*From & To Sathish* - Thread 4 - Page 84

I look up and catch a passerby's eye. I turn on hearing someone clear their throat although it sounded more like a grunt. I hurriedly let go of the tender stalks, the tiny white blooms, and buds and then chide myself and go back to what I was doing. Deeply engrossed, totally fascinated by the green lives that have bloomed white flower smiles and all that and more in a row of sand, right in the middle of the road.

I never pass by without whispering " Oasis, Oasis" and I never, ever pass by without shaking hands with the green men and women and always I wish them well.

Sometimes, my four-legged and tailed companions will stop by to enquire as to what it is I am doing in the middle of the road and they too join me and sniff at the green-leaved lives in the middle of the road.

The morning sun shoots its light out as golden arrows and they strike the small plastic cups, the bottom of old bottles that serve as water cups for birds and bees and whisper a prayer to the kind souls that thought of it. I pour water from my bottle and fill them up and watch as one or more crows land on a small branch and dip their beaks and daintily drink from the cup.

The traffic was heavy and then came to a standstill and the Tasmac caught my eye. Men, not crows, drank from plastic glasses and they were so drunk that some went into their mouths, some went into their shirts and most dribbled down their chins.

The dainty crow came to mind as it dipped its beak and raising its head, let the water flow down its throat.

Whatsapp - 1 Shoba Narayan

This Indian life by Shoba Narayan: Did WhatsApp group messaging make Diwali fun?

Even a festival cannot be all happy happy when you are a member of a massive WhatsApp group

So how was your Diwali, Ji? Happy happy? Khao, piyo, khush raho types? Did you burst crackers? Can I just say this? I understand how bursting crackers is bad – for pollution, the environment, child labour and dogs – but God, my entire childhood memory of Diwali in Chennai is linked to waking up at the crack of dawn and bursting crackers.

I had a good Diwali, Ji. Not happy happy. In fact, it was crazy. All because of WhatsApp. Like most of you, I am part of about a dozen WhatsApp groups – some family, some school and college friends, some colleagues. The masala happened with my school WhatsApp group. For privacy’s sake, let us call it the Jawahar Bal Vidyalaya WhatsApp group. Two years ago, someone had the bright idea to create a “universal” WhatsApp group that connects every student who had gone to the said school. This is not just a group of classmates but a bunch of schoolmates ranging in age from 18 to 82. You already see the storm clouds looming, right?

Spiritual forwards form the bulk of messages, proving that religion is indeed the opiate of Indian masses

At first, it was all hunky dory – full josh, majja-maadi, as they say here in Karnataka. The birth of a new WhatsApp group is a joyous thing. But then, every WhatsApp group has a life cycle. Some depressed dude who has just been fired from work craves kinship and community. He gets the bright idea to create this giant virtual community full of love and friends. He creates said group with a punchy bright name like “Modern School Friends Zindabad,” with pink flowers on either side. He adds five people, makes them all admins. They all merrily add folks from all over India. After that, the deluge.

My school group was no different. When I first got added, there was a slew of cordial welcomes from schoolmates, most of whom were strangers. One elderly army uncle said that his son, Jitender had been my class teacher in Class V. I immediately did my respectful, “Namaste, Uncle-Ji. How wonderful to meet you,” to which he replied with a sunrise photo and the wise saying, “Friends are like underwear. They know your innermost secrets.” I was left wondering if the elderly army uncle was a pervert or clueless. I also finally understood why Jitender-Sir was such a weirdo.

The next morning there were enthusiastic “good morning friends,” messages accompanied by exploding flowers, New Zealand sheep, a bikini-clad Beyonce, Kishore Kumar, and some dead saint who I didn’t recognise. There were forwards in a variety of hues and colours, literally and figuratively that fell into one of these six categories.

Spiritual: Which formed the bulk of messages, proving that religion is indeed the opiate of Indian masses. Some messages were an odd combination of spirituality and what seemed like accounting: “Remember that God is your auditor. Death is closing stock price. Ideas are your assets….”

Self-righteous: These were forwards that were meant to convey either humility or happiness, sometimes both. Case in point: “What is success? When you are one-year-old: walking without support. When four-year-old: success is not urinating in pants. When 90-year-old: walking without support is success. Remember the circle of life and be humble. Do not be arrogant. Don’t expect too much.” Followed by flower and namaste emojis.

Entertaining: Jokes and videos of rolling baby elephants. One-liners such as: “First test match between India and South Africa. India playing without Pant and SA without Lungi.”

Advice: “A cockroach’s last words to a man who wanted to kill it: ‘Go ahead, you coward. You are just jealous because I can scare your wife and you cannot!’ – Be positive in difficult situations.”

Scaremongering: “Remember that your microwave emits gamma radiation. Plus, it is multiplied by moonlight. That is why you shouldn’t heat your dal-chawal in microwave on full moon nights. Too much gamma rays.”

Sexist: “Amartya Sen’s first wife Indian. Second wife is Swiss. Abhijit Banerjee’s first wife is Indian. Second wife French. I want to get second wife so I can get Nobel prize.”

Bragging: “Just got this invitation for my family from Rishi Kapoor-ji inviting for Sagan ceremony of his son, Ranbir with Alia Bhatt at Umaid Bhawan Palace – photo enclosed.” Which turned out to be false.

Seeking help: “Hi, I am working in import-export company. They are acting funny. Need a lawyer. Anyone knows?

All this continued for two years. Happy happy. But wait, storm clouds were gathering.

This Indian life by Shoba Narayan:

The life and death of a WhatsApp group, When forwards lead to fulmination, it’s soon time to say goodbye

Last time, I wrote about the irrational exuberance that accompanies a newly-created WhatsApp group. Well, this is about the turning point, which happened thus in my “Jawahar Bal Vidyalaya,” group. It came in the form of a terse message that said:“@ravindersingh, as one of the admins of the group, I have to tell you that these incessant forwards of WhatsApp messages and videos is not allowed in this group. It takes up too much space. Plus we have seen these messages elsewhere.”

Uncle Ravinder, who was the octogenarian father of my Class V teacher, Jitender, responded to the admin’s message by forwarding three more videos: of a guy called Wilbur Sargunaraj showing foreigners how to use an Indian toilet (why was uncle obsessed with underwear and toilets?), one of what looked like a Chinese Barbie doll with perky boobs flying through Bhatinda, and the third of a store where lungi-clad men were mixing what looked like cement with milk powder. The admin, whose moniker was @kritibenmistri responded with a sterner version of the same message along with the admonition, “@ravindersingh – irrelevant forwards may be good for retired folks without work, but please spare us the double or triple whammy.”

@ravindersingh’s response? “What is whammy?”

Things got heated from then on. Ravinder Uncle advised Kritiben Mistri to delete his messages if she didn’t want to read them. He asked if the group was barring retired people and showing ageism. This prompted a dozen people to jump in and say that the Bal Vidyalaya group was founded on inclusiveness and nobody should feel excluded. Ravinder Uncle then said rather peevishly that none of the admins were raising any objections when other people were forwarding messages about newfound galaxies and the menu when Modi entertained Xi in Chennai. Was the group against non-Gujarati forwards? This prompted two dozen Gujaratis to jump in and say that they enjoyed Ravinder Uncle’s forwards very much. At which point the admin @krithibenmistri said, “Just to reiterate, this group is only for sharing news about our school and its students. Please send personal news only. About your children and achievements.”

When there is a lull in your day, all you need to do is to open WhatsApp. Before you know it, you’ve spent five hours a day on this app!

Was the admin right in calling out the forwards? Absolutely. Was her tone appropriate? Not sure. Ravinder Uncle certainly didn’t seem to think so. He said, “I am 84 years old. As an army man, I am not used to juniors addressing me with an @ sign. The admin could have sent me a discreet message privately instead of publicly humiliating me like this. No more messages from me to this elitist, ageist, sexist, jingoistic, anti-army group (whether relevant or irrelevant).”

Three dozen people jumped in and begged Ravinder Uncle not to boycott the group. They offered to take a poll and ask how many of the 256 people in the group liked his forwards and said that they were sure that a majority gained a lot of knowledge and self-esteem from his forwards. (The self-esteem bit was a bit much I thought, but I wasn’t going to argue.)

Ravinder Uncle replied right away. “You are all missing the core point. It is not about forwards. It is about tone of voice and the way the advice was written. My name was specifically mentioned in a public forum, words like irrelevant, lengthy forwards, double and triple whammy were used. I was made to feel very bad before the whole group. Why should I put up with this at my age?”

At which point, the admin chimed in by saying that she welcomed all messages that were personal and informative “including photos of your loved ones and your children.”

Nobody replied to her message. Then we got this notification.

“Kritiben Mistri left the group.”

So here we are, rudderless and without admin. Our group continues with a new admin named @subodhgupta. I doubt he is the sculptor.

There are two types of WhatsApp groups: one with a zero-tolerance policy towards forwards and the other with a laissez-faire attitude towards all content including forwards. The latter is like a village square. There is a lot of noise and chaos, but every now and then, a gem will appear. Strictly moderated groups are like a business meeting with an agenda: efficient, effective, transactional, useful. What type of group do you belong to? What type of an admin are you?

Like most of us, I belong to both types of WhatsApp groups and find them addictive. When there is a lull in your day, all you need to do is to open WhatsApp. Before you know it, you’ve spent five hours a day on this app. So what do you do?

What’s the best way to use WhatsApp? I asked the head of WhatsApp India.

Also read: This Indian life by Shoba Narayan: Did WhatsApp group messaging make Diwali fun?

On conquering WhatsApp addiction

by Shoba Narayan, Hindustan Times, December 7, 2019

Abhijit (Bobby) Bose, the head of WhatsApp India is a gracious man whose easy smile belies a sharp analytical mind. Having known him socially, I approached him last week with a crushing problem. I wanted him – the head of WhatsApp India – to help me conquer my WhatsApp addiction. While the irony of the question didn’t escape him, he gamely texted me on WhatsApp naturally: “My main advice (that works for me when I can do it) is to try NOT to look at WhatsApp for the first hour after waking up. I drop the boys off to the school bus and (rarely but sometimes) go for a run before picking up the phone and checking messages.”

Bobby’s advice echoes what productivity experts have been saying for years. Don’t check your smartphone in the early hours of the day. Answer emails in the afternoon. My morning routine is the opposite of Bobby’s advice. I roll out of bed, reach for my phone and check messages. What if the world has fallen apart while I sleep? What if Trump is impeached?

Smartphone addiction has been written about a lot. WhatsApp has taken it to a whole new level. It seems to be the preferred mode of communication for most Indians. My tailor sends blouse patterns on it. The vegetable vendor sends a photo of the neem flowers I love when they appear on the market. I conduct conversations with four different family groups on it.

How many WhatsApp groups do you belong to? How many WhatsApp groups should you belong to? Do you allow notifications or do you keep them on mute? What are your time-sinks? How can you use WhatsApp effectively?

The tone problem: Yesterday, I was on WhatsApp with a bunch of close friends. We were trying to get one of them to celebrate her birthday and she was insisting on paying for everything. After two days of back and forth, I wrote, “Sheila, stop it yaar. Bas karo (enough). Relax and let go. Let us handle this.”

How many times have you said, “Stop it, yaar,” to people? Mumbaikars say this all the time. But once I wrote and sent the message, it sounded rude and shrill. Thankfully, someone else in the group wrote, “Dearest Sheila: paying for everything is a very generous gesture but please accept this birthday celebration from us.” Followed by lots of love emojis.

The ubiquity and frequency of WhatsApp messages give us the illusion of closeness

The problem with a WhatsApp text is that it doesn’t detect tone of voice. It allows you to forget who you are speaking to since the audience is largely invisible. In that sense, WhatsApp is like flying blind. It expunges context and exaggerates tone. Unlike a face-to-face conversation where you are constantly making adjustments to your message based on how the other person responds, typed messages offer no visual or auditory feedback. You cannot soften or cushion the message when the other party raises an eyebrow. You cannot back-pedal when her face tells you that you’ve put your foot in your mouth. How then to adjust what you say, particularly if it is to a group?

The solution: Don’t respond instantly to messages, particularly if the topic is controversial. Let others respond so you get some context. Realise that you don’t always have to jump in with a point of view, particularly with people you don’t know and rarely see (like your old schoolmates).

The happy birthday problem: You know the scene. You are in a college adda on WhatsApp. It is great. A bunch of guys or gals chatting through the day and night via WhatsApp. There is only one problem. If there are 10 of your close friends, the birthdays and anniversaries are continuous. As are the messages of “Happy birthday, Raghav.” How do you solve a problem like “Happy birthday Maria,” times 20 people?

The solution: Use WhatsApp as a creativity tool. Responding to these mindless, endless messages in a creative fashion takes a bit of thought, wit and a fresh mind. Make up a shairi (poetry) for your friend’s birthday message. Or limericks or a pun. Draw a design and send it as a photo. The medium is so flexible that it allows you to sing a song or record a video. Use those options. One friend, Gopal, uses birthdays as a way to connect. He sends a birthday ++ message. He asks about their new job or new move. A milestone can mark a conversation.

Talk: When is the last time you picked up the phone and called a friend? The ubiquity and frequency of WhatsApp messages give us the illusion of closeness. So after seeing a message from a friend saying he’s stressed, why not text him back saying you’ll call him.

And then pick up the phone and call. Or at least leave a voice message.

This is the last part of the three-part series on ‘How to use WhatsApp effectively’

Good morning. I wish you a lovely day.All the best.

I am a sucker for love songs, rock ballads, love scenes, gentle, tender emotional scenes. Every other day, I find myself returning to songs that I had in the 80s and 90s and that return spans all languages. Maybe, middle-age throws a spanner into the way one works and acts or maybe the simple explanation is that music and songs from the 20th century were good and from a different generation and mindset.

My feet stopped tapping beats the moment the so-called Trance music came into existence during the late 90s. My feet and heart stopped missing beats to favorite songs that would have sent my feet right to left and make my limbs and torso shake around like an epileptic patient in full-blown convulsion.

I am game, set and ready for the remaining part of my life with a huge bunch of all my favorite music and the real favorites are safe and sound in doubles, just in case, scratches ruin the day.

Rock ballads, pop ballads feature heavily in most of our lists and we all have that secret song that keeps playing secretly in our secret part of our soul that is kept in reserve for our own retreat. A safe place, a safe and beautiful memory that is now, more a dream and is gone forever but remains as a memory, and a song.

Back in 1990, when the film "pretty woman" released, made on a small budget of 14 million dollars, it went on to collect nearly 450 million dollars and I bet that it is still collecting millions of dollars in royalty. Blu ray and amazon downloads of this film must be still going on for it is a film that touches and strikes a chord in all of us.

Love and redemption and the need to be saved.

A rich man and a prostitute and the love they find. For me, it was all about what a person really needs, wants and desires and will do to get it and keep it until the last breath.

Along with the film, the soundtrack, especially the song " It Must Have Been Love " gripped the world's radio waves and I guess it still does on many classic rock stations and adult contemporary channels.

The song "It Must Have Been Love" was sung by Marie Fredriksson and written by Per Gessle and together both are known as " Roxette".

Sadly, Marie Fredriksson passed away on the 9th of this month after many years of battling cancer and that too of the brain. She fought memory loss, going deaf and dumb and blind and managed to write and create music until the end.

Well, like the song that she sang " It Must Have Been Love ", it truly must have been love for music and that song that flutters to fly free from the cage of your soul.

The lady, the singer, the creator is gone but her song remains. The song always remains. You,I, all will go but our song will remain. It is the song that embraces this atmosphere and all elements and it is the same song that is being sung over and over and felt over and all over again. A song of love, redemption, and acceptance.

RIP Marie Fredriksson 30 May 1958 – 9 December 2019

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=s-XolL_1dN0

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Kjm-Vwmuy_U

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=27eClHQxXls

https://thechive.com/2019/12/09/forget-all-the-bad-news-here-are-the-best-facts-from-2019-36-photos/?fbclid=IwAR3Q42Xd1AaWjiuDg_rjFOL3DBlMCDkuC0suI6BpdJKEUmiNgwPMhmacNls

Good morning. I wish you a beautiful day. All the best.

There was a time, there was a satish who spoke, asked, debated, questioned everything and all the time and in all godforsaken places.

Suitably, the title " Adhigaprasangi" was bestowed on me and although that crown sat uneasily on my uneasy soul, I think it was appropriate and deserved for the tempest that I was.

I look back on that creature and wonder how it could be that this present satish came out and realize that the caterpillar is ugly and poisonous until the time comes when its spins its own cocoon around itself and goes into a stupor in its own hideaway and remains there for weeks and then emerges as a beautiful butterfly, moth whatever. But, it does emerge very different from what it was and that process is called Metamorphosis.

From all that talking, asking, needing, wondering I have and am slowly in the process of my own Metamorphosis and am beating the drums of retreat into my own soul from where it all began.

Inside, the journey is inside and was never outside. I had thought that life was very similar to Tightrope walking but I was wrong for when you really begin to walk and talk your life, it is not a tightrope but a broad passage, a mighty river of living.

I once thought that life was the tightrope and the stick to balance myself as I walked on it was made up of two ends, one me, and the other the world outside.

But, casting away all the emotions that create so many commotions is like casting away the shroud that covered your senses and that had for a long time blinded you.

All that remains now is duty and responsibility and that comes first for the outside world is a creation from all your actions and yes, your reactions too.

There is no birth or death and there is no living hell or heaven and there remains only the walk on the path and discovery of all that makes the path called life.

Everything else is EGO.

As always, my thoughts go out to you and reach you not via preaching mode but purely a sharing mode and the thoughts of a fellow traveller like you and a fellow tightrope walker like you. Be well.

Vaanathai Pola -10

The Research and Analysis Wing (R&AW or RAW)is the foreign intelligence agency of India. It was established in 1968 following the intelligence failures of the Sino-Indian War, which persuaded the Government of India to create a specialised, independent agency dedicated to foreign intelligence gathering; previously, both domestic and foreign intelligence had been the purview of the Intelligence Bureau.

During the nine-year tenure of its first Director, Rameshwar Nath Kao, R&AW quickly came to prominence in the global intelligence community, playing a role in major events such as the accession of the state of Sikkim to India. The agency's primary function is gathering foreign intelligence, counter-terrorism, counter-proliferation, advising Indian policymakers, and advancing India's foreign strategic interests. It is also involved in the security of India's nuclear programme. Many foreign analysts consider the R&AW to be an effective organisation and identify it as one of the primary instruments of India's national power.

Headquartered in New Delhi, R&AW's current chief is Samant Goel. The head of RAW is designated Secretary (R) in the Cabinet Secretariat and is under the direct command of the Prime Minister, and reports on an administrative basis to the National Security Advisor of India, who reports to the Prime Minister.

As with most other prominent intelligence agencies, details of its operations and organization are highly classified and are therefore are not made public. R&AW like the intelligence services of other countries has a record of both failures and accomplishments.

RAW has its headquarters in CGO Complex, Delhi along with 100 or more other central Government offices and importantly along with the ministry of home affairs.

The security of the CGO Complex is handled by the Delhi police along with a few other para-military platoons that are always on guard and on-call due to the highly sensitive nature of the complex.

Raman had been picked up from the airport by a vehicle that belonged to Raw and once his identity was confirmed along with his security clearance, the vehicle drove inside and down into the basement parking that was allotted to the RAW agency staff members.

Raman had been to the RAW office twice already and knew very well the many security clearances that were in place and that one had to clear before entering the inner sanctum of the nations premier agency called RAW.

He placed his laptop and tiny suitcase for a scan and then was given a physical check and once he passed that, there was the eye scan and voice analysis.

That done, he entered a lounge and signed in and just as he was doing that he looked up to see General V.K.Singh, Additional secretary, office of joint operation, RAW coming towards him with a stranger dressed casually in jeans and a cotton shirt that was untucked.

Raman knew that this was an intelligence officer from the middle east and if that assumption was correct he knew that the stranger surely belonged to the Mossad, Israel's intelligence agency.

V.K.Singh raised his hand and greeted Raman ' Ram, how was your flight? how is Jeeva doing?'

Then he pointed to the stranger ' this is Dr.Otto Hauptmann from the Mossad.'

' otto, this is Raman and our new recruit.'

Dr.Otto Hauptmann shook hands and then smiling gently stared at Raman with curious eyes which prompted Raman to ask the question that came naturally and instinctively to his intelligence ' Dr.Otto, it seems to me that you recognise me although I am very sure that we have not met before this moment.'

Dr.Otto Hauptmann smiled ' Very true and very perceptive of you Mr.Raman although you share some traits that I have seen earlier in another hero in another place. But, all of you seem to share this glow and light that is common to only you folk.'

Raman's curiosity was aroused and he asked the doctor from Mossad ' what hero and who are these folk you are talking about?'

Dr.Otto Hauptmann smiled ' Rudran. His name is Rudran although he goes under a different name now.'

He shook Raman's hand firmly and said ' now that you are part of RAW, I guess we will be meeting up more often, either here or there and by there I mean, Jerusalem.'

Raman watched both the senior's leave and made his way towards his boss V.K.Singh's office and poured himself a cup of coffee and thought of the name the Mossad man had just said ' Rudran. Wow. Even the name sounds powerful and scary. Wonder who this person is that carries a name like that.'

Vaanathai Pola 11

Raman sat at the edge of the table sipping the hot coffee and looked up as the door opened and his boss V.K.Singh entered and without a word proceeded to pour himself a coffee and both men looked at each other sipping their coffees.

V.K.Singh wise to the fact that Raman would not prompt or start the conversation, waited a futile few moments and then said ' Aren't you curious, Ram?'

' curious about what, boss?'

' Curious about the man whom you just met and about his thoughts?'

Raman nodded ' curious yes, sir, but I have no idea who this person Rudran is and in what context Dr.Otto was comparing him with. But, I am curious about me being called to Delhi?'

Raw chief, General V.K.Singh smiled ' Yes, we will save Rudran for another day along with the group

" Chakravyuh" and concentrate on what seems to be a crisis in the middle east.'

Raman's senses tingled and tensely asked ' Jews and Muslims, sir?'

' I wish that was the case for that is a known quantity but this new crisis is of a different nature and it seems something has gone wrong terribly in the Middle-East region.'

True to his nature, Raman waited patiently for V.K.Singh to gather his thoughts and explain more clearly what new trouble was brewing in the Middle-east.

' Raman, Dr.Otto is very close to the American intelligence agencies and I mean all three of them.CIA, NSA, and Homeland security department. But, even he is perplexed with the Americans as they are playing this crisis with their cards held close to their chest.'

Raman placed the empty cup on the table and calmly folded his hands across his chest and smiled at his boss.

V.K.Singh smiled in understanding ' bloody frustrating isn't it lad. But, that is what the situation is on the ground level.'

Raman in a calm voice ' what is it, boss?'

' Ram, you know who al-Baghdadi was right?'

' Yes, sir. He was the leader of the IS ( The Islamic State of Iraq and the Levant) and was called the Caliph and was seen as the next great leader after Osama-bin-laden. He was killed along with some of his family members by the Americans in October.'

V.K.Singh nodded ' After al-Baghdadi was killed, a new caliph called Abu Ibrahim al-Hashimi al-Qurashi was elected by the Shura council. But no one has any clue as to who he is or how he looks. And to add fuel to this new crisis,I have just been informed that the new caliph along with many other leaders have been killed in a drone attack.'

Raman clapped his hands ' this is great news, sir. Less terrorists for the world to worry about.'

V.K.Singh nodded ' this now is the crisis for nobody knows who organized the drone attack on the IS leaders although the Americans suspect a double agent. The Mossad have raised their hands and said that they have no clue as to who this double agent is or who organized the assassination of all the IS leaders.'

Raman closed his eyes and said ' If the top rung of the IS has been eliminated then that means they are like chickens running around with their head cut off.'

V.K.Singh raised a finger ' But, what we feared has now transpired and that a segment of IS has broken free to form a new terrorist group and we have no idea as to their plans and movements but for the name of their leader, Abbas aka Abbas Ali Khan.'

Jannal Oram 378

Raman stepped into the building and then had to cross through another door that had armed commandos standing guard and both soldiers immediately saluted Brigadier Sooryanarayanan who barked ' At ease gentlemen' and entered the darkness beyond.

The building's belly seemed to swallow Raman who stepped inside and felt like he had stepped into some sci-fi movie set and went " Wow! Now that is something that a common man does not get to see even once in his life."

The inside of the building stretched and ran away and as far as he could see it was filled with computers and work stations that was helmed by hundred or more people who all had their heads bent, lost and busy in some secret mission and data collection.

The left of the building was lined with cabin and out of one of them came V.K.Singh who waved his hand and beckoned both of them.

Even from far away, Raman could see the stress in V.K.Singh's face and his normal calm and cool face had been replaced by an ugly scowl and he hurriedly waved to a few people who ran up to him and said ' Ram, something very important has come up and I am sorry that I cannot be with you right now. '

He introduced the four youngsters to Raman ' Shaji from Kochi, Balbir from Delhi, Sukhi ram from Bihar and this is Preetha from Chennai and I have assigned these four to help you out and they will brief you and assist you in any way they can.'

He looked at Raman ' Sorry son, have to rush because the whole intelligence network is on fire, starting from America, Europe to here in Asia.'

Raman in a calming voice ' Is there anything I can do to help sir? If so, just ask and I will.'

V.K.Singh looked at the four analysts ' all of you wait at the station that has been assigned for this case and Raman will join you shortly.'

After they had left, Brigadier Sooryanarayan asked V.K.Singh ' what new fire is burning your usually calm and cool backside and a rear that has seen far worse and stressful situations over the years and has come through unscathed.'

V.k.Singh mumbled a name, a word, and the Brigadier not hearing it asked ' V.K, what was it you said?' and Raman said " Abbas, is that a name or a code sir?'

Brigadier Sooryanarayan went quiet and Raman saw both the senior men look at each other and then asked V.K.Singh ' gentlemen, are you okay?'

' Raman, Abbas is the name of one of the most dreaded terrorists that we have encountered and yet we know very little of him and his movements. Even the world-famous Mossad has just a pic of him and which is too grainy and pixellated to correctly confirm his appearance.'

He looked down at the ground and cursing softly said ' Rumors are floating that this terrorist Abbas Khan is heading our way and the unconfirmed reports from Israel say that he has crossed over into Indian territory and is here in our land right now.'

' Sir, what does the name or word Abbas mean ?'

V.K.Singh's face revealed the seed of fear and tension that had taken root in his heart and said ' Ram, Abbas is an Arabic name and it means Lion. In Arabic, this name is given to the meanest and strongest lion in the pride! It is the lion that all others fear."

Abbas is most probably going to be our next story and yes, it will feature most of Jannal Oram's characters and yes, as always, it will be love and only love that will be the hero and the heroine of the story.

https://stepfeed.com/arabs-love-lions-so-much-they-name-their-sons-after-them-in-15-different-ways-8872

Vaanathai Pola 12

At exactly 8.00 am, Girija Padmanabhan walked into the room where her brother former Brigadier Rajashekar Varman lay in a coma and found Radha Krishnan sitting in a chair next to him and holding her brother's hand in his.

Radhu stood up and greeted her and she, in turn, wished him back and looking at her brother wistfully asked ' I know it is impossible but yet I ask, hoping against hope. Is there any improvement or change?'

Radhu shook his head but smiled encouragingly ' Not yet but my heart tells me that your brother will come out of his coma.'

Girija looked at him ' Thank you for those kind words and that is the reason I asked you if there was any change from last night.'

Radha Krishnan slanted his head enquiringly ' Reason, what reason ma'am?'

' You, Radha Krishnan, you. You have come at this hour, late though it may be, you have come into our lives and you have arrived just when my brother seems to be slipping away through the door that lies between life and death and I think it is a sign, a sign from God himself.'

Radha Krishnan felt the pain, ache and hope in the old lady's voice and going to her, gently hugged her to himself and held her for a long time.

Girija Padmanabhan looked up into the tall stranger's eyes and said in a soft voice ' your eyes, they seem so familiar and it makes me feel like I am looking into my kid brother Raja's eyes and that too when he was a boy.'

Radhu wiped her tears away ' Maybe it is all just an illusion ma'am. I am just an humble stranger from Kumbakonam and I am here to serve you and your brother who was and remains my hero. I grew up hearing great stories about him and I grew up wanting to be like him and maybe that is what is reflecting in my eyes.'

' Maybe,maybe it is all in my mind and my soul but it feels real and importantly it feels right.' Saying this, she wiped her tears with a tissue and looked at him ' come, let's go visit The Flock, my brother's dream that seems to be on the verge of crumbling down.'