The power of electricity.

Survived 10 hours and 15 minutes of power cut today. This gave me time to think, and embrace the power of electricity. I was almost in tears when I heard the fan roar and see the tube light pump in energy into my room again. 

Forget how humid and annoying it was, there is just so much more than we rely on electricity for, these days. First off, I work alternate Saturdays. So the other Saturdays are a boon beyond reason. 
Here's a gist of what my today looked like, and how sucky it was.

1) The first two hours were manageable, as long as the mother and grandmother were around for company. Paper, chai, hi and good mornings, etc took up time.

2) Phone Internet started hogging on battery, hence decided to keep it shut for a while.

3) With nothing else to do, binged on a packet of masala corn balls. Soon, time for lunch.

4) Read a whole Calvin&Hobbes book to just push lunch as much as possible.

5) Hands start itching to see what's happening with the world. Battery dies a little more.

6) By this time, I'm suddenly left home alone. Obviously, with nothing to do.

7) Eat lunch.

8) Try to take power nap, FAIL thanks to the humidity and sweat.

9) Maid enters. Try to keep myself occupied watching her work.

10) Get an idea for an advertisement. Start writing on paper, have absolutely no flow of thought (or the backspace option)

11) Phone is almost gone. Try desperate methods of saving it. Like, the ever helpful Mac!

12) Try to play brother's guitar. Even the dogs ran away.

13) Eat more corn balls, and have two more cups of chai. Because, bored.

14) Pray for electricity to return soon. Or at least some human company. (All dogs were too blissfully asleep to be ruthlessly woken up)

15) Power nap fail, yet again. Eyes are too tired to read anymore.

16) Start talking to myself, without any other choice. I sang a little too. 

17) Father returns home. OMG PARCEL FROM DOSA PLAZA

18) Ate American Chopsuey Dosa (yes), and waited impatiently.

BAAAAM! Electricity is back, so is all the happiness.

What has social media done to me? Where is all this stupid addiction going to lead? It's a scary thought. So incredibly difficult to digest the fact that at one point of time, everybody lived without electricity. A worse thought? The fact that so many people live today, this minute, without any access to electricity. 

Though I did make it through 10 hours successfully, I disappointed myself. A lot.

Until next.

Dream big. Dream with your eyes open.

I dream consciously. I dream because I love to. Dream during the day. Stop your work for a while, stare into empty space and just dream. Never give up dreaming. Be passionate about being able to dream. So many people don't make time to dream.

By dreaming, I don't mean the dreams that attack you while you're fast asleep. Those are driven by the day's happenings and highly influenced by reality. You can't even recall most of them. We have enough of shit to deal with in reality, why bother adding it to dreams? Dreams are meant to be unique, fantasy based. Take a break from whatever you are doing, and let your thoughts just wander.

There's a healthy difference between day dreaming and night dreaming. You have no control over night dreaming. Which is also why nightmares come into existence and ruin a good night's sleep.  Like I also said, it is always based on what happened during the course of the day. So, why not change the course of the day?

Dream about anything under and above the sun. Dream about puppies flying. Dream about that wedding you've always wanted; detail out every single thing you want. Dream of the tiny, pretty house you can maintain all by yourself. Dream  of watching baby pandas fall off a slide. Dream of your life as a celebrity; give yourself importance. Dream about how you managed to save the world. Dream about that perfect guy/girl you want to date. Dream about having your crush fall for you, head over heels. Dream of a big bunglow that you know you can't afford. Dream of a life where money isn't everything. Dream of shopping. Dream of sun bathing in a beach wearing a bikini and not feel shy about.

Dream about anything, everything.

Of course, be positive. A smile will draw itself on your face without you knowing it.

Spruce up scenarios, make happy bubbles, and live in the them. Enjoy the liberty of shaping the dream and deciding its course. Enjoy the fact that you are the master of your mind. Enjoy how much you can embrace life in a parallel universe. Enjoy sculpting every detail with a dash of perfection in accordance to what you really want.

Dream consciously during the day. The sub conscious night dreams will fall quietly into place.

Haffun!

I see chocolate. Nothing happens.

The joy of an anti-sweet tooth. I don't even know why it is such a big deal. It isn't. But the sweet tooth walas have made it this way for the minority.

"Hey, chocolate?"

"No thanks, not too fond of it."

"WHAT? How do you survive?"

Sorry for bursting your chocolate filled bubble, but like without chocolate is highly possible. And extremely comfortable. I can't survive beyond one square of a dairy milk bar, so forget the rest. I've seen for real when people melt, go crazy, tear their hair, make orgasmic noises at the very look at that brown, gooey thing. Doesn't stop with just chocolates, let's not even get into the world of cakes and cupcakes. Every third picture of my newsfeed has a cupcake. Ok, I admit, I love love love looking at those pictures. But it does not make me want to eat it. Nope, not even a bite.

So, while you sweet tooth walas hog on chocolates and cupcakes, I shall proudly announce to the world how my love for chips is multiplying in enormous amounts, with every new packet. If you really know me well, and decide to gift me something, you should know what not to give me.

Until next!

Just another love story.

They were walking down the railway station. It slowly started dawning upon her that he was leaving. The past week had been blissful. She didn't know what this meant. Happiness overflowing, fast paced heartbeats, blushing cheeks, restless sleep and high energy. It passed like a dream. Suddenly, everything else didn't matter. Didn't matter at all.

Her thoughts were interrupted by a deep, sexy voice.

"Give me the bag!"
"No. I'll carry it for you."
"No, give it to me!"
"But I want to carry it!"
"If you love me, then give it to me."
"I do.. I do love you."

Did she just say that? Her heartbeat was the fastest she'd ever felt in 16 years. They carried the bag together, each holding one strap. The bag took responsibility of the growing bond between them. The bag called out to their love and gave them an answer. The bag was stitched for them.

The next few minutes passed in complete oblivion. The electricity between them left her head spinning. She wanted to hold his hand, and have a conversation with his eyes. Their eyes were fixed on each other. The train window between them didn't pose a problem. The train moved.
She didn't say goodbye. Neither did he. No words were spoken. The train just moved.  It was only after he was out of sight that she began to realize. She was blindly in love.

Months flew by. They loved each other. Each day had reason to wake up with a smile. Each song had meaning. Each smile had thought of him behind it. Each minute was precious.

Years flew by. The electricity was intact. The love had grown multifold. The passion was enviable. They had grown fondly comfortable and happily familiar. She fell deeper in love. Even if he didn't have time to talk to her. Even if his phone was engaged for hours. Even if he snapped at her. She was too much in love.

It had fallen apart for him. She was too naive to realize that. She lived in a world of her own. The guilt was killing him. He had to break it. His new found love. That he loved her.

And he did. It shattered her to bits.

So more years passed. She had matured into a beautiful and confident person. He, on the other hand, heart broken, troubled and guilty.

They met at a friend's wedding. She was lugging her bags into the hall. He saw her with sorrowful, guilt studded eyes. He went up to her.

"Give me the bag!"

She gave him the bag and walked away, breezily. 

A lesson. The hard way.

A mere 7th standard kid, when completing notes on time and submitting was the biggest task in life. Quality didn't matter as long as I was punctual, until the day I had to read such comments at the back of my notes. My heart started thumping and I went red in embarrassment. 

I had to read it more than twice for the pure harshness in it to sink in. 

History lectures were something that didn't interest me in any way, that day was just a bit more than that. Even her face had the features of a strict teacher, and it suddenly became the only thing I could notice. I was restless all day, and obviously didn't muster the courage to tell any of my friends about it. The lecture started peacefully, but every minute ticked in my head. Unfortunately for me, the day wasn't written in my favour  She announced, “I want each one of you read out the comments I've written in your last lesson’s notes.” This was DOOM for me. I wanted to crawl up in a corner and cry. 

It felt so obvious, it was ‘attack-Shasvathi-day’. When it finally boiled down to my turn, I think I couldn't find my voice, twice. With the entire class watching me, I repeated these words with trembling hands. 

"To have corrected such a miserable handwriting, I need it!"

End result, classmates broke out into a bout of laughter. Except for my best friend (thank God for that). I stormed back home, hid my face in a pillow and cried. And as always, the mother came to my rescue and taught me how to take it as a lesson and not a ‘failure’. It took me a while to look at it rationally. A year down the line, I got an overall ‘improvement in handwriting’ in my progress report. That was the beginning. Its been 9 years now, and these words still ring in my head as clearly as then. Not just for handwriting, but for ANYTHING I do. 

Thank you, Ma’am.

I miss you, mom.

Hi Mommy,

I'm writing to let you know I'm safe. I'm safe, but I'm in pain. I want to snuggle up close to you and cry. You kept telling me not to run around, skip, hop and jump near the dangerous highway close to home. I'm sorry I didn't listen to you. I should have.

Here's what happened, mom.

Sis and I were fun-fighting over these delicious parathas some humans threw to us outside that hotel. We were laughing, eating and savouring the taste, ripping it apart one piece at a time. Once our tummies were full, we went rolling on the grass nearby, enjoying the smell of fresh rains and wet mud. Suddenly, in all her playful spirit, sis sprinted towards the road. Believe me mom, I ran behind her as fast as I could. A gigantic truck hit poor little sis and sped across in a split second. Now I understand why highways and a few humans are dangerous. Sis was thrown across the road and that is etched in my mind. I will always be haunted by that nightmarish moment. By the time I reached her, it was too late. All I could see was blood and gore. I ran around her in circles, squealing for help. Not a soul stopped. Where were you then, mom?

I saw sis breathe her last.

While I was still crying out desperately for help, I forgot I had to look left and right, then left and right again, while crossing the road. In just a few sparkly seconds, I thought I was flying and then fell with a thud on the road. Except, what I thought was really true.

I don't know what had happened, but I saw a big black car zoom ahead. Everything was a blur after this. But I do have vague recollections of the evening's happenings. I saw a hairy man stick his head out of the car, laugh loudly and throw a glass bottle out of the window which smashed against a tree. I don't know what it was. Or why he threw it.

All I could concentrate on was the pain. I was wincing in pain. Excruciating pain I can't even begin to explain.  Pain Pain Pain. I was lying helpless in the middle of the road and I knew this was my last escape before another life-threatening vehicle passed. I tried moving, I couldn't. I didn't even know if my tiny legs were part of my body any more. I tried dragging myself but heard a dreadful crack in my ribs. That pain was so fierce I started seeing black and silver spots. At a slight side glance, I could see baby sis in a pool of blood. I cringed and gave up the fight. I couldn't even cry for help, for more vehicles passed by without giving me or sis a second glance. Where were you when I needed you the most, mom? WHERE were you?

I was giving in to the unbearable pain, and the world was becoming darker by the second. I saw a white car pass by. It's a special car. You want to know why? Because the car reversed and stopped near me. Yes mommy, I got help! This man hopped out, looked left and right only once and swiftly walked towards me.  He took a minute to check if I was going to bite him. Haha, mom, I love humans. Why would I bite him? Anyway, he instantly picked me up and put me inside that giant car. Exactly like the ones we ran behind at night!

It was cold inside the car and there were more humans who were staring at me. I think there was a lot of blood on me and I looked scarily ugly. I know you won't agree with that. They tried to make me comfortable with soft blankets. The pain was racking and I was terrified. I didn't want to die. No, I didn't! 

I passed out. 

I was so sure I was dead. But I drowsily woke to the smell of medicine and a sharp poke in my left hand. I lay tired, hurt and sapped on a cold steel table. After what seemed like ages, I was carried back to the car and driven away to a house where dogs, cats, rabbits and guinea pigs live too! A lovely lady cooks delicious food for me everyday. 

10 days have passed, the pain has slowly started decreasing and I'm getting better. I visit the doc regularly and eat medicines that don't taste nice. I occasionally play with the dogs here and love scaring the cats. But I want to come back home. I don't know the route. Will I ever see you again?

I want to see you, mom. And I miss darling sis. 

Yours Woofily,
Sonny. 

P.S.: Incidents like these happen everywhere and we're insensitive. Sometimes, right in front of your eyes. Sometimes, your own vehicle may hit a dog/pup/cat/kitten/cow/monkey/donkey/elephant, anything. Don't drive away. Don't hate the dog on the road when you love the one at home. Help them. Be kind. Call for help. 

Would you drive over your dead loved one lying on the road? If you see a hit-and-run case on the road and the animal is dead, pick up the animal and place it on the side of the road. Clear the road. Respect the victim's dignity.  

It's the least you can do.

Can you really forgive?

Lately, a lot of incidents in my life have been crossing paths with big words like 'forgive' or 'patch-up' or 'just like old times again'. For a start, I'm no angel. I've made mistakes and screwed up in life. But to an extent, I can say for sure a few select people have probably not been the way I expected them to be. You know, people change and all that. Well, whatever.

I'm not getting into the details of incidents that happened. But there are a few important lessons I hold dear to me from last week. Forgiveness. Wait, its more difficult than you really think it is.

Hurt does not go easy. It sticks on. Like invisible fevicol. But whoever whenever said "Time Heals." must have been a real genius. Or been a really strong survivor of sorts. But my, is it true or what. For a while, you feel hurt, hatred, hated, lonely and annoyed. Over time, it transforms itself. You go through a numb phase. You don't know if you are happy or sad. You don't know if you are hurt or simply put, just indifferent.

And then comes the reality phase.

If and when you've got to face the truth. You see the other person's face, and all you can think of are sweet memories, not the bitter ones. The same nightmare that's played in your head over and over again is forgotten. You learn to survive. You know you've matured when you are able to shed all negativity and look to start afresh. And trust me, you will feel so much lighter when you've let go of past memories.

As humans, we should learn how to forgive. For at some point of time or the other, we've all made mistakes. Each mistake has a story behind it. Try and understand it. If you can't, then just flush it down and start afresh.

It's worth it.

Double Bubble

I've always surprised myself with the crankiest of dreams. From folding a tiger and locking it in my wardrobe, to climbing on to a running flight, to pushing my ex-friend from a 68 storey building who survived and came back to haunt me, to my awesome little pet Jumbu, the fat elephant, I've had real fun dreaming away into the dark.

On trying to dwell deeper into my dreams, I've decided writing them down in the best way to keep them preserved. For I think, they can be made into unimaginable movies. One of a kind. 

*Self brag*

So anyway, one normal day I wake up and head to my friend's place. Who incidentally, had a fish tank. While standing besides and observing fish swimming happily in the water, I suddenly felt Deja Vu`. And how! It was the previous night's dream. It flashed in bits of blinding light in front of me. I had to sit down, shut my eyes for a bit and recall everything that happened. 

*Filmy drama end*

The dream. Here goes.

Sitting in a gorgeously decorated home of a friend's, the walls almost echoed the kind of money that's gone into the making. So wonderfully done up, it was heart warming. One of those houses you never want to get out of. And, it also happened to be in Chennai. Preparing tediously for an upcoming Math exam was not easy, it deserved a few breaks. Here and there. I decided to take one sooner than my friend, so I sit on a comfortable bean bag and stare tired yet dreamily into her fish tank.

The tank is well maintained, and cleaned out recently. The water was fresh, plants were newly replaced and the fishes, turtle, and the sucker had a slide to entertain themselves with. Or whatever they did with it. 

After a few interesting moments, the Blue Fish in the tank and I made deep eye contact. And by this, I mean, really deep. Like, really really intense. 

Hence followed a conversation between us. Telepathy, but of course.

"I want to be you. How I wish! Just happily swimming, and no math exam to worry about."

"Ha! Really? You have no idea how difficult it is to be a fish. Its such a task to be in water all the frikkin' time!"

"Try solving trigonometry, we can discuss H2O problems after that."

"Can you stop arguing with me? How would you understand the problem of not having a definite pair of legs and arms?"

"What is troubling you? All you have to do is swim all day! God has blessed you with fins and gills supporting that. Stop complaining, you!"

The conversation snowballed into an argument. The argument went on and on for a while, and soon, while still in the dream, a sudden realization brought me to a jolt.

I WAS THE FISH! I could feel my hands and legs tied into the skin of a fish and forced to swim all day, all night. In fact, at some point, the fish's face started to slowly resemble mine! Freaky, much?

And very soon, it was me in a double action role in my dream. One, the girl who had to study for her math exam soon. And the other, a fish. A fish who felt like a human who was forced to take the shape of a fish. But was actually a fish. Vague, yes. Really vague.

Since I don't remember how I ended the conversation with myself, the dream ended there.

Should thank my sub conscious profusely for the brilliant camera angles it provided throughout the energy draining double action role. And without doubt, the acting I pulled off? You'd have been surprised if you had seen.

Until next.

A woof story.

Golden Temple of Amritsar through the eyes of a Dog.

-     

      Hi. My name is Anak Sharma (yes, I gave myself that). Just like many other dogs in the country, I was born in a dirty gutter, in Amritsar. I was a tiny tot when my mother passed away due to hunger and weakness. I grew up playing with my siblings, three of whom have already gone missing. I roam around the streets, I eat different varieties of food everyday, I run behind little kids, I play rough with my other dog buddies, I have my ‘spots’ in this city. But my most favorite of them all, is most definitely wandering around the Golden Temple.

It was about a year back, the fat aunty who feeds me was out of town and I missed lunch. I randomly wandered into this ‘orange’ street where, for a change, only tangas were used and a lot of people gathered. These humans can never get enough of torturing animals, can they! Orange because whichever direction I turned, I saw people wearing orange cloth to cover their heads. It was winter, a rather cold day, and crazy people were actually walking barefoot. I was 2 years old then and had picked up enough English, Hindi and quite a bit of Punjabi too. Whenever I walk, I try and listen to people and understand. Trust me, I’ve come across some of the funniest conversations ever!

So then, I followed this gang of boys, whom I learnt are from some college, into this Temple, and I had no idea where I was being led. One of the boys turned to me and whistled, I went upto him with a happy face and a wagging tail. He played with me for a while, and to my absolute surprise, he tied the orange cloth around my head too! I ran around in circles and continued my journey along with them. That was the first time I heard the name ‘Golden Temple’. It was nice to step into the warm water kept outside to wash our feet, and then we entered. It was a breathtaking view. I heard all the boys sigh in happiness seeing the beautiful structure and I couldn’t help wish I could, too. Despite all the atrocities that humans commit, there is a lot of good around too, I thought to myself. From what I could infer, there was 100kg gold used in the temple, and was built way back in the 1570’s. Woah! I enthusiastically took a whole round around the temple surrounded by the lake, music that played was so melodious and soothing, but unfortunately, being the dog I am, was refused entry into the main passage to the temple. How I wish I could disguise! I could almost imagine how the inside would look though. I knew that people would give in their offerings near the alter and they came back with an orange bag in their hands. Interesting.

That was the first day I entered the most peaceful place I’ve ever gone to. And since then, I’ve wandered there everyday. Not just for the lip smacking delicious food, but also for the very aura and atmosphere that adds to the richness of the temple. I find my kind of company there everyday, some person or the other to walk around the lake with. There are people who shun me away, who try to shoo me away from the temple, but it always felt like God wanted me to be there. I’ve even had a picnic there with all my buddies.

The serendipity and the richness that fills the place there cannot be compared. Whenever I miss my mom or my siblings, I visit the temple. I meet different kinds of people. Many of them speak differently. Some walk fast, some walk slow. Sometimes I come across playful kids, some scared parents, some extremely old and religious, many school and college groups, but most of them, are extremely nice human beings who come there for the experience and to gain some goodness from the air.

It was much later that I learnt that the tranquility that surrounds the temple today is quite an irony to what happened many years before. There was a seize fire and more than 500 Sikhs were killed in the temple itself. I was shocked when I knew this, but then, humans, yeah.

Its been a year now, and the only reason why I have still not left Amritsar is because of the Golden Temple, my only promising happy home.

It’s the 20^th of January today, early morning, am back at the Temple walking with three pretty girls from Mumbai. From what I heard, Wilson College?

The younger one.

Ever since I can remember, I’ve always wanted an elder brother. Possibly influenced by my friend’s continuous glorification of the concept of an ‘anna’, the thought never left my mind.

Someone to dote over me, to pamper, to kick other guys, to be the girl in school who has the brother who will bully you if you mess with her, to earn before I start and shower me with gifts, to get married and bring me a ‘manni’.. I could go on and on and on.

I pleaded with my parents for an elder brother, but all they gave me was a younger one. And an extremely naughty, fat and annoying one. His pet name is Chubbi. (I don't know if I'm allowed to reveal that in public)

Yes, I was really happy when he was born. I even distributed chocolates in my class. But as he grew up, he stole my thunder everywhere! He was smart, could write, would question everything, looked unbearably adorable, curly hair and always the teacher’s pet. Technically, everything I was not. 

While teachers complained about my low grades to my mom (who taught in the same school, ugh!), they were overflowing with praises for my brother. I am justified in being a bit jealous, eh? He knows the Mughals better than the best history teacher; dinosaurs better than Ross; Google better than an employee.

We were just another bro-sis who fought for the remote, slapped each other, brother cuts up the Barbie, and sister ruins the HotWheels. You know all this. There was no major turning point or any emotional story that changed things. It was time. Time. Now that’s precious!

Or maybe there was. He once came home and told us he wants to go on a 4-day trip with his friends. This was a first. I felt an overwhelming breeze of possessiveness to let lil bro go away for long. I mean, anything can happen! I’ve gone on trips loads of times. But him? NO.

Well, anyway. He did go.

Today, he’s better than the best brother that my head can imagine. I know most sisters think their brother is the best; I’m one of them too. Except that my brother is really the best ever.

I should also mention that he’s lazy, adamant and stupid at times too.

Times change, and people change along with it. Emotionally and mentally, I sometimes really wonder who the older person is. Let’s take the physical appearance for granted, ok?

Also, three loud cheers to the wonderful cook that he is! As the ‘girl of the house’, I was probably the one expected to adorn the apron, but tadaa! Surprise surprise. A perfectionist at his best, spending hours standing in the kitchen and tasty food that makes me feel utterly useless. In my defense, I give him moral support and keep him company with my stories while he cooks.

On an ending note, thumbs up to awesome little brothers. And to sisters who are yet to realize how lucky they are, wake up. Have I set an example here? (Say yes, say yes!)

He will run to the shop and buy maggi for me, when I realize I want some after he’s started with his bowl. And cook it too. He has seen me cry for an hour at Pizza Hut over the silliest reasons, laughed at me when I fainted after a fatal injection, is randomly exposed to my retard self, threatened to click pictures of me posing, cook whenever I want and whatever I choose. And I am proudly his sole shopping specialist.

P.S: Chubbi and I share a lot of secrets too. *cough*

An open letter to heaven

Yes, I’m confident about it being heaven.

To whomsoever it may concern,

That’s where he is. We bid goodbye to our lovely grandfather yesterday evening, after seeing him go through a lot of immense pain over the last few months.

His name is Venkata Subramaniam, but you can call him Kannappa mama/thatha – he will relate to it. He’s short, cute and has a hint of mallu accent in his fluent Tamil. His standard attire is a veshti and a vest, full white. He has a hoarse voice and a distinct laughter, which you will soon grow to love.

So I’m imagining your place to be breathtakingly beautiful. Lovely gardens housing blossoming flowers; massive comfortable houses; no concept of money; a world of it’s own with no pain, hunger, anger and greed; no growing old and hospitals; laughter and joy; and a CCTV to watch all of us out here, perhaps? Because, sir/madam, if that’s not the case, I want you to return my people!

Tell me, what were my thatha’s first words when he met you first at the gate? I hope you were lucky enough to hear his positively soothing “Good Morninggg!”

I also hope you have made him feel at home. He loves to read the newspaper every morning, but he loved it even more when his granddaughter read it out to him one day. He loves Lord Muruga. He loves to read and expand his knowledge every single day. He loves his wife more than anything in my world and yours put together. He loves his steaming hot cup of chai at 3 in the afternoon, please don’t delay? He loves to visit temples and engage in social service, he even made his granddaughter sing at events for him. He loves company. He loves family. He loves watching serials and don’t screw up, he needs pin-drop silence when it is on. He loves all sorts of vegetarian food, especially south Indian. I don’t think he likes hospitals too much.

He’s braved a lot of challenges through his life setting a perfect example to all of us here. As a doting father, possessive husband, incredibly loving grandfather, the always-there-for-you brother, I-will-tell-you-how-it-is-done uncle and every other role he had to play. It’s been 84 years and we think he’s seen it all, done it all. It wasn’t entirely perfect here, so please keep it safe and comfortable for him. Please make sure his CCTV is working all the time, we need to keep talking to him.

Also, has he met his son, mom, dad, brother-in-law, sister1, sister2 and all the others yet? I’m sure they will all make a lovely family out there!

The last conversation I had with him was this question he asked me, “How does one be as slim as you?!” (Though he has been a fit gentleman all his life.) Let him know that each time I think of him asking me that, a wide grin on my face automatically takes shape.

We all miss him. We want you to take good care of him, ok? And good care of the other loved ones we’ve let go and in your custody too.

Will write to you soon again.

Warm regards,

Shasvathi Siva.