#we school mumbai

[rentofficesmumbaii]

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[srbachchan]

DAY 6154

Jalsa, Mumbai Dec 24, 2024/Dec 25 Tue/Wed 2:33 pm

Birthday - EF AMIT NADKAR, .. BIRTHDAY Jalpesh Piyushbhai Desai , .. Rani Sharda Wednesday, 25 December my greetings ..

🪔 ,

December 25 .. Christmas happiness .. and birthday greetings to Ef AMIT Nadkar .. Ef Jalpesh Piyushbhai Desai .. and Ef Rani Sharda .. 🙏🏽❤️🚩

December 24 .. missed the birthday of Ef Inna (Inga Polina) from Russia 🇷🇺 .. apologies .. and love .. 🙏🏽❤️🚩

🕯️.. Ef Hany Sabri from Egypt 🇪🇬 .. no more with us 🥺 .. but we remember him on his birthday anniversary on December 25 .. with prayers and affection .. 🙏🏽

..

late .. see you in a bit rushing off ..

Amitabh Bachchan

7 :44 pm .. and back to the Ef .. with love and greetings ..

time spent with the family on the grass .. the Earth the ground , reminder that that is where we began from and shall end up ..

a moment of another sad day .. a classmate from Sherwood , John Kurrien passed away today .. my prayers and condolences have been sent to the family, but the grief remains and the memory of all those beautiful years spent at School .. and his sparkling presence .. we worked together on Stage Plays .. and all the activities that followed ..

those were the days my friend ..

prayers ✝️

keep well and may the blessings of this special day be with all

.. and wonders of AI , sent by the Ef .. my love and gratitude ..

[summer-blues-stuff]

A culture post for the girlie pops (and non-girlie pops) looking to write Pavitr Prabhakar accurately.

(P.s- I’m Indian and live in India and have been to Mumbai multiple times so shhh- )

(P.s.s- all i know about the spider verse comes from the movies so I’ll be focusing more on the Indian aspect. )

So in honour of atsv coming on Netflix-

FOOD- Pavitr live in Mumbai (mumbattan) so he probability of him eating “butter chicken or naan” (traditionally north Indian dishes) on a daily basis is almost nonexistent. (This is not to say he won’t have them occasionally but much of what people think is indian food comes from stereotypical North Indian food, pavitr lives in South Indian)

Popular food of Mumbai includes- vada pav(street food), panipuri(another street food), pav bhaji (not a street food), bhelpuri and sevpuri( you guessed it a street food) and for more every-day food- we have dal-roti or dal-chawal etc

(Edit: I forgot to mention this but, a lot of people are vegetarian either by choice or by religion and don’t eat meat (eating beef is HEAVILY and i mean heavily frowned upon.)

SCHOOL- In india we don’t have middle school or high school, we have grades.

We also have public and private schools (and unlike the USA, private school is not for the uber rich, middle-class families typically send their kids to private school and government(or public) schools are basically free or really cheap). Thus, Pavitr probably studies at a private school.

Keeping that in mind, Students from grade 1-12 study in one building and students actually sit in the same class while the teachers move from class to class. There is also something called school boards but for all our sakes, he studies in a school that follows CBSE guidelines. Now according to google, he’s around 15-16 so he’s in 10th or 11th depending on the school he goes to.

We have these really important exams called the “board exams” ( we just call them ‘boards’) And they are given twice by the students once in the 10th grade and once in the 12th grade and these are like really really important, kinda think of them as psats or sats(lmk if anyone wants to know more about boards) and if he’s in 10th he’ll be giving the boards in May.

After which he’ll pick a stream (medical, non-medical, commerce or failure) that he’s gonna study in 11th. There is a lot of emphasis on studies in India ( if you get good marks in 10th it’s considered that you’re good or ‘set’ for life but thats kinda bs) and it’s really competitive, students often go to tuition (think of them as an after-school school) for hours after school. Maths and science tuitions are the most common.

Uniforms (a half-sleeve shirt with a tie and pants or knee length shorts for guys) are also mandatory and are strictly regulated along with hair and nails. (Two braid or plaits for girls with below the shoulder hair and typically short hair for guys that have to be oiled) so im assuming that he gets called out a lotttttt about his hair, and teachers are constantly on his ass about cutting it which I think is funny af. The school timings are typically from 8-3 and tuitions are typically from 4-7.

It would also be super-cute if his aunt massaged his hair with oil (it’s considered an act of service and something people do to show their love)

10th grade especially is really really stressful in india and if home-boy cries himself to sleep every night I wouldn’t be surprised. So make him supppeeerrrr strrreeeessssed.

Name- Pavitr “Prabhakar” is a Hindu( a religion of sorts) name.

It’s derived from the Sanskrit word “prabhākara” which means “light maker” (from prabhā 'light' + -kara 'causing'), an epithet of the sun. So to those saying he’s a sunshine boy, his surname means light maker (do with that what you will).

Now, for his first name “Pavitr” however there is no exact meaning as, the name is most probably derived from Pavit ; maybe Pavitra(a typical girl’s name) if you’re pushing it. The meaning of Pavit is Love or A lovely and pious individual.

Edit: apparently pavitr does have it’s own meaning and it means pure

So his name roughly translates to lovely (edit: pure) sunshine boy.

Transport- Now i know that he’s spider-man but when he’s not, the most common way to travel in Mumbai is by an automobile (also called auto or auto-riksha).

One of these things ^^ and these ‘go by the meter’ (you basically pay for the distance you have covered and a meter calculates this.) these things are everywhere. You call for one of these by raising your hand and an auto stops in front of you and you ask if they will take you to the place you wanna go to (“bhaiya, _____ lekar chalo ge?”)

There can only be 3 people max on one auto (not including children) as per local government policies.

Another common way to travel is by the subway or local trains. ( and contrary to popular beliefs they are not filled to the brim with people). Cars are not that common as there is a lot of traffic. Like a lot.

Language- Most indians speak at least 2-3 languages- English, Hindi and a local language or two. Since they’re in Mumbai Pavitr probably speaks Marathi. Some people also know Sanskrit (but that’s not that common nowadays).

(Edit: People typically don’t speak in just one language, they typically use a mix of atleast two or three languages which change according to the region they are in. For example- English and hindi is the most common but some may mix in their regional language or dialect)

Also spider in hindi is makri (makdhi?) so i think it would be super funny if people called him makri (makdhi?) man.

People in India also curse a lot (not in English though) (though not in front of parents obviously) and the more people get angry the stronger accent the becomes.

Housing- housing in Mumbai is super expensive, and most people live in flats or apartments rather than houses, Mumbai is considered to be one of the most expensive places to own a home in the world just because of the sheer number of people there.

All flats in mumbai have air- conditioning units in them because it. is. so. humid and winter lasts for a month or two in comparison.

Culture- Mumbai is kind of regarded as one of the culture hubs of India, a lot of up and coming artists along with famous superstars live in Mumbai. There are a lot of exhibitions, shows and whatnot happening all the time.

Mumbai is also more progressive then the rest of India and pride parades do happen here but there is still a lot of stigma around it

(Edit: PDA in public is almost taboo, doesn’t matter who anyone is—kissing in public might actually land you in jail)

Teens typically wear jeans, shorts and graphic tees rather than kurtas or salwar-kamez (traditional clothing) .

Traditional clothing is typically worn on festivals such as holi( the festival of colour( some people wear white suits and kurtas)) or Mumbai’s most celebrated festival- “Ganesh Chaturti” (which is a religious festival religious festival to honour the Lord Ganesha.

Sports- cricket is the most watched sport in India a lot of kids play it on the streets or in parks and gardens, and its an India vs Pakistan match is an event in which everyone in the family (some even invite friends over) sit together and yell at the tv.

Mumbai is a city in which time stops for no one, and people are super busy. This doesn’t mean that people there are rude in fact they are some of kindest and helpful ppl you’ll ever meet(not including the obligatory rude af asshole that are in every community) especially in a city that never stops.

India is also not a country that lives in rags we used to be called sone ki chidiya (or bird made of gold) before the British Invasion so please for the love of god don’t depict everyone living in slums and poverty. The national currency is rupees and again i cannot stress this enough even though there is poverty in india, that doesn’t mean there isn’t prosperity. India is a developing country so keep that in mind while you write.

Religion and caste - This is a very touchy and sensitive subject in India and you should probably research a lot or stay clear of it in general ( especially the caste system its messed up and just stay clear of it) but Gayatri’s father is Sikh or at least punjabi so I’m assuming she is too. ( if she’s from Punjab or its surrounding area, then she probably speaks punjabi or her father most probably does).

(Edit: there are a lot of different religions in india —almost too many to count— and every single one has their own gods, prayers and rituals so please please please research before you write)

But something all Indian (boys) are taught to do is to touch their elders feet to show/ask for respect (and “ashirwad” I don’t know what this translate too directly in English but think of it as blessings)

Anyways here is a not very brief overview on mumbai and pavitr , let me know if you have any questions or if something isn’t really clear, English isn’t my first language so I apologise for the errors.

Please feel free to ask me anything ill do my best to answer back. : D

if you actually find this long ass post helpful and write a fic or something please tag me i would love to read it.

[demigod-of-the-agni]

i'm finding it so surprising that no one (yes including me) hasn't really done any exploration into pavitr's village life. it's in his (comic) lore, it's where his story is first started out, and lowkey it never gets talked about, neither by the audience nor marvel. we're gonna change that >:)

no but i completely understand why we as the audience mightn't've delved into this route before. most of us online folk don't have *that* much experience working on the land. i'm not judging anyone for it, it's just something i've noted. on that note i'm pointing fingers at marvel themselves for brushing over such an important facet of the character- he's got all the hallmarks of regular peter parker spider-man, but where peter's stories oft highlight his origins and the different experiences he has as someone from the suburbs, the same isn't done for pavitr!! there are no flashbacks to his time as a village boy after he moves into mumbai!!! there is no discussion regarding any experience in his youth!!! (there is exactly only 1 flashback in 2023's SMI #5 and it is only 6 panels long talking about helping those in need). that whole portion of his life is just NOT THERE and i can't keep living life like this.

truth be told the only reason i'm even making this post at all is because i got a little too inspired by the stories my parents have told me. we've got tales of parents disobeying their parents and playing out in the streets 'til nightfall and all that. but hearing my parents talking about the joy they've managed to find between hours of tending the crops, going to school, catching the buses, avoiding spooky marshes and abandoned houses, catching rainwater and racing paper boats, making sculptures out of clay and twine, catching fish in the wells and butterflies between bushes, being present in communities and village gatherings...there is so much more to life than we realise.

i'm genuinely not talking about cottagecore aesthetics when i say i think working on the land might've healed something in me. sure a bunch of the things that i do now might definitely be squandered, but different parts of me *could* have flourished if i was tilling and such. many of the core parts of me would've remained, but i'd probably be putting my energy in a bunch of other things (like tilling and such, obviously. and then crying over harvests). the second-generation immigrants yearn for the fields (it's me, i'm the second-generation immigrant).

FURTHERMORE (with uppercase and in bold, that's when you know i'm being serious) if i were to take a more sociopolitical look at things, i think pavitr being personally connected to the land in some way, shape or form can actually provide insight into the livelihoods of modern agriculture and the farming industry. obviously centred on desi farming practices, but also on the global scale, if that can be allowed. he can shed light on a bunch of issues!!! he can fight for the rights of farmers, of those who tend to the land, and the members of the community!!!!

i don't know! i don't know. i just think spider-man india can provide a beautiful avenue to explore and appreciate the livelihoods of farmers and rural and/or indigenous communities. he can also highlight societal issues working against them and shed light on ways we can better everyone's circumstances while preserving these unique experiences and cultural practices. i don't know. i just think it's neat.

pavitr prabhakar, if only marvel would let me into spidey hq i'd do you SO MANY FAVOURS i'd bring in a new age of spidey india comics fr fr i'd also blast nick lowe into the sun so in fact spider man would be free forever from stupid idiots

[hand-written-dreams]

CRIMSON SHADE

Chapter 17

Ghost Of You

In the middle of the night,

In the middle of the night.

Just call my name, I'm yours to tame.

- ( The song of the chapter is 'Middle of the night' by Elley Duhe.)

"Why didn't you tell me earlier, Buaji?" Khushi, wrapped in her blanket, rests her head on Buaji's lap, asking the question that has been eating her up since yesterday. "Why didn't anyone tell me?"

Her mother is dead.

Her absence was not her choice.

"I don't know what to tell you... you were so young." Buaji replies, gently caressing Khushi's hair.

"How did this happen?"

"Your mother tried to escape and got caught at Mumbai airport...they brought her here and dragged her to her room...I don't know what happened after that...we arranged her funeral the next day......you went to school that morning..Mr.Gupta asked me not to tell anything."

"Did she bring me with her?"

"No."

Unknownly, her eyes well up.

Traitorous tears.

Her mother tried to escape alone.

She didn't bring Khushi with her.

Betrayal burns her skin as she forces all the feelings down, closing her eyes to shut them out. Forcing her mind to be silent.

After returning home last night, Khushi went straight to bed, makeup still intact, barely removing her dress before collapsing into sleep in her underwear. Now, morning light filters through the curtains, and Buaji is here, in her room to wake her up. Her father and Mr.Jha are waiting downstairs for breakfast.

Khushi mentally braces herself for the outburst she knows is coming.

But the outburst doesn't come. Her father is almost nice to her... almost.

"I've looked into Paragon Tech... you should accept their offer."

She blinks at him as if she's woken up in an alternate universe. She stares, then blinks again, processing the unexpected words. Finally, she nods, her voice barely a whisper. "Okay."

Her father leaves the breakfast table, leaving her alone with Mr. Jha.

She takes a small bite of her toast, her mind elsewhere. The image of the punctured tyres and the discarded Land Cruiser flashes in her memory, along with the men sprawled around it. The thought of it still makes her stomach churn. But she knows better than to bring it up here.

Extra precautions are being taken. Her security team had a close call when their tyres were punctured by nails scattered on the road while following her. Someone from the mansion had to go all the way to retrieve them.

Did they not see the Land Cruiser lying there? And the dead men?

She hasn't told anyone about what happened last night. She doesn't even know how to explain it. And she sure as hell doesn't want to explain the insufferable devil to them.

Would it be safe for her to go out in this situation?

"There have been some minor security issues. We may have a small fallout with the Wolves in the near future, or we may completely avoid it if we're lucky. Even if they don't know about the mishap yet, for the time being, we need to be extra cautious," Mr. Jha states, buttering her toast with unnecessary precision. "Last night, your security details have been compromised. I just hope it's not their doing."

"What kind of fallout?" she asks, feigning ignorance. They can't know that she already knows.

"You don't need to trouble your pretty brain with that."

"But would it be safe for me to go to work?"

"You'll be safe in that area. It's the prime business district, mainly controlled by the Eagles... heavily protected by their security team," Mr. Jha says, his tone slightly reluctant. "I don't want to admit it, but it's true. In that area, the Eagles are the only hunters. They won't let anyone else hunt there. If the Wolves try to cause problems in their territory, there will be consequences. The eagles will tear them apart. The Wolves wouldn't dare risk that.....the majority of their business relies on the Eagles."

The triad families have a treaty forbidding any operations within each other's territories. It doesn't escape her notice that this might be why they attempted to hurt her near the resort in Gurgaon, just outside the Eagles' territory.

"So, it seems like it's better if you go to work," Mr. Jha continues. "It would also be a good highlight for my campaign.... how I'm so supportive of my future wife's career." He pauses briefly before adding, "We also have a shortage of security resources right now. Between my campaign, multiple shipments, and managing things between Kolkata and Delhi, we have to make do with what we have."

That means they can't provide her security at home...or at all. So the best option is to send her somewhere where others might protect her by proxy.

Great.

'The wolves can't risk killing me in the Eagles' territory, but they can still kidnap me and take me to their own territory to kill me, right?'

She muses.

'God, when will all of these bullshit will stop? I'm not your strongest shoulder, don't give me your hardest battles.'

The words future wife echo in her mind, sharp and unwelcome, but she masks her disdain with a faint nod, playing her part.

She remains silent, unwilling to further engage with Mr.Jha.

"I know you're angry at me for making you dance with that Raizada...and me dancing with Helena..but I would never have done that if my friends hadn't challenged me, you know that, right, sweetheart?" He takes her hand, giving it a squeeze, robbing her of any appetite for breakfast.

She rolls her eyes, barely paying attention to his words. She pulls her hand away. She couldn't care less about that. And frankly, she has better things to think about than what he did last night.

She glances at her untouched toast. Her thoughts wander back to the conversation....about the Wolves, the Eagles, and the unspoken rules of their world. The treaty might ensure some semblance of order among the triad families, but it's still a fragile truce, riddled with loopholes. Last night was proof of that.

But she won't sit idle. She straightens in her chair, her decision made. If last night taught her anything, it's that she can't rely on anyone else...not Mr. Jha, not her father, and certainly not on that arrogant egotistical man who came to her aid.

Her gaze hardens as she picks up her coffee. This time, she'll protect herself. On her terms.

"Hey, boss, Good morning?" Khushi looks up at the intruder standing at the door of the dining room. Dhruv Rao.

In her mission to gather evidence against the Serpent, she uncovered his exact role within the mafia...a dealer and manager of the triad's sex trafficking network. A vile, sleazy man, his depravity is evident in the filthy looks he has been throwing her ever since he started frequenting this house.

"Ah..Dhruv." Mr.Jha begins, but his phone buzzes loudly, interrupting him. Raising a finger to indicate Dhruv to wait, he leaves the room, taking the call in another.

Khushi rises to leave as well, but Dhruv Rao's hand shoots up, blocking her way. Glancing quickly at Mr.Jha to ensure he's not watching, Dhruv lowers his voice. "You're looking very beautiful

today, kitten."

"Get out of my way," she snaps.

"Uff...the fire in your eyes...That's what makes me crazy.'' His hand suddenly clamps around her wrist. She struggles, but his grip remains firm. "I've seen Jha's wienie..it's nothing special....Mine's bigger. After you're married.... maybe we can have a little raunchy affair."

The slap comes fast and hard, leaving him completely off guard. She points one finger at him, her voice a low growl. "Don't you dare touch me again."

"Hayyyy...." Dhruv says, tilting his cheek toward her with a smirk. "You touch me then, kitten. Do it again. It's so sexy."

Her eyes narrow, and she strides past him toward her room. He whistles in a low tone, but this time, he doesn't block her way.

She takes a few deep breaths, trying to steady herself. The anger simmering under her skin refuses to fade entirely, but she forces her focus elsewhere when her phone buzzes.

An email.

Her appointment letter.

Form Paragon Tech.

Attached to it is a phone number, accompanied by a short message: "Call me if you need anything."

She stares at it for a moment, then saves the number under 'The Devil'.

Tomorrow is Monday.

It could be a new beginning.

After all, no one loses anything by hoping.

.

.

.

Her feet unknowingly lead her to her mother's study, a room that stood as a testament to her father's fleeting love for her mother. Everything within it remained untouched, carefully preserved as a shrine to her memory. When she was a child, this room had been forbidden territory. Even after her mother left, she couldn't bring herself to defy what her mother had once forbidden.

Now, she sits in the desk chair, her gaze roaming over the room, absorbing everything, desperate to form a connection to a dead person's memory that she couldn't form in her lifetime.

She exhales loudly, the sound breaking the stillness.

It's of no benefit. She is only hurting herself. This ache, this longing, serves no purpose but to torment her further.

Her attention shifts to a slightly ajar drawer in the desk. She moves to push it closed, but it resists, overflowing with books and papers. Amid the clutter, a particular leather-bound journal catches her eye.

She smiles faintly.

Her mother had kept a journal.

She pictures her beautiful mother sitting at this very desk, the journal open before her, surrounded by an ethereal light.

She lifts the journal carefully, as though holding a fragile relic. Taking it with her feels like stealing a piece of the love her mother had never given her.

In the solitude of her room, she strokes the worn leather, her hands trembling. She's terrified to open it, terrified of the words it might hold. What if it confirms her deepest fears? What if her mother truly hated her enough to risk everything just to escape?

The journal finds a place in her own desk drawer, hidden away.

To assume her mother hadn't loved her was one thing. To see it written in her own hand would be something else entirely.

It would be devastating.

.

.

.

She perches against the headboard, teetering on the edge of sleep. Beside her, Buaji sits, watching a movie together, her attention half-focused on the movie starring Salman Khan and Kareena Kapoor. The song on-screen features miles and miles long of endless sarees flowing in the wind.

Buaji keeps chatting animatedly about how Salman Khan was her favourite hero when she was young.

She knows what Buaji is trying to do. Buaji is trying to cheer her up... trying to lift her mood.

But she isn't sad.

She is nothing.

At some point, sleep claims her without her realizing it, but it's not restful. Her subconscious rebels, dragging her violently from the depths of a dream.

Or should she say a nightmare?

She is in his arms...the Devil's.

And they are dancing.

What the heck?!

He's wearing all black, a shirt with its sleeves rolled to the elbows, paired with a sleek undercoat that fits him too perfectly. She, on the other hand, is clad in a scandalously revealing green saree

And his hand is sliding up her torso.

Her navel, her belly, inching higher.

And why is this haunting strains of this Hindi song "Teri meri prem kahani hain mushkil" playing in the background?

Her hand shoots up hating his progress.

Her tiny hand, above his huge one.

And their joined hands move over her torso. Higher...up..up...up...

A sudden vibration of her phone startles her awake. An embarrassing yelp escapes her before she can stop it. Her heart races, and she takes a deep breath, shaking her head at herself.

Her eyes flicker to the glowing screen. The caller ID stares back at her.

The devil.

Fuck. Did he have the same dream too?

Why the fuck is he calling her this late?

She presses the answer icon but says nothing. She waits, her grip tightening around the phone.

"Hello, Little bird."

Her body betray her instantly. She closes her eyes on the onslaught of the torture her body subjects her mind to.

His voice is liquid fire and she is taking little sips of it, rolling off the tongue, down the throat, leaving a trail of fire inside, making every cell in the body aware that it has been consumed.

Damn him.

Damn, his deep ass voice.

Damn her traitorous body for reacting to it.

His sinful voice, dark and low, pours over her like a wicked caress, craves a path straight to her core. Her thighs quiver and press together, a silent trembling confession she can't restrain..

She loathes herself. For the power his voice holds over her. She despises how he can command her body without even being near.

But she won't let him win. Not this time.

Her voice is cold and detached when she finally speaks, each word honed like a blade.

"What do you want?"

The silence that follows crackles in the air, his presence seeping through the phone like smoke.

Suffocating yet undeniable.

"Ahh...your sharp tongue working overtime tonight, I see," the voice says, perfectly flat, matching her tone with eerie precision.

"Says the man calling me in the dead of night," she snaps. "What do you want?"

"I've come to pay you a visit."

"You...what?"

She cuts the call, exhaling sharply. Control. She needs it. This was ridiculous. She can't let him play her like this. She opens her laptop. Her fingers move quickly, typing the digits of his number, running a trace. The results on her laptop flicker as the process goes on and then her laptop pings.

The trace is complete.

She gasps, looking at her laptop, eyes widening in shock. The call was made from just outside her room, to be exact.

What the hell is he doing there?

She's up on her feet, grabbing one of the knives from the drawer...the very same knives he once used against her. She picks up her phone in the other hand, moving slowly to the window, peering outside.

Her phone buzzes again, and she bites her lip, hesitating before answering.

"Don't ever cut my call, EVER AGAIN." his voice comes through, cold and threatening.

She swallows, her voice remaining light. "Sorry, did I bruise your gigantic ego?...why are you here?"

"You broke into my house. I am just returning the favour. See you in ten minutes."

The line goes dead. Frowning, her grip tightens around the knife in her hand as she looks outside again.

What the hell did he mean by that?

She squints, looking outside. There's no way he can be here, not with the security measures in place. From her vintage point, she can see the guards patrolling at the far end of the property, the security tighter than ever.

She watches as a shadow slips out of the darkness with an almost unnatural grace, blending into the new darkness that surrounds him. He is already inside the boundary. There's no way he's getting past the front door undetected. No chance.

Except, he's not even heading toward it. He turns, moving towards the far side of the building.

Her face presses into her glass window, trying to see him clearly. He pauses to the right, still hidden, but positioned just enough for her to catch a glimpse of his dark clothes. She watches, wide-eyed, as his next move leaves her momentarily speechless.

He breaks into a sudden sprint toward the wall, his movements fluid and precise. With one foot planted firmly against the brick, he pushes off, gaining height before his other foot catches the edge of a protruding stone. Using the momentum, he grabs a narrow ledge of a window above and pulls himself up with ease.

He's scaling the wall!?!

There are no pipes, no rails.

Just a flat wall.

What is he? Spiderman?

He's insane, that she's sure.

A living, breathing Mission Impossible. That's what he is.

Her heart races, thumping in her ears as if she's the one scaling the building. Her instincts scream at her to call the guards, but her body stays rooted in place. Her eyes remain locked on him. For someone his size, six feet something, with that many muscles, his agility is shocking. She hates that she's noticing it, but there's no denying the raw grace in his movements.

She might hate him, but she isn't blind.

She can't help but remember just how real and hard those muscles are, being pressed against her, over and over again.

She shakes her head, her eyes still locked on the figure under the first-floor balcony, hanging in the railing by just one arm. He shifts his grip, using his other hand to secure the railing as he swings his feet up, effortlessly landing on the balcony floor.

The balcony of her father's study.

He glances toward her window, offering a casual two-finger salute, before slipping into her father's study.

What the hell?!!!

After a few heavy moments, her door creaks open, and there he stands.

She raises the knife toward him, taking a defensive stance, her eyes are sharply focused on him. The light from her laptop screen casts an eerie, ghostly glow in her otherwise dark room, making everything seem more surreal.

The black, form-fitting leather jacket clings to every inch of his torso, showcasing the sheer strength in his build beneath the dark material. His black jeans are tucked into black army boots.

His hood is up, a black mask covering everything below his nose, leaving only his intense eyes visible. His dark hair falls over his forehead, unruly and chaotic. Her fingers twitch, inches from reaching out to push it away, to clear her view of him.

He looks like he's ready to breach a high-security base. She should be impressed...she guesses.

Except, in that instant, as she realizes her own state of readiness...or rather, lack of it.... Her hair is untamed, escaping from the single braid she made earlier, strands of it falling wildly around her face. She's dressed for a quiet night in, wearing shorts and a loose t-shirt that hangs off one shoulder. And no bra.

Her cheeks burn but she stays still, with the raised knife toward him, her stance as threatening as before.

He walks into her room, his eyes roaming all over like he has a right to look at her private space like that.

How dare he?

His eyes flicker to the knife before returning to her. She is aware of his every movement, every twitch he makes. His calm exterior is a cover for something far more dangerous. He's mastered the art of remaining calm. He exudes control, his presence a threat in itself. She knows better than to let his silence rattle her. But damn, it works.

Without breaking the standoff, he lowers his mask. He casually reaches behind him and produces a backpack, then empties the contents onto her bed before settling into her chair as if he owns the place.

The audacity of him.

"Is this how you guys welcome your guests?" he drawls in a low voice, his eyes never leaving hers. "At least offer me some coffee..." When she doesn't say anything, he continues, "No..ok...

what about..some tea...or some water."

"What is this?" she asks, glancing at the plethora of packages lying in her bed like they're live grenades.

"See for yourself."

With an exasperated sigh, she steps closer, fingers fumbling with the tape. As she pulls the contents free, her brow furrows. "Suits?"

He shrugs, the corner of his mouth lifting into a crooked smirk. "They're bulletproof."

Her head snaps up. "What? Bulletproof suits? That's a thing?"

"Will hurt like hell if someone tried to shoot you but you'll survive...just keep the head safe."

"I didn't know Suits can be bulletproof? Are your suits bulletproof too?"

"Most of them," he replies, his tone matter-of-fact, as though discussing the weather.

"And where do you even get things like that?"

"Italy," he answers, his gaze flicking over her face like he's cataloguing every flicker of her expression. "Leave your car keys at reception tomorrow. My driver will take it to the workshop."

She narrows her eyes. "What the hell for?"

"To install bulletproof glass," he says smoothly, standing up from the chair with an easy grace that makes her step back instinctively.

Her lips press together. "I thought you wanted to kill me, not save me from dying."

He moves toward her slowly, the air in the room thickening with each step he takes forward and she takes backwards, knife still raised towards him. His eyes darken, and her breath catches as her back hits the wall. He stops just a little too close.

She stands her ground, her bare feet planted firmly, the knife comes in close contact to his throat just as he steps into her personal space. The cold metal presses against his neck as one of his hands comes beside her head, bracing against the wall.

"Yeah," he murmurs, his voice dipping, the proximity of him suddenly making her hyperaware of her own heartbeat. "Not until you give me what I want."

Her throat feels dry. "To find the hacker?..You are really hell bound on finding the hacker aren't you?"

He looks down at her, his breath warm against her face. The musky scent of his cologne mingles with the sweat on his skin, wrapping around her, making her skin tingle. He smirks, his voice a velvet whisper. "I'm relentless when it comes to my enemies."

"How many do you have?" she asks, her voice quieter than she intended, her gaze flitting to his lips before she can stop herself.

"Countless," he admits, his tone calm but his eyes holding an intensity that makes her shiver.

Her voice trembles. "Who's the most dangerous one?"

A ghost of a smile plays on his lips, his answer quiet and chilling as it brushes against her skin like a dark promise.

"Myself."

He leans in further. Their lips are mere inches apart. She can feel his breath ghosting over her parted lips. Her grip on the knife tightens, the blade pressing deeper into his skin, enough to threaten but not to break. Her other hand shoots up to his chest and trembles slightly as she tries to push him back. His smirk deepens.

"Uh-uh.. don't even think about it,"

she whispers.

"Do I need to teach you how to be nice to your new boss?"

"Oho, I am so sorry, Sir," she replies in an overly sweet voice, batting her eyelashes dramatically. "There are plenty of things you can teach me, but being nice isn't one of them. I'm a delight myself. Besides, you don't do nice, remember?"

His brows arch slightly. "What things would you like me to teach you then?"

"Ummm....like climbing walls....that was quite a performance."

His gaze flickers over her lips for a moment too long, and then he speaks, "I didn't realize you were so invested in my performances. Consider yourself added to my list of admirers."

"Only if you promise not to disappoint." Her pulse spikes at her own words, the heat in her chest matching the fire in his eyes. Where is all of this bravado coming from? "I hear you play the 'man of control' quite well."

"Control is an art, Miss Gupta. One perfected over time...only mastered with experience and...one that's far more exciting when tested."

"Oh, and I'm sure your extensive experience has taught you that arrogance is a privilege, too?" she retorts, the words slipping out before she can hold them back. But she doesn't care.

His arrogance is maddening.

But his nearness? Intoxicating.

"Arrogance?" His smirk turns smug like he's been waiting for this. "Arrogance is thinking you can push limits without consequences. But.. control...control is knowing exactly how far beyond the line you can go, and stopping....just before you break."

"And what if some lines are better left uncrossed?"

His head tilted slightly. His body hovers so near hers, heat radiating from his body warming her skin, sending an electric jolt through her senses. His voice is barely above a whisper. "Maybe...but...have you ever really figured out where those lines are?"

He raises his other hand to her throat. His large hand wraps around her delicate neck while his thumb glides over her jaw, as if mapping the contours of her very soul. The world shrinks to the delicate space where his hand meets her skin, as he holds her entire being in his grasp.

She pushes the blade of her knife a little bit harder on him, involuntarily, this time cutting his skin on the sharp edge. Crimson drops collect on his skin. But he doesn't move. Instead, his eyes glints with a smoldering fire.

Dark, hungry and intoxicating.

Her other hand, rests betrayingly against his hard chest, feeling the rapid thump of his heart beneath her palm.

His heartbeat was erratic, wild.

Just like hers.

"For someone claiming to have no heart, yours is beating quite damn fast," she says, her voice a whisper. She leaned in slightly, her eyes locking onto his with a challenge burning in them. "One of these days, I'll carve your heart out and keep it in a glass box as an example for those who misbehave with me."

Before she can even react, his hand is suddenly on her wrist, twisting her arm with a precision that leaves no room for escape. In one fluid motion, he twirls her around, and she reacts instinctively, bringing her knee up to hit him in the thigh. But he sidesteps effortlessly, his massive hand locking both of her wrists in a grip that she can't break, his chest pressing into her back, pinning her in place.

She's trapped. Completely. His other hand moves, seizing her braid, wrapping it around his hand and tilting her head back so she's forced to meet his gaze. The knife clatters to the carpet with a muffled thud.

"We've already established that I don't have a heart, Miss Gupta," he murmers, his voice low and laced with an unsettling calm. "Don't play with toys you don't understand."

She struggles against him, but his hold is unyielding. His breath fans across her exposed shoulder where her t-shirt has fallen away, sending an involuntary shiver through her body, one that she can't suppress and she knows, without a doubt, that he feels it too.

She throws her head back into his face. But he ducks at the last second, his grip loosening just enough.

That's all she needs.

She drops to the floor, sweeping his feet out from under him, and in the same fluid motion, grabs the knife. The moment he hits the ground, she climbs on top of him, pressing the blade to his Adam's apple again, glaring down at him, her breathing quick and shallow.

She quotes his own words back at him, "In my house, in my territory, you don't get to tell me what to do. If you want a say, ask nicely... preferably on your knees."

She expects him to respond with silence, a clenched jaw, or another jab at her, But he doesn't.

He chuckles.

Low and dangerous.

"Seriously?" she mutters, her pulse hammering in her throat.

"If I am on my knees," he says, his voice laced with dark amusement, "I won't be the one begging, Little bird."

Her heart ricochets in her chest. She can feel his heartbeat against her thigh where she straddles him. The struggle has caused her shorts to ride up, exposing more skin than she's comfortable with. Her nipples harden beneath her shirt.

Not because of him,

Nor because of the heat that swirled between them,

Or the way his gaze seemed to pierce through her very soul.

Not because of any of that.

Not in the slightest.

She's disgusted with herself. With the way, her body reacts against her will. The knife is pulled from his neck with a quiet, jagged motion, and she pulls herself off him. Frustrated, she walks toward the window, needing space to push away the heat that's still crawling under her skin. This is going nowhere.

"Who knows, you might just find yourself on the knees..begging before this is over," her voice low even to herself.

"You are here, and I am too. Let's see what happens,'' he speaks quietly in her ear.

And then, with one swift movement, he's out the window, disappearing into the shadows.

She doesn't move. She doesn't look to see if he makes it out. She doesn't lean over to watch him vanish into the night. She remains still, frozen in place.

She doesn't even breathe.

Her hands shake, the knife slipping from her grip and cluttering on the floor. She presses her back against the wall, her legs threatening to give out beneath her as she struggles to breathe, the concrete behind her the only thing keeping her upright. The silence around her only amplifies the chaos within.

The room is empty, he isn't there anymore, but it feels like he still is. His presence lingered like smoke..faint, suffocating, and impossible to ignore. Every shadow seems to curve in his shape, every corner brimming with his heat, his scent, his essence. He has tainted her room with his presence.

Every inch of her body feels alive in a way it hasn't before, buzzing with an energy she doesn't want to name. The space he occupied only moments ago now feels like a void, and yet, it is as if his scent...sandalwood, leather, cloves mixed with something deeper, darker, is embedded in her very skin.

She closes her eyes, and there he is.

His face.

The hard line of his jaw.

The faint shadow of stubble.

That look in his eyes.

The weight of it.

The way his browns pin her to the ground without him even touching her. She can still feel the heat of his gaze on her, burning her from the inside out. The way his voice curls around her spine, wrapping her in dark, dangerous promises, his words reverberating in her mind like an unrelenting echo.

A shiver courses through her, but it isn't from the cold. Her knees buckle, and she sinks to the floor, her hands gripping the edge of the carpet, desperate for something solid.

But even the carpet feels like him, taking the shape of him where he has been lying flat with her above him.

She hated it. Hated him. Hated the way his absence felt heavier than his presence.

Her throat feels tight, and she swallows hard. Her fingers tremble as they rise to her throat, brushing against the pulse hammering beneath her skin. Her fingers trace her lips. His name, his first name...sits like a live wire on the tip of her tongue, sparking every time her lips part.

Her fingers flutter to her collarbone, tracing the heat still blooming there, and she curses under her breath.

How can her body betray her like this?

How can one man, with a single look, unravel everything she thought she knew about herself?

She tries to calm the frantic rhythm of her heart, but her traitorous mind replays the moments he leaned in whispering in her ears, his proximity was so close...and she fought...God, she fought...not to give in to the pull, not to give in the way her body aches for his closeness.

Her body is double-crossing her, deceiving her in ways she can't control. The fabric of her t-shirt feels like a cage, too restrictive, too much against her sensitized flesh. She bites her lips hard, hoping the sharp sting would ground her, but it only made her more aware of everything else...of the heat pooling low in her belly, of the ache that refused to subside. She clenches her thighs together, a feeble attempt to suppress the ache building within her.

She opens her eyes, her reflection staring back at her in the glass panel of the closet door across the room. Her cheeks are flushed, her pupils are blown wide, and her hair clings to her damp neck. She barely recognizes herself, and the realization sends a sharp pang of something dangerously close to shame through her chest.

Her hands curl into fists as she turns away from the reflection, pacing the length of the room, trying to shake off the way his voice still clung to her like a second skin.

This isn't her.

She knows what it is,

She understands it all too well.

But her body didn't react like this to anyone before. Ever.

Never burned with such wild, uncontrollable hunger.

Not to the point of drowning in dizziness, or spiraling into a delirium so fierce, it teeters on the edge of madness.

She stops abruptly, her hands flying to her hair as she exhales sharply.

"Damn him," she mutters, her voice cracking. Damn him for doing this to her. For making her crave the one thing she can't...shouldn't...have.

Him.

She wants to scream, to claw at her own skin and tear away whatever he's left behind, but she can't. Her body no longer feels like hers. It keeps betraying her, conspirating with him to take revenge on her.

It's seared by his.

Marked by his gaze, his words, his absence.

And the worst part?

She doesn't know if she wants it back,

Or not.

Her eyes find the knife lying there, a thin red trail in the blade.

His blood.

The sight of it should fill her with satisfaction. Satisfaction for the fact that she's made him bleed, no matter how small it is.

But she feels anything but satisfaction.

Bending, she picks up the knife, moving almost on autopilot. Her thoughts are scattered, lost in the wake of the storm inside her body. Her emotions are a jumbled mess, impossible to untangle, her body trembling like a leaf caught in a tempest. Walking forward, she drops the knife into the trash can, hoping to throw away his thought along with it.

.

.

.

Next thing in the morning, she walks into the workspace of Paragon Tech.

'Welcome to hell, Khushi.' She mutters under the breath.

She's wearing one of the suits he'd given her, surprised by how perfectly it fits..as if tailored just for her. For her first day, she's chosen the mauve-pink suit, pairing it with a crisp white shirt underneath. There are five suits in total, each in a different colour, and thankfully, there's a knee-length overcoat as well. So‌, she can wear another outfit and drape it over her shoulder. She doesn't know if they were really bulletproof or if he was just bluffing, but it feels good to know that she is protected.

Her eyes light up as they skim over rows of workstations cluttered with monitors, keyboards, and cables and stretch across the room.

The scent of coffee and soldering metal lingers in the air, mixing with the faint mustiness of old computer hardware. In one corner, a large server rack towers, its lights blinking in a steady rhythm, providing the pulse of the room. The sound of a cooling fan whirring can be heard over the murmur of distant conversations and typing.

This hell doesn't look that bad.

She spots the tall man she's looking for hunched over a circuit board, muttering something about "stubborn server."

"Need a hand?" she says nervously.

"Only if you have a magic touch with this rebellious motherboard." Mr.Mathur looks up, "Ah, Miss Gupta, we meet again. "

She nods, stepping closer. "Yes, Is this the famous 'glitch' everyone's talking about in the reception?"

Mr.Mathur laughs. "Famous, huh? Guess that's my legacy here. But yeah, this motherboard is giving us a lot of attitude since last night. Mind if I introduce you to my 'problem child'?"

She chuckles, rolling up her sleeves. "Only if you're ready for a miracle."

They emerge themselves into work, exchanging small talks about notorious bugs, the latest gadgets, and their favourite tech fails. The hours melt away, and by the time they fix the motherboard, Mr.Mathur's grinning.

"Excellent, I think I just found my new tech partner-in-crime," he says, wiping a smudge off his hands.

"Just don't forget to include my name in any 'legendary glitch-buster' stories around here," she teases, already feeling at home. Mr.Mathur has a calming aura around him.

"You can count on me for that," he says, leading her out of the area with a casual stride. "That was your initiation. You did great."

Surprise flashes across her face, but she keeps her thoughts to herself.

"Let me properly introduce myself again," he continues, his tone light. "I'm Aman Mathur. I'm in charge here, handling cybersecurity and all the tech-related chaos for Rathole Industries."

"I thought you were The manager."

"Oh, Miss Gupta, I wear many hats," he replies with a wink. "What can I say? Mr. Raizada loves me...can't go a day without seeing this handsome face."

She shakes her head at his theatrics as they step into the lift. The ride is swift, and they soon reach the 15th floor. As the doors slide open, Khushi's eyes widen at the view, floor-to-ceiling glass walls revealing the city skyline, the clouds practically brushing against the building.

"As your job's mostly desk-based, your room is right here," Aman says, gesturing to a door nearby. "And that over there is my office, in case you need anything. And that...." he points toward a sleek, imposing door at the far end "....is the cabin of our beloved CEO, who rarely graces us with his divine presence."

Then he mutters under his breath, "Though I have a feeling that's going to change soon."

"Excuse me?" she asks, not clearly catching his words.

"Oh, nothing," Aman says quickly, flashing a grin. "Why don't you settle in? I have something to take care of first. I'll be back in a few minutes."

"Alright," she says, nodding, still taking in the glossy, high-tech surroundings.

It feels surreal.

She had dreamed of this day for years, but now that it is here, the reality is both thrilling and overwhelming.

Her desk sits by a large window, offering a sweeping view of the city below...endless streets, cars that look like moving ants, and towering buildings that seem to touch the sky. It is the kind of view she has seen in movies, but now it's hers.

Sitting down, she feels a mix of pride and nervous anticipation. She cracks her fingers, letting them hover over the keyboard lying there for a moment without starting the computer. The cool touch of the keys brings a smile to her face.

She looks up, feeling his eyes on her. He is there leaning in the frame of her office door.

Ever so annoyingly beautiful.

The kind that dare you to look away and laugh at your face when.......

You can't.

The small red line on his neck, just beneath his chin, is barely noticeable unless one looks closely.

But she notices.

And it fills her with a quiet, simmering satisfaction.

She has marked him.

The corner of his mouth tugs upward. "I don't think we have ever introduced officially before...hello, I am Arnav Singh Raizada. The CEO"

Her lips twitch. "Khushi Sen Gupta, the new IT expert." And all of a sudden, she is really, meaning really, really nervous. The revelation of last night crashes over her. Her palm begins sweating, and she is on the verge of word vomiting. "But..I know who you are. You are The Mr.Raizada."

"No, that was the one before me."

But he died.. I mean murdered, but you didn't...which means he can come to the IT department and listen to me babble...

which will end..in..3...2...1.

But she doesn't say that out loud. "How can I help you?"

"I am having trouble with my computer."

He places a brutally disfigured laptop on her desk, its once sleek body now marred with cracks, dents and holes.

Poor thing. Her heart weeps for this helpless creature.

"What happened to it?" she asks, her voice a mix of concern and disbelief. Her fingers hover over the damaged device, not wanting to hurt it any further.

Wait a minute.

This is the laptop, he stole from her father's study last night, isn't it?

Yes, it is.

Her father was berating the guards as he raged about a laptop that went missing from his study this morning.

She was severely hungover, thanks to him and in a hurry. But she was damn sure who the culprit was.

And here he is.

"I was at my coffee shop, surfing the net... and I spilled a latte on it," he says with a perfectly straight face.

"Really?" Her tone is dry.

"Yeah."

"Because these look like bullet holes."

He shrugs, smirking. "My coffee shop is in a bad neighbourhood."

He knows she knows that he is bluffing. She wants to wipe that smug smirk out of his face, either by a slap or...a kiss works well too....woohhh....no..no..no... where's that come from????

Mission Abort!!!!!

That thought needs to go straight back to wherever it came from.

"If there's anything you can salvage from it, I'd really appreciate it," he says, voice smooth, like he knows exactly what she's thinking.

"Hmm... I'll try," she mutters, nodding stiffly and focusing on the laptop as if her life depends on it.

"Good morning, Mr.Raizada", Mr.Mathur's voice filters, and he turns to look that way. "I didn't expect you in this building today.....not at all, Sir." Mr. Mathur continues, his eyes dancing with mirth.

"Are you about to tell me something that will make me angry, Mr. Mathur?"

"Absolutely not."

"Good." Mr.Raizada responds in his as cold as Siberia tone. She laughs in her head. They say if you're nervous, try to picture the others naked.

No, Khushi... no. What's wrong with you? You don't want to picture Mr. Raizada naked. You don't. Nope.

Absolutely not...

She shakes her head slightly, banishing the thought, and forces herself to focus on the task at hand. And not on trying to picture anyone's... no, not going there.

Author's Note:

If anyone is having déjà vu, just know that I had to... I had to do it.

Have a nice weekend everyone. See you soon in the underground fight area with our showstopper, Dhruv Rao.

God, that was dramatic 😂😂

<previous> | <next>

@arshifiesta @featheredclover @phuljari @chutkiandchotte @jalebi-weds-bluetooth @chaiandtakkar @simplycurlz @msbhagirathi

[religion-is-a-mental-illness]

By: Dyani Lewis

Published: May 31, 2023

In India, children under 16 returning to school this month at the start of the school year will no longer be taught about evolution, the periodic table of elements or sources of energy.

The news that evolution would be cut from the curriculum for students aged 15–16 was widely reported last month, when thousands of people signed a petition in protest. But official guidance has revealed that a chapter on the periodic table will be cut, too, along with other foundational topics such as sources of energy and environmental sustainability. Younger learners will no longer be taught certain pollution- and climate-related topics, and there are cuts to biology, chemistry, geography, mathematics and physics subjects for older school students.

Overall, the changes affect some 134 million 11–18-year-olds in India’s schools. The extent of what has changed became clearer last month when the National Council of Educational Research and Training (NCERT) — the public body that develops the Indian school curriculum and textbooks — released textbooks for the new academic year that started in May.

Researchers, including those who study science education, are shocked. “Anybody who’s trying to teach biology without dealing with evolution is not teaching biology as we currently understand it,” says Jonathan Osborne, a science-education researcher at Stanford University in California. “It’s that fundamental to biology.” The periodic table explains how life’s building blocks combine to generate substances with vastly different properties, he adds, and “is one of the great intellectual achievements of chemists”.

Mythili Ramchand, a science-teacher trainer at the Tata Institute of Social Sciences in Mumbai, India, says that “everything related to water, air pollution, resource management has been removed. “I don’t see how conservation of water, and air [pollution], is not relevant for us. It’s all the more so currently,” she adds. A chapter on different sources of energy — from fossil fuels to renewables — has also been removed. “That’s a bit strange, quite honestly, given the relevance in today’s world,” says Osborne.

More than 4,500 scientists, teachers and science communicators have signed an appeal organized by Breakthrough Science Society, a campaign group based in Kolkata, India, to reinstate the axed content on evolution.

NCERT has not responded to the appeal. And although it relied on expert committees to oversee the changes, it has not yet engaged with parents and teachers to explain its rationale for making them. NCERT also did not reply to Nature’s request for comment.

Chapters closed

A chapter on the periodic table of elements has been removed from the syllabus for class-10 students, who are typically 15–16 years old. Whole chapters on sources of energy and the sustainable management of natural resources have also been removed.

A small section on Michael Faraday’s contributions to the understanding of electricity and magnetism in the nineteenth century has also been stripped from the class-10 syllabus. In non-science content, chapters on democracy and diversity; political parties; and challenges to democracy have been scrapped. And a chapter on the industrial revolution has been removed for older students.

In explaining its changes, NCERT states on its website that it considered whether content overlapped with similar content covered elsewhere, the difficulty of the content, and whether the content was irrelevant. It also aims to provide opportunities for experiential learning and creativity.

NCERT announced the cuts last year, saying that they would ease pressures on students studying online during the COVID-19 pandemic. Amitabh Joshi, an evolutionary biologist at Jawaharlal Nehru Centre for Advanced Scientific Research in Bengaluru, India, says that science teachers and researchers expected that the content would be reinstated once students returned to classrooms. Instead, the NCERT shocked everyone by printing textbooks for the new academic year with a statement that the changes will remain for the next two academic years, in line with India’s revised education policy approved by government in July 2020.

“The idea [behind the new policy] is that you make students ask questions,” says Anindita Bhadra, an evolutionary biologist at the Indian Institute of Science Education and Research in Kolkata. But she says that removing fundamental concepts is likely to stifle curiosity, rather than encourage it. “The way this is being done, by saying ‘drop content and teach less’”, she says, “that’s not the way you do it”.

Evolution axed

Science educators are particularly concerned about the removal of evolution. A chapter on diversity in living organisms and one called ‘Why do we fall ill’ has been removed from the syllabus for class-9 students, who are typically 14–15 years old. Darwin’s contributions to evolution, how fossils form and human evolution have all been removed from the chapter on heredity and evolution for class-10 pupils. That chapter is now called just ‘Heredity’. Evolution, says Joshi, is essential to understanding human diversity and “our place in the world”.

In India, class 10 is the last year in which science is taught to every student. Only students who elect to study biology in the final two years of education (before university) will learn about the topic.

Joshi says that the curriculum revision process has lacked transparency. But in the case of evolution, “more religious groups in India are beginning to take anti-evolution stances”, he says. Some members of the public also think that evolution lacks relevance outside academic institutions.

Aditya Mukherjee, a historian at Jawaharlal Nehru University in New Dehli, says that changes to the curriculum are being driven by Rashtriya Swayamsevak Sangh (RSS), a mass-membership volunteer organization that has close ties to India’s governing Bharatiya Janata Party. The RSS feels that Hinduism is under threat from India’s other religions and cultures.

“There is a movement away from rational thinking, against the enlightenment and Western ideas” in India, adds Sucheta Mahajan, a historian at Jawaharlal Nehru University who collaborates with Mukherjee on studies of RSS influence on school texts. Evolution conflicts with creation stories, adds Mukherjee. History is the main target, but “science is one of the victims”, she adds.

==

Well, at least it'll put them on par with the anti-science and biology-denial of US classrooms. China no longer has anything to worry about.

[lboogie1906]

Martin Luther King III (October 23, 1957) is a human rights activist, philanthropist & advocate. The oldest living child of civil rights leaders Martin Luther King Jr. and Coretta Scott King, he served as the 4th President of the SCLC (1997-2004).

After he attended The Galloway School, he attended Morehouse College, the same school where his father, grandfather, and great-grandfather attended. He is a member of the Alpha Phi Alpha Fraternity, as was his father. He received his BA in political science from Morehouse College.

On June 9, 1986, he announced his candidacy for the Fulton County Commission, becoming the first of his father’s immediate family to become directly involved in politics. He won the election and was re-elected in 1990, serving (1987-93). He was defeated in a special election for the Chairmanship in 1993.

He opposed the death penalty in 1989, stating “If we believed in an eye for an eye and a tooth for a tooth, most of us would be without eyes and without teeth”. In 1993, he helped found the Estate of Martin Luther King Jr. Inc., the company that manages the license of Martin Luther King Jr.’s image and intellectual property. He remains a commissioner in the company as of 2008. During his service as a commissioner in Fulton County, he expressed appreciation to an officer who potentially saved his mother from harm from a crazed man. In February 2009, he and his wife traveled to India, fifty years after his father and mother made the trip. During his stay in India, he led a delegation, which included John Lewis and Andrew Young. In New Delhi, he visited museums on Mahatma Gandhi’s life and answered questions from students. He denounced the war in Iraq and the Mumbai attacks during a lecture at the Indian Council for Cultural Relations.

He urged Texas to grant a reprieve to death row inmate Rodney Reed in 2019 and urged Alabama to stop the execution of Nathaniel Woods in 2020.

He was among the co-founders of Bounce TV. He serves on the Board of Advisors of Let America Vote, an organization that aims to end voter suppression. #africanhistory365 #africanexcellence #alphaphialpha

[girlactionfigure]

The Jewish Bollywood Star: Esther Abraham

She was India's first female film producer

Esther Abraham was a Jewish Bollywood superstar and the first female film producer in India. She was a proud observant Jew even while shaping modern Indian culture.

Esther was born in Calcutta in 1916 to an Orthodox Jewish family. The Abrahams were Baghdadi Jews who had emigrated from Iraq in the 19th century. In school Esther excelled academically and athletically. She was a talented hockey player with a roomful of trophies. Esther was also an artist who attended Cambridge University after high school and majored in art.

After university, Esther became a kindergarten teacher at a Jewish school in Calcutta, but she yearned to be a performer. Her first job in the entertainment industry was as a dancer for a silent movie theater. Esther’s job was to entertain the audience during a pause in the film while the reel were changed.

Many members of Esther’s family were talented musicians and performers. She went to visit an actress cousin in Bombay who was appearing in a theater production. The director noticed tall, beautiful Esther and gave her a screen test.

Esther did so well on the test that she soon appeared in her first movie, Bhikaran, in 1936. Around this time she was given the screen name Pramila. Audiences fell in love with Pramila and she quickly became one of the most famous actresses in India. She also worked as a model and appeared on many magazine covers. In 1947, at age 31, Esther won the first Miss India contest – while pregnant with her fifth child.

At that time in India, the movie industry was controlled by a handful of extremely wealthy producers who exploited their actors and crew members and paid them only a measly salary. Esther Abraham decided to change that. She defied the studio system by becoming the first female producer of Bollywood feature films. Esther formed her own production company, Silver Productions, and produced sixteen feature films. She treated her cast and crew with respect and paid them well.

Esther starred in 30 films. In addition to being an actress and producer, she did her own stunts and worked as a stunt double for other performers. Esther also designed her own costumes and jewelry for every production.

Famous for her enchantingly beautiful eyes, audiences didn’t know that her eyesight was very poor and she did dance moves by counting the steps. Audiences also were likely unaware that she was Jewish – and probably wouldn’t have cared. Unlike so many countries with Jewish communities, India has no history of antisemitism.

Esther’s daughter Naqi Jahan was crowned Miss India in 1967, and they are the only mother and daughter who both won the title. Her son Haidar Ali is a successful Indian actor and screenwriter. Haidar described his mother: “A woman who was gifted by God with internal power and strength… she magnetized power…. One the home front she kept us together [clenching his fist] like this.”

Esther Abraham appeared in her last film in 2005, at age 90, playing a grandmother in the movie Thaang. She died a few months after its release. Until the end of her long life, Esther remained a practicing Jew. Her funeral was at the Maghen David synagogue, and her son Maurice read Psalms in Hebrew. Esther was buried in the Jewish cemetery in Mumbai.

For entertaining audiences for seventy years, and for being the first female film producer in India, we honor Esther Abraham, aka Pramila, as this week’s Thursday Hero.

[theatozclasses]

The atoz classes Review — “Transforming Math Anxiety into Achievement: Our Online Classroom Success Stories”

For many children, math is more than just a challenging subject — it’s a source of stress and anxiety. The fear of numbers, the pressure to keep up with peers, and the frustration of not understanding can make math seem like an impossible mountain to climb. At The AtoZ Classes, we’ve seen these struggles firsthand, but we’ve also witnessed something truly beautiful: the moment when a student’s fear turns into understanding, and anxiety turns into achievement. I’d like to share the stories of a few students whose lives have been touched by our approach.

Riya’s Story: Finding Her Voice Through Math

Riya, a 6th grader from Delhi, had always been a quiet, thoughtful child. But when it came to math, her quietness turned into withdrawal. She’d sit at the back of the class, hoping she wouldn’t be called on, and her once-bright eyes would dim with every math lesson. Her parents, concerned and heartbroken, reached out to us at The AtoZ Classes, hoping we could help their daughter rediscover her love for learning.

Aarav’s Journey: Rebuilding Confidence, One Step at a Time

Aarav, a 10th grader from Bengaluru, was a student with big dreams. He wanted to pursue engineering, but math felt like a giant roadblock standing in his way. Despite his best efforts, the complex equations and new concepts left him feeling defeated. Aarav’s parents knew he was capable, but they also knew he needed more than just tutoring; he needed someone who believed in him.

When Aarav joined The AtoZ Classes, I knew that rebuilding his confidence was just as important as teaching him the material. We started with the basics, ensuring that he had a strong foundation to build on. But we also took the time to listen to his frustrations and fears. I remember many late-night sessions where we’d talk through problems, not just math problems, but the doubts and worries that were holding him back. Slowly, Aarav began to see math not as an obstacle, but as a challenge he could overcome. His grades improved, but more importantly, he started to believe in himself again. When Aarav aced his final exams, the smile on his face said it all — he knew he was back on track to achieving his dreams.

Ananya’s Transformation: Learning to Love Math

Ananya, a sweet 3rd grader from Mumbai, was struggling to keep up with her math lessons at school. The fast pace and the pressure to keep up left her feeling lost and frustrated. Her parents, worried that she might fall behind, reached out to The AtoZ Classes, hoping that a different approach might help.

From the moment I met Ananya, I knew she needed patience, encouragement, and a lot of positive reinforcement. We took our time, revisiting lessons as often as she needed, using fun, interactive methods to keep her engaged. I’ll never forget the day Ananya solved her first problem all by herself — she looked up at me with wide eyes, a mix of surprise and pride, and whispered, “I did it!” That moment was the turning point. From then on, Ananya approached math with a newfound curiosity and eagerness. Her parents couldn’t believe the transformation — they saw their little girl go from dreading math to eagerly looking forward to her lessons. Today, Ananya is excelling in math, and the joy on her face every time she solves a problem is a reminder of why we do what we do.

The Heart of The AtoZ Classes

These stories of Riya, Aarav, and Ananya are just a few examples of the countless students who’ve found not just success, but joy in learning math through The AtoZ Classes. What sets us apart is our belief that every child can succeed in math, given the right support and encouragement. We don’t just teach math; we build confidence, nurture curiosity, and celebrate every step of progress, no matter how small.

At The AtoZ Classes, we’re more than just educators — we’re mentors, cheerleaders, and sometimes, a shoulder to lean on. We know that math can be challenging, but we also know that with patience, understanding, and a personalized approach, every student can overcome those challenges. Watching our students transform from anxious learners to confident achievers is the most rewarding part of our journey.

If your child is struggling with math or needs a little extra support, we’re here to help. At The AtoZ Classes, we’re committed to turning math anxiety into achievement, one student at a time more info visit our website theatozclasses.com

[allaboutdance]

So today, let's begin with some steps on how to know what dance forms or schools would be the best to begin with, here in Mumbai, I can help you with LA too.

* how do we know what dance form is best suitable to start with? Start with A BASIC COURSE in ANY DANCE FORM and dance as an art will just accept you :) ALSO, IF YOU HAVE A TYPE OF MUSIC YOU LISTEN TO AND MOVE ORGANICALLY, THEN THATS THE TYPE OF CLASS YOU MUST BEGIN WITH.

......................................

Dance Schools In Andheri West Mumbai :

1. The World Dance School Mumbai

It's a school you must already know they aren't having fun there. They are getting trained there.

Be it ballet, jazz, jazz funk, hiphop, bolluwood, contemporary, they have it all. Do Google them up. #Mumbai

2. The TopKnok Studio Mumbai

Yes! This studio is run by Melvin Louis, if you are a dancer you surely have seen his videos or been to his class once atleast. If not it's okay.

He's got all styles too but more inclined towards western styles like old-school hiphop, popping n locking, commercial style, and jazz funk.

ALTHOUGH, HES GOT VARIOUS LEVELS OF CLASSES SO EVEN IF YOU ARENT A DANCER, YOURE WELCOME 😃😁

That's all Folks!

[srbachchan]

DAY 6140

Jalsa, Mumbai Dec 11, 2024 Wed 1:34 am

🪔 ,

December 12 .. birthday greetings to Ef Nilesh Parmar .. Ef Rakesh Parashar from Delhi .. and Ef Prashanth Reddy from Hyderabad .. 🙏🏽❤️🚩

the next DAY , today on the early DAY !! ..

and ..

this gentleman with the cleaner baton in hand , to clean up the minor spots from the clothing ..

one day shall clean me up for good .. 🤣

naaah .. does not sound good in the Queen's English .. or the King's English .. whatever .. better in our own

साफ़ करते करते ये एक दिन हमही को साफ़ कर देंगे !!!!

a few a few a few ..

... pulling up my socks .. 🤣 .. literal and philosophical .. and idiomatic ..

striding off to the slumber chamber ..😴

not this above 👆🏼 .. this is striding on to the show .. in haste to reach the Audience as soon as Possible ..

lob lob lob ...

🤣

!!!!!

as they would say in my part of the World

Amitabh Bachchan

and at 10:36 pm an addition :

it was the 60th Birthday celebration for Sunil Gavaskar .. in the presence of the Giants of our Cricket World :

Sachin Tendulkar ; Gundappa Viswanath ; and Sunil ..

an honour unparalleled ..

Sunil has always been most gracious in remembering my Birthday and I his, through all these years right from the 70's during our first meet, in England and then on Gundappa Viswanath's wedding to his sister .. it was held at the lawn opposite the Shivaji Park , Mumbai .. and he invited me .. from then on every birthday , no matter where we are the greetings continue .. and now Rohan his Son and Abhishek share a similar relationship .. and both our Grandchildren study in the same School ..

privileged ..

the smiles and laughter in the pictures is for watching a friend doing a take off on Sunil and other Cricketers as a mimicry on Stage .. 😀

Love

AB

[society360]

Success from the slums:

Dharavi, one of the largest slums in Asia, located in Mumbai, India, is often associated with severe poverty and overcrowded living conditions. However, it has also been a place where remarkable individuals have emerged despite these challenges. Here's a brief report on some notable kids and young adults from Dharavi who have excelled in various fields:

1. Kailash Satyarthi

While not a child from Dharavi, Kailash Satyarthi's work has directly impacted many children from slums like Dharavi. He is a Nobel Peace Prize laureate recognized for his efforts in combating child labor and advocating for children's rights through his organization, Bachpan Bachao Andolan (Save the Childhood Movement). His work has inspired many from Dharavi to pursue education and better their circumstances.

2. Siddhartha Khemka

Siddhartha Khemka, originally from Dharavi, has made a name for himself in the field of entrepreneurship and social work. He founded the organization The Dharavi Project, which works to empower local youth through education and skill development. His journey from Dharavi to a successful social entrepreneur is a testament to the potential within the community.

3. Sujay Bhat

Sujay Bhat, a young student from Dharavi, excelled in academics despite the challenges of his environment. He received a scholarship to study at one of Mumbai’s prestigious schools, showcasing his academic prowess and determination. His success has become an inspiration for many other children in the community.

4. Ramesh Yadav

Ramesh Yadav, a young athlete from Dharavi, has gained recognition in local and national sports competitions. His achievements in track and field events have drawn attention to the potential of athletic talent in the slum, highlighting the importance of supporting sports and physical education.

5. Aarti Patil

Aarti Patil, a talented artist from Dharavi, has gained acclaim for her artwork and has exhibited her pieces in various art shows. Her success as an artist is significant, considering the limited resources available to her growing up. Aarti’s work not only provides her with a platform but also helps in challenging the stereotypes associated with Dharavi.

Challenges and Opportunities

Despite these success stories, many children in Dharavi continue to face significant obstacles, including limited access to quality education, inadequate infrastructure, and economic hardships. However, organizations and initiatives aimed at supporting these children are making a difference. Programs focused on education, vocational training, and mentorship are crucial in providing these young individuals with the tools they need to succeed.

Conclusion

The achievements of these individuals from Dharavi illustrate the remarkable potential that can emerge from even the most challenging environments. Their stories serve as powerful reminders of the importance of providing opportunities and support to underprivileged communities. By addressing systemic issues and fostering talent, we can help more children from Dharavi and similar areas realize their full potential.

Opportunities exist in spite of hindrances. But a lot has to be changed.

[phsycodesi]

When one talks about RSS who is a part of RSS, they usually only see the light side if it and agree with it’s many views and opinions. Others, who are not a part if RSS seem to lump us all in a group as complete bigot leftists. They don’t see the people in between, like me.

Me, who hates the plain homophobia and Islamophobia that exists but loves the gatherings and benefits from the discipline and personality programs. Who groans at the constant upholding of BJP, but loves the classes on sword fighting, staff wielding, lezim, band instruments, etc. Who can’t help but think of its golden years of the past and its lifelong reputation for helping those in need.

Me, who has grown up with RSS and seen both the good and bad in it, and still dutifully attends the meetings almost every Sunday to meet my friends who are NOT stuck to their phones (like most of my friends usually are) and can keep up with me in a history debate.

So, I’d prefer if you think rationally and realism that when you speak of RSS as a group and not individual exceptions of that group, you also talk of the children who don’t know better, people like my sister who knows I’m lesbian and turns a deaf ear to homophobia, and still loves the organisation for its core principles and values. Who still loves the events and festivals we celebrate.

This is the same sister, I tell you, who loves watching Minecraft with a burning passion, has had muslim friends in school and who misses the sounds of the mosque outside our windows when we still lived in Mumbai.

I hope you don’t mind me saying this, but you're an idiot if you think we're all bad apples. Again, sorry for calling you that but something needs to be said.

[chickensarentcheap]

Part Three. But with just TJ :)

@tragiclyhip

She sits in the driveway; engine off and rhythmically ticking as it cools down. Hands gripping the steering wheel hard enough to turn her knuckles white and pins and needles to form in the tips of her fingers. She can’t bring herself to go inside; not yet. Not with her tattered nerves and the unbearable heaviness that sits on her chest; it hurts to breathe, it’s uncomfortable to even move. She can’t go into the house like that; she’d already missed the bus drop off and their usual after school routine and she’s certain there’s hurt feelings and a little animosity on the kids’ parts.

She’s been gone a lot. First leaving Mumbai for Dhaka and then not returning to Australia when they did; relying on Ovi and Nik and Anil to keep them safe and happy while she stayed by her husband’s side. Their little lives have been turned upside down; a parent stuck in the hospital, the other nearly non-existent and their mind and their heart in another place even when they are home. It’s not fair to them; the upset to routine, the lack of proper quality time, all the missed hugs and kisses and cuddles and bedtime stories. They deserve more than that. So much more.

“I hate this,” she whispers, and her entire body begins to tremble. It finally releases; fear, worry, sadness, rage. “I fucking hate this!” she yells into the confines of the SUV, and tears stream down her face as she repeatedly stomps her feet against the floorboard and pounds her hands against the steering wheel. Screaming until her voice is hoarse and her throat is dry; continuing the assault until her wrists ache and her thighs burn. Then she slumps back into her seat and cries; hands pressed to her face as the sobs wrack her body and the tears stream down her face.

It takes several minutes for the moment to subside; until her body stops shaking and there’s no more tears left to cry. And she’s scouring the middle counsel for tissues to clean up her face when she hears it; the repetitive tapping of knuckles against her window.

“Mommy!” TJ stands in the driveway; already tall enough to see into the SUV without standing on his tiptoes. He’s long and lanky; all torso and limbs and beautifully tanned skinned. He’s only visible from the bottom of the nose up; the freckles across the bridge, those enormous blue eyes framed by impossibly long and dark lashes. “Mom!” He slams his palms against the glass. “Are you okay?!”

She nods, then places her palm against the window, covering his.

“Open the door!” TJ demands, and he’s suddenly so much his father. The concern that darkens his eyes, the furrows in brow, that assertive and demanding tone.

“I’m fine!” Esme assures him.

“Open...the...door!” He repeats, slowly and clearly pronouncing each word. “This isn’t funny! I know you’re upset! Open the door!” His eyes soften and he gives that charming, almost cheeky smile. “Please?”

He’s learned well. A true product of his environment.

“Go around,” she instructs, and watches as he hurries around the front of the SUV; sandy blond hair damp, the longer top strands sticking to his forehead and pushed in several different directions. He’s in his normal after school ‘attire’; shirtless and board shorts.

“What are you doing?” There’s a mixture of both concern and annoyance in his voice when she pops open the passenger side door, and she notices how impossible large his hands seem for only five; long fingers curling around the handle at the top of the door as he hauls himself inside. “Why are you sitting out there?”

“Why are YOU out here?”

“I asked you first. What’s wrong? How come you’re not coming inside?”

“I just needed a few minutes. It’s been a long day.”

“I was taking the recycling out,” he jerks his head over his shoulder; indicating the blue boxes that sit at the curb. “That’s my job, remember. That’s the job daddy gave me when we moved here. You didn’t see me?”

“You must have snuck by me. Like a ninja.”

“I don’t know how you didn’t see me. I’m hard to miss. Uncle Koen says I’m tall and skinny and awkward. Like daddy.”

“Your father is far from being skinny and awkward. You on the other hand…”

“That’s not nice, mom. When I’m big enough, I’m going to work out in the gym too. With daddy. He can show me how to get big muscles. I want to be big too. And strong. Do you think he’ll let me? Work out? When I’m old enough?”

“I know he will. He’ll like having a gym buddy.”

“Do you think I’ll be as tall as him? I hope I grow that big. I WANT to be that tall. I want to be a giant, too.”

“I think you’re well on your way to being just as tall as your dad if not taller.”

“Imagine?” His eyes widen in excitement. “If I grew taller and bigger than daddy? Daddy’s big. Like REALLY big. Sometimes he has to duck to get through doors in some places. Not to mention his hand is bigger than my whole face and his arms are massive! Imagine if I got bigger than him? That would be fucking awesome.”

Esme frowns. “Excuse me?”

“Sorry,” he gives a sheepish smile. “I don’t mean to swear. It just comes out!”.”

“You really do learn by example.”

“What does that mean?”

“It means your dad has to watch his mouth around you guys.”

[sulfurousdreamscapes]

Story // Mr Kanetkar's Office at Tribhuvan Rd

The entanglement of an office worker in Mumbai, his new colleague, and a teenager in Philadelphia.

~1700 words // 6 min read (preview) ~6700 words // 31 min read (full)

3rd February 2003, Mumbai

Mr Vishwas Kanetkar took over the seat vacated by his new colleague, Mr Singh. The computer screen in front of the seat displayed the small, blinking dash of a command prompt. Just above the prompt, a line of grey text read “Sometimes you just gotta light up, man. You won’t get it till you get it.”

Mr Singh lifted his backpack off the cracked-tile floor and slung it over his shoulder. “We have to have chai sometime and talk about work, Mr Kanetkar,” he said. “I’m sure there’s a lot you could teach me.”

Mr Kanetkar cracked his knuckles over the keyboard and grinned at his colleague. “You have a lot of catching up to do, Mr Singh. You know, before you, I worked with Surve Madam. We were a better partnership than Tendulkar and Ganguly.”

The young, turbaned Mr Singh made a thumbs-up gesture showing that he was impressed. He disappeared through the rotting doorframe and into the corridor outside, into a passage that lay dark under the barely-powered light bulb.

Back in the office, a new word emerged on the screen, conjured out of Mr Kanetkar’s steady typing.

“Where?” 

Moments later, a response spooled out like cut-up lace.

“Party at Cransway, at Lia’s place. Smells of grass and alcohol. Bathroom smells of vomit. Hanging out in a dark corner, pretending to enjoy the music. Music is not great, but maybe it’ll grow on me. I think one of Lia’s friends is checking me out.”

Mr Kanetkar smacked his lips and grimaced in disappointment. He typed out another message on the screen, which went to a teenage boy’s mind on the other side of the world.

“Trevor, what is this? You were going to study for the Physics test due in 2 days. Why are you at a party?”

It was morning in Mr Kanetkar’s office, but the tubelight was still on from last night’s shift. The ceiling fan’s rotating shadows swung all across the office. Mr Kanetkar pressed the seventh switch in a mess of wires and switches, which turned the tubelight off, and he rummaged through one of the file cabinets in the room.

By the time he returned to his wood-framed, plastic-mesh chair, more thoughts from Trevor unspooled on his yellowed CRT monitor.

“The party seemed like a nice place. A little scary, but I made up my mind to not be scared. I wanted to go, so I went.”

Mr Kanetkar had retrieved a file (‘Say no to drugs’) from the cabinet, but he put it away and typed, “Nonsense. They are doing drugs and beer at that party. Your parents raised you better than this.”

“My parents are not going to find out,” the reply read.

“Get out right now and go straight home,” Mr Kanetkar typed in. He followed up his command with more text, which wasn’t meant for Trevor’s conscious mind. “--no-repeat --importance:500”.

In Philadelphia, on the other side of the world, 15-year-old Trevor put down the almost-empty red cup. He slid through the rhythm-soaked crowd and got out to be hit by the chill of a winter’s night. Hands in his pockets, he walked home with Avril Lavigne playing in his head.

In Mumbai, Mr Kanetkar entered a fresh command into the computer, which brought up  Trevor’s actions for that day. He read message after message, all of which built up a sequence of events for him. That day, Trevor went to school, got home, got his homework done, did the dishes, was called by Lia to come to the party, and then, he said yes to the invitation.

Mr Kanetkar grumbled. “What did you do, Mr Singh?” He pressed the ‘n’ key to go to the next page of the on-screen report.

While at the party, Trevor had been approached by a girl named Beth. She had said that she hoped Trevor didn’t mind her checking him out. Trevor had replied that he didn’t.

Then, they had talked about music, agreeing that neither of them liked the band playing at the party. Trevor preferred music that most people didn’t - music from the 1980s that he got on old hand-me-down cassettes from his older cousin Darren.

Two songs later, Trevor and Beth had agreed to a movie date. They were going to watch a horror movie called Final Destination 2. With the plan confirmed, Beth had floated away to another group, and that was where Mr Kanetkar had taken over his shift.

Presently in Philadelphia, Trevor crashed on the bed with his boots still on. Darkness had taken over from twilight, and Trevor felt an urge to dial Beth’s telephone number.

Mr Kanetkar jabbed his fingers into the keyboard, spelling out his next instruction. “Tell Beth that you have to cancel the movie date.”

Trevor told Beth that he had to cancel the movie date. He sounded vaguely drunk and tired, and he told Beth that he hadn’t been thinking straight earlier.

On the other side of the call, Beth sounded disappointed. She asked him if something was wrong. Trevor replied that he had other plans. They navigated their way to goodbyes and hung up the call.

Mr Kanetkar typed into the computer while referring to the yellow file that he balanced on his lap.

“You’d make a mess of it, wouldn’t you? Remember when you spilt your Pepsi all over the lobby? Back when you went to Jurassic Park 2 with your parents?”

Trevor lay on his back and stared pointedly at the ceiling fan, letting his mind wander.

Mr Kanetkar sighed. “Exam in two days, and this boy wants to go watch movies.” 

He consulted diagnostics on the screen to go over Trevor’s hydration, bladder, and fatigue levels. It was now safe for Trevor to fall asleep, but Mr Kanetkar made sure to fetch a trio of files from Cabinet CA-5, which he would feed into Trevor’s half-conscious mind.

It was only after Trevor was satisfactorily asleep that Mr Kanetkar put all the files aside and pulled out his tiffin box. 

The four containers of the tiffin box shared space on the table with the dusty keyboard, three differently-coloured pens, and a small notepad he’d bought for a handful of rupees down the street. 

One of the tiffin box containers held chapatis, another had spiced eggplant, the third had steamed rice, and the fourth had dal. Mr Kanetkar ate slowly and made sure to wipe the inner surface of each container clean.

After lunch, Mr Kanetkar stretched, made sure that Trevor was asleep, and then went out of the room to greet Mr Parmar, the owner of the sewing machine repair shop down the corridor. 

He had met Mr Parmar a decade ago, and the two shared a camaraderie now. Dozens of firms and employees had come and gone in that decrepit building on Tribhuvan Road, but Mr Kanetkar and Mr Parmar had persisted. They joked that they had a survivors’ bond.

Later, Mr Kanetkar went to the balcony at the end of the first floor corridor. He lit up a cigarette and watched the cloudless skies. He reflected on the sun-baked dust and the missing off-season showers. No rain until the monsoon now.

He waited for the sun to turn a cooler ochre and then retreated into the dark of the corridor. He slid open the deadbolt on his office door and took his seat after a bout of stretching.

In Philadelphia, Trevor lay asleep and dreamt of being flung across an endless corn field. Falling sideways was exhilarating, and every time he alighted on the ground, he had only a couple of moments to think before he was flung again.

Mr Kanetkar sipped on his chai, which was brought to him in a small glass by a pre-teen boy employed by the local chaiwallah. Shortly after six, a curt knock on the door signalled Mr Singh, who entered with the same grin on his face as when he had left the office that morning. His armpits were lined with sweat and his cologne was deadenned by the metal lick of the local train.

They exchanged pleasantries, and Mr Kanetkar made way for Mr Singh to take over.

On the other side of the world, Trevor neared the end of his sleep. He was going to wake up, and once he did, Mr Singh would guide him through the rest of the day.

It was time for Mr Kanetkar to go home.

When Mr Kanetkar got home, he found his wife putting on a sari, ready to go out. Mr Kanetkar did not want to know why,  but she told him anyway - it was Shashank’s birthday. 

He replied that he did not know who Shashank was. She clarified that Shashank is the boy who lives one floor downstairs, and that Shashank had personally asked her to come to his birthday party with ‘uncle’.

Mr Kanetkar clicked his tongue. “His parents probably made him go around the building inviting everyone. It doesn’t mean anything.”

“Still, we have to go,” Mrs Kanetkar said.

So Mr Kanetkar went to the boisterous birthday party, where he wished Shashank a happy birthday, gave him a ₹500 note, ruffled his hair, and then went into the back to talk to the other ‘uncles’ of the building.

“Will you have some with us, Mr Kanetkar?” Shashank’s father asked him, leaving out any words that might mean liquor.

“No, no, thank you. Maybe next time.”

“What next time? Next time will be next year!”

4th February 2003

Minutes after taking over his shift, Mr Kanetkar ran to the first floor balcony and searched for Mr Singh in the street below. He caught sight of Mr Singh’s maroon turban, but only as it disappeared down Tribhuvan Road in the direction of Lamington Road. It was too late to call after him now, so Mr Kanetkar groaned and returned to his office.

According to the logs on the computer, Trevor had called Beth and told her that he’d had a change in plans. They then went to an afternoon showing of Final Destination 2. In the dark cinema hall, Beth had touched Trevor several times on the arm, and even on the thigh. Later in the film, the two had even kissed each other.

All of this had happened under Mr Singh’s supervision, and now Mr Kanetkar believed that he had been left to clean up the mess.

Continue reading here!

[nemolfc]

𝐰𝐢𝐥𝐥 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐛𝐞 𝐦𝐲 𝐟𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐧𝐝? - 𝐬𝐞𝐫𝐠𝐢𝐨 𝐫𝐚𝐦𝐨𝐬

・𝐫𝐞𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐛𝐲: @littlemaidensworld

( 𝐇𝐨𝐰 𝐚𝐛𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐬𝐞𝐫𝐠𝐢𝐨 𝐢𝐬 𝐚𝐭 𝐚 𝐝𝐞𝐬𝐢 𝐰𝐞𝐝𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐬 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐚 𝐬𝐚𝐬𝐬𝐲 𝐒𝐨𝐮𝐭𝐡 𝐀𝐬𝐢𝐚𝐧 𝐠𝐢𝐫𝐥? )

𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫'𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞: 𝐚 𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐞𝐱𝐢𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐟𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐧𝐝𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐩 𝐢𝐬 𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐛𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐡𝐞𝐝 𝐛𝐞𝐭𝐰𝐞𝐞𝐧 𝐬𝐞𝐫𝐠𝐢𝐨 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐝𝐞𝐬𝐢 𝐠𝐢𝐫𝐥, ( 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐱𝐭, 𝐢 𝐢𝐦𝐚𝐠𝐢𝐧𝐞𝐝 𝐝𝐞𝐞𝐩𝐢𝐤𝐚 𝐩𝐚𝐝𝐮𝐤𝐨𝐧𝐞, 𝐛𝐮𝐭 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐜𝐚𝐧 𝐢𝐦𝐚𝐠𝐢𝐧𝐞 𝐚𝐧𝐲 𝐢𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐢𝐜 𝐛𝐨𝐥𝐥𝐲𝐰𝐨𝐨𝐝 𝐚𝐜𝐭𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐬 𝐢𝐧 𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐜𝐞 )

It had definitely been a culture shock for the Andalusian as he had taken advantage of the break he had to travel to Mumbai to support his old childhood friend from way back when in school on the most special day of his life, his wedding. Aditya was thrilled to see him and had taken on helping him get settled and get to know every angle of Udaipur where the wedding was held, while at first Sergio was slightly uncomfortable and felt out of place, around the third day he was well settled within Aditya's family, so much so that he didn't think he would see her again.

Prior to the wedding ceremony, the sangeet was arranged to celebrate Aditya and his bride to be Malti - the groom and bride's families prepared their dance performances which were a refreshing thing to see, reminding Sergio of the festive atmosphere present in the weddings in Spain, only here in India it definitely exceeded his expectations - Just after the bride's family completed their performances, his eyes were instantly drawn to the dusky brunette dressed in a silver saree, her hair was curled to perfection with just the right amount of makeup adorning her features.

" Is that ...? " He asks Aditya.

" Yes, that is Naina " Aditya smiles, having already been aware of the lingering feelings his friend has for his cousin.

Once upon time, while Aditya was residing in Sevilla with his family; he and Sergio had grown close, often times playing football together and whenever they played, a young girl would sit and watch them, at first Sergio didn't mind her, however as time went on he came to learn that she was Aditya's cousin, Naina.

" She just arrived from London, after completing her masters degree in journalism - she worked for um, if I remember correctly, Sky Sports for a while " Aditya explains, " And uh .. she hates you "

" She hates me " Sergio laughs, " Why? "

" She's a ... " Aditya chuckles, " She's a Liverpool fan so let's just say that um, she hates you because the Champions League final, that Champions league final "

Sergio nods slowly, realizing which incident he meant. " I'll try to smooth things over "

A little while later, Sergio spots her chatting with another girl who noticed him before she did, " Good evening " he said.

Naina turns around, resisting the urge to roll her eyes; instead she forces a smile, " Oh, I didn't notice you " she murmurs, " Aditi, this is Aditya's old childhood friend, Sergio Ramos "

" Hi, it's nice to meet you. I'm Aditya's other cousin " Aditi smiles shaking his extended hand.

" Pleasure to meet you " Sergio states with a charming smile.

Aditi then looks at Naina, " Is this the same Sergio you said you'd smash when we played the game last week with the girls "

Naina shoots her cousin a glare, while Sergio looks at her with a confused smile. " Smash? "

" Basically we mention the guys we want to get down and dirty with " Aditi laughs, " and Naina here mentioned you "

" Aditi " Naina said through gritted teeth and a forced smile. " I was drunk so it's not that big of a deal "

" Oh jaan, it is " Aditi giggles, " Drunk words are sober thoughts remember? anyways, I'll see you later, it was nice meeting you Sergio and if she gives you a hard time, you know where to find me " she winks.

Sergio chuckles, " noted " he then turns to Naina. " So? "

" Don't even " Naina shakes her head, aiming to walk past him only for him to follow her outside of the venue.

" Naina wait " Sergio said loudly, jogging up to her.

" Why are you chasing me? there are plenty of pretty girls in there for you to choose from " Naina states with a sarcastic smile.

Sergio laughs, " Aditya said I'm not on your favorites list "

" He's right, all you do is behave like a violent maniac on the pitch " Naina rolls her eyes before muttering, " But I'm sensible to not hold it against you "

" So ... you're not mad at me because of the final in 2018 " Sergio wonders.

" No I'm still mad " Naina chuckles, " Actually I'm seething " she turns to face him, " And all I can think about is wrapping my arms around your throat and choking you "

Sergio opted to be playful by saying, " Why don't we head back to my hotel room then? "

Naina rolls her eyes again, then smiles. " Is that why you chased me? so you can behave like a man child "

" I'm trying to lighten up the mood " Sergio states with a chuckle.

" On the contrary " Naina retorts sassily, " You ruined it "

Sergio watches her walk past him and back to the venue, now determined more than ever to win her over.

__

Naina was definitely drained, being in charge of photography was a lot more tiring than she initially believed yet she was happy to have been able to see her cousin find the love of his life which in retrospect had her thinking of Sergio, of the time she was enamored by him as a teen, after the ceremony, some of the guests were still in the hotel, Naina included as she was working on editing the photos of the wedding to include them in a special article for her blog which steers away from sports.

While she was working, she hears a knock which causes her to look up, confused she stands up and walks towards the door, she opens it expecting one of her family members only to find Sergio in front of her. " You haven't left yet? "

" I leave tomorrow, I wanted to come see you " He said.

Naina heaves a sigh, he'd been very persistent throughout the times they've encountered one another and despite every attempt she made to push him away, he was relentless which ultimately left her with no choice but to step to the side to allow him to enter, " Sit down please "

He takes a seat on the chair near the bed while she went up on the bed to check her laptop before shutting it off to look at him, " What is it? "

" I wanted to apologize, for alot of things ... " He sighs, " for teasing you as a kid, and for beating Liverpool even though I don't mean the last one "

Naina chuckles, " Of course you don't, you're a monster "

" A hungry monster that loves winning " He smiles, " I would however like to say another thing "

" Yes ...? " She said.

" I asked Aditya and he said you're moving to Madrid " He said, " So it leads me to my next question "

" Which is? " She prompts him to continue.

" Will you be my friend? " He asks.

She furrows her brows, then laughs. " Seriously? "

" Yes seriously, let's start off again as friends because I want to do this properly, I've always liked you Naina and I promise if you give me a chance, I won't let you down " He said.

She remained silent, measuring everything he had said; while considering the pros and cons of dating a football player, " If we do this, you're going to be coming here a lot more " she said.

" I'll get used to it " He shrugs.

" My mom will grill you and ask you when you'll marry me " She said.

" I'll figure out how to charm her " He said.

" My dad is an easy target, he loves football ... and I would like to point out that if we are going down this path, I'm very head strong so you'll have to be patient with me " She said.

" I'll wait a lifetime " He smiles.

She smiles, " Ok ... you've got yourself a new friend "