In Conversation with Chetan Bhagat

Revolution 2020_Amazon A+

An excerpt:

‘Lazy parents, bread-butter again,’ I grumbled, shutting a blue plastic tiffin in the second row. Raghav and I moved to the next desk. ‘Forget it, Gopal. The class will be back any time,’ Raghav said. ‘Shh …’ ‘I’ve brought puri-aloo, we can share that. It’s wrong to steal from others.’ I battled a small, round steel tiffin box. ‘How does one open this?’ Neither of us had the sharp nails required to open the thin steel lid of the stubborn box. We had skipped the morning assembly for our weekly tiffin raid. We had ten more minutes till the national anthem began outside. After that class 5 C would be back. We had to find, eat and keep the tiffins back within that time. ‘It’s pickle and parathas,’ Raghav said, having opened the lid. ‘You want it?’

‘Forget it,’ I said as I returned the steel box to the student’s bag. My eyes darted from one bag to another. ‘This one,’ I said, pointing to a pink imported rucksack in the first row. ‘

We rushed to the target’s seat. I grabbed the Barbie bag, unzipped the front flap and found a red, shiny, rectangular tiffin. The cover had a spoon compartment. ‘Fancy box!’ I said, clicking the lid open. Idlis, a little box of chutney and a large piece of chocolate cake. We’d hit the jackpot.

‘I only want the cake,’ I said as I lifted the huge slice.

‘Don’t take the whole thing. It’s not fair,’ Raghav said.

‘If I eat only a bit, she will get to know,’ I scowled.

‘Cut it into two. Take one, leave the other,’ Raghav said.

‘Cut with what?’

‘Use a ruler,’ he suggested.

I ran to my desk. I brought back a ruler and made a clean cut. ‘Fine?’

I said. ‘Happy now?’

‘It’s her cake.’ Raghav shrugged.

‘But you are my friend,’ I said.

I offered a bite. He refused. I had not had any breakfast at home. I gorged on the cake, my fingers smeared with icing. ‘Why don’t you get your own tiffin?’ Raghav said. I spoke with my mouth stuffed. ‘It will mean extra work for Baba. He makes lunch and dinner anyway.’

‘So?’ ‘I tell him I don’t feel hungry.’ My father taught in a government school. He left home at six, even earlier than me. I licked the chocolate cream off my fingers. We could hear the national anthem.

‘I can bring tiffin for you,’ Raghav said and made me stand up along with him for the anthem.

‘Forget it, your mom cooks boring stuff. Puri every day,’ I said.

We heard students chatter on their way back to class. I stuffed the remaining cake into my mouth.

‘Hurry, hurry,’ Raghav said.

I shut the red tiffin box and placed it back in the Barbie bag.

‘Who sits here anyway?’ Raghav asked.