper work. Quite like Immigration and Customs at an airport, only infinitesimally kinder. Lately, however, an IT systems upgrade at Pearly Gates Immigration had resulted in snags in processing paperwork, leading to long lines and delayed sorting of people between Heaven and Hell.

Plenty of folks were left waiting outside the Gates, many for months now, wondering when their case was going to get sorted. Here is a scene observed a couple of days ago as people waited in line.

Pandit Ravi Shankar, world renowned sitarist : (mumbling to himself) Must they make us wait outside for so long? I haven’t seen this kind of chaos since I left India for the US in the 60s. Totally unacceptable. How many more days will this take? Perhaps I should walk up ahead and see what the hold up is.

Starts walking slowly, dragging his 40 kilo sitar in tow.

Yash Chopra, famous film director : (spotting Panditji, as he himself waits in line) Oh, hello, hello! Panditji, HELLO! (Nudges his friend in saffron robes and dark sunglasses) Look, it’s Pandit Ravi Shankarji! They must all be falling like ninepins down there!

Bal Thackaray, politician (peering in the direction Yash Chopra is pointing) : Arrey, what a surprise! It’s Pandit Ravi Shankar!

Panditji notices two excited octogenarian slowly flailing their tired arms. He smiles in recognition and stumbles towards them with his 40 kilo sitar.

Panditji : Hello, Gentlemen!

Bala Saheb : Jai Maharashtra, Panditji! How are you here?

Panditji : Heart.

Bala Saheb : Me, too!

Yashji : (sheepishly) Dengue. Anyway, delighted to see you here, Panditji! In fact, seeing you here, I got reminded of a poem from my new film. Arz hai – Teri aankhon ki namkeen…

Panditji : (coughing loudly) Yes, very nice, I am sure. Can you hold this sitar please?

Yashji : (disappointed at having to stop) Err…yes, yes, of course.

Panditji :  Thank God for your colourful robe and sunglasses, Bala Saheb. I wouldn’t have recognized you otherwise! You remind me so much of George Harrison sometimes, you know, during his hippie phase. But how come you both are still stranded here? Have they not taken you in yet?

Bala Saheb : Dekh lo! This line seems to move slower than the Harbour Line in Mumbai under Congress rule. Height of inefficiency!

Yashji : They tell us it’s some computers issue. It has been a few months for me already! Like the lines from my movie song – Yeh kahan aa gaye hum, yun hi…

Bala Saheb : (clearing his throat loudly) Yes, yes, let’s give Panditji a place to sit first.

Yash Chopra stops his recital dejectedly and readies a folding chair for Ravi Shankar.

Bala Saheb : So, Panditji, what news from Down Under?

Panditji : Hein? Oh, I believe Ricky Ponting retired.

Yashji : Hein?

Panditji : I am sorry, that is the only news I know from Australia.

Bala Saheb : Australia? Who wants to know about Australia?

Panditji : But you were the one who asked me about Down Under!

Bala Saheb : (laughing) Oh, I meant Down Under…on Earth!

All three men laugh and immediately break into coughing spams just like old people do.

Panditji : (recovering) That was funny, Bala Saheb! Anyway, in terms of news, well, Obama won. Rest, I am not aware of what has been happening in India. As you know, I never followed Indian politics or Hindi films.

Yashji : (looking disappointed) I hope my last film did well. You would have liked it. I filmed it in London, keeping people like you in mind. You know, the NRI-type.

Bala Saheb : I wonder what Raj and Uddhav are up to. Did you get coverage on them in your California newspapers?

Panditji : (almost about to roll his eyes) No, sadly, no.

 

The three are soon disturbed by loud ma-behen gaalis sounds coming from near. They turn to look at the commotion.

Panditji : (wincing at the foul language) Holy Raag Maalkaus! Who is that nasty man?

Yashji : (shaking his head) He has been busy fighting with everyone since he got here. He even got into fisticuffs with his brother as soon as he arrived! Ever since, he hasn’t stopped throwing his weight around.

Panditji : Why must Indians behave like this when they are outside their country? All these foreigners waiting patiently in line must think we are uncivilized fools! Do you know him?

Yashji : (sheepishly) Unfortunately, yes. That’s Ponty Chadha. Billionaire businessman, political player and film financier. We tried to explain to him that we are not in India any more, and that he needs to be respectful of his surroundings, but no, he just wouldn’t listen! He even said – ‘Don’t you know who I am?’ – to Bala Saheb and me! Can you believe it?

Bala Saheb : Bloody North Indian crook! If this were Mumbai or if I had my Sena up here, I would have knocked some sense of civility into that fool!

Panditji : Looks like he is headed our way.

The bearded man strides towards the three old men.

Ponty Chadha, businessman : Myself Ponty. (looks questioningly at Ravi Shankar as he extends his hand for a hand shake)

Panditji : (folding hands politely) I am Ravi Shankar, a musician. (Adding) Heart.

Ponty : Gunshot hole in my heart. By my own brother. (Spits angrily)

The two octogenarians and the single nonagenarian cringe outwardly.

Bala Saheb : (wistfully) I miss my Mumbai…

Yashji : (dolefully) And I miss my Switzerland…

Ponty : (crudely) Oye, I miss my Butter Chicken-shiken.

Panditji : (thinking in his mind) I should have just stayed away from these philistines.

 

A young girl in her early 20s gently shakes the foursome out of their reverie.

Young Girl with no identify : (excitedly) Hello, Sirs! How lucky of me to have found such famous people here!

Yashji : Hello. Who are you? And aren’t you too young to be here?

Young Girl : (Sighs) Yeah, I thought so too, but, what to do. You know, I am not even sure what my name is any more! People have given me strange names recently. They have been calling me Nirbhaya, Or Damini. Some named me Amaanat. I think my real name is Darpana, you know, like ‘mirror’?

Bala Saheb : You sound important. Someone like us.

Young Girl : (strongly shakes her head) Quite the contrary, Sir! Until just a few days ago, I was a nobody, living a life of no consequence like a billion other Indians. On no one’s radar or agenda. I didn’t matter.

Panditji : What happened then?

Young Girl : Then I got raped, beaten, left to die on the side of the road. I fought hard to stay alive for weeks in hospitals. But sometimes your will can wage only a losing battle against fate…I just got here this morning.

Ponty : You got raped and killed? By how many? What did they do to you? (Points at her flimsy hospital gown) Is that what you were wearing when it happened? Tell us everything!

The two octogenarians and the single nonagenarian stare hard at Ponty.

Yashji : (shaking his head in agony) What has our country come to? This is heartbreaking! Not sure how things got so bad and people so evil. In all my films, I have never even shown people slapping each other!

Young Girl : I know, Yashji! After all, you have only ever talked about the purity and beauty of women. Women whose greatness is directly proportional to the sacrifices they make. Whose identities are inherently intertwined with their men. There is no ugliness in a woman’s world in your films. Everything is peaches and cream. If there are tears, they are usually happy ones because the woman gave up something to make her man happy. And that ‘something’ is usually something extremely important to her, like her identity, or her life. After all, that is what makes her a woman! That is the reality you have served to the nation. It is not your fault if your nation’s reality didn’t quite turn out that way, is it?

Bala Saheb : (agreeing vociferously) And that is why he was always called the greatest film maker in India! And I have always been such a proud supporter of his work.

Young Girl : Just like I have been of yours, Bala Saheb! You have never pulled back from fighting for what you felt was right. If someone didn’t do the right thing, you have thrashed him – you know, to teach the person a lesson for his own good! If someone took something from you, you snatched it back and kicked that person’s teeth in. You are the real hero – the rule-maker, the judge, the jury and the punisher all rolled in one! You make it look cool when the fist does all the talking. Men idolize you. From you they learn that violence is ok if you want to take back what you feel is your God given right. Machismo rules, and everyone else must quiver in its presence!

Panditji : (shaking his head in abhorrence) But how can the fist be the right answer to anything in a democracy? Really, you people just don’t know how to run your country! You never have, and you never will! Uncivilized barbarians! Why else do you think I stayed away from your messed up country?

Young Girl : Exactly the right description, Panditji! Messed up! People like you and me wonder why ‘they’ have messed things up so bad. We keep complaining that ‘they’ don’t know how to run the country. Or that ‘they’ break laws with impunity. ‘They’ are corrupt. ‘They’ are morally bankrupt. ‘They’ rape. ‘They’ can’t control crime. ‘We’, on the other hand, are so much better than ‘them’. But, what can ‘we’ do? Even if ‘we’ were to try to bring about change, ‘they’ have made things so filthy that there is no possible way ‘we’ can make any difference! And so, ‘we’ sit at home helplessly and watch angrily. From a safe distance. ‘We’ sit and watch ‘them’ destroy what is ‘ours’. In fact, watch ‘them’ destroy ‘us’.

The old men stare at the young girl. All but Ponty Chadha, who is not to be browbeaten.

Ponty : (points his finger at the girl and laughs) Waah…what great sermonizing! My dear, money and power are the name of the game in India! You are as good as shit if you have neither. The rich rule the poor. The men rule the women. The powerful rule the weak. That’s the way even God intended it to be, dearie. ‘You’ can complain about ‘them’ as much as you wish, but if given an opportunity, ‘you’ would want to be ‘them’! In fact, ‘you’ become ‘them’ when you have to. Like, when you set up a business. Or buy property. Heck, try getting a passport without being like ‘them’! Or a driver’s license. You become ‘them’ when you jump a red light. Or get caught by a cop while doing so!

Young Girl : That is not true. That can’t be true! ‘We’ don’t want to be like ‘them’. All ‘we’ want is for ‘them’ to be like ‘us’! Isn’t that fair? Isn’t that what is taught to us by our parents? By our society? By all religions? That Good wins over Evil? Right over Wrong? Truth over Injustice?

Bala Saheb : (wonders aloud, nonplussed) And yet…

Yashji : (talks slowly) …and yet, it only happens in films…

Panditji : (despondently) …not in real life.

Young Girl : (sighs loudly) Well, we are all going to meet the Maker soon. Let’s ask Him what the deal is.

Ponty : Yes, ask Him why the four of us are all here after living a full life – rich, successful, powerful. And you are here at 23. I think He has some answering to do.

 

The Clean Chit

 

Truth Alone Prevails. Until, of course something jucier comes along.

Contrary to popular belief, The Clean Chit, that irrepressible vote-of-confidence that all political parties seem to dole out to their controversial and beleaguered doyens frequently, isn’t just a bland pat-on-the-back or a rally of support on TV. (And it isn’t an unwritten and unsoiled drycleaner’s-receipt-sized paper either, in case you were translating “Clean Chit” quite literally in your head). It is a historical document, one that bears a total absolution from all crimes and misdemeanours, real or perceived, past or present (or future) of the alleged offender by his peers.

And by document, I mean just that. Given its supreme significance in the way political business is being carried out in our country today, I have managed to smuggle out a template copy from the Lok Sabha Library. Ladies and Gentlemen, presenting to you –

 

The Clean Chit

(template created August 15, 1947. Last modified November 30, 2012 for subject Robert Vadra. Do not change template without prior approval.)

 

It is our great pleasure to grant this Clean Chit to (optionalHonourable to be used if the subject uses Z+ security) Shri/Smt _________________ (henceforth called Clean-Chitee), <<mention relationship, e.g. son of, daughter of, son-in-law of, daughter-in-law of, brother of, phoopa-ji of etc.>> of Shri/Smt ___________________ (optional – previous awardee of Clean Chit relating to <<mention alleged past crime and misdemeanour>>. In case multiple Clean Chits have been issued to the family, state the most notable one, i.e. the one associated with the greatest alleged loss of money, mortality or modesty to the nation) for his/her alleged role in the <<mention alleged current crime and misdemeanour>>. We abhor the insinuations made against <<insert Clean-Chitee’s name>> regarding this issue, and dismiss the allegations categorically with the contempt and without the due diligence it deserves. <<Insert Clean-Chitee’s name>> has been handcrafted by The Maker Himself and, as such, embodies all the virtues of the One who made him/her. All those behind these charges are despicable morons not fit to be called human, and unworthy of even an unbranded woollen-acrylic-nylon mix Made-in-China monkey cap when Hell, the domicile of their afterlife, freezes over.

<<Insert Clean-Chitee’s name>> is an upright and modest person and it is below his/her dignity to even acknowledge, let along explain his/her position on, these innuendos that have been leveled against him/her. As a result, they are being summarily dismissed, with total contempt we might add, by us – the absolute custodians of morality, principle and fact – self-appointed though we may be.

(If alleged current crime and misdemeanour is too real to ignore, and the alleged involvement of the Clean-Chitee in the matter as abyssal as Ekta Kapoor’s is to TV serials, please add) – Clearly, the <<mention current crime and misdemeanour>> is a criminal conspiracy hatched by the enemies of the Republic of India with the sole intent of destroying the good name of <<insert Clean-Chitee’s name>>. It smacks of the underhand machinations of the morally bankrupt and <<choose from – inept past government, inept previous administration, corrupt corporate houses, anarchic opposition, deranged Narendra Modi, hysterical Mamata Banerji, psychopathic Sonia Gandhi>>.

With this declaration, we rule that <<insert Clean-Chitee’s name with full title>> is not only wiped clean of the all that feces that has been tossed at him by these nefarious monkeys, but is also smelling of nothing other than roses and sandalwood. As he/she always had in the past, and as he/she always will in the future.

Signed by <<mention the name of the political organization Clean-Chitee is congenitally attached to>>        

Release to Media before the 8 pm news cycle.

There Is No “NA” In HARYANA!

Watch it! It’s my state you are talking about!

Screaming News Channels. Extremely Large Font-Sized Newspaper Headlines. Angry Blogosphere. Noise, Noise, Noise, I say! Amidst all this Hulla-Ballu over its supposed toxicity, it is really up to the proud residents of the glorious Dominion of Haryana to rise up and stop its gang balatkaar. Since when did mere trifles of Rape, Khap, No Law-and-Order and the absence of Roads, Bijli, Paani and other Infrastructure define this state, when there is so much else to be proud of? So, all you Prophets of Jat Doom, read and learn why David Dhawan would choose Haryana as the Hero if he ever were to make a film called Rajya No. 1.

The Generous Gender Gap. Haryana is, potentially, the global leader in so-called “skewed” sex-ratio. Like the foolish scientists who complain about global warming (why, wouldn’t you want to be able to visit Kashmir all year round, you tell me?), some misguided people are fretting over the 877 females per 1000 males population. Does no one remember the good old days when Sita got to choose her Man from a bunch of dhoti clad princes? Or Draupadi and her 5 Keeps? Stop this chatter about the Haryanvi Abla Naari. If anything, it’s the Men of the state who are suffering – look at the competition they face! Wisely, the state is making every effort to hold on to Pre-history. 21st century, no, thank you, you can wait indefinitely.

The Maul. Haryana pioneered the Mall Culture in India! What better way for Indians to spend every waking hour of their spare time than in confined spaces where every brand label and every store is conveniently priced out of reach? The Malls of Gurgaon – where folks go to get their Aloo Tikki McD burger, and also to get inspired to work even harder for things that they can’t afford today. Or tomorrow, for that matter.

The Chowk-a-Block state. Chowk, a glorious piece of city topography that draws towards itself humans in implausible numbers. Humans in their many, many cars, scooters, buses, rickshaws and tempos. Some might tactlessly liken this coalescence of seemingly chaotic human activity to a “traffic jam”. Let’s call it “Extreme Vehicular Plurality” instead, shall we? EVP is a sure sign of development and modernity. While Delhi has the occasional Chandni Chowk and Lucknow something singularly named Chowk, it is Gurgaon that pales everyone else with its preponderance of these exalted chowks – the beacons of prosperity. There is one every 500 yards! There ‘s a Shankar Chowk and a Rajiv Chowk. Heck, there are even chowks with corporate sponsorships attached – Hero Honda Chowk, IFFCO Chowk, DLF-Robert Vadra Chowk, Pepsi Chowk, Bee-tex Mull-hum Chowk etc. With millions and millions of folks sitting quietly in their standstill vehicles, going nowhere very slowly, mulling their wonderful lives – it’s a sight for Lord Buddha to behold!

The Queen. Mallika Sherawat. Haryana’s gift to Mankind! Of course, when I say Mankind, I really only mean Man.

Miss Haryana. Forever.

Go Pal Kanda, Go! A state where people with a “Kan Do” attitude thrive. If you are a child at heart (e.g. love toys like automatic guns and imported SUVs), indulge in playful jest (e.g. write cheques that bounce), are enviably social (e.g. have deep political connections), can charm the ladies (e.g. chase air hostesses till they give in, or give up, or check out), and still have feet firmly placed on the ground (and by ground, we mean land – lots and lots of real estate), SKY is the limit for you in Haryana!

The Khap Panchayati Raj. The coveted Moral Police that the rest of the country craves for but only fortuitous Haryana is endowed with. Aside from preventing the grave depravity of inter-caste liaisons – e.g. a Haryanvi – Bengali marriage (Really, Bajra ki Khichdi followed by Sandesh? Have you no shame?), these Guardians Of Distinguished Thought also protect Haryana’s Men Folk from the overreaching jurisprudence of the Indian State. Pooh-pooh, thank you very much! The Khap makes its own decisions and if you can’t agree, you can go swing (hang?) from a tree. The Haryana Women Folk might appear to be unfortunate collateral damage of these Wise Decisions, but hey, it is noble to sacrifice oneself for the larger good, no?

Saddi Marutti. The state that gave the country its first automobile! Something that Chunni, Babbi, Dolly, Vikky, their Mummy Papa, and Tommy, the dog could finally be proud to be seen in. (I am sorry, but by just taking off its iron-tracks and slapping on 4 tyres instead, and giving it a chic name like The Ambassador cannot alter reality. So what that it has existed since 1955 – a battle tank is a battle tank, not a car. Like they say, it doesn’t matter if you put lipstick on a pig – it’s still a pig)

Gaali Gaali Mein Shor Hai. Ah, the infectious charm of the Haryanvi tongue! Even if two Haryana Jats were only sharing notes on something as innocuous as the horsepower of their tractors, a non-Haryanvi passerby might mistake it to be an exchange on the coital habits of Mothers and Sisters. Let us be very clear – A for Aandal, B for Bose-DK and C for Choo Tee Ah – is NOT a part of the Haryana Education Board syllabus. While it may be true that no literature was ever penned in Haryanvi, it is still the most charming sound of the soil. And you know what makes it sound even more charming? A lath in your hand. You must try it!

So, Shame On You, you elitist folks, for coldly ignoring the virtues of the land that gave us Bhajan Lal, Devi Lal, Chautala, Hooda and Sushma Swaraj. I am sure if threatened appropriately, even Kapil Dev would agree in his delightful Anglo-Saxon-Hissar accent – “Haryana da jawaab nahi!”

 

The Mythological Thrill Of The Chick Lit!

 

I walked into the Indian Writers section at the Landmark Book Store the other day. The Fiction area was well stocked with new material, with fancy covers with fancier titles. I flipped through a few. The jacket write ups sounded intriguing. However, and interestingly, all the books I checked out could be neatly arranged into two distinct genres – they were either of one kind or the other one.

Now, since my own book (which is going to be awesome when it is ready in 2026, as I keep telling myself) is going nowhere very slowly, I think I will need a new profession in the interim. I could become a Book Jacket Copywriter! How come? Well, one, I can make any rubbish sound exciting, and two, there are only two genres that Indians love to read anyway. So, how difficult could it be to break into this career?

As a first step towards putting together a portfolio, I have prepared two jacket templates, based on self-imagined pieces of undoubtedly brilliant fiction – one for each of the two genres I just alluded to. A little bit of edits and these templates can be universally applied to any book that is sent my way by the marketing departments at Harpers or Penguin. Hey, Folks at Harpers and Penguin, I am open for business!

2012 : Time for the pre-historic plunder to begin again!

 

Here’s the jacket template for the first genre. The Mythological Thriller.

The Unholy Legend of the Kamasura’s Bindu : Part I of the Aryabhata Trilogy

By Sunando Bhattacharjee

Hundreds of thousands of years ago, the Kama Asuras and the Puru Asuras, the two warring kingdoms of the planet of Chirubhan were at war unto death. The Purus were defeated eventually after the 1000 year war. Amidst the pillage that followed, a band of the Purus managed to pack whatever was left of their universe in a small glass cage and sneaked their way out to a galaxy millions of light years away. They found a new home. They called it Prithvi, or Earth, and they hid there for centuries.

Cut to the present. According to the great Aryabhata’s astro-mathematical calculations, the Kama Asuras are bound to uncover the trails of their old battle adversary again in 2012. The grand prize they seek is the Puru Universe, saved inside a tiny round glass cage the size of a child’s marble. It is safe in the house of Puru Rajkumar, the anointed king, hiding in plain sight as the one-time failed actor son of a Bollywood legend. Safe, did we say? Not quite, because Puru Rajkumar’s 4 year old son just swallowed it thinking it was a marble.

As the doctors work hard to extricate the swallowed glass ball, the Kamas and the Purus are set to meet again in another royal battle for universal domination. But first, they must frisk through the badgered child’s potty and liberate the marble. And by that, we mean, the Universe. It’s a shitty task but whoever said Winning was easy? So, who will win this battle for supremacy this time?

This 279 page legend of a book will keep you up nights. Grab Part I of this historical trilogy at your nearest bookstore today! Remember, the Kamasuras are coming!

(Standard Requirements of this genre : Of course, all of the above is rubbish, doesn’t make any sense, and all that ‘history’ and ‘mythology’ has been pulled straight out of the imaginary writer’s fat ass, but, hey, at least it’s a trilogy! All Mythological Thrillers come in threes. And with a jacket as impressive as the one that I have written, readers are bound to throng bookstores to buy their copy – quite like Mika clamouring all over for a free kiss from Rakhi Sawant. By the way, since the title had to have at least two mythological names in it, one cooked-up and one sorta identifiable, I chose Kamasura and Aryabhata. Bindu, is just that boobylicious moll from 1960-70’s Bollywood, but the word fits well here, right?)  

I Love You Even More Than Too Much

 

On to Genre no. 2. The Chick Lit.

Da Lovisstory Of Da Miss’d Calls : (SMS : Sid Marries Shraddha) : By Loveleena Poojary Anand

Their eyes met in class and there was unbridled passion from the word go. Unfortunately, they were both seeing different people at the time. It was a complication they would cloak with their surreptitious coitus – in the bathroom, at the library, behind the refrigerator even. He would give a missed call, and she would come. She would give a missed call, and he would cum.

Endless charades later, as they were about to leave college, they discovered this was love. Their older, as-yet-unsuspecting loves were dumped (in about 3 chapters of sheer torment for everyone – and by that I really mean e-v-e-r-y-b-o-d-y).

Find out how amidst career, sex, parents, sex, day-to-day drudgery, sex, marriage, sex, other things and plenty of sex, Sid and Shreds find out that true love conquers everything. As they say to each other at the end of their travails, in their quaint American parlance – “If it ain’t love, it ain’t anything.” The End. Or is it just the Beginning?

This 291 page Requiem to Love is sure to rip your heart out, chop it into little pieces and then reassemble most of it back. You will find out how YOU are Sid and Shreds. A love story that spares nothing. (And no one) Get your copy TODAY!

(Standard requirements of this genre : Boy and Girl must come from (and have met at) a premier educational institution. Check. They must use Hinglish and SMS lingo liberally. Check. As mst the authr wen he/she narates de storie. Chk. Boy must be tall and handsome, with an athletic body. Check. Girl should be slim, very pretty, with “long dark lustrous hair, eyes like saucers, and a full bosom”. Absolutely. Plenty of melodrama is a must, mainly in the form of misunderstandings. Check. She smokes, and he hates that she smokes. Yup. He cooks very well. Aww, yes, yes. They must go at it like rabbits – and by that we mean p-l-e-n-t-y of pre-marital sex. Check. Her mother must be worried about her marriage. Of course. LIVE IN relationship is essential. Double check. Love triangle? Triple Check. They must be “Software Engineers” by profession. Check. Oh, and lastly, there must be plenty of the slopy writing, grammertical error and spellng mistakes. We would’nt have any it other way.)