Shelves: indian-fiction Not worth the time spent on it, i regret having wasted time on it. Coming back to this, its full of wit and humor, rather more than that is necessary in a novel. The author would be better off having a blog site writing funny blogs and earning revenue from the google ads on his blog. He need not have to write a book. Here i understood that its just because the author himself is a 4th year student at IITD!!! Awesome, he should just have condensed this novel and written for his college journal instead.

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Yet I repeated all my instructions. I wanted to make sure that they were followed. I wanted those very seat numbers. Yet I wanted to be near enough to two of my friends who knew it all.

My department was going on an Industrial Tour to Pune. The world was strange. He was a great man. Always on the move. Hence this travel agency, dedicated to him, and our slogan too: Always on the move! Who, sir, may he be? He smiled too and I moved out. The cool wind greeted me, stirring in me splendid emotions, I had the gait of a soldier who is finally on his way to meet his lover after a ten-year war. And it is a different matter that mine was a somewhat similar case.

I had a song on my lips which is usually the case. There is a song for every occasion, glad or sad. I cannot recall the song but one may bet on it being a merry one. The first stage of the plan had been executed and well. I hardly contain my excitement. I had to tell her and tell then. The moment should not pass. I dialed her number. To a month back approximately. Mid-September that is. Our life had been punctuated with jinxes lately and these were not good signs.

Finally the bell rang. I thanked God! I have been trying your number since morning. You are never bothered! Tell me, all well? I am not bothered. All well? Something was wrong. You make me nervous. I needed some time to absorb that shock. I knew that it was on the cards, still I needed time. My mind sprang into the past… It was July end and she was back in Chennai — that is where she lives, a good two thousand kilometers away from me.

Back, I mean, from Delhi. We had met quite often while she was here and those surely had been magical days. And after she left I had missed her sorely. So I decided, or say erred, like many other victims of love have since time immemorial and will continue to in spite of my well-meant warnings, to write a letter to her, pouring out my feelings. My first love letter! But not many days late she called to tell me that the letter had been discovered.

By her parents, of course. You said there were two keys, both in your possession! Her mother kept it. And they say — ignorance is bliss! Well, rest of it is usual!

Her mom played a passing-the-parcel, and gave the letter to her dad and any dad, on discovering a letter written by a lover to his daughter addressing her dangerous things like darling and sweetheart, leaps in the air and so did Mr. Bhargava, her father, and in that process hit the ceiling impairing his brain forever. The dad goes mad. For him it is not merely a letter, but a time bomb, ticking away, threatening to blow his daughter away one day. And when a dada goes mad, he decided that his daughter must be kept in strictest of custodies, with barbed wires and all.

Tough times ensued and I reluctantly admit to have become something of a philosopher. Such was my condition that I managed to write a song on life, playing which on my guitar, brought me comfort. For life goes on. Her name is Alice, Yesterday you got your first kiss, Today she tells it is all over, She saw you with another miss. If there is night, there has to be dawn. Life goes on.

Around two months had passed and like all matters, however hot initially, this one too cooled down, and life had indeed gone on. We which strictly includes only Shreya and me had hopes that her dad would allow her to come to Delhi in December as had been the plan. We managed to talk once a day and were satisfied.

There had been no shock for a long time, until this day when her father had, no doubt, for some reason, ordered that his daughter must not be allowed to go to Delhi. Back to October this year Well, now if you are not as dim as the hundred watt bulb that struggles to light up my room for want of sufficient voltage, you must have gathered the reason behind my voyage.

I had to go there as she was not coming here, because we had to meet. It was that simple. Those who have never been smitten by the love bug may find it a little difficult to comprehend the obviousness, but if they only lie coolly on a sofa and think about all the movies they have seen, and all the crazy things in them that lovers often do, the fog would begin to clear up. I am merely undertaking an expedition, harmless but risky all the same.

It is wise, therefore, to try and do anything that makes the union possible. Hence this journey. Although fare from being an intellectual. I am glad to tell you that this fact struck me too, and like a hammer. When circumstances are as they were with me, you do say a lot of things to yourself in an enhanced state of mind and become aware of this boring world of really only a bit later.

Suddenly, you battle with such concepts as feasibility and practically and —— zoom —— you come crashing to the ground! And so I was hit, indeed.

But then I must tell you that, although bereft of intellect, give my mind a task which cannot be done the straight way, and it starts to do better. After talking to her, I finally got my act together and decided firmly that I had to go to Chennai. I thought about all possible ways to go to Chennai in my winter vacations and short-listed some. I decided to call her. Poor thing, she must have been crying.


Anything for You, Ma'am: An IITian's Love Story

Yet I repeated all my instructions. I wanted to make sure that they were followed. I wanted those very seat numbers. Yet I wanted to be near enough to two of my friends who knew it all.


Anything for You Maam an IITIans Love Story

Kilrajas I really loved ur book. Come on Tushar, stop insulting the intellect of the readers! Fo page turner for sure! But the guy can only improve and whatever we say the guy did get a book published before he passed out of college. A fruit bearing tree get more stones.

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