Tag Archives: My Novel

The Judiciary, …in My Novel.


[ Hello, Folks, this is part of a chapter in my good old Novel that is getting ready. Read it here for Free. 🙂 ]

Old Mr. Ilango was Very angry. Improvements, of sorts, were definitely happening over the Indian scene, like the politicians being questioned, the question of the safety of children and women raised up and discussed at length, followed by the careless of hospitals, their crass hunger for money and their negligence, etc, which then turned to questioning the high fees elicited by lawyers.

The question of the good old, or rather, the Nasty cess pool of the judiciary is never raised. Everybody is afraid, because some fool, or some fools had made the law, perhaps, that the judiciary cannot be questioned.

“Not just Rapes, but Gang-rapes, and bestiality in the form of inserting objects, like stones into the private parts of the Adivasi lady leader Soni Sori, heated iron rods into that of the girl gang raped in Delhi, a lathi, which has a diameter of about one and a half inches into that of a six year old child, take place on a regular basis now.

“TV shows like the Mirror Now and NDTV take up such issues and make them a point of discussion, and they demand that action be taken against the culprits, at the same time decrying the fact that Only about 3% convictions take place in these cases.

“They berate the politicians and the police, who Are guilty, of course.

“But do they Forget the fact, or do they Overlook it, or are they Afraid to raise the issue that it is the Judiciary alone that takes the final step in these affairs?” Mr. Ilango pauses, perhaps for breath.

Mohan came in. “You are right, Grandpa. I remember You saying at the time of the passing away of that leader in Mumbai, when the Whole city was brought to a standstill. One lone little Brave heart, a young woman, had dared question over the internet just Why this shut down should happen for one lone man.

“The police had come and made a Mid-night arrest of that Poor woman, and she was sent to jail for a month, if I remember things correctly.”

“Didn’t You tell me, Anand, that You had written on Facebook and Twitter about the Judiciary, or in that case the Magistrate is the person or the body who metes out punishment? That that woman of Mumbai fame was sent to jail Not by the police but by the magistrate?” asked Yoha.

“You are right, my Dear,” admitted he. “The magistrate could – easily, – and should have told the arresting police that there was Nothing whatsoever wrong in her question, chided them, and should have sent her away home Free. Instead of that the magistrate was merely the Willing tool of the politicians. And not only he, Most of those in the adjudicating business are that, – tools of the politicos. Can Anybody believe that they would be doing all this without receiving some sort of Compensation?” finished Anand.

“So if all these Criminals are roaming around Free, laughing their heads off at Society, the members of the judiciary are to Blame,” wound up Yoha.

There was a slight pause, as always happened when important points were made.

“Arvind Kejriwal, the chief minister of Delhi, and the founder of the Aam Aadmi Party, his supporters, and perhaps Anna Hazare to a certain extent, had demanded, among other things, that even the judiciary is accountable to the Citizens,” Mr. Ilango was saying.

They wondered at the sharpness of mind and the acumen of his, even at the age of eighty seven.

He sent one of the young men to go and fetch his precious box of newspaper clippings, and when that came, within no time and unerringly found what he wanted.

It was dated 23 September 2014, and the clipping said that till date, as per the data of Law & Justice Ministry, there were about 3 Crore (30 Million!) cases pending in Indian Courts. Out of which 44 lakh (nearly Four and a half Million) cases in High courts & 63,000 cases in the were sleeping in the Supreme court.

“There are even Sixty year old cases, and hundreds in the twenty year range. Worse, perhaps thousands of People are in jail, without their cases having been examined.

“These fellows get paid in lakhs, which means something like ten thousand rupees a day; they do not declare their assets or their income – and one ex cji, meaning the chief judges of India, had gone to the extent of saying that no self respecting judge would declare his income!

“It is said that the courts work for only six months a year. It would be puerile, ridiculous and contemptible if they were to say that they work longer.

“One argument was raised that they work long hours. Typical Arrogance. How long and how hard do they think the Average man works? A man who makes Tea in stalls might even be getting Rs. 15,000 a month; but for that he stands, stands, – not getting a moment to sit, for 12 straight hours! There are many colleges in the country which pay their ‘professors’ one third of what they judges get, without a single day off!”

“What gets my goat is that these fallible, falling, erring, corruptible and corrupt to a large degree, judges get called as ‘justices.’ They should be addressed as judges, and nothing more than, never more than that; Never, never, never ever as justices, the goats,” said Yoha’s mother.

Old Mr. Ilango looked at her with appreciation.

“Till the Country, and the World, understand and Realize that the Citizen is Supreme, that it is the Citizen who pays them, pays for their very food, not to say the luxuries, that they, the judges and each and member of the administration, is a Servant of the Citizen, and Demand that judges too are Accountable to the People, nothing good will happen,” said he.

The discussion continued about judges another day. “When there is Such a large backlog of cases in courts, just Why does not the administration appoint More judges to deal with them and end them?” asked Reena, another of Yoha’s sisters.

“What a wonderful question,” satired Vijendra. “Perhaps the administration concedes and admits that it does not have enough men of Calibre to fill those posts.”

“Shall we say Brains, instead of Calibre?” quipped one of the boys.

“You certainly may, Young Sir,” rejoined Vijendra. “And You would not be far from the Truth!”

“Quit joking, You Young fellows,” said Mr. Ilango. Even seventy year old Vijendra was ‘young fellow’ for him, for he was eighty seven, after all. “Perhaps the president does not find enough fellows with enough Honesty for those posts!”


The Hacker


Hello, Folks! Here is a Short Story (1,350 words), to be part of MY NOVEL. Read this one for now, FOR FREE.

This one is based on Facts, something that happened very, very recently, in Rajasthan in India. For more, please peruse link below.

Now, to My Story, which is set in the 1950’s:


There was this fellow who was about thirty two years old,
actually quite handsome; dressed well, preferred white pants,
and had a little shawl thrown over his shoulder.

One fine morning he picked up his axe, and proceeded to the
market place, where he found a farm labourer who was about
sixty years old, and told him to come with him. The man
thought that he was going to get some work, so he followed

When he came to a half secluded place, the white panted man
coolly and calmy started hacking the labourer! He jumped
about, found the best angles to attack him with, and the poor
worker was literally hacked into pieces in a few minutes, despite his most piteous moans and pleas.

As the place was only semi secluded, there had been watchers
about. But, frankly speaking, very few people can handle a
man with an axe, and a berserk man at that. They remained as
mesmerised, gruesomely fascinated and helpless spectators;
not able to intervene, nor go away. And they found that the
event lay etched in their minds’ screens all their lives.

The hacker then wiped his axe and his hands on the other
man’s clothes as far as he could, and sauntered back to the
market place. He went to a tea shop, sat on one of the benches
provided there, and ordered tea, which was given him by the
shop keeper, who noticed the blood-stained axe, and then the
splatters of blood on the man’s clothes. The hacker’s fierce
looks and mocking smile said that he had not killed a goat

The tea shop owner, – it is all a one-man business,
the owner making the tea, serving it and collecting the cash,
besides rinsing, yes, rinsing, – nothing more than that, the
glasses. The last nobody minded. Indian stomachs are not too
afraid of germs, and Indian sensibilities can and do put up
with a lot worse.

But truth to tell, when the tea wallah went back to his spot
behind what can only be called the counter, he was urinating
there involuntarily. Yet when the people who had been
patronising the shop walked off trying not to show their
panic, it was not because of the strong smell of the urine.
Finding himseld alone with the killer, the tea shop’s owner
brain told itself to shut down, which it carried out by a faint.

The hacker finished his tea, put a some coins on the counter,
and went off home.

The whole town was buzzing, and the police knew that this
could not be ignored, which it would have preferred. So two
constables were dispatched to fetch the hacker. They went to
his place and told him that the ‘saheb,’ meaning the officer,
the station incharge in this case, wanted ‘to see him.’ The man
followed them.

When they reached the police station, the sub inspector got
up, and with bent head and downcast eyes, just indicated the
cell, to which the man went, which was locked.


After a few days, wonder of wonders, the hacker was seen
working in his garden. He brought his produce to the market,
which his usual customers bought, without any conversation.


Six day after the hacking took place, three unidentified youth,
with black cloths covering their faces, turned up at the
hackers little house and knocked; to which the fellow responded
by opening the door, and he did this without fear, albeit with
his axe in hand. The attackers seemed to have planned things.
The short stick, favoured even by many police forces today,
though in many different forms, was used immediately, for
the first blow, which did not give the hacker time to wield his

Then they dragged him to his garden, where they chopped off
both his legs just below the knees, and his right hand, right at
the shoulder.

They had brought a horse cart with them, without the animal,
which was not a war horse after all, and would have blanched
and refused to move in the presence, particularly of, human
blood. There were old gunny sacks placed there, by intention,
on which they loaded not just the man but also his limbs, and
took him to the railway station, and put him at a little distance
from the main entrance. Next they arranged all his limbs in
front of him, gave him a few kicks, – none of which he felt for
he was in shock yet, spat on him, and departed.

This was all witnessed only by the dogs there, as it was not
the time for any train to pass by. The dogs had barked and
howled a little, and that was that. As for the station staff, the
spot was out of sight to them.

Not so for the passengers and anybody and everybody who
would pass that way to the station the next morning onwards.

But in the meantime, the man had come out of his faint
induced by shock, experienced most funny feelings, saw
things in front of him, which, when he finally felt with his left
hand, he understood to be his own limbs. He fainted many
times after that, and upon repeated sight of his limbs, brought
up quite a few times.

He faced a particular horror as day light was dawning and as
he was coming out of one of his faints, when he found some
dogs dragging away his hand, which they started to make a
meal of some distance away. Reality was beginning to dawn
on him.

The first train was only at a few minutes past five in the
morning, and those who had come early for it thought of him
only as a beggar, the other limbs in front of him being not too
visible. Nobody paid much attention anyway.

But of those who alighted, the light increasing with every minute, the parents had to shield their children’s eyes from this horror, and later some women were telling their husbands, “Kuch karo na jee,” meaning, please do something. The men escaped with throwing a few coins in front of the man on the ground.

News of a person in horrible conditions reached the station
master’s ears. He came, had a look see, and sent for two
janitors. When they arrived they were told to bury the man’s
limbs, the hand included, which lay half eaten some distance
away, and later they pulled the man under a tree, for the
station premises are common ground for people, beggars

Sometime later a more generous man brought the fellow a
glass of tea from a tea vendor, paying also for the tumbler,
and placed it in front of the hacker who only glared at him.

At about ten o’clock, a kind Samaritan noticed the undrunk
tea, threw it out for it was quite cold by now, took the tumbler and brought some fresh tea, went near the man, and with a kind look on his face, squatted near him, and brought the tumbler near the man’s
lips. What he got in return was the hacker’s hand at his throat,
and it was a fierce grip.

People started shouting at this, which brought the lone policeman who had arrived for duty there, to the spot. He noticed what was happening, went around and positioned himself, raised his lathi and brought it down in a solid blow above the hacker’s elbow, on the upper arm. It is a bone that is easily broken, and it did. The hacker fainted once again, and the Samaritan was lifted and brought to a bench to recover and offered tea.

Both the hacker and society got enough time to reflect on
what had, and could, and should, happen to the evil minded.

The link: [Viewer discretion advised ]

PS: For a little sequel to this, please click here.


Update on my Novel


I do not know just how others go about writing their novels, but in my case, wanting to write something in the line of Animal Farm (without the fictitious characters), and Zen and the Art of Motorcycle maintenance (only, hopefully, with More flow!), I find that I have to go about creating characters, situations and outcome with these ends in view.

Working at it like Mad, but all in the mind! The beginning and the middle part are well developed and written down, but the ending is the End of me (so to say! Haha).

Wish me Luck! Love and Regards to You all. 🙂


Rising out of the Depths!


Hello, my Dear Friends,

Been working Mostly on my Novel all these days. And have decided to transfer it to the Net as Drafts in the Blog for Safety.

Found that I have some 41,000 words on my First Two characters. There are 3 More main ones, and the story is good for a total of 1,00,000 words, I guess.

Just wanted to say Hello to You All! Love and Regards! 🙂


Me and my Novel!

I write on Four platforms, Twitter, Facebook, the Blog and my Novel. As the First Three are in the line of ‘Opinion Formation,’ I give them priority. The Novel is in that vein too, but I feel that this can ‘wait!’

But I had let it ‘wait’ for quite a long time, so much so that I was almost losing thread. When I took it up, I was nearly in a Panic, wondering where was what.

Now, having controlled things a bit, am at the Opposite end of the Swing! Am having So much of Ideas that even at present I could complete two whole chapters. And that, considering that my sections are of about 4 thousand words, is saying something! The one I am writing has reached 2,800 words plus in about a week, and is good for some 1,200 more!

As usual, once again the Brain is working faster than the Fingers!

After having rolled Your heads with all that, let me say Good bye for now! 🙂

Your Prayers would be Highly Appreciated [EDITED]

Hello, Again, my Friends! …This may sound peculiar; But I, who like Friends so much, do not have one with whom I can make contact, within a reasonable distance. My (once) Best Friend, Fr. Alphonse F., is nearly 2,500 Km away! …I have come to Look Upon You All, of the WordPress community, as my Friends now. So this sharing is even by way of Catharsis.

Am Editing my post of the 22nd of Jan this year. My Mom had looked like this, as You at the Bottom, then. On the 31st of Jan, she became Immobile, as in ‘Our Cat Oversees things.’ Day by day She is getting Weaker. …She is on a Catheter and ‘Under-pads,’ but the Instinct to get up and to go to the toilet, so as not to soil the clothes and the bed, is so powerful, that she tries trying to get up, and asking to be taken out. To Observe this becomes very painful.

So, in this situation, where I do not have much energy to go through my Reader, or to write, Your Prayers for my Mom would be Highly Appreciated once again. Please Keep her in Your Valuable Prayers.


[Below, the Old, Original article:]

This has been a Longish Absence of mine from my site! The main cause has been my Silly Computer, which is Yet having Teething problems with its CPU, and my OLD monitor.

The Other Reason is that my Dear Mom is needing More of my Time. We are Blessed to have a Village Woman who stays and takes care of her. But, as Mom wakes up many times a night, in spite of strongish sleeping medicine, the VM rests during the day and I get to respond to Mom’s calls.


I am coming to understand How much of a Privilege it is to take care of her! She had Brought Up Five of Us, and So well! She managed even the Finances and saw to the Education, particularly of my Younger brother and sister, after my Father’s demise.

Yet, as I have lived Alone Most of my Adult life, taking care of a person physically is something very foreign to me! I have had to learn that, and am the Better for that. I can say that I am a Bit More than Tired too! So writing work is taking so much More time!

For all that, am working on my Novel, which is growing Well in my Mind, as well as writing on Facebook, Twitter, and little Re-posts, etc, on the Blog.


Regards. 🙂

Update One, on my Novel

Before I speak of my Novel, have to say a few things about my having been SO busy on my Blog. Not to be recommended, I know. But it was a case of Striking the Iron while it was Hot. Needs Must.


Coming to my Novel, I present to You a Small and Tiny Excerpt, on which I too, I shall be working, doing more editings and polishing. For the Moment:

‘Nothing brings out Beauty like Love! And Nothing brings about Love like Suffering. Gopal knew suffering. He could have turned bitter. He had chosen not to. And Aruna, being loved, was able to relax and forget her past. Not only that, She was simply blooming!’


Your Feedback would be Highly Appreciated. 🙂