Oh Shit! I am Hitched

By Sahil Rajput

Love or friendship! What will Chirag choose? What do you do if the love of your life refuses your proposal just because you aren't from the same caste!? While love may know no religion, caste, language, or race, sometimes some people understand only this. When Chirag starts dating Pallavi in college, he never thinks he'll have to face opposition because of his caste or faith. But when he falls in love and proposes to his orthodox girlfriend, she rejects his offer outright! Determined to win Pallavi over, Chirag soon sets out on a roller-coaster journey filled with obstacles, some of which include sacrificing his friendships. But just as he is on the verge of accomplishing his goal, the unthinkable happens . . . Will Chirag win his love? Will Pallavi forgive and accept Chirag? Will they get hitched?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Fingerprint Publishing
• Release date: Nov 1, 2020
• ISBN: 9789354405204

Book preview

Prologue

My forehead was bleeding and my shirt was torn. My ears felt the cold breeze. My eyes were half-open and swollen. It was pitch-dark and I could barely see the area around me. The sound of heavy vehicle traffic was deafening. I was very much aware of where I was—the Haryana-Delhi highway.

My car was completely damaged from the collision with the concrete milestone at the edge of the highway. I was surprised that no one had passed by the spot where my car was stuck. I peered at my semi-broken wristwatch; it was 2.10 a.m. I have very little time to reach Delhi, my mind reminded me.

With every passing second, the headlights of passing vehicles hurt my eyes. I started moving slowly as I desperately wanted a lift to Delhi. Somehow, I managed to walk four, maybe five kilometres. No one seemed to want to stop their vehicle. I checked my watch again; it was 3.40 a.m. I now had only three hours to reach Delhi. I had to get a lift now at any cost. I raised my head towards the sky for some help from God and this time, God was with me. I noticed a vehicle on the horizon, and taking a deep breath, took my position in the middle of the highway. I knew this was stupid of me, inviting death, but I had no other option.

"Arre bhai, kya chahiye? Marna hai kya? (Hey brother, what do you want? Do you want to die?)" A truck stopped just ahead of me and the driver, a man with a big moustache, screamed from the window.

I need a lift urgently. I have to reach Delhi before 7.00 a.m. in the morning, I pleaded.

The moustached man got off his truck and assessed me, looking at me from all angles.

What happened to you? he asked.

I will tell you the details, but please let’s get going. I have to somehow reach Delhi before 7.00 a.m. I said, desperate.

Once in the truck, I told him what had happened to me on the highway. He passed me a bandage roll and a bottle of water. Water is the only thing that relaxes you; it doesn’t matter which situation you are recovering from.

He dropped me at the Kashmiri Gate metro station, with barely thirty minutes left for the clock to strike seven. What the hell had happened there? I was shocked to see that the metro station was closed and not a single person was around except for the security guards.

Sir, why have the trains stopped? I asked one of the security guards anxiously.

He looked at me as if I was crazy.

What happened to your clothes? he asked.

Sir, just tell me why there are no trains.

Some bastard raped a girl and threw her naked body from a moving bus. So, the people became agitated and the government declared a holiday in Delhi today.

What, who did this? I asked. I am sorry about what happened, but right now I have to be somewhere before 7.00 a.m.

Where do you want to go? the guard asked.

I sat next to him wearily and said, Indira Gandhi International Airport (IGI).

The guard looked at me and shook his head, indicating no. I wanted to reach there before 7.00 a.m. and I had barely twenty minutes left. Tears escaped my eyes but I managed to cover them with my hands.

I can’t help you, but I have a suggestion. Go to the main road and hire an auto or a van, but I doubt if those commercial vehicles will be available today, the guard said with sympathy.

As I reached the main road from the metro station, I saw that Delhi was all quiet. Not a single vehicle was on the road. My anxiety was increasing by the minute, when I suddenly spotted a silver car approaching me. I put my hand out and fortunately, the car stopped.

What happened, need some help? asked the lady in the driver’s seat.

Ma’am, I need an urgent lift to IGI!

Okay, get in.

She was staring at me.

What happened to you? she asked.

Nothing, I had a minor car accident, I replied. Ma’am, can you please drive faster? I need to be at the airport in fifteen minutes.

She gave me an intense look, but also increased the speed of the car. In a few seconds, we were flying on the road.

Here comes your destination, sir, said the lady, pulling up near the gate of Terminal 2. I immediately opened the door of the car and rushed out, running into the terminal.

Hey! You didn’t thank me! she called out from the car, but I ignored her. Time was running out. Four minutes left. As I reached the gate, the security guard stopped me.

Sir, how can I help you?

I have to meet someone inside the airport, I mumbled.

Your passport please, sir! the security guard asked.

I put my hand in my pocket, but there was no passport. I frantically searched all my pockets, but I couldn’t find it. It must have fallen off during the accident earlier.

Sir, I just had an accident and lost it. But please let me go in, I have an emergency situation. I have to meet someone inside.

No sir! We have no authority. Please move away, the security guard ordered.

Sir, please! I have to go, it’s urgent! I said, agitated.

Get back! One of the guards pushed me, and thrown off balance, I fell. I somehow managed to get up.

Sir, I need to get into the airport before the Pune flight takes off, I requested again.

Pune flight? But that has already left, the guard told me. I immediately checked the time on my watch; it was 7.05 a.m. Too late.

I felt horrible. I didn’t know what to do. I was totally blank and felt as though someone had sucked my soul from my body. I collapsed on the stairs and finally broke into tears. I had failed. Just then, I felt a pat on my shoulder.

Hey! What happened? Are you all right? It was the lady who had given me the lift.

You are still here! I exclaimed, brushing away my tears.

I was watching you dealing with those guards. What’s the problem?

I lost her! I lost her forever! I wailed.

What? she asked.

I raised my eyes, full of tears. My life, my love, my everything.

What! I don’t understand, she said anxiously.

It’s a long story.

I love stories. Please tell me. Maybe I can help? She offered me a place to stay until I could figure things out. She was much older than I was, almost my mother’s age. We reached her place in fifteen minutes.

So, what’s your name? She handed me a glass of soft drink.

Chirag. Chirag Rajput. And yours?

You can call me Navneet. So, Mr Chirag, let’s hear your story.

I started with who I was, why I was in Delhi, and the most important thing of all—who was Roll No. 77.

Chapter 1

It was the first day of college. Everyone was nervous and new. I was nervous, too. Raman and I were the only students from Jammu. Raman was my childhood friend and we had both gotten admission in the same college. I was also a little edgy. We were sitting in a brand new hall with two air conditioners. All the students, including me, were waiting for the first lecture.

Suddenly, a girl of about twenty-three or twenty-four entered the hall. She was about five feet, two inches tall, had long hair, and a round face with dark brown eyes. She wore spectacles and looked like the perfect beauty. All the boys in the hall started staring at her, eyes wide open. She looked so awesome!

Good morning, students! she greeted us, a smile on her face. I had never seen such a pretty teacher. She was so cute that I was ready to do almost anything for her. But she was a teacher and almost five or six years older than I was.

Everyone greeted her back.

Okay, this is your PDP class, she said. We were confused—we had no idea what PDP was. We started murmuring amongst ourselves, wondering what PDP was.

Silence! She tapped the duster on the table. The noise died down, not because she sounded strict, but because we were charmed by her.

She introduced herself then as Tanya Sharma, a trainer from HCL, and stated that she was here for the Personality Development Program.

Okay, now let’s start with some introductions, she said and turned towards the blackboard. In capital letters, she wrote: COMMUNICATION SKILLS.

We looked at each other, worried about how we would speak in front of everyone. Some even tried to hide from the teacher. I sat with Raman as he was the only person I knew in that giant hall.

Tanya Ma’am started calling us to introduce ourselves. Some were quite confident while others were not, and of course, there were the over-confident ones as well. As we introduced ourselves and shook hands, strangers began to become friends.

The first stranger who turned into my friend was Sajal Jain. He was from Chandigarh and was the regional snooker champion. His friends called him Jain. Raman and I chatted with him and exchanged phone numbers. As I had chosen Computer Science and Engineering (CSE), my section was CSE2. The total strength of students who had chosen CSE was 120 and the college management had divided us into two sections: CSE1 and CSE2, with sixty students in each section.

I didn’t know anyone in CSE1, and in CSE2, which was my class, I knew only two people: Sajal Jain and Shivam Gupta, who were both locals. The others were all still strangers. Shivam Gupta was quite impressive. He was independent and he did exactly as he wanted. He was tall. I particularly liked his X-men Wolverine-like hairstyle. I was a diehard fan of Hugh Jackman as Wolverine. Shivam Gupta’s friends called him Gajju. Gajju was a dude, a cool dude. Jain, on the other hand, had a great personality and looked sincere and sensible, which he certainly was not.

In CSE2, the number of girls was equal to the number of boys. Most of them were locals and already knew one another since their school days. So, it looked like there was no chance of becoming friendly with them. I was career-oriented. Ha! All that changed in ten days.

It was 4.30 in the evening and time to say goodbye to lectures and lecturers. Right in front of our block there was a large ground which was filling up with girls in colourful dresses as students left their classes. Jain and I were standing near the water tank at the extreme left of the ground, watching the crowd. Actually, we were watching the girls and it literally seemed as if all of India’s beauties were studying in our college. I had never seen so many beautiful girls all at once, in one place.

Shivam and Raman joined us after a few minutes.

Look at all this beauty, man! Shivam said, his mouth wide open. He pointed at one girl who was wearing a yellow top. He said, Don’t stare at her, she is mine. I thought that maybe he knew her from his school days.

So, is she your girlfriend? Jain asked him.

No buddy, but in a few days, she will be, he said quite confidently.

Best of luck buddy, said Jain, patting his shoulder.

It was my first evening in the hostel. Raman, Bhanu, and I were roommates. Bhanu was a simple guy. He seemed like a mama’s boy and we didn’t consider him one of us. We were sitting in our room, talking about the ragging which we knew would happen. Suddenly, someone knocked on our door.

It is 9.00 p.m., said Bhanu, pointing at the wall clock.

Who the hell is it at this time? Raman