Welcome to 2 States, a story about Krish and Ananya. Welcome to the English Conversation Class sponsored by the Church of Jesus Christ We teach. Welcome to 2 States, a story about Krish and Ananya. They are from two different states of India, deeply in love and want to get married. Of course, their parents. Free download of 2 States by Bhagat. Available in PDF, ePub and Kindle. Read, write reviews and more.
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Cultural Contradictions in Chetan Bhagat's 2 States - The Story of My Marriage of the successful works by Chetan Bhagat, a young Indian writer in English. Madhav states and admits that his English is not English, rather it is 90% of Bihari . Levels: An Analysis of Chetan Bhagat's 2 States: The Story of My. Marriage. Welcome to 2 States, a story about Krish and Ananya. Besides writing novels he also writes for leading English & Hindi Newspaper to inspire.
She took the two rasgullas and moved out of the line. OK buddy, pretty girl goes her way, rasgulla-less loser goes another. Find a corner to sit, I said to myself. She turned to me. She didn't ask me to sit with her, but she looked like she wouldn't mind if I did. She pointed to a table with a little finger where we sat down opposite each other.
The entire mess stared at us, wondering what I had done to merit sitting with her. I have made a huge sacrifice - my dessert - 1 wanted to tell them. Yuk isn't it? I coughed as I bit on a green chili. She had a water jug next to her. She lifted the jug, leaned forward and poured water for me. A collective sigh ran through the mess. We had become everyone's matinee show.
She finished her two desserts in four bites. I didn't even have breakfast. I'm sure the city has decent restaurants,' she said.
But Ms Best Girl had asked me out, even though for her own stomach. And as everyone knows, female classmates always come before class. I spooned in some rice. She stamped her foot. We had www.
Like all mid-range Indian restaurants, it played boring instrumental versions of old Hindi songs and served little marinated onions on the table. The waiter shook his head in horror and left. Are you a South Indian? In fact, Tamil Brahmin, which is way different from Tamilians. Never forget that.
She tore a chicken leg with her teeth. She laughed. But you should know that I am born into the purest of pure upper caste communities ever created. What about you, commoner? I grew up in Delhi. And I have no idea about my caste, but we do eat chicken. And I can digest bad sambhar better than Tamil Brahmins,' I said. I liked the tap.
Is that a problem? Her smugness had reached irritating levels. We stayed quiet. Someone from NT broke your heart? I seem to have broken some, for no fault of my own. All from IITians. My guess was right; she was getting a lot of attention.
I only wished it wasn't from my own people. Oh, and one guy from NT Chennai proposed marriage! He joined IIMA, and now he has found his wife in me. I may be wrong, but I think he had some jewellery on him. No, my collegemates can't be doing this, whatever the deprivation. If I am from NT, I have to propose to you within ten minutes?
I expected you to be like this. Let me guess- only child, rich parents? I have a younger brother. And my father works in Bank of Baroda in Chennai.
Sorry, you expected me to be like what? Two days of popularity and every guy in college should bow to you. Didn't I come out with you?
Coming out with a commoner like me. How much is the bill? I'll pay my share and leave. Please sit down. If there is nothing as attractive as a pretty girl, there's nothing as repulsive as a cocky chick. I sat back and focused on the food and the irritating instrumental music for the next ten minutes. I ignored the Brahmin who stereotyped my collegemates. To take your score to eleven? And you seemed like a safe-zone guy.
Like the kind of guy who could just be friends with a girl, right? Why would any guy want to be only friends with a girl? It's like agreeing to be near a chocolate cake and never eat it. It's like sitting in a racing car but not driving it. Only wimps do that. I told you about the proposals because you can see how stupid they are. They are IITians. They just don't know how to talk to women yet,' I said. But you do. And I'd like to be friends with you. Just friends, OK? I gave her a limp handshake.
That's right, 'just friends' share bills. I didn't want to be just friends with her. And I didn't want to be the eleventh martyr. I paid my share and came back to campus. I had no interest in meeting my just friend anytime again soon. She remained in her seat as her tears re-emerged. The last lecture had ended and the classroom was empty. I hadn't spoken much to Ananya after our lunch last week. Pretty girls behave best when you ignore them.
Of course, they have to know you are ignoring them, for otherwise they may not even know you exist. But today I had to talk to her. She had cried in the class. We had auditorium- style classrooms with semi-circular rows, so everyone could see everyone. Students sat in alphabetical order. Ananya, like all kids doomed with names starting with the letter A, sat in the first row on the left side.
She sat between Ankur and Aditya, both IITians who had already proposed to her without considering the embarrassment of being rejected and then sitting next to the rejection for the whole year. I sat in the third row, between Kanyashree, who took notes like a diligent court transcripter, and five Mohits, who had come from different parts of India. But neither Ankur, nor Kanyashree, nor the five Mohits had noticed Ananya's tears.
Only I had caught her wiping her eye with a yellow dupatta that had little bells at its ends that tinkled whenever she moved. In the past week, I had limited my communication with Ananya to cursory greetings every morning and a casual wave at the end of the day.
During classes we had to pay attention to the teachers we had marks for class participation- saying something that sounds intelligent. Most IITians never spoke while people from non-science backgrounds spoke non-stop. Twenty-three minutes into the microeconomics class, the professor drew an L- shaped utility curve on the blackboard. He admired his curve for ten seconds and then turned to the class.
Fifteen students out of the seventy students in section A raised their hands, Ananya included. Chatterjee turned to her. The remaining fourteen economics graduates lowered their hands.
That is, at each point on the curve, the consumer has equal preference for one bundle over another. What is the mathematical formula? In any case, this is only a concept. Prof raised his hand to interrupt her. This is the state of economics education in our country.
Top graduates don't know the basics. And then they ask - why is India economically backward? He had solved what had dumbfounded policymakers for decades. Ananya Swaminathan was the reason for India's backwardness.
Ananya hung her head in shame. A few IITians brightened up. Microeconomics was an elective course in NT and those who had done it knew the formula. They were itching to show off. Ms Swaminathan, you should talk to your neighbours more.
And next time, don't raise your hand if I ask for microeconomics graduates. He went to the board to write lots of Greek symbols and calculus equations. The course started with cute little things like how many people choose between tea and biscuits. It had moved on to scary equations that would dominate exams. The class took mad notes.
Kanyashree wrote so hard I could feel the seismic vibrations from her pen's nib. I stole a glance at Ananya. As a smug Ankur saw his words inscribed on the board, Ananya's left hand's fingers scrunched up her yellow dupatta. She moved her left hand to her face even as she continued to write with her right. In subtle movements, she dabbed at her tears. Maybe Ms Best Girl had a heart, I thought.
And maybe I should cut out my studied ignorance strategy and talk to her after class. She nodded while continuing to wipe her tears. She fixed her gaze down. All professors are assholes.
That's the universal truth,' I www. I'll show you my grades. These wannabe engineer profs have turned economics from perfectly fine liberal arts subject to this Greek symbol junkyard,' she said as she pointed to the formulae on the board. I kept silent. You probably love these equations,' she said and looked up at me.
Despite her tears, she still looked pretty. I looked at the blackboard. Yes, I did have a fondness for algebra. It's nothing to be ashamed of. Yet, this wasn't the time. Greek symbols do take the fun out of any subject. They will have these equations in the test next week. I am going to flunk. And he is going to turn me into this specimen of the educated but clueless Indian student.
I bet I am the staff-room discussion right now. Wouldn't you hate an eleven-year-old if he earned double? She smiled some more. We walked out of the class. We decided to skip lunch and have tea and omelette at the roadside Rambhai outside campus.
He's probably circled my name and put a D in front of it already,' she said, nestling the hot glass of tea in her dupatta folds for insulation. Listen, you can study with me.
I don't like these equations, but I am good at them. That's all we did at NT for four years. This is purely for study reasons. They are catching up. Whatever, I don't want to be number fourteen. I thought I could teach you She interrupted me, 'I can't learn economics from you.
I am a university topper in economics. You are an engineer. I said you can't teach me. But we can study together. She looked nice, and I couldn't blame the thirteen guys for trying. Ever been to the girl's dorm? I carried the week's case materials, the size of six telephone directories. I knocked at her door. After three hundred seconds, she opened the door. She wore a red and white tracksuit. We'd better start, there is so much to do.
The rust-coloured bed-sheet matched the exposed brick walls. She had made a notice board out of chart paper and stuck family pictures all over.
That's my dad. He is so cute,' she said. I looked carefully. A middle-aged man with neatly combed hair rationed his grin. He wore a half-sleeve shirt with a dhoti in most of the pictures. He looked like the neighbor who stops you from playing loud music. No, nothing cute about him. I scanned the remaining pictures taken on festivals, weddings and birthdays.
In one, Ananya's whole family stood to attention at the beach. You could almost hear the national anthem. Do you know it is the second largest city beach in the world? The oiled hair, geeky face and spectacles made him look like an IITian embryo.
His lack of interest in the world expression told me he would make it. Ananya nodded. Ananya's brother and father still seemed mild compared to her mother. Even in pictures she had a glum expression that made you wonder what did you do wrong.
She reminded me of the strictest teachers I ever had in school. I immediately felt guilty about being in her daughter's room. My hands tingled as I almost expected her to jump out of the picture and slap me with a ruler. Given the dusky complexion, everyone's teeth shone extra white. All old women wore as much gold as their bodies could carry and silk saris shiny as road reflectors.
My family was too disorganized to ever pause and pose at the right moment. I don't think we even had a camera. That's it,' I said. What do they do? Who are you close to? I only asked to make conversation. Don't tell me if you don't want to,' she said and batted her eyelids. How can such scary looking parents create something so cute? But after that, we study. No gossip for an hour,' I warned. I am close to her, but not hugely close. That reminds me, I have to call her. I'll go to the STD booth later.
I am super close to mine. We studied for the next two hours in silence. She would look up sometimes and do pointless things like changing her pillow cover or re-adjusting her study lamp. I ignored all that. I had wasted enough of my initial years at NT. I wanted to make it count. STD calls are cheap now. I'll call home too,' she said and skipped off the bed to wear her slippers. She had called home.
Many students had lined up to make cheap calls at the STD booth, a five-minute walk from campus. Most carried their microeconomics notes. I helped Ananya with small change after her call. I ignored the comment and went into the booth. I controlled my urge to snap back at them and dialed home.
The meter started to click. I kept the phone down. The printer churned out the bill. I nodded and dialed again. This time my mother picked up. I was in the kitchen. He wanted to talk to you, so he picked up. Say hello to him first and then ask him for me. How are you doing? How is the place? But they make you cram even more than in the previous college.
I am in a hostel. I don't know why you had to leave Delhi. I had spent eighteen bucks. She looked at me and smiled. What's their name? I just thought you could have a friend who likes the same food. Its OK. We are very modern. Don't you know? I'll catch you later. I have a test tomorrow.
Pray before the exam, OK? Your dad picked, right?
I stopped in my tracks. I do it with mom when I'm angry with her. We don't hang up; we just stay on the line and keep silent. Pretty expensive way to let each other know we are upset. Only sometimes though. Not for tonight. Or any night. I'd like to keep it to myself. We walked for a moment in silence before she spoke again. Which job are you going to take? Like really?
I couldn't lie. I expected her to flip out and laugh. But she didn't. She nodded and continued to walk. The pen's mightier than the sword, one of the first proverbs we learnt, isn't it? What do you want to be? My mother already feels I'm too ambitious and independent. So I am trying not to think too far. As of now, I just want to do www. Both are incredibly difficult though,' she said. We reached her room and practised numerical for the next two hours.
I'd never be able to crack these,' she said after I solved a tricky one for her. So I can help you with the quant subjects. Whatever that is, you are not. We are friends, right? I looked into her eyes. No, those eyes couldn't use anyone. It is really cool. I mean it,' she said. I smiled. A few sleepless girls wandered in the dorm with their notes. They gave me suspicious looks. I don't know why I felt the need to give an explanation.
She walked past the queued up students toward me. By this time, everyone on campus knew of her friendship, or as someone would say, siblingship, with me.
She wore denim shorts and a pink T-shirt, drawing extra long glances from the boys from engineering colleges. We walked back towards our dorms. I am a university gold medalist in the subject. Your numerical saved me. Are you hungry? People who live in hostels are always hungry. Is it a Delhi thing or a Punjabi thing? Controlling what women wear? It is outside campus. People stare,' I said. I'm fine, let's go,' she said and walked towards the campus gates.
It's fine,' I said, turning in the opposite direction towards my dorm. You are not coming? I shook my head. Wear whatever. What do I care?
We didn't talk about the afternoon episode when I came to her room in the evening. She had changed into black track pants and an oversized full-sleeve black T-shirt. She was covered up enough to go for a walk in Afghanistan.
I kind of missed her shorts, but I had brought it upon myself. I opened the marketing case that we had to prepare for the next day. I feel like a real smoke,' she said. I gave her a dirty look. Am I not allowed to use the F words?
Or is it that I expressed a desire to smoke? I want you to consider the possibility that women are intelligent human beings. And intelligent people don't like to be told what to wear or do, especially when they are adults. Does that make any sense to you? I wear shorts because I like to wear shorts. We kept quiet for half an hour and immersed ourselves in our books.
Let's study. I threw the pillow at her.
She laughed and slammed it on my head. I realised this was the first contact sport I had played with her apart from shaking hands. Even though I pretended to be fine with the 'just friends' thing, it was killing me. Every time I looked up from my books, I saw her face. Every time I saw her, I wanted to grab her face and kiss her. The only way I could focus was by imagining that Prof Chatterjee was in our room. Even outside the study sessions, it wasn't easy. Every time I saw a guy talk to her or laugh with her, a hot flush started from my stomach and reached my face.
Sometimes, she would tell me how funny some guy in section A was or how cute some guy in section B was and I wanted to go with a machine gun and shoot the respective guys in sections A and B. They should go full on with the advertising campaign, right?
I had been staring at her lips, researching ways of kissing her. Yes, I agree with you,' I said. What are you thinking of right now? I think I will be good at a marketing job. So I will go with this recommendation tomorrow.
I stood up to leave. I can't fall asleep then,' I said. I will make it in the pantry upstairs. What do you keep thinking about? We don't need to study together anymore.
What's up? To download a copy of a patent. The boundaries between the two states is still subject to dispute and negotiation, with.
Drug-free zone laws apply enhanced penalties in two different. States face as they develop conflict-free case. Worksheets on page 2 further adjust your. City or town, state, and ZIP code. A noncitizen national of the United States: Noncitizen nationals of the United States. Information about E-Verify, a free and voluntary program that allows. Download hundreds of free books in PDF. Presidential styleare short and do not allow free-ranging questions. May 19, I just love this novel and the best thing is that its free.
And the people who are. Dec 16, Download Link Here: The Story of My Marriage commonly known. Information about E-Verify.
The career of a young theoretical physicist consists of treating the harmonic. Flag for inappropriate content. He struggles to eat South Indian cuisines and he was startled in the beginning with the custom of using banana leaves as plates. But slowly he wins the hearts of her parents. He helps her father by preparing a power point presentation which gained her father a good reputation in his office. As a highlight attempt he gives a singing chance to her mother in his office clients meet.
They find her different among their preconception because of her fair complexion. The cultural difference takes a real form of its problem in this session. She feels that her son was trapped by the South Indians. In the same way she expect some gifts from her parents and feels disappointed on seeing them empty handed. Their cultural differences win the second meeting and this time not only the parents, but the lovers too depart. This cultural counters and encounters continue till the end when Krish and Ananya get married.
The author somehow tried to conclude the novel with some understandings leaving apart their cultural difference. The novel has a Language in India www. The young couple begets twins and the couple feels happy to say that their children belong to a state called India. A Typical Novel 2 states is a typical novel which predicts the cultural contradictions between two different states of India.
This contradiction is found almost everywhere in India. This is in existence even before colonization and it continues even in Post Independence India. Only the degree of arrogance has been slightly reduced due to education.
These cultural contradictions may take quite a longer time to get rid off from the minds of Indian people. Srm Gmail. Com Language in India www. Related Papers.
The Cultural and Marital Issues in 2 States: