chetan bhagat declared on twitter today that he’s finally come to the conclusion that he’s a complete idiot. ha ha.
i think not.
a cursory glance through his body of barf (if you can bear to stomach even that) should be enough for the average reader to recognize him for what he is – a machiavellian perversion of literature released upon the indian readership to wean us away from books forever.
he’s probably the lynch pin of a giant conspiracy by kindle. or by the evil minions who sell us ‘value added services’ on our mobile phones.
think about it. he reads exactly like sms spam. the kind you get on (ick!) valentine’s day, or (yuck!) friendship day, or (huh?) women’s day, heavily garnished with fucked up spelling, zero grammar and smileys for punctuation. the folks who can read that junk and be moved to do anything less than projectile vomit are clearly made of sterner stuff than i am.
the menu card at my guest house in gurgaon reads better than mr.bhagat. tucked away in its list of unpretentious indian/continental/chinese fare are what i can only assume to be the cook’s specials, viz, staffed parathas with crud and pickels, toast with jam and batter, anyway maggy, massla poppad, sikh kabab, paneer batter massla, matter paneer, bucumber salad, batter chicken, matten curry, chicken munchur, american and chines choupsey and plane milk. at the end, it sweetly signs off with ‘at your sirvice :)’
my point is that unlike bhagat barf, reading this eager cook’s curious listings never fails to pique my appetite and always leaves me smiling.
ps: in case you're wondering, i follow mr.bhagat on twitter because on the days i'm pms-ing, tweeting back at him is like laxative for the soul.
image source: www.ugly-halloween-costumes.com