Atrocities of ‘CC’

Hello everybody!

Firstly, thanks for giving me so many followers!! Love each and every one of you! Thank you for the booming stats too!

As promised, I’ll be talking about the atrocities of coaching classes today (this will, probably, be the last post on teenagers and their mental status in India).

In India, 99 out 100 school kids attend a coaching institute (CC or COACHING CLASSES) right from the age of 6 or probably less! (Millenials, hold on, I’m talking about THIS generation! The alphas!)

So, it’s like out of 24 hrs, 6 hrs are spent in school, 8 hrs of sleeping and 4 hrs are spent in the coaching institutes. The rest of the 6 hours are spent eating, bathing and doing the enormous amounts of homework given by these coaching institutes. It’s not like they charge a feeble amount or something. Their fees shoot up to a lakh or more per annum. And that definitely is ridiculous!

But the funnier part is yet to come. This amount is paid by the hard working parents to the institutes NOT for a better career guidance to their kids but to provide RECREATION to the kids!

The situation today is something like this : The coaching registers are neat whereas we don’t even have a register for school. The coaching homework is done sincerely whereas we don’t ATTEND school. We have a 100% attendance throughout the year in the coaching classes, whereas we strive to complete the 75% compalsurized (is there such a word?) by school. Why?

Because, of course, coaching is more fun! You meet different people, have  no disciplinary actions taken against you and you’re waited on hand and foot there! You think this will help you get into your favourite college? Lol! I mock you poor ridiculous kids! Ever thought about those village boys who got into IIT and made news the previous year? What about the super 30?  They didn’t have a lakh to pay! Yet they’re doing better than you.

Now to those who manage to finally get into the IITs by getting tutored by these centres of education : How successful are you in life? If you think money is success and since you earn a good amount you’re successful, lemme clarify that you’re wrong. Of course everybody has a different definition to what success is, but basically it’s the good outcome of an undertaking. And money is not it.

Success is when you do something other than filing papers in a huge company. Success is when you construct a building that’s flawless, success is when you make a medicine that eradicates the need to go to a doctor often, success is when you find means of saving lives, success is when you THINK and make a change, success is when you make this world a better place.

The coaching centres are giving us knowledge without understanding. You think doing 150 numericals an hour is education? No! The proof that you’ve truly learnt something isn’t getting all of those 150 answers right. The actual proof comes when you can EXPLAIN the concept of at least one of those numericals to a complete lay person. But I know that half of the times you yourself don’t know it!

I agree I myself go to coaching classes, 4 hrs a day. Why you’d ask, eh? Just keeping up with the fad!

I haven’t joined a fancy air conditioned famous academy where I gotta pay a lakh per year, but I definitely have joined an academy. And trust me, it disheartens me to see the state of students there. Basically, to fulfil my dreams and somehow beat those ‘over smart’ pieces of printed encyclopaedias (I mean the students who can do 150 questions an hour),  to my favorite college I NEED to cheat. And hence I find myself in these classes.

Recently, there have been a number of issues regarding these classes. A boy A (check my previous posts ) committed suicide recently. His well wishers claim that it’s the physics teacher who forced him to join his private tuitions and the pressure eventually killed the child. The city calls him a ‘dalal’  (never mind the translation – just that it’s not a kind word). Well, to those city dwellers I question, who encouraged the rise of coaching classes? This physics teacher killed one student (I hope it’s not true), but the other ‘dalals’ like R and M (I’m sure some of you know what I’m talking about and to my foreign friend’s I’d say these are some great coaching institutes down here) are DESTROYING thousands of students. They’re ruining their career. Do you guys do anything about it.

The other day a boy claimed it isn’t abnormal for teenagers to drink and smoke now. To that boy I’d say : It IS abnormal man! It isn’t the age! Look where it landed poor A. It causes lack of emotional and mental stability! And these coaching centres are where bad habits breed!

Some of you would say that it’s purely on the teen to be a good child or a bad one. But I’d oppose that. Teenagers are emotionally imbalanced and have little say when bad habits are enforced on them. Trend is something they tend to adopt and when addiction is the latest trend, you can’t blame the teen !

As aware citizens of democratic India, it is OUR responsibility to stop this business called coaching (sounds so much like poaching!). Bug your school teachers, take the help of books and internet. Raise YOUR standards and not the amount you pay. I call out to those revolutionaries out there participating in candle marches : march against these ‘dalals’. Student force has a lot of power, if only it’s directed towards the right issues!

Wake up. Make this place a better one. Get a life. Dance, play, live, learn. Don’t mug up.

Enjoy life because you only live once.

Caution:Exams ahead!

Greetings mates!

I’m going through THAT time of the year.

Yes it’s THAT time. The time when you know that the final exams are round the corner and you haven’t prepared a bit. The time when you feel like life’s gonna tumble and you won’t even be able to earn your bread (forget about strawberries dipped in dark chocolate)!

Anyway, what I wanted to discuss today is the study pattern of the contemporary world. Is it right? Well does it leave the child with enough to time actually “discover” stuff? I don’t know about other countries, but in India – life of a student is miserable.

To think deeper, we see that Gaglelio, Newton, Archimedes – great scientists – had never sat in their laboratories writing down gibberish on a piece of paper and making frantic calculations! No!

Galileo spent hours in a church just observing the pendulum. Newton spent time under apple tree I’m sure. And Archimedes took lazy baths.

But students today? They wake up in the morning, go to school, come back, go to coaching classes, return home and study a bit more so that their brains could go to hell and then eat a bit and go off to sleep (that’s for 4 hrs). They stink sometimes due to the lack of time (means no bath!). They are sleep and food deprived. They have no social life. And then they finally get into THE IIT ! Yay – goal achieved.

But then when they look back at their earlier years of life they see that there’s nothing – absolutely nothing – that they can laugh about or smile on.

Is this the way I am supposed to live life?


Anybody interested in guest blogging?

Email me at : aayusibiswas@gmail.com 

 

Thought for the day

Children – the dainty petals with sweetness in every fold;

The angles of joy and happiness untold;

Yes, the very same children we are talking about whom you see begging bare feet, cleaning up benches and washing defiled utensils.

Yes, these are the very children who, on one hand, are called ‘as precious as gold’ and on the other are sold!

The very children we seek about, who go to work every morning

And are blasted in mines without any warnings.DSCN0406.JPG

You murmur, you hear, see and talk about their deprived state..

But do you do anything for their unlit fate?

Maybe it’s time you wake up..

Maybe it’s time you realize enough…

Let’s take a step forward and not just “think” about it!

Let’s help them out with a little effort and bliss !


 

Mates, today I want you to think a bit about the helpless children out there who are being tortured endlessly by means of child labor!

A few minutes of silence for them please ❤

Dedicate at least a few moments in your life helping a child get out of such circumstances – if you get a chance!

Pray for their fate!

Stay blessed! Keep smiling 🙂

 

Gift me a comment please!

Being Me wishes a very merry Christmas to one and all reading this post!! Hope you guys have a wonderful festive season and enjoy to the fullest!

Merry-Christmas-Facebook-Timeline-photo.jpg

 

Hereby, I’ll request my fellow bloggers and followers to kindly read the following lines and comment on it please!

Today morning my mind revolved around a particular piece of news…

Delhi, the capital of India, is a highly polluted piece of land. And to control this state of pollution, Mr Arvind Kejriwal, the chief minister of Delhi, has decided to launch a new campaign. He calls it the odd-even formula. According to this campaign, on odd dates vehicles ending with an odd number will be allowed to occupy the streets and on even dates, the even numbered vehicles will come out. This – according to him – would ensure pollution control. This formula would be executed from the 1st of january (for a trial period of 15 days).

While some people think it surely will be a success, there are people who question the sanity of the man who proposed the plan! They believe that this would promote crime, engender loads of problems and so on! There are some who believe Mr Kejriwal is trying turn Delhi into an arcade game where you can built your own city and play cityville(a popular facebook game) or something!

What do you think? Your comments are essential!

Offerings to God – a work of fiction!

Again, I wrote this when I was 14 – for a community magazine! 

Yay! This is my 50th post!


“And this year he bought me this beautiful diamond necklace. Isn’t it stunning? It’s worth five lakhs! And this sari is bought directly from the mill of Kanchi. Isn’t it…..” I tuned out of the conversation as my wife chatted away happily to observe my surroundings. The auspicious statue of goddess Durga was kept on the pedestal and looked as divine as anything. The holy priest was chanting away, there was an announcement that the aarti would begin in a few minutes and all along, in the background, was the general buzz of people chatting, children playing and chairs being pushed. All around there were hundreds of people settling down on the red chairs and waiting for the aarti to begin. The mandap was getting more and more suffocating as devotees piled in. Making my way around the elderly people already settled in the chairs, I got out of there to take a breath of fresh air.

Once outside, I stood below the banyan tree and took in a deep breath. My nostrils tingled, but not because of the air, I realized. It was the whiff of fresh, hot cutlets! I looked around at the numerous stalls of food and other crafts lining the mandap and spotted the source of this aroma. Tucked away in the corner of the line was a little stall with a huge crowd of hungry men. The board on top of the stall announced the sale of various varieties of cutlets and other fried stuff. To be frank, I’m a big foodie. The policy I followed was ‘live to eat’ and now that I had spied the food stall no one could have stopped me from going there. I was on my way when my cell phone beeped, declaring the arrival of a new message. I opened my inbox. A smile played on my lips as my son, Deb’s, face smiled up at me. He was currently posted in the US and sent me a recent snap of himself every week, on demand of his mother. I was going through our fond memories in my head, when I reached the stall. A young boy stood there, serving the people. I ordered a plate of mutton cutlet. As I was waiting for my order to be delivered, the young boy’s face struck me as a familiar one. He was no older than my son, I noticed. Neatly dressed but his clothes looked of a poor quality. As I looked on my iphone screen and once again saw my son’s face, it came to me! This young boy, who now stood here, serving me, was none other than Deb’s childhood best friend! The boy who now sold cutlets was, at one time, a topper in his class.

“Dulal?” I called out and was rewarded as the boy turned round.

“Yes, sir” he saw me and did a double take, “Mr. Chatterjee! Do sit down sir.” He offered me a stool, which I politely declined.

“It’s been a long time son. How are you doing?”

He excused himself as her mother, I assumed, replaced him. Once in a quieter place, he asked jovially about Deb.

“He’s posted in the US. But son, what about you? I mean you are such a talented young man…..anyway, how’s Mr. Sen doing?”

His face took on a sad smile and his eyes had a forlorn look, “Sir, he passed way as soon as you got a transfer to Delhi.”

“Oh, I’m so sorry!” His father was their family’s soul bread earner. His death explained the poor state they were in.

He nodded his bent head, and then looked up with a new smile, “Now I’m supporting the business!”

“That’s great news! So since when have you being doing this, I mean managing the business?”I still couldn’t believe that this capable boy was making cutlets in a stall!

“Well, I dropped school when I was in 10th so that’s probably from when.”

“Oh!” was all I could say.

“But…” he gave a sigh, “it is tough to keep up with the rising rates. I….we don’t know what will happen now,” suddenly he looked a lot older and wiser than his 25 yrs, “So we had no other options but to do what we can and that’s cooking!” His face brightened a little as he added, “We’ve got our own small dhaba in the outskirts. And it is quite popular now. So we make enough money to keep us going.” He gave a light shrug. “Just a minute sir, I think your order is ready.” He ran out towards his stall.

I sat there in a state of stunned speechlessness. The boy had said all that in perfect English, his manner groomed. The sun shone directly on me as I continued staring at nothing. The aarti had started inside. Loud bells were clanging, the drum beating steadily, rhythmically, through the opening of the flap of the tent, I could see my wife standing amongst her friends, the light rays of the sun shining off her necklace on which I had spent lakhs, but all it did was glitter in the sunshine. I looked down, at my shoes made of pure Italian leather over which I had spent thousands, but all it did was cover my feet which even a few hundred rupees shoe could. My eyes went to my wrist, which had on a limited edition watch worth a few hundred dollars, but it was something that showed me the same time as that displayed by a 100 rupee watch.

I thought of it in a different way now. I could buy all the luxuries of the world with my money, so couldn’t I educate this young man? Only if I would have! My son being an average student was today in the US so it was worth contemplating what this fellow could have done with proper provisions!1231701_467516106680694_842569904_n

I tilted my head up to see the beautiful mandap decorated to look like a castle and I noticed the vigor with which the Durga Pooja was being celebrated. Surely, hundreds of thousands of rupees would have gone over all this. And hundreds of thousands of people would have donated. I took in the large crowd standing in the mandap and realized what a big community we were. Couldn’t we spend a little of the funds for a good cause? Couldn’t we part take in the development of our country, and uplift our community? And I’m sure that this step would cost us nothing more than a few thousands but would bring about happiness on many people’s faces, would brighten a lot of futures.

A new realization dawned upon me. I became a changed person that day. My outlook was different now. And all I wanted to do now was to put this idea into action and bring about a change. To spread this refreshed conscience. And to eat my cutlets before they got cold…….  🙂


Ps: I won’t be blogging for about 10 days from now!! So long! Until then – a hearty cheery smile and stay blessed ❤

Do leave comments!!

Destiny – a work of fiction!

I was 12 yrs old back then when I wrote this! It was a piece I wrote to be featured in a local community magazine! 


“Haven’t I told you a hundred times that I am NOT MADE OUT OF ACTOR STUFF? Don’t you just get it, mom? I’m a director. A DIRECTOR

“So you’re saying you can’t even fulfill one dream of mine.”

“It’s not about that. I mean I don’t act and never will. WOULD you spare me?”

“Vanessa, dear, everyone’s destined to be something as you are to be an actress. Believe me…….” But she’s cut off when Vanessa’s phone rings

Mumbling something about it being past her to talk to her mom she walks out to attend the call.

“Vanessa, just get to the studio, hurry!” an anxious voice urges.

Once in the studio room, she looks around at the grim faces of her crew. One of them comes forward and speaks almost inaudibly, “Sabrina’s met with an accident. Broken a leg.”

It was enough to freeze Vanessa to a state of shock. What did he mean by that? Sabrina was their protagonist! And tonight was the inter college competition! And she was the director! The first play directed by Vanessa!  Was her career going to end before it ever started?

 “Now what?” someone asked.

“It’s all over.”

“Think of the money we’ve spent!”

“The actress can’t be substituted at the last moment, I mean…”

“Nothing doing. Vanessa you’re our new lead role. Just get prepared.” This last opinion snapped her out of her frozen state. This was said by their principle, Dan Grimoire.

“NO WAY. I can’t ….” Vanessa started but was cut off.

“I didn’t ask you, I ordered. What’s the problem? I mean, you have the looks, you’re the director so you know the dialogues, and that’s all you need. I won’t take a no. Do it or we’ll be disqualified. Think about it, you’ll lose a chance to show your skills and so will your co-artists here.”

She stared at him. Chewing her lower lip she thought of the odd coincidence, in the morning she had a fight about not acting and here she was, on the verge of accepting to do so. Well, but could she do it? What if she screwed it up? Then again her mother, being a psychic, had predicted that she would be an actress….. No way, what was she thinking? She wanted to be a director and she was. But if she didn’t act, she won’t be, as Dan had threatened.

She nods her head and then says, “But I’m not responsible if it doesn’t turn out to be good.”

The producer agrees, asking, “I hope you don’t have a stage fright.”

Shaking her head, she walks away to get her costume together.

Finally, the time comes to show her skills. She walks on the stage to take her position. The curtain rises, she takes a deep breath, repeating in her mind again and again, “Don’t overdo it. Don’t overdo it. Don’t…

Once she starts, she doesn’t stop. As it is she knew the dialogues by heart. All she had to do was be expressive. And just then she noticed her mother sitting in the audience, nevertheless, she kept up her acting thinking, yeah mom you won! But am I good?

Once all that was over, she went backstage. Her cheeks pink under the rough. But before she could do anything other than sip water, she was pushed on stage again. On the stage, every lead actress from all the plays acted today were lined up. By the talks, it appeared to be something about some silly award that she was sure she was not going to win.

“Really, now I know how hard it is to act. I vow never to be rude to the artists again.” she muttered under her breath.

“And the award for the best actress goes to….” the host announced dramatically, “Miss Vanessa Maguire!”

It took a moment for Vanessa to realize that her name was being called out.  Ok, she thought, all this is getting pretty dramatic. Was she hallucinating or did she really get an award for the unprepared acting which she thought was horrible? Looking at her mother’s eyes that screamed ‘I told you’, the latter one was probably the truth. And these people were not fools that meant her acting was not horrible, she told herself.

She walked forward to receive her prize and smiled at the audience. She raised her trophy, and looked at her mother with a tear trailing down her cheek and mouthed the words ‘ for you’. Yes, she thought secretly, you were right mom, everyone is destined to be something and that something for me’s this.

Responsibility – A work of fiction!

Written originally for a school presentation ! 


“Any complaints?”

“Oh come on Anya. You know your work is flawless! I just don’t understand why you’re stuck up with this boutique. You should go for one of those big fashion chains…” Namita, a daily customer of the boutique, babbled, picking up her delivery and proceeding to pay.

The bright smile on Anya’s pretty little, twenty nine year old face shrunk a bit as she averted her gaze. Why bring up this topic, she winced inwardly, deciding not to answer her.

“Answer me!” Namita prodded, “Do you want me to help you with your CV?”

“Uh-no,” Anya replied, “I had done this, years ago. They say I need a degree in Designing and Arts to qualify for a seat…”

She paused for that to sink in before perking up her expression and returning the change.

“And why, in the lord’s name, did you not go for it when you were younger?”

“Ah-a long story!” Anya replied, her face blushing.

“I love long stories,” Namita answered with a grin, making herself comfortable on the plastic chair.

With a sigh, Anya took her seat behind the counter, her elbow resting on the counter top, “Dates back to when I completed my 12th with a 95% in physics. I dreamt of going in for NIFT entrances, you know National Institute of Fashion Tech.”

Namita nodded for her to go on.

“And so, I revealed my wishes to Mum and Dad. Dad, being the typical traditional fellow he is, immediately objected claiming I was born to be an engineer.

On the other hand, being the typical rebel I am, told him what I thought of his great idea f making me an engineer.

Daily there were squabbles and finally we decided I’d appear for both the entrance exams.

In my opinion, both my exams went off well. The condition was I’d opt for the subject I score better in. I passed JEE with a placement in one of the best colleges. Dad was overjoyed. But I waited for my NIFT results…which never came. I never lost hopes, but when months passed and it was time for me to start with my engineering, I had to give in. Seems like I failed. I did my engineering. It was tough. I’m a B.Tech.  in computer software. My husband’s the MD if an IT company. But I can’t work with him. You know why?”

Namita shook her head.

“Because I’m an engineer without any knowledge of engineering! I mean I can’t program a simple thing because when I sit to do it, my head spins and I fell like ripping my skull apart!” Anya paused to take a breath and continued, “What do you suggest I do? I tried whatever was needed but…well now it’s too late to ponder over that!”

There was a chime at the door. Anya stood up as a man in his mid thirties entered the boutique.

“Mrs. Anya Tiwari?” he announced looking at the two ladies.

“That’d be me…” Anya said, “Tiwari’s my maiden name,” she gave in the way of an explanation to Namita’s inquiring look.

“Nice to meet you madam. I’m Tarun Halat and I’m here to give you this,” he said, fishing an envelope out of his bag.

“What’s this?” she asked, turning the big thing in her hands.

“Well, well, well! You see ma’am my father, Late Mr. Arvind Halat was a postman,” he waited for her reaction, when none came, he continued, “About ten years ago, he won a lottery of half a crore through those stupid games we see at TV stations. Well they’re not so stupid after all! Ok, so to talk of the envelope, he brought a new house and stuff and left his old coop locked up. Recently he passed away and we got the opportunity of sifting through his belongings. Inside his cubbyhole, we found a whole bag of undelivered letters dating back to the day he resigned. As the irresponsible man he was, he forgot all about these. But we decided to turn them in to the rightful owners…so here it is. We went to your home on the Prithvi Road, your parents told me I’d find you here…”

“Oh,” Anya whispered, reading the address on the envelope having a NIFT seal. Peeling off the seal, she slid out a worksheet along with a letter.

Tarun and Namita waited patiently as Anya read and re read the contents. Her eyes watered as she looked up to the two of them. Tears welled up those beautiful black eyes as she repeated the printed lines in her mind…

…having secured a merit position in the NIFT entrance exam, you are bestowed with the privilege of selecting the institute of your choice…
Reply within a period of ten days…

“Why have you brought this to me…” she whispered.

“Pardon?” Tarun said, leaning in to her better.

“WHY HAVE YOU BROUGHT THIS STUPID THING TO ME…” she yelled, tossing the envelope by his feet, “You realize what this is? You want me to cry all over again? You to make me REGRET?”

“Ma’am,” he tried to cut her.

“If only you had brought it ten years back…if only…” she whispered, stumbling on her chair and turning her face in an unsuccessful attempt to hide her tears.

“I’m sorry, from my father’s side…” he began.

With a jerk, she looked straight at him, “YOUR FATHER SPOILT MY LIFE MR. TARUN HALAT. GET LOST! I DON’T WANNA SEE YOUR FACE…” she hissed.

Later on in the day, she realized she was wrong in scolding him. He had helped her and she had been ungrateful. But she had to vent out her feelings…no?believe9

Ten years, ten long years she had lived the life of shameful failure, had believed she’d FAILED not just in the entrance exam but in her life! A life of low self esteem, dismay, and uselessness is something worth crying after…

And all this at the cost of a man’s irresponsibility?

Contemplable eh?

Savior – A piece of Fiction!

When I was 11, I was obsessed with action.


Millions of people fought years ago and died years ago. Millions of people did that for us years ago. Many of them became famous as freedom fighters. Bhagat Singh, Lal Bhadur Shastri, and Rani LakshmiBai were some of them. But there were some who never came to be known by us, some who were dedicated to the people, worked for the people but were not by the people. And I know about such a man, a man whose death still haunts me. Maybe because he died because of me.

It took place years ago, when I was just 18 and the whole of India was fighting for freedom. A time when the Indians killed Britishers on sight and the British too did its share of kidnapping Indian women and children. And I too was a woman, a helpless woman whom they had kidnapped. I was thrown into a ship and that was when it started….

Previously, two of their captives had disappeared and the Brits believed that they were rescued. So this time they had put us in the upper deck where only the whites could enter. I looked around at the three other people in the room. One, a kid of about seven, was lying on the bed and looked unconscious to me, another was a woman looking out of the window and the third occupant-a woman -was sitting on the floor, her knees pulled up to her chest, and sobbing pitifully. I went to her and put my arms around her to comfort her. But when I tried to speak, I couldn’t. It was hard to choke back tears at this point but I held on. At this precise minute, the door opened and a white man entered the room.

I saw the other two women around me shiver (ok, I was scared too) as the man entered the room. He strode directly towards the kid on the bed, his face determined. Was he going to kill us or were we being handed back to our families in exchange of something? I had no idea what was in store for me. I stared as the man heaved the kid on his shoulder and motioned for us to follow. Noticing a gun in his hand, we complied. Once outside he took us through winding passages in the ship. As time passed, the passages started growing deserted.

After a few minutes, the route he took was totally empty. On a sudden impulse I asked the man, “You’re going to kill us?” as soon as the words were out, I wished I had never spoken .The man stopped and turned towards me. His face sturdy but not cruel. “No” he said in a deep voice. “I’m not going to kill you, or even hurt you, as a matter of fact. But promise me that as soon as I let you out, you’d never turn around or speak to anybody about me. Once you’re out I don’t exist, ok?”

We nodded and I was about to speak when a man’s voice boomed from the rear, “You traitor!”

We all turned around to face a burly Brit. The next thing I knew was that I was being pulled from behind. We were all running and shots rang from behind us. The man led us to a door that opened into a dark hollow. He led us through the narrow path and after about fifteen minutes walk he stopped. We saw a thin streak of light behind us and knew they were not far away. The man brought his mouth near my ears and whispered, “Lead the women and kid through and take the first left. I’ll handle the bastards. Just hurry and don’t make a noise.” I could clearly hear his labored breathing and was reluctant to leave him. How I came to trust him, I don’t know but whatsoever, I followed his orders. Moving cautiously in the dark, I suddenly noticed a light ahead. Moving towards it, I noticed that it was the turning, lit by a lantern. It forked into two, and I took the left and suddenly stopped short as I heard the fire of a bullet. Looking behind me I saw the tension on the other women’s faces too. The one who now carried the child looked on the verge of tears. My own breath was held and after what seemed like ages the voices of the men went away. After what seemed like an eternity, I started walking again but not towards the exit but towards him.

Making my way through the dark with the lantern, I finally heard someone breathing heavily and my leg hit something. Bending down I realized it was none other than the man. Placing the lantern down I noticed his bleeding stomach and knew that he was shot. I was so frantic that all I could do was ask why?

And to this monosyllable he answered, “I lost my loved one in their hands and didn’t want your lovers to experience the same. I knew it was wrong, that we’re wrong. It was the least I could do.” And with that he left the world but his memories never left me. Many wouldn’t consider this meeting as being a friendly one but for me that single meeting was enough and I knew that he was my friend, my savior…….