The Diary of a Boy

No Reader for Mr. Mitra

[After a long I have tried to write something. It’ll be great if you read this and let me know in the comment box of your thoughts.]

The Diary of a Boy

The Wee Hours We’re Livin’ In…

Everyone is celebrating to-day.

The celebration had started when the news flashed on the National TV channels and web browsers. A moment of silence to get indulge into suddenness of the news and then a loud cheer and hurrah. Yes, the four rapists had been killed by the police. At last the soul of Doctor Priyanka Reddy will rest in peace. This is what all we wanted till we learned of the heinous crime. Lynched them. Hanged them. They don’t deserve the facility of being tried in the court. But, wait. Wait, and think about this. Is this how justice should be served?

Like one of the four smothered the young doctor, to-day at the wee hours of the morning the justice had been smothered. The reports say they were taken to the crime scene to recreate the crime. And at that time they snatched the arms of police and tried to escape by shooting at the police. Two of the policemen were injure, I read if I am not wrong. So, four truck drivers tried to escape the clutch of justice, and they, the group of brave policemen, just serve them justice they, the rapists, were waiting for. This is for what they have taken oath for. This is the duty of them; they have been bestowed with—punished the offenders, the vile who spoiling the very nature of the society that is to live in tranquility.

No, this is being injustice served in the most justified approach that you had in your hand. “Killed in Encounter”—the pages of the culprits will read in the report. To me it is not a moment of ecstasy or to celebrate that those culprits were killed. It is actually most cowardice way you can pass on the justice.Yeah I know sometimes the violence is the perfect answer to serve the wrongdoers and their doings. But being a protector of the justice cannot be they put on the trial.

I can see many of you calling me name or abusing me. Listen then, I am against these rapists and their doings but I am also against of being this way of justice served to serve the justice.

Next time when this thing will happen again people will expect bullets and guns to make the decision not the judicial system to pass the sentence. Many of you will again call me names; but, go through the newspapers from 28th November to last day that is 5th December. And see there were so many instances of molestation that have happened at this period of times. Besides this, these are accounted for. Everyday so many girls and women are getting molested—how many of them are we coming to know.

Standing on this edge of the explanation what had happened today is right or wrong the time will tell. But, however the time is hard and harsh we need to understand that violence is not the solution that should be applied at that time. If we cannot understand this then the black cloud of anarchy is looming over us.

As conclusion, I would say the greatest punishment the rapists had received. That is not the death we asked for them. But, it was disownment of them by their mother. One of the mothers of the convicted had disowned his son publicly, and had asked for the death sentence. When your own mother can say that and ask for your death through judicial sentence for the crime you had committed, then isn’t it a punishment?

National Novel Writing Month The Diary of a Boy

2nd Year…

Last year after attempting two years in National Poem Writing Month (held in April annually), I thought why not give a chance to the National Novel Writing Month (held in November annually).

So, I had participated in it. And my laptop breaks down after I crossed the 25,000 words limit. It was half of the way because the target is 50,000 words on the 30th November. Few of you had read that half written novel here at Thoughts. I had shared my daily progress here. It’s working title was titled Actually No Plot At All. Now, I am working on that novel even after a year. Writing and rewriting, writing and Shift+Delete, writing and backspacing. Now it is call Memoirs of Some Characters.

In 2019, I am again going to participate in the NaNoWriMo and had take resolution to end the race anyhow, anyway. The name as of now is Red Blue Gray or Journal of Prisoners. The story-line is like this–

A journal had been discovered in Haven Prison. It was written by not one but more than one prisoners. They had jotted down their thoughts and stories or stories of another prisoner.

Like last year this year also I will share my progress here. Hope it will find some readers not only lover of Like button, and I will look forward to your comments and thoughts.

Below are two covers I am sharing that I had designed for this book.

See you tomorrow here with the First Episode, and whole of the month of November with the progress of First Draft of my new endeavour.



The Diary of a Boy

Basking in the Sun

There was a time,

when the sun used to peeped through the clouds

in a monsoon morning or

when the morning was late and lazy and study books closed,

I used to lie down where the pencils of the rays used to draw their lines–

it might be the edge of the bed or the girth of a window.

The warmth of them was not a scorching one but a welcoming caressing one.

The seasonal breeze used to cafune through the dense young hairs,

and the eyes closed tried to absorb the love hidden in the sun.

This is the time

when the sun peeped through the clouds

in a monsoon morning or

when the morning is old and am out of the air conditioned cabin

for a smoke.

I put on my shades as the eyes get titillated, and then

curse the season and its sun.

The vacant created out of the people working around

and my forgotten goals

I am the bit of the time as the smokes whirled up and vanishes in the air.

Sangbad, 09-22-2019

Let's Talk The Diary of a Boy

Here I Am…

How long I have not been here….you all have forgotten me…or has given up on me…this post is a bit of what I am up to…

On the other side of the road the organizer is playing “তখন তোমার একুশ বছর…” (You might be twenty-one that time…) The song was composed by Bappi Lahiri and sung by Arati Mukherjee. Today is Janmasthami, birth occasion of Gopal or Krishna.

Four years has passed away as if in a snap. This was the day I learned of her marriage. But, wait. I’m not going to rant about it. But, am here to talk on a small achievement I have achieve.

Last month I had sent this story to a competition of short story. An anthology of stories which will hit fast and strike hard as the organizer asked for. I wrote a story of love. A very much different type of one I ever thought of. So, the result was out few days back. And surprisingly I am one of the twenty-five selected from over eight-hundred entries.

The book will be out next month, September. Now, so, I am really a published author. Couldn’t speak of it much now at this point of time. But, will speak of it. After the book got published, and I see myself there in the pages, on the pages.

P.S. From now on will try to be at Thoughts on weekend and holidays.