Hello Everyone, I'm Pawan from Delhi, Banker for a living and story weaver for life. I have been knitting a story since last five years and finally hit the shelves on July 16, 2016. It's coming of age twisted fairy tale of a 'laaarger than life loser'. A story of the dog-duo; an under-dog and a Dog-Almighty. Can be summed up: ' A loser larger than life. A life full of blunders. A dream bigger than his aukaat. A friend faster than excuses and an enemy deadlier than death.'
Some excerpts: ‘A loud squeal from the audience disturbed my chain of thought. It was a collage of mollycoddled, spoon-fed faces... an ugly pimple was their biggest misery and slow internet was the worst torture that they knew. They say 80% of the resources in our country are owned by 20% of the population. The rest of the resources are shared by 80% of the people, and then there is a sub-category of invisible social scavengers among this middle-class majority, the picturesque poor, the poster-boys of scarcity, struggle and starvation, invisible unless captured artistically in black and white by an award-winning photographer. We are not people; we are a piece of art, tourist-destination, election-agenda, statistic, coffee table debates and first world noise. We are Proletariat. I found this Marxist word really fancy. It sounded much more important than what it meant, like calling disabled ‘differently-abled’, or the mentally retarded ‘special’. I saw Indian society as a big ramp. The Proletariat were at the bottom of the ramp and the Condescendants (the upper crust) at the top. Those between the Pros and Cons were the Rampant, middle-class. A steep ramp, plus the crab-mentality of Pros, plus the billions of kicking legs of the Rampant kept the Pros from mixing with the Cons. It was a seamless, spill-proof system where accidental trespassing resulted in social blunders like me.’ Page No. 27
It took me two hours to reach home. It was a 400-yard plot decked haphazardly with randomly-sized cubical containers called rooms. Four years ago, when HIS torture grew to unmanageable proportions and after I had failed in my second suicide attempt, Sahib had sent me here. The house was the result of our landlord messing around with architecture. The monument was a big slap on the face of the science behind making buildings. Some rooms were actually, dangling over illegal, encroached balconies, stapled together with cement and rust iron beams. It looked like the house was sticking its decaying tongue out to tease gravity. Instead of house it would be suitable to call it a Room Breeding Farm. You might suddenly notice a room which you would doubt had been there earlier, and on other days you could not remember the patch of empty space being there earlier. The house had been created with a single objective: renting it out to students like me who could not afford human habitation. There was a large proletariat crowd these days coming to the city for studies. Some of us were smart enough to realize that education was the only way to break from the vicious cycle of blue-collar-slavery and move to a white-collar one, from Pros to Ramps or maybe even to Cons. Education was the way of Class-Laundering for us. So we took studies like labour; at least here we would get paid for over-time. Page 43
‘Don’t you think Panoti dogs are far better than humans? They bark when they don’t like something. They bite when you tease them. We are evolved, evolved enough to pretend what we are not, evolved to a fault, I guess. We are the most hypocrite species. Page 120
Please take time to review it. It would be an honor. Gratitude. Pawan Jangid pawan.jangid42@gmail.com
I'm Pawan from Delhi, Banker for a living and story weaver for life. I have been knitting a story since last five years and finally hit the shelves on July 16, 2016.
It's coming of age twisted fairy tale of a 'laaarger than life loser'. A story of the dog-duo; an under-dog and a Dog-Almighty. Can be summed up:
' A loser larger than life. A life full of blunders. A dream bigger than his aukaat. A friend faster than excuses and an enemy deadlier than death.'
Read sample chapters on Amazon and tell me if its worth your time:
http://www.amazon.in/gp/aw/d/93525832...
Some excerpts:
‘A loud squeal from the audience disturbed my chain of thought. It was a collage of mollycoddled, spoon-fed faces... an ugly pimple was their biggest misery and slow internet was the worst torture that they knew. They say 80% of the resources in our country are owned by 20% of the population. The rest of the resources are shared by 80% of the people, and then there is a sub-category of invisible social scavengers among this middle-class majority, the picturesque poor, the poster-boys of scarcity, struggle and starvation, invisible unless captured artistically in black and white by an award-winning photographer. We are not people; we are a piece of art, tourist-destination, election-agenda, statistic, coffee table debates and first world noise. We are Proletariat. I found this Marxist word really fancy. It sounded much more important than what it meant, like calling disabled ‘differently-abled’, or the mentally retarded ‘special’.
I saw Indian society as a big ramp. The Proletariat were at the bottom of the ramp and the Condescendants (the upper crust) at the top. Those between the Pros and Cons were the Rampant, middle-class. A steep ramp, plus the crab-mentality of Pros, plus the billions of kicking legs of the Rampant kept the Pros from mixing with the Cons. It was a seamless, spill-proof system where accidental trespassing resulted in social blunders like me.’ Page No. 27
It took me two hours to reach home. It was a 400-yard plot decked haphazardly with randomly-sized cubical containers called rooms. Four years ago, when HIS torture grew to unmanageable proportions and after I had failed in my second suicide attempt, Sahib had sent me here. The house was the result of our landlord messing around with architecture. The monument was a big slap on the face of the science behind making buildings. Some rooms were actually, dangling over illegal, encroached balconies, stapled together with cement and rust iron beams. It looked like the house was sticking its decaying tongue out to tease gravity. Instead of house it would be suitable to call it a Room Breeding Farm. You might suddenly notice a room which you would doubt had been there earlier, and on other days you could not remember the patch of empty space being there earlier. The house had been created with a single objective: renting it out to students like me who could not afford human habitation. There was a large proletariat crowd these days coming to the city for studies. Some of us were smart enough to realize that education was the only way to break from the vicious cycle of blue-collar-slavery and move to a white-collar one, from Pros to Ramps or maybe even to Cons. Education was the way of Class-Laundering for us. So we took studies like labour; at least here we would get paid for over-time. Page 43
‘Don’t you think Panoti dogs are far better than humans? They bark when they don’t like something. They bite when you tease them. We are evolved, evolved enough to pretend what we are not, evolved to a fault, I guess. We are the most hypocrite species. Page 120
Please take time to review it. It would be an honor.
Gratitude.
Pawan Jangid
pawan.jangid42@gmail.com