Category Archives: June Diaries

The Suicide Note without Suicide.


In the wake of suicides taking place all-round the country, this is what a student wrote to his parents.

Parents never demand anything for themselves. All their demands circle around our well-being. Right from our birth, our every progress draws them closer to their only wish – we grow to become a successful person. The day we walked without support, the day we spoke our first words, the first day of our school life, the day we were awarded on stage, the day we looked adorable in a fancy dress competition, the day we wore our graduation caps and the day we got our job letter are among the few simple milestones they seek for, towards the fulfillment of their only dream – us. Where Mummy works hard at home to make our trivial dreams possible, Papa toils at the office to make our future possible. I have always found, “Papa kehte hai bara naam karega, beta hamaara aisa kaam karega” a great jingle to hum but in the silence of the night when I just say out these words in a monotonous tone, I feel low about not fulfilling any of his dreams. Neither have I excelled in studies, nor have I contributed towards his business. I have procrastinated hoping to focus again, but in the interim, I have only wasted my time. I have never considered academics as a basis of judgement and thus when I speak about failure, it does not mean academically. I have failed. I was of the opinion that teenage life is the time to enjoy life but as soon as I turned twenty and looked back, I only saw wreckage. I have not made anyone proud given that parents always believe their child to be their pride. It was that simple and still I failed. Suicide is the only option I have now. I cannot hurt you everyday. I hoped to be your pride, but I cannot live while being your shame. I know you are reading this with teary eyes and I might already be gone while you do so, but always remember that I love you. But I realize my death will not solve things for you. I know that this is the note you will now hate, but it will be the same piece of paper you will cry on, every time you would like to hear from me. Suicide does not end the pain. It transfers it to someone else. I do not want to transfer this pain onto you. Having brought so much troubles, this is the last thing I would like to do. Though, you will not wait for this note to end but I know that once it does, you will either slap me out of love for putting you through the test of losing your child or you will hug me thinking that your child has come back. Indeed, your child has. It is like taking birth again. Teach me how to walk for I keep falling. Teach me how to speak for I forgot how to tell you my problems. Teach me in the same patient manner because I want to start over. I want to bring pride to you through simple milestones before life gets complex again. I will not surrender before hardships. I will not give up in hard times. I still wrote this note to tell you that I have died on the inside – the part of me that has already committed suicide and that is the part you need to give birth to, again. But, I will not go. I know you do not like when I do not come back home on time. I will not go.


“Maa ne khat mei kya likha tha, jiye tu jug jug yeh kaha tha
Chaar pal bhi jee na paaya tu…
Sunn le yaaro ki yeh baatein, beetengi sab gham ki raatein
Uth jaa saale, yu sataata hai kyu?” 

Please, say no to suicides.



“My ideas usually come not at my desk writing but in the midst of living.” – Anais Nin.
Girls to please read carefully. The following blog post has a mention to guys’ undergarments. Happy reading. 🙂 And here, goes the blog…

One thing which separates us from the million species living elsewhere in the world is reason. The ability to think. This capability to discuss and debate is the cause of our existence as human beings, without which we would have been just another mammal.
It would be very ironical to say life was happier without this ability.
A complete parallel to reason is innocence. Innocence; one thing which separates the children from the million wise grown up people. Those were the happier times when we did not ‘think’ so much but only thought of things which could keep us happy.

Toffees and icecreams, every hour’s need.
Toys and more toys, the only greed.
For love, care and attention, always keen.
But then came a time when we became teens.

And thus, childhood was awesome. The way mummy used to dress us up, the way she combed our hair was our style statement. What papa said was the truest. No statement was more supreme. But alas, each coming birthday celebrates the fading death of insanity. Childhood was crazy. Only because it was an innocent age. I say that with evidence. An anecdote which forms the idea for this blog post.

My ten-year old brother and I shared the same room on our recent trip to Singapore. We all know how pants are worn on Jockey. When he happened to see it, he leaped in excitement and shouted, “Hawwwww. Underwear!” and then continued teasing me to just leave me smiling in realization. It is sooo cool on our part to have low waist pants on jockey, but for this child it is an underwear. It is. Different is the way we look at it.

Shashank ♥

Shashank ♥

Similarly we all have heard the story of the stupid king who set out on the city tour naked claiming that only the smart could see what dress he was wearing. To show that they were smart, nobody ever gave a reaction when the saw the king in this way. There was, but, only one reaction when a child questioned, “Why is the king naked?” The king resigned.

Thus, innocence. 😀

While talking about the “seven ages”, Shakespeare says how man goes back to his childhood, once he grows old. In this childhood package, everything may come back but not innocence. Maturity is important. Innocence is missed.
How ironical and contradicting a message does this send out? We were happier without our most praised ability? Can life be enjoyed without promoting our self-interests?

Kitna Badal Gaya Insaan.

Being a regular commuter for the Metro Railway, here in Kolkata, I’ve experienced so many instances of the Bengali antics, how small fights evolved, how the Bongs got irritated. Experiences were even worst when the Metro fails to function properly. But no moment as deep as it was today in the second compartment of the Tollygunj bound train.
Everything was ok. The metro ride was as usual uncomfortable, only till Chandni Chowk, where this gentleman got up from the Senior Citizen’s seat where was sitting to get down. The bong taking cue to sit gave him a grave look. He was aged. Standing there since I got up at Girish Park, sweating with a bag in his hand. He never complained of gentleman for not getting up for a aged like him to sit, but only after this gentlemen got down. He said how bad it was on his part to not get up to give him a seat. He was not angry. He was upset. Upset at the condition. The two people sitting beside him nodded for agreement. On the left was a retired teacher from my school, so I knew he was Hindu. On the right was a Muslim, as his beard highlighted so. The three then spoke nothing. Kept quite. The sadness could be seen.

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