The Jugadism (Part 1 )

It was a winter morning in 2010, around 9:00 AM. I was standing at shoe rack, slipping into my shoes, when I suddenly heard a mother shouting at her child,“Aaj Maggi nahi milega.”

The child began crying—just like most of us once did when our favorite things were taken away.

I smiled instinctively and left for the college, wishing the mother a good day. With nothing particular on my mind, random thoughts began to surface—but one thought refused to leave me.

Why wasn’t that mother giving her child two-minute noodles? Why is Maggi often labeled as “poison”?

After all, it’s one of the easiest meals a mother can make—a perfect win-win. Quick for the mother, delightful for the child. And realistically, eating Maggi once in a while wouldn’t cause any immediate health hazard. No one would notice. Her workload would reduce too.

Yet, every morning, she woke up early to prepare fresh, home-cooked chapatis for her family. She chose effort over convenience. Sleep over shortcuts.

The answer, of course, was health.

She wanted her family to eat healthy food. And for that reason alone, she worked a little harder every single day.

That same evening, while I was returning to hostel, she invited me in for tea with her family. Inside her house, along with her husband I met the child again. To break the awkward silence, I casually asked, "Beta, kya kar rahe ho?”

He replied that he was preparing for his half-yearly exams. He was in 6th standard, and I was in college 1st Year.

Exams were still almost one and a half months away, yet I noticed five pages in his hand. Curious, I asked what they were.

“These are the past five years’ question papers,” he replied.

Just then, his mother joined the conversation. Without waiting for any question, she proudly said, "Guddu doesn’t read textbooks much. He’s smart enough. He just studies previous years’ questions and becomes a topper.”

The Jugaad.

The same mother who was afraid to give her child Maggi for health reasons was perfectly comfortable feeding him academic shortcuts—never questioning whether this mindset would prepare him for real life.

She feared Maggi might harm his body. She didn’t fear Jugaad might weaken his mind.

Fast forward ten years.

In 2020, I met Guddu again—this time at a shopping mall in another city. He excitedly shared the news of securing a 30 LPA package (as fresher). We walked out together, and I asked where we were headed.

He took me to a Pan shop. His bike was parked on the footpath.

Guddu bought pan masala and a cigarette, consumed both, spat on the road, waved goodbye, and rode away—on the wrong side of the road. Interestingly all these poor personality traits got covered up under 30 LPA.

Since his apartment was nearby, I later visited his family home. His parents were overjoyed with his success. I congratulated them, smiled, and left.

Two years before writing this blog, I heard the news.

Guddu had lost his job because of COVID.

He had already bought a near 50-lakh car , confident that his high salary would easily cover the EMIs. But he had not upgraded his skills—after all why would he?, he was a topper from one of India’s top colleges hence assuming he is master of everything.

Guddu was now an alcoholic and a chain smoker. He admired shortcuts more than substance. He was a fan of easy success stories.

Guddu was a product of Jugaad.

What went wrong?

Guddu never understood the importance of the process.

The Jugaad mindset destroys the most beautiful thing life offers—the process.

"The process teaches failure. Failure teaches survival. Survival teaches humility. Humility teaches civic sense, financial discipline, resilience, and the ability to handle uncertainty."

Guddu tasted success, but he was never taught how to sustain it. His fundamentals were weak. His foundation was hollow.

Guddu later died by suicide after losing his job due to COVID while working in a consultancy company.

I was deeply saddened—not just by his death, but by the philosophy our society silently promotes. A philosophy that celebrates outcomes but ignores foundations. Marks over learning. Packages over preparedness. Shortcuts over strength.

In fact, the very word Jugaad entered my vocabulary through Guddu—often quoted alongside references from Bhagat’s books.

To Guddu, these stories were not just fiction; they were instruction manuals for life. Five Point Someone especially left a deep impact on him. The idea that one could bypass the grind, mock the process, and still emerge successful appealed strongly to him. Somewhere between those pages, Guddu picked up more than just a reading habit—he picked up cigarettes too.

Shortcuts looked cool. Rebellion felt intelligent. Effort seemed overrated.

What he missed, however, was that stories simplify life. Reality doesn’t.

We fear Maggi. But we don’t fear Jugaad.

And sometimes, the cost of that fear is a life.