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My Stupid Suicide Plan - Chetan Bhagat

Last week, an IITian committed suicide. People who commit suicide do it

when they feel there’s no future. But wait, isn’t IIT the one place

where a bright and shining future is a foregone conclusion? It just

doesn’t add up, does it? Why would a young, hardworking, bright student

who has the world ahead of him do something like this? But the answer is

this-in our constant reverence for the great institution (and I do

believe IITs are great), we forget the dark side. And the dark side is

that the IITs are afflicted by the quintessential Indian phenomenon of

academic pressure, probably the highest in the world.

I can rant about the educational system and how it requires serious

fixing, or I can address the immediate-try my best to prevent such

suicides. For this column I have chosen the latter, and I do so with a

personal story.

News of a suicide always brings back one particular

childhood memory. I was 14 years old when I first seriously contemplated

suicide.

I

had done badly in chemistry in the Class X half yearly exam. I was an

IIT aspirant, and 68% was nowhere near what an IIT candidate should be

getting.

I don’t know what had made me screw up the exam, but I did know this, I

was going to kill myself. The only debate was about method.

Ironically, chemistry offered a way. I had read about copper

sulphate, and that it was both cheap and poisonous. Copper sulphate was

available at the kirana store. I had it all worked out.

My rationale for killing myself was simple-nobody loved me,

my chemistry score was awful, I had no future and what difference would

it make to the world if I was not there. I bought the copper sulphate

for two rupees-probably the cheapest exit strategy in the world.

I didn’t do it for two reasons. One, I had a casual chat with the aunty

next door about copper sulphate, and my knowledgeable aunty knew about a

woman who had died that way. She said it was the most painful death

possible, all your veins burst and you suffer for hours. This tale made

my insides shudder. Second, on the day I was to do it, I noticed a

street dog outside my house being teased by the neighborhood kids as he

hunted for scraps of food. Nobody loved him. It would make no difference

to the world if the dog wasn’t there. And I was pretty sure that its

chemistry score would be awful. Yet, the dog wasn’t trotting off to the

kirana store. He was only interested in figuring out a strategy for his

next meal. And when he was full, he merely curled up in a corner with

one eye open, clearly content and not giving a damn about the world. If

he wasn’t planning to die anytime soon what the hell was I ranting

about? I threw the copper sulphate

in the bin. It was the best two bucks I ever wasted.

So why did I tell you this story? Because sometimes the pressure gets

too much; like it did for the IITian who couldn’t take it no more. On

the day he took that dreadful decision, his family and friends were

shattered, and India lost a wonderful, bright child. And as the silly

but true copper sulphate story tells you-it could happen to any of us or

those around us.

So please be on the lookout, if you see a distressed young soul, lend a

supportive, non-judgmental ear. When I look back, I thank that aunt and

that dog for unwittingly saving my life. If God wanted us to take our

own life, he would have provided a power off button. He didn’t, so have

faith and let his plan for you unfold. Because no matter how tough life

gets and how much it hurts, if street dogs don’t give up, there is no

reason why we, the smart species, should. Makes sense right?

Posted in Philosophy.

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Chennai Heat

An ancient chili
Burnt-out before
Getting one chance
To burn

A puzzled onion
Peeled and dry
Of tears
And fears

A thin tomato
Sliced, Diced, and Surprised
By the effectiveness
Of her diet

Met on the non-stick pan
To discus
The weather

Chennai is getting
Hotter, By far,
They concurred:

How this ground
Burns
We could get
Cooked

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Harvest

A farmer I knew
Sold his soul
And third son
To the landlord
Who bent his back
While kneeling before
The minister
Who spent his life
Fulfilling the random
Whims of his king
Who prayed every-day
To Indra for a
Seat in the heavens and
A good harvest

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Ambition

Oh lord of the universe
Fill me with verse, to

Compose and sing
Breathlessly,
Breathtaking melodies

Dance effortlessly,
Without pausing,
To my own tune

Paint the real
And surreal, with
Equal ease

And weave together
Merry thank-you
Poems

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Melody

A trail of tiny
Conch shells
White, green, and pink
Attend a music concert
Orchestrated by the sea
Sitting on green carpet
Of fresh moss,
Sipping clear
Ocean spray,
They relish
A melody which
Can entice
Any passing siren

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Ponder

Sitting on a brick heap
Fortified by a mud pool

She - the progeny of
one construction worker
and another

Well-versed in the laws
Of the universe
All taught by the mellow wind

Suddenly paused
to ponder
On why wild
flowers faded
at her touch

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A Comparison

Customer-made
Rose scented
Hand-wrapped

The vendor
Sold
Happiness

At the junction
Where MG Road
Crossed lanes
With Brigade Road

My products
He promised
Are cheaper

Than those
pseudo
replicas
you get
at shopping
malls

And better

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Remain

The day Sara
was burnt
for being
a witch

A white rose
turned red
The color
of blood

And in its
smooth stem
Needles bloomed

Sara is forgotten
But the thorns
Remain

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Translation

Ramu the roadside
potter
translates
mud into utility

You the constant
connoisseur
translate
the pot into art

I butter-fingered
watch my hands part
and translate your
terracotta into mud

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Bangalore Lore

Cars and highways bloom
And some persistent flowers too

Autos scramble along narrow roads
And Muthu on the bicycle too

Old mansions give way to apartments
And so many trees too

I have lost my way
And this city too

Posted in CopyLeft.

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