tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-58241440859370085402024-03-07T10:03:46.439+05:30Farahdeen KhanFarahdeen Khan is an author, writer, entrepreneur, interior decorator, antiques and art curator, filmmaker and painter. He lives in Bangalore, India.Farahdeen Khanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04295728317408441494noreply@blogger.comBlogger285125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5824144085937008540.post-45820758503225946532024-01-03T13:20:00.006+05:302024-01-03T13:20:48.467+05:30SCENTED SONATA<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjTUwTFKOyR2EiKEkrLPjm1KiIDf9sdenMSHzr4vjipZCwGyjk9EggMB-CktYdF8OmcLpsg3HFPZwiqTxpchD2w0q5IC47K5uWlxhS0CveCPkJfyy6eRY2Pk1vVTBEIhLkcZCxI0Me5_9z_kHjNXiipZAIEI1Y593bZ5qdZLYjdZixJ0bwghb3QM1KVnqa_/s1800/Bulgari%20Man%20in%20Black.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1800" data-original-width="1440" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjTUwTFKOyR2EiKEkrLPjm1KiIDf9sdenMSHzr4vjipZCwGyjk9EggMB-CktYdF8OmcLpsg3HFPZwiqTxpchD2w0q5IC47K5uWlxhS0CveCPkJfyy6eRY2Pk1vVTBEIhLkcZCxI0Me5_9z_kHjNXiipZAIEI1Y593bZ5qdZLYjdZixJ0bwghb3QM1KVnqa_/s16000/Bulgari%20Man%20in%20Black.jpg" /></a></div><br /><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia, serif; margin: 0in; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB">In the bosom of London, nestled among the antiquated avenues, stood a charming old-school café where time seemed to slow down. On a crisp autumn afternoon, two childhood friends, Oliver and Edward, met for tea. The atmosphere was filled with the rich tang of brewing tea and the subtle redolence of Bvlgari Man In Black, a scent that mirrored the sophistication of the establishment.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia, serif; margin: 0in; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia, serif; margin: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.25in;"><span lang="EN-GB">As the friends settled into the plush velvet chairs, Edward could not help but notice the air of success that clung to Oliver. His bespoke suit, immaculately polished shoes, and the restrained gleam of a watch on his wrist spoke volumes about his affluent lifestyle.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia, serif; margin: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.25in;"><span lang="EN-GB"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia, serif; margin: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.25in;"><span lang="EN-GB">“Oliver, old chap, you seem to be doing exceptionally well these days,” Edward remarked, sipping his Earl Grey.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia, serif; margin: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.25in;"><span lang="EN-GB"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia, serif; margin: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.25in;"><span lang="EN-GB">Oliver chuckled, swirling the aromatic tea in his delicate hand-painted-China-cup. “Ah, Eddie, life has its twists and turns, much like this delightful scent I am wearing today – Bvlgari Man In Black. It is a scent that transcends time, just like our friendship.”<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia, serif; margin: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.25in;"><span lang="EN-GB"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia, serif; margin: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.25in;"><span lang="EN-GB">Intrigued, Edward leaned in, curious to unravel the parallels Oliver was drawing. “Do tell, my friend. How does a mere ambrosial liquid reflect the intricacies of life?”<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia, serif; margin: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.25in;"><span lang="EN-GB"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia, serif; margin: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.25in;"><span lang="EN-GB">Oliver took a moment, inhaling the bouquet lingering in the draught before he began his tale. “Imagine life as a sonata, Eddie. The strong chords in the tonic of the first theme with its daring high, or in this case, top notes, like the initial burst of citrus in this heavenly blend, represent the zest and enthusiasm of youth. But as the melody progresses and transitions into the melodic second subject of the dominant key, the heart notes emerge, mirroring the depth and complexity we acquire with time.”<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia, serif; margin: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.25in;"><span lang="EN-GB"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia, serif; margin: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.25in;"><span lang="EN-GB">Edward nodded, savouring the analogy as Oliver continued. “Bvlgari Man In Black, much like the trek of our own lives, has a strong leather accord at its core – a reminder of resilience and the ability to weather storms. It is the perfumatory of a man who has faced challenges, yet emerged stronger and more refined.” <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia, serif; margin: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.25in;"><span lang="EN-GB"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia, serif; margin: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.25in;"><span lang="EN-GB">Their exchange meandered through memories of shared childhood adventures, college escapades, and the trials of adult life. Oliver painted vivid pictures with his words, intertwining the spirit of the fragrance with anecdotes of success and setback.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia, serif; margin: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.25in;"><span lang="EN-GB"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia, serif; margin: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.25in;"><span lang="EN-GB">“The base notes, Eddie,” Oliver mused, “they are the foundations of our existence. Just like the ever-present warmth of amber and the smoky touch of guaiac wood in Bvlgari Man In Black, these elements ground us and define our essence.”<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia, serif; margin: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.25in;"><span lang="EN-GB"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia, serif; margin: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.25in;"><span lang="EN-GB">Edward grinned in accord. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia, serif; margin: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.25in;"><span lang="EN-GB"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia, serif; margin: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.25in;"><span lang="EN-GB">“Did you know, Ed, that amber has this whole history? It’s been a talisman for courage and self-confidence, like a charm for warriors on the battlefield. It’s even a sign of good luck. And get this, older folks rock it as a sort of representational symbol of wisdom and fortitude. Pretty cool, huh?”<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia, serif; margin: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.25in;"><span lang="EN-GB"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia, serif; margin: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.25in;"><span lang="EN-GB">“Ah, I see,” Edward remarked, with a hint of contemplation.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia, serif; margin: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.25in;"><span lang="EN-GB"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia, serif; margin: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.25in;"><span lang="EN-GB">“And, did you ever clock the smoky vibes of guaiac wood? It’s like this allegorical powerhouse, symbolising strength and endurance. People reckon it is a bit of a guard against bad vibes, bringing balance and harmony into your life. It’s got this metaphorical connection to vigour, protection, and grounding, apparently.”<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia, serif; margin: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.25in;"><span lang="EN-GB"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia, serif; margin: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.25in;"><span lang="EN-GB">Edward found himself captivated by the poetic comparisons to something so scholarly. “So, my friend, do you believe that life, much like this whiff, is a concoction of various elements that create an exclusive symmetry?” he asked, gently folding the sleeve of his suit. Adjusting the cadence of time on his watch, he stretched his legs, revealing the joyous glimpse of his socks—an exuberant detail accentuating his flawlessly handmade shoes.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia, serif; margin: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.25in;"><span lang="EN-GB"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia, serif; margin: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.25in;"><span lang="EN-GB">Oliver smiled, a glint of wisdom in his eyes. “Precisely, Eddie. Life is an olfactory odyssey, a mélange of highs and lows, sweet and bitter moments, which get imprinted in our memories, often solidified by a rare scent that is accompanying, perhaps even unconsciously, these events. Like in a symphony, life’s pulse leads us through the peaks of bliss and sorrow and all their complexity, whilst imperceptibly and inevitably leads us to its harmonious conclusion. And just like a well-crafted fragrance, it is the equipoise of these elements that creates a masterpiece.”<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia, serif; margin: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.25in;"><span lang="EN-GB"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia, serif; margin: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.25in;"><span lang="EN-GB">As the hours passed, the friends delved deeper into the intensities of their lives, their laughter echoing in the quaint café. Each sip of tea carried the resonances of their collective past, and every inhale was accompanied by the constant trail of Bvlgari Man In Black, a testament to the everlasting friendship that had stood the test of time.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia, serif; margin: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.25in;"><span lang="EN-GB"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia, serif; margin: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.25in;"><span lang="EN-GB">As the sun dipped below the horizon, casting a warm glow over the city, Oliver and Edward rose from their seats, their conversation concluding like the final notes of a concerto. The fragrance of Bvlgari Man In Black dawdled, a reminder that life, like a well-composed tune, is a passage of synchronisation and parity.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia, serif; margin: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.25in;"><span lang="EN-GB"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia, serif; margin: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.25in;"><span lang="EN-GB">With a firm handshake and a promise to meet again, the two friends parted ways, their footsteps echoing in the cobbled streets of London. The enchanting old-school café stood witness to an indissoluble friendship, enriched by the subtle nuances of life’s equilibrium – an opus that continued to play, with Bvlgari Man In Black as its odorous muse.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia, serif; margin: 0in; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia, serif; margin: 0in; text-align: justify;"><b><span lang="EN-GB"><br /></span></b></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia, serif; margin: 0in; text-align: center;"><b><span lang="EN-GB">~</span></b></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia, serif; margin: 0in; text-align: justify;"><b><span lang="EN-GB"><br /></span></b></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia, serif; margin: 0in; text-align: justify;"><b><span lang="EN-GB"><br /></span></b></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia, serif; margin: 0in; text-align: justify;"><b><span lang="EN-GB">Author’s Note:<o:p></o:p></span></b></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia, serif; margin: 0in; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia, serif; margin: 0in; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB">The parallel drawn between the perfume, life, music, and childhood friendship serves as a symbolic exploration of the intricate layers that make up the human experience. By likening life to the notes of a fragrance, the storyline delves into the idea that our voyage is a composition of various elements—some sweet, some bitter, yet all contributing to a unique and congruent orchestration. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia, serif; margin: 0in; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia, serif; margin: 0in; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB">The fragrance becomes an emblematic creative influence, weaving through the plot to emphasise the enduring nature of profound connections, much like the childhood friendship that has stood the test of time. Just as a scent lingers, so do the reflections of cherished memories and the flexibility forged through the passage of years.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia, serif; margin: 0in; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia, serif; margin: 0in; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB">The account intertwines the aromatic journey of Bvlgari Man In Black with the consonance of life and permanent friendship. The title captures the essence of the story, highlighting the fragrance as a central theme and highlighting the euphonic relationship between life’s elements and the timeless bonds of friendship.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia, serif; margin: 0in; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia, serif; margin: 0in; text-align: justify;"><b><span lang="EN-GB">Acknowledgements: <o:p></o:p></span></b></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia, serif; margin: 0in; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia, serif; margin: 0in; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB">Additional dialogues by Evgeny Genchev. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia, serif; margin: 0in; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia, serif; margin: 0in; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB">Much obliged Rahul Karnani, Subi Samuel and Anand Sivakumaran for your time and the invaluable suggestions. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia, serif; margin: 0in; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB"> </span></p>Farahdeen Khanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04295728317408441494noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5824144085937008540.post-36264259632282442982021-09-10T16:47:00.004+05:302021-09-10T16:55:08.732+05:30LITTLE JOYS <p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjbSapFpEpx3RV4PACCgQIZZXeKFoFzpLJE5s9f7E9u7aPMGuQmVQCznMCi1YgAGK3kX96nlSDjxGa_mOrqDUlri-rBf-A0gRs4ee405sq1-svlELoYI3IGl3T-_afz46Z7_xshz64Z04_i/s1125/My+Evve+Piano.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;"><img border="0" data-original-height="739" data-original-width="1125" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjbSapFpEpx3RV4PACCgQIZZXeKFoFzpLJE5s9f7E9u7aPMGuQmVQCznMCi1YgAGK3kX96nlSDjxGa_mOrqDUlri-rBf-A0gRs4ee405sq1-svlELoYI3IGl3T-_afz46Z7_xshz64Z04_i/s16000/My+Evve+Piano.jpg" /></span></a></div><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;"><br /><br /></span><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia, serif; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.25in;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="color: #1a1a1a; font-size: 16pt;">“What do you get when you meld whiskey, wine and vodka, my kiddo?”<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia, serif; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 15.3pt;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="color: #1a1a1a; font-size: 16pt;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia, serif; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 15.3pt;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="color: #1a1a1a; font-size: 16pt;">“You get drunk That’s what you get.”<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia, serif; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 15.3pt;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="color: #1a1a1a; font-size: 16pt;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia, serif; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 15.3pt;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="color: #1a1a1a; font-size: 16pt;">“Naah!” I say, “What you get when you meld whiskey, wine and vodka is a heroically outstanding spot of kindred spirits in a single, walking and talking embodiment, and that embodiment is you my kiddo!” <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia, serif; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 15.3pt;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="color: #1a1a1a; font-size: 16pt;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia, serif; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 15.3pt;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="color: #1a1a1a; font-size: 16pt;">“Headache!” He exclaims, rolling his eyes giving me the expression in this picture.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia, serif; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 15.3pt;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="color: #1a1a1a; font-size: 16pt;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia, serif; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 15.3pt;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="color: #1a1a1a; font-size: 16pt;">“Huh?”<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia, serif; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 15.3pt;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="color: #1a1a1a; font-size: 16pt;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia, serif; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 15.3pt;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="color: #1a1a1a; font-size: 16pt;">“That concoction will result in a headache if you happen to remember what happened to begin with… just like you,” he pauses and emphasises as he continues mischievously, “are my biggest headache!” <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia, serif; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 15.3pt;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="color: #1a1a1a; font-size: 16pt;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia, serif; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 15.3pt;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="color: #1a1a1a; font-size: 16pt;">Both of us burst out laughing boisterously as he gives me a quick hug and dashes away.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia, serif; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 15.3pt;"><b style="color: #1a1a1a; font-size: 16pt; text-indent: 15.3pt;"><br /></b></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia, serif; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 15.3pt;"><b style="color: #1a1a1a; font-size: 16pt; text-indent: 15.3pt;">I don’t know about you all, but my little brother is the coolest I tell you. </b></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia, serif; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span lang="EN-GB"> </span></p>Farahdeen Khanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04295728317408441494noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5824144085937008540.post-50987287114774742002021-06-03T17:04:00.000+05:302021-06-03T17:04:09.703+05:30IN LIEU OF DEATH ~ Sushant Singh Rajput<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhlwKVte6YwoFqJtsI695H-nlG6c_RBJCUwvHuBumcZLmy7I51JD0r0gPL3zjSalfQRL5cL_cs2jAH-IVwpZbsacSBbDGOjXjHKwRhncCJHPSaIwwRXO3CUJQcmpinyUSwPBeQISJ0lhiHd/s1280/c71e1d3b-f42b-4ad8-a839-be44f5c217eb.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1147" data-original-width="1280" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhlwKVte6YwoFqJtsI695H-nlG6c_RBJCUwvHuBumcZLmy7I51JD0r0gPL3zjSalfQRL5cL_cs2jAH-IVwpZbsacSBbDGOjXjHKwRhncCJHPSaIwwRXO3CUJQcmpinyUSwPBeQISJ0lhiHd/s16000/c71e1d3b-f42b-4ad8-a839-be44f5c217eb.JPG" /></span></a></div><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 91pt 0.0001pt 1in; text-align: justify;"><i><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: georgia;">Death came for me on the 14th of June. No, it did not arrive at all in the way I had always expected it to – there was no blinding white light, or some demon dressed in black. It came like an assassin in an unruly ambush, and took me as I was, totally unprepared. <o:p></o:p></span></span></i></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 91pt 0.0001pt 0in; text-align: justify;"><i><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: georgia;"> </span></span></i></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 91pt 0.0001pt 1in; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><i><span lang="EN-GB">It left me to grieve the loss of someone very dear. Only I’m just not sure who: whether it was the someone dear who went with bodily death, or us, that the someone dear left behind as dead, I do not know. I only know that this is going to be a yearly occurrence. </span></i><span lang="EN-GB"><o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: georgia;"> </span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: georgia;"> </span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: georgia;"> </span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: georgia;">In an hour of my having posted that on Facebook, the doorbell went off. I answered the door in my boxers to see a friend who said she was giving me exactly ten minutes to change into something more presentable. Once I was changed into jeans and tee, she towed me along to a place I had not been to before: an assembly of individuals who had faced the loss of a loved one. Not someone comfortable in unfamiliar environments, I began to feel queasy, but before I could have a word with my friend, a woman called out to me and invited me to join her and five people that had gathered in a small circle. I ambled along and drew a chair as a pleasant sounding man looked at me. “You are new here, right?” he asked me as I sat. Dumb question I thought, and wanted to tell him to get to the point, but, of course that was not how I would behave, and so I said nothing but merely moved my head in agreement. “What’s your name again?” he said. Another dumb question because I hadn’t shared my name yet. I turned and smiled at my friend collectedly, in order not to make her feel awkward, because I knew she was reading my facial vocabulary, and it reflected that I thought rather poorly of such support groups. I kept a straight face and stated my name. “Welcome, Mr Khan,” he said in his pleasant voice, “is there anything that you would care to share with us?” I shook my head. He didn’t take that as a rebuff and went on about how I should start to tell them who I was grieving for. I looked at the ground for a few seconds and thought that the floor could make do with a bit of cleaning. Then I breathed and looked up. “My best friend.” He gave me a look of having understood me, which I am certain he did not, but since he was trained to talk and behave in a particular way, he pretended he had understood me, and I pretended to let him fool himself that he had. “And did you lose her recently?” he asked. “A little over eleven months ago,” I replied. “And may I ask how you lost her?” I looked at him piercingly at first, and then calmed myself in a flick. “Suddenly,” I said, “I lost <i>him</i> suddenly.” He once again made a face with the expression that he had understood what I was feeling when he did jack. “Well, would you like to share with us about how you are feeling, or?” I shook my head and turned again to my friend who muttered a muted please. “Look, um, I don’t intend to sound . . .” I paused, reflected, “but this whole process,” I glared at the man directly, “I–I think that I’m at a different stage, or . . .” He cut me and said, “Well, the healing process of grief takes place in five different stages.” I was now furious at this dumb-fuck talk, and it was openly showing. “And what does this process do? Does it deal with my loss by helping me bring the person that I have lost back into my life?” He was flummoxed at my brazenness. “Any process is only supposed to act as a framework, a loose framework of the grieving process, accounting for everything from the grief of losing a loved one to the grief of somebody who is dying himself.” I lowered my head and reflected for a second, gathered myself and stared square into the man’s eyes – “Is there a difference?” He was quiet. “Is there?” I asked again. “Um . . .” he said, his demeanour a clear indication of his own inability to help me in any manner possible other than what his training or transcripts had taught him. I dipped my head, more as a token of politeness, and then stood up, winked at my friend, who was now thoroughly mortified at my behaviour and walked away. <o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: georgia;"> </span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: georgia;">My friend followed up behind me. “I took you there for a reason you fool,” she scowled, “I took you there to help you overcome your grief, and also because I am so fucking worried that if you don’t talk,” she halted and looked about here and there, “that you might also end up dead . . . so at least you could have heard them out, right? At least!” I took in a lungful of air. “This ‘at least’ is what fucks everything up,” I told her, exhaling the air with a rather dramatic air. She narrowed her eyes and glared at me frostily. “People say all sorts of rubbish and then fit in words like ‘at least’ which are most unnecessary.” She hit me on my chest with her bag. “You’re being an arsehole,” she said. “Am I?” I asked, “Because as much as I appreciate what you are doing for me, I think that each of us have our own narrative of how we would like to deal with our angst . . . and the last thing anyone wants to hear is bollocks like it will be alright, or at least they lived long enough, or it was god’s plan, or they would want you to, or the classic – everything happens for a reason, etcetera, etcetera.” She hung her head down. I could see she was mildly ashamed. “Come on,” I said, grabbing her hand, “let me get you an ice-cream.” We got our cones and sat quietly on a bench as we watched people go by. “Were those people that repulsive?” I licked my ice-cream, spun round and faced her. “Like I said, everyone has their own method to process their pain, there cannot ever be a formula for it. Telling people to look at the bright side of it is like un-ringing a bell.” She smiled and repeated softly – un-ringing the bell. “What?” I asked. “Nothing,” she said bashfully. “When someone is in agony, being real may sound a bit rough perhaps, but it helps,” I said, “Something like – ‘I know what you are going through is hard, and I cannot say I understand what you are going through because I don’t, and I only hope that in time you will come to terms with it.’, can be one way to make someone feel real about it.” She reached out to my cone, took a swirl of my ice-cream and handed it back to me. “What’s been the hardest part of this for you?” she asked as she ruffled my hair. “Also, ‘Would you like to talk about it, or would you like to talk about something else?’, works splendidly too,” I replied. She smiled. “I get it.” I smiled too. “We just have to let people know that we are with them . . . we shouldn’t be putting words into their mouths because that is not what they would be needing. Practical support, even if it means to be with them in silence, is sufficient to get most ships across to the shore.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: georgia;"> </span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: georgia;">When a person close to us dies, everything changes. It is as if a cyclone has swept and washed everything away. Everything appears meaningless, unfamiliar and empty. Some even tend to question who they are considering that a large sense of their identity was bound to the person they have lost. Dogmas, optimisms, aspirations seem utterly vain and tend to dissolve with time, and as cliché as it sounds, time stops. <o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: georgia;"> </span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: georgia;">“So what form of death do you think is the hardest to accept?” she asked, slurping from her hands a large drop of ice-cream that had trickled down. “You think one can rate one over the other?” I asked, rather puzzled at her query. “I mean, you know,” she said stammering. “It could be the passing away of parents, siblings, partners, friends, spouse, it could be the loss of an unborn child to abortion or miscarriage, anything can cause bereavement.” She was absorbing what I was telling her, and it was evident that she was thinking something as I was speaking. “Out with it,” I said. She giggled. “I think tragic and violent deaths might cause more pain than the others.” I rolled my eyes. “Say an accident, a murder, a drowning, or suicide,” she paused, “disease, heart attacks too.” I nodded at her rather harsh reflections. “Expected or unexpected, gradual or sudden, any death is devastating,” I added. She got up and walked a few steps ahead, spreading her hands wide as the cool breeze caressed her skin. “Why did you behave that way in there?” I got up and walked up to her. “Really? After all that I’ve told you.” <o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: georgia;"> </span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: georgia;">While she thought that talking to strangers would help me get over the loss of Sushant, it would have been impossible for me to make her understand not to meddle with the agony of others after I had already made my mind clear to her. What was it with some people, I wondered to myself – they are helpful and they are caring, but do they ever get anything?<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: georgia;"> </span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: georgia;">“Tell me? Tell me!” she nudged me. I said nothing although I knew that her intentions were noble, only her intent was enormously incorrect – it was difficult to make someone understand that you miss the time you had with them, and that you may get over the pain in time, but you don’t really get over the passing of someone important to you, and this is the fundamental aspect of mortality that the world at large gets fully wrong. The people who care about you, they want to help you, they are worried about you, but the truth is that nobody can help you, nothing anybody says can make a difference. <o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: georgia;"> </span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: georgia;">“What are you thinking now?” she asked me. “About the positive side of loss,” I answered. She studied me warily. “I think that while the death of the loved one destroys you, there is also a great positivity to be found in it.” Her eyes now became attentive. “We change as people . . . radically change . . . and this results in people becoming more open, intuitive, realistic, self-loving and gentle.” She slipped her hand into my hand. “I know what you mean,” she said kind-heartedly, “I have observed that people adopt a fresh set of values in life. They develop a stronger desire to help others, contribute to the world, prioritise relationships over money and materialism and spend more time with the ones they love.” I grinned upon hearing those words from her as I thought to myself that the one thing that is clear is that life chugs along, you accept and adjust without the person in question, but you do not get over the bereavement, ever. <o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: georgia;"> </span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: georgia;"> </span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><b><span style="font-family: georgia;"><span style="text-align: justify;">*In memoriam of my friend Sushant Singh Rajput (1986-2020)</span> </span></b></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></p><p><br /></p>Farahdeen Khanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04295728317408441494noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5824144085937008540.post-87156120066913515242021-03-28T22:06:00.000+05:302021-03-28T22:06:39.452+05:30SHOT<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjiDNSdq7SJBXf-wrXNmsKM2nQ5Bvt98Y8O2vTtWQt51bKuwCWwFmR-vzqvIaQduhSI16FfhAsBh1foKfuGA0YwNsrQlMDYlIgHtjg5qDu6MuWLi6yDb-AqzBZRCiWqYMJORN_V5ZYYcKaH/s2048/3766799.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1280" data-original-width="2048" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjiDNSdq7SJBXf-wrXNmsKM2nQ5Bvt98Y8O2vTtWQt51bKuwCWwFmR-vzqvIaQduhSI16FfhAsBh1foKfuGA0YwNsrQlMDYlIgHtjg5qDu6MuWLi6yDb-AqzBZRCiWqYMJORN_V5ZYYcKaH/s16000/3766799.jpg" /></span></a></div><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /> </span><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">He held his hands up in despair. “I am not taking my second shot if you don’t take your first shot.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.25in;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">“You,” she stopped and rolled her eyes.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.25in;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">“Me, what?”<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.25in;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">She exasperated. “Do as you like,” she retorted with a tinge of irritation. <o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.25in;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">“Of course I am going to do as I like,” he remarked playfully. <o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.25in;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">She was quiet. <o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.25in;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">“What?” he asked.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.25in;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">“What?” she echoed. <o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.25in;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">“Why no reaction? Everything, ok?” he stated smiling slightly. <o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.25in;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">“Would my reacting make a difference to you? You’re as stubborn as a stone.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.25in;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">“Whatever,” he hummed mischievously, “and throw as many tantrums as you wish but I am not taking the second shot if you don’t take your first shot.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.25in;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">She cleared her throat and exhaled. “You know I am not on the list because I am not a resident of Paris . . . and . . . and you also know that I cannot go back home because the lockdown in London is on until the beginning of May, and we are currently only in the first week of March. So understand, please. . .”<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.25in;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">He became thoughtful and breathed heavily because summer was coming up, and if she was not vaccinated, then it would have certainly become an impediment for her to travel as freely. <o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.25in;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">“What are you thinking?” she asked holding onto his hand. <o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.25in;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">His eyes met squarely with her eyes. “What say we take a chance.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.25in;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">She shook her head. “You know if I get stuck in London it’s going to be such a bother.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.25in;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">“Yah, but at least you’ll still be at home.” <o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.25in;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">“You are a darling,” she said pinching his nose lovingly, “take your second shot and I’ll take mine whenever I can.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.25in;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">He shook his head vehemently. “Not until you don’t take your first shot.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.25in;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">“You’re impossible!” she exclaimed with some restlessness. <o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"> </span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;"><b><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">ONE MONTH LATER<o:p></o:p></span></span></b></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"> </span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">He and two of his friends were at the pub. “So did you take that second shot?” asked the friend. <o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.25in;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">He shook his head. <o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.25in;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">“Why not?” <o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.25in;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">“Because she didn’t take her first shot.” <o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.25in;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">The friend took a sip of beer. “Are you fucking serious!” <o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.25in;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">He nodded. <o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.25in;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">“And she didn’t tell you that she won’t take her first shot until you had taken your second shot?” asked the other friend. <o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.25in;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">“Nope,” he said softly. <o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.25in;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">“What fools,” said the friend lighting a cigarette, “what fools.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p><br /></p>Farahdeen Khanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04295728317408441494noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5824144085937008540.post-34876048600131861672021-01-26T19:52:00.006+05:302021-01-26T23:37:42.250+05:30THE CONNECTING TOUCH<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJXtm-i5KxwXry5rA562SGprEdxH7gEuToMM2e0vCGrxLB5MnCmko2j72yrNXH6u_hmjXqjdpOY1RFPs44agOVG0Wb4-komA2ZHO2QblB0bg9uZBFC3g29KhlxuTSfk9FTsqdJmcF35kad/s2048/human-2944065+copy.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1075" data-original-width="2048" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJXtm-i5KxwXry5rA562SGprEdxH7gEuToMM2e0vCGrxLB5MnCmko2j72yrNXH6u_hmjXqjdpOY1RFPs44agOVG0Wb4-komA2ZHO2QblB0bg9uZBFC3g29KhlxuTSfk9FTsqdJmcF35kad/s16000/human-2944065+copy.jpg" /></span></a></div><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /> </span><p></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></p><p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 6pt; text-align: center;"><b><span lang="EN-GB" style="color: red; font-size: 16pt;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">Las relaciones humanas son más llevaderas cuando hay música.<o:p></o:p></span></span></b></p><p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 6pt; text-align: center;"><b><span lang="EN-GB" style="color: red; font-size: 16pt;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"> </span></span></b></p><p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 6pt; text-align: center;"><b><span lang="EN-GB" style="color: red; font-size: 16pt;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">~ Andrés Obando ~<o:p></o:p></span></span></b></p><p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 6pt; text-align: center;"><b><span lang="EN-GB" style="color: red; font-size: 16pt;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"> </span></span></b></p><p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 6pt; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><b><span lang="EN-GB" style="color: red; font-size: 16pt;">(Human relationships are more bearable when there is music.)</span></b><b><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 14pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></b></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="background-color: white; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"> </span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="background-color: white; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"> </span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="background-color: white; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">For human infants, thriving is not simply a matter of getting enough calories, warmth, and other necessities of life, but also requires emotional and social nourishment. Caregivers are needed to provide warm affection and kindness. The physical health of children depended on it. <o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="background-color: white; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="background-color: white; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">Humans are übersocial animals. Being socially connected is essential for health, well-being, and happiness. Being immersed in a social environment with friends and loved ones is a default assumption of the human mind. We are born to belong.</span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="background-color: white; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"> <o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="background-color: white; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">Today, the need to maintain social connections is born out in public health data. Astoundingly, the data shows that having only a few friends or close acquaintances is more likely to make you ill and cause your death than such obvious health risks as smoking and obesity. Relatedly, socially isolated adults are more likely to smoke, less likely to exercise, and eat fewer fruits and vegetables. A large-scale survey of nearly 7,000 adults in the San Francisco Bay Area found that over a nine-year period, the risk of all causes of death—that is, the chance of dying for any reason—was more than twice as high for people with the fewest social ties as those with the most.<span style="position: relative; top: -4pt;"> </span>Similarly, people lacking social relationships, in the form of weak social support or in stressful marriages—are at greater risk for cancer, diabetes, and cardiovascular disease. <o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p style="background-color: white; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">Psychologist Julianne Holt-Lunstad at Brigham Young University has recently brought the ill effects of loneliness into national focus. In a ground-breaking 2010 study, she and her team assessed mortality data for more than 300,000 people followed for an average of 7.5 years. People with adequate social relationships—as in being integrated into a social network—had a 50 percent greater likelihood of survival during this period than people whose social relationships were lacking. On average, people with strong social relationships lived 3.7 years longer than less socially connected people. In fact, loneliness was found to be a greater mortality risk than smoking, excessive drinking, lack of exercise, obesity and air pollution. “The overall effect remained consistent across a number of factors, including age, sex, initial health status, follow-up period, and cause of death, suggesting that the association between social relationships and mortality may be general, and efforts to reduce risk should not be isolated to subgroups such as the elderly,” she and her colleagues wrote. Several years later, her team followed up with an analysis of 3.4 million people worldwide, again finding similar mortality rates. Across the globe, and across demographics, isolation killed. “We wanted to know: Does it vary by country (It does not!)? Does it vary by cause of death (Doesn’t matter!)? Is it stronger for men vs. women (Equally strong!)?” she said in an interview. “This was a snapshot of real life, right? With implications for real-life health outcomes.” <o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="background-color: white; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="background-color: white; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">Just like the infants in the foundling homes of the 20th century, adults in the 21st century are in deep need of care. Holt-Lunstad compared the devastation of social isolation to the paradigm shift that came with the discovery of hospitalism, its mechanisms, and its treatment through bonding and affection. “To draw a parallel, many decades ago high mortality rates were observed among infants in custodial care (i.e., orphanages), even when controlling for pre-existing health conditions and medical treatment. Lack of human contact predicted mortality. The medical profession was stunned to learn that infants would die without social interaction. This single finding, so simplistic in hindsight, was responsible for changes in practice and policy that markedly decreased mortality rates in custodial care settings. Contemporary medicine could similarly benefit from acknowledging the data: Social relationships influence the health outcomes of adults.” <o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="background-color: white; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="background-color: white; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">While Western, and especially American, culture may venerate rugged individualism and self-expression, people in contemporary society depend on other people to survive, just as it’s been through human history. The notion of “the individual” is a relatively modern invention, making its first stirrings in the writings of medieval Christian philosophers like St. Anselm and William of Ockham, and reaching its perhaps final form in free-thinking European Enlightenment. The word <i>individualism </i>itself was not coined until 1815.<span style="position: relative; top: -4pt;"> </span>For the course of human history, the social group, the clan, the religious sanctums, the state—these have been the fundamental elements of society. Our lives depend on other people, not just on the nuclear family but the larger communal group. <o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="background-color: white; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="background-color: white; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">The isolated way of life due to lockdowns and social distances has been a boon in manifold ways and also a curse too. While it has helped us take stock of our priorities it has also robbed us of the very basic human needs – touch, warmth, being around those who matter and throughout this essay we shall explore rather lightly human ecology: how we fit into our environments and what they afford to us, the interplay of which is expressed in perception. Affordances are not only physical; they are also social. Other people offer possibilities for good (love, affection, support) and ill (threat, abuse, social anxiety). The brain reflects these social affordances. Through the course of evolution, the structures of social pain scaffolded off those for physical pain, providing one of the primary imperatives of our lives: the drive to belong and be loved. To be embodied means not only being able to hold a stone but also being able to hold a hand. The most intimate of social relationships are built through touch. <o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="background-color: white; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="background-color: white; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">The university of Wisconsin psychologist Harry Harlow began a seminal 1958 paper on the importance of touch by commenting on the huge disconnect between the centrality of love in everyday life and its lack of study within research psychology. In the 1950s, psychologists assumed that animals, including us, were motivated by basic biological drives (like hunger, thirst, and pain) that motivated behaviours needed for survival (like eating, drinking, and withdrawing from sources of pain). So, where does love come from and the desire for social affiliation? Psychologists at the time surmised that we learn affection by becoming attracted to the caregiver who provides sustenance. Infants desire milk, caregivers provide milk, and thus over time infants learn to desire caregivers, or so the story went. But this story did not sit well with what Harlow observed in his laboratory. In studies with infant macaque monkeys, he found that they grew attached to the cloth pads that lined their cages, hanging on to them and throwing tantrums when they were taken out to be cleaned. Conversely, a baby monkey raised on a barren wire-mesh floor “survives with difficulty, if at all” the first five days of their lives. This observation sparked the insight that contact comfort might be as important for infant health and well-being as basic biological needs.<span style="position: relative; top: -4pt;"> </span>In what has become an iconic experiment, Harlow’s team built two artificial mothers that stood in for the infant monkeys’ real mothers. One mother was made of wood, covered by sponge rubber, and wrapped in terry cloth, with a light bulb radiating heat behind her. The other was made with wire mesh and a light bulb. One warm and fuzzy; the other warm and metallic. For four monkeys, the cloth mother possessed a nipple that lactated, whereas for four others, the wire-mesh mother had the lactating nipple. The striking finding: in both groups, the infant spent 12 or more hours a day on the cloth mother, for the full 160 days of testing, with less than one hour spent on the wire mother—even if she was the source of food. This flew in the face of what had become received psychological wisdom: that nourishment drove behaviour, with affection being an acquired outcome of feeding. Contrary to such views, it became abundantly clear that tactile comfort was deeply desired by infant monkeys regardless of whether it had been associated with food. “We were not surprised to discover that contact comfort was an important basic affectional or love variable,” Harlow observed. “But we did not expect it to overshadow so completely the variable of nursing; indeed, the disparity is so great as to suggest that the primary function of nursing as an affectional variable is that of insuring frequent and intimate body contact of the infant with the mother.” What is true for macaque monkeys must surely also apply to people, Harlow concluded, and hence he added: “Certainly, man cannot live by milk alone.”<span style="position: relative; top: -4pt;"> </span>From the start, humans, like other primates, need to be touched and it is that very lack of to touch and be touched has resulted in a suffering of individuals during the pandemic, and the question is – will such people ever fully recover?<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="background-color: white; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">Over a good part of 2020 I observed people introducing pets into their homes at an alarming rate, but there is only so much a dog or cat can do, even if they think that it might be something that is saving them from the internal pandemic of lack of touch of a real person. I spoke to a friend in London and she said that ever since she has been home-bound, the most that she misses is the smell of her friends, the taste of her lover. “The human body has built all its models based on touch received from caregivers,” says Dr Katerina Fotopoulou, a professor of psychodynamic neuroscience at University College London. “We’re utterly reliant on the caregiver to satisfy the body’s core needs. Little can be done without touch.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p style="margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">Nina is 40, and lives alone in south London. She experienced a protracted recovery after a spinal injury in 2018, requiring long periods of bed rest. People visited, but her pain levels meant that being touched was difficult. She felt she had good foresight for how to prepare for the first lockdown. “I thought I knew how it would play out,” she says over Zoom. “For example, I knew how strict I had to be about the routine of going for walks; you always feel slightly better having taken in different surroundings.” But after six weeks, her resolve started to crumble. “The isolation I’d already experienced made me more vulnerable than I’d realised. I tried to keep myself in a routine but …” she begins to cry. “At some point, not being able to have a hug was genuinely torturous. I don’t believe the government considered the impact of the first lockdown on people living alone.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p style="margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">As adults, we may not comprehend the importance of touch even when it disappears. “We might begin to realise that something is missing, but we won’t always know that it’s touch,” says Prof Francis McGlone, a neuroscientist based at Liverpool John Moores University and a leader in the field of affective touch. “But when we talk about the problem of loneliness, we often ignore the obvious: what lonely people aren’t getting is touch.”<span class="apple-converted-space"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p style="margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">Touch has a huge impact on our psychological and physical wellbeing, says Prof Robin Dunbar, an evolutionary psychologist at the University of Oxford. “With our close friends and family, we touch each other more than we realise,” he says. As adults, Dunbar’s research has found, we have a core set of, on average, five friends who we can call on as a shoulder to cry on. “We see exactly the same thing in primates,” he says. “Even in much bigger primate societies, groups of five best friends appear at every layer, who do all their grooming together – their form of social touch. In primates and humans, these intense coalitions act as a buffer; they keep the world off your back.” It is unsurprising, then, that of the 40,000 people from 112 countries who took part in a 2020 BBC and Wellcome Collection survey, the three most common words used to describe touch were: “comforting”, “warm” and “love”.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p style="margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">As the pandemic continues, many of us will be trying to cope with profound stress without the comfort of touch. We all have different needs and boundaries (McGlone says “not everyone<span class="apple-converted-space"> </span><em>suffers</em><span class="apple-converted-space"> </span>from a lack of touch; I don’t really like being cuddled, and drive my poor wife nuts”), but the total absence of touch, particularly when emotions are high, contravenes the hardwiring that regulates us from our preverbal years.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p style="margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">“Touch is a modulator that can temper the effects of stress and pain, physical and emotional. We have seen in our research that a lack of touch is associated with greater anxiety,” says Fotopoulou. “In times of high stress – the loss of a job, or a bereavement, for example – having more touch from others helps us cope better, particularly in calming the effects of [the stress hormone’ cortisol.” Even if we’re used to not being touched a lot, after a while the need can feel very physical – sometimes described as “skin hunger” or “touch hunger”.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p style="margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">While I can empathise with the exhausting monotony my friends with young families have described to me (and I know that the grass is always greener), I have felt the lack of belonging to a pack acutely. Claire Birke, a teacher from Edinburgh, has felt it, too: “I’m 37, and most of my friends are living with partners or children,” she says. “I have never felt more aware of my single status, nor the lack of intimate bodily contact, in my life.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p style="margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">The number of people living on their own has only been swelling up around the world. The sliver of sociability that came with social bubbles being announced has felt life-saving. Smith has been “bubbling” with a couple who live together and says it has helped with her mood. But the days are long, and her friends “are not particularly tactile”.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p style="margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">“I realise how much I touch people without thinking,” she says. “I feel like I am holding all this emotion in my body with nowhere to put it.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p style="margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">In high-stress states, it can feel as if our bodies can barely contain our emotion if there’s no one there to hold us. “Lots of studies support the theory that touch gives the brain a signal that it can delegate its resources for coping because someone else is there to bear the brunt. This relaxes the body, going some way to restoring the stress budget, if you like,” says Fotopoulou. But touch is not a single sense. The two square metres of skin that contain us are teeming with nerve fibres that recognise temperature, texture and itch, etcetera. One set of fibres exists purely to register gentle, stroking touch: the C tactile afferents (CTs). McGlone has been studying this since 1995, when it was discovered in humans. “These neurons, in the skin of all social mammals, transmit slow electrical signals to the emotional processing parts of the brain. They play a critical role in developing the social brain and our ability to withstand stress.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p style="margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">The highest density of CTs across the body are in the parts we can’t “groom” ourselves, such as the shoulders and back. “If you love having your back rubbed it’s because there are more CTs there,” says McGlone. “Stimulation of these neurons releases oxytocin and dopamine, and has a direct impact on cortisol levels, which regulates our mood.” In 2017, Fotopoulou’s team published a study that showed even gentle, slow stroking from a stranger can reduce feelings of social exclusion. But in our normal lives, we’re not going round stroking each other all the time. “No, you don’t need that touch all day,” McGlone says. “We only need this gentle kind of touch intermittently.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p style="margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">In these times of touch deprivation there is no real substitute for what we get from other humans, but there are ways to soothe ourselves. Fotopoulou’s lab will soon publish a study conducted during the pandemic that builds on the theory that, in the same way we think we can feel others’ pain, we may be able to experience touch vicariously, too. Researchers have found that seeing touch (on the telly or in films, for example) – particularly social, affective or pet touch – can give us some of the benefits of feeling touch. “This is called ‘vicarious touch’,” says Fotopoulou. “The brain codes multisensory experiences in multiple ways. We can also ‘feel’ the pain and pleasures of others just by ‘seeing’ them,” she says. “This is not a permanent or complete substitute, but a partial one.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p style="margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">Products such as weighted blankets can help. Smith says that laying one across her chest and shoulders makes her feel “much calmer” – speaking, perhaps, to an instinctive need to stimulate the CTs. Interacting with animals is also settling. “My neighbour’s cat has decided to live with me half the time and having her sat on my chest, purring, is so soothing.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p style="margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">This resonated: the warmth of my dog’s back under my hand has been the most grounding thing for me over the last 12 months. I know this<span class="apple-converted-space"> </span><em>feels</em><span class="apple-converted-space"> </span>good, but why? “When you’re stroking your dog, you’re engaging systems that would be activated if the dog was stroking you,” says McGlone.<span class="apple-converted-space"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">A hunger for touch is a signal that a primitive need is not being met. But evolution is on our side. Every scientist I spoke to was hopeful that, once we can come together again, we will adjust quickly. “It will differ between people, probably based on the duration people have been alone, and there may be a period of clumsiness and renegotiation,” says Dunbar. “But we have evolved to adapt.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"> </span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;"><em><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"> </span></span></em></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;"><em><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"> </span></span></em></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;"><em><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"> </span></span></em></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><em><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 10pt;">Some references from Perception - How Our Bodies Shape Our Minds by Dennis Proffitt, Drake Baer, and Hormonal: A Conversation About Women’s Bodies, Mental Health and Why We Need to Be Heard by Eleanor Morgan </span></em><span style="background-color: white; font-size: 10pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"> </span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"> </span></span></p><p><br /></p>Farahdeen Khanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04295728317408441494noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5824144085937008540.post-47432219522692884502020-11-22T22:09:00.001+05:302020-11-22T22:09:19.835+05:30ONE DAY<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgAW3ItZnQNbnZnpy4Obz9N_IrSsDwLVcCtNWEsm_dcWpxn22150YIXNr1H4iFQi7sfH14ucUgEDQsChNiNygskoVAeM2CJz1Kxv4eCpMbYd1-oqGXxeuZpTOk0FjQ8a1fAuF38RPJMVS-K/s1394/126908973_10158412642945091_191808963995420698_o.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1394" data-original-width="1125" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgAW3ItZnQNbnZnpy4Obz9N_IrSsDwLVcCtNWEsm_dcWpxn22150YIXNr1H4iFQi7sfH14ucUgEDQsChNiNygskoVAeM2CJz1Kxv4eCpMbYd1-oqGXxeuZpTOk0FjQ8a1fAuF38RPJMVS-K/s16000/126908973_10158412642945091_191808963995420698_o.jpg" /></span></a></div><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: center;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="color: #181818; font-size: 14pt;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="color: #181818;">This is a voice that need not be raised to be heard</span><span lang="EN-GB" style="color: #222222;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="color: #181818;">This is a sign so vivid that it will one day</span><span lang="EN-GB" style="color: #222222;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: center;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="color: #222222;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">Protect us from ostensible doom<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: center;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="color: #222222;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;"> </span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: center;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="color: #222222;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">This is a name so virtuous and just <o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: center;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="color: #222222;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">That it will amend<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: center;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="color: #222222;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">The very path of antiquity<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: center;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="color: #222222;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">And reinstate us as victors <o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: center;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="color: #222222;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">As we have always been victors<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: center;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="color: #222222;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">But had fallen under the dimness of despair<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: center;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="color: #222222;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;"> </span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: center;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="color: #222222;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">This is my ode <o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: center;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="color: #222222;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">For the endless reign of my brightest star</span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;"><span style="color: #222222;">It is my prayer for the health of my dearest brother Fazza </span> </span></p><p><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJEhrrAytmCTGd6irEQEe15wh6gx6fzOtlUq6BwDgE52dCKn0KsTEx0RmkRLtAnKg1fhLMmXnwjuqq-m9jWUIoWk3EWjvJ164z2iHo6FNO31ikJmcfWR7d52pACIshdQPuSqIk_dBqu5yT/s1200/Faz+Cycling.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="674" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJEhrrAytmCTGd6irEQEe15wh6gx6fzOtlUq6BwDgE52dCKn0KsTEx0RmkRLtAnKg1fhLMmXnwjuqq-m9jWUIoWk3EWjvJ164z2iHo6FNO31ikJmcfWR7d52pACIshdQPuSqIk_dBqu5yT/s16000/Faz+Cycling.jpg" /></a></div><br /><p><br /></p>Farahdeen Khanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04295728317408441494noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5824144085937008540.post-80279940854910473432020-09-18T03:09:00.004+05:302020-09-19T11:01:36.573+05:30THE GRACE OF KINGS<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwQ1m21B7MSs4F8RqG0HYJYXEEu_91zBTrSZuTgua_i9jlvOR7TQfwOIVWV5R8GUFwDsFHASru5bx_hAwZ24XaQ_Djhp7nQnYxmqih1f9J7DYOKV_HFsvtmQqoKLMGyDttGVfhFpTF-JkP/s1125/IMG_9388.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1119" data-original-width="1125" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwQ1m21B7MSs4F8RqG0HYJYXEEu_91zBTrSZuTgua_i9jlvOR7TQfwOIVWV5R8GUFwDsFHASru5bx_hAwZ24XaQ_Djhp7nQnYxmqih1f9J7DYOKV_HFsvtmQqoKLMGyDttGVfhFpTF-JkP/s16000/IMG_9388.jpg" /></span></a></div><span style="font-family: georgia;"><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;"> </div></span><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="color: #222222;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">“How does it feel to be a —“ I stopped short. <o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="color: #222222;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;"> </span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="color: #222222;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">He fastened the loop of his bag over his shoulder to his comfort and looked up, “How does it feel to be a what?” <o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="color: #222222;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;"> </span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="color: #222222;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">I hesitated, “You know.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="color: #222222;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;"> </span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="color: #222222;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">“I would know only if you spell it out now, wouldn’t I.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="color: #222222;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;"> </span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="color: #222222;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">I cleared my throat. “A sovereign, my brother.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="color: #222222;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;"> </span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="color: #222222;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">He smiled graciously, “Hah, that,” and replied in the most poetic and gentlest manner, “the sovereign, my brother, is just a man, after all.” <o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="color: #222222;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;"> </span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="color: #222222;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">I grinned. <o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="color: #222222;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;"> </span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="color: #222222;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">“I reckon you envision me in an armour . . . wielding a weapon even, right?” <o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="color: #222222;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;"> </span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="color: #222222;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">My eyes lit up. “Exactly!” <o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="color: #222222;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;"> </span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="color: #222222;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">“A sovereign serves his people,” he said spontaneously, most clearly, gracefully, “and the day the people serve the sovereign is the day the empire falls. Remember that, if nothing else.” <o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="color: #222222;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;"> </span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="color: #222222;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">I rounded my mouth, reflecting. <o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="color: #222222;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;"> </span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="color: #222222;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">“And, yes,” he went on, giving me a thumbs-up, “my armour and my weapon is my imagination.” <span><o:p></o:p></span></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="color: #222222;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;"><br /></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="color: #222222; font-family: georgia; font-size: large;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: georgia; font-weight: bold;"><br /></span><p></p>Farahdeen Khanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04295728317408441494noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5824144085937008540.post-72621914052406323402020-08-26T12:28:00.000+05:302020-08-26T12:28:16.114+05:30A RIVER RUNS THROUGH<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh07vI3sdzpM8IxMcLj1LgPexkUAIzrIAjKyyhdXbE3r6rB9q4uUtsLEsW8Sxoeze9GMwO5w7KTXjiiUm28fz5YdpJFdszdBeXJLG0lP2GOYmBb7YmbM1Fk9IUFla8xW11vRjzPOKy2kkl-/s1920/Man+Woman+I+Love+You+copy.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1080" data-original-width="1920" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh07vI3sdzpM8IxMcLj1LgPexkUAIzrIAjKyyhdXbE3r6rB9q4uUtsLEsW8Sxoeze9GMwO5w7KTXjiiUm28fz5YdpJFdszdBeXJLG0lP2GOYmBb7YmbM1Fk9IUFla8xW11vRjzPOKy2kkl-/s640/Man+Woman+I+Love+You+copy.jpg" width="640" /></span></a></div><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /> </span><p></p><p class="MsoPlainText" style="font-size: 10pt; line-height: 17.333332061767578px; margin: 3pt 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 24.266664505004883px;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">William loved the city. But he loved the village more. He kept tender memories of certain woods, of ponds, the hills and the river that stirred joy in him. And today, as he was walking along the countryside to his grandma’s cottage, whilst crossing the streams that glimmered in the sun, his thoughts wandered back to some remote corner of the hills, or the end of the riverbank, or to some garden, full with plenty of flowers seen on some fine day, and yet residual in his heart quite like the picture of a suave girl at the coffee shop, waving and smiling gleefully. The mere thought of the girl evoked in his mind an unsatisfactory longing for her – a feeling that he could not suppress, although it gave him a sweet sensation that happiness had simply whiffed past him. Opening the tiny-weathered-wood-gate, he watched as the hefty dogs charged at him and almost tripped him over as they licked and sniffed him. He cuddled them and noticed that the stables were empty. He took a deep breath, inhaled the pure air, and knocked on the main door. <o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoPlainText" style="font-size: 10pt; line-height: 17.333332061767578px; margin: 3pt 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.25in;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 24.266664505004883px;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">“I’ve been expecting you much earlier,” said his grandmother’s voice from within the cottage, “come on in.” He pushed the door that made a creaking noise and saw a wrinkled old woman with white fluffy hair sitting by the fireside doing some needlework. <o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoPlainText" style="font-size: 10pt; line-height: 17.333332061767578px; margin: 3pt 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.25in;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 24.266664505004883px;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">“Uh, grandma, I see that you still leave the door open,” said William with a tinge of concern. <o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoPlainText" style="font-size: 10pt; line-height: 17.333332061767578px; margin: 3pt 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.25in;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 24.266664505004883px;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">“Don’t you worry about me, little lad,” she said with a broad grin, “even today I can fight any prowler with just my bare hands.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoPlainText" style="font-size: 10pt; line-height: 17.333332061767578px; margin: 3pt 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.25in;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 24.266664505004883px;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">“I don’t doubt that for a second,” William said, hugging her and giving her a kiss, “but the times have since changed, grandma, and you ought to be cautious and careful.” <o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoPlainText" style="font-size: 10pt; line-height: 17.333332061767578px; margin: 3pt 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.25in;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 24.266664505004883px;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">“Oh, don’t you admonish me like your mother always does,” she said kissing him back.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoPlainText" style="font-size: 10pt; line-height: 17.333332061767578px; margin: 3pt 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.25in;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 24.266664505004883px;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">“People these days are no longer trustworthy, my dear grandmother,” he said squeezing the sagging skin on her cheeks.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoPlainText" style="font-size: 10pt; line-height: 17.333332061767578px; margin: 3pt 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.25in;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 24.266664505004883px;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">“This is where your generation goes wrong,” she said kindly, “you have to place your trust in people enough, and there would never be a time when they would not return the same to you.” <o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoPlainText" style="font-size: 10pt; line-height: 17.333332061767578px; margin: 3pt 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.25in;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 24.266664505004883px;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">William heaved a deep sigh. “Where are the horses?”<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoPlainText" style="font-size: 10pt; line-height: 17.333332061767578px; margin: 3pt 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.25in;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 24.266664505004883px;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">“I had them sent away to the farm.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoPlainText" style="font-size: 10pt; line-height: 17.333332061767578px; margin: 3pt 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.25in;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 24.266664505004883px;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">“I see.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoPlainText" style="font-size: 10pt; line-height: 17.333332061767578px; margin: 3pt 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.25in;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 24.266664505004883px;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">“Go along and see them, I am certain they’ll be as overjoyed to see you as I am.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoPlainText" style="font-size: 10pt; line-height: 17.333332061767578px; margin: 3pt 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.25in;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 24.266664505004883px;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">William smiled to himself and mumbled a faint – love you grandma. <o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoPlainText" style="font-size: 10pt; line-height: 17.333332061767578px; margin: 3pt 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 24.266664505004883px;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"> </span></span></p><p class="MsoPlainText" style="font-size: 10pt; line-height: 17.333332061767578px; margin: 3pt 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 24.266664505004883px;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">William set out into the orchards the same afternoon. Nibbling on berries and singing songs he reached the river that ran through it. He immersed his feet into the water and remembered the times during vacation when he would fish with his father every Sunday morning. On his way back home, and much to his pleasant surprise, he ran into his childhood friend Walter Moore whom he hadn’t seen in a long time. “William Smith, dear god,” exclaimed Walter, “do I believe my eyes or am I dreaming?”<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoPlainText" style="font-size: 10pt; line-height: 17.333332061767578px; margin: 3pt 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.25in;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 24.266664505004883px;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">“Well what can I say old chum, a city certainly changes some but not me . . . you do know how like iron, I am most naturally drawn to the magnet,” said William with a wide smile as they hugged each other tightly as any two friends would do in the villages sans the superficiality of the cities. <o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoPlainText" style="font-size: 10pt; line-height: 17.333332061767578px; margin: 3pt 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.25in;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 24.266664505004883px;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"> </span></span></p><p class="MsoPlainText" style="font-size: 10pt; line-height: 17.333332061767578px; margin: 3pt 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 24.266664505004883px;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">Fishing rods in hand, worms in matchboxes, the boys sat silently by the river the following morning, concentrating on a good catch. With no luck at half past noon they decided to call it a day. Over the week they met regularly. On some days they did not talk and at other times they chatted endlessly. Having similar tastes they understood each other quite well without the assistance of words and a warmer friendship began to simmer between them.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoPlainText" style="font-size: 10pt; line-height: 17.333332061767578px; margin: 3pt 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 24.266664505004883px;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"> </span></span></p><p class="MsoPlainText" style="font-size: 10pt; line-height: 17.333332061767578px; margin: 3pt 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 24.266664505004883px;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">Toward the close of the day, as cattle were being herded into the backyards and anxious fathers were returning home after a hard day’s toil to be united with their families, the sun was setting, rendering a blood-red radiance over the western horizon. The warm colour shone on Walter’s fair countenance emanating a shy flush as he thought about his girl who had moved to the city to study. And he so terribly missed her. <o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoPlainText" style="font-size: 10pt; line-height: 17.333332061767578px; margin: 3pt 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 24.266664505004883px;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"> </span></span></p><p class="MsoPlainText" style="font-size: 10pt; line-height: 17.333332061767578px; margin: 3pt 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 24.266664505004883px;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">As William jogged alongside the river one morning, the early sun caused a pale mist to glide over the water, and he felt that his heart was finally sold to the serenity of the village than to the savagery of city dwelling. He wrote to his mother and father intimating them about his decision not to return. Baffled, they tried to convince their city-savvy lad on phone that small town life was not for him, but upon noticing his unwavering determination they knew that they were happy in their son’s happiness. William admitted himself in the residential college that was elegantly tucked away in the middle of the rich flora and fauna. It was not close to their cottage, but it was not too far too. Yes, he missed his washing machine and microwave, but apart from such materialistic conveniences, he personally found that the simple life in the village was largely incomparable to the din of the city. He adored the idea of having to struggle a little in order to find what he wanted than to merely step out and get whatever it was that he wished in the city. He delighted in the significant charm of seeing the roads free of automobiles, and the aesthetic beauty of the scenic village landscape – well it had besieged him even as he was a tiny tot when he would visit his grandparents during holidays. He looked forward to the fishing expeditions with his friend, the lengthy walks, the soul searching. In time, all of the above, combined with academics triumphed with an unbroken regularity, and he cherished every moment of his life here.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoPlainText" style="font-size: 10pt; line-height: 17.333332061767578px; margin: 3pt 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 24.266664505004883px;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"> </span></span></p><p class="MsoPlainText" style="font-size: 10pt; line-height: 17.333332061767578px; margin: 3pt 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 24.266664505004883px;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">William was more into literature and humanities, while Walter was ever hungry for scientific knowledge. He waited eagerly for the journals to arrive at the library, and managed to comb and digest each line with such rapid speed that it left him feeling a void that the wait for the next edition was unbearably long. William laughed at his friend’s restlessness and teased him about displaying such a devotion for a woman instead of a magazine because the former yielded far beneficial psychological and physical results than the latter. Walter in return ragged his friend by telling him that he was a pervert. <o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoPlainText" style="font-size: 10pt; line-height: 17.333332061767578px; margin: 3pt 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 24.266664505004883px;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"> </span></span></p><p class="MsoPlainText" style="font-size: 10pt; line-height: 17.333332061767578px; margin: 3pt 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 24.266664505004883px;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">Customarily, the friends walked home together after college, but at times when one of them had to stay back for some reference related work at the library, or a game of football with the boys, the other would be on the way home, alone. On one such day, since Walter had some math problems to solve with his teacher, and William had to carry provisions for home, William scampered along leaving Walter at the college, bought fresh vegetables from the market, and began walking through the woods. He loved the mystery of the woods, and as he was singing to himself in glee, something along the path caught his attention. On reaching closer he found a photograph. It was of a woman who looked stunning despite the damage caused to the picture by time. Smitten by her charm, he tucked it into his pocket, and upon reaching home asked his grandmother about the woman in the picture. His grandmother, visually uneasy by now, snatched away the picture from his hands and asked him in a shaky voice where he had found that picture.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoPlainText" style="font-size: 10pt; line-height: 17.333332061767578px; margin: 3pt 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.25in;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 24.266664505004883px;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">“What’s the matter, grandma?” asked William taking note of her edginess that had now turned swiftly to trepidation.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoPlainText" style="font-size: 10pt; line-height: 17.333332061767578px; margin: 3pt 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.25in;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 24.266664505004883px;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">“Keep away from where you found this,” she said sternly, as she shredded the photograph and flung it into the fireplace. William watched how within seconds the fire had consumed the beautiful woman’s picture leaving nothing but a blob of charred waste. <o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoPlainText" style="font-size: 10pt; line-height: 17.333332061767578px; margin: 3pt 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.25in;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 24.266664505004883px;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">“Did you bring all that I asked you to?” she asked coolly. <o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoPlainText" style="font-size: 10pt; line-height: 17.333332061767578px; margin: 3pt 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.25in;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 24.266664505004883px;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">“I did,” answered William noting that she was no longer overwrought like she had been a few minutes ago. <o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoPlainText" style="font-size: 10pt; line-height: 17.333332061767578px; margin: 3pt 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.25in;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 24.266664505004883px;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">“Would you please wash the vegetables and chop them my darling,” said she, looking into the fireplace like she were looking at someone real.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoPlainText" style="font-size: 10pt; line-height: 17.333332061767578px; margin: 3pt 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 24.266664505004883px;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"> </span></span></p><p class="MsoPlainText" style="font-size: 10pt; line-height: 17.333332061767578px; margin: 3pt 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 24.266664505004883px;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">He telephoned Walter, detailed what had transpired between his grandma and him, and asked him if they could stop by the same spot where he had found the photograph. “I think it’s a bad idea,” said Walter with some reluctance. <o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoPlainText" style="font-size: 10pt; line-height: 17.333332061767578px; margin: 3pt 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.25in;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 24.266664505004883px;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">“Oh, come on!” said William with impatience. <o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoPlainText" style="font-size: 10pt; line-height: 17.333332061767578px; margin: 3pt 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.25in;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 24.266664505004883px;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">There was no response on the other side. <o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoPlainText" style="font-size: 10pt; line-height: 17.333332061767578px; margin: 3pt 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.25in;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 24.266664505004883px;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">“Are you there, Walter?”<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoPlainText" style="font-size: 10pt; line-height: 17.333332061767578px; margin: 3pt 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.25in;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 24.266664505004883px;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">“I’m thinking,” replied Walter, his voice heavy with introspection. <o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoPlainText" style="font-size: 10pt; line-height: 17.333332061767578px; margin: 3pt 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.25in;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 24.266664505004883px;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">“Come on, mate, let’s just go!”<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoPlainText" style="font-size: 10pt; line-height: 17.333332061767578px; margin: 3pt 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.25in;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 24.266664505004883px;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">“All right,” said Walter half-heartedly.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoPlainText" style="font-size: 10pt; line-height: 17.333332061767578px; margin: 3pt 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.25in;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 24.266664505004883px;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">“Love you, mate!” exclaimed William, his belly tingling with interest as he hung up.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoPlainText" style="font-size: 10pt; line-height: 17.333332061767578px; margin: 3pt 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.25in;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 24.266664505004883px;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"> </span></span></p><p class="MsoPlainText" style="font-size: 10pt; line-height: 17.333332061767578px; margin: 3pt 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 24.266664505004883px;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">Walter carried a torchlight with him, and William some candlesticks. They walked side-by-side, leaving behind light posts and orchards, and then they ventured into the route bordering the river. It was about ten o’clock when they shone their torchlight and looked about the spot as scrupulously as they could; upon discovering no apparent clue, they turned to leave when William suddenly froze. Walter focused the beam of light on the spot where William was pointing his finger and saw something was embedded in the sand and appeared somewhat like a photograph. When he went closer, he established, much to his surprise, that there was nothing. <o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoPlainText" style="font-size: 10pt; line-height: 17.333332061767578px; margin: 3pt 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.25in;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 24.266664505004883px;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">“Strange,” said Walter looking at William terrifyingly, “I am sure I saw something.” <o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoPlainText" style="font-size: 10pt; line-height: 17.333332061767578px; margin: 3pt 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.25in;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 24.266664505004883px;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">“Don’t look at me like that, you’re the science enthusiast,” said William softly.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoPlainText" style="font-size: 10pt; line-height: 17.333332061767578px; margin: 3pt 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.25in;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 24.266664505004883px;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">“I think science would explain it as nothing but an illusion.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoPlainText" style="font-size: 10pt; line-height: 17.333332061767578px; margin: 3pt 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.25in;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 24.266664505004883px;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">“You have your answer then, old chap!”<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoPlainText" style="font-size: 10pt; line-height: 17.333332061767578px; margin: 3pt 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.25in;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 24.266664505004883px;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">“Err,” said Walter unconvinced and went back to the spot. He wiped his face with his palm and was lost in deep thought. How, his mind was asking, how? Was it merely a trickery of the eyes, or was his mind playing games, or was it something else that was beyond the realm of explanation. <o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoPlainText" style="font-size: 10pt; line-height: 17.333332061767578px; margin: 3pt 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.25in;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 24.266664505004883px;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">“It’s already eleven,” said William, “let’s get going now.” <o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoPlainText" style="font-size: 10pt; line-height: 17.333332061767578px; margin: 3pt 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.25in;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 24.266664505004883px;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"> </span></span></p><p class="MsoPlainText" style="font-size: 10pt; line-height: 17.333332061767578px; margin: 3pt 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 24.266664505004883px;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">The following day William was returning from a game of football when he met his grandmother along the way. She said she was scuttling along to her friend’s place for dinner and asked him to join them once he had finished freshening up. William relented on grounds of being exhausted from football. He had an invigorating shower, picked up a magazine on art and sculpture, and went to the kitchen in order to get himself a glass of orange juice when he saw a delicious looking apple pie with fresh cream sitting on the kitchen countertop. Rubbing his hands with glee, he attacked the pie with ravenous enthusiasm and devoured the whole damn thing in a sitting. <o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoPlainText" style="font-size: 10pt; line-height: 17.333332061767578px; margin: 3pt 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 24.266664505004883px;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"> </span></span></p><p class="MsoPlainText" style="font-size: 10pt; line-height: 17.333332061767578px; margin: 3pt 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 24.266664505004883px;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">Walter, on the other hand, was drowned in books at home, drawing probable explanations to the mysterious appearance and disappearance of the picture in the sand. Reading about illusions, he reasoned that what he saw was something like a mirage perhaps. However, mirages, he further gathered, were phenomena largely encountered in deserts or large expanses of sandy lands. This was sand by a tiny riverbank, and quite incapable of such mirages, then, what was it that they had seen in the sand, and how? The urge to uncover the mystery hounded Walter, and he knew that somehow he had to crack it until which he would not find himself at ease. <o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoPlainText" style="font-size: 10pt; line-height: 17.333332061767578px; margin: 3pt 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 24.266664505004883px;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"> </span></span></p><p class="MsoPlainText" style="font-size: 10pt; line-height: 17.333332061767578px; margin: 3pt 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 24.266664505004883px;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">Munching on his favourite white-seeded guava from the garden, William telephoned Walter. The boy was so busy with his quest to find answers that he had failed to hear the phone ring. After trying twice to no luck, William languished on the easy chair by the fireplace and opened a book. Before he could read a single page, his head loosely sunk between his shoulders and he fell asleep. With the pleasant air playing on his face, he was deep into the land of his dreams where he was skating on water when a gust of breeze woke him up from his sleep. The large window was ajar and dried leaves came flying in. He rushed and clamped the window lock; quite sure that he had secured it before he had fallen asleep. The dogs that were sitting quietly until now began whining; their eyes fixed at the windows. “What’s it Target and Tuffs?” asked he, cuddling them and peeking towards the window when he thought he saw a cloudy shadow escaping out of the hall. The door slammed with a bang and there was an inanimate hush in the atmosphere. As dreadful thoughts came, one by one, he remained immobile. Mortally stupefied, he felt his flesh had turned frigid. Just then the wood died out in the fireplace, and it suddenly became pitch dark. He fetched a candle and tried hard to light a match, but the match failed to ignite. Clouted by an uncanny feeling he closed his eyes tight and held still for some time. Then collecting strength, he opened his eyes slowly to espy a flimsy glow flickering under the crack of the slammed door. <o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoPlainText" style="font-size: 10pt; line-height: 17.333332061767578px; margin: 3pt 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.25in;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 24.266664505004883px;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">“Grandma, is that you?” he asked in a whisper, his voice sinking with terror. <o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoPlainText" style="font-size: 10pt; line-height: 17.333332061767578px; margin: 3pt 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.25in;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 24.266664505004883px;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">There was no reply. <o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoPlainText" style="font-size: 10pt; line-height: 17.333332061767578px; margin: 3pt 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.25in;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 24.266664505004883px;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">Feet nearly paralysed, William now moved very slowly towards the door and clutched its handle. It was cold. He pushed it with all his energy and his heart sank as he saw Walter standing right before him. <o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoPlainText" style="font-size: 10pt; line-height: 17.333332061767578px; margin: 3pt 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.25in;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 24.266664505004883px;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">“Jesus! How did you come in?” said William in a deafening voice. <o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoPlainText" style="font-size: 10pt; line-height: 17.333332061767578px; margin: 3pt 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.25in;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 24.266664505004883px;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">“The door was open,” said Walter, “is everything all right? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoPlainText" style="font-size: 10pt; line-height: 17.333332061767578px; margin: 3pt 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.25in;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 24.266664505004883px;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">“Did you light the candle?” asked William fidgeting with his forehead. <o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoPlainText" style="font-size: 10pt; line-height: 17.333332061767578px; margin: 3pt 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.25in;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 24.266664505004883px;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">“It was lit when I walked in.” <o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoPlainText" style="font-size: 10pt; line-height: 17.333332061767578px; margin: 3pt 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.25in;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 24.266664505004883px;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">“That’s not possible,” said William asking Walter how he was here.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoPlainText" style="font-size: 10pt; line-height: 17.333332061767578px; margin: 3pt 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.25in;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 24.266664505004883px;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">“My father said the phone rang twice and stopped before they could answer it. I figured it would have been you. I tried your number, but your line was simply not getting through, so I thought I’d stop by.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoPlainText" style="font-size: 10pt; line-height: 17.333332061767578px; margin: 3pt 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.25in;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 24.266664505004883px;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">William nodded and heaved a sigh, but the apparent fright in his eyes was crystal clear.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoPlainText" style="font-size: 10pt; line-height: 17.333332061767578px; margin: 3pt 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.25in;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 24.266664505004883px;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">“Sit down first and tell me what happened,” said Walter, detecting William’s face was as white as a sheet of white paper. William told him about what had happened before he had walked in. “I think it was just another co-incidence, that’s all,” said Walter after listening to William with utmost concentration. “How then do you explain what happened at the river?” William asked, his eyes bigger than usual. <o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoPlainText" style="font-size: 10pt; line-height: 17.333332061767578px; margin: 3pt 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.25in;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 24.266664505004883px;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">“I think most of the times it’s nothing but a figment of our own imagination. I had read somewhere that sound waves or magnetic waves act by blending into a part of our brain, and the different frequencies of geomagnetic energies affect us to varying degrees of hallucination.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoPlainText" style="font-size: 10pt; line-height: 17.333332061767578px; margin: 3pt 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.25in;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 24.266664505004883px;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">William was listening. <o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoPlainText" style="font-size: 10pt; line-height: 17.333332061767578px; margin: 3pt 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.25in;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 24.266664505004883px;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">“There have been accounts of ghosts being sighted, but upon investigation, magnetic waves were the real culprits. I think ever since you’ve found that picture you’ve begun to believe that something is eerie around here, though in my opinion, it’s purely a case of the mind over matter.” <o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoPlainText" style="font-size: 10pt; line-height: 17.333332061767578px; margin: 3pt 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.25in;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 24.266664505004883px;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">“Possibly,” said William seriously, “but I have a hunch that the recent happening may have had some relevance to the strange clash at the bank of the river. It certainly was beyond waves or energies.” <o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoPlainText" style="font-size: 10pt; line-height: 17.333332061767578px; margin: 3pt 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 24.266664505004883px;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"> </span></span></p><p class="MsoPlainText" style="font-size: 10pt; line-height: 17.333332061767578px; margin: 3pt 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 24.266664505004883px;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">Walter dropped by William’s place the following morning and shook him out of the bed. “I think I’ve found some answers,” he said joyously. <o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoPlainText" style="font-size: 10pt; line-height: 17.333332061767578px; margin: 3pt 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.25in;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 24.266664505004883px;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">“Dude, happiness bared is happiness not necessarily shared,” said William with a playful smile, rubbing his eyes and plopping his head on the pillow. <o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoPlainText" style="font-size: 10pt; line-height: 17.333332061767578px; margin: 3pt 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.25in;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 24.266664505004883px;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">“Books that unquestionably explain, generally the element of whimsy do they disdain,” said Walter rhyming William’s bared and shared with explain and disdain. <o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoPlainText" style="font-size: 10pt; line-height: 17.333332061767578px; margin: 3pt 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.25in;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 24.266664505004883px;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">“All right, all right, indulge me,” said William with a vast smile, sitting up. <o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoPlainText" style="font-size: 10pt; line-height: 17.333332061767578px; margin: 3pt 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.25in;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 24.266664505004883px;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">Walter started to read passages from a book that said that people did experience shocking things, and that sometimes these things may well be outrageously forbidding. He said that some parts of the planet are more vulnerable to such sightings, either by artificial or natural conditions, and sometimes they are created merely to entice and lure people into believing the unbelievable – that the power of the mind could influence physical objects and make one believe that something actually exists. That the ghost stories are nothing but a fine yarn, re-told and accepted with time to such believable levels that people who tell them, and those who listen to them too, begin to think they are truly living the event. He attempted to persuade William that the bizarre apparitions he seemed to witness were events that could be rationalised and if William continued to believe too much in them, then his saneness could be called into question. <o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoPlainText" style="font-size: 10pt; line-height: 17.333332061767578px; margin: 3pt 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.25in;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 24.266664505004883px;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">“You woke me up from sleep for this,” said William in a light-hearted tone. <o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoPlainText" style="font-size: 10pt; line-height: 17.333332061767578px; margin: 3pt 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.25in;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 24.266664505004883px;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">Walter laughed, “Say something, William.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoPlainText" style="font-size: 10pt; line-height: 17.333332061767578px; margin: 3pt 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.25in;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 24.266664505004883px;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">“What about?” <o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoPlainText" style="font-size: 10pt; line-height: 17.333332061767578px; margin: 3pt 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.25in;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 24.266664505004883px;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">Walter looked at his friend in anticipation.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoPlainText" style="font-size: 10pt; line-height: 17.333332061767578px; margin: 3pt 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.25in;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 24.266664505004883px;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">“I don’t seem to understand your over-indulgence in this,” said William yawning and moving out of the coverlet. <o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoPlainText" style="font-size: 10pt; line-height: 17.333332061767578px; margin: 3pt 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.25in;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 24.266664505004883px;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">“I’m just looking for some answers,” said Walter with a tinge of restlessness. <o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoPlainText" style="font-size: 10pt; line-height: 17.333332061767578px; margin: 3pt 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.25in;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 24.266664505004883px;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">“Have I asked you for any answers?” <o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoPlainText" style="font-size: 10pt; line-height: 17.333332061767578px; margin: 3pt 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.25in;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 24.266664505004883px;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">“No, but,” he paused, “I’m merely trying to dispel your,” said Walter, raising his eyebrows, “your fright.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoPlainText" style="font-size: 10pt; line-height: 17.333332061767578px; margin: 3pt 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.25in;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 24.266664505004883px;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">“Or yours?” replied William coolly and poured water from the jug into a glass. <o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoPlainText" style="font-size: 10pt; line-height: 17.333332061767578px; margin: 3pt 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.25in;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 24.266664505004883px;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">Walter didn’t care to reply and left the room. <o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoPlainText" style="font-size: 10pt; line-height: 17.333332061767578px; margin: 3pt 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.25in;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 24.266664505004883px;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"> </span></span></p><p class="MsoPlainText" style="font-size: 10pt; line-height: 17.333332061767578px; margin: 3pt 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 24.266664505004883px;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">His bladder full, William was on the edge, and the class was not seeming to get over. The moment the bell rang, he scurried out towards the lavatory and slammed into Hazel Sand on the way.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoPlainText" style="font-size: 10pt; line-height: 17.333332061767578px; margin: 3pt 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.25in;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 24.266664505004883px;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">“William, hi,” she said, giving him a big smile, “in a hurry, are you?” <o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoPlainText" style="font-size: 10pt; line-height: 17.333332061767578px; margin: 3pt 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.25in;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 24.266664505004883px;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">William wondered whether they had met. He had forgotten that indeed they had, just once, and very briefly at the grocery store. He had helped get her a jar of cherry jam that she was unable to reach. <o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoPlainText" style="font-size: 10pt; line-height: 17.333332061767578px; margin: 3pt 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.25in;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 24.266664505004883px;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">“Hey, hi, I am in a bit of a hurry, sorry,” said William with a grin as he pointed towards the loo. <o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoPlainText" style="font-size: 10pt; line-height: 17.333332061767578px; margin: 3pt 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.25in;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 24.266664505004883px;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">She smiled, “Ah, go along then.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoPlainText" style="font-size: 10pt; line-height: 17.333332061767578px; margin: 3pt 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.25in;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 24.266664505004883px;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">He apologised profusely once again and took to his heels. <o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoPlainText" style="font-size: 10pt; line-height: 17.333332061767578px; margin: 3pt 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 24.266664505004883px;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"> </span></span></p><p class="MsoPlainText" style="font-size: 10pt; line-height: 17.333332061767578px; margin: 3pt 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 24.266664505004883px;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">William walked into the classroom after his visit to the lavatory and saw that Hazel was sitting alone. He sought her permission to occupy the seat next to her. She agreed. He glanced at her surreptitiously from the corner of his left eye. She was not beautiful, only simple, and attractively so, regardless of the fact that she was low in body weight. Walter who was sitting on the seat right behind William mildly pierced the sharp nib of the fountain pen on his friend’s arse. William pushed the pen away and smiled at Hazel who was now looking at him. Staring into her eyes for the first time, he recognised that she had lovely hazel eyes that most aptly suited her name. When the classes were over, William and Hazel spent the entire evening together, and there was such a tremendous charge in the air that it could light up a room full of fireworks without any friction. After dropping her off at the main gate, William went in search of Walter and saw him coming out of the library. “Have you looked at the sky?” he asked Walter. “Love makes even the cloudless skies look so very enchanting,” said Walter with a teasing smile. William gave Walter a punch on his tummy as Walter broke out into laughter. They then went to their much-loved spot on the bank of the river, immersed their feet in the icy waters and chatted until late into the night. <o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoPlainText" style="font-size: 10pt; line-height: 17.333332061767578px; margin: 3pt 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.25in;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 24.266664505004883px;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"> </span></span></p><p class="MsoPlainText" style="font-size: 10pt; line-height: 17.333332061767578px; margin: 3pt 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 24.266664505004883px;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">After that day, Walter, Hazel and William walked home together after college. One Sunday afternoon William invited Hazel to join him for fishing. She told him that she had never fished earlier. William went after her with a clear sense of determined charm and she could not refuse his invitation. Despite being the novice that she claimed she was, she quite speedily grasped the tricks and ended up yielding the largest catch of the day. In time, William concluded that tough Hazel tried her best to be outgoing, more so to please him, she was not what one would call adventurous. He found that she devoted more of her time for events that dealt with charity; like a ritual, she was at the old age home every Sunday afternoon. She helped her colony with weekend chores. Instead of buying something nice for herself in the pocket money that her father gave her, she purchased toys, or some useful books for the orphans. If one thought her benevolent activities seized at that, they did not – she nursed unhealthy animals at the veterinarian clinic too. At times William wondered how he felt so intensely attracted to her; they were so unlike each other. <o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoPlainText" style="font-size: 10pt; line-height: 17.333332061767578px; margin: 3pt 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 24.266664505004883px;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"> </span></span></p><p class="MsoPlainText" style="font-size: 10pt; line-height: 17.333332061767578px; margin: 3pt 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 24.266664505004883px;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">Walter was visiting his girlfriend in the city for two days. With plenty of time on hand, William and Hazel debated about the pleasures of fishing against the nature of charity, about books and paintings against the nursing of animals. When Hazel figured that William was not of the same school of thought as her, she asked him whether he would like to watch the sun go down with her. William smiled and said mischievously, “So long as you do not insist that I also watch the sun rise with you.” Hazel smiled shyly, “Actually, I would love that,” she said as she slid her hand in William’s hand. Holding hands, they sat by the river watching the fiery orange sun slowly shrink. The air was crisp and she disentangled her hand from his hand and started to take off her clothes. “Err . . . Um . . . ,” stuttered William, “what are you doing?”<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoPlainText" style="font-size: 10pt; line-height: 17.333332061767578px; margin: 3pt 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.25in;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 24.266664505004883px;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">“What do you think I am doing?”<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoPlainText" style="font-size: 10pt; line-height: 17.333332061767578px; margin: 3pt 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.25in;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 24.266664505004883px;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">“I know, but,” he trailed off and watched her as she locked her eyes with his eyes and dropped her knickers. He swallowed hard, his eyes on her eyes, as she smacked him jovially on his chest and dived into the river, altogether naked. He sat on the bank and watched as she sliced through the water like a fish and disappeared inside for a few seconds, emerged on the surface, wiped her face, and called out to William. “The water’s warm. Hop in!”<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoPlainText" style="font-size: 10pt; line-height: 17.333332061767578px; margin: 3pt 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.25in;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 24.266664505004883px;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">He shook his head. <o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoPlainText" style="font-size: 10pt; line-height: 17.333332061767578px; margin: 3pt 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.25in;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 24.266664505004883px;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">“Don’t be a prude.” <o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoPlainText" style="font-size: 10pt; line-height: 17.333332061767578px; margin: 3pt 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.25in;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 24.266664505004883px;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">“I—I.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoPlainText" style="font-size: 10pt; line-height: 17.333332061767578px; margin: 3pt 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.25in;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 24.266664505004883px;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">“Gosh, you’re a virgin,” she guffawed, accentuating on the virgin. <o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoPlainText" style="font-size: 10pt; line-height: 17.333332061767578px; margin: 3pt 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.25in;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 24.266664505004883px;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">He looked about, “Shhh, can you keep it low.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoPlainText" style="font-size: 10pt; line-height: 17.333332061767578px; margin: 3pt 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.25in;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 24.266664505004883px;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">She laughed exuberantly, swam to the shore, and moseyed towards him. William tried to look at the rocks, the sky, the water and then unable to keep his eyes off the first naked girl he had seen this up, close and personal, he rested his gaze on her: her arms were much more slender, she had the firmest breasts despite being thin, her legs were not as skinny as they appeared through clothes, her skin was glowing white; the veins could be seen clearly. “I think you ought to get naked too,” she said in a hopeful tone. William deliberated for a few seconds, and she knew what he was thinking. He opened the first two buttons of his shirt, and then shaking his head, he buttoned them back again. “I’m sorry,” he muttered, “and can you please put something on.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoPlainText" style="font-size: 10pt; line-height: 17.333332061767578px; margin: 3pt 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.25in;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 24.266664505004883px;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">“What’s troubling you?” she asked, knowing she was being a cock teaser. <o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoPlainText" style="font-size: 10pt; line-height: 17.333332061767578px; margin: 3pt 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.25in;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 24.266664505004883px;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">“That,” he said not meeting eyes with her. <o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoPlainText" style="font-size: 10pt; line-height: 17.333332061767578px; margin: 3pt 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.25in;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 24.266664505004883px;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">“That you’ll have to get used to anyway, so . . . .”<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoPlainText" style="font-size: 10pt; line-height: 17.333332061767578px; margin: 3pt 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.25in;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 24.266664505004883px;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">He grinned and covered her up with her clothes that were on the rocks when they suddenly heard the sound of footsteps behind them. They turned around, as she began to put on her clothes, but there was no one in sight. It was getting dark rapidly and William suggested they leave the place at once. They had hardly walked a few steps ahead when he felt that he had stepped on a piece of paper. Arching down, he picked the paper up. In his hands was another picture, this time of a man. Fear drove blood in surges into his heart and he felt himself struggling for breath.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoPlainText" style="font-size: 10pt; line-height: 17.333332061767578px; margin: 3pt 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.25in;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 24.266664505004883px;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">“What’s it, William?” asked Hazel, observing the hysteria in his eyes.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoPlainText" style="font-size: 10pt; line-height: 17.333332061767578px; margin: 3pt 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.25in;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 24.266664505004883px;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">Shuddering like a leaf, he handed her the picture.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoPlainText" style="font-size: 10pt; line-height: 17.333332061767578px; margin: 3pt 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.25in;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 24.266664505004883px;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">“Why do you look so shocked?”<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoPlainText" style="font-size: 10pt; line-height: 17.333332061767578px; margin: 3pt 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.25in;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 24.266664505004883px;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">“That man,” exclaimed William, “do you know him?” <o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoPlainText" style="font-size: 10pt; line-height: 17.333332061767578px; margin: 3pt 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.25in;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 24.266664505004883px;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">She looked at the paper in her hand. “What man?”<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoPlainText" style="font-size: 10pt; line-height: 17.333332061767578px; margin: 3pt 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.25in;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 24.266664505004883px;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">William recovered from his shock. “The man in the photograph you are holding.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoPlainText" style="font-size: 10pt; line-height: 17.333332061767578px; margin: 3pt 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.25in;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 24.266664505004883px;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">“This is not a photograph, William, it is a paper, and it is plain,” she said, showing it to him. <o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoPlainText" style="font-size: 10pt; line-height: 17.333332061767578px; margin: 3pt 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.25in;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 24.266664505004883px;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">“I don’t believe this,” exclaimed William, his face still pale with fright. <o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoPlainText" style="font-size: 10pt; line-height: 17.333332061767578px; margin: 3pt 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.25in;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 24.266664505004883px;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">“Here,” she said giving the piece of paper back to him, and when William looked at it, the face of the man stared at William from the picture. Was fate playing an eccentric game? Or was he going insane? Unable to reach a rational consensus he stuffed the photograph into his pocket, grasped Hazel’s hand and began walking in quick paces. “Slow down, William. What on earth has got into you,” she protested trying to catch up with him, but William walked even faster, slackening his speed only when they set foot on the main road. There was silence between them for a long time. Once his breathing had returned to normal, he recounted what had happened over the last few weeks. She heard him intently without saying anything. “You don’t believe a word of what I’m saying, right?” he said seeing her vacant expressions. “I don’t disregard the existence of another world other than ours. But I also strongly believe in my god and that he powerfully protects me from any kind of evil that I cannot fathom,” she said calmly. William said nothing but walked along quietly until they had arrived at her place. She invited him inside for a cup of coffee. He politely declined her offer. “Not letting you get away this easy,” Hazel said, holding his arm and yanking him inside. He noticed that the house was huge, but orderly. The furniture was tasteful. A stunning chandelier hung from the centre of the ceiling in the room where she had asked him to sit. A lacquer cabinet stood in a corner exhibiting an assorted variety of lovely collectibles. Drawn to the formidable display of books, he was browsing the titles when his vision stretched across an open door. In the other room, he could see a piano against the wall. The floor was carpeted, and books were lying on it. He was engrossed in admiring an old carved chest when she returned with two cups of coffee. The delicious aroma filled the air, complimenting most perfectly the beautiful décor, and William spared no praise on how tastefully the home had been done up. “Thank you,” she said smiling, “it’s a joint effort between my father and I.” <o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoPlainText" style="font-size: 10pt; line-height: 17.333332061767578px; margin: 3pt 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.25in;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 24.266664505004883px;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"> </span></span></p><p class="MsoPlainText" style="font-size: 10pt; line-height: 17.333332061767578px; margin: 3pt 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 24.266664505004883px;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">William dreamt of a child crying bitterly one night. Over the week, the same bleary oracle repeated itself twice. In spite of trying hard to delve into his mind as the image of the child was clear, he was not able to establish the identity of the child in his dream. He wondered what was it that was speaking through him? Was someone in danger? Did someone need help? He wished he knew. His heart thumped, and his mind galloped in numerous directions as the agitation of the unknown kept him awake for long hours, and the confusion had gradually begun eating into his productive time. He discussed the dreams with Walter, who again gave them a logical contour, and the flashes then abruptly stopped, and William began believing that Walter may have been right – everything was perhaps only a figment of his imagination. <o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoPlainText" style="font-size: 10pt; line-height: 17.333332061767578px; margin: 3pt 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.25in;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 24.266664505004883px;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"> </span></span></p><p class="MsoPlainText" style="font-size: 10pt; line-height: 17.333332061767578px; margin: 3pt 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 24.266664505004883px;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">Back home from an evening well spent at Hazel’s place, William was revelling in sweet thoughts of her, as he pulled the coverlet over his cold feet and felt nice with the warmth that it provided him. He had hardly fallen asleep when he had a flash – a fuzzy image of someone being tortured. Tossing around restlessly in bed, and dismissing it as another delusion, he was just about to sleep when the vision appeared again. Flinging the rug to a side, he saw the time. It was three-thirty. He rang Walter, “We have to meet, Walter. And urgently,” he exclaimed. <o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoPlainText" style="font-size: 10pt; line-height: 17.333332061767578px; margin: 3pt 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.25in;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 24.266664505004883px;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">“I want you to first calm down and then tell me what happened.” <o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoPlainText" style="font-size: 10pt; line-height: 17.333332061767578px; margin: 3pt 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.25in;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 24.266664505004883px;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">“I’ll explain. Just come along to my place as soon as possible,” said William hurriedly, disconnecting the line. <o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoPlainText" style="font-size: 10pt; line-height: 17.333332061767578px; margin: 3pt 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 24.266664505004883px;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"> </span></span></p><p class="MsoPlainText" style="font-size: 10pt; line-height: 17.333332061767578px; margin: 3pt 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 24.266664505004883px;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">Both of them were at the location where the pictures had been discovered, and stood exactly where the pictures had been found. William looked around and drew a blank and then as if out of the blue he said, “If we cross the bridge at the end of the road there’s a vintage cottage in the woodlands.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoPlainText" style="font-size: 10pt; line-height: 17.333332061767578px; margin: 3pt 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.25in;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 24.266664505004883px;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">Walter made a face, “You’ll only find a perplexing labyrinth out there, Willi. I’ve lived here my entire life, and I know the woods inside out.” <o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoPlainText" style="font-size: 10pt; line-height: 17.333332061767578px; margin: 3pt 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.25in;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 24.266664505004883px;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">“Follow me,” said William with sureness. <o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoPlainText" style="font-size: 10pt; line-height: 17.333332061767578px; margin: 3pt 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.25in;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 24.266664505004883px;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">“Are you crazy, William? It’s wee hours of morning, and it’s very cold too.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoPlainText" style="font-size: 10pt; line-height: 17.333332061767578px; margin: 3pt 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.25in;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 24.266664505004883px;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">“Just follow me.” <o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoPlainText" style="font-size: 10pt; line-height: 17.333332061767578px; margin: 3pt 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.25in;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 24.266664505004883px;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">Grumbling, Walter followed his friend, and soon after they crossed the river, he felt a cold-blooded chill when he actually saw an old, time-worn cottage.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoPlainText" style="font-size: 10pt; line-height: 17.333332061767578px; margin: 3pt 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.25in;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 24.266664505004883px;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">“Where on earth did you see this?” he asked William in a whisper.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoPlainText" style="font-size: 10pt; line-height: 17.333332061767578px; margin: 3pt 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.25in;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 24.266664505004883px;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">“In a vision tonight.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoPlainText" style="font-size: 10pt; line-height: 17.333332061767578px; margin: 3pt 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.25in;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 24.266664505004883px;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">“I think what you need,” he paused, pursed his lips and murmured, “is to see a psychologist, William. I’m sure there is something wrong with you.” <o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoPlainText" style="font-size: 10pt; line-height: 17.333332061767578px; margin: 3pt 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.25in;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 24.266664505004883px;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">“I don’t dispute it at all, but this is no time for debate,” said William, “because now we have to find a pathway with cobblestones, so keep a watchful eye.” <o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoPlainText" style="font-size: 10pt; line-height: 17.333332061767578px; margin: 3pt 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.25in;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 24.266664505004883px;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">In minutes, they found the pathway with cobblestones. <o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoPlainText" style="font-size: 10pt; line-height: 17.333332061767578px; margin: 3pt 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.25in;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 24.266664505004883px;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">“Now?” asked Walter, amused at the bizarre range of unfolding events. <o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoPlainText" style="font-size: 10pt; line-height: 17.333332061767578px; margin: 3pt 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.25in;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 24.266664505004883px;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">“You’ll reach a rusted and dilapidated picket fence next,” said William and as he was describing the fence, within Walter’s eyesight was a run-down picket fence.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoPlainText" style="font-size: 10pt; line-height: 17.333332061767578px; margin: 3pt 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.25in;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 24.266664505004883px;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">“Walk along and you’ll meet a length of wall with solid stone masonry.” <o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoPlainText" style="font-size: 10pt; line-height: 17.333332061767578px; margin: 3pt 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.25in;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 24.266664505004883px;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">Just a few steps ahead; Walter stretched his hand and touched a cold wall. He beamed the torchlight, and indeed, it was solid stone masonry. <o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoPlainText" style="font-size: 10pt; line-height: 17.333332061767578px; margin: 3pt 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.25in;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 24.266664505004883px;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">“You’re beginning to spook me, William. Just tell me you’ve been here before,” he said, anxiously. <o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoPlainText" style="font-size: 10pt; line-height: 17.333332061767578px; margin: 3pt 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.25in;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 24.266664505004883px;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">“This is my first time here,” said William softly, stopping a few steps ahead. <o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoPlainText" style="font-size: 10pt; line-height: 17.333332061767578px; margin: 3pt 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.25in;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 24.266664505004883px;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">Walter looked at him questioningly.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoPlainText" style="font-size: 10pt; line-height: 17.333332061767578px; margin: 3pt 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.25in;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 24.266664505004883px;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">“I think this is the place,” said William with reliance. <o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoPlainText" style="font-size: 10pt; line-height: 17.333332061767578px; margin: 3pt 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.25in;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 24.266664505004883px;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">Walter looked puzzled, “What place?” <o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoPlainText" style="font-size: 10pt; line-height: 17.333332061767578px; margin: 3pt 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.25in;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 24.266664505004883px;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">“Shhh,” said William searching about the area. <o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoPlainText" style="font-size: 10pt; line-height: 17.333332061767578px; margin: 3pt 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.25in;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 24.266664505004883px;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">“What are we looking for?”<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoPlainText" style="font-size: 10pt; line-height: 17.333332061767578px; margin: 3pt 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.25in;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 24.266664505004883px;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">William did not answer Walter and ran his hand over the wall as he located a crevice. Using his penknife, he slowly but steadily dug deeper to figure that the wall did not resist the exploring, and he felt fragments of limestone in his fingers. Walter watched in disbelief as his friend was behaving like he was almost involuntarily following the instructions of someone or something guiding him from somewhere else. <o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoPlainText" style="font-size: 10pt; line-height: 17.333332061767578px; margin: 3pt 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.25in;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 24.266664505004883px;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">“What on heavens are you hoping to ascertain here?” muttered Walter with trepidity. <o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoPlainText" style="font-size: 10pt; line-height: 17.333332061767578px; margin: 3pt 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.25in;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 24.266664505004883px;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">“You’ll know in a wink,” William said as he kicked the frail wall that exposed a deteriorated door behind it. <o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoPlainText" style="font-size: 10pt; line-height: 17.333332061767578px; margin: 3pt 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.25in;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 24.266664505004883px;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">“Someone has deliberately patched this with limestone in order to hide the door,” said William trying to open it. A little push, and it opened, plunging behind with a deafening bang. William coughed as fragments of dust filled the air. He entered the space and went towards a dilapidated table. He picked up a vase with one hand as his torch slipped and fell from the other. He was trying to find his torchlight in the pitch darkness when he heard Walter shriek. “Come here, William!” he said in a shaky voice, “Soon!” Unable to find his torchlight, William followed Walter’s voice into another room. “Look,” said Walter shining his torchlight to a corner. In William’s vision were two skeletons. One dangling from a hook in the roof, and another chained to a chair. Suddenly the phantasm from his dreams seemed to fall in place. William took a step closer and the frizzled remains of once soulful people were surprisingly intact, except that time had weathered the chain to rust and it was loosely lying in the lap of the one tied around it. The other skeleton that was suspended from the roof was clothed in something that looked like a skirt in tatters. <o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoPlainText" style="font-size: 10pt; line-height: 17.333332061767578px; margin: 3pt 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.25in;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 24.266664505004883px;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">“Who do you think they are?” asked Walter trembling with disquietude.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoPlainText" style="font-size: 10pt; line-height: 17.333332061767578px; margin: 3pt 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.25in;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 24.266664505004883px;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">“That’s something we’ll have to determine, and on the quiet.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoPlainText" style="font-size: 10pt; line-height: 17.333332061767578px; margin: 3pt 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.25in;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 24.266664505004883px;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">They left the scene untouched and went straight to the chief of police’s house, Mr Matthew Word, who was Hazel’s father. Hazel answered the door and said her father was out of town for two weeks enquiring why both the boys had a frightened look on their face. <o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoPlainText" style="font-size: 10pt; line-height: 17.333332061767578px; margin: 3pt 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.25in;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 24.266664505004883px;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">“Frightened? I’m not frightened. Says who that I am frightened? Why should I be frightened?” said Walter as William looked at his friend and smiled at Hazel, asking her to join them for breakfast at the local eatery. They met an hour later and updated her on the finding. <o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoPlainText" style="font-size: 10pt; line-height: 17.333332061767578px; margin: 3pt 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.25in;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 24.266664505004883px;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">“I don’t know what to make of this,” she said. <o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoPlainText" style="font-size: 10pt; line-height: 17.333332061767578px; margin: 3pt 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.25in;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 24.266664505004883px;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">Walter stared at Hazel with a straight face, “I’m amazed, Hazel. It was so bloody precise,” said Walter. <o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoPlainText" style="font-size: 10pt; line-height: 17.333332061767578px; margin: 3pt 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.25in;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 24.266664505004883px;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">Hazel looked at William; he smiled and turned his face away feeling slightly embarrassed. <o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoPlainText" style="font-size: 10pt; line-height: 17.333332061767578px; margin: 3pt 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.25in;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 24.266664505004883px;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">“What if I were to write an anonymous letter addressed to your father leading him to the site. Do you think he could trace the sender?” asked William. <o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoPlainText" style="font-size: 10pt; line-height: 17.333332061767578px; margin: 3pt 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.25in;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 24.266664505004883px;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"> “They’re the police after all. They can dig out anything from anywhere,” she said as she paused, ran her fingers over his cheeks lovingly and continued, “I suggest that you tell him the truth.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoPlainText" style="font-size: 10pt; line-height: 17.333332061767578px; margin: 3pt 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.25in;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 24.266664505004883px;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">“Also, I think we must keep this bizarre ability of mine under wraps.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoPlainText" style="font-size: 10pt; line-height: 17.333332061767578px; margin: 3pt 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.25in;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 24.266664505004883px;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">“Oh, yes, if word got out, it could get messy,” said Walter, “if it were couple of hundred years back they would have burnt you at the stake for being a sorcerer.” <o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoPlainText" style="font-size: 10pt; line-height: 17.333332061767578px; margin: 3pt 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.25in;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 24.266664505004883px;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">They agreed to keep tight-lipped about this for the time being. <o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoPlainText" style="font-size: 10pt; line-height: 17.333332061767578px; margin: 3pt 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 24.266664505004883px;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"> </span></span></p><p class="MsoPlainText" style="font-size: 10pt; line-height: 17.333332061767578px; margin: 3pt 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 24.266664505004883px;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">One afternoon William fell asleep at Walter’s place. Walter made himself a glass of carrot juice and sat in the porch reading a book. Past forty-five minutes or so, he went in to see if William had woken up and found his mate soaked in sweat, a terrified look on his face. Walter woke him up at once and asked him what was happening. “Nothing,” said William looking at Walter quizzically as he rubbed his eyes and was still drowsy in sleep. <o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoPlainText" style="font-size: 10pt; line-height: 17.333332061767578px; margin: 3pt 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.25in;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 24.266664505004883px;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"> </span></span></p><p class="MsoPlainText" style="font-size: 10pt; line-height: 17.333332061767578px; margin: 3pt 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 24.266664505004883px;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">Hazel’s father was back, and both the friends disclosed everything to him. The skeletal remains were taken into custody and a routine questioning was conducted. Being a small township, a letter was sent to the nearest city police station for assistance in the investigation, but since it was not a recent murder the city police stated that they had much work on hand and that the investigation could wait. When the team finally arrived from the city, they suspended the case due to lack of insufficient clues and information.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoPlainText" style="font-size: 10pt; line-height: 17.333332061767578px; margin: 3pt 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.25in;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 24.266664505004883px;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"> </span></span></p><p class="MsoPlainText" style="font-size: 10pt; line-height: 17.333332061767578px; margin: 3pt 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 24.266664505004883px;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">As the evening mist enveloped the pathways and the moonlight played through the grilled windows, Walter felt a hounding feeling of helplessness raid him in entirety. He firmly believed in proof of science but what he had seen with William defied his beliefs. Confused, he telephoned Hazel. They discussed that though the mysteries intrigued them; there were many facets of life that were still unexplored and many things unexplainable. Hazel also told Walter that she believed in the terrors of the unknown. That neither William nor anyone could solve the riddle because other than god, no one else had so much power to tell what was exactly happening. That night, Walter lay awake all throughout the night, introspecting the extent of his opinions. <o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoPlainText" style="font-size: 10pt; line-height: 17.333332061767578px; margin: 3pt 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.25in;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 24.266664505004883px;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"> </span></span></p><p class="MsoPlainText" style="font-size: 10pt; line-height: 17.333332061767578px; margin: 3pt 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 24.266664505004883px;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">A classmate was having a party at his farmstead. While his friends and classmates were rejoicing and dancing around the bonfire, William sat watching Hazel. She looked so whimsical to him. So beautiful. After sometime he went inside to fetch a glass of wine and stood talking to some friends. Twenty minutes later when he came out into the garden, Hazel was nowhere in sight. He asked his classmates whether they had seen her. No one had. He telephoned her house and there was no reply. Troubled by her sudden disappearance, he skimmed every foreseeable inch of the farm, and then rushed to the spot where they usually met in the evenings. She was not there either. He began to venture into the woods and called out for her several times as he was proceeding along when he noticed that he was standing in a pool of blood. He woke in a cold sweat and saw the time. It was three-thirty in the morning. He rang Walter up. <o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoPlainText" style="font-size: 10pt; line-height: 17.333332061767578px; margin: 3pt 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.25in;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 24.266664505004883px;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">“What’s with you and three-thirty, hunh?” asked Walter groggily.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoPlainText" style="font-size: 10pt; line-height: 17.333332061767578px; margin: 3pt 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.25in;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 24.266664505004883px;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">“I don’t know, but something gory is about to happen again.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoPlainText" style="font-size: 10pt; line-height: 17.333332061767578px; margin: 3pt 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.25in;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 24.266664505004883px;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">Walter shook his head, “You are terrifying the wits out of me now!”<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoPlainText" style="font-size: 10pt; line-height: 17.333332061767578px; margin: 3pt 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.25in;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 24.266664505004883px;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">There was silence from William’s end and then he spoke in an aggrieved tone, “It’s about Hazel.” <o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoPlainText" style="font-size: 10pt; line-height: 17.333332061767578px; margin: 3pt 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.25in;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 24.266664505004883px;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">“For heaven’s sake, spare her, William, and please let me sleep,” said Walter. <o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoPlainText" style="font-size: 10pt; line-height: 17.333332061767578px; margin: 3pt 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.25in;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 24.266664505004883px;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">“Fine!” snapped William as he hung up, irritable that his friend was taking this moment of despair with such lightness. <o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoPlainText" style="font-size: 10pt; line-height: 17.333332061767578px; margin: 3pt 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.25in;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 24.266664505004883px;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"> </span></span></p><p class="MsoPlainText" style="font-size: 10pt; line-height: 17.333332061767578px; margin: 3pt 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 24.266664505004883px;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">Just as Walter kept the telephone receiver on the cradle and was turning out the table lamp he sensed that someone had run across in his room. Curling up in the foetal position under the blanket, he left the table lamp burning and didn’t remember when he had fallen asleep. <o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoPlainText" style="font-size: 10pt; line-height: 17.333332061767578px; margin: 3pt 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.25in;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 24.266664505004883px;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"> </span></span></p><p class="MsoPlainText" style="font-size: 10pt; line-height: 17.333332061767578px; margin: 3pt 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.25in;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 24.266664505004883px;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">At a get together over weekend, Walter recollected something that William had said to him on the telephone. He felt somehow that the scenario at the party matched almost perfectly to what William had described. Half an hour later, William and Hazel showed up at the gathering. People were drinking merrily and dancing around the bonfire. While Hazel enjoyed herself with her group of friends, William sat admiring her from a distance, and then went inside the house for a glass of wine. As William was heading towards the table, a familiar feeling of similarity struck him again. Worried, he rushed out of the house and searched for Hazel. He couldn’t find her anywhere. Then he looked for Walter. Even he was nowhere in sight. With sweat trickling down his sideburns, William stood rubbing his fingers on his forehead when a friend tapped him on his shoulder. “Hi,” said William, wiping out the sweat. His friend looked at him keenly, “Feeling all right, are you, mate?” <o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoPlainText" style="font-size: 10pt; line-height: 17.333332061767578px; margin: 3pt 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.25in;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 24.266664505004883px;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">“Have you seen Hazel or Walter around?” he asked trying to remain as calm as he could.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoPlainText" style="font-size: 10pt; line-height: 17.333332061767578px; margin: 3pt 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.25in;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 24.266664505004883px;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">“I don’t know about Walter, but Hazel asked me to give this to you,” he said, handing William a piece of paper. William read the note: “<i>Too much noise in here. I’ll be waiting by our favourite spot. Meet me there when you’re done with your friends – Hazel.</i>” William’s stomach went weak with fright. When he reached the spot, his nerves froze as he saw Hazel lying on the sand, in a pool of blood. He rushed to her and noticed that there was a wound on her head that was bleeding profusely. Holding her in his arms, he began yelling for help when he saw his college professor spring out of thin air. <o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoPlainText" style="font-size: 10pt; line-height: 17.333332061767578px; margin: 3pt 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.25in;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 24.266664505004883px;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">“What happened?” said the professor sharply.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoPlainText" style="font-size: 10pt; line-height: 17.333332061767578px; margin: 3pt 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.25in;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 24.266664505004883px;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">“I don’t know. I–I found her like this. Please help me get her to a hospital,” said William with panic in his tone. <o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoPlainText" style="font-size: 10pt; line-height: 17.333332061767578px; margin: 3pt 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.25in;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 24.266664505004883px;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">“Oh, certainly,” said the professor as he slammed William on his head with a club. William passed out instantly, and when he regained consciousness, he saw a fuzzy picture of the professor sprinkling petrol on Hazel who was tied to a tree. He tried to get up but felt powerless by the blow. He heard Hazel sobbing inconsolably. Unable able to stand, William panicked when the professor seized him by the collar and threw him on the ground. His eyes glaring with fury, the professor kept throttling William’s neck with one hand, and with the other hand, he began to strike William savagely on the face. William tried his best to untangle from the heavy man who was over him to no avail. Coughing and choking, William tried to gasp for breath, but the infuriated man socked William with another hard punch and blood started to ooze out of the lacerations on his lips. Hazel began to cry at the sight of blood. The professor yelled savagely at Hazel. When she failed to quieten, he commanded her to stop crying or face dire consequences. She became silent. He then dragged William to the tree and picked up a thick rope. As the rope was being tightened around William’s chest, William tried to wriggle out and was awarded another stinging slap. Horror apparent in their eyes, they asked the professor what he was going to do to them. He bragged that he was going to roast both of them alive, and delight at the sight of them petitioning for sparing their lives.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoPlainText" style="font-size: 10pt; line-height: 17.333332061767578px; margin: 3pt 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.25in;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 24.266664505004883px;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">“Sir,” said William, helplessness in his tone, “whatever have we done to deserve this?”<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoPlainText" style="font-size: 10pt; line-height: 17.333332061767578px; margin: 3pt 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.25in;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 24.266664505004883px;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">The man sniggered, “I got away by killing that couple eleven years ago, but you two rotten boys and this stupid little girl have uprooted the dead again!”<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoPlainText" style="font-size: 10pt; line-height: 17.333332061767578px; margin: 3pt 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.25in;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 24.266664505004883px;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">“You may have got away with the previous murders, sir, but you cannot get away if you harm us, sir,” said William as Hazel stared on, too stunned for words.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoPlainText" style="font-size: 10pt; line-height: 17.333332061767578px; margin: 3pt 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.25in;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 24.266664505004883px;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">“Ha! Ha! I was foolish to leave their bodies, but I'll leave no trace this time,” roared the man in wrath, “I’ll light you up and watch you both burn.” <o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoPlainText" style="font-size: 10pt; line-height: 17.333332061767578px; margin: 3pt 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.25in;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 24.266664505004883px;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">“Why did you kill them?” asked William.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoPlainText" style="font-size: 10pt; line-height: 17.333332061767578px; margin: 3pt 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.25in;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 24.266664505004883px;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">“Oh never mind,” snarled the man in anger, squeezing Hazel’s chin aggressively.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoPlainText" style="font-size: 10pt; line-height: 17.333332061767578px; margin: 3pt 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.25in;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 24.266664505004883px;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">“You can tell us, sir, dead men tell no tales,” added William in a challenging tone. <o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoPlainText" style="font-size: 10pt; line-height: 17.333332061767578px; margin: 3pt 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.25in;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 24.266664505004883px;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">The professor punched William in the face. William yelped in pain. He then explained that the two of them were a handsome couple, and that they visited their child every summer. Though the woman was happily married to her husband, the professor was drawn to her beauty. He called the couple to the cottage in the woods, drugged the husband, and raped his wife. Shocked and shaken, she threatened to inform the police, so he killed both of them and knew that no one would discover the place since it was out of the town; a weekend getaway that his parents owned, and not many people knew of its existence.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoPlainText" style="font-size: 10pt; line-height: 17.333332061767578px; margin: 3pt 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.25in;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 24.266664505004883px;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">“Weren’t the couple reported missing?” asked Hazel in a docile voice.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoPlainText" style="font-size: 10pt; line-height: 17.333332061767578px; margin: 3pt 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.25in;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 24.266664505004883px;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">“The child who studied in our school was born before they were married, so naturally his existence was kept a secret. I heard there was an enquiry in their hometown, then everyone assumed that they had moved to another place without wanting anyone to know anything since the couple had some domestic problems with both their parents,” gnarled the man.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoPlainText" style="font-size: 10pt; line-height: 17.333332061767578px; margin: 3pt 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.25in;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 24.266664505004883px;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">“What about the child?”<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoPlainText" style="font-size: 10pt; line-height: 17.333332061767578px; margin: 3pt 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.25in;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 24.266664505004883px;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">“That’s enough,” screamed the professor, guffawing wickedly and pouring some more petrol on them. <o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoPlainText" style="font-size: 10pt; line-height: 17.333332061767578px; margin: 3pt 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.25in;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 24.266664505004883px;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">“Please don’t do this, sir. Please!” said Hazel, snivelling in terror.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoPlainText" style="font-size: 10pt; line-height: 17.333332061767578px; margin: 3pt 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.25in;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 24.266664505004883px;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">“Shut up!” he bellowed, pulling out a matchbox and muttering how enjoyable it would be to see them scorch in the fire. <o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoPlainText" style="font-size: 10pt; line-height: 17.333332061767578px; margin: 3pt 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.25in;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 24.266664505004883px;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">William struggled to pull his hands away from the ropes, but unlike in a movie there were no miracles here. Moreover, in this deserted place, there was no hope of survival and they knew that they were going to die. With not much to fight back with, William prayed inwardly as the professor inched forward and Hazel began to cry loudly. He gave her a harsh slap, and observed how William was shivering from head to toe. In a blink, the wretched man lit the match as Hazel and William shut their eyes. They prayed hard. They remembered god. They pleaded him for mercy as they felt the heat of the fire that was spreading towards them at a rapid rate. Death was just a few steps away from their bodies; and utterly defenceless, both of them did not know what they were feeling that very instant when they heard a gunshot. William opened his eyes to see the professor plunging on his face, exposing Hazel’s father standing with the gun still pointed at his back. Walter quickly began extinguishing the fire by throwing as much sand with his bare hands as he could. He untied Hazel as her father was checking the professor for a pulse and found him dead. Since Hazel had lost enough blood she was rushed to the hostel dispensary, whereas William was still in a state of shock. Walter stayed with William at his house, and when he was out of the drowsiness induced by the medication, he asked Walter how he had found them. “Mark showed me the note Hazel wrote you,” said Walter. <o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoPlainText" style="font-size: 10pt; line-height: 17.333332061767578px; margin: 3pt 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.25in;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 24.266664505004883px;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">“Ah, now understand why you were missing too.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoPlainText" style="font-size: 10pt; line-height: 17.333332061767578px; margin: 3pt 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.25in;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 24.266664505004883px;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">“I knew you would be looking for me, but I had to fetch her father first.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoPlainText" style="font-size: 10pt; line-height: 17.333332061767578px; margin: 3pt 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.25in;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 24.266664505004883px;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">When William and Hazel were in a state to speak to the police, their statements were recorded and a letter was sent to the town police stating that the culprit had been found and done to justice. Hazel coped well and showed signs of normalcy in no time, but William’s worries were still not over: the dream of the crying child did not seem to let go of him. One morning while William waited for Hazel at her house, her father informed him that the burial ceremony of the couple was to be held the coming Sunday after mass. <o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoPlainText" style="font-size: 10pt; line-height: 17.333332061767578px; margin: 3pt 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.25in;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 24.266664505004883px;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">“Thank you, sir,” said William as Hazel put in an appearance.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoPlainText" style="font-size: 10pt; line-height: 17.333332061767578px; margin: 3pt 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.25in;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 24.266664505004883px;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">“I have some reading to get done. You kids have a nice time,” said the man and left the parlour. <o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoPlainText" style="font-size: 10pt; line-height: 17.333332061767578px; margin: 3pt 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.25in;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 24.266664505004883px;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">“I was going to brew some coffee, would you like a cup too?” asked Hazel. William nodded as he made himself comfortable on a settee. While Hazel was away making coffee he got up from the settee and browsed some books in the library. He was about to extract a title from the shelf when Hazel entered holding two cups of coffee in her hands. <o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoPlainText" style="font-size: 10pt; line-height: 17.333332061767578px; margin: 3pt 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.25in;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 24.266664505004883px;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">“What a beautiful day it is, isn’t it?” he said taking a cup. <o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoPlainText" style="font-size: 10pt; line-height: 17.333332061767578px; margin: 3pt 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.25in;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 24.266664505004883px;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">“Sure is,” Hazel replied, smiling at him and taking a sip from her cup.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoPlainText" style="font-size: 10pt; line-height: 17.333332061767578px; margin: 3pt 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.25in;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 24.266664505004883px;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">“Excellent coffee,” said William looking at her with tenderness in his eyes. <o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoPlainText" style="font-size: 10pt; line-height: 17.333332061767578px; margin: 3pt 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.25in;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 24.266664505004883px;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">“Thank you,” she said, smiling. <o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoPlainText" style="font-size: 10pt; line-height: 17.333332061767578px; margin: 3pt 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.25in;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 24.266664505004883px;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">William looked across the garden that was visible from where they were sitting and thought to himself that looking out of a window provided him such peace, it was a sight far better than any painter can ever paint on their canvas. <o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoPlainText" style="font-size: 10pt; line-height: 17.333332061767578px; margin: 3pt 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.25in;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 24.266664505004883px;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">“Would you fancy anything to munch with the coffee?” asked Hazel.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoPlainText" style="font-size: 10pt; line-height: 17.333332061767578px; margin: 3pt 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.25in;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 24.266664505004883px;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">He turned his gaze back at her. “How’s your charity work progressing?” <o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoPlainText" style="font-size: 10pt; line-height: 17.333332061767578px; margin: 3pt 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.25in;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 24.266664505004883px;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">“From when have you developed an interest in charity?” she asked him inquisitively. <o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoPlainText" style="font-size: 10pt; line-height: 17.333332061767578px; margin: 3pt 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.25in;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 24.266664505004883px;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">“Uh, let’s say just now,” he said with a smile. <o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoPlainText" style="font-size: 10pt; line-height: 17.333332061767578px; margin: 3pt 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.25in;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 24.266664505004883px;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">She said nothing but burst out laughing. <o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoPlainText" style="font-size: 10pt; line-height: 17.333332061767578px; margin: 3pt 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.25in;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 24.266664505004883px;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">William felt his cheeks getting warm, “Did I say something funny?”<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoPlainText" style="font-size: 10pt; line-height: 17.333332061767578px; margin: 3pt 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.25in;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 24.266664505004883px;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">She continued laughing and said, “You came here to enquire about my charities, did you?” <o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoPlainText" style="font-size: 10pt; line-height: 17.333332061767578px; margin: 3pt 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.25in;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 24.266664505004883px;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">The decisive moment had finally arrived. He flushed crimson and cleared his throat, “You’re right. I came here to ask whether you’ll have dinner with me the coming Monday,” he said gingerly.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoPlainText" style="font-size: 10pt; line-height: 17.333332061767578px; margin: 3pt 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.25in;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 24.266664505004883px;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">Hanging her head loose she smiled, “I don’t suppose my father would have a problem with that.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoPlainText" style="font-size: 10pt; line-height: 17.333332061767578px; margin: 3pt 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.25in;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 24.266664505004883px;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">“Oh, thank you so much,” he said kissing her on the cheek. <o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoPlainText" style="font-size: 10pt; line-height: 17.333332061767578px; margin: 3pt 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.25in;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 24.266664505004883px;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">“You are most welcome,” said Hazel with poise. <o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoPlainText" style="font-size: 10pt; line-height: 17.333332061767578px; margin: 3pt 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.25in;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 24.266664505004883px;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">Leaving the finished cup of coffee on a little inlaid table in front of him, he stood up, “I’m afraid I have to be off now.” <o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoPlainText" style="font-size: 10pt; line-height: 17.333332061767578px; margin: 3pt 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.25in;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 24.266664505004883px;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">“Really?” she said giving him a big smile.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoPlainText" style="font-size: 10pt; line-height: 17.333332061767578px; margin: 3pt 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.25in;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 24.266664505004883px;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">He studied her carefully. <o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoPlainText" style="font-size: 10pt; line-height: 17.333332061767578px; margin: 3pt 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.25in;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 24.266664505004883px;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">“Mission accomplished, and so the gentleman decides that he better be on his way out.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoPlainText" style="font-size: 10pt; line-height: 17.333332061767578px; margin: 3pt 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.25in;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 24.266664505004883px;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">He went red, “Err . . . err . . . you know I didn’t mean it like that.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoPlainText" style="font-size: 10pt; line-height: 17.333332061767578px; margin: 3pt 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.25in;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 24.266664505004883px;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">She became serious. “What did you then mean it like?”<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoPlainText" style="font-size: 10pt; line-height: 17.333332061767578px; margin: 3pt 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.25in;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 24.266664505004883px;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">“Ah,” William scratched his head. <o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoPlainText" style="font-size: 10pt; line-height: 17.333332061767578px; margin: 3pt 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.25in;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 24.266664505004883px;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">She burst out laughing, “I was only messing with you.” <o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoPlainText" style="font-size: 10pt; line-height: 17.333332061767578px; margin: 3pt 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.25in;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 24.266664505004883px;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">He sighed and kissed her quickly on her cheeks again. <o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoPlainText" style="font-size: 10pt; line-height: 17.333332061767578px; margin: 3pt 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.25in;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 24.266664505004883px;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">“Just the cheeks?”<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoPlainText" style="font-size: 10pt; line-height: 17.333332061767578px; margin: 3pt 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.25in;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 24.266664505004883px;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">“Yes,” he said firmly, “just the cheeks.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoPlainText" style="font-size: 10pt; line-height: 17.333332061767578px; margin: 3pt 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.25in;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 24.266664505004883px;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">Hazel smiled and bid him a goodbye. <o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoPlainText" style="font-size: 10pt; line-height: 17.333332061767578px; margin: 3pt 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 24.266664505004883px;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"> <o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoPlainText" style="font-size: 10pt; line-height: 17.333332061767578px; margin: 3pt 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 24.266664505004883px;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">When William told his grandmother about the funeral she grimaced and asked him to keep away from anything to do with the funeral. <o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoPlainText" style="font-size: 10pt; line-height: 17.333332061767578px; margin: 3pt 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 24.266664505004883px;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"> </span></span></p><p class="MsoPlainText" style="font-size: 10pt; line-height: 17.333332061767578px; margin: 3pt 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 24.266664505004883px;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">Walter retired into the reading chair with a book. Halfway, perhaps, he had fallen asleep and woke up to a start when he heard the windowpane rattling violently. He walked up most lethargically to the window and fastened the stopper. His sleep now gone, he made himself a toast with peanut butter and pineapple marmalade, and travelled back to his room. Keeping the plate aside, he reached for the water glass and struck it down accidentally. He cleaned up the mess with a waste cloth and was about to shut the light when a chill whooshed through him again. He couldn’t believe his eyes – there was a picture of a child on his desk. Startled, he felt his knees buckle. He tried to shout, but his voice failed him. Closing his eyes he murmured, “Jesus! This is not happening!” His heart was racing like a motorcar, and he was contemplating running to his father’s room that was adjacent to his own room, when he caught a whiff of a pleasant fragrance in the air. His father had a perfume allergy, so perfume was never brought home, and even if he had bought perfume, why would he wear it at midnight? Wondering whether William’s words were really affecting him, he shook his head and moved his feet forward with great difficulty. Gathering some strength, he walked out of the room and noticed a shadow running up the attic stairs. He followed curiously, what he thought was nothing short of a hallucination, but on reaching there, he saw quite strangely that the attic door was partly open. Pushing the groaning door slowly, he peeped inside, it had been years that he had stepped into this area. He toggled the switch couple of times and realised that the bulb might have fused. So he pulled out a matchbox from his pocket, extracted a matchstick and had just taken it near the wick of the candle when it automatically erupted into a flame. He ran his hand over the flame to make certain he was not merely imagining it all and he knew he was not when it felt hot. His distress then switched tracks with wonder and vice versa. Drawn to a large elaborately carved wooden trunk, he stacked some books little above the height of the box and placed the candle on the books. Within the trunk he found a tiny-checked shirt that was soiled. Underneath the shirt was a pair of blue trousers, some strands of pearls and a wristwatch. Dusting the pearls, he picked up the trouser and saw a picture fall down. Holding the light in hand, he examined the picture closer and saw a beautiful woman and a well-built handsome man, both were semi-naked. The picture, it appeared, was taken on a holiday and Walter noted that the lower portion of it was missing. He searched his pockets, pulled out a piece, and completed the puzzle. Flipping the picture behind, he saw the names – Mrs & Mr Moore & family. His face went pale as he was wondering why the picture was in his attic. Placing the items back in the trunk, he rushed out of the attic, tripping and tumbling down the stairs. Walter’s father heard the commotion and came out of his room to see Walter curled up at the base of the stairs. He was shrieking in pain. His father summoned the doctor who diagnosed a broken wrist and ankle. Walter was shifted to the dispensary the following morning. Still dizzy from the high dosage of painkillers, he was happy to see Hazel and William by noon the next day. When his father left the ward to fetch himself some coffee, Walter asked them to come closer and told them everything. He then asked them to go home in pretext of fetching him some stuff and stop by the attic. <o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoPlainText" style="font-size: 10pt; line-height: 17.333332061767578px; margin: 3pt 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 24.266664505004883px;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"> </span></span></p><p class="MsoPlainText" style="font-size: 10pt; line-height: 17.333332061767578px; margin: 3pt 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 24.266664505004883px;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">Walter’s father took them home and left them to pack whatever Walter had asked them to bring along. He told William and Hazel that he would be breezing in and out of a shower. When they heard the bathroom door shut, they ran up to the attic and searched the trunk. William’s eyes were suddenly filled with delirious horror when he saw the wristwatch. He examined it carefully and exclaimed, “This is bizarre.” Hazel glimpsed at him questioningly. He took the watch closer to her and she noticed through the smashed glass that the arms had stopped at three-thirty. “This is scaring me, William. Let’s leave,” said Hazel, elevating her eyebrows. William grabbed the box, and they had barely climbed down the last step when Walter’s father came out of his bedroom. <o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoPlainText" style="font-size: 10pt; line-height: 17.333332061767578px; margin: 3pt 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.25in;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 24.266664505004883px;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">“What are you both doing with the box from the trunk?” he asked, his facial expressions wearing a troubled look. <o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoPlainText" style="font-size: 10pt; line-height: 17.333332061767578px; margin: 3pt 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.25in;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 24.266664505004883px;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">William didn’t utter a word and sat on a chair nearby. Walter’s father sat next to William and said sombrely, “I never wanted him to know his parents were brutally murdered.” <o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoPlainText" style="font-size: 10pt; line-height: 17.333332061767578px; margin: 3pt 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.25in;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 24.266664505004883px;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">Hazel’s eyes popped out, “You knew all along?” <o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoPlainText" style="font-size: 10pt; line-height: 17.333332061767578px; margin: 3pt 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.25in;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 24.266664505004883px;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">The gentleman took a lungful of breath, “I was wandering in the woods one day when I heard chilling screams. I followed it to an abandoned cottage. As I tip toed inside, I saw your school teacher murder Walter’s parents.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoPlainText" style="font-size: 10pt; line-height: 17.333332061767578px; margin: 3pt 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.25in;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 24.266664505004883px;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">“Why didn’t you report it?”<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoPlainText" style="font-size: 10pt; line-height: 17.333332061767578px; margin: 3pt 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.25in;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 24.266664505004883px;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">“At first I was shocked at what I had witnessed. Once I had collected myself and decided to go to the police, your teacher intercepted me one evening as I was returning home and threatened to kill the child and me, if I ever opened my mouth.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoPlainText" style="font-size: 10pt; line-height: 17.333332061767578px; margin: 3pt 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.25in;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 24.266664505004883px;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">“Gosh,” said Hazel.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoPlainText" style="font-size: 10pt; line-height: 17.333332061767578px; margin: 3pt 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.25in;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 24.266664505004883px;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">“Then one evening the evil professor overheard your grandma and I talk about it at the farmer’s market, and threatened to kill your entire family too, so that is when your grandma forced your parents to leave the village and move to town.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoPlainText" style="font-size: 10pt; line-height: 17.333332061767578px; margin: 3pt 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.25in;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 24.266664505004883px;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">“But?” said William confused, as he looked at Hazel. <o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoPlainText" style="font-size: 10pt; line-height: 17.333332061767578px; margin: 3pt 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.25in;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 24.266664505004883px;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">“That explains why your grandma was apprehensive when you brought the picture home,” added Hazel. <o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoPlainText" style="font-size: 10pt; line-height: 17.333332061767578px; margin: 3pt 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.25in;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 24.266664505004883px;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">“Where was Walter during all this?” asked William.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoPlainText" style="font-size: 10pt; line-height: 17.333332061767578px; margin: 3pt 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.25in;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 24.266664505004883px;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">“Locked and crying in another room.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoPlainText" style="font-size: 10pt; line-height: 17.333332061767578px; margin: 3pt 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.25in;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 24.266664505004883px;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">“Your dream,” said Hazel turning to William. <o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoPlainText" style="font-size: 10pt; line-height: 17.333332061767578px; margin: 3pt 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.25in;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 24.266664505004883px;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">William froze as a chill went down his spine. <o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoPlainText" style="font-size: 10pt; line-height: 17.333332061767578px; margin: 3pt 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.25in;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 24.266664505004883px;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">“What dream?” asked Walter’s father.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoPlainText" style="font-size: 10pt; line-height: 17.333332061767578px; margin: 3pt 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.25in;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 24.266664505004883px;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">“Long story,” said William, “let’s go to the hospital now.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoPlainText" style="font-size: 10pt; line-height: 17.333332061767578px; margin: 3pt 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.25in;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 24.266664505004883px;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">“How did you open the attic because I had done away with the key the day I placed that box inside the trunk there?” <o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoPlainText" style="font-size: 10pt; line-height: 17.333332061767578px; margin: 3pt 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.25in;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 24.266664505004883px;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">“You probably wouldn’t believe us but something led Walter in there,” said William.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoPlainText" style="font-size: 10pt; line-height: 17.333332061767578px; margin: 3pt 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.25in;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 24.266664505004883px;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">“Something?” <o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoPlainText" style="font-size: 10pt; line-height: 17.333332061767578px; margin: 3pt 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.25in;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 24.266664505004883px;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">“Yes the same thing that has shown me this picture in bits and pieces and probably the same thing that has helped me get to the crux of this matter.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoPlainText" style="font-size: 10pt; line-height: 17.333332061767578px; margin: 3pt 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.25in;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 24.266664505004883px;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">Walter’s father’s jaw dropped when he heard what William had to say about the incidents in sequence.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoPlainText" style="font-size: 10pt; line-height: 17.333332061767578px; margin: 3pt 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.25in;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 24.266664505004883px;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">“So he knows?” said Walter’s father rather poignantly.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoPlainText" style="font-size: 10pt; line-height: 17.333332061767578px; margin: 3pt 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.25in;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 24.266664505004883px;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">“I’m afraid he does,” said Hazel. <o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoPlainText" style="font-size: 10pt; line-height: 17.333332061767578px; margin: 3pt 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.25in;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 24.266664505004883px;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">Back in the dispensary, Hazel unfolded the mystery behind the box, and though it was a sudden jolt to Walter, he knew that Pete was his father, immaterial of what had happened in the past. <o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoPlainText" style="font-size: 10pt; line-height: 17.333332061767578px; margin: 3pt 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.25in;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 24.266664505004883px;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"> </span></span></p><p class="MsoPlainText" style="font-size: 10pt; line-height: 17.333332061767578px; margin: 3pt 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 24.266664505004883px;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">The burial was carried out after mass on Sunday. Almost the entire town was there. Walter was wheeled into the cemetery and paid his last respects. That night William felt liberated from the shackles of something that he couldn’t explain. Though one point that was reinforced with much certainty was not the unearthing of the scary secrets, but whatever it was that was leading him, had aided in bringing justice to two restless souls and yet didn’t cause him any harm. <o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoPlainText" style="font-size: 10pt; line-height: 17.333332061767578px; margin: 3pt 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.25in;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 24.266664505004883px;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"> </span></span></p><p class="MsoPlainText" style="font-size: 10pt; line-height: 17.333332061767578px; margin: 3pt 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 24.266664505004883px;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">With fishing rods in hand and the tin can filled with worms, both the friends strolled to the river. His feet dangling free in the cold water, William turned to his friend, “The truth, Walter, is that the world is not as simple as it looks. There’s lot’s going on beyond our five traditional senses.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoPlainText" style="font-size: 10pt; line-height: 17.333332061767578px; margin: 3pt 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.25in;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 24.266664505004883px;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">Walter smiled, “Maybe.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoPlainText" style="font-size: 10pt; line-height: 17.333332061767578px; margin: 3pt 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.25in;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 24.266664505004883px;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">“So do you now believe that there exists something else other than what science can corroborate?”<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoPlainText" style="font-size: 10pt; line-height: 17.333332061767578px; margin: 3pt 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.25in;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 24.266664505004883px;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">“I had read that in science, the imaginative experiment is tested by confronting it with physical experience, and in literature, the imaginative conception is tested by confronting it with human experience. So, no matter what, I still think that there’s always an explanation.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoPlainText" style="font-size: 10pt; line-height: 17.333332061767578px; margin: 3pt 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.25in;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 24.266664505004883px;">William smiled, “Say whatsoever you want but I think that </span><span lang="EN-GB" style="background-color: white; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 24.266664505004883px;">we are all intimately linked to each other even though through thousands of years we have been conditioned to believe otherwise.”</span><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 24.266664505004883px;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoPlainText" style="font-size: 10pt; line-height: 17.333332061767578px; margin: 3pt 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.25in;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 24.266664505004883px;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">“Maybe,” whispered Walter. <o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoPlainText" style="font-size: 10pt; line-height: 17.333332061767578px; margin: 3pt 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.25in;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 24.266664505004883px;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"> </span></span></p><p class="MsoPlainText" style="font-size: 10pt; line-height: 17.333332061767578px; margin: 3pt 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 24.266664505004883px;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">A Week Later<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoPlainText" style="font-size: 10pt; line-height: 17.333332061767578px; margin: 3pt 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 24.266664505004883px;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"> </span></span></p><p class="MsoPlainText" style="font-size: 10pt; line-height: 17.333332061767578px; margin: 3pt 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 24.266664505004883px;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">Walter was snoring when he woke up to a start. His alarm clock had gone off. He rubbed is eyes and turned on the bed lamp. Then almost instantly he covered himself with the blanket and curled up inside, sweating profusely. The time: three-thirty in the morning. <o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 20.799999237060547px; margin: 3pt 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 24.266664505004883px;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"> </span></span></p>Farahdeen Khanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04295728317408441494noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5824144085937008540.post-22072474756543146992020-07-12T11:18:00.001+05:302020-07-12T11:20:06.105+05:30THIRTY DAYS ~ Sushant Singh Rajput<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4H8ePO4uquWhJNonqhGdgrFnA-XpCFkPS43LGENV_SRPADJoQeJrGKvO-gEdWrL1FctKd7YOqk-5vn4Cvyz2W5leHHZTN4HyXe3zB-iq2ENBDyww24K_Y0yhEXXnCoybz9iDs6vc_CoBG/s1600/IMG_8557.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1387" data-original-width="1125" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4H8ePO4uquWhJNonqhGdgrFnA-XpCFkPS43LGENV_SRPADJoQeJrGKvO-gEdWrL1FctKd7YOqk-5vn4Cvyz2W5leHHZTN4HyXe3zB-iq2ENBDyww24K_Y0yhEXXnCoybz9iDs6vc_CoBG/s1600/IMG_8557.jpg" /></span></a></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: x-large;">Iss umeed se dil behalata rehta hoon <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: x-large;">Ke tere manzil ke taraf mere kadam aate hain <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: x-large;">Bas kuch dino ki hi toh baat hai<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: x-large;">Iss hi umeed se dil behalata rehta hoon <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: x-large;">Ab na aankhon mein hai namee<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: x-large;">Aur na dil mein woh dukh<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: x-large;">Bas kuch dino ki hi toh baat hai<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: x-large;">Iss hi umeed se dil behalata rehta hoon<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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Farahdeen Khanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04295728317408441494noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5824144085937008540.post-2636992028451350462020-07-09T14:39:00.000+05:302020-07-09T14:39:55.513+05:30WHAM-BAM-THANK-YOU-MA’AM<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiOcU0pcNpEtJ_6BV_EzCozfbsKKKYBtdoGH_AmxQrMmHq1eSno1B2F_u7Crr9rvXgFs1CTg19WJwNsOhvnBUKz0beAusfjIyA-79I5nG3E76Gxoi1ZOvxur13LHiPJhGs_O81CrkZexp1B/s1600/Man+Woman+Passionate+Kiss+copy.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1068" data-original-width="1600" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiOcU0pcNpEtJ_6BV_EzCozfbsKKKYBtdoGH_AmxQrMmHq1eSno1B2F_u7Crr9rvXgFs1CTg19WJwNsOhvnBUKz0beAusfjIyA-79I5nG3E76Gxoi1ZOvxur13LHiPJhGs_O81CrkZexp1B/s1600/Man+Woman+Passionate+Kiss+copy.jpg" /></a></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 14pt;">“Dude!” said a friend most forlornly, “this Covid-19 seems to have left my dick insolvent, man.” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 14pt;">I laughed. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 14pt;">“What the fuck,” he reacted sharply, “what was the laugh for, dude?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 14pt;">“The words.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 14pt;">“What words?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 14pt;">“You know, the – seems to have left my dick insolvent.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 14pt;">“Fuck!” he exclaimed, “You writers a weird lot, man! I am here lamenting about how sex deprived I am, and you are bloody delighting in the creative manner in which I strung those words together.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 14pt;">I chuckled. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 14pt;">“Fuck you!”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 14pt;">I chuckled even more animatedly. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 14pt;">He handed me over a glass of beer. “How are you coping with it?” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 14pt;">“With the seclusion or the sex?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 14pt;">“Sex obviously, dude.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 14pt;">I hesitated. “You know,” I stopped at that. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 14pt;">“I haven’t fucked for the last three months and it’s driving me crazy, man!” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 14pt;">I merely made a mild – umm – sound. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 14pt;">“What the fuck was umm?” he asked. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 14pt;">“Just umm,” I added with nonchalance, well aware he’d scoff at that. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 14pt;">He rolled his eyes. “Aren’t you missing it?” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 14pt;">I took a deep breath and preferred not to answer something that silly. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 14pt;">“What?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 14pt;">“You know I’ve never been into casual sex, mate.” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 14pt;">“You’re a fucking dick, dude,” he said rowdily, “if I don’t go to the club and make my moves, I feel like I am losing the plot, man.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 14pt;">I deliberated for an instant, “Ah, you are merely missing your sexual ego being babied, that’s all.” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 14pt;">He rolled his eyes again and abused me for having been such an insensitive twat. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 14pt;">“You’ll be fine,” I patted his back. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 14pt;">“You’re telling me that you don’t actually miss the sex every now and then?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 14pt;">“What do you want to hear?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 14pt;">“The truth.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 14pt;">“I was reading that for some there is nothing easier than understanding the sex life of someone they’ve never met, and easier still when they are conveniently dead in the head.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 14pt;">“You mean like Don Juan who fucked as many as he wanted and then killed them in their head and went onto the other,” he halted, “or wait, even like Casanova.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 14pt;">I shook my head as I exasperated, “Are you conveying that human sexual habits have always been more or less the same? That the only variables being the degree of hypocrisy and cover-up?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 14pt;">“I am meaning to say that sex is a world in which self-deception can so easily present itself as objective fact, and brutal honesty is no more likely to be true than shy evasiveness or sentimental melodrama as an explanation of what really took place.” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 14pt;">“Was that you, or the effect of the beer?” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 14pt;">He threw a cushion at me. “No, wait, there are enough and more married people too who end up having sex outside of their marriage.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 14pt;">“Humans have been cheating from the start of humankind. So what’s surprising about it?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 14pt;">“It’s simple, people like to hook up because they aren’t looking for a long-term commitment like marriage. And anyway marriage is overrated, dude. As they say, I am single, but not as single as these married people, and one of the perks of that is to be able to have full control over your cock than to have it handed over to some woman who has no clue what to do with it.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 14pt;">I nodded. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 14pt;">“And I fuck at the slightest opportunity I get because I love it, and not because some privileged deep thinking arse like you might think that I suffer from a lack of self-esteem, or because I am trying to use sex as a tool for covering up some sort of blemish I may have, which I don’t.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 14pt;">I breathed deeply. “We are in the same club by the way.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 14pt;">He winked. “What’s the objection then when you get what you want without any emotions involved? It’s not like it is any ticket to damnation, or that I am a victim of depression or whatever such fucked up stuff that these nerds keep coughing up all the time.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 14pt;">I smiled. “If you meet someone casually who then ends up being a long-term partner then I do agree that these digital driven hook-ups are most welcome.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 14pt;">“Otherwise?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 14pt;">“Otherwise there is some sort of psychological imbalance, pre-existing depression and self-esteem issues that are perhaps the result of early-life abuse or neglect, and given these circumstances it might cause a person to engage in casual sex in an effort to feel wanted and desired, if only for a few moments.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 14pt;">“I don’t intend to delve into such depths, man,” he said flatly, “I just want to get my dick serviced. And honestly, I would fucking fuck this Covid-19 if it would take for me to get back to my normal.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 14pt;">“Whatever.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 14pt;">He swallowed the last drop of beer by sticking his tongue out and tilting the glass upside-down over his tongue. After he had finished, he said. “You agree that one cannot be in love with the same person for all their life, right?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 14pt;">“I do.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 14pt;">“What if you were to find the one you wanted, and with the passage of time you figured that it was not working with her, wouldn’t you fuck around on the quiet?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 14pt;">“Nope.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 14pt;">“Really?” he exclaimed, “What then would you do?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 14pt;">“I would tell her in the most honourable fashion that it is not working between her and me and leave her, on amiable terms of course, if it permitted, than to be unfaithful to her by doing things on the sly.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 14pt;">“How exactly are we friends?” he asked laughing. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 14pt;">After that conversation with my friend I hadn’t seen him for weeks. I presumed he was getting along fine, he always did, and so I thought that I would as well write about what was racing across my mind after that evening with him. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 14pt;">The recent pandemic has indeed caused restlessness of various natures across sections of society, and although many are not able to express it as vocally as they would want to, not being able to get out as often as one had desired has led to a great decrease in unrestricted sex. While some have dealt with it in a most restrained manner, some others seem to await the lockdown to ease just so that they can revert to their chase in order to grease their egos quite like my friend was accustomed to catering to his own. It was evident that he was feeling the pinch, which I suspect, was not for the feel-good-factor of sex, but more so for feeling this lack of being able to smear his ego with a sense of achievement that he could get himself into the knickers of as many women as he had wished, and I can only imagine how devastating such a lack of triumph can be for such habitual go-getters. Then again the world was not bursting at the seams of men waiting to explode if the rein of the pandemic was not going to end any sooner, there were also those people, who having been confined to their spaces, had begun to rethink their priorities that included the trajectories of their sex lives as well. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 14pt;">As one can conceive, sufficient material on the mental health consequences of the pandemic on the sex lives of an individual are scantily available – the timeline has been too short to arrive at any concrete conclusions – though in the material that is accessible, one recent study in the United States of America suggests that adults who engaged in casual sex sported a similar psychological level of happiness in comparison to those in committed relationships. Some other studies also cited, in contrast, that people indulging in casual sex reported feeling a dip in overall well-being, a tumbling in their self-esteem, an element of increased psychological duress, and in particular cases, symptoms of depression. Intriguingly, this study found no glaring differences between the feelings of men and women in regard to casual sex depravation, though another fragment of research states that men are more likely to accept that casual sex is indeed something that provides them a positive feeling of emotional upliftment as compared to women who felt similar, but preferred to remain silent about the same mainly because the psychological wellbeing of women was more likely to be negatively impacted by casual sex than that of men, primarily because the potential consequences; social shaming, feeling used/abused, pregnancy etcetera would seem to be much high. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 14pt;">Having ploughed my way through the in-depth interviews a research team had conducted just before the lockdown as a study with men who engaged in regular casual sex for a book they were publishing, a complex imagery of the bearing of such sex on the emotional and mental health of the men emerged. Succinctly put, majority of the men derived a heightened level of self-gratification from treating themselves to the rewards of casual sex, which for them was a ‘seek and master’ strategy, and it was equally thought-provoking at the same time that a number of men testified that living a riotous life of indulging in such casual sex was detrimental to their mental well-being, and confessed to feeling better after ending such a unrestrained lifestyle. The reasons? Well, most unusual to be precise: the men who thought that such trysts were damaging to them discovered that a part of them was dying every time they had sex with these women they had only met and would never meet once they had had sex with them. As I read along the interviews, what fascinated me most was that despite the fact that they had deliberately embraced this fast life of complying to their addictive, carnal, almost animalistic pleasures, conscience and meaning had finally caught up. It was not a matter of morals or ethics, neither of right or wrong, because both are subjective, it was more a matter of behaving responsibly. As human beings the greatest gift we possess is the ability of rumination, and to think was not to behave like there was no tomorrow in order to feed our conscious as well as sexual egos. Men confessed as I read long about abandoning their moreish urges and how despite the ephemeral boost of getting to have sex with multiple women at frequent intervals, it was leaving them most hollow. Was this merely experiential or were such men satiated with their recreational pursuits was something the study was not able to pin point at this point, but one thing that was clear was that a larger group of men were no longer relishing their sexual liaisons as much as they once did, and expressed a sturdy want to bring an end to it for a life of more satisfaction and significance. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 14pt;">Upon concluding reading the interviews I was reminded of philosopher Derek Parfit, in his book Reasons and Persons, he says – <i>Like my cat, I often simply do what I want to do. I am then not using an ability that only persons have. We know that there are reasons for acting, and that some reasons are better or stronger than others. While some of these are moral theories, some are theories about rationality. We are particular people. I have my life to live, you have yours. What do these facts involve? What makes me the same person throughout my life, and a different person from you? And what is the importance of these facts? What is the importance of the unity of each life, and of the distinction between different lives, and different persons? </i>He then goes on to explain – <i>My subjects, reasons and persons, have close connections. I believe that most of us have false beliefs about our own nature, and our identity over time, and that, when we see the truth, we ought to change some of our beliefs about what we have reason to do. We ought to revise our moral theories, and our beliefs about rationality.</i><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 14pt;">To obtain a medical impression on the same I consulted Dr Rob Weiss,<span style="background-color: white; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial;"> an author, clinical professional and legal expert regarding sex, porn and drug addictions. Dr Weiss has been working </span>more than two decades as a psychotherapist with a specialisation in sex and intimacy issues, and based on his research he had to say: <i>If casual sexual activity doesnʼt violate your moral code, your sense of integrity, or the commitments you have made to yourself and/or others, then itʼs probably not going to be a problem for you in terms of your psychological wellbeing. That said, you may face related issues like STDs, unwanted pregnancy, partners who see your relationship as more than just casual, etc. And you should understand that these related factors could adversely affect your psychological wellbeing even if the sex itself does not. Conversely, if you are by nature or upbringing socially and/or sexually conservative, or you have a strict religious belief system, or you tend to attach emotionally to anyone with whom you are physically intimate (regardless of whether the other person reciprocates), then casual sex may well cause you to experience shame, depression, lowered self-esteem and the like. This may be especially true if you engage in casual sex for “non-autonomous” reasons like getting drunk, seeking revenge, trying to fit in, etc. <o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
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<i><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 14pt;">Oneʼs social situation is likely to play into the desire for and the psychological effects of casual sexual activity. In young adulthood, for instance, casual sex tends to be more common and more easily accepted than later in life, especially if one gets married and starts a family. What feels right at 20 may feel wrong at 40. At the end of the day, there is no undisputed right or wrong answer when it comes to casual sex and its effects on psychological wellbeing. For some people, it is probably fine, and for others it is probably not. Each person is an individual, with a unique life history and emotional makeup, so each person is likely to respond differently to casual sexual behavior. <o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 14pt;">I wholeheartedly respect his opinion, and yet this is where I felt that the men who had taken to this rather frivolous and short-term-endorphin-seeking methods had realised in time that they had reasons for acting. And that as human beings we ought to act in a certain way, and that some ways are ways that can also be wrong. This feeling does not stem from morality or religion, psychosomatic differences or whatever else the reasons, it stems purely from common sense and a sense of the soul knowing when it is being emptied of its resources. It was indeed interesting that some men took control of their lives and desisted from the transient upshots that were leading them away from their own conscience, and that they had resolved to remedy it before it had paralysed them any further. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 14pt;">We live in a society where we are each entitled to the pleasures that we deem rightful for us to seek, and sex being something that is an intrinsic part of human desire and need, people are going to revive their sexual portfolios once things get further normalised. I would say indulge in it by all means, within the limits of the law obviously, but do not trivialise it. Sex is sacred. It is a bodily representation of the love you feel for your partner, and something sanctified like that ought to be experienced with reverence and tenderness rather than making it merely a corporeal deed of climaxing and then moving on to another being like some animals do; no wonder people do feel empty and think of the hunt as meaningless. Think, weight, analyse what your body and your soul want the next time you decide to peel your clothes off – the essence of life is in that and not in the mere mechanical exchange of bodily fluids. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 10pt;">References:</span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 10pt;">Barnes, Julian. (2019). The Man in the Red Coat.<b> </b></span><span lang="EN-GB" style="background-color: white; font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 10pt;">Jonathan Cape. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 10pt; font-weight: normal;">Whitley, Rob. (2020).</span><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 10pt;"> </span><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 10pt; font-weight: normal;">Casual Sex: Harmless Fun or Harmful to the Soul?. Psychology Today. <o:p></o:p></span></h1>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 10pt; font-weight: normal;">Weiss, Robert. (2015). What Are the Psychological Effects of Casual Sex?. Psychology Today. <o:p></o:p></span></h1>
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Farahdeen Khanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04295728317408441494noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5824144085937008540.post-73563104061338989982020-07-02T11:04:00.001+05:302020-07-02T11:04:47.340+05:30THE INVISIBLE HAND OF NATURE<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEguP3KcfTsyQnmI0Qr2sHlV0mf058psefuxsUZ6Fr0OIJdKjWcDvadtdOB-9cXPt6JUSYrLgbUuMDS9lQHT2wuR7y02ijWtj8FdlAyxXuhY0DfpNjjmLXr0qEXTBwitUHWr7_h0M-PXJFqE/s1600/Asif+Nawaz+England.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><img border="0" data-original-height="637" data-original-width="960" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEguP3KcfTsyQnmI0Qr2sHlV0mf058psefuxsUZ6Fr0OIJdKjWcDvadtdOB-9cXPt6JUSYrLgbUuMDS9lQHT2wuR7y02ijWtj8FdlAyxXuhY0DfpNjjmLXr0qEXTBwitUHWr7_h0M-PXJFqE/s1600/Asif+Nawaz+England.jpg" /></span></a></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">I sometimes feel that language is miserably insufficient when it comes to having to express what one wants truly to express, except of course, when you are talking about someone who surpasses the worldly metaphors and clichés, someone who has such a marvellous sense of humour that even the toughest moments would be made light when around him . . . someone who fills the insufficiencies of language as I aforementioned with such grace and acuity that you have nothing but great admiration for such an individual’s refinement and stability. And so, before I tire you with any more of my rather (inefficient) words, I would like to acquaint you, in complete humbleness and pleasure with Doctor Muhammad Asif Nawaz, whom I admire from every cell in me. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">To say the least, Asif is a doctor registered in the UK, he is in the PAS, the 46th Common. He is a freelance writer, or so he claims, and I would leave you to decide whether he is ‘freelance’ or a ‘master’ once you have read his words below and looked him up online to understand his full genius. He is also an amateur filmmaker, a marvellous photographer, a hopeless wanderer, a third degree procrastinator, and for better, or for worse, for me, well, he is he – a brother in a buddy who is assuredly and distinctively treasured, someone immensely rare, and without whom my life would be most meaningless and bare.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: white; font-size: 14pt;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Excerpt on Asif from the Humans of CSA that was published on Tuesday, the 9th of April, 2019. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="background-color: white; font-size: 14pt;">If I had a dollar for every time people warned me against being a passenger of two boats, I would have totally done away with the idea of boats and would charter a plane to go around the world. But this life, it’s peculiar. It’s beautiful. And demanding. You always have to take your leaps of faith. And no one ever gives you enough dollars to charter a plane. My story is not about perseverance or ri</span><span style="font-size: 14pt;">sing against the odds - there are far too many people in CSA who I look up to in that regard. It’s about taking risks, exploring unchartered territory, and gratitude. So much gratitude! Belonging to the city of Abbottabad, I studied to be a doctor. It was in the three months after the completion of my house job that I decided to prepare for CSS - undergoing a surgical procedure while at it. After taking the exam, I geared up for the post of a Medical Officer in Khyber Pakhtunkwa’s Public Service Commission, and ended up being second in my district. Afterwards, I eyed the FCPS Part 1 exams; cleared them; and started my training in medicine as I took IELTS with watery eyes - a remnant of the recent LASIK I had had. After the written result came out, I booked my PLAB 1 exam, which, as the invisible hand of nature would have it, fell one day prior to my CSS psychological exam. (In hindsight, I made through both). I prepared for the interview while attending to the incessant line of patients in my ward. After being granted a leave from my ward, I left for the UK to prepare for and take the next step of the licensing exam, which I passed. And as the final result of CSS came out, I had topped in my province. But it’s not just this, grappling with the various opportunities that life throws at you while not losing sight of things that make it worth-while, like traveling, learning, socialising and experiencing, was the real task. Never forgetting your laughable insignificance, nor your towering significance. And as the invisible hand of nature would have it again, I received my arrival letter to Civil Services Academy and final registration to work as doctor in the UK almost on the same day. But this life, it’s peculiar. There’s so much to do. And you always have to make defining, hard choices. You can only hope, and take a leap of faith. With a silent prayer, with a handful of passion. Oh, and no one ever gives you enough dollars to charter a plane. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Asif Nawaz<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">PAS – 6th position overall<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">*Admin 46th*<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 10pt;">KPK is Khyber Pakhtunkwa. It was called North West Frontier Province (NWFP) before 2010.</span><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 14pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">All right, some of you say, I have read the above and I think I get a fair idea about Asif. I smile and bob my head knowing that there is a ‘but’ to follow, and before I say more, you ask: but what is the intent of this? I purse my lips and take a deep breath. You wonder whether I am about to say something of great significance judging from my demeanour, but instead I utter, no actual intent, really. You narrow your eyes and look at me like I am barmy. I laugh and tell you that you aren’t wrong in your assessment because I am indeed as barmy as they can get, and that I only wished to share with the world what some people mean to me, people who make me, me. I can see that you are flummoxed. To soften the point, I pat you quickly on both your shoulders and elucidate that you should celebrate life and acknowledge every single soul who makes a difference to you because not until most recently, when I had lost a very dear friend in Sushant Singh Rajput, who, like Asif, was also a brother to me, did I understand the tangible eminence of time and of the prominence of people and how we take them so for granted. I tell you that that was my intent – a reason enough to tell the world that I am grateful for each of them who make my world as glorious and wonderful as it can be, and that without them I am nothing. You remain in a state of sheer bewilderment when I articulate further that Sushant and I used to have these impassioned arguments about my intellectual property wherein I would apprise him that a portion of it I am setting aside in my will for him, and as if to enrage me he would chuckle and mouth in his landmark intonation that there was no guarantee that he would outlive me. You pretend to be interested and I can see right through you, but I am rather absorbed in my memories, and that I have started, I do not intend to break my flow and go on that on one of those days when I had broached the same subject he had said, <i>Agar main rahoon ya na rahoon. </i>And before he had completed whatever that he had intended to convey, I had blurted an expletive, and Sushant being Sushant had comfortably disregarded my extreme reaction and concluded, <i>Ho tere naal rahu meri parchhayi ve.</i> I had remembered slaying the call and not speaking with him for a week after. However, in hindsight, I had cared less for what he had meant by that then, or perhaps I hadn’t even understood it, and when I remembered it today, I messaged Asif asking him what it meant. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<b><i><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">My spirit/shadow remains with you. <o:p></o:p></span></span></i></b></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Came the prompt reply. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">And that is the essence of life is it not: the spirit and shadow of those you love remains with you whether or not they are around you physically. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 14pt;">You shake your head and walk away thinking what an arse I am for having wasted your time, and I feel a sense of relief </span><span style="background-color: white; font-size: 14pt;">that I did not have to rid the unwanted from my life, that they rid themselves by themselves, and then</span><span style="font-size: 14pt;"> <span lang="EN-GB">I remember the words of Asif – </span></span><i><span style="background-color: white; font-size: 14pt;">But this life, it’s peculiar. It’s beautiful. And demanding. You always have to take your leaps of faith. And no one ever gives you enough dollars to charter a plane. My story is not about perseverance or ri</span></i><i><span style="font-size: 14pt;">sing against the odds - there are far too many people who I look up to in that regard. It’s about taking risks, exploring unchartered territory, and gratitude. So much gratitude!</span></i><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: white; font-size: 14pt;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">And so I take a bow of gratitude for the one gone and the ones here. Thank you both and thank you everyone else who make me, me! <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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Farahdeen Khanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04295728317408441494noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5824144085937008540.post-90003194472879216752020-06-28T22:29:00.000+05:302020-06-28T22:29:34.898+05:30FIFTEEN DAYS ~ Sushant Singh Rajput<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjiP7CQ7ZS81K04BbMyCojJS-iRcWBu-c9u16bgL_hAvKHQB-yUk-U4507mUM90dm2BcNqmvG_tZ3hg2HTh9u1vLjIaFN9tqpHMhp7aNxSmGRY5KvlcHR6Z-EQTtis28q6r-xYtDyEkIFqI/s1600/Sushant-Singh-2-Vogue-India.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><img border="0" data-original-height="650" data-original-width="975" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjiP7CQ7ZS81K04BbMyCojJS-iRcWBu-c9u16bgL_hAvKHQB-yUk-U4507mUM90dm2BcNqmvG_tZ3hg2HTh9u1vLjIaFN9tqpHMhp7aNxSmGRY5KvlcHR6Z-EQTtis28q6r-xYtDyEkIFqI/s1600/Sushant-Singh-2-Vogue-India.jpg" /></span></a></div>
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #1c1e21; font-size: 20pt;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Aye mere maula </span></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: white; font-size: 20pt;">Yeh toh mera apna tha</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 20pt;">Aur aapne isse aise hi utha liya</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 20pt;">Kabhi yeh na socha </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 20pt;">Hamara kya hoga yahaan </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 20pt;">Aur hamare bina</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 20pt;">Uska kya hoga wahaan.</span></div>
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Farahdeen Khanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04295728317408441494noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5824144085937008540.post-61423245452524760282020-06-21T21:08:00.000+05:302020-06-21T21:08:44.330+05:30SEVEN DAYS ~ Sushant Singh Rajput<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhVI_MNyTopTVG9ANZbxLMhuduALXZDqky6HBhKd6bdWkaTuMv5K_ZS-ETAYF-fXmtxN4bWdoU3kgbjgOyjJ8h6eEdU_oBnozvquIPH1btVWu7gG-BA69vmz7GG4YdICR95pKXlLN2gTsH5/s1600/image0.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1350" data-original-width="1080" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhVI_MNyTopTVG9ANZbxLMhuduALXZDqky6HBhKd6bdWkaTuMv5K_ZS-ETAYF-fXmtxN4bWdoU3kgbjgOyjJ8h6eEdU_oBnozvquIPH1btVWu7gG-BA69vmz7GG4YdICR95pKXlLN2gTsH5/s1600/image0.jpeg" /></span></a></div>
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-size: 15pt;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Woh jo guzre the tere saath kabhi,</span></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: white; font-size: 15pt;">Wohi lamhen meri hayaat bane.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 15pt;">Saat din ke aise hi guzar gaye!</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 15pt;">Lekin</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 15pt;">Kaise, jiunga kaise</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 15pt;">Bataa de mujhko</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 15pt;">Mere bhai</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 15pt;">Tere bina.…</span></div>
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Farahdeen Khanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04295728317408441494noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5824144085937008540.post-65270891337792924662020-06-18T11:45:00.002+05:302020-10-30T22:16:33.768+05:30A THIN LINE ~ Sushant Singh Rajput<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjPZDsOQHzKtEte4AHSknhffR6mAG9gVIeFnWRY1tE_xvNaXtBXeoHceuh03svSMEr2fk_gmQAcZe4v57EN2KBvxQ_YeItJ2DTcRx3-DP2Zs2ECokqdS-D0dcU22JAZdfoLtd4bDtTWFB3X/s1600/Sushant-Singh-Rajput-Vogue-India-Mario-Testino1.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><img border="0" data-original-height="900" data-original-width="1600" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjPZDsOQHzKtEte4AHSknhffR6mAG9gVIeFnWRY1tE_xvNaXtBXeoHceuh03svSMEr2fk_gmQAcZe4v57EN2KBvxQ_YeItJ2DTcRx3-DP2Zs2ECokqdS-D0dcU22JAZdfoLtd4bDtTWFB3X/s1600/Sushant-Singh-Rajput-Vogue-India-Mario-Testino1.jpg" /></span></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Sushant by Mario Testino for Vogue</span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="background-color: white; font-size: 13pt;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">(21st January 1986 – 14th June 2020)<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="background-color: white; font-size: 15pt;">“People are afraid of themselves, of their own reality; their feelings most of all. People talk about how great love is, but that’s bullshit. Love hurts. Feelings are disturbing. People are taught that pain is evil and dangerous. How can they deal with love if they’re afraid to feel? Pain is meant to wake us up. People try to hide their pain. But they’re wrong. Pain is something to carry, like a radio. You feel your strength in the experience of pain. It’s all in how you carry it. That’s what matters. Pain is a feeling. Your feelings are a part of you. Your own reality. If you feel ashamed of them, and hide them, you’re letting society destroy your reality. You should stand up for your right to feel your pain.”</span><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 15pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 15pt;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">That is pain, and, no, I did not write that, Jim Morrison did. The power of words is magnificent: they can heal and they can slay, and one can infer whatever one wishes out of them as far as one’s imagination can stretch, but feelings, well feelings are feelings, they supersede words and leave you with a sense of desertion, isolation, barrenness and impassiveness, and feelings such as being distraught, hollow and their relatives and their families and their offspring’s mean nothing before the stab in your heart. Grief raids you when you least expect it to. You tend to lose all sense of time and space. You feel like you have descended into an abyss from which there is no chance of escape. You do not try to quell the feeling. You address it. You give it voice. You cry at length, cry in spurts, and you ignore the drivel that you have been ingrained with about how time would heal all wounds because you know that this is a wound that time will never be able to heal. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 15pt;">Sushant was a thirsty seeker of knowledge and questioning. </span><span lang="EN-GB" style="background-color: white; font-size: 15pt;">The feelings that hurt him most, the emotions that stung him most were those that were absurd. He longed for impossible things, precisely because they are impossible; nostalgia for what never was; the desire for what could have been; regret over not doing something else, not being someone else; dissatisfaction with the world’s existence. All these half-tones of the soul’s consciousness created in him a painful landscape, an eternal sunset of what we are. And when he was in that disposition to seek we </span><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 15pt;">spoke about art, architecture, science, sex, literature, life. About Rilke, E E Cummings, Rodin, Goethe, Monet. About the sky and the earth, about music and psychology. We wrote each other letters by hand, we sent each other books, and what I treasured about him most was the late night conversations. He was one who would call me at two or three in the morning and say: Bhai neend nahin aa rahi, yaar, chal baat karte hain. (Brother I am unable to sleep, let’s talk.) And that is the one thing that I shudder to think – that I would never be able to receive that call ever again, something I knew I hadn’t to think about before because it was a habit, a routine, a pattern, and each of us had taken it for granted that it was going to be the way it always was. </span><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 15pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 15pt;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">“Do not take the world seriously. Do not think that if the doors are shut on you that nothing else will open.” Sushant had told me one night, and I cannot bring myself to understand that a man who was so clear would not have been able to battle his terrors. Then again I know he was only human, and that he had all the normal human feelings of anger, moodiness, excellence, security, insecurity a normal human feels, and still none of those feelings were magnified so far as such that they interfered with his demeanour. He was a stickler for perfection and that got onto peoples nerves. He was surrounded by mediocrity, and as author Anand Ranganathan remarked, he was searching for a library in a fish market and we know that that is to ask for the impossible, particularly in context to the world he was in. He shared with the world some of the wisest anecdotes from his own experiences and he would find himself, at times, dismayed, especially with the online elves, and he would begin to lose his temper on Twitter. That is when I would immediately ring him or message him to make him understand that it was not worth the effort and that he had to stop engaging in a verbal duel with such buffoons, and like a darling little brother he would say – Done! <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 15pt;">Did we fail him? As much as we can theorise and analyse and harangue ourselves – No. We each tried in our own ways to keep him fastened to his beliefs and to us, and yet being the </span><span lang="EN-GB" style="background-color: white; font-size: 15pt;">strong one that he was his processes collided with his logic and his fragilities, and in an unfortunate instance, a mere nanosecond, the latter took control of him and lethally consumed him. Like many others I don’t hate the time or the state he was in. I won’t blame people because he was not someone who cared about what people thought. He was a confident young man who was certain of himself. In the larger scheme of things I know that we are predestined to live the life that we come preprogramed to expend, and therefore he had to go that way and he went that way, and nobody could have saved him because his time had come. Some might find this awfully harsh or immensely barmy, but it is indeed the stark truth. </span><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 15pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 15pt;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">People whom I know who had worked with him told me that rejections are so rampant in the film industry that you begin to think that you are not loved anymore, and when the feeling that you are not loved anymore tends to linger longer, then you accept it as the truth, and you start to victimise yourself, and then self-doubt creeps in, and things begin to go downhill. I know that the world that he was surrounded with was not a world that he actively listened to. He had a mind of his own and he did as he thought it right. He never bowed down to anyone, and in a true heroic manner fought for that which he thought was not right for him regardless of who was opposing his way of life and thinking. Thus, I do not subscribe to the fact that the Sushant I knew took the words of those who were shallow seriously. He would learn from them not to be like them, but it was not them who had him in the end. It was only fate and destiny that took him away with both hands. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="background-color: white; font-size: 15pt;">Yes, I lost a soulmate. I lost a vital part of me. Until now when I would hear someone else say the same I would empathise with them, but to go through it is an entirely unspeakable experience.</span><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 15pt;"> Yes, <span style="background-color: white; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial;">everything has been far too quick and too distressingly difficult to digest. </span>Yes, <span style="background-color: white; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial;">he will be missed every moment of my conscious and subconscious life. Yes, we will keep him alive, some of us, constantly, but, yes, we will never be the same without him, not in our life at least. <o:p></o:p></span></span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 15pt;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Loss makes up of two things, one is the actual physical loss of a person where you know that the person is not feeling any of their pain and cannot feel the pain you feel for them, and the other being that you know that they are in a happy place. We cannot claim to be certain on both the counts considering that nobody has actually managed to go across and come back to tell the tales. I think we conjure up convenient ways in order to convince ourselves that everything will be fine and he will be fine wherever he is. Honestly, it won’t be, but we will live as Dickens said with the hope that the pain of parting is nothing to the joy of meeting again because one day we shall meet again. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="background-color: white; font-size: 15pt;">I have absolutely no pleasure in the stimulants in which I sometimes so madly indulge. It has not been in the pursuit of pleasure that I have periled life and reputation and reason. It has been the desperate attempt to escape from torturing memories, from a sense of insupportable loneliness and a dread of some strange impending doom. Those words of Edgar Allen Poe ring true to my </span><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 15pt;">own Sushant who lived his life on his terms and madly indulged in his idiosyncrasies and wallowed in a sense of insupportable loneliness and welcomed the dread of some strange impending doom. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 15pt;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Go on my soul brother, regale the world that you are currently inhabiting with your richness and your love, for that was what you were for us here, and that is what you will always be forever, wherever you are!<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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Farahdeen Khanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04295728317408441494noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5824144085937008540.post-39953810202958231362020-06-11T11:59:00.005+05:302020-06-11T11:59:53.294+05:30HAPPY ANNIVERSARY TO US<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgsgmsPx0i5Q8-XZICbIP_fyVwqOwoed3Qhl8hc6iJ6Y8HVuzeN6ua_ITj6tySbsMM3ye-Lem2CShbXjDQkGnUd3i1nQADkSbbj_OVG_e-5vJUy6zMV0Gvh9wY6ChmjOfn28kWcfP2f6OU9/s1600/IMG_8006.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgsgmsPx0i5Q8-XZICbIP_fyVwqOwoed3Qhl8hc6iJ6Y8HVuzeN6ua_ITj6tySbsMM3ye-Lem2CShbXjDQkGnUd3i1nQADkSbbj_OVG_e-5vJUy6zMV0Gvh9wY6ChmjOfn28kWcfP2f6OU9/s1600/IMG_8006.JPG" /></span></a></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Woke up this morning to this: <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 14pt;"><b><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">The day fate conspired to make us Mr & Mrs<o:p></o:p></span></b></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="background-color: white; font-size: 14pt;"><b><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">11th June, 1998 – just seems like yesterday when all our destinies came together for joining two souls in marriage. <o:p></o:p></span></b></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 14pt;"><b><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /><span style="background-color: white; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial;">The long journey from Mysore with the help of a few friends, a borrowed car, borrowed mobile phone (mobiles weren’t common then), a temple in Malleswaram, the pujari hastily arranged by another friend, legal person on standby, first night in a friend’s place. Add to that, a timely help from an unknown Samaritan who lent his spare tyre when our car broke down and we were stranded in a downpour just outside Bangalore. Seemed like the ‘whole cosmos’ conspired to get me and Neela married, no matter what the hurdles. My, what a day and what a destiny! That day was not just a marriage of 2 people, it was the conjoining of all our destinies and each one of you were fated to be a part of this in your own way. Some journeys are life changing, others are about changing lives. In our case, it was both.</span><br /><br /><span style="background-color: white; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial;">This note is to remember you on this day for the part you played in getting us together, and to say, ‘Thank you my friend’. You were there selflessly and when we needed you the most. We will always be grateful and indebted.</span><br /><br /><span style="background-color: white; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial;">Happy Anniversary to you too!<o:p></o:p></span></span></b></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">These two have been my life since the day I met them, and they will always be my life so long as we all live. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Love you both, and yes, happy anniversary to us! <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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Farahdeen Khanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04295728317408441494noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5824144085937008540.post-35320386527958313502020-05-19T17:20:00.000+05:302020-05-19T17:20:29.930+05:30BRING IT BACK<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="background-color: white; color: #14171a; font-size: 15pt;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">It takes a highly skilled man to craft stone into silk. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="background-color: white; color: #14171a; font-size: 15pt;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Such skills are derided by the modern art establishment. They promote ugliness over beauty, abstraction over reality. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="background-color: white; color: #14171a; font-size: 15pt;">Bring back beauty.</span><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 15pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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Farahdeen Khanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04295728317408441494noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5824144085937008540.post-23068304196923974482020-05-04T12:09:00.000+05:302020-05-04T12:09:34.570+05:30SEX ON – SEX OFF<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhzqORtMM8Ppfo1uk_D84NxSSBmJWoY6MPaBsgwpv8jAmIjG1Vq5A-Mn80WNgvu5o1c6-otEeL0v5BqxKBK_LihbQImPRDlAe1VYLgq0giUXMuXOvPZ00_TN9Ls43eRnQng5-SH0-sl9COY/s1600/zalmanking-2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><img border="0" data-original-height="912" data-original-width="1216" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhzqORtMM8Ppfo1uk_D84NxSSBmJWoY6MPaBsgwpv8jAmIjG1Vq5A-Mn80WNgvu5o1c6-otEeL0v5BqxKBK_LihbQImPRDlAe1VYLgq0giUXMuXOvPZ00_TN9Ls43eRnQng5-SH0-sl9COY/s1600/zalmanking-2.jpg" /></span></a></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="background-color: white; font-size: 14pt;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">A woman visits her doctor and tells him she has terrible discharge. “Ok, take your knickers off and let’s check it out,” he says. She drops her knickers and he has a feel around. “How does that feel?” He asks. She says, “Fucking fantastic, but the discharge is from my ear!”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Your first reaction to something like that would be to have a hearty laugh, and then blurt out – What a twat! It is here I would say, pause a little before judging anyone, since isolation, socially and otherwise too, is known to make people behave in ways that are mostly unexplainable. And given the current circumstances, where a fierce and yet faceless enemy seems to have taken siege of our daily lives, one is beginning to observe an assorted array of feelings take birth in the populace, and one such behaviour we are witnessing amidst people is that of sexual urges: some are using it as a coping mechanism, whilst some others are abstaining from it. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 14pt;">The New England Journal of Medicine says, ‘</span><span style="background-color: white; font-size: 14pt;">In a time when the rational–emotional scale is tipping to the emotional side, we begin relying more heavily on anecdotes, particularly personal experiences that may carry inordinate weight in our minds. Journalists use the power of stories to connect with readers and tug at their emotions. Physicians, trained as scientists, are expected to follow a hypothesis-driven, rational, evidence-based approach to clinical decision making, but we, too, can be swayed by stories under the pressures of a crisis.’</span><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 14pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">In using the power of stories to connect with their readers, we are witnessing a conflicting reportage that ranges from the brashest to the most unreliable. What is alarming is that several respected publications too are allowing such inane write ups where one says that the rash on the skin can be a sign of the onset of the virus, another says that flatulence can cause the virus to spread, and the latest one claiming that masturbation boosts your immune system, helping you fight off infection and illness. I cannot help imagine what such misinformation can do to those already wallowing in a state of fear and depression, as they are quite literally under a mental as well as physical state of house arrest. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Sex has been the greatest occupation of mankind after food and these accounts about how the COVID-19 may affect their sex lives is accentuating their anxiety. Some claim that the anxiety is playing spoil sport, while some claim that they feel a rather heightened state of arousal. So let us take the help of medicine and psychology to examine the two sides of the coin. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">It would be safe to say that both are not wrong in what they are feeling as psychological studies state that no two people act and react in the same way, and that sexual necessities and wants vary from person to person.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Isolation terrifies us, and we can draw a great deal from <i>Terror Management Theory</i>. Such a theory explains that when we are reminded of the prospect of our own mortality, that is when we are confronted with the fact that eventually everybody will die, we cultivate to change our communicative pattern and thoughts in a manner so as to help us cope with this inevitable end. The unrest and the death that one is learning from the various forms of media about the virus that is affecting people of all age groups, from across the globe, seems to have increased the awareness of our mortality more than ever. As an unswerving effect, each of us are dealing with an underlying wisdom of angst about death, and like everything else, every individual is coping with it in their own capacity. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZJ0h3hd32elwrR05ZKc8VAjca6mxRBiAGuGvmto2D2bQQA5Hwq0zt_xI4b_pdAkIleoL8AulUr3v6nzu4Nq52Y9zNkHExqW-J0JXF8B9gQsLBmxJpTQuErWExII-NjgI7pf7GGP2ZcJcc/s1600/kissing-Picture-PIC-MCH080174-1024x640.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="640" data-original-width="1024" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZJ0h3hd32elwrR05ZKc8VAjca6mxRBiAGuGvmto2D2bQQA5Hwq0zt_xI4b_pdAkIleoL8AulUr3v6nzu4Nq52Y9zNkHExqW-J0JXF8B9gQsLBmxJpTQuErWExII-NjgI7pf7GGP2ZcJcc/s1600/kissing-Picture-PIC-MCH080174-1024x640.jpg" /></a></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Whenever studies were conducted where the subjects were asked about the vista of their death, a fair number of them exhibited an increase in sexual longing, while some others took to it casually, like any other activity they would engage in without giving it much emphasis. Some theories rationalise that those with a positive body image and not intimidated by physical intimacy display an amplified interest in sex. I, however, think that it is rather discriminating to encourage generalised statements like this because one cannot quite measure the level of a human beings sexual craving based on factors such as body image, comfort with physical intimacy, etcetera, as one can harbour an interest in sexual closeness without boundaries sketched by research. When I probed a bit more, I learnt that such information in a surge in sexual activity in a time like this had been collated from the number of times people were accessing pornographic sites. Such numbers may possibly matter, but they are not concrete data to support why we have been feeling a bit more frisky when left indoors. My practical theory on it is perhaps that when any two individuals spend a reasonable amount of time together, the epithelial layers seem to peel away, and the said individuals begin to bond and bind deeper than when they had been distracted by the diversions of day-to-day routines. Given the physical proximity, they feel less constrained, which they would customarily feel, as they are normally engaged in physical intimacy as a couple, just that those moments, as they are busy doing other things are spontaneous, or planned, with abundant pressure to let off steam and satisfying carnal hungers by resorting to lovemaking; but when you are jammed with someone for twenty-four hours, for weeks together, the dynamics are indeed different, and once the initial awkwardness of being thrown together without escape is overcome, such individuals begin to actually explore their feelings, and as an outcome, their bodies are far more open to frequent engagements of sexual activity. </span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Now on to the other side of the coin. Research illuminates that some individuals clearly use non-sexual methods of relieving their disquiet. And like the <i>Terror Management Theory</i>there is also the theory of <i>Dual Control Model of Sexual Response</i>. This theory explores the belief that we all entertain varied bents for sexual excitation and sexual inhibition. I was reading a fine example that explained it fittingly thus: We all have a “gas pedal” and a “brake” when it comes to sexual arousal. However, some people have a gas pedal that is always partially pressed (which makes it easier for them to get turned on), whereas others have a brake that is always partially pressed (which makes it harder for them to get turned on). For people who are easily inhibited, stressful situations like the one we’re currently in are likely to slam the brake. These individuals will probably find that it’s hard to get in the mood for sex right now unless they can find a really potent distraction or another way to get in the moment. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Another medical paper expressed something else of note, and I prefer to quote it here verbatim – By contrast, for those who are easily excitable, stressful situations don’t necessarily create the same roadblock—and they could potentially even have the opposite effect. How? We know that fear and anxiety sometimes have the effect of amplifying sexual arousal rather than supressing it. Indeed, strong emotions are often mistaken for sexual attraction. Furthermore, “excitation transfer” can potentially occur, in which strong emotional states end up amplifying a sexual response. In fact, this is precisely why a lot of people say that “makeup sex” is the best sex—residual arousal form a fight with a partner is probably intensifying sexual arousal in those cases. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">I would like to say that whatever way you end up analysing to what extent your own needs require a pause, or an augmentation, especially in the frequency of your physical involvement based on the situation, there is no compunction. Remember that love, happiness, being adventurous, positive thinking, dreaming, hope, believing, being crazy, laughter, tipsy nights, gratefulness, joy, moonshine, chasing dreams, peace, singing, bird songs, motivation, meaningful conversations, thankfulness, blooming flowers, being proud, music, braveness, exciting books, the sound of rain, the fragrance of rain, optimism, celebrating life, funny movies, soulmates, sunshine, being strong, honour, freedom . . . these are some of the true joys that no studies or research can take away from you, and the same would apply to your sex drive too. Do not let time or inhibitions hinder you from exploring what you want to explore, and as many times as you want to explore it . . . so go on and get under (or over) the sheets! <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">To end, leaving you with . . . well, you decide what it means, for each one interprets things owing to the elasticity of their aptitude and attitude.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="background-color: white; font-size: 14pt;">We hear alcohol may prevent the virus... We hear direct sunlight might quickly kill the virus... So, if you come across some bloke standing in the front garden buzzed-faced and naked, leave me alone. I’m conducting important medical research!</span><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 14pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 10.5pt;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Taubman-Ben-Ari, O. (2004). Intimacy and risk sexual behaviour – What does it have to do with death? Death Studies, 28, 865–887<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 10.5pt;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Goldenberg, J.L., McCoy, S.K., Pyszczynski, T., Greenberg, J., & Solomon, S. (2000). The body as a source of self-esteem: The effect of mortality salience on identification with one’s body, interest in sex, and appearance monitoring. Journal of Personality and Social Psychology, 79, 118–130.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 10.5pt;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Bancroft, John, Graham, Cynthia A., Janssen, Erick, Sanders, Stephanie A. (2009). The Dual Control Model: Current Status and Future Directions. Journal of Sex Research, 46 (2 & 3): 121-142. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 10.5pt;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Ivry Zagury-Orly, Richard M. Schwartzstein (2020) Covid-19 – A Reminder to Reason. The New England Journal of Medicine <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 10.5pt;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Image Credits: An erotic realm, clockwise from centre: Ellen Barkin and Gabriel Byrne in ‘Siesta’, Richard Tyson and Sherilyn Fenn in ‘Two Moon Junction’, David Duchovny in ‘Red Shoe Diaries’, Carré Otis and Mickey Rourke in ‘Wild Orchid’, and Audie England and Costas Mandylor in ‘Delta of Venus’. Rex / Eureka / New Line Cinema <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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Farahdeen Khanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04295728317408441494noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5824144085937008540.post-70676260985855807502020-04-24T10:30:00.000+05:302020-04-24T10:30:56.287+05:30WIPE OR WOBBLE<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">A friend leaned closer to me. “Mate,” he said in a muted tone, “everything good down there with you?” I gave him a swift scan considering that I have known him never to speak of such matters to anyone since we had grown up together. “Depends on what you mean with good down there.” I replied. He rolled the salt and pepper shakers on the table and looked at me once, and turned away, and then looked at me again. “Promise me that you won’t make jokes if I shared something personal,” he said hesitatingly. I went even closer to him than he was to me and spoke in a hushed tone, “I promise to advertise it on the BBC.” He laughed a little at my making a hilarious jibe at him and asked me whether I had felt any discharge of urine in my underpants at any point in my life. My answering in the negative made him break into a chuckle, “Ah, I see that you aren’t a wiper or a wobbler then,” he grinned mischievously, “you are a willy wanker.” Both of us laughed noisily enough to draw the attention of the people around and apologised for the racket we had caused.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Everyone is aware, men have it rather easy when it comes to emptying their bladder, and as far as the wipe or wobble is concerned, there are some men, who, for religious purposes use water, or, in the instance where water is not available, take refuge in a toilet tissue to wipe the tip of their tool. Intriguingly, this practice of water cleaning is now catching on with the rest of the wobbling populace too who reflect that it is certainly hygienic as compared to letting their dribs tumble on their shoes, splash on the wall, plop on the rim of the bidet, drop on the floor, plummet inside their shorts, jeans, chinos etcetera, etcetera. Yet, there is more than meets the eye with regards this, and a man being a man, may not reach out to other men to enquire if they are facing something similar, unless of course in the case of my friend, who felt unreservedly comfortable to talk about it with me since we had studied in the same class from our pre-school and shared a firm friendship over the years. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">So is there truly a correct manner in which to clean up before your pecker retreats to the original (concealed) regions of your anatomy? What about cases where some men find traces of urine in their underwear and pass it off as something as a ‘man thing’ on occasions where it regularly happens? <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">For answers, I excavated the internet, and found varied layers of medical information, and without having to sound awfully technical, I thought it best to share the information that I had collated from some urologists, a friend, doctor and professor Dr Anup Abdulla, and then articles from various online journals, in as simple words as I could.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">To begin with I would like to tell the men out there that if you find yourselves in a state where you are noticing a passive leakage of urine a bit more frequently, there is no cause of concern. These droplets are the onset of perhaps <i>post-micturition dribbling,</i> and that would mean an infection of the urinary tract where you could experience a burning sensation, frequent urination, and discharge from the urethra. Medically, this condition is termed <i>urethritis</i> – a bacterial or viral infection that causes swelling and irritation of the urethra, the tube that carries urine from the bladder to the outside of the body which is often the result of a sexually transmitted disease, or an enlarged prostate (prostatomegaly) in men who have crossed forty years of age. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Another method that men use to clear their plumbing is by pressing the perineum, and it is here too that they sometimes sense a stabbing pain. (The perineum refers to the area between the anus and the genitals, extending from the scrotum to the anus.) Once again there is no reason for any apprehension as injuries, urinary tract issues, infections, and other conditions can cause pain in the perineum, and an appointment with your medical specialist would be able to set you on the right track. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">The wipers and the wobblers are not wrong, just that wobbling can be messy as discussed, and water may be a safe, workable solution. Word of warning though – in some men the microscopic pieces of the toilet tissue can cause a reaction: redness, and particularly for men who are uncircumcised, it risks them to a range of speedier infections. So keep a check, and get it attended to without delay should there be any complications. And remember that if you keep your sexual life less promiscuous, your private parts dirt-free, then the possibility of contracting the urinary tract problems are minimal. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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Farahdeen Khanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04295728317408441494noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5824144085937008540.post-7739886248446583472020-04-23T00:07:00.001+05:302020-04-23T00:07:38.681+05:30LIFE . . . OR SOMETHING LIKE THAT<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-size: 14pt;">This may sound utterly fucked up, but we say all the cool things we think we want to say merely to get into the groins of our lovers, and the instant we have accomplished that, we start eyeing others to charm with our fucked-up-recycled-humbug, which, once again appears cool until we aren’t done diving into the groins of the others. And this cycle continues and continues until we find the one, or at least we think that we have found the one, and then we fuck it up so bad with the one that we don’t even fucking know what the fuck happened. That’s life. </span><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 14pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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Farahdeen Khanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04295728317408441494noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5824144085937008540.post-19064612797040701362020-04-19T17:12:00.001+05:302020-04-19T17:13:32.849+05:30NEVER LET SOMEONE TREAT YOU LIKE THAT<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><i><span lang="EN-GB" style="background-color: white; color: #181818; font-size: 14pt;">“Perfectionism is the unparalleled defence for emotionally abandoned children. The existential unattainability of perfection saves the child from giving up, unless or until, scant success forces him to retreat into the depression of a dissociative disorder, or launches him hyperactively into an incipient conduct disorder. Perfectionism also provides a sense of meaning and direction for the powerless and unsupported child. In the guise of self-control, striving to be perfect offers a simulacrum of a sense of control. Self-control is also safer to pursue because abandoning parents typically reserve their severest punishment for children who are vocal about their negligence.” </span></i><i><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 14pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></i></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><i><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 14pt;">~ Pete Walker </span></i><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 14pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">The first sentence of Tolstoy’s novel Anna Karenina is: “Happy families are all alike; every unhappy family is unhappy in its own way.” As you can infer, not everyone is as elated as they demonstrate they are. Everybody has something they keep under wraps so that they are not judged by the world around them as it is drummed into their heads from infancy that it is against the decorum to talk about the tribulations that afflict them. Such a dreary feeling to feel indeed that in order to present their best to the world, they, more often than not end up harming themselves beyond repair. This is precisely why I desired to author something on this subject as I have watched ample people suffer in abject silence, howbeit, it is here, again, that I wish to underline that people who do not want to acknowledge the reality that the pot is as much a part of our daily lives as is perfume, and try best to snub you if you attempt to reach out to them with your problems are not worthy to remain in your lives despite how dependent you are on them, or how intimate they pose and pretend they are with you.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Many flower in families where the seniors are riding horses at alarmingly dangerous speeds. In such homes you are bound to be crushed under the hoofs, unless, of course, you acquire the art of being around the horses, (occasionally even in the direct corridor) and yet know how to keep out of being (critically) harmed. The majority of such stories seem to share a common thread: we have individual A in a household, this individual A has had trouble with one or both of their parents. He or she observes that the low level of cohesion between his/her parents tends to, in some manner or the other, spill over on them, and they directly bear the brunt of the inefficient disparity between the battling adults. When that happens, they are evidently incapable in handling the frustration and fury of the attitudinal bickering, and as a consequence individual A mushrooms, but with an innate reservation, a subdued anger even, as they have not been able to rebuild themselves positively. As the trajectory of life steers ahead, individual A gives birth to a kid or kids. And still incapable to have found closure to their wounds, individual A ends up wounding their child/children in similar or even an augmented manner. Fast forward: as individual A’s kids are blossoming, they evolve feeling unloved or being micromanaged to cater to the whims and fancies of individual A’s mood swirls, and this anxiety, on an innocent mind, leads to an overwhelming scar – and only in some instances the kid/s manage to rise above the haranguing by mending the cracks in their minds, knowing perfectly well that their parent/s are/have been damaged. For the kid/s who are unable to recover from the mental disfigurement that their parent/s have thrust upon them, they turn into insecure, controlling, hateful brutes, and woefully, the vicious circle continues. This is where I would like to pause and urge every couple to introspect and focus on anything at all that has been unpleasant in their lives. I would urge every individual to seek assistance, and level the hurt and misgiving so that they can avoid committing the same high-handed mistakes before they embark into the next step of producing children. Remember that children need abundant care and love. That they are raw and impressionable, and that they should not be the receptacle of the traumas that you were unable to overcome. Children may not ask for it, but they covet the cordiality that only a parent can provide them. Hence, if you have zero interest or intent in wanting to raise a healthy and happy individual, be childless, but do not bring a life into the world and mutilate it before it can spread its wings to fly. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">There could also be instances where one of the parent is more abusive than the other, and when the dormant parent chooses to remain quiet, this furthermore, wrecks the child who can go on to become a vulnerable adult. Under such given psychological uncertainties, especially if you aren’t resilient enough to arise to atrocities or injustices at home, or in your immediate surroundings, it would be advisable that you reconsider marrying to begin with; as a broken brain cannot adjust healthily with their respective better halves, just as they are unqualified to take care of any offspring. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">We are all living at a fundamental level with a separation anxiety, and that is one reason why we subject ourselves, sometimes willingly, to the discriminations in our families. We each feel deeply disconnected from ourselves, from each other, from nature, and it is a wound that we haven’t really inherited from birth, it starts to surface in early childhood based on the behaviour meted out to us. As we navigate through life, we realise that we have a system that caters to that anxiety by helping us buying our way out of that separation anxiety through forms of acute distraction, and if that is not enough to deal with, alongside that, we develop a sense of a stunted freedom. People are free, theoretically, if you happen to live in the West, particularly in the legal sense or in a civil sense, but not on a deep psychological sense, and you observe how very much imprisoned they are by their superego, by social norms, and by constructs, and they look at ways and means to find an outlet to soothe their mind, and what a community offers is a chance to experience a reconnection, and a communion to something greater than us, but also an opportunity to break free from our conditioning and experience ourselves anew. Anyone who has gone through such damage and has looked for an escape knows that there is no rulebook to list down the harassment that people are subjected to within the four walls of one’s property, or even the walls of one’s mind. And drawing from those around me, owing that I am not an expert, I have endeavoured to make an inventory of some points here; points that I feel may help you deal with your pressure as nobody can unfetter you other than yourself. Once you have read this, do write to me and tell me what you have learnt from your own experiences. Who knows, I could perhaps pen a new piece highlighting the same that could benefit others who need restoration of their cognitive faculties. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<b><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Conditions Apply In Order To Be Accepted <o:p></o:p></span></span></b></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">To be recognised by the dominant member of the family, one is supposed to comply with the family narrative and value system. Any indication of being different or thinking autonomously is instantly rejected and you are left being polarised. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<b><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Uncontested Obedience Is The New Normal <o:p></o:p></span></span></b></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">A cruel element of life is that people who are in love with power thrive on berating you, they will try to nit-pick on you, to demoralise you, call you an utter disappointment. Every member of the family has to obey them without questioning them regardless of how illogical, ignorant, horrid or hurtful it is, and if you do not conform, then they will find fault in everything you do, and anything you do will never be good enough. If you are unlucky to have someone with such an injurious nature in your household, the best you can do is keep cool, and most importantly allow such intimidating digs at you pass. Reacting is of no use really as these type of individuals await such opportunities to unleash their terror. The more they know they have needled with you, the more they feel satisfied, and, if you are clever, you would know not to walk into such traps voluntarily. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<b><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Bow And Take It<o:p></o:p></span></span></b></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Irrespective of how right you are, or how rationally you have reacted, if it is not in compliance with the view of the dominant family member, you are unnecessarily targeted. It is here that you have to choose if you want to remain a doormat, or endure the brutalities until your threshold cannot take it anymore. It is here that you have to build up courage to react when faced with irreverent resistance. Word of warning: do not be a rug that others can clean their shoes upon, but engage your strategy discreetly as you are still under the cover of the reproachful family member. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<b><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Render You Powerless<o:p></o:p></span></span></b></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">The dominant individual knows you are incapable of any reaction and hits you where it hurts, and so, reacting or resisting can result in unimaginable levels of tension as these people, who are not used to being stood up to, cannot take a challenge, no matter how minuscule. At this juncture you have to be brave, and do what you have to do in order to preserve your sanity and maintain your self-respect. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<b><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Humiliating And Discouraging <o:p></o:p></span></span></b></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Humiliating someone for no reason speaks about the insecurity, jealousy, envy and inability of the dominant family member. Little things like someone else being appreciated before them is something that they cannot digest. Remember here that it is not about you, it is about them; they are so drowned in their ego that they become livid when someone else is given credit for something else before them. Give them a wide margin as their highbrow development is constituted such that even if they haven’t done something, they ought to be applauded for it – they think it is their fundamental right. For example: if I had not brought you up the way I did, you would not have done what you did, and when you were being praised, the least you could have done was acquaint people that I was the one who truly warranted the credit or gratitude. You failing to do so, would result in highlighting your drawbacks before everybody; anywhere, anytime. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">When incidents like these occur often, do not be threatened by them. Let them shame you for as long as they wish, and as far and wide as they want. Don’t forget that people know what you are, and who you are. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Any family who has had a dominant family member is not unfamiliar to the fact that such people prosper on ego greasing, and one of the biggest irking behavioural traits they cannot, and will not accept, from the rest of the family is when something is said by them and the family members do not take their side. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">As adults we can reason as to why the particular person is behaving in such an abhorring fashion, but children, alas, are not fully equipped to discern the difference, and it affects them most severely. If it is within your means, do not let the family member belittle you or your little siblings. Make it clear that you will not take such matters lying low. Once again, their magnified ego would not be able to accept opposition from you, and you will be blamed and shamed. Be level-headed by refraining to engage in a verbal duel with them, and where you feel you need an outlet for your disquiet or anger, talk to the people you trust. Do not take refuge in habits that could prove deterrent to your growth. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<b><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Respect Me Or Else<o:p></o:p></span></span></b></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Demanding family members choose the meekest or the strongest and make them their favourite people in the family. They do so because the meekest will respect them without disagreement, and the strongest (their idyllic flagbearers) will help spread their philosophies. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<b><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Balance Is Another Name For Bunkum <o:p></o:p></span></span></b></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">If you speak of equality or balance, if you attempt to reason, setting aside how sane your arguments may be, you will encounter aggression and be branded as idiotic or Machiavellian. This happens largely because the dominant family member is well aware that they stand on shaky grounds, and in order to preserve their power, by hook or by crook, the simplest weapon they would use is to deem your word as pure hogwash. Ignore, ignore, ignore, such ignorant oafs! <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<b><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">One-Upmanship<o:p></o:p></span></span></b></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">When abused and disparaged at nearly everything you do, and yet they notice that you are going strong, the ego of the dominant family member seems defeated, and you are bound to be the target of fresher and fiercer forms of hatred. To break your fibre is the ultimate motive of the tormentor, and although it is easier said than done – keep quiet. Losing your temper is giving them the contentment of having accomplished what they had set out to achieve, so the secret is to be as unruffled as possible. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<b><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Rage Can Be Rage Or Something Else<o:p></o:p></span></span></b></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Anyone who has lived with someone who is overriding and egotistical knows that a small argument can snowball into anger, and anger into uncontainable rage. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Sometimes, rage is a temperamental trait of a faulty upbringing. The person in question may not have been educated to behave correctly while coming of age, and thus, such indecorous behaviour would have become second skin. Uncommonly, rage can also be a medical condition that the family is far too frightened to address considering that it is next to impossible to get the dominant individual to be subjected to a medical assessment or examination. I had read somewhere that the euphoria brought about by overpowering someone can become a source of a rapturous addiction to the dominant human being. They relish seeing how someone trembles with fear, and it is an enchantment to their ego when one is unable to do anything about it. The flip side to something like this is that such distasteful behaviour, early enough, demolishes the dominant person’s own harmony and rhythm, and it is prudent that you desist from upsetting yourself on something that is beyond your control. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<b><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Emotional Scraping<o:p></o:p></span></span></b></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Abuse can have a lasting impact on people, and it takes years for such ill-treatment to relax in the absence of the dominant person. Sorrowfully though, in certain instances, the emotional scraping is so vast that some of those who have been abused seldom recover from it, and such angst hinders with the daily workings of them having to lead a normal and joyous life. If you feel that you are one of those who has been inflicted with such hurt, it is judicious that you solicit professional help in order for you to unchain yourself from that which is holding you back from breathing free. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Verbally questioning the actions and reactions of arduous individuals is still manageable, but not adhering to their impractical demands can lead to you being beleaguered further. When containment with words would fail, matters could lead to physical abuse by the dominant person. The said individual would (in all probability) concoct a scheme to keep you constantly under distress, and if you are young and dependent, then you could be arm twisted to levels of being made to feel most helpless and miserable. If you are an adult and are caught between the devil and the deep sea for some unforeseen reason, you have to discover ingenious ways to divert your mind from such unfitting behaviour since you know that there is no way out of it. Besides, do not presume that you are being defeatist or a coward if you are submitting to the bully in order to keep yourself sane. Tell yourself that not every day is a Sunday, and you would find a way out of the predicament if you apply your mind to it. What’s more? Being a scapegoat can teach you never to be like the very ones you dislike, and, as a blessing in disguise, you may become gentler, refined, and realise in the long run that the final winner is undeniably an affable demeanour; because, eventually compassion and truth prevails as opposed to ego and insolence. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<b><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Neglect And Safety <o:p></o:p></span></span></b></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">When things do not go by the book with uncivilised individuals, the other tactic they tend to emanate cheerfully is neglect. Neglect, they believe, will break one little-by-little. In numerous instances it does result in breaking people, but you should take that conduct as something of a benediction –as it gives you the time to do more with your life since you are not being subjected to repeated mental and physical torture. Utilise that time of inattention instead to enrich your abilities. Moreover, that you are in a safety zone, rouse in yourself ways and means to uncover who you are. Trust a mentor, friend, girlfriend for open-minded criticism and ways and means for you to improve yourself. Do not clasp onto harmful dependences; such as finding solace in sex or drugs, particularly in the instance where you are unable to deal with either the cold abandonment, or the upsetting disparagement at home. Remember that safety is in being safe with someone who understands you, and such people don’t merely fall from the sky, you have to have patience, and if you are fortunate to find the accurate fit for each of your natures then you would have to nurture such relationships to a level of nourishing fruition. When something like that happens you will see that your life is far more jolly than the dark and demonic life that you would have faced at the hands of the very ones who had to actually protect and love you at home. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<b><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Nobody Is Perfect <o:p></o:p></span></span></b></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">No family is ideal and no two human beings are alike. Everybody has somebody who can push them against the wall, and every individual’s limit to deal with adversities greatly varies. There would be sufficient permutations and combinations wherein we can convince ourselves that by surrendering to obedience we are perhaps losing our identity, and that by warring we are winning – those are convenient ways of fooling ourselves. As kids, if we oppose problematic people, it spells nothing short of misfortune, and as adults if we do not stall adversity, we will find ourselves dead even before we are dead. With life being horrifically short, the last thing you want is to live it pleasing others who care a rats arse if you are happy, alive, or dead, so take no risks if you are mature enough to understand that what you need is a way out, but are still a dependent on the family, and as an adult, see if you can push it to the best of your abilities, and under the circumstances where you see even a flicker of hope, then iron out your differences. However, in the eventuality of figuring that there is nil scope for any improvement, move out for good, and move on with life. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<b><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Think About This<o:p></o:p></span></span></b></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">When people come from difficult families, they tend, once again, to ferret about for life partners who are proportionately difficult. Do not make that mistake. Wait, weigh, watch and decide if a person blends warmly with you. A friend once told me, ‘What a partner looks for in a another partner is to de-stress and not add on more stress’, and those were rather effective words.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">At times we may handpick someone whom we let cling onto us because, one, we carry within us the inherent misgiving of having been neglected, and, ergo, to have someone cling onto us seldom appears like an invasion of one’s personal space, which, under common conditions, would be most exasperating, and two, as creatures of habit we are accustomed to being under constant tension, and we find consolation in someone who clings onto us as an emotional reimbursement for the weight we are missing when we were back home. On both counts let us strive not to cling, or let anyone cling onto us. Let us unshackle – it is only then that one would find oneself stress-free and one can love and behold someone else for good or for worse, in sickness and in health. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<b><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Finally – Is There A Way Out Of This?<o:p></o:p></span></span></b></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Yes, definitely. The key is to stop being the victim for the betterment of your own health. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Next, one does not have to reach the above conclusions in a haste. Think, analyse, discuss matters that mandate tinkering or reclamation, and give it adequate time. Albeit, if you think that matters are actually irreversible, set out then to carve your independent path in life as I suggested in a paragraph before. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Third, once you move out of the nest, it would be dreadfully hard in the beginning as you will be smacked with a spasm of isolation, segregation, quarantine, and this is because people get so accustomed to being battered that such a bearing becomes a part of their behavioural DNA, and when sheer freedom is obtained, they find it taxing to adjust to things going on rather smoothly. This is exactly where you have to pacify yourself that the gnawing feeling of missing being tormented is now finally over. And once you adapt to the physical and cerebral equanimity, and when joy becomes a day-to-day pattern as formerly compared to a rare luxury, you will find an indescribable comfort, an intrinsic awareness of an utter release and relief. Until then, please be patient, and, yes, abstain from being hard on yourself by GIVING YOURSELF TIME. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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Farahdeen Khanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04295728317408441494noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5824144085937008540.post-44837172727263651652020-04-08T19:12:00.000+05:302020-04-08T19:14:47.104+05:30NAKED TRUTH<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="background-color: white; color: #101010; font-size: 14pt;">. . . What do you think? </span><span lang="EN-GB" style="background-color: white; color: #1d2228; font-size: 14pt;">I think Twain was both right and wrong. Indeed, clothes make the man – they give them an uncontested charm that can be instantly pleasing to the eyes. And indeed, to be naked can have little or no influence on the society, but being in the flesh has its own benefits, understandably, not walking down the street naked; that is a symbol of unrefined exhibitionism, but being bare within one’s own dominion brings an element of primitive pleasure, something that can simply be found when one is free of bodily accoutrements. It is here that I thought immediately of something most beautifully befitting by Sartre, he said, </span><span style="background-color: white; color: #181818; font-size: 14pt;">“<i>People who live in society have learnt how to see themselves, in mirrors, as they appear to their friends. I have no friends: is that why my flesh is so naked?</i>” </span></span><span style="font-family: "georgia" , serif; font-size: 14pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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Farahdeen Khanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04295728317408441494noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5824144085937008540.post-4648889066310490792020-04-04T17:42:00.001+05:302020-05-10T17:26:34.430+05:30REMEMBERING THE ANCIENT RHYTHMS OF THE SOUL<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxGCFwYbjOuGSm1rNcWzXwase23iwfOnXcpk6MqKGFtURIpvIAB-E6Ms5HpNG3Srk_pW1VhRZDWhSHGhIRJ19D_hfPAs1PxoXBBwgSr_qMp9HhymqreI2vUpvBkw1l5jtJ99-cfBoKA8sU/s1600/alone-774fe32c-4859-4967-b95b-71b8c7c72e06.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1067" data-original-width="1600" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxGCFwYbjOuGSm1rNcWzXwase23iwfOnXcpk6MqKGFtURIpvIAB-E6Ms5HpNG3Srk_pW1VhRZDWhSHGhIRJ19D_hfPAs1PxoXBBwgSr_qMp9HhymqreI2vUpvBkw1l5jtJ99-cfBoKA8sU/s1600/alone-774fe32c-4859-4967-b95b-71b8c7c72e06.jpg" /></span></a></div>
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<b><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: 14pt;">PART 1<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: 14pt;">The author Richard Sennett said that sometimes it helps to see ourselves by stepping into another person’s shoes, that looking at how cultures quite foreign to our own assess social capital and cooperation we can learn far more than what we have been taught. He explained that modern China offers one way to do so; that is have a strong ‘code’ for social cohesion, despite the fact that the country is aggressively capitalist lately, and that this ‘code’ is what the Chinese call <i>guanxi</i>. The systems analyst Yuan Luo describes <i>guanxi</i> as ‘an intricate and pervasive relational network which the Chinese cultivate energetically, subtly, and imaginatively’. The network means a Chinese immigrant feels free to call on a third cousin in a foreign city for a loan, while at home, it is the shared experiences and memories among friends, rather than written contracts or laws, that lay the foundations for trust in business dealings. In families, <i>guanxi</i> has a further reach in the practice common to many non-Western societies of young people sending home whatever they can spare of their usually meagre wages, rather than spending all that they earn on themselves. ‘Duty’ better names these social relations than ‘social capital’. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: 14pt;">So is honour a better name some ask? Well, in a way, yes, <i>Guanxi</i> invokes honour as a key ingredient of social relations. Douglas Guthrie, an American student of Chinese <i>guanxi</i>, explains that it is akin to the old Western business code, ‘My word is my bond.’ You can count on other people in the network, especially when the going gets tough; they are honour-bound to support you rather than take advantage of your weakness. Also, one must keep in mind that <i>Guanxi</i> entails something other than sympathy; people in the network criticise one another, and they nag each other; they may not be nice to one another, but they feel obliged to prove helpful when the occasion arises. And in many ways than one, this code of <i>guanxi</i> is an example of how a social bond can shape economic life and bail one out of the doldrums. To throw some more light on it, <i>guanxi</i>, in essence, as a bond, is informal in character, establishing a network of support outside a rigid circle of established rules and regulations. The bond is a necessity in the fast-changing, often chaotic conditions of China especially today, since many of its official rules are dysfunctional; the informal, personal network helps people go around these, in order, to survive and prosper. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: 14pt;">The value of informal cohesion is not new, it has already appeared to us, in say dialogic exchanges, whether in a conversation or in the community organisation. The West, however, wants to establish the scope of these exchanges in its society, but, the bigger question is: do they have an equal practical value as they do for the Chinese? And the answer lies in two reasons why the West might want to think like the Chinese about cooperation. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: 14pt;">First, if informal, the <i>guanxi</i> network is also meant to be sustainable. Sometime in the future, the one who gets help will give it back in a form neither party may now foresee, but knows will occur. <i>Guanxi</i> is a relationship meant to endure from generation to generation. By the standards of a Western contract, there’s no reality in such an ill-defined expectation; for the Chinese student, government worker or businessman, the expectation itself is solid, because people in the network punish, or shun those, who later prove unresponsive. It is a question for us of holding people accountable in the future for their actions in the present. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: 14pt;">Secondly, people in a <i>guanxi</i> network are not ashamed of dependency. You can establish <i>guanxi</i> with someone who needs you, or whom you need, beneath or above you in the pecking order. The Chinese family, as traditionally in other societies, has been a site of dependency without shame, and shame has become deeply associated in Western culture with self-control; losing control over your body, or your words, has become a source of shame. Modern family life, and, even more, modern business practice, has extended the idea of self-containment: dependency on others is taken to be a sign of weakness, a failure to promote autonomy and self-sufficiency; the autonomous individual appears free. But looked at from the perspective of a different culture, the Chinese or the Asian culture, a person who prides him-or-herself on not asking for help appears a deeply damaged human being; fear of social embeddedness dominates his or her life. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: 14pt;">As you can see, <i>guanxi</i> in itself is congenial in spirit; so too, I suspect, would settlement-house workers and community activists a century ago, who were congenial, and sharing, and giving despite of having to be a part of the Western world. The common thread is an emphasis on the qualities of a social relationship, on the power of duty and honour. A culture can be ferocious. It can be capitalist like it is in China at the moment. By our standards, that fact seems difficult to reconcile with culture practises, still, some Chinese believe that <i>guanxi </i>is beginning to break down as the country more and more comes to resemble the West in its ways of parenting, working and consuming. While all cultures have their pros and cons, it would be nice to know why certain aspects of the Western culture has this corrosive effect on people and thinking. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<b><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: 14pt;">PART 2<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 14pt;">The recent epidemic of unprecedented proportions; the </span><span lang="EN-GB" style="background-color: white; font-size: 14pt;">Covid-19, or Corona as it is commonly known, has caught us off-guard, and though one is led to feel regret, more so for the ones hit by the economic uncertainty the world over, one wishes, however, that we human beings realise from this strain that the first thing we need to do is to slow down, and maybe attempt to plant a seed and watch it until the flower grows. That the instant gratification culture of ours has nearly ruined all that we hold dear, and until we find meaning in what we say and do, our world will be as chaotic as it was when we were accelerating at the speed of light without the light in sight.</span><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="background-color: white; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></span></div>
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<b><span lang="EN-GB" style="background-color: white; font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: 14pt;">PARENTING<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="background-color: white; font-size: 14pt;">Trying times nearly always reveal the true faces: there is no time to put on masks, and likewise, history has taught us, especially from the stories that have emerged from war, that you see a pristine, almost primeval side of compassion when faced with life-threatening situations. These times are no less than war, and it is at this stage that we need to erase the prejudices we may hold towards attitudes and people so that we can collectively work towards the betterment of the community. Let us t</span><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 14pt;">ake hugging for example. It is an intrinsic part of our culture in Asia, and furthermore, as Muslim, we have no qualms in holding hands of our male friends, coiling our arm round our best friend’s neck, wrestling with each other so as to laugh our lungs (and in some cases our guts out), kiss on the cheeks when we greet, and touch our noses like the Arabs do in order to feel a closeness, a connection, togetherness, and it is here that </span><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 14pt;">I would like to extend the concept of <i>guanxi</i> to matters of personal dealings rather than keeping it limited merely to business traditions as I explained above. </span><i><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 14pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></i></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: 14pt;">None of us, from this side of the world, look at any of the aforementioned human contact with anything else than the feeling of intimacy, whereas, some of them, the newer generation, think that such a behaviour between people of the same gender is unhealthy. When questioned about why they think such behaviour is unhealthy, one hears: I have seen it on the telly, or read an article that any form of touch is not a good touch. We can talk from a distance, civilly, as human beings do, right. Why touch each other? This is where I suspect that parenting is failing us miserably, especially the parenting that has grown on Western principles and does not quite discern the difference between what is acceptable and what is off-limits. Let me throw further light on this with regard to some of the detrimental ways of the West: while in the process of writing this piece, I happened to watch a Spanish television series, where a young man’s grandmother walks into the room when her grandson and his best friend are exchanging a hug before the friend is leaving his friend’s home. The old lady rolls her eyes and states, ‘When two men hug each other, they have to be gay, or actors.’ It was as if this scenario was tailored to help me write on it in this piece; for starters, being a heterosexual male, I was, at once, put off by that very manner of looking at something as beautiful as a hug being coated with something as preposterous as a sexual connotation, and so my next question is:<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<b><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: 14pt;">CONSUMPTION<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: 14pt;">Why are we letting this unhealthy Western philosophy make room in our hearts? Why are we letting the West inject their unhealthy mind sciences into our healthy minds? When we Asian, Arab, men meet, we do all that I said we did in the preceding paragraphs, and know that what such an act of camaraderie did was make us feel wanted, and loved, and that simple lack of feeling love and the feeling of being wanted was turning the Western populace into touch starved monsters, and such people ended up being depressed, violent or even suicidal. Don’t you think it is time that the West learnt from us Asians, Arabs how to greet and meet and live with each other? And get rid of the ‘I, Me, Myself’ doctrine of behaviour that is killing them? Could they not loosen up so that they would indeed not feel deprived of touch, of love, an essential component of keeping a human being in behaving like a human being - something that is more depressing and lonely than a strain of virus that has left us arrested, and at home, in a state of uncertain lockdown?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<b><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: 14pt;">WORKING<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: 14pt;">An additional, injurious Western concept that we are implementing in our cohesive society is that of nuclear families. The West thinks that to stay with family after a certain age is being less an individual, and they would go any lengths to fight for preserving their individuality. They have failed to understand, most simply, that there is immense power in unity, and that we need the support of our loved ones, just as much as they need us, at any given time of our lives. And the Covid-19 has brought to light examples of this decay that we have willingly subjected ourselves into: nearly everything, in nearly every part of the world, is in a state of suspension, and the jarring psychological, as well as physical impact such an isolation has had on people has devastated them, while the families that lived together have managed to combat loneliness, the management of children, and whatever the rest of the demons were, with much ease. Also, what something like this does, at its basest, is that it teaches us humility, tolerance, and compromise, and it renews in us the fact that the only bond that keeps us together is love, and in extreme circumstances, where it is inevitable to live under one roof, one must try and live close to each other so that you can be separate, and yet together, just so that the fine fibre of love remains intact. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: 14pt;">It is not merely about geographical zones, creeds, cultures, or communities. It is not about who is good and who is bad, what is good and what is bad, it is only about the mindset, and adopting the positively best from the various zones, creeds, cultures and communities. Let me put it this way: we love our bodies. We workout and we keep a tab on our diet by treating our bodies like we would do a shrine in order to keep it running efficiently. However, when we are struck with an ailment, we visit the specialist without delay, and get rid of what was limiting us, and this is where I ask, when we do that to our body, couldn’t we apply that mindset to our minds too? <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 14pt;">I would like to end this with something I was reading by Josh Radnor. It said, but</span><span lang="EN-GB" style="background-color: white; font-size: 14pt;"> it’s the arc of every great fairy tale, right? We leave home (the comfortable, the familiar) to journey into the dark wood. Only there – in the terrifying shadow – are we able to confront our fears and push past our limitations. In that battle we are transformed so that when we return home, we return home changed, upgraded, and bearing gifts for those we love (In a neat twist, our actual homes are the current dark wood.) </span><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 14pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="background-color: white; font-size: 14pt;">The only way I can get through something like this is to view it in these mythic dimensions, to understand that this supremely odd world-wide moment we are all sharing provides us with a divine opportunity to see what we are really made of. To transform our lives and our world for the better. Or as Francis Weller recently put it, “This is a season of remembering the ancient rhythms of soul. It is a time to become immense.”</span><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 14pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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Farahdeen Khanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04295728317408441494noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5824144085937008540.post-47986106022862598602019-09-17T20:51:00.000+05:302019-09-17T20:52:43.587+05:30ALONE or LONELY?<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjAwmf8Dw4-BrTCAPNvBpGPInmWHTm0m5vUBymMvoE2lZeOzYnyO_MaDPg9GMXZJYb-yAzObqmH20xfTAzdoXhPlnyKGaskivC2cmx4yyurNwKVdyqnrPcDAM6AKHeyegEdydofvaedziaK/s1600/bench-man-person-night+copy.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1067" data-original-width="1600" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjAwmf8Dw4-BrTCAPNvBpGPInmWHTm0m5vUBymMvoE2lZeOzYnyO_MaDPg9GMXZJYb-yAzObqmH20xfTAzdoXhPlnyKGaskivC2cmx4yyurNwKVdyqnrPcDAM6AKHeyegEdydofvaedziaK/s1600/bench-man-person-night+copy.jpg" /></span></a></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Loneliness has become a near epidemic of our times. Not that it was not a matter of concern in times that have passed us by, it is merely that people in the older generations held certain beliefs, and used their time around feelings and individuals rather than things and achievements. It has become an unhealthy world where we strive to do things for the approval and applaud of the world than for our own inner peace and happiness. We run after mirages than stopping and asking ourselves whether this is what we truly need. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Similarly, when it comes to marriage, I would ask what would it look like if the world married a little smarter? How would the mental and emotional health of our children improve? How much more productive, connected, and peaceful would it be? The reality is that healthy marriages have the ability to make us happier and even physically healthier. Children who grow up with parents who love and care for one another are protected from a range of problems including social and emotional issues, learning and educational issues, and even some physical health problems. At the same time, an unhappy marriage can be crushing both to the adults in it and the children they raise.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Engaging in or being exposed to chronic conflict impacts quality of life and productivity, and has the potential to hasten mortality. Research shows that telomeres—structures at the end of our chromosomes associated with longevity—show increased cellular aging when a person is chronically exposed to unhappy and high-conflict relationships. Making a smart choice when it comes to your permanent partner can impact almost every aspect of your life and your current or future children’s lives.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<b><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Here are some ways to start taking the commitment game seriously, by marrying up in terms of your mental health and emotional well-being rather than searching perpetually for mere genital union:<o:p></o:p></span></span></b></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><b><span lang="EN-GB">(Don’t marry) to prove something.</span></b><span lang="EN-GB"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Right or wrong, in our culture, the act of saying – I do – and signing a piece of paper is a symbol of success, prosperity, happiness, maturity, and stability. As a result, people unwittingly use marriage as a way to prove things about themselves to those around them, or to themselves. Some marry to prove to their parents that they are independent and are now fully adults. People marry to prove to exes that they’ve happily moved on. Some marry to escape their family of origin and to prove they can do it all on their own. And many marry in an attempt to prove to themselves that their future is bright and they are “normal.” At the end of the day, marriage proves nothing. Instead, prove to yourself that you can maintain a healthy relationship in the here and now. Work to be yourself, to communicate and to love someone fully just as they are.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><b><span lang="EN-GB">(Don’t marry) to take care of someone or to be taken care of.</span></b><span lang="EN-GB"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">The urge to take care of, and be cared for, is strong because it’s literally wired into our nervous systems. It’s okay to want to feel cared for, and to want to love others. It’s not okay to go around looking for someone to do for you what you cannot do for yourself. And it is not okay to do for others what they should be doing for themselves. You have to be a fully functioning, separate individual to be in a healthy union. Otherwise, you will start to get confused and overburdened by what is their baggage to carry and what is your baggage to carry. Before you know it you’ve become co-dependent with your partner and you, your separate, unique lovely self, will cease to exist. Happy marriages are true partnerships in which each member can take care of themselves and better the team. To get to true partnership, learn not only how to be on your own but how to like it.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<b><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">(Don’t marry) to feel self-worth. </span></span></b></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Finally, you meet the person of your dreams. They are everything you are not and you feel intact and worthy in a way you have never experienced before. If you feel this way, <i>sound the alarm</i>: We have a problem. What you have discovered is not healthy love but fool’s gold. If you have never felt fully intact and good about yourself, separate from a romantic relationship, this relationship will let you down simply because <i>no one </i>can give us worth that we can’t first give <i>ourselves</i>. Work on feeling good all on your own before entering into a committed union.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><b><span lang="EN-GB">(Don’t marry) because you think you are running out of time.</span></b><span lang="EN-GB"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">It can be the case that a person gets to a certain age and they feel, “All right, I guess I’ll get married; what else am I going to do?” They see friends or colleagues moving into the domestic sphere and fear they will be the last one standing alone. Pride and fear make them take the plunge perhaps, before they are fully ready. Let yourself be the last one standing. Be brave. It’s hard to wait, but a few more years can be the difference between a hasty marriage to the wrong match that will bring you conflict and upset or a healthy marriage that will bring you well-being and longevity.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><b><span lang="EN-GB">(Don’t marry) to have the family you never had.</span></b><span lang="EN-GB"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Childhood wounds are hard to heal. A tempting shortcut around the pain is to believe in a fantasy that marriage will give you the family you never had—and that you deserve. You may vow to yourself and your partner that you won’t recreate the patterns and dynamics you grew up in. You believe in yourself and your love. You want to take all that childhood disappointment, hurt, or even abuse, and transform it into a new marriage and eventual family. Sadly, the result won’t deliver the goods. Until you clean up those old wounds, on your own, or with the help of a friend, a therapist, anyone you can talk about the true you to, they will continue to plague you, no matter who you marry. Take time now, before you commit, to look inward, understand yourself, and heal. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<b><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">(Don’t marry) because people think otherwise about your sexuality. <o:p></o:p></span></span></b></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">If you aren’t married until a certain age, gossip is rife about your sexual preferences. You know who you are and that is testimony enough. Do not be bothered about adjusting to the world with the fear of being branded something if you haven’t found your fit yet. Getting into a relationship to silence the world is the worst kind of torture you would be doing to yourself. Remember, a woman who makes you weak in the knees is the one for you, and if the bells toll in her heart and mind about you the same way, then there is nothing stopping you from being together, but until that happens naturally, simply ignore the gossip mongers. Bear in mind that your band of brothers have stuck by you, no questions asked, so stick with them, and do what makes you happy. What matters is a firm and stable support system and it doesn’t matter what gender provides it. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<b><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">(In) conclusion. <o:p></o:p></span></span></b></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Loneliness is one of the sole reasons that majority of people plunge immaturely into marriage. They find it hard to differentiate the lines between loneliness and being happily alone. They fear in having to deal being comfortable with your own company, more so because such feelings have been ingrained in them by society as being abnormal. This is exactly where I wish to share some thoughts about loneliness and being alone from what architect, athlete, poet, singer, actor to the world, but simply my younger brother to me, Imran Abbas had shared not too long ago. Imran, like me, is an individual who lives life sans any pretentions or regrets, and these reflections from him below, and me above, may help access a deeper you, and might throw light by giving you some clarity on your thoughts, yourself.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj7oMb3AtNSV7AZHGZJ5-7lt6Z1Phv1DObkqVoMrcjICBCw_czkC-GO-Z69wo_ywAF3v1K2TxGMnDrgcYxGXX8lohktX99IF7qRu5w-8cYfRNjKbAfg8IwutAW4EQ_CH8Xrp72fLeHk_Sff/s1600/70048513_2519494168098604_1896847674640957440_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><img border="0" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="790" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj7oMb3AtNSV7AZHGZJ5-7lt6Z1Phv1DObkqVoMrcjICBCw_czkC-GO-Z69wo_ywAF3v1K2TxGMnDrgcYxGXX8lohktX99IF7qRu5w-8cYfRNjKbAfg8IwutAW4EQ_CH8Xrp72fLeHk_Sff/s1600/70048513_2519494168098604_1896847674640957440_n.jpg" /></span></a></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">The stereotypes that often come with leading a single life are generally categorised into one group: loneliness. It is so often assumed that those who have not yet found that special person who makes the world a little brighter are experiencing those god-awful waves of loneliness. In reality, there is a magnificent difference between being lonely and being alone. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Being lonely is that kind of aching that resonates in your chest. That dull, constant feeling that follows you around all day long. It doesn’t matter what you’re doing or whom you’re with, it’s impossible to shake that feeling. Typically, these feelings are most prominent after recently losing that person who made your world a little brighter. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /><span style="background-color: white; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial;">Being lonely comes with so many side effects: memories, insomnia, and confusion. Loneliness encapsulates the best parts of your life and forces you to notice their profound absence. Loneliness makes you wonder why—why you? Why can’t you catch a break, why haven’t you had a simple stroke of luck? Loneliness is that prominent, gaping hole in your life that just can’t seem to be filled regardless of what you do. Loneliness is the 3am thoughts that haunt your dreams. Loneliness is that song on the radio that you have to turn off the second it comes on. <o:p></o:p></span></span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">But being alone is a different situation completely. Being alone is a state of being; loneliness is a state of mind. When you’re alone you’re forced to realise all the things you don’t have, sure, but you’re also forced to realise all the things about yourself that you couldn’t when you spent your days memorising someone else. Being alone is taking the time to really think about what you want from someone the next time around, because you are going to do everything in your power that you never suffer from that lonely disease again. Being alone is sitting under a tree for an afternoon and reading a book, and enjoying every single minute of it. Being alone is doing things by yourself, but also doing them for yourself. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Of course, there are those times when being alone crosses paths with being lonely. It’s those times that you’re shopping for a new dress by yourself and you can’t help but notice that couple on the corner of the street. Their happiness radiates, and you remember the days when that used to be you. For a brief moment that dull feeling aches in your chest, but it doesn’t stay. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /><span style="background-color: white; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial;">Being alone can be the most empowering experience of your life. If you let the loneliness consume you, you’re going to lose that rare chance to figure yourself out when you could always find company in yourself. Loneliness is going to try to force you to find that company with another person. Everyone has a place in the world, though, and yours shouldn’t be inside someone else. <o:p></o:p></span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="background-color: white;">Being alone is an art; embrace it.</span><span lang="EN-GB"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<b><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">(Foot) note.<o:p></o:p></span></span></b></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Stay stress-free and traverse the journey that life has chosen for you. Don’t worry about what is to come because nobody knows what is to come. Live in the moment, and live it to your maximum – what is to happen tomorrow will happen in your today, and what happens in your today, decides whether it would want to stay in your tomorrow, and even though we think we have control over it, we don’t. Nothing has ever been in our control and nothing will ever be in our control. The switch is in the hands of someone or something that is beyond the realms of our common understanding. So I would say, inhale, exhale, live, love, and know that that’s enough. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjD_lKgXN7JD2Fp0pNv4Aw4FWJPMGPCOk2ccnBahhkLqZKbWH_k_V38EAb_9oEj4YVv4z1bYK-QU3m0RlzuC5WyCpml4T4vrc-_IsaKnvYTdrJw7Xk8CddAPvPtveUSNMuKCYduIirsJjPl/s1600/700712_rxclinic1523637013.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjD_lKgXN7JD2Fp0pNv4Aw4FWJPMGPCOk2ccnBahhkLqZKbWH_k_V38EAb_9oEj4YVv4z1bYK-QU3m0RlzuC5WyCpml4T4vrc-_IsaKnvYTdrJw7Xk8CddAPvPtveUSNMuKCYduIirsJjPl/s1600/700712_rxclinic1523637013.jpeg" /></span></a></div>
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Farahdeen Khanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04295728317408441494noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5824144085937008540.post-2232489519994568942019-09-12T11:28:00.000+05:302019-09-14T15:35:46.499+05:30AS BLUE AS BLOOD<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjfmXUjk3txlnXP9HJa6jZpdj_skFtnbnioUlsAvVJZ1G55_nJeRaOcOP0EV-5PZy22MB3N3K-5rE_ApCcayE52eL0zJSggOfNT0W6IFPrYAkzvP3hScRuAdNE2XYq4cuNuYHHXdN4jz1We/s1600/The+Martyrdom+of+Saint+Matthew+-+Caravaggio+%2528C.+1599-1600%2529.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1054" data-original-width="1200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjfmXUjk3txlnXP9HJa6jZpdj_skFtnbnioUlsAvVJZ1G55_nJeRaOcOP0EV-5PZy22MB3N3K-5rE_ApCcayE52eL0zJSggOfNT0W6IFPrYAkzvP3hScRuAdNE2XYq4cuNuYHHXdN4jz1We/s1600/The+Martyrdom+of+Saint+Matthew+-+Caravaggio+%2528C.+1599-1600%2529.jpg" /></span></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="background-color: white;">The Martyrdom of Saint Matthew - Michelangelo Merisi da </span>Caravaggio </span><span style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">(C. 1599-1600)</span> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="line-height: 24.266664505004883px;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="color: red; font-size: x-large;">AS BLUE AS BLOOD</span><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="line-height: 24.266664505004883px;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">It was early evening. He was stretched out on the grass. Exhausted. Above him were trees in full bloom, and beyond them the sky with great cottony clouds passing by. He was humming a song that had become quite his favourite from a recent movie he had seen when his friend handed him over a used cigarette. Pressing the butt between his lips, he imagined himself to be looking like some actor. “How wonderful would it be if a director from up inside the skies would spot me and offer me a role in his movie where the song I love would be re-picturised on me.” He made known with such significance. “Wake up!” exclaimed his friend as he held before him half a slice of dried bread, “For all you know we might be quite looking like used paper bags strewn about on the floor for anyone who would spot us from that distance.” He grinned wearily at what his friend had just expressed. “You very well know that paper bags don’t get roles in movies now, don’t you,” his friend went on, “the only thing that they would see would be the inside of wastebaskets.” They chuckled and lay next to each other, too tired to talk more.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="line-height: 24.266664505004883px;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">It turned to night rather swiftly. Their bodies now reposed, both of them embarked towards home; a makeshift shelter that four of them shared in a ghetto meant for a certain minority community. Whilst walking, they came across a bunch of men embroiled in an argument. He strolled up to them. One of the men stopped talking and turned to him. He had glassy eyes and his face appeared hard-bitten from the vagaries of life. “What?” He snarled. He pointed to the puncture. “Oh,” he said brusquely, “I didn’t realise.” He smiled back kindly at the ill-mannered man. “Change it, you dunce,” growled another man curtly from the same cluster. He bobbed his head and waved out for his friend who was standing at a distance. The friend came closer to him. “These arseholes don’t seem like they merit any help.” He patted his friend gently on his shoulders and pointed to the sky above. “Last I heard they were looking for a replacement of Mother Teresa . . . and this time they aren’t advertising for any particular gender, so . . .” He smiled and asked his friend to hold the wheel as he seized the spanner and began unscrewing the bolts. While they were changing the tyre, they heard the three men quarrel about the failing economic state of the country and how nearly everything around the world was taking a turn for the worse. Two of the fellows were moderate in their views, and the one with the glassy eyes and hardened face was the venomous of the entire lot. He was incapable to accept a viewpoint that did not align with his own and used his voice in full capacity in order to display his raucous resistance. The spare tyre now secured in its place, his friend and he dusted their hands and gave the men a nod before making away. The men were so knotted in their row that they had overlooked to offer them any monetary reward. Humming his favourite tune, they were hardly a few steps away when one of the men called out loud. “Hey!” he barked, “Come back here and take this!” He noticed that the man was holding a bill of cash. “Thank you,” he said loud enough to be heard, “we didn’t help you for the money.” The man rolled his eyes and returned to the squabble with his associates. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="line-height: 24.266664505004883px;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">“So what did you think about what they were speaking about the state of the country?” asked his friend, the breeze jesting about fondly on their skin. “Really?” he said squinting, “Do poor people like us enjoy the luxury to indulge in subjects like those?” His friend smiled. “I know what you mean, but we can have an opinion, can’t we?” He stopped walking and twisted his torso to face his friend. “Who would care for our opinion, eh? These rich people cannot even change a tyre and they talk of society like it were a shop. They have nothing worthy to call it a conversation simply because their bellies are full, and we have nothing worthy to call a conversation simply because our empty bellies leave us no room for theories. It is enough if we keep ourselves occupied with thinking about how best to secure our next meal than indulging in world affairs, don’t you think.” <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="line-height: 24.266664505004883px;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">He was a graduate, but worked as a daily wage operative at construction sites owing to the markets that were dreadfully haemorrhaging despite the media stating otherwise. There was no saviour in sight as the press was tortuously controlled by the ruling leadership, and in such a forbidding scenario, steady employment was extremely hard to come by. If by some stroke of luck something fruitful had ensued between you and your freelance work provider, you were conferred a contract with a construction firm that took care of your income for a minimum of three months, and after that, it was back to square one. It was at such trying times, with no apparent sign of any hope that life became not only troubling, but also demoralising, and his fellow mates and he humoured themselves to petty crimes, the only assured method that offered them meals daily at the local lockup. They also had, over the years, come to an understanding with the police – they shared with them some of their income as a barter of them letting them use the prison facilities until they had not found themselves a steady stream of income again. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="line-height: 24.266664505004883px;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Before tossing away the soiled piece of paper that the samosas were wrapped in, something grabbed his attention. He looked at his friend. “Did you see this?” he said, handing over the piece of paper on which was a picture of the house of the richest man on earth. His friend glanced at the snippet, “Whoa, twenty-five floors for what? After all we sleep in one, we shit in one, and we fuck in one.” They both laughed as his friend crumpled the soiled paper into a ball, flung it on the floor and kicked it as it went flying in the air, and onto the road where it was runover by an automobile.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="line-height: 24.266664505004883px;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Owing to their regularity of visiting the police station, the head constable had become a friend of sorts. As they sat one evening inside the cell, a rat was scampering nearby. He asked the head constable if he was happy with his job considering he was a part of the majority that were claiming stake of this nation as nobody else’s but their own. “What can I say,” said the head constable, “we are nothing but puppets of the politicians, and whether we have a conscience or not, we have to carry out our duties that the uniform demands.” He became thoughtfully silent and watched how the rat ran about here and there frantically in order to escape the piercing eyes of the cat that had now entered the cell. The rat, he observed at first was nimble, and past a few minutes his speed slackened, and that was exactly when he ended up being devoured by the chubby cat who smacked her lips and made away mewing like she had won a jackpot of a meal. “And what about when you are off your uniform?” he asked. “I am as human as anybody else. I love those who love me. I don’t look at it via the lens of caste, class or culture.” He rested his back to the cold wall of the lockup. “What do you think has gone wrong with the world?” The head constable breathed deeply, “I wish I could answer that.” <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="line-height: 24.266664505004883px;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Once out of the lockup, he knocked at the door of a woman he often visited. They had met on a worksite, and ever since then he had grown into a habit of calling upon her for sexual musts. They asked no questions, offered no explanations, and purely followed whatever their bodies led them to whenever such appetites were aroused in their groins. He was dabbing away his sweat from his armpits with a tiny towel after a satisfactory session of intercourse when she informed him that she was leaving the country because things for their community were getting unhealthier by the day. He met her declaration with thorough disbelief. “We are born here and we will die here,” he declared with some deliberation, “how can you even think of leaving your land?” She sauntered up to him and held his face in her hands tenderly. They exchanged a prolonged look, a look that said more than what words might have been able to convey. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="line-height: 24.266664505004883px;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">A week later certain parts of the city were struck by communal insurgence. He was enroute his house from the house of this woman when a mob confronted him. He recognised that they were the same men whom he had helped with the tyre puncture. They asked him bitterly as they began hammering him with blows if he had thought that he was a hero to have refused the money that they had offered him that day. His face pale with fright, he pleaded that they let him go because what he had done was not for any benefits but purely out of help to humanity. The hard-faced fellow gripped his jaw forcefully and squeezed it as he glared wrathfully into his mild eyes. He ordered him to chant some words of their deities. He did as he was told. They beat him further stating that they abhorred to hear names of their gods spoken from an unclean mouth such as his. He was about to say something when another man picked up a medium sized boulder from the side of the pavement and cast him a deadly blow to his head from behind. He dropped to the ground in an instant. The rest of the men kicked him mercilessly just as somebody in the cruel cluster lifted the same blood-spattered boulder and bludgeoned him to death. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="line-height: 24.266664505004883px;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">When the news of his murder reached her, she opened a canister of rat poison and gulped it down her throat. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="line-height: 24.266664505004883px;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">In no time people had assembled at the scene of the killing. </span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="line-height: 24.266664505004883px;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">“Move away to some place safer I had warned him long ago,” said someone, “and he had said, ‘these are my people, they won’t hurt me’ and see what his people have done to him! See!”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="line-height: 24.266664505004883px;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">“He deserved it,” murmured someone. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="line-height: 24.266664505004883px;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">“For what?” someone else asked.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="line-height: 24.266664505004883px;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">“Do I need to answer that?” said another man present there. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="line-height: 24.266664505004883px;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">“Today you are enjoying this, but remember that . . .” <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="line-height: 24.266664505004883px;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">“That every dog has its day,” completed another. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="line-height: 24.266664505004883px;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">“I think everyone from his creed must be doomed to die in a similar fashion,” voiced someone else astringently.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="line-height: 24.266664505004883px;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">“What a dreary time to live in when people think like this,” whispered another and walked away. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="line-height: 24.266664505004883px;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">The whiff of his butchery had spread over social media like wildfire. Though the police took their own time to arrive, the head constable dashed to the spot of the crime. The instant he set his eyes on him, he felt an unexplainable bite in his heart – to see someone as caring and ebullient as him lying there dead was something he felt was the worst form of injustice that god’s creatures could have ever bestowed upon him. He closed his eyes and tried to compose himself when the commissioner drew up in his car. A shifty and fidgety man, the commissioner inspected the corpse. The staff around him were awaiting orders when he grinned at them and said in the jolliest tone, “Seeing this blood reminds me that I have some strawberry pies in my jeep.” He paused and consulted his wristwatch, and then gestured that his staff fetch him the box from his jeep. He began then chomping on the strawberry pie with the body of an innocent man resting a few inches away, flies now feasting on the open wounds of the departed. Once done, he threw the box on the body and made away in his jeep. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="line-height: 24.266664505004883px;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">The following day the headlines read – <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="line-height: 24.266664505004883px;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Young man from a minority community atoned for his wrongdoings. He was carrying on him meat of an animal that was sacrosanct to the nation. Killed brutally by unidentified assailants. The police has closed the case due to lack of any evidence on the site, and due to the fact that there was no manner in which to find who had done this since there were no eye witnesses, or any kind of camera footage to provide any concrete proof. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="line-height: 24.266664505004883px;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">The head constable who used a pseudonym online, tweeted: Before leaving they left a bag of animal meat near him to mislead everyone that he was killed because he was carrying on him that meat. The Truth: he was a vegetarian. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="line-height: 24.266664505004883px;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">The public went berserk that someone from the their community was so agreeably in support of the minority. Organisations swore that if they unearthed the identity of the individual they would decapitate him.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="line-height: 24.266664505004883px;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Two days later, the head constable was discovered by his subordinates in a pool of blood. The cause: he had accidently moved the trigger while cleaning the gun that had resulted in his death.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="line-height: 24.266664505004883px;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">The internet rejoiced. And so did majority of the people. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="line-height: 24.266664505004883px;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">His friend was stretched out on the same spot that he was killed. The trees were blooming, as usual. The sky was clear, as usual. Tears streamed down the corners of his eyes. He made no attempt to wipe them. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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Farahdeen Khanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04295728317408441494noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5824144085937008540.post-81318174646145553922019-08-03T22:39:00.005+05:302019-08-03T22:39:59.207+05:30DANYAL ZAFAR - Ek Aur Ek 3 <div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<span style="font-size: x-large;"><iframe width="320" height="266" class="YOUTUBE-iframe-video" data-thumbnail-src="https://i.ytimg.com/vi/d-gddN9TIgo/0.jpg" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/d-gddN9TIgo?feature=player_embedded" frameborder="0" allowfullscreen></iframe></span></div>
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<span style="color: #1c1e21;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: x-large;">. . . And here’s presenting my little brother Danyal Zafar’s debut single Ek Aur Ek 3. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: #1c1e21;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: x-large;">The music production, the design, and the lyrics are by my Danny as well.<span class="apple-converted-space"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="color: #1c1e21;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: x-large;">TRIP ON IT the way I am TRIPPING ON IT.</span></span></div>
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Farahdeen Khanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04295728317408441494noreply@blogger.com0