Because Shit Happened

by Harsh Snehanshu

  Little did we realize that 100 orders a month was a friggin’ impossible situation in such a fragmented market, with myriad players in the field already active before us.

  I returned with a wide grin on my face, as though I had been awarded the Entrepreneur of the Year award for just discussing a unique idea. Pratik stayed at my lodge for the night. While Pratik caught up with Shardul, I decided to say hi to my long-ignored girlfriend, who I had not called for almost three days. Yes, I was going into the lion’s den to be eaten alive.

  ‘Hi Sugar,’ I uttered, anticipating an outburst.

  ‘Jerk! You are such a jerk. I hate you, I hate you, I hate you,’ she shrieked. BINGO.

  ‘Why, what happened?’

  ‘You don’t care about me. All you care about is yourself. Three days and no call, no chats. You had time to update your Facebook status, you had time to upload photos, but you didn’t have time for me.’

  ‘I’m so sorry honey. I got caught up with a business idea,’ I said, trying to impress her. She was pursuing an undergraduate Economics Honors degree from the University of Delhi. I thought that it might interest her, but I was wrong.

  ‘Whatever. I’m not talking to you,’ she said and disconnected her phone.

  ‘Sorry,’ I cried, only to hear the disconnecting beep sound.

  I heaved a sigh of relief.

  I noticed that both Shardul and Pratik were staring in my direction, grinning.

  ‘See the happiness on his face after putting the phone down. Bloody dog!’ Shardul remarked.

  Pratik chuckled. I wanted to smear their faces with the coal ash from the hearth in our room. I looked away, vexed. I retorted by updating my status on FB, writing yet another one-liner:

  Happiness requires two things. A friend to laugh with and a friend to laugh at.

  Both of them liked it within minutes, in a way soothing my bruised ego. But someone else didn’t like it. There lay a comment saying, ‘Jerk! Call me, or I’ll kill you.’

  Just because it was cheaper to call from the UK to India than the other way instead, I was blamed for all the lack of communication that happened between the two of us.

  ‘Sugar,’ I said when I called her next, faking a doting voice and this time, I went out of the room to not let the duo disturb me.

  ‘Why couldn’t you call me back? Don’t you miss me?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘You are so rude. I’m breaking up with you.’

  ‘Hey, no need to do that. I don’t miss you because you are here with me. You are the wallpaper of my heart.’

  ‘Aww, that was sweet. Now stop being so cheesy.’

  Yes, sugar.’

  ‘By the way, your recent update was nice. Where did you copy it from?’

  ‘It was original. I’m a writer. I don’t need to copy, dumbass.’

  ‘Wow, I have trapped a talented guy, Mr Sabharwal, isn’t it?’ That was another layer of butter on my ego, thankfully, from someone who had already buttered my heart.

  ‘Absolutely.’

  ‘Jerk, now you need to say something in my appreciation. It’s my turn to feel happy.’

  ‘Umm, you are…beautiful and intelligent.’ I carefully chose the last word, for it has the power to flatter any dumb girl.

  ‘You are such a bad writer with no imagination, no creativity, and no vocabulary.’

  I was glad that she wasn’t dumb at least. It made me feel good since she was my girlfriend.

  ‘You are the song on my lips, you are the tears in my eyes, you are the smile on my face, you are the throbbing of my heart,’ I uttered in a go.

  ‘Finally, some appreciation.’

  ‘It’s not over yet. It goes like—you are the pimple on my hip, you are the wax in my ears, you are the gas in my belly, you are the lice in my hair.’

  ‘Jackass, I hate you. Bye,’ she said and hung up once again. I returned laughing. Pratik and Shardul were watching Basic Instinct. I joined them on the couch and watched Sharon Stone and her never-ending legs perform…

  The next day was amazing. We saw a surge of traffic on our blog. There were over fifteen comments, all of them appreciative. People liked our one-liners. And it dawned on me why the idea was being appreciated. Others were more confident about their one-liner writing potential—than suppose their art, or poetry or story—because it didn’t take more than five seconds to come up with it, making it easy for the contributor, as well as for the reader who didn’t need more than five seconds to go through one such witty quote.

  I had the idea. I had a few friends interested in the idea. The only thing that was left was how to get started, but the question that bothered me was about the right time. An idea was not enough, an idea about how and when we should go about it was the need of the hour.

  The next one month in Glasgow went off smoothly, as I finished my work diligently as well as travelled across the beautiful country with Shardul, Pratik, and Rajiv.

  Meanwhile, I had also managed to write a novel on my blog and it was going to be published in August, with just two months remaining. It was an erroneous love story of contrasting couples—much like Priya and I—except that the story was totally imagined, written just to popularize my blog. What actually happened was that it became so popular as a blog that publishers saw the huge potential in it when I approached them. So, I was also going to become an author by pure chance.

  Much of the time that was left from my internship, beside my numerous fights with Priya and chilling with my batchmates, was spent in proofreading, editing, and cover designing for my upcoming book. When I received the edited copy from the publisher, I sent it to two of my friends—Pallavi and Rishabh for proofreading. Pallavi was my very dear friend from school who had introduced me to Priya and paved the way for our relationship, while Rishabh was one of my coolest friends IIT—the one who sold tees and who I had inducted into blogging.

  I was very particular about whom I should send my work to before it got published. I didn’t want unwanted criticism that would have led to my wings being cut even before take-off, that’s why I chose my proofreaders with care. The reason I decided on Rishabh and Pallavi was because we shared immense mutual respect and admiration, which ensured that even criticism that was going to come my way would be gentle and honest.

  Pallavi’s reply was short and simple. She liked it, she found it unbelievable that a so-called nerdy guy (read: me) had written such a humorous book, while Rishabh had become a huge fan of my work.

  I let the idea remain as a blog for some time, until I came back and published my novel.

  The Stepping Stone

  September, 2009

  Months passed by. The foreign-returned Indian in me was busy sharing stories of the UK with all my friends and relatives. The YourQuote blog became dormant, updated only monthly now. My book had got published on my birthday. I was enraptured by my newfound fame. New friend requests, new appreciation mails, new readers, new likes.

  But one thing that didn’t change was my habit of writing one-liners. I started writing more of them. The new readers brought in a flood of likes to keep my habit going and after two months of publishing my novel and letting my blog remain dormant, I began considering setting it up pretty seriously. It all started with this mail from one of my readers named Urvashi:

  You know what, I see some status update from you, I read it, I like it. And then I’m I like, ‘God, he must be thinking I am such an irritating person who is almost stalking him.’

  Then, I decide I won’t like or comment on your next update. But how can I help myself when the next update is even more awesome than the previous one? I have been quoting your one-liners in my profile so much that all my friends know you too by now.

  Reading her mail, I realized that it was high time to flush out the comfort zone from my life. The more I kept delaying the launch of the website, the more I missed out on.

  The new semester was a little hectic and it became really difficult to involve Pratik into any brainstorming
sessions. Moreover, Pratik had gotten involved with the Dramatics society and had almost no time left for anything else. Most IITians preferred to do everything at night and sleep during the day. No wonder, I would find Pratik’s door always shut as he would spend tireless nights practising for street plays. In those moments, it dawned on me that the idea was my calling: it being my child, it had to be me and me alone to lay the foundation stone.

  But was I ready?

  I haven’t shared anything about my personality yet, I guess. All that you would have learnt about me till now is that I was a creative and somewhat, emotional guy. Well, that’s certainly true, but there was one more side to me. I was a wimp. A person with no self-confidence for face-to-face encounters. I had to fight an inner tug-of-war to even get the courage to speak with my network operator, leave aside the dreaded thought of dealing with rowdy T-shirt manufacturers, the astute businessmen of Delhi, or any such person for that matter.

  For the next one month, I let my ambition struggle for oxygen in the evacuated chamber of my diffidence. Until one day, Rishabh, the friend who marketed T-shirts in college campuses earlier, walked into my room.

  November, 2009

  ‘Bro, one of my female friends read your novel.’

  ‘Wow, what’s her name?’

  ‘You might know her. Anjali Yadav.’

  ‘Yes, heard her name from Pratik. She is in the Dramatics Club, right?’

  ‘Yes,’ he said.

  ‘What did she say about my book?’ I asked, curious. Who doesn’t like female attention?

  ‘She read it in one go. She didn’t say much, just complimented your sense of humour.’

  ‘That’s flattering enough. So how do you two know each other?’

  ‘Nothing. She commented on my blog after which I added her.’

  ‘Awesome. So, writing makes one famous, isn’t it?’ I complimented.

  ‘Indeed, all thanks to you, bro. It was you who told me: “Everyone can write, not everyone can sit to write”.’

  I was flattered. A person who credits his friend at the moment of his glory truly values one’s friendship. Rishabh was that special friend. The real purpose why he had come had been to ask me to register for a course on Entrepreneurial Management, which he was interested in after his brief stint with the T-shirt business. But he didn’t know that I was more inclined to take that course and had already registered for it. Besides, as I was more regular, more sincere in classes, he needed me to mark his proxies while he spent his nights playing LAN games.

  ‘It’s been long time since you updated your blog, YourQuote. I was seriously missing your one-liners,’ said Rishabh. His words seemed flattering since all those one-liners first made it to my Facebook wall and he liked most of them.

  ‘I’ll update,’ I said thoughtfully.

  Should I mention the idea to him? The thought hit my head. He seemed enterprising, actually much more enterprising than Pratik, and moreover, he was the Secretary of the Student Activity Council (SAC), a student body that managed and organized cultural activities around the campus, and was thus well connected to a lot of students.

  The initial kick of sharing the idea encountered a sudden drag when Pratik’s advice echoed in my mind—‘Don’t disclose this idea to anyone, we’ll pursue it together.’ I thought of asking Pratik first; after all I’d given him my word, despite the fact that his lack of participation or enthusiasm lately had reflected poorly on his reliability to the project in my mind. I bid Rishabh a cordial goodbye. In any case, I had figured that Rishabh was a more reliable friend and would be willing to help at all times.

  Hurriedly, I went towards Pratik’s room. It was four in the evening and Pratik had just woken up from sleep. I initiated the talk saying, ‘Brother, you need to listen to me. What course have you registered for in the next semester?’

  ‘Introduction to Dramatics. Nair ma’am will be taking the course. All of us in the dramatics society are taking it,’ he said enthusiastically. His energy had flushed out his lethargy by then.

  ‘Remember we had to start the venture? I’m taking the course on Entrepreneurial Management. Want to join in with me?’

  ‘I have already registered for the dramatics course.’

  ‘But you can deregister as well, can’t you?’ I persisted.

  ‘You join the entrepreneurial course, you tell me the bits and bytes of it. You are behaving as if you want to start-up now, in college itself,’ he said in an irate tone. I had got my answer. He wasn’t ready. He wasn’t willing. Was I?

  ‘Thanks,’ I returned, thinking.

  It was time to charter my own plane and bury my limitations by finding a partner with complementary skills, someone who filled in for my shortcomings. I wanted someone outgoing, persuasive, and patient. It didn’t take me long to figure who I wanted. Rishabh. My belief was strengthened because the two of us shared great mutual respect and trust. Besides, Rishabh was single at the time which meant he would remain focussed, no matter what happened.

  I went to Rishabh’s room and knocked at the door. He was busy playing the game Counter Strike (CS). On seeing me, he paused the game and asked, ‘What happened?’ which stunned me as pausing Counter Strike in the middle of play was considered blasphemous to the divine game for any avid gamer.

  ‘Yes, I wanted to talk to you…’ I mumbled.

  Rishabh shut his laptop and came over to meet me. It was a highly unanticipated gesture. Dumbstruck, I asked him for an explanation when he ranted, ‘Bloody CS! It sucks up most of my time. What should I do?’

  ‘I just have the right thing for you,’ I said. But once again, I was encapsulated by the fear of sharing my idea with another person. The guilt of avenging Pratik’s flat refusal by involving someone else clouded my mind and made me superstitious that things might go wrong. I played a gimmick on Rishabh.

  ‘Watch porn instead,’ I said with a goofy smile.

  ‘Asshole, you wasted my game,’ he grunted.

  As the major examinations were approaching, I postponed the discussions on YourQuote for another one or two months, before affirming Pratik’s final stand. I waited for Pratik to take an interest on his own. But he seemed least bothered.

  By next month, I was least bothered about him as well.

  January, 2010

  It’s difficult facing the chilly winter mornings of Delhi just when you have risen from the cozy comforts of your home. However, as it happened, the lectures on Entrepreneurial Management were early morning classes that were held in the farthest lecture theater of the campus at 8 am. As Rishabh and I, already fifteen minutes late, tried to enter the first of many such classes to come stealthily through the back door, the plump old veteran Prof. Karmakar, stopped us short. He looked serious.

  Both of us stood with downcast eyes, busy as if discerning the chemical composition of the floor on which we stood. We feared being reprimanded. Three guys entered after us and were summoned by him once again.

  ‘Now, since you guys are late, think of a business idea that can prevent students from coming late.’

  Most of us were sleepy and couldn’t think creatively after a ten minutes’ walk in the chilly winter morning. We remained quiet.

  ‘Come on, until you guys answer, I won’t let you sit,’ the Professor said with a cunning smile. I was glad that he wasn’t as serious as he looked. As my eyes forayed across the class, I realized that even the sex ratio was better than most of the other courses that semester. The sudden happiness fondled my creative instincts and I replied, ‘A video lectures website. No student would ever be late to class if there was such a website, simply because nobody would need to come,’ I uttered, sending the class rolling in the aisles, including Prof. Karmakar who signalled us to sit with a smile.

  My witty answer didn’t have any takers except for the professor who explained, ‘What this sleepy guy just said is indeed a good idea. In fact, there is a start-up in the US working on the same by the name of Khan Academy—one of the most sought after online
educational organization of the world.’

  I felt elated. I would have felt more elated had he not called me a ‘sleepy guy’. Nevertheless, it was nice to see a few pretty faces smiling with a sense of ridicule at me, which I mistook for admiration.

  The professor, on the first day itself, cited examples of various start-ups by our alumni while they were still in college and had now made big. At the end of the class, the professor invited us to ask questions. While the other students were getting ready to leave, I—shedding my wimpy self for a higher calling—raised my right hand. You know the kind of nasty look a fellow student gives you when you remind the teacher of the previous day’s homework? I received plenty of those. Rishabh, who was seated next to me, said, ‘Amol, I will never forgive you for this’, but I didn’t care.

  ‘Yes, sleepy guy. You are awake now. Ask,’ said professor.

  ‘Sir, when is the right time to start-up?’

  ‘Whenever you feel ready.’

  Disgusted, angry, and irate looks were thrown at me like rotten tomatoes. I could even hear a girl sitting behind me say, ‘This novel guy thinks himself to be too smart,’ which surprisingly made me happy and more willing to continue, for it made me feel better about myself. People now addressed me as the novel guy!

  ‘I feel I’m ready for a start-up, sir. So what should I do?’ I said impulsively.

  ‘Take the leap then,’ he said, turning off the projector and walking out of the room before I could prod him any further.

  Rishabh passed me a quizzical you-still-want-more? look. I shrugged and walked away.

  ‘What do you want to start a venture on?’ Rishabh asked me on the way back.

  The soothing 10 o’clock winter sun had just risen from its slumber and shown its face, coming out of the blanket of clouds. As the gentle heat of the sun tickled my brown skin, I reflected on my time in Glasgow, where rain didn’t leave us a chance to catch a glimpse of sun for days on end and we would be enveloped in darkness even at noon.