Half Girlfriend Novel
Author Chetan Bhagat
Book Publishers Rupa Publications India Pvt. Ltd 2014
Language. English
Category Novel Love
Book Code 96
Paper Black
Pages 284
Rs 500
Book Quality Print Paper
Whatsapp +92312-9775152
E-mail onlinebookshop.pk@gmail.com
About Book
Once upon a time, there was a Bihari boy called Madhav. He fell in love with girl called Riya. Madhav didn't speak English well. Riya did. Madhav wanted a relationship. Riya didn't. Riya just wanted friendship. Madhav didn't. Riya suggested a compromise. She agreed to be his half-girlfriend. From the author of the blockbuster novels Five Point Someone, One Night @ the Call Center, The 3 Mistakes of My Life, 2 States and Revolution 2020 comes a simple and beautiful love story that will touch your heart and inspire you to chase your dreams.
ایک دفعہ ایک بار، مدھ نامی ایک بہاری لڑکے تھی. وہ ریا نامی لڑکی کے ساتھ محبت میں گر گیا. مدھ نے انگریزی کو اچھی طرح سے نہیں بولا. ریا نے کیا مدھ نے ایک رشتہ چاہتا تھا. ریا نہیں ریا صرف دوستی چاہتا تھا. مدھ نہیں تھا. ریا نے معاہدے کی تجویز کی. اس نے اپنی نصف گرل فرینڈ پر اتفاق کیا. بلاک بسٹر ناولز کے پانچ پوائنٹس کسی، ایک نائٹ کال سینٹر، 3 میری غلطیاں، 2 ریاستوں اور انقلاب 2020 کے مصنف سے ایک سادہ اور خوبصورت محبت کی کہانی ہے جو آپ کے دل کو چھونے اور آپ کے خوابوں کا پیچھا کرنے کے لئے آپ کو حوصلہ افزائی کرتا ہے.
Where?’ I gasped, trying to catch my breath.
I had two minutes left for my interview to start and I couldn’t ad
the room. Lost, I stopped whoever I could in the confusing corridors
of St. Stephens College to ask for directions.
Most students ignored me. Many sniggered. I wondered why. Well,
now I know. My accent. Back in 2004, my English was Bihari. I don’t
want to talk now like I did back then. It’s embarrassing. It wasn’t
English. It was 90 per cent Bihari Hindi mixed with 10 per cent really
bad English. For instance, this is what I had actually said: 'Cumty
room...bat!aieyega zara? Hamara interview hai na wahan... Mera khel
ka kota hai. Kis taraf hai?’
If I start speaking the way I did in those days, you’ll get a
headache. So I’m going to say everything in English, just imagine my
words in Bhojpuri-laced Hindi, with the worst possible English thrown
in.
‘Where you from, man?’ said a boy with hair longer than most
girls.
‘Me Madhav Jha from Dumraon, Bihar.’
His friends laughed. Over time, I learnt that people often ask what
they call a ‘rhetorical’ question—something they ask just to make a
point, not expecting an answer. Here, the point was to demonstrate that
I was an alien amongst them.
‘What are you interviewing for? Peon?' the long-haired boy said
and laughed.
I didn’t know enough English back then to be offended. Also, I
was in a hurry. ‘You know where it is?’ I said instead, looking at his
group of friends. They all seemed to be the rich, English types.
Another boy, short and fat, seemed to take pity on me and replied,
‘Take a left at the corner of the main red building and you’ll find a sign
for the committee room.’
‘Thank you,’ I said.This I knew how to say in English.‘Can you read the sign in English?’ the boy with the long hair said.
His friends told him to leave me alone. I followed the fat boy’s
instructions and ran towards the red building.
I faced the first interview of my life. Three old men sat in front of
me. They looked like they had not smiled since their hair had turned
grey.
I had learnt about wishing people before an interview. I had even
practised it. ‘Good morning, sir.’
‘There are a few of us here,’ said the man in the middle. He seemed
to be around fifty-five years old and wore square, black-rimmed
glasses and a checked jacket.
‘Good morning, sir, sir and sir,’ I said.
They smiled. I didn’t think it was a good smile. It was the high-
class-to-low-class smile. The smile of superiority, the smile of delight
that they knew English and I didn’t.
Of course, I had no choice but to smile back.
The man in the middle was Professor Pereira, the head of
sociology, the course I had applied for. Professor Fernandez, who
taught physics, and Professor Gupta, whose subject was English, sat
on his left and right respectively.
‘Sports quota, eh?’ Prof. Pereira said. ‘Why isn’t Yadav here?’
‘I’m here, sir,’ a voice called out from behind me. I turned around
to see a man in a tracksuit standing at the door. He looked too old to be
a student but too young to be faculty.
‘This one is 85 per cent your decision,’ Prof. Pereira said.
‘No way, sir.You are the final authority.’ He sat down next to the
professors. PiyushYadav was the sports coach for the college and sat
in on all sports-quota interviews. He seemed simpler and friendlier
than the professors. He didn’t have a fancy accent either.
‘Basketball?’ Prof. Fernandez asked, scanning through my file.
‘Yes, sir,’ I said.
‘What level?’
‘State.’‘Do you speak in full sentences?’ Prof. Gupta said in a firm voice.
I didn’t fully understand his question. I kept quiet.
‘Do you?’ he asked again.
‘Yes, yes,’ I said, my voice like a convict’s.
‘So...why do you want to study at St. Stephen’s?’
A few seconds of silence followed. The four men in the room
lpoked at me.The professor had asked me a standard question.
‘I want good college,’ I said, after constructing the sentence in my
head.
Prof. Gupta smirked. ‘That is some response. And why is St.
Stephen’s a good college?’
I switched to Hindi. Answering in English would require pauses
and make me come across as stupid. Maybe I was stupid, but I did not
want them to know that.
‘Your college has a big name. It is famous in Bihar also,’ I said.
‘Can you please answer in English?’ Prof. Gupta said.
‘Why? You don’t know Hindi?’ I said in reflex, and in Hindi.
I saw my blunder in their horrified faces. I had not said it in
defiance; I really wanted to know why they had to interview me in
English when I was more comfortable in Hindi. Of course, I didn’t
know then that Stephen’s professors didn’t like being asked to speak
in Hindi.
‘Professor Pereira, how did this candidate get an interview'?’ Prof.
Gupta said.
Prof. Pereira seemed to be the kindest of the lot. He turned to me.
‘We prefer English as the medium of instruction in our college, that’s
all.’
Without English, I felt naked. I started thinking about my return
trip to Bihar. I didn’t belong here—these English-speaking monsters
would eat me alive. I was wondering what would be the best way to
take their leave when Piyush Yadav broke my chain of thought.
‘Bihar se ho? Are you from Bihar?’ he said.
The few words in Hindi felt like cold drops of rain on a scorching
Copyright ©
First published by
Rupa Publications India Pvt. Ltd 2014
7/16,Ansari Road, Daryaganj New Delhi 110002
Sales centres: Allahabad Bengaluru Chennai Hyderabad Jaipur
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Copyright © Chetan Bhagat 2014
Lyrics on page 223 have been taken from the song Don't Wanna Miss
a Thing by Aerosmith (Sony Music); on page 224 from the song A
Thousand Years by Christina Perri (Atlantic Records); and on pages
253-254 from the song You’re Beautiful by James Blunt (Atlantic
Records). While every effort has been made to trace copyright holders
and obtain permission, this has not been possible in all cases; any
omissions brought to our attention will be remedied in future editions.
All rights reserved.
No part of this publication may be reproduced, transmitted, or stored
in a retrieval system, in any form or by any means, electronic,
mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without the prior
permission of the publisher.
ISBN: 978-81-291-3572-8
Fifth impression 2014
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