Prologue
I had never been inside an ambulance before. It was kind of creepy. Like a hospital was
suddenly asked to pack up and move. Instruments, catheters, drips and a medicine box
surrounded two beds. There was hardly any space for me and Ryan to stand even as Alok
got to sprawl out. I guess with thirteen fractures you kind of deserve a bed. The sheets were
originally white, which was hard to tell now as Alok’s blood covered every square inch of
them. Alok lay there unrecognizable, his eyeballs rolled up and his tongue collapsed outside
his mouth like an old man without dentures. Four front teeth gone, the doctor later told us.
His limbs were motionless, just like his father’s right side, the right knee bent in a way
that would make you think Alok was boneless. He was still, and if I had to bet my money,
I’d have said he was dead.
“If Alok makes it through this, I will write a book about our crazy days. I really will,” I
swore. It is the kind of absurd promise you make to yourself when you are seriously messed
up in the head and you haven’t slept for fifty hours straight…
Five Point Someone What not to do at IIT Novel Chetan Bhagat
Re: Five Point Someone What not to do at IIT Novel Chetan Bh
1
—
Bare Beginnings
BEFORE I REALLY BEGIN THIS BOOK, LET ME FIRST TELL you what this book is
not. It is not a guide on how to live through college. On the contrary, it is probably an
example of how screwed up your college years can get if you don’t think straight. But then
this is my take on it, you’re free to agree or disagree. I expect Ryan and Alok, psychos both
of them, will probably kill me after this but I don’t really care. I mean, if they wanted their
version out there, they could have written one themselves. But Alok cannot write for nuts,
and Ryan, even though he could really do whatever he wants, is too lazy to put his bum to
the chair and type. So stuff it boys – it is my story, I am the one writing it and I get to tell it
the way I want it.
Also, let me tell you one more thing this book is certainly not. This book will not help
you get into IIT. I think half the trees in the world are felled to make up the IIT entrance
exam guides. Most of them are crap, but they might help you more than this one will.
Ryan, Alok and I are probably the last people on earth you want to ask about getting into
IIT. All we would say as advice is, if you can lock yourself in a room with books for two
years and throw away the key, you can probably make it here. And if your high school days
were half as miserable as mine, disappearing behind a pile of books will not seem like such
a bad idea. My last two years in school were living hell, and unless you captained the
basketball team or played the electric guitar since age six, probably yours were too. But I
don’t really want to get into all that.
I think I have made my disclaimers, and it is time for me to commence.
Well, I have to start somewhere, and what better than the day I joined the Indian Institute of
Technology and met Ryan and Alok for the first time; we had adjacent rooms on the second
floor of the Kumaon hostel. As per tradition, seniors rounded us up on the balcony for
ragging at midnight. I was still rubbing my eyes as the three of us stood to attention and three
seniors faced us. A senior named Anurag leaned against a wall. Another senior, to my
nervous eye, looked like a demon from cheap mythological TV shows – six feet tall, over a
hundred kilos, dark, hairy, and huge teeth that were ten years late meeting an orthodontist.
Although he inspired terror, he spoke little and was busy providing background for the boss,
Baku, a lungi-clad human toothpick, and just as smelly is my guess.
“You bloody freshers, dozing away eh? Rascals, who will give an introduction?” he
screamed.
“I am Hari Kumar sir, Mechanical Engineering student, All India Rank 326.” I was
nothing if not honest under pressure.
“I am Alok Gupta sir, Mechanical Engineering, Rank 453,” Alok said as I looked at him
for the first time. He was my height, five feet five inches – in short, very short – and had
these thick, chunky glasses on. His portly frame was covered in neatly ironed white kurta-
pajamas.
“Ryan Oberoi, Mechanical Engineering, Rank 91, sir,” Ryan said in a deep husky voice
and all eyes swung to him.
Ryan Oberoi, I repeated his name again mentally. Now here was a guy you don’t see in
IIT too often; tall, with spare height, purposefully lean and unfairly handsome. A loose gray
T-shirt proclaimed ‘GAP’ in big blue letters on his chest and shiny black shorts reached his
knees. Relatives abroad for sure, I thought. Nobody wears GAP to bed otherwise.
“You bastards,” Baku was shrieking, “Off with your clothes.”
“Aw Baku, let us talk to them a bit first,” protested Anurag, leaning against the wall,
sucking a cigarette butt.
“No talking!” Baku said, one scrawny hand up. “No talking, just remove those damn
clothes.”
Another demon grinned at us, slapping his bare stomach every few seconds. There
seemed to be no choice so we surrendered every item of our clothing, shivering at the
unholy glee in Baku’s face as he walked by each of us, checking us out and grinning.
Nakedness made the difference between our bodies more stark as Alok and me drew
figures on the floor with deeply embarrassed toes, trying to be casual about our twisted
balloon figures. Ryan’s body was flawless, man, he was a hunk; muscles that cut at the right
places and a body frame that for once resembled the human body shown in biology books.
You could describe his body as sculpture. Alok and I, on the other hand, weren’t exactly
what you’d call art.
Baku told Alok and me to step forward, so the seniors could have better view and a
bigger laugh.
“Look at them, mothers fed them until they are ready to explode, little Farex babies,”
Baku cackled.
The demon joined him in laughter. Anurag smiled behind a burst of smoke as he
extinguished another cigarette, creating his own special effects.
“Sir, please sir, let us go sir,” Alok pleaded to Baku as he came closer.
“What? Let you go? We haven’t even done anything yet to you beauties. C’mon bend
down on all fours now, you two fatsos.”
I looked at Alok’s face. His eyes were invisible behind those thick, bulletproof
spectacles, but going by his contorted face, I could tell he was as close to tears as I was.
“C’mon, do what he says,” the demon admonished. He and Baku seemed to share a
symbiotic relationship; Baku needed him for brute strength, while the servile demon needed
him for directions.
Alok and I bent down on all fours. More laughter, this time from above our heads, ensued.
The demon suggested racing both of us, his first original opinion in a while but Baku
overrode him.
“No racing-vacing, I have a better idea. Just wait, I have to go to my room. And you
naked cows, don’t look up.”
Baku raced up the corridor as we waited for twenty tense seconds, gazing at the floor. I
glanced sideways and noticed a small water puddle adjacent to Alok’s head, droplets
falling from his eye.
Meanwhile, the demon made Ryan flex his muscles and make warrior poses. I am sure he
looked photogenic, but didn’t dare look up to verify.
—
Bare Beginnings
BEFORE I REALLY BEGIN THIS BOOK, LET ME FIRST TELL you what this book is
not. It is not a guide on how to live through college. On the contrary, it is probably an
example of how screwed up your college years can get if you don’t think straight. But then
this is my take on it, you’re free to agree or disagree. I expect Ryan and Alok, psychos both
of them, will probably kill me after this but I don’t really care. I mean, if they wanted their
version out there, they could have written one themselves. But Alok cannot write for nuts,
and Ryan, even though he could really do whatever he wants, is too lazy to put his bum to
the chair and type. So stuff it boys – it is my story, I am the one writing it and I get to tell it
the way I want it.
Also, let me tell you one more thing this book is certainly not. This book will not help
you get into IIT. I think half the trees in the world are felled to make up the IIT entrance
exam guides. Most of them are crap, but they might help you more than this one will.
Ryan, Alok and I are probably the last people on earth you want to ask about getting into
IIT. All we would say as advice is, if you can lock yourself in a room with books for two
years and throw away the key, you can probably make it here. And if your high school days
were half as miserable as mine, disappearing behind a pile of books will not seem like such
a bad idea. My last two years in school were living hell, and unless you captained the
basketball team or played the electric guitar since age six, probably yours were too. But I
don’t really want to get into all that.
I think I have made my disclaimers, and it is time for me to commence.
Well, I have to start somewhere, and what better than the day I joined the Indian Institute of
Technology and met Ryan and Alok for the first time; we had adjacent rooms on the second
floor of the Kumaon hostel. As per tradition, seniors rounded us up on the balcony for
ragging at midnight. I was still rubbing my eyes as the three of us stood to attention and three
seniors faced us. A senior named Anurag leaned against a wall. Another senior, to my
nervous eye, looked like a demon from cheap mythological TV shows – six feet tall, over a
hundred kilos, dark, hairy, and huge teeth that were ten years late meeting an orthodontist.
Although he inspired terror, he spoke little and was busy providing background for the boss,
Baku, a lungi-clad human toothpick, and just as smelly is my guess.
“You bloody freshers, dozing away eh? Rascals, who will give an introduction?” he
screamed.
“I am Hari Kumar sir, Mechanical Engineering student, All India Rank 326.” I was
nothing if not honest under pressure.
“I am Alok Gupta sir, Mechanical Engineering, Rank 453,” Alok said as I looked at him
for the first time. He was my height, five feet five inches – in short, very short – and had
these thick, chunky glasses on. His portly frame was covered in neatly ironed white kurta-
pajamas.
“Ryan Oberoi, Mechanical Engineering, Rank 91, sir,” Ryan said in a deep husky voice
and all eyes swung to him.
Ryan Oberoi, I repeated his name again mentally. Now here was a guy you don’t see in
IIT too often; tall, with spare height, purposefully lean and unfairly handsome. A loose gray
T-shirt proclaimed ‘GAP’ in big blue letters on his chest and shiny black shorts reached his
knees. Relatives abroad for sure, I thought. Nobody wears GAP to bed otherwise.
“You bastards,” Baku was shrieking, “Off with your clothes.”
“Aw Baku, let us talk to them a bit first,” protested Anurag, leaning against the wall,
sucking a cigarette butt.
“No talking!” Baku said, one scrawny hand up. “No talking, just remove those damn
clothes.”
Another demon grinned at us, slapping his bare stomach every few seconds. There
seemed to be no choice so we surrendered every item of our clothing, shivering at the
unholy glee in Baku’s face as he walked by each of us, checking us out and grinning.
Nakedness made the difference between our bodies more stark as Alok and me drew
figures on the floor with deeply embarrassed toes, trying to be casual about our twisted
balloon figures. Ryan’s body was flawless, man, he was a hunk; muscles that cut at the right
places and a body frame that for once resembled the human body shown in biology books.
You could describe his body as sculpture. Alok and I, on the other hand, weren’t exactly
what you’d call art.
Baku told Alok and me to step forward, so the seniors could have better view and a
bigger laugh.
“Look at them, mothers fed them until they are ready to explode, little Farex babies,”
Baku cackled.
The demon joined him in laughter. Anurag smiled behind a burst of smoke as he
extinguished another cigarette, creating his own special effects.
“Sir, please sir, let us go sir,” Alok pleaded to Baku as he came closer.
“What? Let you go? We haven’t even done anything yet to you beauties. C’mon bend
down on all fours now, you two fatsos.”
I looked at Alok’s face. His eyes were invisible behind those thick, bulletproof
spectacles, but going by his contorted face, I could tell he was as close to tears as I was.
“C’mon, do what he says,” the demon admonished. He and Baku seemed to share a
symbiotic relationship; Baku needed him for brute strength, while the servile demon needed
him for directions.
Alok and I bent down on all fours. More laughter, this time from above our heads, ensued.
The demon suggested racing both of us, his first original opinion in a while but Baku
overrode him.
“No racing-vacing, I have a better idea. Just wait, I have to go to my room. And you
naked cows, don’t look up.”
Baku raced up the corridor as we waited for twenty tense seconds, gazing at the floor. I
glanced sideways and noticed a small water puddle adjacent to Alok’s head, droplets
falling from his eye.
Meanwhile, the demon made Ryan flex his muscles and make warrior poses. I am sure he
looked photogenic, but didn’t dare look up to verify.
Re: Five Point Someone What not to do at IIT Novel Chetan Bh
Our ears picked up Baku’s hurried steps as he returned.
“Look what I got,” he said, holding up his hands.
“Baku, what the hell is that for…?” Anurag enquired as we turned our heads up.
In each of his hands, Baku held an empty Coke bottle. “Take a wild guess,” he said as he
clanged the bottles together, making suggestive gestures.
Face turning harder, arms still in modelling pose, Ryan spoke abruptly, “Sir, what exactly
are you trying to do?”
“What, isn’t it obvious? And who the hell are you to ask me?” choked Baku.
“Sir, stop,” Ryan said, in a louder voice.
“Fuck off,” Baku dismissed, disbelief writ large in his widened eyes at this blatant
rebellion against his age-old authority.
As Baku put the bottles in position, Ryan abandoned his pin-up pose and jumped.
Catching him unawares, he grabbed the two bottles and stamped hard on Baku’s feet. Baku
released his hands and the bottles were with Ryan, James Bond style.
We knew that stomp hurt since Baku’s scream was ultrasonic.
“Get this bastard,” Baku shrieked in agony.
The demon’s IQ was clouded by the events but his ears registered the command for action
and he had just collected himself in response when Ryan smashed the two Coke bottles on
the balcony parapet. Each bottle now was butt-broken, and he waved the jagged ends in air.
“Come, you bastards,” Ryan swore, his face scarlet like a watermelon slice. Baku and the
demon retreated a few paces. Anurag, who had been smouldering in the backdrop, snapped
to attention. “Hey, cool it everyone here. How did this happen? What is your name - Ryan,
take it easy man. This is just fun.”
“It’s not fun for me,” growled Ryan, “Just get the hell out of here.”
Alok and I looked at each other. I was hoping Ryan knew what he was doing. I mean sure,
he was saving our ass from a Coke bottle, but broken Coke bottles could be a lot worse.
“Listen yaar,” Anurag started as Ryan cut him short.
“Just get lost,” Ryan shouted so hard that Baku seemed to blow away just from the
impact. Actually, he was shuffling backward slowly and steadily till he was almost flying in
his haste to get away, the demon following suit. Anurag stood there gaping at Ryan for a
while and then looked at us.
“Tell him to control himself. Or one day he will take you guys down too,” Anurag said.
Alok and I got up and wore our clothes.
“Thanks Ryan, I was really scared,” Alok said, as he removed his spectacles to wipe snot
and tears, face to face with his hero at last.
There is a reason why they say men should not cry, they just look so, like, ugly. Alok’s
spectacles were sad enough, but his baby-wet blubbery eyes were enough to depress you
into suicide.
“Yes, thanks Ryan, some risk you took there. That Baku guy is sick. Though you think they
would have done anything?” I said, striving for a cool I did not feel.
“Who knows? Maybe not,” Ryan rotated a shoulder, “But you can never tell when guys
get into mob mentality. Trust me, I have lived in enough boarding schools.”
Ryan’s heroics were enough to make us all bond faster than Fevicol. Besides, we were
hostelite neighbours and in the same engineering department. They say you should not get
into a relationship with people you sleep with on the first date. Well, though we hadn’t slept
together, we had seen each other naked at primary meet, so perhaps we should have
refrained from striking up a friendship. But our troika was kind of inevitable.
“M-A-C-H-I-N-E,” the blackboard proclaimed in big bold letters.
As we entered the amphitheatre-shaped lecture room, we grabbed a pile of handouts
each. The instructor sat next to the blackboard like a bloated beetle, watching us settle
down, waiting for the huddled murmurs to cease.
He appeared around forty years of age, with gray hair incandescent from three
tablespoons of coconut oil, wore an un-tucked light blue shirt and had positioned three pens
in his front pocket, along with chalks, like an array of bullets.
“Welcome everyone. I am Professor Dubey, Mechanical Engineering department…so,
first day in college. Do you feel special?” he said in a monotone.
The class remained silent. We were busy scanning our handouts and feeling like a herd.
The course was Manufacturing Processes, often shortened to ManPro for easier
pronunciation. The handouts consisted of the course outline. Contents covered the basic
techniques of manufacturing – such as welding, machining, casting, bending and shaping.
Along with the outline, the handout contained the grading pattern of the course.
“Look what I got,” he said, holding up his hands.
“Baku, what the hell is that for…?” Anurag enquired as we turned our heads up.
In each of his hands, Baku held an empty Coke bottle. “Take a wild guess,” he said as he
clanged the bottles together, making suggestive gestures.
Face turning harder, arms still in modelling pose, Ryan spoke abruptly, “Sir, what exactly
are you trying to do?”
“What, isn’t it obvious? And who the hell are you to ask me?” choked Baku.
“Sir, stop,” Ryan said, in a louder voice.
“Fuck off,” Baku dismissed, disbelief writ large in his widened eyes at this blatant
rebellion against his age-old authority.
As Baku put the bottles in position, Ryan abandoned his pin-up pose and jumped.
Catching him unawares, he grabbed the two bottles and stamped hard on Baku’s feet. Baku
released his hands and the bottles were with Ryan, James Bond style.
We knew that stomp hurt since Baku’s scream was ultrasonic.
“Get this bastard,” Baku shrieked in agony.
The demon’s IQ was clouded by the events but his ears registered the command for action
and he had just collected himself in response when Ryan smashed the two Coke bottles on
the balcony parapet. Each bottle now was butt-broken, and he waved the jagged ends in air.
“Come, you bastards,” Ryan swore, his face scarlet like a watermelon slice. Baku and the
demon retreated a few paces. Anurag, who had been smouldering in the backdrop, snapped
to attention. “Hey, cool it everyone here. How did this happen? What is your name - Ryan,
take it easy man. This is just fun.”
“It’s not fun for me,” growled Ryan, “Just get the hell out of here.”
Alok and I looked at each other. I was hoping Ryan knew what he was doing. I mean sure,
he was saving our ass from a Coke bottle, but broken Coke bottles could be a lot worse.
“Listen yaar,” Anurag started as Ryan cut him short.
“Just get lost,” Ryan shouted so hard that Baku seemed to blow away just from the
impact. Actually, he was shuffling backward slowly and steadily till he was almost flying in
his haste to get away, the demon following suit. Anurag stood there gaping at Ryan for a
while and then looked at us.
“Tell him to control himself. Or one day he will take you guys down too,” Anurag said.
Alok and I got up and wore our clothes.
“Thanks Ryan, I was really scared,” Alok said, as he removed his spectacles to wipe snot
and tears, face to face with his hero at last.
There is a reason why they say men should not cry, they just look so, like, ugly. Alok’s
spectacles were sad enough, but his baby-wet blubbery eyes were enough to depress you
into suicide.
“Yes, thanks Ryan, some risk you took there. That Baku guy is sick. Though you think they
would have done anything?” I said, striving for a cool I did not feel.
“Who knows? Maybe not,” Ryan rotated a shoulder, “But you can never tell when guys
get into mob mentality. Trust me, I have lived in enough boarding schools.”
Ryan’s heroics were enough to make us all bond faster than Fevicol. Besides, we were
hostelite neighbours and in the same engineering department. They say you should not get
into a relationship with people you sleep with on the first date. Well, though we hadn’t slept
together, we had seen each other naked at primary meet, so perhaps we should have
refrained from striking up a friendship. But our troika was kind of inevitable.
“M-A-C-H-I-N-E,” the blackboard proclaimed in big bold letters.
As we entered the amphitheatre-shaped lecture room, we grabbed a pile of handouts
each. The instructor sat next to the blackboard like a bloated beetle, watching us settle
down, waiting for the huddled murmurs to cease.
He appeared around forty years of age, with gray hair incandescent from three
tablespoons of coconut oil, wore an un-tucked light blue shirt and had positioned three pens
in his front pocket, along with chalks, like an array of bullets.
“Welcome everyone. I am Professor Dubey, Mechanical Engineering department…so,
first day in college. Do you feel special?” he said in a monotone.
The class remained silent. We were busy scanning our handouts and feeling like a herd.
The course was Manufacturing Processes, often shortened to ManPro for easier
pronunciation. The handouts consisted of the course outline. Contents covered the basic
techniques of manufacturing – such as welding, machining, casting, bending and shaping.
Along with the outline, the handout contained the grading pattern of the course.