As a child I used to walk with my mother to her mother’s home which was a few minutes’ from my place. My mother used to hold my arm tightly and drag me along as I lose myself in to the enchantment of the road side sites. And this leash let me drink the elixir of the dangerous world outside my nest in pell-mell gulps.
Many a things used to catch my attention. They became part of the plot of my childish freewheeling foolish fantasy. Many a characters that I observed became villains and comedians in my games. A few touched my heart and got my sympathy and I imagined myself to be their saviour.
As time killed the child in me, a lot of my fantasies too stopped living to become good jokes to laugh about now. But a few of them etched very strongly in to my heart, still surface in that very road. Time has taken its toll on them too.
Today as I observe them I seem to understand the gravity of their concerns, I only seem to understand. The oddity of each individual, though it is seldom realised, carries an artistically laudable tale capable of explaining their present state of existence. The freewheeling fantasy of mine mentioned earlier hasn’t lost that particular (in fact both) quality as of yet. The only change seems to be that twenty one years of existence has added as many colours to my imaginations, mostly shades of grey.
I have no realistic estimation of the age of this person’s existence in my mind. As a child, I remember seeing him. The man is tall. He has grey painted all over him, in his attire, in his beard, in his eyes, and if I may say in his hopes too. To me he loafs around the streets and probably according to him life loafs around him, hurting. Time hasn’t helped him much.
I do not remember the cause of my presence in the scene. It was raining heavily; nature was pouring her heart out. The road was deserted. Imagine the road without a child around, both sides covered in lush green, down pour, an umbrella, yourself and your sweet heart; romantic, isn’t it? It was an old tattered umbrella, probably older than I am. This soul in his black dothi, his lady and himself cuddled under this antique above their heads, walked away slowly, where to- I doubt if they themselves knew. Even in their dire inadequacies love flooded between them.
It was a few days later that I saw them again. His most and only precious possession was missing. I have never seen her after that. The last time I saw him, some pitiful barber had given him a shave and cut short his long tangled hair. Under the same umbrella he walked the same old roads with a new companion and a new support. To him cuddled a small little puppy and a stick walked him the miles to nowhere.
Sunday, November 23, 2008
Wednesday, October 1, 2008
‘A Placement Drive’ or ‘Crompton Grievances’
Rattle rattle rattle.
Hustle hustle hustle.
In groups they sit,
Converse of fate that is writ.
Many a faces sweat,
As with chances they bet.
A lot of things to remember,
All that was heard from January to December.
Boys, them all sit tight,
For spoil the crease of the shirt, they might.
A few laugh, the others smile,
All eager to walk the mile.
On the door all eyes focus,
With thoughts, ‘how they mock us.’
A few bitten nails they spit,
Wondering how well they fit.
In their strengths they place their hopes,
When they walk the ropes.
Some go to the end,
Others are in between sent.
The first in ecstasy the hop.
The latter ponder over yet another flop.
Amidst the drama, I write this ode,
Of the ride they rode.
Hustle hustle hustle.
In groups they sit,
Converse of fate that is writ.
Many a faces sweat,
As with chances they bet.
A lot of things to remember,
All that was heard from January to December.
Boys, them all sit tight,
For spoil the crease of the shirt, they might.
A few laugh, the others smile,
All eager to walk the mile.
On the door all eyes focus,
With thoughts, ‘how they mock us.’
A few bitten nails they spit,
Wondering how well they fit.
In their strengths they place their hopes,
When they walk the ropes.
Some go to the end,
Others are in between sent.
The first in ecstasy the hop.
The latter ponder over yet another flop.
Amidst the drama, I write this ode,
Of the ride they rode.
Friday, August 29, 2008
UNTITLED
The day had dawned. It was not to the romantic twitching and chirruping of the little birds that I woke up. It was the announcement of a received text message on my cellular phone that I woke up to. That’s the tip of the ice berg of the modern romanticisms. Anyway, that’s beside the point. The text message read the following,” MY TODAY: ARIES: you need to be loved, cuddled, and cosseted, so look for reassuring companions.”
Ha! I tried to laugh it off. But somehow it clung on to my mind and made me sympathise with myself. I somehow was being forced to give in to those words. I tried to shake it off by recollecting ‘the important’ things for the day, but to no avail. I would unreasonably end up contemplating about those lines, no matter what I tried. So is the way of the mystery called mind. The more you try to throw things out of it, the more they get rooted in to it.
In that thought I took a bath and dressed up for college. The semester had just begun. Clean shirts ironed to a stiff crease and a variety of pants to choose from. My taste for clothes has never been even far from great. So I randomly picked a pair and got into them. The beginnings always find your wallet thick and fat letting you to be luxurious to an extent. Despite my habit of not taking breakfast I thought I will have some tea and probably something light to munch in the hope of being a little active (read as not falling in to a slumber) in class.
So I set out to the canteen in that new pair of clothing and a new bag carrying my old self. At the counter sat the familiar person of Maari anna. I greeted him. Then I had a glance at the menu board. It is become a ritual of some sort. Three years training in the same place makes you know what is there and you also know all that you are going to have is a cup of tea and two ‘vadas’ and probably a little sauce. But habits are hard to change, aren’t they? And so I got my food billed and handed it over to ‘Selva anna’. I collected my stuff and looked around to find some familiar company. Hmmm.. A few familiar ones, but no good company. So I chose to occupy an empty table.
I placed my plate of snacks on the table and made myself comfortable on a chair. My favourite obsession during meals is to watch the ways of others, how they lift the food to their mouths, the way they place it inside, and their style of chewing it, their ways of approving its quality either by holding a blank face or by hinting a smile. It is more fun to watch the expressions of disapproval and that is much more common an observation. The large number of students using the mess and the canteen assure a wide variety of it too.
And in that fun filled refuelling time, my glances fell up on many recognisable faces. I laughed within making judgements of each one of them. As I enjoyed this light moment I noticed two little figures, two young boys, probably ten or twelve years old. I concluded, so they got new boys to work here; child labour. What is the use of being a great institution if you cannot give a little heart to such things, so I cursed. When I realised that my food as well as tea was over I got up, cleared my table to go to class. As I put away the plate in the dumping box one of the two kids smiled at me. I returned it with the wink of both my eyes and a smile, the characteristics of which only he can tell.
And then I went to sleep, I mean to class. The same old bloody lecturers and their monotonous speeches of wisdom, I wished them a good night and went in to my world of fancies. The only break was the lunch. Then by around quarter to four in the evening, I woke to give an ear for the bell. Those fifteen long minutes came to an end and we all rose to tell him that it was time. Then we left before he cleaned the board.
Next destination was the canteen. My men and I marched to the ‘lounge’ to let the steam off. There we claimed our corner and started off with the usual stupidity. And again I could see those two little guys, chatting at the juice shop. They seemed bubbly and enthusiastic and naughty too. Well, I for some reason wanted to talk to them. So I set out to strike a conversation with them.
I got a lime juice billed that is the cheapest thing in the place, and went over to them. I smiled at him again. They acknowledged it by a mutual giggle. I doubt if my smile is all that bad. So in my efforts to start a conversation I asked the smaller of the two guys, what his name was. ‘Kaalimuthu’, came the reply. I thought,” yes one of the village boys of Ettimadai”, disapproving the Kaali part of his name considering his figure. Then I turned my attention to the other guy. Even before I asked him, he uttered something that sounded like Bravo. I didn’t have enough faith in my ears. I asked him again and he made the same noise. Ok, I thought lets analyse the sound and derive something Indian out of it. That effort required of me to confirm if his name was Bavu. He repeated the sound and then it clicked-Babu. My eagerness to speak grew when I realised that he and I share the same name.
By then the poor Kaali was so bored with me or probably that he didn’t like me, he went away to get something done behind the juice bar. Through our conversation I found out that my new found friend was from Orissa and that he came to our college about a month back. It was a very interesting chat. I broke my already broken Hindi and gave the words that I spoke a slight Bengali accent using my knowledge that since West Bengal and Orissa share a border, their languages too must have something common between them. And so started the conversation which in essence is the ideal conversation of two deaf somebodies.
As we disclosed about each other in alien tongues, I interpreted that the little guy lived alone here. His parents were in Orissa. And that churned my heart a lot. I could see not a boy living away from his parents but an orphan in all its practicalities. Not that there aren’t other boys living away from home at his age but that the child also had to live a man’s life when he should have been nurtured in the warmth of his mother and the reassuring strength of his father. My thoughts welled up tears in my eyes and I barely held them back.
He saw my phone and asked me to show. I pulled it out of my pocket and gave it to him. He asked a few things that I couldn’t figure out. Then from his pocket he took out a small telephone directory- a few pieces of single side used white sheets cut and stapled in to a bunch. It had a few names drawn out. I noticed that he did not even have a rupee in that purse. Out of my dirty curiosity I enquired about it. He said that his salary was the three meals and a yearly ticket home. It pricked like nothing else before. He very shyly asked me if he can make a call. More than eagerly I asked him for the number. It was his father’s. I dialled it and gave it to him. He waited for some time and then put the phone in my ear. The voice said “destination not reachable.” We tried again a few times only to remain unsuccessful each time. I had no idea how to explain the technical trouble. He gave up when he understood it was no good.
He took out the pen from my pocket. Then he drew four letters on his directory. It read Babu. He asked for my number and as I said the digits one by one he very slowly and with lot of effort wrote it down. As soon as he finished, Venkitesh ettan called him. He smiled at me and said anna. He rushed to the canteen picking up the broom on the way. There was a message alert on phone. Strolling back to the hostel, I checked it and while closing glanced at the last message. It read,” MY TODAY: ARIES: you need to be loved, cuddled, and cosseted, so look for reassuring companions.”
Ha! I tried to laugh it off. But somehow it clung on to my mind and made me sympathise with myself. I somehow was being forced to give in to those words. I tried to shake it off by recollecting ‘the important’ things for the day, but to no avail. I would unreasonably end up contemplating about those lines, no matter what I tried. So is the way of the mystery called mind. The more you try to throw things out of it, the more they get rooted in to it.
In that thought I took a bath and dressed up for college. The semester had just begun. Clean shirts ironed to a stiff crease and a variety of pants to choose from. My taste for clothes has never been even far from great. So I randomly picked a pair and got into them. The beginnings always find your wallet thick and fat letting you to be luxurious to an extent. Despite my habit of not taking breakfast I thought I will have some tea and probably something light to munch in the hope of being a little active (read as not falling in to a slumber) in class.
So I set out to the canteen in that new pair of clothing and a new bag carrying my old self. At the counter sat the familiar person of Maari anna. I greeted him. Then I had a glance at the menu board. It is become a ritual of some sort. Three years training in the same place makes you know what is there and you also know all that you are going to have is a cup of tea and two ‘vadas’ and probably a little sauce. But habits are hard to change, aren’t they? And so I got my food billed and handed it over to ‘Selva anna’. I collected my stuff and looked around to find some familiar company. Hmmm.. A few familiar ones, but no good company. So I chose to occupy an empty table.
I placed my plate of snacks on the table and made myself comfortable on a chair. My favourite obsession during meals is to watch the ways of others, how they lift the food to their mouths, the way they place it inside, and their style of chewing it, their ways of approving its quality either by holding a blank face or by hinting a smile. It is more fun to watch the expressions of disapproval and that is much more common an observation. The large number of students using the mess and the canteen assure a wide variety of it too.
And in that fun filled refuelling time, my glances fell up on many recognisable faces. I laughed within making judgements of each one of them. As I enjoyed this light moment I noticed two little figures, two young boys, probably ten or twelve years old. I concluded, so they got new boys to work here; child labour. What is the use of being a great institution if you cannot give a little heart to such things, so I cursed. When I realised that my food as well as tea was over I got up, cleared my table to go to class. As I put away the plate in the dumping box one of the two kids smiled at me. I returned it with the wink of both my eyes and a smile, the characteristics of which only he can tell.
And then I went to sleep, I mean to class. The same old bloody lecturers and their monotonous speeches of wisdom, I wished them a good night and went in to my world of fancies. The only break was the lunch. Then by around quarter to four in the evening, I woke to give an ear for the bell. Those fifteen long minutes came to an end and we all rose to tell him that it was time. Then we left before he cleaned the board.
Next destination was the canteen. My men and I marched to the ‘lounge’ to let the steam off. There we claimed our corner and started off with the usual stupidity. And again I could see those two little guys, chatting at the juice shop. They seemed bubbly and enthusiastic and naughty too. Well, I for some reason wanted to talk to them. So I set out to strike a conversation with them.
I got a lime juice billed that is the cheapest thing in the place, and went over to them. I smiled at him again. They acknowledged it by a mutual giggle. I doubt if my smile is all that bad. So in my efforts to start a conversation I asked the smaller of the two guys, what his name was. ‘Kaalimuthu’, came the reply. I thought,” yes one of the village boys of Ettimadai”, disapproving the Kaali part of his name considering his figure. Then I turned my attention to the other guy. Even before I asked him, he uttered something that sounded like Bravo. I didn’t have enough faith in my ears. I asked him again and he made the same noise. Ok, I thought lets analyse the sound and derive something Indian out of it. That effort required of me to confirm if his name was Bavu. He repeated the sound and then it clicked-Babu. My eagerness to speak grew when I realised that he and I share the same name.
By then the poor Kaali was so bored with me or probably that he didn’t like me, he went away to get something done behind the juice bar. Through our conversation I found out that my new found friend was from Orissa and that he came to our college about a month back. It was a very interesting chat. I broke my already broken Hindi and gave the words that I spoke a slight Bengali accent using my knowledge that since West Bengal and Orissa share a border, their languages too must have something common between them. And so started the conversation which in essence is the ideal conversation of two deaf somebodies.
As we disclosed about each other in alien tongues, I interpreted that the little guy lived alone here. His parents were in Orissa. And that churned my heart a lot. I could see not a boy living away from his parents but an orphan in all its practicalities. Not that there aren’t other boys living away from home at his age but that the child also had to live a man’s life when he should have been nurtured in the warmth of his mother and the reassuring strength of his father. My thoughts welled up tears in my eyes and I barely held them back.
He saw my phone and asked me to show. I pulled it out of my pocket and gave it to him. He asked a few things that I couldn’t figure out. Then from his pocket he took out a small telephone directory- a few pieces of single side used white sheets cut and stapled in to a bunch. It had a few names drawn out. I noticed that he did not even have a rupee in that purse. Out of my dirty curiosity I enquired about it. He said that his salary was the three meals and a yearly ticket home. It pricked like nothing else before. He very shyly asked me if he can make a call. More than eagerly I asked him for the number. It was his father’s. I dialled it and gave it to him. He waited for some time and then put the phone in my ear. The voice said “destination not reachable.” We tried again a few times only to remain unsuccessful each time. I had no idea how to explain the technical trouble. He gave up when he understood it was no good.
He took out the pen from my pocket. Then he drew four letters on his directory. It read Babu. He asked for my number and as I said the digits one by one he very slowly and with lot of effort wrote it down. As soon as he finished, Venkitesh ettan called him. He smiled at me and said anna. He rushed to the canteen picking up the broom on the way. There was a message alert on phone. Strolling back to the hostel, I checked it and while closing glanced at the last message. It read,” MY TODAY: ARIES: you need to be loved, cuddled, and cosseted, so look for reassuring companions.”
THE FALLEN FLOWER
Hey! men of honour,
You hide the dark behind the cloak,
seek by the dark for pleasures darker.
Like to the flowers, you come to me,
sow in me seeds of hope.
Love me when i fragrant,
price me as I bloom.
The bees quench as I whither;
I wilt, I fall, I soil.
Then I am the dirt in the courtyard.
Sweep. Heaped in the used- less.
You hide the dark behind the cloak,
seek by the dark for pleasures darker.
Like to the flowers, you come to me,
sow in me seeds of hope.
Love me when i fragrant,
price me as I bloom.
The bees quench as I whither;
I wilt, I fall, I soil.
Then I am the dirt in the courtyard.
Sweep. Heaped in the used- less.
THE LONE WALKER
The eternal clock ticks on,
The lone walker lives on,
There where the sky kisses
The ground beneath his feet,
There dusk awaits him.
On the pavements that he walked,
Many a face kissed his eyes,
Now all reels in his mind,
Grey in his heart,
Life he walks on.
The night twinkles,
Amidst a million stars, shines the moon.
At first it was only a crescent,
From full faced lustre, it turned itself from him.
Now the sky is clear like his minds,
Destiny is what he finds,
Splendorous without the mistress is the night,
And the heavens making love with earth,
Still in sight,
Awaits he, for crescent of a little smile.
The eternal clock ticks on,
The lone walker lives on.
There where the sky kisses
The ground beneath his feet,
There dusk awaits him.
The lone walker lives on,
There where the sky kisses
The ground beneath his feet,
There dusk awaits him.
On the pavements that he walked,
Many a face kissed his eyes,
Now all reels in his mind,
Grey in his heart,
Life he walks on.
The night twinkles,
Amidst a million stars, shines the moon.
At first it was only a crescent,
From full faced lustre, it turned itself from him.
Now the sky is clear like his minds,
Destiny is what he finds,
Splendorous without the mistress is the night,
And the heavens making love with earth,
Still in sight,
Awaits he, for crescent of a little smile.
The eternal clock ticks on,
The lone walker lives on.
There where the sky kisses
The ground beneath his feet,
There dusk awaits him.
Tuesday, August 12, 2008
To My Lady
(Written for one particular friend who I hurt. I am sorry. I hope you will forgive.)
Ye lady of nine beauty,
In thy eyes glitter my heart.
The roses you admire,
I never could be.
The fragrance that sprouts life,
I am not.
Neither the green that dresses the petals
Like the darkness within the silver line.
In the gown of a friend,
I clowned the lover,
That I never was meant to be.
The mere man that I am,
Didn’t read the mockery.
And when the curtains fell on me,
I licked my wounds to see,
Trifle as a thorn I am.
Hard and dark as a thorn I am,
Dreadful and painful as a thorn I am,
Bleeds a heart for my sake,
Deeds are daggers in the heart.
Oh! What a thorn I am,
Oh! What a thorn I am.
Plead, I here,
Heed, will you?
When thy rosy cheek caress the blossom,
When its freshness brings spring to you,
May this crushed little thorn come along,
I promise not to hurt
Ye lady of nine beauty,
In thy eyes glitter my heart.
The roses you admire,
I never could be.
The fragrance that sprouts life,
I am not.
Neither the green that dresses the petals
Like the darkness within the silver line.
In the gown of a friend,
I clowned the lover,
That I never was meant to be.
The mere man that I am,
Didn’t read the mockery.
And when the curtains fell on me,
I licked my wounds to see,
Trifle as a thorn I am.
Hard and dark as a thorn I am,
Dreadful and painful as a thorn I am,
Bleeds a heart for my sake,
Deeds are daggers in the heart.
Oh! What a thorn I am,
Oh! What a thorn I am.
Plead, I here,
Heed, will you?
When thy rosy cheek caress the blossom,
When its freshness brings spring to you,
May this crushed little thorn come along,
I promise not to hurt
Sunday, August 10, 2008
A Visit To Heaven
well this one is something that i wrote long long time ago.. its a little stupid... but somehow i like it.. here it is anyways...
In the chariot of my lord,
I flew to heaven.
Moments spelled me in to blossoms,
In that sweet home of the lord.
He welcomed this mysery maison,
In to his marvelous mansion,
Utterly bewildered,blushing,
did stand this servant,
Unusually and humbly bent.
Neither did he summon nor spell burst,
but treated this guestly servant's thirst.
His face wore a tone of sweetness,
Gently, unconsidering my past reluctant meakness,
softly like air washed feather,
did bring those palms of love,
on the forehead of this dove.
Then quoted in motherly tone,
"My dear little child."
Then it was broad,
My mother is my lord!
In the chariot of my lord,
I flew to heaven.
Moments spelled me in to blossoms,
In that sweet home of the lord.
He welcomed this mysery maison,
In to his marvelous mansion,
Utterly bewildered,blushing,
did stand this servant,
Unusually and humbly bent.
Neither did he summon nor spell burst,
but treated this guestly servant's thirst.
His face wore a tone of sweetness,
Gently, unconsidering my past reluctant meakness,
softly like air washed feather,
did bring those palms of love,
on the forehead of this dove.
Then quoted in motherly tone,
"My dear little child."
Then it was broad,
My mother is my lord!
Wednesday, July 9, 2008
THE MURDER
The long wait finally came to an end. I got the signal that I had been waiting for, for quiet sometime by then. It was a nod of the head and he raised his index finger. I knew what it meant. The end had come for one of the many that we had been holding hostage . A curve seemed to appear on my face. I did not know if it was a smile, a simper or a shiver of my conscience. Nevertheless, I knew it had to be done if we were to get our ends met.
We had been shown many a times before how it was to be done- take away the head. It was supposed to be easier, less messy. With a frozen hand, mind and heart I stepped in to the room. It was dark, except for a zero watt bulb that burnt itself to show a ray of hope or hardly a ray- I do not know. There were a whole lot of them, sixty eight heads to be precise. They were all cramped in to that hell so that it would be easy for us. As the door creaked open, a killingly painful beam of light fell on some of them. It meant nothing to them, anything optimistic in the least. In the previous forty two hours they had been so crushed that most of them prayed and wished only that they be let to live in that Hades in whatever seemed to be luxury in comparison to what we had them to imagine.
There was silence, so cold that it felt like the slitting of my throat. I couldn’t look at anyone for longer than a glance. It would prick me. I knew from what they told me that I had to be quick, quicker than my mind. The silence wasn’t helping me either. A cry from one of them, a plea for mercy that I could have deliberated to be a roar of protest-nothing, dead as meat, they sat sunk. My hands went cold. All that I could hear was my own heart pumping. And its rhythm sang kill kill kill. I bend my head, closed my eyes, pulled myself together. I looked up. Fixed my eyes on her. I pulled out the chopper and pushed myself up to her. In the background of that cry for blood, something said,” at least not her“. I knew I had failed. It wasn’t going to be that one pinch easier now. I couldn’t even cry. I went for her. Stroked her. There was a female next to her by her left and a male, much younger than her, to her right. I kept looking at her. Slightly tightened my hands around her neck. And then in one split second in an yell I undid my grip on her, grabbed the younger male on her right, pulled by his neck and placed it on the wooden log by the door raised my hand high in the air, down went the chopper. There he was, another one of His creations bleeding to death.
I looked at him unable to cry, not even able to hate myself. And in his last cry of , I donot know, curse probably, he let out a paak-pakpakpak paak. Then he lay still. The soul had passed on. I quickly undid him, chopped him up completely in to bits, weighed him to see that he was a hundred grams more than a kilo. Never mind I thought, packed him up neatly, gave it to the guy who was still waiting. He placed a crisp new note of fifty with a smiling Gandhi on it,.
We had been shown many a times before how it was to be done- take away the head. It was supposed to be easier, less messy. With a frozen hand, mind and heart I stepped in to the room. It was dark, except for a zero watt bulb that burnt itself to show a ray of hope or hardly a ray- I do not know. There were a whole lot of them, sixty eight heads to be precise. They were all cramped in to that hell so that it would be easy for us. As the door creaked open, a killingly painful beam of light fell on some of them. It meant nothing to them, anything optimistic in the least. In the previous forty two hours they had been so crushed that most of them prayed and wished only that they be let to live in that Hades in whatever seemed to be luxury in comparison to what we had them to imagine.
There was silence, so cold that it felt like the slitting of my throat. I couldn’t look at anyone for longer than a glance. It would prick me. I knew from what they told me that I had to be quick, quicker than my mind. The silence wasn’t helping me either. A cry from one of them, a plea for mercy that I could have deliberated to be a roar of protest-nothing, dead as meat, they sat sunk. My hands went cold. All that I could hear was my own heart pumping. And its rhythm sang kill kill kill. I bend my head, closed my eyes, pulled myself together. I looked up. Fixed my eyes on her. I pulled out the chopper and pushed myself up to her. In the background of that cry for blood, something said,” at least not her“. I knew I had failed. It wasn’t going to be that one pinch easier now. I couldn’t even cry. I went for her. Stroked her. There was a female next to her by her left and a male, much younger than her, to her right. I kept looking at her. Slightly tightened my hands around her neck. And then in one split second in an yell I undid my grip on her, grabbed the younger male on her right, pulled by his neck and placed it on the wooden log by the door raised my hand high in the air, down went the chopper. There he was, another one of His creations bleeding to death.
I looked at him unable to cry, not even able to hate myself. And in his last cry of , I donot know, curse probably, he let out a paak-pakpakpak paak. Then he lay still. The soul had passed on. I quickly undid him, chopped him up completely in to bits, weighed him to see that he was a hundred grams more than a kilo. Never mind I thought, packed him up neatly, gave it to the guy who was still waiting. He placed a crisp new note of fifty with a smiling Gandhi on it,.
Friday, May 23, 2008
the first one...
it is after a long time of considerations and reconsiderations that i decided to blog..... the boring vaction has made me do this... i donot have much to say for now except that this place which has given amir khan the freedom to call srk a dog, would hopefully give me the same freedom.. as the first one here s a pic...
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