#Conditional Gift

[seemabhatnagar]

"Supreme Court Affirms Senior Citizens’ Right to Revoke Conditional Gift Deeds Under the Maintenance Act"

Image Courtesy Andrew Rivera

➡️The appellant, Urmila Dixit (mother) sought the nullification of a gift deed transferring her property to the respondent, Sunil Sharan (son) under Section 23 of the Maintenance and Welfare of Parents and Senior Citizens Act, 2007.

🔸The appellant-mother alleged neglect and maltreatment, contravening the conditions of the gift deed and a promissory note executed by the respondent-son.

🔸Lower courts nullified the deed restoring the donor’s rights over the property as if the deed had never been executed.

🔸But a Division Bench of the Madhya Pradesh High Court overturned the decision of the lower Court.

#SeniorCitizensAct #ConditionalGiftDeed #BeneficialLegislation 

➡️The primary legal issue in this *Case before the Apex Court was whether the Division Bench of the High Court correctly interpreted Section 23 of the Act in setting aside the orders of the Single Judge and subordinate Tribunals.

➡️The Counsel for the appellant submitted that the respondent son failed to provide the promised care as stipulated in the promissory note & the accompanying gift deed.

🔸The Act's protective intent supports nullification due to the respondent’s neglect.

➡️ The Counsel for the Respondent son submitted that the promissory note was fabricated and not part of the registered gift deed.

🔸The gift deed itself contained no explicit condition for maintenance, limiting the Tribunal's jurisdiction under Section 23 of the Maintenance and Welfare of the Parents and Senior Citizens Act.

 #MaintenanceandWelfare #ParentalRights 

➡️The Apex Court observed that

🔸The Maintenance and Welfare of the Parents and Senior Citizens Act, is a beneficial legislation aimed at protecting senior citizens, requiring a liberal interpretation.

🔸Section 23 must be read purposively, allowing remedies for neglected parents even in the absence of explicit conditions in the gift deed.

🔸Literal interpretations undermining the Act's purpose must be avoided.

🔸The elderly citizens of our country, in some cases, are not being looked after.

🔸The Act empowers senior citizens to secure their rights promptly when they transfer a property subject to the condition of being maintained by the transferee.

➡️The Supreme Court overturned the High Court's Division Bench judgment and restored the decisions of the Single Judge and subordinate tribunals, declaring the gift deed null and void.

 #MaintenanceandWelfare #SupremeCourt #ParentalRights 

*Case Urmila Dixit v. Sunil Sharan Dixit and Ors.

Civil Appeal No. 10927 of 2024

Heard by Hon'ble Mr. Justice C T Ravikumar J & Hon'ble Mr. Justice Sanjay Karol J

[threepandas]

Counting Down: 3 [<-Prev][]

My eyes were getting worse. There was nothing the healers could really do. Because, ultimately? There was nothing actually wrong, with my eyes. They were working exactly as nature intended. Exactly as my genetics designed. It was just... badly designed. Poorly suited, unfortunate perhaps, ill optimized in every way, for my environment.

If I had been living alone? Or in a sparsely populated, low growth environment? Subterraneanly? Well, THEN my eyes would have been perfect. Perhaps a bit on the over sensitive side, but otherwise perfect. I would have been a Sage. Elevated to Pathfinder, for my ability to safely lead my tribe through the dark.

But here? On Coruscant? Amongst the constant flow of billions? It is AGONY. A disability of the worst sort. Like two ice picks, slamming light and information into my brain. At the rate I am developing...

At... At the rate I am developing?

I may eventually be as good as BLIND. Be forced to wear a glorifed blindfold. And... and when THAT, inevitably fails? As it WILL fail? There have been... been somber, serious, terrifying talks? On if I wish to first try removing myself to a remote Temple for seclusion (and risk the lack of medical care that comes with it.) or if? O-or if?

Medically, it would be better to just... replace my eyes.

T-They can't even guarantee? That it would work. There are species that see through the Force. My problem may BE that I am somehow one of them and simply not physically built for it. That I developed the needed mutation. I... I could lose my eyes for NOTHING.

Yet...?

The headaches. The LIGHT. I can not take missions anymore. Can not even help in the Crèches. Their unfiltered, unshielded Force presences? Are like staring into search lights. I can not even help with Initiate classes, having grown too fucking sensitive! How will I EVER find a Padawan?!

I... I wanted one. Someone to guide and teach. Someone to watch grow.

Maybe that grief, (that I might never have one, that I KNOW he can do better,) is what makes me so short with Qui-gon. Obi-Wan is a youngling, damn it! Not a crutch for you mental health! Something which? Of course leads me to chasing Yan's Padawan down. REPEATEDLY. (Stop running! Boy! I KNOW YOU CAN SEE ME, QUI-GON! You better STOP RUNNING!! Listen to your Aunty while she SCOLDS YOU!) Because SOMEONE needs to beat that into the stubborn, heart sick, fool's head!

Why not me? I'm stuck on medical leave! Possibly FOREVER.

(Have a treat, Obi-Wan. You're too skinny.)

It's not productive. I KNOW it's not productive. The harder I push, the more Qui-gon digs his heels in. Yan's old Padawan was many things, but weak willed? Even in the depth of his grief? Hardly one of them. The whole LINEAGE was stubbornness made manifest. Literal STONES we more agreeable and subject to change.

I just wished Padawan Kenobi wasn't the one paying for it.

So, I helped. Without judgment. No harrasing him about his weight or his injuries, no demands he explain this or that. Just... there, if he's ready. If he trusts me. Bacta and pain relief, a safe place to sleep, someone to guide a peaceful meditation. And of course, Food. Ration bars by the basket. Take and hoard as many as you need. Here, both rich and mild foods to choose from.

Hugs and safety, I could do that. Be that. Put my emotions aside, for the sake of a child. Did his mere presence hurt? Yes. A LOT. But I would sooner die then let him know that. Bright and beautiful as his soul was, young and growing as he is? There is no pain, that is merely the confusion of crude matter. I am FINE. This... is FINE.

(Dispite the drugs, the meditation, it still HURTS.)

Neither Yan or Sifo like it. In fact, Yan is? Both in turns, heart sick and furious. His old Padawan entirely too good at dodging him. Dispite Yan being on the HIGH COUNCIL. Dispite BOTH Yan and Sifo, being on the High Council. It's genuinely impressive. Alarming, yes, that he uses such skill to avoid any attempts at therapy... but, well....

I've SEEN what the Mind Healers here consider a job "well done", with Sifo. Their definition of "help". So... granted, I understand completely. But he could just as easily take his Padawan on a "healing retreat"! Sneak away to get ACTUAL help from one of the other Sects! Illum perhaps? The Whills?

He KNOWS I'm right. It's why he's avoiding me.

(The little SHIT.)

Breathing in filtered, earth rich air, I tried to breathe out my stress. The Thousand Gardens do not just extend upwards. They went down as well. And they will continue to go upwards if ever another Temple is built upon the current one. Just like the last gardens, in which I sit, the light requiring plants that can be moved will be brought upwards. Those that can't? Get solar lamp systems.

Tiny biodomes, here in the dark. We do not kill our ancient trees, after all. Our plant and gardens. They are precious heirlooms. Living, breathing, friends. And besides? In the places they abandon, for the light up above? NEW gardens can be made! Subterranean ones. Glowing lichen and mushrooms, cave shrubs and parasitic low light trees.

It is peaceful, down here. Glowing plant life and distant lamps, like so many stars in the dark. The sound of running water and quite murmurs of the few who prefer such low light meditations. There are more then a few knights napping, having found gardens that speak to them. Their various light sensitive visual organs, finally having found relief.

Somewhere above me, Sifo is pacing. Erratic. Another vision of death and despair, of clones marching upon us all. It is getting to him. Like the slow eroding of a cliff face. Death by a thousand cuts. Over and over and OVER. Despair. Won't you do something? DESPAIR. Don't you CARE? DESPAIR. I can offer the power to FIX things. Don't you want it? Don't you WANT it~??

The Dark Side is a cruel and insidious thing. A riptide. An undertow, which drags you out to sea, then drowns you. It offers sweetness, safety, freedom. Only to deliver oblivion and pain. Power without control, it corrodes you. Destroys all that you were. Giving voice to your worst impulses, silencing your better nature.

You become a mockery of yourself.

I... I am scared for him. For Yan. I can see the outline of their ends, beginning to line up before them. They are pulling away. Growing frustrated. Their discussions with me are growing less philosophical difference with the Order, and more... dangerously immoral. Heretical. Nothing actionable, of course, but... I wouldn't expect their to be.

Both are High Councilors. They, of all people, know how to toe the line.

What do I DO? I ask the Force. Meditation after meditation, seeking guidance. How can I help them? And yet... I get no reply. No insight. Only nudges towards Obi-Wan. Towards teaching and compassion. Slipping him lessons on how to help slaves cope with the trauma. Philosophical debates on the doctrine of attachments. And, of course? Showing him my completely personal project, that HE will in no way someday need, of creating lesson plans for my hypothetical future Padawn.

How VERY thoughtful of him! To help me get some of those data pads! To help me research and revise my plans. He'll make a great mentor one day~ Amused? Me? No, no, dear. I was just thinking of a funny joke. Have ever given thought to Form Three?

Also! Never trust the Senate intelligence, dear. They are full of shit and couldn't spot a slaver if the sale was happening right in front of them. Do your own research whenever possible and NEVER rush in. NEVER.

(Yan refused to rush the assignment. Was in the Process of contacting the Armorer of Little Keldab for information. A Team was sent behind his back. On the word of the Senate alone. They almost completely DIED and the rightful Ruler of the Mandalorian people? Enslaved. Force knows where. Are you HAPPY now? Was rushing WORTH it? Your "regrets" mean NOTHING to the dead.)

It's building. I can feel it. The darkness is growing, my friends drifting farther and farther from the light. All, while? I am stuck. Disabled by my eyes. By the pain my so call "blessing" gives me.

Giving up on another useless meditation, I rise. Head for the lifts. The hallways down here are... quite. The old temple towers a peace place. Filled with the ancient echos of long dead Masters. There are room down here. Apartments. They are unassigned, yes, but no one truely cares if they are used. Granted, I would have to dust them myself.

I consider it. The light, (or really, the lack there off) is much more comfortable down here. The quite, less stressful. If Sifo didn't have such traumatic associations with darkness? I would honestly suggest moving down here with me. It might do us both some good.

As the lift rises, I tap the side of my lenses. Momentarily blinding myself in preparation for the increasing light. Soon enough, vision returns. The cacophonous press of noise. Oh dear, it's mid-meal. I should have waited. No wonder it's so loud and bright. Gritting my teeth, I keep my expression calm and pleasant. My shoulders relaxed.

It is not the younglings fault, that it hurts to be near them. They should NOT have to carry that guilt nor knowledge. I walk calmly but swiftly. This is fine. This Is Fine. Ow, ow, ow, OW, OW! This Is Fine!

Relief. I get passed them. The healers are right. Damn it. It really IS not just my eyes that are growing more sensitive. I... I so badly wanted them to be wrong. But as days go by? As weeks pass? Everything has slowly gotten... gotten so LOUD. Sharp and shrill, grating and rumbling, barks and squeals. Just? Just ALL of it. Too much.

Loud.

At the rate i'm going? I'm going to end up in a Force damned helmet like some sort of Mandalorian! And... and yes, I know there is no shame in that. That each race has their own specific needs. That it is humanist to think certain traits are somehow BETTER then others. I just... just feel like I am slowly losing myself. My freedom.

I am scared.

My body feels like it's betraying me.

Somewhere, near the High Council's chambers, I can feel Yan seething. How long has it been? Since the three of us coexisted in simple peace? Before Sifo's accident? Their appointments to the Council? Or was it as recent as Xanatos and the disaster of his Fall? How... How long have I been a pillar? For the mental and spiritual strength of others?

It's grinding me to dust. I'm so tired. Just... just want to rest. For just a moment. Without the fear, that my moments weakness? Will condemn a good man. Will irreversibly harm, a growing child. I.. Force, I am so tired.

Sifo is waiting for me, in my apartments. My plan for a moments rest? A fleeting, impossible, dream. He is pacing, pacing, pacing. Lines of tension and darting eyes. Hands clenching and unclenching. Running through his already ruined hairdo, again and again. It was easy to see what someone might think him mad. He certainly looked it.

"I saw them again. Bastards! I don't-! What am I doing wrong?!" He gasped the second he laid eyes on me. Already ranting before the door even closed. "I vow not to step foot on Kamino? They still appear. Avoid Mandalorians? Still! They exsist! But, oh! What if I plan Temple defenses? Surely THEN, right?! No! They somehow get passed them! Is it me? Am I the problem!?"

"TELL ME!"

He spun, eyes wide and manic, arms spread. As though inviting a blow. Inviting his own destruction. Hair falling from his careful hairdo in mad whisps, clothes disheveled, hands faintly trembling... he did not look well. Looked near tears. Teetering on the edge of something ugly.

How long could he hold out? I wondered.

I didn't have a comforting answer for him. No sweet and gentle words. But I could offer a hug. A hand to hold, as he faced down the dark. Sometimes... sometimes there WAS no right answer, Sifo. Sometimes the pieces were all on the board yet. Or the very act of try to stop Fate, made it so. I don't know. Can't know. Neither of us can.

But I can be there WITH you, until the end. And we can do our best.

Have you eaten yet? Had any tea? When was the last time you slept? Terrible things do not become easier to bear, if you burn yourself up, trying to face them. You have to take care of yourself too. I stepped forward, into that desperate stance, and pulled him into my arms.

"You believe me. You BELIEVE me. It's just inevitabe, too you, isnt it? That's what your trying not to say, isn't it? That you've run out of options. " Sifo's arms wrapped around me in a desperate grip. Like a drowning man holding onto the only life raft at sea.

"You're just afraid. Don't want me to break myself, destroy myself, chasing something that can't happen. Because we're Jedi, and you know we have to try. Try and try and TRY! Until it destroys us. Destroys everything. Hoping against all hope that they'll just... just LISTEN! But they WON'T, will they? They won't listen. It's inevitable. A cleansing. Purging of the old, to give rise to something new. The will of the Force itself."

Cleansing? Purging?! Alarm bells started to ring in my head. Nothing good came of talks of "cleansings" or "purgings" of ANYTHING.. NOTHING. I opened my mouth to refute him. Never got the chance. Yan's Force presence slammed into ours. The equivalent of crashing open doors and stomping feet.

Startled and alarmed, I turned just in time to see him sweep into my apartment like a raging, high society, storm cloud. The expression on his face could peel paint.

"Apparently," he snarled, barely holding together. "my Grand-Padawan has SUPPOSEDLY left the Order! Despite showing no prior interest in doing so, sending no missives to friends or fellow Creche-mates, and? Of course? Let us not forget? SUPPOSEDLY doing so? For some TART in the midst of an ACTIVE WARZONE!"

Horrified, I felt the blood drain from my face. No. NO! I thought I had more TIME! Please! Dear FORCE! Tell me, Qui-gon did not LEAVE his Padawan on-!

"Oh yes! CLEARLY, this is but a childish desire to wet his-!" Yan visibly struggled to beat back the surge of incoherent WRATH and fear. The disappointment. They HORROR at a child, in such unimaginable danger. "The Council won't even HEAR that there could be anything amiss! Won't even CHECK. A supposed WASTE of RESOURCES, when already we are stretched too thin! A CHILD, potentially ABANDONED in a WARZONE! And they-!? THEY-!?"

My mind races as I pull away from Sifo's grip to face Yan. The Order won't authorize use of their ships to go check. But... But? Are we not Jedi? We serve the Force. Our mission is to PROTECT. Minimize suffering, bring Light to the universe. Take a sabbatical! NOW! In fact? We ALL will. It will be GOOD for me, to be away from Coruscant's crowded population.

Call your Family, Yan. We need a Serranian Ship. Ask if we can borrow the Senator's, since it's on planet. We aren't slaves. They can't stop us, if we simple decide to GO. Punish us? Perhaps. But not STOP us.

An almost roguish grin settles poorly, under the near manic glint in Yan's eyes. Too expressive. Too unhinged. He has never been anything but composed, he values it too highly. Sifo's answering grin is just as manic. Just as... slightly wrong. Too much. Fitting both too practiced and ill fitting on their faces.

Like they are feeding off each others madness... some part of me hisses in concern. A feedback loop, we aren't strong enough to stop.

I try to ignore it. Focus on the now. There is a child in danger. It's... it's fine. Probably. All I have to do, is keep them away from the Sith! They... they won't Fall. They WON'T.

R-Right?

Yet... watching them plan our trip? Calling in favors and gleefully plotting. Casually threatening. Feeding of each others energy, as they do. I... I am not so certain. Once again, that moment of dissonance strikes true. Like looking around and realizing I am an actor on the stage of a Tragedy, ready line after line, as we march onward to the inevitable End.

Attachments are going to condemn you. Seems to whisper the Force. Like chains that choke and squeeze.

I know, I whisper back. But I am foolish and still want to save them.

Please let me try.

Please.

Let me TRY.

[coolnonsenseworld]

Samurai and Ninja in crappy pics because December here is under a constant cloud and I just want y'all to see them all golden and cute without learning how to take aesthetic pictures 🥴 💙❤️😆🥰

linktr.ee/Mezzy

[shamedumpster]

would you put jehan in one of these all over the place fits 👀 it's what he deserves

Here you go comrade! I got a few asks about Jehan, so I'm gonna try to do a few for him if I can ^^ He's a great dress up doll. Today, have cowboy Jehan 🤠

[i-love-ropes]

LOOK AT MY BABY COUSIN!!!

LOOK AT HER!!!

I’VE NEVER SEEN HER THIS HAPPY BEFORE!

(Not everyone in Rope MF’s family have such strong emotions displayed on their faces naturally. It’s a recessive trait.)

THIS IS THE PICTURE MY AUNT TOOK OF HER ON HER BIRTHDAY TWO DAYS AGO

SHE JUST TURNED FOUR!

THAT’S THE DOLL SHE WAS GIFTED

I GAVE HER A PRESENT TOO!

IT WAS A DOLL HOLDING A ROPE!!!

SHE TOLD ME THAT MY GIFT WAS HER FAVORITE!

ISN’T SHE ADORABLE?!

I LOVE HER AND ROPES SO MUCH!!!

Size difference:

[pixlokita]

Toddlers are wild because you can open their toy chest to put their stuff away during cleaning day and find a whole carton of eggs in there just casually

[inthisvaleoftears]

Pylades: I’ll take care of you.

Orestes: It’s rotten work.

Pylades: Not to me. Not if it’s you.

[dimsilver]

:)

[greghatecrimes]

I've been on and off debating this for a few months, but finally decided to do it:

tattoo (my first) is courtesy of my amazing partner!❤️ little ramble under the cut.

(xiii is the roman numeral for 'thirteen'!)

Everything about this show-- but specifically the character of Thirteen-- has given me an ability to put things into words that I never imagined I would be able to express, let alone connect with other people over. It's been such a comfort for me over the past... almost year and a half, especially so now that I've been thrown headfirst into the reality of being chronically ill and getting diagnosed with a genetic condition over the last few months.

For the rest of my life the number thirteen will hold such lovely significance for me. A lucky number. A symbol of a character I relate to, take comfort in, and adore (and who happens to be one of the best-written lgbt+ characters of her era, let alone when compared to a lot of present day characters). And, most importantly, a symbol of my own personal healing and growth (especially because writing In the Dirt has been so incredibly healing for me so far & will continue to be).

Lucky thirteen, indeed.

[justletmereadmywhump]

realizing the reason I enjoy dehumanization and pet whump so much is because I have both Oldest Child and Gifted Kid Syndrome

I am not doing okay

[tevans-tits]

One thing about 911 is that one episode all the characters will be completely badass and hyper competent landing planes and commandeering motorcycles and triaging but the next ep they will remind you that every one of them has a healthy dose of cringefail in them. It’s what makes them so endearing

[ourfandomcrazyuniverse]

Paul: *receives frantic texts from Bill*

Paul: ... *shows Emma his phone* Told you

[the-sea-anemone]

i'm bad at buying gifts and also bad at getting them (i'm the idk what i want i'll tell you when i think of something (and then never thinks of something) guy) so the solution my family and i have come up with is that they buy me yarn and tell me what they want me to make with it, and then at some point during the year (which may or may not be near any gift-giving holidays) i send the completed scarf/hat/sweater back to them

[cultivating-wildflowers]

favorite secondhand bookstore has one sale a year, on Black Friday, where upon entering the store you draw an envelope containing a coupon for a percentage off of your entire purchase, on everything in the store. I drew a rare 50%-off coupon.

I went a little wild.

[floral-comet-whump]

TW: self harm (fully fictional context)

nonhuman lab rat whumpee that doesn't know a world outside of painful experiments. they injure themselves and present their bloody, ripped off pieces to whumper because they've developed an association between their pain and whumper being happy they have parts of them to study.

[stop-pressing-e]

My birthday wish came true at last! I got myself a Jack Krauser figurine thanks to a friend of mine telling me someone was selling it and I took that chance to get it! Really scored it by how much he was selling it and I'm so happy to have him!

His arm can move and his knife can be removed from his holster too!