Rohan belonged to the first group. To him, the thick, blue-covered book with the daunting author’s name was a paper brick. Its pages were packed with problems so dense they seemed to suck the light out of the room. While his friends played cricket, Rohan’s father would place the RD Sharma on his desk and say, “One chapter. Then you can go.”
“Dad,” Rohan said, eyes shining. “I’m learning to fix broken compasses.” Rd Sharma Maths Book
A voice echoed. “Fix the compass. Use the book.” Rohan belonged to the first group
The next morning, his father saw Rohan at the breakfast table, not eating, but scribbling furiously in a notebook. “What are you doing?” While his friends played cricket, Rohan’s father would
“This is pointless,” he sighed. But then he looked at the compass. One axis was tilted. The other was misaligned. Suddenly, the page made sense. The compass was a graph. The broken needle was an inconsistent pair of lines—no solution. To fix it, he needed to find the point where they intersect .
Grumbling, Rohan opened the dream-RD Sharma. It flipped to a random page—.