Myself Madhav Stereotype. I am boy from Bihar, therefore I cannot speak the English. (Although I know it is not brinjal but eggplant.) I carry weight of ambitions of all boys from my state: F*** girl. Learn English.

Like that Chetan Bhagat, who keeps popping into books as himself, once said, Naukri aur chhokri (a job and a chick) . Except that naukri ab cool nahi raha . I want to do meaningful entrepreneurship. Like love friendship. I want to stop being Bihari. And, of course, I want to be different. So I am not cricketer or even footballer, but basketball player. Also, I am 6 feet 2 inches tall. And a prince by descent.

So. (English speakers starting sentence that way.) What is biggest struggle for young Indians outside big cities? To overcome legacy of indifferent education? To battle inequality? To eradicate corruption? To change political philosophy? No, no, no, and no. It is to LEARN THE ENGLISH. Because you can’t get a girlfriend otherwise. Only a half girlfriend.

So, I go to St Stephen’s College in Delhi because they are all stereotype English bolnewale over there. Full of contempt only for Hindi belt. I give honest answers at interview, then play amazing basketball to get a place in the sociology department. But that is not point. Point is I fall in love. With girl who plays basketball. Both of us sports quota.

Why does Riya Stereotype need sports quota? Because she is daughter of filthy rich Somany family but only wants to play guitar and sing. No interest in money. Even I would not be interested in money if I could wear expensive clothes and ride in a BMW. But she is 5 feet 9 inch tall, so only I am suitable boy for her.

Except she only wants to be friends. We are very close but she only wants friendship. I want everything. My friends from Bihar say I must make state proud by taking her into my hostel room and f****ing her. I have kissed her already, she has not kissed me. I have been to her birthday party already and met London dude named Rohan, who is shorter than her. SHORTER. I want to make him even shorter by planting him in the expensive garden of their bungalow. But waiter at party, also from my state, engaged me in nostalgic conversation, distracting me. These Bihar people. Never giving up chance to talk to one another. Chetan sir knows us so well.

I call her into room, we play game of pretend sleep. Then she refuses to f*** me. F*** me or f*** off, I tell her in mother tongue. She understands! How? She is English-speaking girl. She runs away. She ditches me. I start studying madly. She ignores me madly. Then she gives me wedding card. She is marrying Rohan Stereotype. Rich dude from London running own business and calling mummy mummyji.

I am heartbroken. But my English has improved. I reject job with HSBC, which they offer me after hearing my honest but brilliant answer at interview. I go home to Dumraon, which Chetan sir may nor may not know about very well, where I shall revive fortunes of school that my mother runs.

But Chetan sir is very clever. He introduces Bill Gates in book. And toilets. He knows PM wants toilets. If I build toilets in my school, I become best young Indian. But first I have to improve my English to address Bill Gates — Windows is in Hindi but Bill Gates is not — and get his money to build toilets.

So I meet Riya again. Conveniently divorced from NRI husband who is drinking, having affair and beating her, and conveniently posted in Patna. Riya offers to teach me English, while I teach her Patna and Bihar. I take her home. We kiss. But nothing more, dirty-minded reader, although I want to.

I make brilliant speech, Bill Gates gives school lots of dollars. Riya runs away because she says she very ill and will die and she loves me. I understand completely. Who wouldn’t? But Chetan sir tells me he has to write third part of book and ensure happy ending, so Riya is alive. Go find her, he tells me.

Like brilliant St Stephen’s student with terrific memory and, now, incredible English-speaking skills, I remember that she always wanted to be a bar-singer in New York. I wangle a three-month posting in NYC with Bill Gates Foundation, waste a lot of pages of book doing nothing very interesting, and finally find Riya on page 254 of 260-page book. Now she is full girlfriend. The rest of the pages, we f***. We have child. We change nothing, challenge nothing, revolutionise nothing. We are good at English. We fulfil great Indian dream.

(This monthly column helps you talk about a book, without having to read it.)

(Arunava Sinha translates classic and contemporary Bengali fiction and non-fiction into English @arunava)

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