I love seventy-a-tenth-century jaist and ours I established a union with two literary friends. His name is indigenous. And the names of friends are Shishir Chandra Bose and Benoy Chakraborty.
As is usually the case. Without a guardian, a few friends in a separate house, give happiness to the literary spirit of mind. Read the stories and poetry, the backbone of each other. The tea, the cigarette, and lastly colorful speculation printing a monthly magazine. And, what will be the most horrendous monthly magazine that will be calculated accurately by its mouth. That means, do not make four or two bets.
The friendship of these four of us in that day was a sight to look at. In the Victoria Memorial or Woodburn Park, or on Minto Square, the boat was taken by boat for four o'clock in the evening. Prinsesgh Ghat, or Eden Garden, would have gone on or on any day. I remember once again, went to Rajgonj by steamer, and from there I ran from there to the Andoli four contested the competition. There were many more boys in our team. His name is Ramesh Chandra Das. Another person at the time. His name is Sunimal Basu. So Michael said, do not go where the bicycle goes. He wrote the monoharan child-poetry and established it in the banyadi journal.
