Wake up call for MHRD!!

Since last few days I have been getting messages from my friends from various colleges asking me about what is going on in my college. Courtesy highly alert college authorities of my college of national importance. With great dismay I disclose to them the sad news of bereavement of one of my college mate Prosenjit Sarkar, whose untimely death could have been avoided only if our college’s Medical Unit would have been a bit more functional. The events that ensued this unfortunate incident were even more grim. Our director didn’t take any responsibility for his death, he even didn’t find it fit to at least address the students regarding this matter. As a result of his sheer apathy, students started an indefinite strike which would only be terminated if the director resigned and the medical staff is renewed. This strike was not only because of Prosenjit, rather it was sparked by it. Resentment and agitation had been boiling among students since a long time. There have been days when there is no drinking water in hostel. The receptionist at MU is so rude that once she refused my room-mate to give medicines for common cold because he was wearing a half t-shirt. I have been in college for three years and there are many buildings which are being constructed but none is finished, and those which were finished before my arrival are till now not opened because of unknown reasons. The list is endless……these all things together culminated to this strike.

I shared this all with my friends and to my surprise, they all recited similar stories from their colleges. The irony is that, just like me, most of them also hail from so called institutes of national importance. One from a premier private institute said that some of his friends were rusticated because of sharing an online poll that whether college rules are very strict. One complained about the infrastructure of his college being in deplorable condition. What can be regarded as the epitome of irony, one student told me about the death of a fourth year MBBS student due to medical negligence in a medical college!!

In our protest, we took the help of twitter to reach to MHRD minister for help and highly appreciate the fact that she responded positively and in next couple of days two MHRD officials visited our college to probe into the case. But my question is that…..why wait for a fire to dig a well? Why should an innocent life be lost for a change? Why should we wait for the doctors to do some utter blunder that could cost someone’s life before replacing them? Is there not any audit office assigned to keep vigil on the condition of colleges? Had there been, many calamities could have been avoided. Should we wait for the dirty watercoolers to spread food poisoning before getting them changed? Should we wait for the cracked ceiling to fall on someone before getting repaired? Why should we wait? For how long?

#JusticeForProsenjit

Love.....is it?

The Durga Puja holidays had started and My branch-mate Pawan and I were returning home. We were at the railway station, without ticket and with two heavy bags to accompany us in the 17-hour long journey, waiting for the adventure and the train to come. The train trundled on the platform and stopped in front of us. Though a few people got into the train from our station, to our dismay, the train was filled with multitudes of people. We were in the sleeper coach and each berth had at least four people resting their butts on it, some were teetering at the edge, and some, who actually had confirmed reservation, mumbling imprecations at the general ticket and waiting ticket holders. And there were we, without ticket and hope that we would get a seat for the night. 

A good old man allowed us to chain our bags below his seat. Then we sat at the door, it was difficult for our fat butts to fit in the narrow door but we managed. It was pitch dark outside, probably the train was passing through village fields. The cold October air augmented into squall because of train’s speed and tousled our hairs. Except for occasional malodour that came from nowhere, it was serene. Had we had our tickets, we would have been lying on our berth headed to a humdrum journey. But that consternation that TT might come from behind and ask for ticket, those chilly gushes of air, that tranquilizing darkness, that uncertainty made that journey a travel.

There is something with the late hours, darkness and solitude; it brings out the emotional side in you.“It was her birthday today,” suddenly Pawan whispered in a pensive mood. “Whose? Shaina’s?” I asked.

“Yes….”

“So….you must be happy….why are you so wistful?”

“She didn’t pick up my call….”

“Hmmm….what’s with you and Shaina? I have only heard bits and pieces of information….what is between you guys?”

“The truth is….there is nothing between us…never was. We used to study together till class 6^th, then I moved to lucknow and we were separated. But I was never actually able to forget her. Later on we connected through facebook…..she became my best friend….at least that’s what I considered her….”

“So let me get this straight…..you haven’t met a girl since past probably eight years and she is your best friend.” Though he was all composed and serious, which he seldom is, I found this fact peculiarly hilarious. He gave me the most serious look that his chubby round face could manage. “OK…..then what happened?” I tried to act as wistful as he.

“We have met…..once….in last summer vacations only. Everything was fine until she fell for a guy who is five or six years older than she. He had an unpopular track record of eight exes. But the problem was that…..he was out of her league. She would cry for him. I would console her saying that even if it would have worked out…..you would have become the ninth…..nothing else. There is no point crying for him, who don’t even care for you. She would get irritated. Then one fine day, she blocked me. Although, she did unblock me later, but things haven’t been the same.”

“You see…. I can tell you the exact same thing which you told her….”

“Yeah…. I understand that I am being a fool…..but still….I liked her…..we were best friends….”

“Best Friends?.....Really? You think this is what best friends are like? You thought her to be your best friend. If you call a bitter gourd by the name of banana and expect it to taste sweet……whose fault is it? When you bite, it will be bitter…..because it was bitter gourd……you called it a banana…..it is not gourd’s fault…it is bound to be that way….it’s yours fault that you tied irrational expectations to it.”

He looked at me for a while as if I was his Shaina and then said, “out of all the fruits……you had to compare her to a banana.” We both laughed.

Earlier Shakespeare, Jane Austen, Nicholas Sparks and now Bollywood have filled our minds with unreasonable ideas of romance. So much that we have started accepting only those things that appear to be picturesque, perfect or cute. A boy in love with a girl since class sixth…..cute isn’t it? But how practical is it? After years of no connection, how can one fall in love like that? First love is a highly overrated thing in our society…..especially in India where people aren't allowed to fall in love and once if they fall.....its more than enough. Most of the Indians live their whole life tolerating a person in the name of first love or true love or in worse cases, forced love. Clichéd stories have filled us with illogical notions like love at first sight, the girl you will love will initially reject you, you have to suffer to woo the girl, the boy should make the first move and such rubbish junk. Because of this, guys undergo unreasonable humiliation or resort to stalking the girl. They don’t understand, in real life a no is a no! Girls abstain themselves from instigating a relationship with a guy. People create baseless fantasies around a seemingly attractive person of opposite sex and call it love.

Most of the people are in love with the idea of falling in love or having an immaculate love story. The truth is that, what may appear to be a great story to tell might not be a good story to live but a great life lived will always become a good story told.

P.S. yes, I am writing this post after watching Pyar ka punchnama 2 :P
And travelling without ticket later on turned out to be a bad idea when we were completely in clutches of sleep and still couldn't manage to get a seat. However, no TT came for checking. :P

From Linkin Park to Coldplay

I met an old friend yesterday, probably after three years.  The irony is that, we used to boast about us being best friends back in school days, but as the school got over, our friendship succumbed to the sinister blows of distance. Isn’t it the fate of most of friendships? People meet, they talk, they connect and then gradually they part ways, never to meet again. We convince ourselves with sham thoughts like ‘longer the distance, stronger the bond’; but deep within we know we are losing touch. And then one fine day we realise ‘oh man! It’s been three years and we haven’t talked. How time have changed! It’ll be too inappropriate to talk now’; and in this way that bond dies-only memory remains.

I was at a bakery shop, trying to figure out which pastry was befitting to ruin all the sweat I have oozed out from my body in gym, when suddenly I heard an oddly familiar voice, “Chatur, you haven’t changed much….still at the same corner of the shop.” I turned around to find a round face, with a conspicuous mole at the bottom left of the chin, smiling at me. Suddenly waves of memories were ebbing in and out of my mind. “Hi Seema! It’s been a long time,” I stammered. “Yeah…very long time. Look at you….you have lost weight….no more the golu-molu sorts,” she guffawed. “And contrary to me….you have gained some….no more the hot-chick-talk-of-the-town sorts,” I snapped. “Haven’t learned chivalry still eh?” We both laughed.

We quickly did our business at the shop and then she offered to drop me home as she was on scooty and I on foot. “It will not be a problem, as I have to go the same way,” she said. “Seema….I don’t live in Janakipuram anymore....I changed my house about the time we left school. I now live in Priyadarshini and it lies in opposite direction to where you are bearing to” I interrupted. “Ohh….still…I am in no hurry and I can do atleast this much for an old best friend,” she winked. “Fine,” I said and hopped back as a pillion passenger.

It was evening and the square was thronged, it took her some effort to incise her way through the heavy traffic but she managed and finally we were on the empty single lane which led to my house. When we reached, I offered her to come inside and have some water. “Are you trying to return the favor? If so, then don’t do it….because it was no favor, it was what I would have done for any friend,” she said. “Take it any way….but you have to come…I insist,” I said. She agreed and came in.

She sat in the living room as I brought a glass of water and some biscuits. “So you are in Durgapur right? Bengali babu,” she smiled. “Yeah…unfortunately,” I gave a furtive response. “How are the studies going on?” she asked again after a brief pause. “Fine,” I replied. She was there trying to make a conversation and I was there thinking what to say. There were so many questions I wanted to ask, about her boyfriend, her mother who was suffering from cancer, her designing dream which she wasn’t able to pursue; but I was unable to ask. I was just wondering will it be proper to ask now, after so many years. Afterall, we were almost strangers now. Will it not be too intrusive? Will she like it?

Meanwhile, she took my laptop and surfed something and then put it back. “I think I should leave,” finally she was the one again to break the uneasy silence. “Yeah,” I nodded nervously. She went out, hopped on her scooty, put on her helmet and was about to press auto start when she stopped. She glanced at me. “You remember I said to you in the bakery shop that you haven’t changed much?”

“Yes..”

“I was wrong. You have changed……a lot. So much that if someone would have told me what I just witnessed I would have never agreed that he was talking about you.”

“I don’t understand Seema…”

“You know I can just ride back without saying a word, but unlike the present you….i don’t like keeping things in my heart. I mean what is wrong with you dear? Earlier you used to be so garrulous…..everyday you would have some stories to tell me. And now….when we meet after three years, you have nothing to talk to. I saw in your laptop…..your most played songs have changed from linkin park to coldplay. You now put quotes as your desktop background whereas earlier it was always some cartoon character. You have become reticent….or atleast….this is how I perceive you now. I just wish you get back to how you used to be. Bye”

Then she whizzed off leaving me in a swamp of confusion. I was astounded because she hadn’t changed a bit. She was still the same candid girl who didn’t like to hold back anything while I, as she described, have changed from linkin park to coldplay. The worst part was that, I couldn’t figure out the exact transition time, maybe it was around the time when I turned eighteen. Maybe, that’s why they have set eighteen as the age of becoming an adult, because it is around this age that we lose all our childlike perspective. We start assuming a lot, judging a lot and do little thinking. And then I realized, that’s the root of all my problems. I have stopped being a child. I have stopped seeing the galaxy in the foam of coffee, maybe that’s why the hot coffee burns my lips. I have stopped setting out paper-boats in water filled drains, maybe that’s why the rain has started irking me. I have stopped finding these little pleasures in life, maybe that’s why the life is not interesting anymore. I just wish….. I could become that child again and never grow up.

Life's centre

Ping! My phone beeped again. It was the third whatsapp message. I was at the dinner table, sitting beside my mom. I had ignored the first two messages because of the mom factor, but this had to be answered. So, I held my breath, focused my energy and finally made that valiant step; I took out the phone from my pocket while chapatti was still residing in my plate. And my worst nightmare came true! “Khila le phone ko b……ye b patla hua ja rha h tei tarah!!” my mom snapped. GOD! I wonder wherefrom mothers get that mammoth level of sarcasm. “I am almost done mom, this is important,” I tried to reason with her. Now there’s this rule with mothers- when they are in a mood to scold you…..don’t try to reason with them! It is probably more dangerous than going to Afganistan without a bulletproof vest. Well, I broke that rule. “Whom do you talk to? Your friends also leave their food and drown in that 5 inch screen? Do you even know how much effort goes into cooking that food? How will you know……you are always too busy with the phone and your useless friends to help me in the kitchen. Make your phone your mom….ask it to cook your food.” There was no escape from these accusations. I had no option but to keep my eyes down and listen and hope that this lecture doesn’t turn out to be one of those one hour lectures which cover all the problems ranging from my poor grades to global warming and link them to that innocent device. Unfortunately, it did.

It’s true that my mom simply hates the new generation of smart phones but at that time, her chiding was legitimate. I must say, I was addicted to my phone! When my whatapp stopped, my facebook opened, when facebook stopped, quora opened, when quora stopped, a message came on whatsapp and the cycle continued. However, the irony was that, in spite of the fact that I used my phone 24x7, I seldom made calls from it! This used to infuriate my mother even more. For me, the phone used to be a means of escape; when I had to escape from the boring lecture but couldn’t bunk the class, facebook came to rescue, when I found the long assignments too monotonous to do, whatsapp message used to pop up. The fact that I overlooked was that, although the phone provided an escape from my problems, it didn’t solve them. I didn’t realize, but slowly this means to escape from world became my world. Now this was because of multiple reasons, but more on that later. The big picture was that, due to some circumstances, I had inextricably interwined the phone in my lifestyle such that I couldn’t imagine my life without that 5-inch box.

Just a few days back, something happened which changed my perspective. My phone stopped charging. I did what every Indian does when his phone malfunctions; I restarted the phone. I always wonder what’s the logic behind this, but more often than not, it actually solves the problem. I wish we could do the same to people, when they malfunction, simply restart them! Poor thing! God forgot to give us a power button! In my case, however, the problem was not solved. I tried every other card in my deck, changed the data-cable, changed the adaptor, restored factory settings but the battery kept draining its power and then finally, the phone got switched off. That moment was one of the many full stops that I have encountered in my life. I remember, I sat on my bed for over an hour in contemplation. I simply stared blankly at the wall. There was not one particular thing that crossed my mind, rather my mind became a thronged square with an immovable traffic. Various problems were honking, insecurities were crashing, anxieties were involved in petty fight with optimism. All this because that one thing, which I had made the center of my life. was not working.

I spent the next two or three days in such conflicts and moments of isolation. Anyone who tried to invade my isolation irked me. I was so gloomy, so sad. Apparently for no reason! After that, I started accepting the fact that it was gone. I started doing things which I used to escape from. Most of my problems were actually getting solved! Earlier I used to lament that I do not study properly because the professors do not teach well, perhaps they don’t know anything. I realized that I did not study properly because I did not study at all, it had nothing to with the profs, they were doing their business properly. Miraculously, my class notes started getting up to date. I was not sitting in the class like a retard who wasn’t aware of what’s going on. And after about a week, I found myself writing my first blog post. Earlier, I always used to think that I would write something which a wide variety of people will appreciate but I never wrote any such thing. When I published my first blog post and after that went into the hostel mess, there were many people who appreciated my effort. And this process continued for several days in classroom, in jhoops( a makeshift dhaba outside our college campus) and wherever I went. I was elated. The fact that those many people actually read my blog was a matter of sheer pleasure for me. Meanwhile, no one with whom I used to chat over fb or whatsapp other than my siblings and parents took pains to call me and ask that why I wasn’t online or not replying. Probably they didn’t notice. At the back of my mind, I had anticipated this.

We make somethings or some people the center of our life and start revolving around them, but we forget that our life is not a circle with a fixed radius, rather it’s a tan curve which tends to infinity. This conclusion was not only because of losing a phone, rather it was triggered by it, this incident was a catalyst to a reaction which I had been battling with since past few months. It was about some people who used to be the center of my life’s circle, but now I couldn’t even find them in my plane. Life is about eliminating such points. Nothing should be the center of your life other than you. I had made something the center of my life and when it was gone, I thought how I am gonna live now! But here I was, doing absolutely fine, perhaps even better. Ever seen a boy playing with a stone tied to a string. He revolves the stone in circle. What happens when the string breaks? The stone flies away. We over rate things such as first love or money, we ourselves limit our scope by tying us to some feelings or people or things. Just imagine where you would land if you simply snap the string which is tying you to your life’s center.

P.S. Initially I was thinking of taking a new smart phone, but now I am content with a small Samsung guru handset and my mom is the happiest creature on planet.

What's its worth?

Today, while sitting on the pot I was thinking what I have done. My philosophies and digestion system have a very peculiar connection; products of both always come out together. My mother had asked me to clean up the crap I had accumulated in the store room. I have this unusual habit of not parting with the things which belonged to me. My philosophy is that, if I part with them, then they may get under someone else’s ownership. Now call it my ego or possessiveness, I don’t want that what belonged to me should belong to someone else. So I had collected all of my assets since childhood, be it my first school bag which was now ragged or the tarnished geometry box which I had won in my first vocabulary competition in 3^rd grade and even something as trivial as pokemon cards which used to come with Uncle chips. I used to call them memories, my mother had another name for them-rubbish.

Hence I started getting rid of those memories, or rubbish, whatever you may prefer to call them. I started with my JEE preparation books, as they were the least favourite things in my collection, and then my old clothes, hot wheels cars, old desktop, my first love letter (yes, I still had that), birthday cards, those fairy tale and Panchtantra books, Chacha Chaudhary comics and finally that exclusive pokemon card collection which I had so painstakingly collected. At last it was the turn of my old Hero ranger cycle. This cycle has a very interesting genesis story. When I was in sixth or seventh grade, my father bought me a new cycle which was rather plain looking with narrow wheels. When I took it to school for the first time, I saw that one of my friends had brought a new Hero ranger cycle with glistening red paint, broad tires and uber stylish frame. I was abashed on seeing my plain looking cycle. When I got home, I said I wanted a new cycle. My father said that I already had a new cycle and there was no need for another one. But I was so obstinate, I refused to go to school without the new cycle. When my demand was not met, I refused to eat food. Still, when my demand was not met, I got on the terrace and threatened to jump from there. Finally, my parents gave in and I got that new red coloured Hero ranger cycle. 

The cycle was not red anymore, it was rusted. Its break wires were used to dry clothes in sun, the maid had taken away it saddle for some unknown reasons and now only a rod protruded from the frame in its place and mice had chewed away its tire. I had sold it to a scrap dealer who bought it for 150 rupees.

While sitting on the pot I was thinking, I had taken so much of pains to get that cycle, left the food and even put my life at stake for it. It was the most important thing in my ‘got to have it list’. It used to be the centre of my life. And now, it was crap. I myself sold it to a scrap dealer for just 150 rupees. That was its worth. That was the worth of those pains. I thought about those pokemon cards. I used to get only three rupees as pocket money for a week. The uncle chips packet came at ten rupees. I used to collect those three rupees, I used to suppress my desire to buy one kisme chocolate or one samosa. And then after three weeks, I used to buy that uncle chips packet to get the pokemon card. Those cards now rested at the base of dustbin. That was the worth of my patience. I wondered about the things I was running after right now. My pointer and my IIM dream. The sacrifices I was making for them. After ten years, what would be their worth? Now, when I thought of my younger self, I see him as a foolish little kid. I am not proud of his stubbornness. Will the ten years older version of me be proud of me?

My First Crush (Part IV): Love Letter

After wasting a lot of ink and my time, I was finally done with my first love letter. And it was…or perhaps, it is by far the most embarrassing passage jotted down by me. However, it was applauded by my love guru-Anish. Chhaya was going to be discharged that day and the plan was to give her the love letter outside the hospital and anticipation was that she would read it and then come running towards me in slow motion, her parents would try to halt her but she would swirl and dodge their attempts and finally reach in my arms. Yes, it was all Anish’s imagination.

I was ready. I had embellished myself with the best shirt and trouser that I had, surreptitiously shaved off the few strands of hairs I had on my cheeks using my father’s razor, emptied the bottle of deodorant on myself and memorized the few words I had to say to her before giving her the love letter. I was waiting outside the city hospital and finally the moment came. Her hideous face emerged from the hospital door. She was accompanied by her parents. I sauntered towards her. Her glance rested on me for a while. She gave her characteristic grimace and trudged towards me. “Again here to see your grandfather?” she enquired. “No…. I came to show you something,” believe me….these seven words still remain the most regretted sentence that ever came out of my mouth. “What?” she gave me a spooky glance. Her lips curved in a weird fashion, her eyebrows rose to join her locks and my heart sank. I rummaged in my pockets for the letter but couldn’t find it. “What you wanted to show?” she asked again. With hands still in my pocket, I cued towards my trouser. “My new trouser,” I rambled. “Seriously! You came here to show me your new trouser,” she appeared as the ugliest person alive as she gave her regular disgusted look. Then she turned around and went back to her parents, talked to them for a while and then hopped in her car which scuttled away on the thronged street.

I came back to home, ruminating where I might have dropped the love letter. Just then my sister entered the room. “Who is this chhaya?” she asked. I think the earth took a quick rotation just at that second. I looked at her; she gave me the most malevolent grin. “You are like my mini mouse like my daisy duck,” she chuckled as she recited few more lines of my love letter. “You don’t propose a girl like that my brother,” she guffawed. I was just too embarrassed to say anything. She then picked out a five-star from her pocket. “Mom brought this for you….but I need this to keep my mouth shut about Chhaya madam,” she grinned. There are few things I can’t compromise with, sleep and chocolate. So I pounced upon her and almost managed to snatch the chocolate but she slipped from my grip. After a couple of blows I gained a favourable position once again, but this time I let her slip away because I liked the satisfactory smile she gave after winning a combat with me.

Next day Chhaya came to school and my usual days were back. In the recess she again tried to steal my lunch but her attempt was sabotaged by me. World war 3 again broke out. After an interminable battle, when finally I snatched back my lunch, I realized something. I didn’t love her. Anish had been wrong the whole time. Yes, it was true I missed her when she wasn’t around; I missed these little quarrels, this vying but that didn’t imply I loved her. Maybe I liked her company, I also like the company of my dog but that doesn't mean I want to hold my dog's paw, marry him and spend my entire life with him. I definitely didn’t love her. I loved food. I loved my sister but not her. Had I loved her, I had let her win, let her take away the thing so dear to me. And that was the last time I thought about her in that way.

P.S. : she left school after class 10^th and I lost touch with her. I met her recently and I was like what the hell!! Don’t know which plastic surgeon operated on her, but she looks stunning now and I regret that stupid thing I thought in that recess in seventh standard. :P

My First Crush(Part III): My experiments with love

“You are in love,” Anish stated in his typical flat voice. He has brought me from ‘you are missing her’ phase to ‘you love her’ phase in just a matter of few hours. In the interim, there have been many other phases- maybe you like her phase, you like only her curves phase, you like only her butt phase, you like her face phase, it is highly possible you like her intelligence phase and then finally you like her phase just followed by the ultimate you love her phase. He gloated at the enlightment that he had showered upon me and I was like ‘what the shit you are talking’. Although I was thinking that, but a part of me was applauding him for the vast knowledge about cupid’s activity that he had mustered up from various cliché romantic novels and bollywood classics. We were sitting in front of my desktop and I was scrolling down my orkut profile. There was this feature in orkut which told that who visited your profile recently. I am glad facebook doesn’t allow this. So there was this notification-‘Chhaya Singh visited your profile’. Just as he saw this, Anish passed on his judgement, “Dude, she loves you too.” I tried imagining us in love- we both are facing each other, the air is warm, her bunny like teeth nearing my mouth and in a bid to kiss she cuts my lips. Yes, it was exactly as grotesque as this. “Are you sure?”  I asked. “Absolutely dude!! Why else on earth she would visit your profile,” he snapped. Then he went on to explain how in Kuch Kuch Hota Hai Kajol and Shahrukh squabbled in the beginning but ended up becoming soul mates, in Jab We Met Shahid had apathy towards Kareena but ended up tying knots with her and a million other anecdotes of animosity being impaled by cupid’s arrow. Somehow, I also bought his words.

Next day, I was completely lost in reverie. When in love, normal people think ‘she loves me, she loves me not’; I was thinking ‘I love her, I love her not’. Next day was my mathematics unit test and there I was brooding over love. In the evening, Anish came and told that she was suffering from severe jaundice and was admitted in hospital. And as supposedly I was in love, and if the hypothesis was correct, she was in love too, therefore the great advice that he bestowed upon me was that I should bunk the school next day and go and see her. And guess what, I did exactly the same thing; I bunked and flunked my mathematics test and went to the hospital. Anish ushered me to the general ward where her bed was, gave me some last minute dos and donts and then wished me luck. I went inside. He had said that she would appear to me like a mermaid and that I would be perplexed by her beauty and I would be so much dumbstruck by her appearance that I wouldn’t be able to say a word and I would feel butterflies in my stomach. I was indeed dumbstruck, not by her beauty but her appalling figure. Her nest like hairs rested on her sallow face, the debilitating effect of jaundice had highlighted her already limelighted chisel shaped tooth. And I didn’t feel any butterflies either, rather there was this retching feeling in mouth due to the pungent smell of medicine that had bludgeoned my nostril. “You?? Here?” she grimaced. “Same question I can ask to you also,” I blabbered without thinking. “Huh….what do you think why I am lying on this stupid bed with needles broaching my skin,” she almost shouted. “I am here to see my grandfather, he is admitted here,” I said and immediately scuttled past the nurse into the main hall where Anish was waiting for me. I told him everything. Any sane person would have thought that this whole idea of love was bullshit but this guy was Anish. “You are madly in love,” he said. His new hypothesis was that I was too nervous to say anything and that’s why his next big plan was to write a love letter.