Chapter 1: The ObserverPart 2: The Birth of the App

Chapter 1: The Observer

Part 2: The Birth of the App

"India is the only country where people fight over religion but stand united when making memes about the government." — Unknown

"If jugaad was an Olympic sport, India would have won gold every time." — Every Indian Ever

The idea of creating an indestructible truth machine was revolutionary. The execution?

A nightmare.

Pragya stared at his screen, surrounded by half-empty chai cups and biscuit crumbs. His bunker looked less like the lair of India's greatest hacker and more like a PG hostel room after exams.

Lines of code scrolled across his monitor, but one line kept flashing in red:

ERROR 403: Access Denied

He groaned. "Arey yaar, even my own app doesn't trust me!"

With a deep sigh, he rubbed his temples and took a sip of his cold chai. "Ab kya karein?"

It wasn't that the app was impossible to build. It was that India was impossible to build it in.

Everything here worked on jugaad—a mix of innovation, stubbornness, and divine intervention. The problem wasn't making the app; the problem was keeping it alive once the government realized what he was doing.

The moment the app went live, ministers would scream, police would panic, and every news anchor from Arnab Goswami to Sudhir Chaudhary would turn it into a national crisis.

"BREAKING NEWS: A MYSTERIOUS APP THREATENS NATIONAL SECURITY! IS THIS THE WORK OF PAKISTAN? OR WORSE… CHINA?"

The politicians? They'd start making statements without understanding anything.

"This app is a direct attack on our culture! First, they removed 'Rasogolla' from Bengali identity, and now this!"

The IT cell guys? They'd flood Twitter with hashtags like #Pragya_DeshDrohi or #Boycott_Truth.

And WhatsApp uncles? They'd spread their own theories:

"Beta, I heard this app was created by the Illuminati. My neighbor's friend's uncle's dog told me."

Pragya shook his head.

"Nahi bhai, this needs to be bulletproof."

How the App Would Work (With Maximum Jugaad)

Step 1: No Central Servers

He couldn't store user data on any cloud service. If he used Amazon Web Services, the government could order a takedown. If he used Indian servers, well… they'd be 'mysteriously' hacked.

So he designed the app to work peer-to-peer—like torrents, but for truth. Every user's phone would become a mini-server, making the app impossible to shut down.

Step 2: No Login, No Names, No Trace

Most apps needed phone numbers or emails to register. But Pragya's app? Bas naam hi kaafi hai.

No login. No ID. No trace. Users could post anonymously, exposing corruption without fearing for their lives. Even if police tried to track them, they'd find nothing.

"Haath dho ke bhi pakad nahi sakoge, mitron," he smirked.

Step 3: AI-Powered Fact-Checking

People in India believed anything forwarded on WhatsApp.

"NASA said Hanuman Chalisa can cure COVID."

"Drinking gau mutra increases WiFi speed."

"A boy from Bihar created a time machine in his village."

To prevent misinformation, Pragya coded an AI to automatically fact-check posts before they spread.

If someone tried posting "Modiji is actually an alien from Jupiter," the AI would slap a disclaimer:

"Bhai, pehle school ja. Toh better hoga."

Step 4: Secret Payment System

The app wasn't just for exposing corruption; it was also for bypassing the banks. People could make direct payments to each other without using UPI, Paytm, or banks.

If a vendor wanted to sell vegetables without paying GST? Done.

If someone wanted to donate money to a journalist without attracting income tax? Sorted.

And the best part? The government couldn't block it. Because it didn't exist in any financial system.

Pragya leaned back, cracking his knuckles. "Bas, ab sirf ek kaam bacha hai."

The Test Run: Mera Pehla Customer

Pragya needed to test the app. But who could he trust?

He thought about all the great minds who had revolutionized India.

Aryabhatta invented zero.

CV Raman gave us the Raman effect.

Ambani gave us 'Jio Free Data' and destroyed every other telecom company.

But none of them could help him now. He needed someone truly fearless.

Then he got an idea.

There was a tea stall near his bunker run by an old man called Kaka. Kaka had been selling chai for decades and had witnessed every political drama unfold. If anyone could test the app in real life, it was him.

Pragya walked up to Kaka's stall and pulled out his phone.

"Kaka, ek test karna hai," he said, scanning the app's QR code.

Kaka squinted at the screen. "Bhai, yeh UPI hai?"

"Nahi, Kaka. Yeh system-free payment hai. No GST, no bank, direct paisa."

Kaka's eyes widened. "Arey, toh yeh sarkar ko tax nahi jayega?"

"Bilkul nahi."

Kaka grinned. "Bhai, ek chai free!"

Pragya laughed. His app had officially been launched in the Indian economy.

The First Real Post

A day later, the app received its first real upload.

It was from a delivery boy working for a major e-commerce company. He had secretly recorded a video of his manager forcing employees to work 18-hour shifts without overtime.

The video went viral overnight.

The company's CEO woke up to a PR disaster. News channels picked up the story. Twitter exploded with hashtags.

By evening, the government issued a statement:

"We have launched a committee to investigate working conditions in delivery services. The Prime Minister himself will look into it."

Pragya smirked. "Wah! Kya speed hai, jab media pressure padta hai."

His app had just shaken the system for the first time. And this was only Day One.

He leaned back, sipping chai as he watched the chaos unfold.

"Ab asli khel shuru hoga."