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Showing posts with label People. Show all posts
Showing posts with label People. Show all posts

Interview - Chitra Lele

By Sowjanya D Reddy

Chitra Lele is a young management consultant and multiple world record holding author who is conferred with the title of A Versatile Writer by the India Book of Records for penning the maximum number of books on various genres including business management, poetry, personal transformation in a span of 18 months. Chitra’s publications include academic and reference books, research papers, poetry anthologies and scholarly articles.

Q. You have written “English Language: The Gateway to Global Growth”, what inspired you to write a new book? What is your latest book all about? 

Languages open a vista for learners. The more languages one knows the better are the chances for progress. English provides a chance to develop in any field of one’s choice. It does not confine a citizen to his or her own nation. It opens the possibilities to be global in a real sense and it is a shockproof cover against the shockwaves of globalization. We have much to share with each other and having a common language is the first step along that road to engaging in commerce and scientific research and to sharing knowledge and friendship. This is where English steps in, and my book, English Language: The Gateway to Global Growth, reflects this very philosophy. It deals with the global aspects of English like educational equity, cross-cultural sensitivity, seamless cohesion, etc., in an engaging and stimulating manner.
This latest academic book is doing well, both in terms of responses from readers around the world and literary records. This book is not a mere academic book, but it has personal touch to it as I have written it in a lively and stimulating manner. And since it is written in an easy-to-understand format, it offers something for each of my readers to learn from. The appreciation and responses that I have received are a testimony to the fact that my book is opening up a whole new way of seeing and interpreting the world through the English language.

Q. When did you realize you wanted to be a writer?


Slowly and steadily, as I developed a deep reading habit, I became exposed to a wide range of genres. And this in turn, gave me the confidence to write on a wide variety of subjects. Initially, I contributed essays, poems and articles to my college and university magazines, then as I received appreciation from my peers and elders, I gained confidence to try my hand at various other mediums—magazines, newspapers, online blogs and portals, radio poetry reading sessions, international journals and anthologies. With all these contributions, I started to develop an innate desire of becoming an author. This innate desire combined with my habit of registering ideas and learnings from various settings gave me the momentum to develop my views, theories and approaches into books.

Q. How did people close to you react when you told them you were going to start writing your own books? How did you feel?

Interaction and Observation are two key factors that have always inspired me to draw lessons and learnings from my surroundings and from my interactions with people, and then to transform these learnings into my own unique theories and approaches. My parents’ golden rule “In order to write quality-driven books, one must read quality-driven books”, our huge home library equipped with a wide range of books, objective feedback from my readers, and the constant encouragement from my parents in terms of their creative flair and unflinching support, have played an instrumental role in nurturing my writing skills and transforming me from a mere thinker into a proactive author. Everyone around me was both excited and very encouraging about my writing endeavors.
Writing to me is one powerful way of transforming my everyday experiences into something interesting, and then sharing it with readers like you all and sort of initiating a chain reaction of ideas and knowledge-sharing. And the satisfaction that I derive from my books and their positive impact on my readers is beyond words and measure.

Q. Did you receive any set-backs while writing and publishing the books you wrote? How did you deal with them?

My first book, The 6 Spheres of Life: Unlocking the Door to Success and Happiness is a book on personal transformation that has been written in a unique style with a practical approach. Once I began approaching publishers, I received appreciation for my efforts. The publishers were really surprised and happy at the same time that a young author like me was tackling subjects of academic value, whereas normally young writers deal with topics like romance, chick-lit, fiction, etc. Bringing wisdom and change in others, and that too through a youngster’s take on life, was something that all of them found appealing. The initial three publishers showed interest in my manuscript and said they would publish it in their next publishing program, which was about a year away from their reply. The fourth publisher, a big name in the field of reference and academic books, picked my book for publishing in their current publishing plan, as they found the premise of the book not only financially viable but also of high academic value — a book that can be used as a text/reference book in colleges, universities, personality development workshops, and in home and corporate libraries as well.
In the beginning, I was a little concerned that readers might go with the age-old belief that personal transformation books are preachy in nature, whereas in reality my book is not at all didactic; none of my books are preachy. To my relief, once my book was released both in the national and international markets, the responses from college and university students and professors, corporate training professionals, housewives, business professionals and readers from all ages and cultures assured me that they liked my book as they could relate to it and also found it as a doable motivational force to improve their lives in all spheres.

Q. Do you have any specific writing style? Do you write even fiction books? If yes, what do you think makes a good story?

No matter what topic or genre I am focusing on, there is one common thread that connects my literary creations – a youngster’s take on life and its aspects. Bringing change in others and that too through a youngster’s viewpoint, is something that my readers find appealing. And that’s exactly the reason why my books although reference books/academic books in nature do not sound sententious.
As long as I am able to touch people’s life, I feel that as a responsible author I have achieved my goal in helping people. My books are a combination of positive message and practical value as both these aspects are important for producing a quality-driven book. For example, in my latest book on the importance of the English language in today’s world of globalization, English Language: The Gateway of Global Growth, I have blended hard-core knowledge with motivating real-life experiences related to different people and cultures that I have had on my journey across the world while working on this book. So there is a universal appeal in this book for all, right from teachers and students of English to anyone interested in joining the global growth wave. In my previous book on collaborative team management, Organizational Democracy: Collaborative Team Culture: Key to Corporate Growth, I have blended the principles of management and spirituality in a lively and stimulating manner, so this aspect makes the book universal both in tone and application in all settings — social, personal and professional. In other words, though most of my books are academic in nature, but because of their personal touch factor, there is something in them for each one of my readers to imbibe.

Q. How does it feel to take writing as a profession?

I am a record-setting author, peace ambassador and management consultant, all rolled into one. At any given point in time, I am either a management consultant churning out new ideas for my next book project or an author trying to figure out how will my new theories or approaches apply to my management field or any other domain. My management profession is a hub of ideas for my books, and at the same time, my books help me to validate my theories and approaches in the practical settings of the corporate world. Apart from these fields, I am also a peace ambassador associated with organizations like the World Peace Organization (USA) and Peace Writers Organization (USA). All these fields are interrelated and all these fields are very close to my heart and my life’s purpose revolves around these fields, and that’s what keeps me going!

Q. How will your work affect the masses?

Apart from progressing in my computer management field, I want to contribute to the society. I want to mark many more beginnings and set and achieve many more milestones in the fields of literature, education and peace-making. To encourage youngsters of my age to join the bandwagon of peace-making and social transformation is one of my biggest aims. I have started my work in this field through my books, seminars and my association with peace organizations like the Peace Writers Organization (USA) and the World Peace Organization (USA). I am only at the first step of my journey and have a long way to go!
I believe that each one of us will be independent in the true sense of the term only when we ensure that the Freedom in Thought and Action no longer remains on mere paper but also translates into conscientious efforts. I am trying to do my bit my empowering people for a good cause through my seminars, peace-making efforts and books.

Q. Do you have a team of people who help you complete stories? If yes, how do they help you?
Since I am more into writing reference books and academic-driven literature, it is like a one-woman show as I have to develop new theories and approaches for various challenging scenarios, be it any field — software engineering, business management, etc. But yes definitely for writing academic and reference books, I have to meet and interact with a lot of subject matter experts on all points of the world compass, to learn about the latest trends and patterns in the field, and also to validate my own developed theories and approaches in the practical world so that my books have both theoretical and practical value.

Q. How was your college life? What are your favorite memories? What lesson do you think people should take from college?

During my college days (not so long ago), rather weekends, my parents and I spent a great deal of time in our home library. My parents taught me the importance of quality reading. Our home library is huge and it has always been a 24/7 learning setup for me, which constantly keeps me on the lookout for new ideas and insights. At a young age I was introduced to a world of adventure, books and a lot of other things — thanks to my gracious parents who are avid travelers, readers and learners. It is to them I owe my gratitude for all the diverse experiences that I have had in various parts of the world. Traveling around the world has made me more open to new ideas and visions, which in turn gets reflected in my writing. My college life was both a roller coaster ride of fun and adventure and an ongoing session of learning and growth, which is also helping me now in my literary pursuits and in my corporate journey.

Q. How has the experience been? Can you share some things about life that you learnt on your road to success?

The experience has being enriching, both as an author and as a person. The one main thing I have learnt and lived by is that literary or artistic trends are constantly changing, but for me as an author, what remains constant is to find ways of evolving and covering subjects and genres that challenge me.
As far as my management field goes, customer experience excellence is the key to operational success. Earlier, I used to apply other experts’ theories, but now with my own written books, not only I but many corporate houses are using my theories and approaches to enhance their revenues and customer service levels.

Q. Who has been your inspiration and driving force since your childhood and throughout your career?

The two most important pillars in my life that have kept going from one milestone to another in my journey — my mother for her creative flair and unflinching support and my father for his analytical skills and objective criticism.
Another major motivator — my Readers who have constantly kept me going!

Q. Having won many prestigious awards, tell us how has it changed your insight in writing? Has it given you more confidence?

My latest academic book, English Language: The Gateway to Global Growth, is doing well, both in terms of responses from readers around the world and literary records. It is a part of my latest record with the India Book of Records, A Versatile Writer. And so are 8 other books included in this record. I have received 70+ Letters of Commendation from world leaders and peace organizations, right from the Hon. Ex President of India, Pratibha Patil to Her Majesty Queen Elizabeth II, for my peace-making efforts and my book on personal transformation, The 6 Spheres of Life. This feat has been registered by the Limca Book of Records and India Book of Records. These letters are a never-ending source of inspiration for me, which give me the impetus to scale newer heights of success; these gracious words of appreciation and encouragement from various prime ministers, presidents, mayors, governors and heads of states are incomparable to any materialistic gains.
My efforts in the fields of education, peace and literature have got recognition from prestigious record books like Limca Book and India Book. This recognition, in a way, fuels my passion to do more and to write more without losing focus on the Quality aspect. Being a part of history is one of the most surreal feelings. It makes me immensely happy that these records and my books not only give me the sense of (permanent) identity, but I know my books, articles, poems and other literary creations are going to be there to enrich the lives of many even after I am gone.
These awards and records are a constant reminder for me that I have a responsibility towards my readers. I will always continue to write with a purpose and for a good cause, and such appreciation will definitely help me to do better and remain focused on my goals.

Q. Some tips for upcoming writers?


Well I am too young and only a few books old to give advice to my fellow writers. But I would definitely like to share a few learnings with them in order to make their literary journey a less bumpy : Believe in your own power of writing, make up your mind on what you want to derive out of your literary works, whether name, money, share a story, etc., and start with what interests you and let it evolve.

Q. Any such belief as a “formula for success”?

Do not follow competition blindly, follow the star in your heart! This may not be the perfect formula but it will definitely get one started on the road to positive progress.

When A Love Atheist Found God



By Manudev Jain

Three years, two serious relationships, one fleeting relationship, similarity? End result: Dumped. Those were my high school years. I was a naive, rotund guy who knew he was put on this earth just to laugh. Life was beautiful. But then as I grew up, things started to change. A feeling that something was missing started creeping in. And in a month or so - all thanks to romantic desi movies - I knew what was missing. Yeah! I needed a girl-friend. At first I didn't pay any heed to this revelation, but then I came face-to-face with reality. The Hormonal play. Screw you Hormones! These bastards with Testosterone as their leader would sporadically go on strikes and shout: What we want? We want girlfriend!

So finally, (wondering how worse it can go) I gave it a try, picked the prettiest girl of the school and started working hard, really hard. Eventually I succeeded. Hormones were happy. It was all perfect. But just as every good thing, it had to end. Yes, I was dumped. It was painful, the worst I have ever heard, seen or faced. It continued for few days. But then I had a realization, a still bigger reality, and the law of continuity. One goes another comes. By the way, did I tell you I was a shameless little flirt? Yes I was. It came handy and soon I had this second girl, prettier than the first. The cycle repeated and again stopped at dumping. I was dumped, yet again! Haha.

Now I could actually understand, how worse it can go. The worst was there to deal with. I turned into a 'love atheist'. Emotionally barren. Love became just another commonly overused word. A word deliberately used and hyped by writers and movie-makers to raise their sales. The word had lost its meaning for me. Love is farce became an unchangeable reality.

Finally, school ended, and, there I was in college. Just like any other guy I had my fair chance to get a girl but every time I backed off. Eventually (and thankfully) the hormones all dried up. And high decibel laughter again became the new reality.

keiththarp.com/photoblog
But this new normal was about to be disrupted. One normal day when we were sitting outside canteen (our usual place) laughing on random things and random people (Sorry people!), I saw a girl. Yeah yeah you guessed it right, she was pretty. Actually calling her pretty would be an understatement. This girl could well beat Aphrodite in her own game. She was un-earthly perfect. Okey, long story short I just sat there staring at her, oblivious of space and time. Finally, when I was done with drooling over her, my inner me abruptly said, ‘She is the one'. I replied, 'Haha, you fall for a new girl every other week, so better keep quite.' I couldn't completely persuade my inner self so we both agreed(a compromise) to qualify it as something 'more than crush'.

Days passed by, sitting outside the canteen waiting for the lunch became the new routine. I started waiting, just to have a glimpse of her. And believe me, her glimpse was enough to turn a normal day into the best day ever (weird, I thus had 15-16 best days). Everything started changing. But I guess my hate for love was so deep rooted that I didn't realize what was happening. Worse, I couldn’t talk to her, all the proficiency in the art of flirting was gone. I was rusty. All I used to do was look at her from the distance and smile. Funnily, she didn't even know I existed. She never noticed I was there. But what mattered the most was the glimpse, a glimpse that used to leave me numb every single time.

In all that staring and stuff, I forgot final year was coming to end. I was getting desperate. All I wanted was just to talk to her once before I leave the college. I mean, I was invisible for her. I wanted her to know that I exist. That was it. Only a desire not to end it all being an invisible admirer. Thankfully, my prayer was heard. Somehow I managed to talk to her. And God I was elated. That was the best-est day possible. Few days later, we talked again, and I knew I wasn't emotionally barren. I could feel something. Something I never felt before. During those little chat I realized, not only was she pretty she was beautiful. She was simple, kind, cute, enigmatic. And I was dazzled. I was now sure that yes, she was the one. I had never been more sure about anything else. But the fate was again to interrupt. The happiness was short lived. She soon told me she was in a relationship. It stirred me to the core. I stood there, still. I didn't want to move. I wanted to stand there and believe that I heard it wrong. In that small moment I cried till eternity and when I came back to my senses, I had to make a move and I did, I smiled and walked away.

Sigh! Now I’ll spend forever wondering if she will ever know, how I used to look at her from the distance and smile.

The love atheist had found his god to finally lose it forever.

An Ode to Your Best Friend


By Achintya Prakash


I know your best friend, like the back of my hand,
I understand her stands, her wants and demands, her
haunts, her lands, my mind is rife with her life; I wouldn’t
know her better even had I met her more than twice in my life.

How?

Well, everytime, as of late, on a date,
you state or opine her refined views and
lines and everytime we watch the news
I’m given clues of her do’s and dont’s on the
state of the state; (sure, I think it’s great that
she’s wont to analyse and auspice the gradual rise
of the economy); or when its you and me and a movie
(and shoot me but I like to see my flicks quietly)
I get her views on sex, the city, and its a real pity
that she’s not seated right here between us having a witty
and heated debate of how to abate the increasing rate
of shitty films; I’ve learned she’s a fine woman to dine and wine
with, even when she’s not there.

What I find rather unkind is that
if she’s on your mind more than half the time
I’m absolutely fine, but why do you blame me
now that she’s on mine?

About author : Usually found drinking coffee and having a cigarette with an expression of intense self loathing.

Behind Blue Eyes

By Arpita Nandi

Pouring rain soaks his clothes and saturates his mind. Nothing remains except for the rage that consumes his every thought - it builds uncontrollably! Clenched fists swing aimlessly into the blackness of the night.

He hears a humming. Perhaps it’s religious. No, its children! They sing the most beautiful song he’s ever heard. But why? Why would they rejoice? Rays of soft moonlight shine from the sky. They pierce through the storm clouds and delve into the depths of his soul. Rage is replaced by the most beautiful feeling he’s ever experienced! The music continues as tears escape his blue eyes!


Artwork by - Bhaumik Mistry
What’s that now? A crescendo? No, that’s not the word! It’s just noise- coming from over there! Is it coming this way? Did they see him escape confinement? Maybe then its time to call it quits! Maybe these sirens, sounding now to him as loud as trumpets, blare to let the world know that he’s had enough! There isn’t time for tears. The blue of his eyes is masked by their redness. But Hope still builds- slowly and steadily!

He wants to carry on! Remember when Kipling asked you to reach down for that hope and nerve and sinew? Where is it now? There - right where he had left it, he’s going to find it - in oblivion! It can be frustrating sometimes - searching for hope in oblivion! Voices ask him; no beg him, to stay. They invite him to wallow in the murky waters, to steep in the meadows of despair!

His fists punch the midnight air. The tears don’t stop streaming down his cheeks. The rage continues to build. He screams, but they are drowned in the pouring rain that ironically, can’t extinguish the fire of his rage! Oblivion doesn’t look so bad anymore! Maybe the voices are right; maybe it’s easier this way!

The ease with which he slips into abyss of oblivion is frightening. When situations do get out of control you can only pray. That’s how he’d learnt it! Blurred neon lights pass by- they’re blinding! And as he turns to avoid them, he sees her - welcoming him. Striking is not the word!

Despite her gentle demeanour, she has enormous strength. She can easily embrace him, save him yet again. The warmth of her touch helps him unclench his fists. The gritting of his teeth turns to a quiver of his lips. Burning tears of solitude, grief and despair turn to those of gratitude and redemption. As he rushes to embrace the ghost oh his dead mother, still beckoning him towards herself, waiting for him with open arms; he falls off the cliff he’s standing on.  He hears no more voices, no more trumpets! Only a chilling silence; welcome, despite the coldness that accompanies it!

You know what they say - no one knows what it’s like to be the bad man - the escaped convict that had nowhere to go, no one to turn to but for her who always remains faithful, and comes without fail- Death!

Yere right, Mr. Daltrey - No one knows what it’s like to be the sad man. No one knows what simmers beneath the beautiful  blue eyes!

About: A self-confessed Bengal-oorean, Arpita is at present supposedly studyingto become an electrical engineer. She however dreams of a future where she's a bestselling short-story writer. Arpita is passionate about cooking (both, stories, and food!!), singing and throwball...

If Only

By Nikitha Reddy

There wasn’t any need to open your eyes to confirm that it was the break of another day. The morning’s oxymoron worthy duo of warmth and coolness that filled the whole room said it all. The spring zephyr flowed in through the wide open window and pretty soon was engrossed in playing with her long tresses and caressing her.  She woke up, but the first thing on her mind was not that fun-filled zephyr. It was his body cuddled against her. Her first and last love, her world, her man. She opened her eyes and gave a gentle peck on his lips. His lips curved and he opened his eyes slowly. “Good Morning!” he said and returned it, but it was a tad bit longer and a little more passion. If only kisses lasted forever! They would do nothing but kiss each other then.

That day was like every other day. They had to force themselves out of bed, blaming the world for having to stay apart the next ten hours. After that it was the same old melancholy of every day work that keeps them away from each other’s embrace and at the same time, old, yet never boring wonder of what they would have done without the other. Yet life was perfect.

Watching her gracious walk as if she were stepping on thin wafts of solid air, seeing her tiny hands work their magic as they endeared anything that needed her mystical touch, taking in her mind-baffling distinct scent as she stood near him neatly fixing his tie, every single thing about her, for that matter her stillness or her every move brought him rapt delight.

“Do I really have to go today?” he asked her gently wrapping his hands around her slender waist from behind. She giggled and kept quiet. That wasn’t something new.

“Come on! I’m sure my associates wouldn’t mind my slacking for a day.”

“Let’s see. Six days in the past one and a half month… Yeah, you can stay at home.”

She took his bag and had to practically shove him out after kissing him goodbye. She leaned on her back against the wall, let out a sigh and started her usual countdown. Thirty six thousand seconds to go.

But three thousand seconds was all it took to change her life forever.

A lie… It had to be a lie. She didn’t even notice the phone that slipped from her hand and shattered. After that the next few moments were like a dream for her, only it was mere episodes of a tragedy. Next thing she knew was her husband’s totaled car lying among shattered glass panes, lodged between a truck and a tree. The sepulchral collage was hanging by a thread. Even the slightest supple touch would have had the capability to tear it apart. She pushed down the brake on reflex.

He was right in front of her, yet it surely wasn’t him. This impostor was cold, expressionless and void. It didn’t matter though. The dream-like life had ended and her life ended with it. Everything seemed like it was all a part of a mechanical chronicled nonsensical mime without any feelings. She didn’t crack. She didn’t blink. She didn’t make a sound. She didn’t cry. She didn’t flinch. She didn’t curse. She didn’t speculate. She merely held the car handle and froze. She did that for whole two hours until her neighbour came and walked her to the car and took her home.

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Days and months passed without a word from her. What was once a lively face showed no sign of life. She had become a living dead. All she did was gaze into the space with her soulless eyes. If it weren’t for her sister she would have long been dead. Therapists lost hope for she never spoke a word nor moved. The hypnotists had no chance for she stopped listening. Death would have done a favour to her actually; one of the kindest things it could have done.

“Sally is dead. She committed suicide. J, Handle the situation. No one should know that it was a suicide.” Natalie put down the phone before she could even get an answer. Questions…people will never understand even if she gave them the answers; they just can’t. She knew she was right to have given her sister the lethal dosage of sleeping pills. She did the right thing. What others think doesn’t matter. They weren’t there for her sister like she had been. She had seen it all.

World felt surreal at that moment. It was all empty, peaceful and non-existent at the same time. She could see her sister and her brother-in-law holding hands and smiling in the eye of her mind. They are together, they are happy.

She stood up and dragged her unwilling feet to her sisters’ cold dead body and held her hand. The warmth surely didn’t linger around.  Not since 14 months, 5 days and 20 hours. It had died with her jija, the love of her sister’s life. The serene face seemed even more beautiful with a teardrop clinging to the eyelash, which is never going to bat again, and a smile on the lips, which can never move with the same elegance they used to.

“You must have been in middle of a sweet dream. Wonder how bright and tranquil it was, sis…” 


If only…

Let Me Sing You A Waltz… Out Of My Thoughts

By Shweta Khare

Photo credit - Vijay Narayan
The dusky scarlet of nightfall dissolves into velvet inkiness and a distant star spangled heaven shimmers in my eyes. The throbbing restlessness of the city withdraws. It slowly retreats to someplace I don’t know. I can feel it relinquish its hold over the frantic; chaotic; purposeful urgency we call life. Every living moment, each dying second: trying to be a bit more. Feel a trifle more accomplished. Earn a little more respect. God! to feel loved. Hurried and rapacious…I don’t know to an extent of pointless necessity.

But in that deserted silence when the time stands still, I let my heart succumb irrevocably to a numbing calm. The dewy fragrance submerses my senses. The consummate darkness enshrouds my existence until I know not where I end and the night begins. A lonesome moon peeks through the silhouetted branches and its soothing silver is a promise of everything, everything beautiful. I see the drifting clouds alight in the moon’s splendor and I am free. I am free from the prying public intrusion. I am free from judgment. I am invisible. I am me. It’s in the 
dead of night that I feel alive.

A cool breeze carries the faraway rumble of heavy-duty trucks. From someplace far off, maybe where the world ends or from where it begins. I love this sound and I strain to hear its diminishing drone. Just then a car passes on the adjoining street. Its front-lights play a shifting pattern on the ceiling. And it agitates the gentle roulade of thoughts. Up until now the slowly surging and receding waves were a dimmed cadenza. But now you come crashing back.

And you shatter the sedate stillness in despairing throes as your deep gruff voice fills me and every fiber of my soul. I try to hold on to the fleeting glimpses from another life. Distorted, amorphous and evanescent - it’s a psychedelic blend…Possibly because I have buried you somewhere in forgotten alleyways, possibly because I have closed so many doors to the past. Still it’s so strongly reminiscent of you, that formless whirlwind of colors; heart wrenching and becalming at the same time. I pine for your familiar touch …and I close my eyes for a moment, I am there.

As I wander past those cobbled runic paths, your thoughts unfold from the deepest recesses. In a sightless anguish, in that pitch black; I feel my way to you. From one melting memory to another, from one breathless impression to another; I resurrect a heaven from embers. It’s in the even darker night of your embrace I fall asleep in.

All this time, you are like the night sky, so near but just out of reach. Are things in life so transient, so meaningless? The pitiable forever hopeful, hopeless in me refuses to accept …I don’t know…Maybe I was too proud. Maybe you were too prejudiced…or was it the other way round? I don’t think it matters anymore… perhaps yes we are two parallel universes, but I am not impossible to touch. Just so you know.

Interview - Aman Wilson



Aman Wilson is by profession a commercial pilot and by passion a photographer. The 24 year old Delhite describes his relation with the camera thus, "I have been playing with the camera since my dad bought one when I was really young maybe even before I was born. But I really got into photography like a year back and since then there has been no stopping me from clicking whatever catches my eye. What started out as a hobby has now turned into a profession." After learning from internet, books,YouTube etc. he decided to take it a step further and learn from a professional. He is now an apprentice under veteran O.P Sharma at Triveni Kala Sangam.
 
Q. What prompted you to enter this profession?
A. Like i said, I had been clicking with my dad’s camera but i really got interested in photography like a year back when one of my uncles bought me a new DSLR.I became really fascinated with all the things i could do with a camera. And then the journey of self-exploration began...




Q.What were your biggest roadblocks?
A. Biggest roadblock...I guess the fact that I didn't own a DSLR at the time i started out was a a big roadblock. I did have a point and shoot and had to make do with it and just keep learning. On the plus side, due to that restriction I learnt that its more the person behind the camera who matters and not the camera itself. 

Q. Indians are pretty shy about getting photographed. How do you overcome this?
A. Oh yes. I have come across this a lot...but once you are able to convince someone that it’s for the right purpose and make them feel comfortable they pose for you!!



Q. What is the story of the man behind the lens? 
A. I truly believe that it’s more the person behind the camera that matters as my guru Mr.O.P Sharma says because if you don't have the eye for catching an interesting composition then even your best equipment won't make a difference.

Q. A bit about your camera, which camera do you use?
A. I own the canon EOS 7D with 18-135mm and a 50mm.

Check out his photographs here

Teach Me To Forget You

By Anonymous

“Bitch, it’s better to be dumb with you than not talking to you”.

My ex-bf, (Read it as best-friend or boyfriend…as you wish. He meant to me more than any “defined” relation), texted me this once. These were the days when we had an awesome friendship, when we texted each other all the time, when we shared every small and insignificant thing related to us, when we thought we would be best friends forever, when half the campus guessed that we were in a relationship.

But all this is a past. Now we are strangers. This concept of breakup of best friends passes tangentially across my head. To deal with this is as impossible for me as it is to run a C program all on my own.

I met him a year ago. He is a year senior to me. And a football freak!!! 

It was my first day in college. I met a second year guy while I was walking along my hostel road. After the brief ragging or interaction session we exchanged our phone numbers. And we became good friends after that and hung out frequently. People thought we were going out. But lite…he got committed to someone else. During these days he introduced me to his best friend. Trust me, this is the only good thing he must have done in his life. Life was great then. These two guys used to be in the same hostel room and text me at the same time. They used to wish me luck for exams on each other’s behalf. Anyways, this best friend is the protagonist of this article. He is the guy who turned out to be my bestest friend later. Time passed and I was blessed to have my best friend. 

Then came the Fresher’s Day. We went to a Salsa workshop. I have forgotten all the steps I learnt but there’s still a vivid picture in my mind of the moment when I almost fell and he held my hand to catch me. I remember how we looked into each other’s eyes for the first time. Wow!!!! We got a picture clicked but stupid me (I always act impulsively) I deleted it. Little did I know that it would become part of the beautiful memories. This was followed by going out to watch “Anjaana Anjaani” and many more things.

I repeat life was great. We were with each other all the time (through text). He text-ed me when he was in class, when he was with friends, all the time. We text-ed all night until one of us fell asleep. We also fought a lot. And he used to manaofy me “Tujhe manaane mein sahi maja aata hai” he used to say. He said I am lucky for him and I wished him every time he played poker and he would give me the credit on winning. He said we are like the pieces of a puzzle, we complement each other. He said he would never let me go. When we went out with our friends, we got things for each other. I still have many things that I could never give him. And his birthday……OMG!!!! It was the most anticipated thing. I wanted it to be the most memorable day of his life. I had so many plans. I was looking forward to it even more than RA.One (I’m a huge SRK fan). 

Talking about him…..hmmm…I can actually write a book on him. What he likes, what he doesn’t, what he wants to do in life, who all are the people he hates on campus, his childhood stories, his cute brother, his awesome grand-maa, what pisses him off, his favourite football team, both in Spanish league as well as English, his favourite album (it kept on changing and I kept updating myself). I know every fucking thing about him and so does he. We had a few things in common. We are obsessed with Indian Air Force, want to do MBA after engineering and were big SRK fans (I still am but now he isn’t). This was the “old” him. Now he has changed.
Photo credit - Anoop Nagendra

That was an unfortunate day. He text-ed me he does not want to talk to me anymore. We should go our separate ways. We are no more compatible. We were friends before but now we are not. I was shocked. He was going to change our friendship like the graph of a unit step function. I argued a lot. But he had made up his mind. During the span of our friendship I did every small and big thing I could to make him happy, I cared for him, I thought about him every second. Never did I hurt him. The only mistake I did was that I became possessive about him. I got emotionally attached to him. But was it such a big mistake that he abandoned me? I asked him for a second chance, everyone deserves it. He denied it. I said I would never ever give him a chance to complaint. He didn’t listen. I asked him why? He said he had become cold blooded. These things don’t matter to him anymore. He was no longer interested in SRK’s movies.

As I was thinking about all this, all the Facebook status updates like “Never let your true friend go”, “Love can change everyone”, “Try and try, till u succeed” and shit like this revolved around my head and I got inspired. I decided to fix everything on my own. I continued to act as if nothing had changed. I still texted him. I was sure he would stop all this drama and be my friend again. But I was sadly mistaken. His heart cells had mutated. He said it’s just impossible to restore things. I asked him a last question: “Will you miss me?” and he said he has learnt not to miss people.

But what about me? I don’t know how to forget you. I remember each and every conversation we had. Still your name brings a smile on my face. I still can feel the hug you gave me on the steps of the football ground. I still remember holding your hand and talking to you. Every day I wake up expecting a good morning message from you. I still hope that I would receive good luck message “my bitch, do well” before my exams .Why did you end this? Bolo na…..aisa hota hai kya? You always said “bitch, it’s your wish”. Then why did you take this decision on your own? Why did you put an end to all my wishes? I was ready to change myself for you, why dint you give me a chance?

And why didn't you teach me to forget you???


The Shruti Box


Here I am on a cold winter after noon, thinking about some of the interesting encounters of 2011. The ShrutiBox, an online music album, didn’t make breaking news but it flashed on the Facebook feed rather expeditiously, that is, until three weeks back when the “Kolaveri” virus hit the net! The ShrutiBox is a fusion composition by Shankar Tucker, an American clarinettist and music composer. The album was first released on social media platforms like YouTube and SoundCloud. 

Shankar grew up in Massachusetts. Unlike others of his generation who drifted to the beats of Nirvana, Madonna and Usher, Shankar was drawn towards Indian classical music, his ideal being maestro John McLaughlin who is famous for composing Indian and Western classical fusions. Tucker was induced towards learning Carnatic music after listening to “Remember Shakti”, a unique composition by McLaughlin (Strings) and featuring Zakir Hussain (table), V Selvaganesh (percussion) and U Shrinivas (mandolin). 
About Shankar Tucker.  While his mastery over the clarinet can’t be doubted....he also magnificently blends the essence of jazz, pop and Indian classical music to create seamless fusion. I know this sounds a bit melodramatic. Most of his videos crossed one million views over the last 6 months, though not all comments were alluring. Before I started writing this article, I was under the impression that the guy who sings in “O re piya” video was Shankar Tucker. The confusion resolved after I Googled him and found that the one behind the clarinet is actually our protagonist. It all fits, the guy named Shankar (a Hindu mythological name) who fuses Indian music with jazz should happen to be a firangi desi rang me. It mesmerizes me to think someone linguistically alien, should share the same platform as the legendary artists Zakir Hussein and Hariprasad Chaurasia.  

If you think there cannot be anything as captivating as the Oscar winner AR Rahman’s anthem from “Slumdog Millionaire”, catch “O Saya (A.R.Rehman cover) ft. Shankar Tucker” on YouTube. 


Unlike conventionally released compositions, The Shruti Box is an online going music album. Shankar, a musical prodigy, when his career has barely taken flight, claims not to make music that must sell. A blend of fresh Carnatic fusion - vocals by the Iyer sisters with the highlight from the melodist’s clarinet left me in crisis of adjectives, as I spent half an hour repeatedly listening to the “Nee Nenaindal” video. Refined and perfected, lilting and rising sounds of his clarinet in his signature style can even beat the pulses of a heart; such is the soul of his original composition- “Lemongrass”. A treat to anyone who appreciates classical music is his deft rearrangement of classical Bandish of Raga Bimpalassi in the vocals of Nirali Kartik’s- “Ja Ja Re”. 


This whole article might look a bit aggrandized and amplified to some who are in the critics’ stage of persona or to the Jagjit Singh or Pundit Jasraaj fan followers, who are grumpy over the lyrical and pronunciation aberrations in the videos. If I could understand my culture and musical heritage half as well as Tucker does, I would have been in a better position to savour the taste of his ethnic brew.

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Vasundhara Goyal
I eat when I am bored and I live by the quotes that explain exactly what I am going through. I fancy reading Archie comics for the love of my favourite character Jughead Jones and I tend to get attracted to guys with a persona like him. I am a loner and at times I search for lonely spots where I can just sit and daydream.

A Ride to Remember

By Pradyut Hande

“Illa, Saar”, grunted the dour faced rickshaw driver, in a barely audible whisper through his tobacco-stained teeth and sped away in the opposite direction, leaving a plume of smoke and a bewildered potential fare in his wake. Drat! Rickshaw driver number seven had derailed my plans of getting to an important sales meeting on time. The twin thoughts of the arduous two hour journey that still awaited me and the flak I would receive for coming in late pranced around in my already cluttered head on that sprightly Monday morning. I stood cursing my luck on what could best be described as the remnants of a primeval pavement. My only solace was the fact that I wasn’t the only one being subjected to the caprice of the archetypal Bangalore rickshaw driver. A few others on the pavement who were being consistently rebuffed began resorting to desperate means. Lung-bursting screams, flailing limbs, hasty negotiations and what have you! 

The familiar stench of urine and exhaust fumes assailed my nostrils while I calibrated my next move. A pretty lady standing near me was pleasantly surprised when a rickshaw pulled up beside her within minutes of her waiting for one. I am sure there exists a rule in the mythical ‘Cab & Rickshaw Driver Code’ that compels them to ‘choose’ a female passenger over a male counterpart! After a few more minutes of fruitless ‘hailing’, I began walking down the main road. Suddenly, a rickshaw pulled up beside me. A benevolent, bearded, bespectacled face peered out at me expectantly. “Yalli, saar?”, he asked. In disbelief, I sputtered out my destination to which he agreed to take me for an additional ten rupees. I got in before he could change his mind and off we went.

The inside of the rickety three wheeler was adorned with myriad stickers of deities, cricketers, film stars and believe it or not, a few politicians too! The mild aroma of incense hung in the air. A quick glance at the fading laminated details of the rickshaw behind the driver’s seat told me his name was Saeed Anwar. I told him to make haste as I still had an outside chance of making it to the meeting on time. Flipping through my file, I anxiously began preparing for the impending meeting, as we sped across the bustling metropolis through moderate Monday morning traffic. Whilst I was frantically composing e-mails on my BlackBerry (that wondrous gadget!), Mr. Anwar rightly observed in broken English, “Very stress you are”. Solicitously looking at me in his rear view mirror, he continued, “Young man like you today..always stress..only job, no time!” Although piqued at being interrupted, I was intrigued. I shut the file and got talking. 

Over the next hour and a half, we talked about everything possible! Religion, cricket, movies, women, politics, business were all discussed with fervor. Mr. Anwar voiced his opinion most uninhibitedly. His depth of general knowledge and grasp of complex economic issues was astounding. He also displayed an inquisitive streak that had me groping for answers on multiple occasions. I learnt about his family – a bedridden wife, a college going son aspiring to join the civil services and a daughter for whom he was ‘groom-searching’.  Mr. Anwar turned out to be a linguist; fluent in Kannada, Tamil, Telugu, Malayalam and could speak a smattering of Hindi and English too! “I learning proper English now”, he said proudly producing a self-learn English book from under his seat. He told me how he pursued his hobbies of carpentry and kite-making on weekends. He liberally doled out advice on seemingly everything! From judicious time management to good health practices, from relationships to stress busting techniques! All this whilst he drove like a manic Formula 1 driver, attempting to get me to my meeting on time! This man was a repository of knowledge and wisdom, brimming over. Time flew by as we shared a good laugh over the current predicament of the Indian cricket team. Scudding over the pot-holed roads of the Garden City, Mr. Anwar screeched to a halt before my office in an incredible hour and a half. “Reached fast, saar!”, he declared with a toothy grin. I paid him an extra fifty rupees which he accepted unwillingly and waved a cheery goodbye. I hurried into the building, managing to make the meeting in the nick of time.

On my way back home that evening, I reminisced about the morning ride with Mr. Anwar as the surly rickshaw driver crawled his way through traffic. I realized I had never met anyone like Mr. Anwar. His supremely optimistic outlook, his hunger to readily imbibe and the astounding passion with which he embraced life was something our generation could definitely strive to emulate. Ever since, whenever I hail a rickshaw or a taxi I am reminded of the endearing Mr. Anwar, his thought-provoking discourses and his sticker-adorned rickety old rickshaw…

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Pradyut Hande
The Writer is presently pursuing his Bachelors in Business Administration at NMIMS, Mumbai. He attempts to address myriad issues of both domestic and global consequence, ranging from Business and Economics to Geopolitics...from Sports to Arts and Culture.

Wings Of Pride

By Rahul Seth

Description: We recognize the 8th of October as the Indian Air-force Day. On this day we celebrate the proud individuals who man our skies and form an essential element of lethal assault and defense to assuage the nation’s national security and sovereignty.  On this day, we recognize their sacrifice, and the sacrifice of every other such member of the armed forces or individual who, in the history of the nation, have indulged in similar contributions to the nation. On this day, we don’t celebrate just these individuals, but the idea that and moreover, the ideal of patriotism that drives them.  LTGTR speaks with retired Group Captain Tejwant Singh, who joined the Indian Air-force on 9th March 1963 and served in both the wars of 1965 and 1971. During the War of 1971, his Mig-21 Aircraft was shot down over Pasrur airfield in Pakistan and he was taken POW (Prisoner Of War). Later, post repatriation, he was awarded the Shaurya Chakra for his gallantry in flying back to base a valuable and damaged Mig-21 aircraft in April 1973 when a vulture hit him unexpectedly. Despite serious injuries to his body and face and with just half the available vision he displayed determination, a high degree of flying skill and bravery in tackling a very serious situation at great personal risk. We visited him at his Gurgaon home, where he now writes avidly, his first book, ‘The Bold, Brave and Fearless’ having recently been launched in Canada; He actively blogs as well, titled ‘Don’t Mistake me for a Muslim’.



Q. Sir, why is your Blog titled as such?

A. Post 9/11 America was in a state of fear. Trust in people became a problem and everyone looked at people with brown skin with eyes of suspicion.  Turbans became synonymous with Muslims on account of the Taliban Pathan turbans and eventually to suit their own safety and convenience some Sikhs stopped wearing them, however those who were devoted still kept them on. A regular American citizen’s General knowledge is extremely poor even though they are extremely liberal and welcoming in comparison to the USSR who were distant and confronting, post 9/11 America changed radically to resemble the coldness I experienced in the USSR and they mistake us Sikhs for Muslims. My blog is to tell them the difference since most of them refuse to consider the world beyond their nose.

Q. Sir, How Did you come to join the Air-Force?

A. I come from a family of warriors. For nearly the past 300 years my ancestors have been defending this nation. My Father and his father before him were also in the Army. The Tenth Guru of the Sikhs, Guru Gobind Singh, established the Khalsa to combat the Tyranny of the Mughals. At the time of Aurangzeb’s rule, Non-Muslims weren’t even allowed to wear a sword, ride an elephant or a horse. I chose to join the Air-force as a diversion from the Army. I have no male descendants but my younger brother’s sons, however, are in Merchant Navy and Hotel management, respectively. The desire to join the Armed Forces seems to be diluting.

Q. Sir, How was the experience of your First Flight?

A. The first flight is known as the Solo flight. In my times we used to have piston-engines trainer aircraft with the Instructor sitting in the rear seat. I took off and looked back at the Instructor’s seat and saw it empty and for the first time I felt absolutely in control. Taking off is the easy, it’s the landing that one needs to worry about. Landing takes the greatest amount of control. In a layman’s explanation, one would need to control the float: speed and height has to gradually decrease; as the lift component decreases the drag increases. Landing is like a controlled crash. When you are in the cockpit, it isn’t like you are strapped into the plane, but more like the plane being strapped onto you. It is a great sense of responsibility, to have to bring the plane back safely.

Description:

Q. Sir, How was your experience as a POW?

A. In the 1971 war, when we took flight it was like our defining moment. It was as if we had been trained for just this day. We had planned an aerial strike deep in enemy territory. We had planned to take the shortest areal route, from Amritsar to the target. The Pakistanis had pre-empted this and had placed their Anti-Aircraft guns in Sugarcane Fields and villages all along our route starting from Lahore. It was an amazing sensation watching an AA gun fire at you. It isn’t like a bullet, but more like a ball of flame, coming straight for you. The shell that gets you isn’t the one that you can see coming straight at you. Those will miss you because you would gone past at the speeds modern fighter aircraft fly. The ones that get you are the ones that explode in front and above you. On shard of shrapnel is enough to damage a vital part of the engine. We took heavy AA firing.

My plane was shot down as well. I had been wounded and couldn’t walk due to an injury to the spine. I was captured and given first aid and then put on a stretcher and into an ambulance. I was taken to the Gujranwala Jail, put in a cell and locked up. The mattress was filthy as expected. Later in the night, at midnight, my cell door was opened, I was blindfolded, cuffed and loaded into the jeep and then we drove all night long up to the morning. I could peek through the corner of the blindfold. Because my watch had been taken away, I had no idea of time. But when the sun came out, I could feel its warmth on my right side. I could assess directions by the heat of the sun: when the sun was on my right, I knew we were travelling north. And when my left became warm we were travelling south. This kind of realization comes when one is under captivity and one’s senses become acute. It’s all a matter of survival. They thought I didn’t know where I was and were poking fun at me. But I immediately surprised them by stating where we were, based on my assessment of the Punjabi dialect spoken by the local people. The jeep ride continued until I was taken to Rawalpindi.

I wasn’t tortured at any point. They did question me a lot, but moments after I had been captured ‘Jangbandi’ or a Truce had been declared and the war had ended. I actually made an immediate bond with a Major Khokher, a medical officer, who was sitting by me while I lay in the ambulance on account of my spinal fracture. He gave me tea and peeled a Kinu to fed me.



Q Sir, What do you think of corruption in the Defence Ministry and deaths of Air Force pilots due to plane crashes on account of purchase of cheap parts?

I believe there is a systemic problem in the institution that we have established in our nation, ergo the Ministry of Defense which is essentially run by politicians and bureaucrats, who aren’t members of the armed forces. Here one must compare with the United Kingdom model wherein the armed forces and the people running it are merged into one body which makes infrastructure and development easier since their need is better understood. When you have bureaucrats only running the show, they have a different perception of military matters and a different frame of mind compared to how men in uniform see the same issues.

Post Kargil, there was lot of hype about changes required in procedures but nothing substantial has happened. Moreover the Defence Budget is heavily burdened with 80% of it going to towards pay and pension leaving very little for modernisation. On the other hand if we have a system where all Central Services personal first serve in the Armed Forces for a period of 5 years and then change over to other professions, then we can gradually have less number of ex-servicemen to be given pension. Those who change over to other Central Services like IAS, IPS etc can remain on reserve for 5 years during which they could be called back into Uniform as a trained and available National Force. And during this 5 years reserve period they should report every year for 1 month re-training to keep their operational skills tuned. ‘Exigency makes a man’. Such militarily trained individuals or civilians would always be ready to serve the Nation. This scheme can be incorporated if we change our mind-set. I had sent a letter to the Prime Minister with this recommendation but received no reply. With times we have to change our attitude and make the best of what we have. A prime example of a dynamic attitude is the way the Punjabi community settled down after independence. They had abandoned their properties in Pakistan and most had come with nothing but clothes on their back. They were given properties abandoned by people who went across to Pakistan. They did not beg for government funds and assistance. Punjabis immediately capitalized on the opportunities available to them and made the best use of it converting everything into profitable ventures. Their attitude and resilience surprised the rest of the Indians who were not affected by the partition. I was very young and heard other boys of non-Punjabi origion comment about this in my school.

            As far as corruption in the defense ministry is concerned, I have no personal information on any specific incident. But delay in procurement of important equipment invariably invited rumors that unless the Contract is big, the 2% margin will remain small. Therefore, if the Contract is delayed and its cost increases with time, the cut would be bigger. How far this is true is anybody’s guess. Moreover, they don’t understand the needs in the right perspective. For example, the Indian Air-Force needed Advanced Jet Trainers (AJT) for better transition from a less complicated training aircraft on to advanced and complicated front-line fighters. Since there was a sudden jump to Mig-21s, we lost many young pilots due to lack of training on a proper AJT. The file for the AJT was buried with the Ministry for almost 20 years ago before the procurement was finally sanctioned. How can you bury something so important for 20 years? Take another case of Drop Tanks that are attached to fighter aircraft and are sometimes jettisoned or dropped to make the aircraft lighter during extreme operational conditions like a in a dog-fight during war. It is called WWR or War Waste Reserve. When we asked WWR for a particular fighter, they asked “Why do you need it?” When the need was explained they said, “In 1956 we purchased drop tanks as WWR for Hunter aircraft. A lot of them must be left over. Besides the Hunter aircraft has been phased out of service. Why can we use those for this new fighter aircraft” When it was explained that each component of a modern aircraft is specifically designed and aerodynamically specific and cannot be interchanged like in a bullock cart, they commented, “You are trying to pull the wool over my eyes.”

Q. Sir, Are you for complete disarmament, if it ever was a possibility?

Complete disarmament is a utopia and is therefore not a possibility. Having an army or protective forces isn’t a dire necessity. Besides we have always been a defensive nation and never an offensive one. The only time any non-Muslim has ever actually conducted a military offensive beyond the borders of India was when Maharaja Ranjit Singh of Punjab marched into eastern Afghanistan along with the Nihangs of Akali Phula Singh. Because Akali Phula Singh had neutralized two strong-holds of Pathans in Punjab, he had managed to strike fear in their hearts. He led the army into Afghanistan even defeated a force of Ghazies who are supposed to be the Commandoes of Islamic armies. The result was that the army led by Akali Phula Singh occupied Peshawar, the Pathan’s biggest stronghold, without a fight in 1818. The fear of selfless fighters was such that the Afghan Governor of Peshawar ran away into the Khyber Pass and the population vacated the city. However, as per the Maryada of the Sikhs, those who were left behind were not molested. The only warring clans who had the warrior spirit in India are the Sikhs, Rajputs, Jats and the Marathas. The Sikhs have always had the spirit of sacrifice. Even when Guru Tegh Bahadur was brought before Aurangzeb in chains, not once did he flinch or show fear, only pride and valor. It isn’t easy to die for somebody else or to put your neck on the line for someone else. The question is one of ‘I’ versus. ‘Tyaag’. For the Sikhs Tyaag’ always comes first and therefore Langhars are where we feed everyone as equals without boasting or claiming credit. When Nadir Shah invaded India and stole the peacock throne and was taking it back to Persia, it was the brave and selfless skirmishes of the Khalsa at his encampments en-route the return that saved the 25,000 women that he wanted to take back as slaves and to add to his harem. This is the Spirit of Tyaag that is enshrined in the ideal of the armed forces also. It is Tyaag that should be the Global Dharma.

We see from this inspiring conversation with retired Group Captain Tejwant Singh that there are inadequacies in the setup as it stands, in how we deal with our reciprocal responsibilities to these brave men who risk their lives for us on the warfront. We owe to them the respect that they have more them earned. We owe to them some semblance of security, resembling the kind they render us. We owe to them not to have them neglected. Let us recognize that on this Indian Air-Force day, and maybe do these men and women more of a kindness and concern then just a Calendar Day.

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Rahul Seth
I addictively enjoy debating, one of the side-effects of Law School and a generally verbose lifestyle. I indulge in moot courts, writing, playacting and direction, MUN’s occasionally; I sometimes strum a cacophony on my guitar and regularly treat the neighbors to the melody of my voice, sometimes to their liking.



 

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