musings.....

The one place where I can write anything I want to. Yes, and its mine to stay. This space will host my wedding pics, my children , and my grandchildren's pics. And everything inbetween.Peace - is the one word that would best describe my current state of mind. Oh and "Serene" and "Happy" too. Yup !! Clear skies are here to stay. Good riddance to "lowly life forms" !!!

On a different note, a very dear friend of mine got married recently. One of the last few in the singles club ( which got disbanded recently due to lack of membership!!) we have had amazing times together. An excellent blogger, and and even more amazing friend - Here is to you couz !! Love ya!! And congrats !!!

Just another random day in the lab, running simulations. And then I heard the news.


Memories... me and my sister to the circus... We used to make up funny names for relatives...He was a great, great story teller... Fond memories of detective stories "Shekar kadhai" where the entire kids pattalam would listen spell bound.... How he coined a whole invocation title song for his daily dose of detective stories....



He had a massive heart attack.....



I was about 10 years old. A rough time in the family where my mom was getting operated. He used to specially make "Nei sadham" for me and tell me stories and feed it.How we played cards - how we used to see the cards from his spectacle reflection... How he used to fall asleep reading the newspaper..



He was taken to the ICU...



"Ding dong" used to be our favorite drink. Whenever I visited him, his favorite pethi's arrival was an excuse for us to go and buy these. "Thumba poo veshti" - he loved washing is white dhothis to perfection."Speaking brinjals" and the way he used to cook them for us.



Ambulance...



Music - how he thought I was the best singer in the whole wide world. How I ve never refused to sing for him - ever. How we rehearse "mokshamu galadha" as he was on his "Salavai" sprees.How he tells us stories of him practicising music and the time he was offered a role in yesteryear cinema...how we used to discuss raagas... and concerts of yesteryears...



Relatives reaching from all over... He was 83...



How he wanted his grandkids to rub his back - with a clothes brush. How when I was a kid I used to sit on his back to relieve him of his back pain as he used to regale us with "railway" stories..... how he was sad to throw away his iron dumbells when he could barely lift a small basket....



The ceremony.. How is paati taking it ?



How he used to take us to the nearby pond to experience a whole new dimension to bathing.
... used to discuss cricket and tennis and even taught him the rules of F1. How he had to memorize our favorite teen idol for that season.. "Tendul" or "Sonu" u name it !



That framed photo that I promised to send.. Those letters from BITS I never wrote, those letters from the US I promised to write...



How he used to listen to the news on his old faithful radio - which paati knitted a sweater for.And how he joked that it got washed away in the rain once and came back to him magically.How his "bubble gum" dosai was a cult favorite in the household.How he tells the whole world that I am his pet grandkid. How he tells my friends about the day I was born , and how I am the apple of his eye... How I used to jump off his belly as a baby and squeal with laughter...




And suddenly simulations,graphs,family squabbles - everything seems utterly inconsequential. I cannot imagine coming home without sprinting the last 100 yards to hug you. A place without you seems too bleak to imagine. You will be sorely missed!!



Until about five hours ago - I had both set of grandparents to pamper me. Not anymore. Thatha - I know for a fact that you are in some place very happy, could you put in a word with God to take me there too?



- Your favorite "pet" grandkid who had the good fortune of having you in her life for 23 whole years.

Finally Cecila is trying to get a life !!! I mean, after Mike got married ,and had a kid, it was Ceclia's number this time. You go gal ! Poor Tajel though. I wish she hooked up with one of those undergrads who hit on her.Or - alternately, finds a good cause to take up her trumpets and rally in poor,single grad students. Wait, what was the cause again ? Free food ??

It had to be in Abheri.Of course. Thats like a no-contest. No other raaga can do justice to what this song wants to convey. "Yeppadi Paadinaro" - says that one can only gaze at those saints who praised Lord Shiva - overflowing with emotion in Thamizh.

எப்படி பாடினாரோ அடியார் அப்படி பாட நான்

ஆசை கொண்டேன் சிவனே

அப்பரும் சுந்தரரும் ஆளுடை பிள்ளையும்

அருள் மணி வாசகரும் பொருளுணர்ந்து உன்னையே

குருமணி சங்கரரும் அருமை தாயுமானாரும்

அருணகிரி நாதரும் அருட்ஜோதி வள்ளலும்

கருணைக்கடல் பெருகி காதலினால் உருகி

கனித்தமிழ் சொல்லினால் இனிதுனை அனுதினம்

This post is sort of like a sequel to "Romance in Religious Poetry". So the logical choice would have been to write about the song "Kanda naal mudhal". But since Kollywood took care of that, lets try something else. Now, I know people are going to be sooo thankful to me for this next one. Infact, I was contemplating putting this up at Karnatika or some such place. But in an attempt to keep this blog alive, here it is folks. Something really hard to find on the net. Right out of my now dog-eared "Paatu note", this one is really , really treasured."Naayagan - Naayaki" bhavam is what this style of poetry is called. Something that is particularly relavant to the Vishnu - worshippers. This one is just too beautiful - "Laali Aadinaal" embodies the cosmic dance at the union of two souls, usually sung at weddings.

லாலி ஆடினாள் லக்ஷ்மி லாலி ஆடினாள்

ஸ்ரி லக்ஷ்மி இன்று இங்ஙு

ஸ்ரீ ரங்ங பதியிலே ஆதிஷெஷன் அரவணையில்

மந்தகாச வதனமோடு ரங்கநாதன் - ரங்கநாச்சி

வ்ருஷபாதி திருப்பதியில் வேங்கடெசன் சகிதமாக

அபயஹஸ்த அலங்கார அலமேலு மங்ஙை இங்ஙு

ஸ்ரீ காஞ்சி தன்னிலே கருட வாகனத்திலே

வரதராஜன் சகிதமாக பெருந்தேவி தாயர் இங்ஙு

நாராயண புரத்திலே வைரமுடி மின்னிடவே

செல்ல பிள்ளை சகிதமாக மங்ஙை கல்யாணி இங்ஙு

திருவைந்தி புரத்திலே சிம்மவாகனத்திலே

தேவநாதன் சகிதமாக ஹேமாம்புஜ நாயகியும்

ஸ்ரீவில்லிபுத்துர் தன்னிலே பெரியாழ்வார் திருமகளாய்

சூடி கொடுத்த சுடர் கொடியும் ரங்ஙமன்னார் சகிதமாக

திருக்கடிகை தன்னிலே யோகநரசிம்மரோடு

அம்ருதவல்லி தாயாரும் ஆனந்தமாக இங்ஙு

PS : Thanks mom, for sitting with me patiently to correct my spelling mishtakes like my first standard, "Sangaaa... yevlo spelling mistakes .. nee exam-ke poga vendam!!"

Warning : Serious poetry ahead !

I am peaceful and happy. And contented. Perhaps in stark contrast to my current state,I came across this poem someplace. I don't know what to make of it - except it was probably written one one morbid day by someone who has more on the agenda. Doesn't quite fit into classical lyrical structure of poetry. But there is something about this poem that cries out to get people to read it. So I am reproducing with permission it here.

I am tired

I cannot cry anymore

I cannot fight anymore

I cannot run anymore

Just let me go

To where there is peace

And a little bit of happiness

I just want to be devoid of any sense

Feel,touch, laughter and tears

No more tears.. please .. no more

I don't want to add one single drop to the overflowing ocean

I don't want to run the rat race

I am tired, exhausted

Almost hollow on the inside

Empty me quick

Empty me quick

Atleast then I can turn myself inside out

And let myself get parched dry

Not one bit of moisture

Not one soft tissue

All parched dry in the desert heat

So the heat is felt no more..

No cold, no heat - no uneasy places between

Black or white

Zero or one

Along will come someone else

To fill all the absent places

Or not

For it doesn't matter

Like a collage made of flags statues

One tiny dent in the NY skyline

The big picture doesn't change

It never does.

And the world lives on

It's something about the human self

That is so convoluted

You know you are one tiny insignificant speck

But you still live on

Yearning,hoping blindly

That your life will make a difference to someone else

Knowing it never might, yet living on ....

Another day ....

I sat down to write a post - making a feeble attempt to pen down those wafting , vague ideas into something penworthy. And then Dad called.Sitting miles away from India, their only source of catching up with the latest TN elections was the internet.And as news of early leads started pouring we discussed it all - election promises , caste-based vote banks,scandals,corruption,Jaya TV and Sun TV. We discussed what makes one "Indian" and if there is even a word "American" and if so, what that really means.

And then it all came back to me - elections and political scene - 1999-2000. I was in my final year of school. Tensions, exams, and applications time. Almost oblivious to the blaring loudspeakers,gaudy posters,and larger-than-life cutouts, our lives trudged on. There were some, among us who were daughters of MPs, MLAs and party leaders.But at 16, MTV, Agarkar's posters, and paper rockets on Physics teacher's head held our fancy - competing with timed tests and mugging Sanskrit shlokas.

As the elections drew nearer, we , at home, were hoping for a change in governance.And when a key electoral alliance was forged between a national party and a local party at the state, we knew there was a chance.As days rolled by,this alliance announced their Trichy contestant.Mr.RK was an educated lawyer - a change from your average run-on-the-mill moushtached , lungi clad , sickle-in-hand politicians that Trichy had seen so far - it was a welcome change.For the first time, I saw mom and dad excited to go and vote.

Through all the political uncertainity - bargaining,haggling,deals,scams, and no-confidence votes - came February - of revision tests and exams.And the cricket matches. "To bunk school or not to bunk" seemed to be the quandary of the day, the argument being, that I could watch the match for a while, and then study through the night, since there was not much happening at school anyway.And then I heard it - Dr.S - Trichy's town president for BJP was brutally murdered. Images of yesterday's lunch session-laughter and backstreet boys talk flashed before my eyes - his daughter was my friend in school.

As we stood in the assembly that day , the school principal announced that today was a school holiday due to riots.I came home as my neighbor remarked " So ,you finally get to watch your cricket match in peace today". TV and news channels flashed the news. Some terrorist organization, rise of fundamentalism and all that .The image of my friend and her mom, and her little brother on TV can never be erased from my mind.

Saffron or Green - the story remains the same.Did she deserve an incomplete family for the rest of her life? Did we deserve to lose the bubbly, enthusiastic chatterbox of a friend?What in the world could be more important than a human life? And yes, I was terribly antagonistic.

And then "Dev" happened. IMO, the media IS really, really powerful. It was a tale of two people - a young, energetic young man and an old, seasoned police officer - from different (warring!) religious sects of India.It is a beautiful portrayal of how "politics" and "king-makers" make use of peoples emotions to incite discontent - and fuel their own vote bank.It wasn't jingoistic - no loud claims of "patriotism" and "national integration" - just a heartfelt tale of how two men deal with their own internal belief systems - with respect to their own religions. One of them loses a son to fundamentalists , but learns to view it in third person - not take it personally and hold vendetta towards the perpetrators - rather, learn to abhor the idea of people turning against each other.

So,far from it all, I now know , that accumulated hatred and prejudices don't go very far.

As R says " You know how democracy works in India? Not on the premise that " we are all one" but that "we are all different" - as diverse as we possibly can. We acknowledge this difference, and live our own lives, in our own comfort zones, stepping out when needed.That's what makes us work".

It was evening. The sky was moody, a dark bluish black. It was almost spring, but not quite. An old man walked, with a wooden stick bent like it was affected with bow-leg. The man had a straight, almost majestic gait, as he walked up a winding road. No hurry, no lethargy - just the right pace. As he ambled along, he wore a greyed cashmere shawl around his shoulder to protect him from the remanants of a chilly winter gone by.

This was the part he liked best. The winding road descended rapidly, and one false step could mean tumbling down a hundred feet. But our man, almost oblivious to the impending fall, walked on autopilot. It was almost as if he was in another place, another time, and his body just did its job. Automatically - without thinking, without feeling.

An old, worn out cycle tire,hidden by some dried leaves, a few bottles of plastic, crushed by the few automobiles that dared to traverse this stretch provided a stark contrast to the otherwise uniform conifers. Nestled in the Eastern Ghats, this small little sleepy town was one of India's best kept secrets.Our man walked along, hoping to reach home before dusk, when another world - a world of mythical ghosts and oft-heard wild animals came to life. It is only fair, he thought, that there should be a time of the day when humans retreated, and let the "other world" take over.

(the next part will be continued here)

Ask any kid in the US who the trinities of Indian religion are, and you get a prompt reply "Brayma,Veeshnew,Sheewa"(Apparently they are taught this in high school). Religion, however, changed faces as civilization progressed, and various deities and sub-deites thus emerged.Some of these, are highly localized. For example, down south - one can see prevalance of these three deities - Lord Ayyapa, Lord Muruga and the "Amman" ( as various forms). Lord Hanuman was the deity of choice for the Haryanvis and Rajasthanis.Marathi's swear by ( no pun intended) Lord Vinayak. And the Bengalis have a thing for Goddess Kali.And then of course , are countless "Kaval Deivams" and "Kula Deivams".

A deep-throated Yesudas singing "Harivarasanam" brings back memories of hoards and hoards of Ayyappan tourists in Srirangam every December, on the way to Sabarimala. This deity is supposed to be elder to Muruga and Vinakaya - an offspring of Mohini (who is Lord Vishnu , whose sister Goddess Parvati is Lord Shiva's wife....So from these equations...Wow!!) and Lord Shiva - basically Hari and haran in one. So anyway,Here is the verse.Very evocative lyrics - very powerful singing.

Harivarasanam Viswamohanam

Haridadhiswaram Aaradhyapadhukam

Arivimardhanam Nithyanarthanam

Hariharatmajam Devamashreye

Saranakirtanam Bakhtamanasam

Bharanalolupam Narthanalasam

Arunabhasuram Bhoothanayakam

Hariharatmajam Devamashreye

Pranayasathyakam Praananayakam

Pranathakalpakam Suprabhanjitham

Pranavamanidram Keerthanapriyam

Hariharatmajam Devamashreye

Thuragavahanam Sundarananam

Varagadhayudham Vedavavarnitham

Gurukrupakaram Keerthanapriyam

Hariharatmajam Devamashreye

Tribuvanarchitam Devathathmakam

Trinayanam Prabhum Divyadeshikam

Tridashapoojitham Chinthithapradam

Hariharatmajam Devamashreye

Bhavabhayapaham Bhavukavaham

Bhuvanamohanam Bhoothibhooshanam

Dhavalavahanam Divyavaranam

Hariharatmajam Devamashreye

Kalamrudusmitham Sundarananam

Kalabhakomalam Gathramohanam

Kalabhakesari Vajivahanam

Hariharatmajam Devamashreye

Srithajanapriyam Chinthithapradam

Sruthivibhushanam Sadhujeevanam

Sruthimanoharam Geethalalasam

Hariharatmajam Devamashreye

Things I miss about the only place I can ever call "Home" :

1. The fact that I always belonged. I was loved and accepted for who I was, not on the basis of what people thought were right or wrong.

2. I never carefully worded what I wanted to say, and how I would come accross to people. People always understood where I came from.

3. I could hug my friends any time I wanted, without thinking if it was a girl/boy , junior/senior..

4. I could swear in all possible languages freely, without my friends judging me/getting scandalized..

5. Going out of the way, overboard, crazy - and could still be normal. .

6. MB - where I could change in a room full of wingees, and not care..

7. I could combined-crash with friends, without arousing anyone's lesbian suspicions..

8. I could hitch a ride , and sit in the front bar of the guys cycles - no one would think I was flirting..

9. "Mayira pochu" and "Yetha sollu" were philosophies that were loved and trusted through times..

10. Birthdays were considered special occasions - filled with surprises and cakes , and a lot of good vibes around..

Ah ! Thank God for the good times !!!

Oh yeah ! It was another sleepy day, when you curse day light savings to get used to an hour less sleep. As I slowly trudged my way to work , I heard the bus driver talk about detours because of the parade. The parade, is one of Cincinnati's oldest traditions, and today was the 87th such.

Sponsored by Findlay market, on Elder and Race streets,the parade started on over-the-Rhine, and ended at Broadway(This route is the heart of downtown Cincinnati). It marks the start of spring, and the baseball season. The whole town was painted Red today, with people sporting red hair, red makeup, and even red animals to mark the occasion.

The parade itself , was one jolly event , and people braved the chills to see school bands, Reds fans, and various commercial companies in action, as each one tried to outdo the other's Reds fanaticsm.Meijer's first truck, old style TV and radio antennas,yatches, a bus full of cute 5 -year olds who could barely say "Go reds", a makeshift mobile market and people dressed as pea pods and beans, an Elvis impersonator, a 1952 orginal bobcat - ah! The joys of living in a small, midwestern town !!!

The first game of the season, Cincinnati Reds vs Chicago Cubs, had an added attraction today - President Bush throwing in the ceremonial first pitch. The breakroom of my office on the 17th floor, has a spectacular view of the ballpark, and the river. The big screen would supplement the live action, just in case. Opening day is almost a local holiday in Cincinnati.

Do you want a taste of the American corporate work ethic ? The game was supposed to start at 2 15. And we had a meeting from 2 to 3 today.As we sat in our conference rooms on the 19th floor, I struggled to stop this urge to crane my neck out of the window to see the first pitch.Our meeting went on, oblivious to the fact that there was this country's president , 100 yards away,visible to us, if we would only see!!! Wow!

(An "I-feel-so-grown-up" type comment would be a perfect end to this tale,but I am too swamped ;) !!)

There is this phase of growing up, when the bird flies out of its nest, and discovers a whole new world. A world , different from its own. In that process, you discover things about yourself, and your "home" - somethings you are thankful for, and somethings you want to change about yourself. When I look back at the time I was 16, and I left home to live with new people in a far away land one thing I loved about my home - It always taught be to be open-minded. Especially in terms of religion/spirituality - based notions. The first three lines of this little prayer have always been very special to me, and my family. For no particular reason , I want to post this today.Here is the full prayer.

It was all planned - the proverbial calm-after-the-storm post. I would write a post about Orkut,or a colored map showing "all the states in India/US I have visited". And life would go on normally for everyone around. But then, the more I read about the blank noise project posts, I grew as a person. This was an initiative, not only to bring my outrage to the public, but also to learn what goes on , on the other side of the coin. Therefore, I tried to read all the posts, mainly those written by men. Here are some links of posts, that really modified my thought process. IMHO, I think these men deserve much more praise for coming out in the open about this seemingly "feminist" issue.

http://gauravsabnis.blogspot.com/2005/07/i-am-offended.html Oh really ??? Not all you guys wanna maul anything that resembles a female that comes by ??? Why is this fact so lost on me? Oh , well , maybe because of all those shitty Tam and Hindi movies glorifying the roadside romeo. Maybe because Vijay "puts sense" into Asin , and chides her for wearing a miniskirt.He becomes the hero, and the girl falls for him !!! (WTF??) But anyway, Thanks Dude, for letting us know some men actually get offended by those generalizations.

http://peacefarm.prayas.in/?p=131 Dude , you are not a Bot, you are a real person right?Don't you realise it means we have to revisit the first point in the rulebook "Most Indian men are like this " that our moms taught us when we were twelve :))??? Anyways ! Good post man !!!

Dedicated to the Blank Noise Project :



It was a weekday evening.And especially tiring day, it was a first day of Workshop practice.Athough we were adequately warned about "Smithy guy pawan" and how he had trouble staying within bounds, K was furious. He had done it again.Trying to touch girls in the pretext of teaching them workshop fundas.This of course, led us recounting each of our experiences with street harassment, and other sexual misconducts. Six years later, as I sit down to write this post, I switch off my TV playing the Oscars, and focus. Yes, every single girlfriend I've ever had , can recount atleast one such incident where she has felt violated.

Now I know : You don't have a "past" if you have had experiences like this. Alteast in India, it is a part of becoming a woman - the first lesson you learn, is beware. And its ok to err on the side of caution rather than being naive.

I must have been around 14 years old. I was into inter-school competitions - singing,debate,quizzing and the like. Athough initially it started off as a ploy to bunk classes, the prizes and recognitions got me hooked. It was one such competition, called "Crown Capper" which was then, a big deal. Intensely competitive, and I was thrilled when I won. I rode the bus home. The walk from the bus stop to my home,is a five minute walk through a dimly lit road. I was over the moon, and couldn't wait to go home and share the excitement. A man in a cycle rode by, is arm quickly positioned over my torso. And in a flash, it was all over. I was still dazed when I got home, and I forgot all about the trophy and celebration.Suddenly it all seemed so unimportant. I remember sobbing, and telling my mom, about some rowdy elements on the street. No more. I was too embarrased to talk about this to anyone. I would refer to it as "an incident",but no more. I would recall what my Geography mam would tell us, " .... it just means, you did something to get his attention". For a long time, I went guilty.

Now I know : It is NOT your fault. Stop feeling guilty.It is not your clothes, it is not your makeup(or lack thereof).It is about THEM. Too bad.


I used to ride my "Trendy" to school at 16. One day, it was around 10 in the night, and I was coming home after a rigorous practice test session at tuitions. There is a small tributary of Cauvery that runs a few blocks down from where I used to live. It is dry and deserted most of the time - a typical "Vaaikaal". A man rode another bike parallel to me, and started talking obscene stuff to me. I was soo furious, and at that point in time, my swear word vocabulary was limited to "idiot" "stupid" and a maximum of "asshole", none of which , of course would make any sense to that guy who knew only Tamil. I was angry that I did not know any swear words in my mother tongue, so I could lash out at him. I remember going home and asking my mom to teach me swear words. Only to be told off.

Now I know : A lot of swear words in a variety of languages. I am not a prude. I swear with discretion. Because, there are such people who deserve to be sweared at. Otherwise you become a pushover. If I had to choose between being the "arrogant girl with an attitude problem" and the "doormat", I'd much rather choose to be the former.ANY DAY.

TN express is a huge train, that traverses a considerable cross section of India. It is almost a two day journey end-to-end, and the ride is filled with a wide variety of people. We were a group, about six of us, who usually travel together. It was a usual day of fun and frolic. S, who went by the wash basin to remove her contact lenses, returned to the compartment - furious.It took her quite some time to relate what happened. Our 18 year old brains were thinking - "Well, this is the stuff only mallu movies and boring documentaries are made of". And so,we each went near the wash basin, and checked it out for ourselves. Yes, sure enough, there was a small boy - about seven years of age, sitting at the edge of the door, with his legs spread wide. And a middle aged man, with his shoe-ed foot, stamping the small boy's private parts.We were all furious.

Now I know : Molestation is not gender specific. Or age specific. To me,this has nothing to do with feminism. It is rage directed towards some adults, conditioned by the society to think they can get away with doing all this.

Me and K , in our final year of undergrad. This was the first time we were riding the famous Pilani to Delhi bus to and fro. Our worst fears were confirmed - the only available seat was a three seater. We each took turns sitting in the middle seat. Two "lockies" and a lot of paan chewing and touching "galti se" later, we were relieved when a scientist from CEERI sat by us. He started chatting about local buses, and weather and such stuff. Sometime later, K told me he was trying to put his arm around her waist. She wasn't sure if he realised it.We swapped places, and the same thing happened to me. As the bus approached Delhi, he started enquiring about where we would stay, and insisted he accompany us "to safety" in a lodge that he knew. Our guesses were confirmed.It took a lot of effort before we finally shook him off at ISBT.

Now I know : It is not about illiterate men. It is not about unemployed road side romeos. These people can exist anywhere. In our own midst. And it is not about young men. They come in all shapes, sizes and age and nationality.


Me and K again.After we passed out. On a visit to BITS.We rode the notorious Karnataka Express. Our bay had army men, returning to their stations. Past experiences told us Army men ranked really high on the "likely trouble" index. We each took our berths and switched off the lights. And out of nowhere , this guy's hand drops out of his berth, and sways all the way around, and things started getting nasty. We sat together, awake all night, huddled up to avoid the touching, talked to the TTR the next day and got ourselves shifted out.

Now I know : Sometimes,discretion is the better part of valor. It is better to act intelligently, rather than act hasty in that rush of emotions. Get away when you have to.It is one thing when you are in a crowded bus , when you holler at the miscreant.People notice, and you are safe. It is foolish to try and holler in the middle of the night,in a compartment full of horny men.


Just a few things that come to mind to help be careful :

1.Always carry your cell phone with you.Even if it is to the grocery store next street.

2. Never hesitate to ask for help. It is your LIFE, and "what if everyone comes to know" seems so insignificant in comparison.

3.Be prepared.Take elementary classes in self defense.Beginning karate,kickboxing - anything that helps you feel like you can take care of yourself.If not anything , it is a confidence booster.

4.I dont know how relevant this is in India, but always report any assault to the police. I dont really believe in this "oh, what will happen to my reputation" kinda stuff.


5. There is a thin line between being brave and independent , and being foolish. Act smart.

The bottom line - You can never be too careful. If I can recall these issues of sexual overtures in such great detail, I shudder to think of those people (men/women/children) who have been raped and molested. This issue is even more relevant in India, for two reasons - the excessive population, and lack of a good law enforcement system.But as they say, change is not an isolated process.It develops from within, and then spreads into the consciousness of a whole society. It takes time. And how will a 22 year old writing about it , in the comfort of a heated room help?Maybe it would strike a chord with someone, somewhere - and there might just be a better tommorow.

Tag : blog-a-thon 2006