RAP(A)-ism ─Anirban Nanda


*Offensive contents may be found.
*It’s a fiction; so are the names.
*No offense intended to any particular person or group or organization.

Year 2020:

He settles himself on the reading desk and opens his laptop which is also called ‘Whackbook’. Renowned-and-popular-author or RAPA is his name, which according to him, is one of the honourable and elite names for someone to be called. Pushing the power button has woken up the electronically advanced, multipurpose, 10 gigahertz core driven and rareOS loaded scientific machine. A bunch of glowing grapes ─which is not bitten─ has glorified the backside of the stylish and glamorous technical masterpiece. Opening his facebook account he sees 100 new notifications and 50 new friend requests. But I was only offline for three hours. He has thought. Then he has stretched his arms yawning in his comfortable chair and closed his eyes. How popular I am! I am the RAPA. He’s then come closer to his whackbook and saw the deadline. Today is the last day for the national level literary contest organised by TALE; The Association of Literary Elites. I must hurry. Then he has placed his hands on his temples and concentrated for few minutes. The short story must be a masterpiece. The prize money is big. It has to be dark and gruesome. People like negative topics.

He has thought for a long time and then started typing the story. This story would be awesome ─acid on face combined with rape. It is the darkest possible story I can write. He’s typed and typed; for hours. After three hours, he has looked at the 5000 word-long story and smiled.

After 15 days:

RAPA updates a status:

Just saw the announcement of the winners in the nationwide competition organised by TALE. And guess what…I WON THE FIRST PRIZE! Thank you so much for your support and likes. Go to the following link to read my story named Dark Life of a Girl. (www.tale.org/contest/dark-life-of-a-girl)

─feeling happy 🙂 .

After updating the status, he has gone to bed and merged himself in the softness of deep slumber.

Few blocks away from RAPA’s house; Dr. Samson Saha (sometimes mocked as Savior in Satan because he charges big for treatment) just has returned from his long day’s work. He’s refreshed himself and watching his watch ticking 2.00AM he has gone to bedroom to join his wife. His wife rarely has the opportunity to watch her husband dine with their family and so she has got used to such routines. Samson enters and smiles at his sleeping wife and then has unhinged the nightgown and walked towards the bed.

Ting Tang Ti Ting! His cell is buzzing. He reluctantly has taken out the phone and stared at the number. It is from emergency department in the government hospital nearby. His wife has woken up and looked at him with half opened eyes. Samson has picked up the phone gazing at his wife. From the other side the voice speaks, “Doctor sa’ab, a girl is just admitted on reference from the local hospital. You have to come now. Someone has thrown acid on her face. Please sir, come quickly.” Samson has cut the phone and looked at his wife tiredly. Wife nods at him understandingly and says, “Go save the girl.”

Ting! Another ‘like’ has buzzed in RAPA’s phone.

MORAL: Writing to stop tortures on women is same as writing “Smoking kills” in a cigarette packet.

©Anirban Nanda


My Interview in The Soapbox

Interview with ANIRBAN NANDA



Anirban is a final year student of Electrical Engineering at Haldia Institute of Technology. He lives in Haldia, West Bengal. He has always wanted to write. Reading books is his favorite pass time. His anthologies “A Phase Unknown Women-A Tribute Season 2” , “Dream-Castle” and “The Paid Eminence” are due release in April, 2015. He has also published some of his works at www.themicrotales.com and in “Indian Authors Association”. Though he is a student of technical intricacy, he loves to read novels more than engineering textbooks. His favorite authors include George Orwell, Harper Lee and Khuswant Singh. You can get in contact with him via. email (anirban.igp@gmail.com), Facebook or his blog Alphabet Speaks (www.anirbanigp.wordpress.com).

~When did you first realize you wanted to be a writer?

When I was at class twelve, I started taking part in different essay writing competition and all kind of writing competition. Participating in those events helped me to grow aspiration to write stories, poems etc. When I read deep impact fiction by Indian author in my mother tongue like Rabindranath, Saratchandra, I realized the power of writing and from then I have decided to become a writer.

~Tell us about your story, ‘Heat Of Knife.’ How did you get the idea for it?

This story is about a girl, named Durga who struggled and survived the
bleak world of slum-life. When I first saw the call for submission in this anthology, I was in the midst of preparing for GATE exam. I felt like writing something on women empowerment but could not find a story. Then while travelling to the centre for the exam I witnessed life in slums from bus and right then I got the idea of my story.

~Tell us about the character of Durga. How did you develop the character?

In our mythology, Durga is a symbol of rage and protection the true image of women. Parvati is another name for Durga who is the mother of Durga in my story. I visualized the current situation of women in our society in not like the Durga or Parvati in mythology. To name the character Durga is ironical. I tried to imagine the possible situations in the slum and tried to develop a character as fit as possible for our society.

~How long does it take you to write a story?

It depends on whether I am trying to write a simple story or an artistic one. I took nearly six hours to write this story and another 2-3 hours for correction.

~What is your work schedule like, when you’re writing?

I like to write after midnight, but it always not have to be the case. I read many short stories to experiment with my writing style ─there is a drastic change in my writing style from this story to the most recent one─ and I normally write one story in 2 weeks.

~What would you say is your interesting writing quirk?

I always like to write about dark sides of our society; never loved much romance in writing stories. It is not that I hate romance, I do write romance but they are different ─not sweet flowery love tales.

~Where do you get your information or ideas for your stories?

I get ideas from our society; real life events of people around us.

~When did you write your first story and how old were you?

I wrote my first story in my first year B.Tech, at age of 17; it was a science fiction.

~What do you like to do when you’re not writing?

When I am not not writing, I read novels, watch movies or do my final year project.

~What does your family think of your writing?

My parents are very supportive for my aspiration to become a writer. They think I write well and have the potential to become a good writer. I am very fortunate to born in such family.

~What was one of the most surprising things you learned in creating your stories?

When I realize naked truths about our society and behaviour and express it in my friend circle, they make joke of it. But when I write the same in a short story or a poem, everyone appreciates it.

~How many stories have you written? Which is your favorite?

I have written total nine stories, of which I love “The Act of Smiling” the most which will release in the anthology named “The Paid Eminence”.

~Do you have any suggestions to help me become a better writer? If so, what are they?

Just keep writing regularly, you will improve for sure. It is true for everyone who wants to become a writer.

~Do you hear from your readers much? What kinds of things do they say?

I got mixed reviews when I published my first story in Facebook. Those reviews helped me a lot to write better stories now.

~What do you think makes a good story?

A good story must be racy and thought provoking at the same time. The narration should not be  like a news report, it must be interesting.

~As a child, what did you want to do when you grew up?

When I was a child I wanted to become a bay-blade fighter shown in cartoon network. J It was very famous in those days and in my locality every afternoon there was a fight between the spinning lattoos or bay-blades.

~How was experience with Sanmati Publishers?

It is vey pleasant and beautiful. They are supportive and very helpful.

~What would be your message for our readers?

Just be yourself, follow your heart and keep smiling.

Thank you Anirban for your precious time. Wish you Good luck!

~Interviewed by Enakshi Johri & Kumar Vikrant

She Was a Saint



[CONTEXT OF THE POEM: Few days back in India, a group of young people raped a nun in a church. This is one of the rape incidents which shamed us all. Most ridiculous fact is; convicts ate chocolate a cake calmly after the offence!]

She was a saint.

As pure as sunrays,

As gracious as flowers,

Few snipped off the petals.


For she was a saint,

As innocent as child,

As shy as a bride,

And today she cried.


As she was a saint;

As disciplined as army,

As calm as still-water,

Lost her honor by a cutter.


Though she was a saint,

She still was entered;

Faced her sinister fate,

And they ate cake and chocolate!


Few ‘liked’ the news,

Some updated a status,

Fewer tried to mourn,

But still, she was a saint.


She never had a home,

For she had a church of stone─

And now she owns a room different;

It is a hospital-for-rent.


She never covered he face;

With always covered bodice.

Now she had a face hidden,

In a state bed-ridden,

With tattered heart and chest,

And hence, she was a saint.


May be once a day will come,

When we find a people some;

Full of respect and light,

To make us bright,

To help her fight,

And remove the night,

For the soul to chant─

“I am a saint.”

©Anirban Nanda

Smartly Short Tales Collection-#2

Smart-tales #4


She dangled, drawing out
hand for coins
Five year old was she,
Writing ABCD with smile;
without going to school.

Smart-tales #5

#end of college days 😦

Whiskey in one hand and cigarette in other
He looked at the campus from window,
while tears fell on his guitar.
now he marked the calender.

Smart-tales #6


She kept a seat for him beside,
He hesitated and another took the place;
She left her kerchief with a number,
and he also got a “place”.

-Anirban Nanda

(This types of tales are called micro-tales or tiny-tales where as few as possible words are use to express a emotion.)



Anirban Nanda

“Are you sure about this?” She asked hesitantly.

“Yeah, everyone does this.”

The boy was 21 and the girl was 16. He was a 3rd year student and she was in class 10. She didn’t want to frustrate him on the Valentine’s Day. He was asking for this for the last few years and she was really in love with him. The boy took the adolescence of the girl as an opportunity to explore a physically passionate love. The girl was curious about it. Hence, though she was doubtful and giving him a ‘no’ for a long time, in her mind she wanted to get over with it. She kept her word and gave him the best valentine gift.

***6 months later***

The kit for pregnancy test said ‘yes’ terrifying the girl tremendously. The boy was busy with campus interviews and was obviously giving less time to her. She had called him twice. She really wanted a lot of questions to be answered. Later she had got a small fraction of his precious time to talk.

“I am pregnant.” She stated slowly holding her breath.

“Are you sure?”

“Of course I am.”

No answer for 15 seconds.

“Ok. I think you should get an abortion. Talk to your parents. I am very busy right now and don’t try to call me again.”

“But …”

The line got disconnected. The girl could not believe her ears. She sat on the sofa hopelessly with tears falling through her soft, reddish chick. First, she was thinking of a simple solution like jumping from roof, hanging from fan etc. Right then, her mom called. She thought not to pick it up. But suddenly she felt the urge to talk to someone and touched the green button on the screen.

© Anirban Nanda



Anirban Nanda

It was all over. Rohini and Tushar were at the beach and decided to break up as it would be impossible for them to keep alive their dream of living ‘happily-ever-after-together’. Their family would not allow them to marry as caste had always remained an important factor for selecting the ‘right’ life-partner.

They sat there silently for a long time. They knew this would be their last talk as a couple but they could not speak a word. Their voices were choked. Rohini bought a black ‘fastrack’ watch and a white rose. Tushar also bought an ‘ipod-mini’ with all their phone call recordings loaded into it and a Cadbury fruit-n-nut. They stood up from the bench and handed over the presents. A cool gusty wind waved through. Rohini threw the white rose and jumped to Tushar. They kissed and walked away holding their hands together.

©Anirban Nanda

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Anirban Nanda

It is time for the train’s arrival. It is a very long and slow goods train. The gates have fallen making the passengers at the office hours frustrated. People on the buses or taxis can only express their anguish. People with cycles and bikes are crossing the passages between the gates. Thus a large numbers of two-wheelers and bipeds have already crossed the railway crossing.

The train is now nearly 5 meters away from the crossing. So, the brave people have stopped crossing and decided to wait for few minutes and the crossing has become empty. But few people are too busy to waste their precious few minutes. Two people have passed quickly and easily. The third one is a factory labor with slippers in his feet. He is trying to run with cycle in one hand. The train is just about 3 meters away when the unexpected has happened.

His left leg has got strangled in between the tracks. The train has given a prolong honk giving warning and scaring him to death. He has become nervous. He is trying frantically to pull out his leg from the grasp of the death-rails. But it is of no use. The train is only 2 meters away and he has started crying for help. But everyone is standing still. Many are busy with recording the event in their phones. The man is screaming with watery eyes. His lips are dry. Droplets of sweat are gathering on his temples. The train is 4 feet away and he has pulled his leg for the last time. The train is just about to touch him and he successfully is able to pull out his leg and the train has marched past him slowly lynching his cycle with metallic noise.

©Anirban Nanda

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