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Being a Keyboard warrior

Art of writing and speaking was reserved for the very few who could take diplomatic stands on and off stage. Those were the talents of the bygone era. The era of the  bombastic rhetoric. New age media of internet and social marketing has forced many activists to go online. This has gone to such realistic level that in UP BJP had reportedly wanted a minimum number of likes for potential candidates to get a ticket.

The game of social activism had taken a leap from there, at least for the many potential activists. This lone writing of blog in a non-main stream channel of networking. Yes, bloggers do network in a different way than social networking platforms like twitter. But the game again is to put your content in a static form, for memory and for easy retrieval compared to the real time dynamic nature of social media where the next second is not yours. Yes, with considerable number of friends and group to follow, it is not more than a second that captures the attention, if at all, of a casual reader, in social platform.And a lone writing in a blog may not garner quick, or long followers. But it is still there, as a personal satisfaction, for the keyboard samurai to look back and cite as achievement. There is no guarantee that the fighter gets the fame in his lifetime. And like the many real soldiers who stand for their homeland and defend it with pride and their life, the lone keyboard warrior cannot come anywhere near in even a passing reference for the real life defenders. The effort of  a keyboard warrior may then be diverted to capture the moods and comments of his “friends” and “followers”. This is possible lest these women and men and others are a tad inclined to oblige themselves in the form of likes, follow and comments. The best of social media activity of a modern day couple is well written in the lyrics of “Selfie – Pulla” by Madhan Karky Vairamuthu

 

By this time you would have understood the feelings of a keyboard warrior who has nothing but the keyboard and Google search to help him locate the necessary raw materials. This is unlike the traditional activists who have torn their footwear for their passion for their activism. Technological advancement in the form of speech recognition and better keyboard do not let the keyboard warrior’s keyboard to look like that of a well seasoned politician or social worker. Blame it on technology, but one definite indication of the keyboard warrior is that his seat is always hot! Due to continuous sitting and typing. If the temperature is a good indicating parameter of a seasoned keyboard warrior, why not take it at face value. Yes, this is forced upon the reader and the unexpected reader. But that is a risk befitting a champion. There may be losses of “friends” and “followers”. But it is said by Facebook that “Followers are temporary, friends are forever” because the network is build on the basic habit of fellow humans, to know and comment, often bad comments, on what others did or what they ought to. It is the unforgiving human nature. This no one can control.

As an experiment , may be for real, facebook started the keyboard warrior program where people could change their images to support France. This was a technological jump for the usual keyboard warrior, often going by fake names to support his cause, because this just involves few clicks. This gave rise the Click-warriors, later extended to Touch-warriors and so on and so forth, based on the kind of sensing mechanism that they used their social networks with. Now there were new worlds created due to this. This included the first world of touch-warriors and touch-citizens, second-world of click-warriors and click citizen, third world of keyboard warriors and keyboard citizens and the dark fourth world were the net speed is less than 1Gbps, a fifth world that had bare minimum of what is called as civilization at 256Kbps and the dark unknown world without internet.  This was another layer of abstract classification of human beings but not yet devastating enough to cause war and “peace”. Normalization in this internet hegemony is brought forth when one for real speaks to another human being. This maintains the delicate equilibrium between the different social strata. The movement of people from one-world citizenship to multi-world citizenship is made possible by the discontinuity in the physical telecommunication network that keeps the demographic incongruity to minimum.

A keyboard warrior is always restless. The slightest possiblity of activism awakens the champion. The latest was that a gorilla was killed and people shared their feelings. Some showed solidarity to human stupidity to laud the efforts to save a child , that saved humankind from wilderness (though captivated and endangered). Some loathed the efforts of the zookeeper and bickered about the human stupidity that led to a whole series of events, from endangering animals, imprisoning , removing the barrier between captivity and guests (for natural watching), bringing up and inviting a human who could not manage her own kids (let alone animals), who paid the zoo (in form of ticket), to let the kid fall and let the Mighty Gorilla “protect” and let the Gorilla (Harambe) be shot to save the kid. God knows why it did not fell on the kid and then it would have been another stupidity. Harambe and this stupidity will be one among the many in the annals of human history. The collection of achievements to save human species. But the keyboard warrior will not be silent. For there is a world to be saved. Remember, 8 years ago someone wrote Human Welfare with a Question mark?

“Once a warrior always a warrior” works for keyboard warriors too. The fingers twitch at a shared photo of man made disaster or incident , the keyboard warrior wakes up to action. Keyboard warriors strive to respond, react and show the world some virtual humanity. It may be a few words that can dwell in the heart of the casual reader that changes perspectives and support and actions and reactions. This is all the work of a genuine keyboard warrior whom we should acknowledge for the virile vigilant efforts of an undying unidentified (often fake id) heroes. It is this species that the God has send on earth Homo KeyWar (Keyboard Warriors) to maintain this world as a single piece woven in the intricate internetwork of things and stuff. Salute to them.

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Posted by on May 31, 2016 in Uncategorized

 

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Yellow hibiscus

Gopi had these beautiful birds collected in a wired cage. A few trees and flowery bushes, especially the red hibiscus in the background play with the eyes making one forget about the green coloured metal that made the cage. Birds of all colours were visible due to this spectacular arrangement. And this was a definite treat for the eyes whenever I visited Gopi’s place. My belief in freedom for all, won’t let me be to happy at seeing the caged bird, though!

We had this kid of the neighbour’s – Syamili who used to admire these birds. And she used to draw the birds on paper with her pencil colours. And to my fascination, the birds would sit still just so that she could complete her picture. She was very considerate about the birds too, where her drawing would not last for more than 10 minutes at a stretch. And a definite treat awaits the bird which agreed to stand still for this child artist. She would often have some piece of broken fallen fruit, sometimes mango or on other times guava that she picked up on her way from the street.

While me and Gopi would engage in the musings of the teen world viz. Cricket and science, this kid used to enjoy her company with the caged birds. Once, she used to have long conversations with the yellow bird, which was her favourite. She did the talking and to her spoken words apparently the bird was nodding or tweeting. Or was it the kid’s wild imagination! I had to check this out personally. And one day I could do that sacrificing the valuable time normally devoted to perpetual thoughts of the spellbinding universe also known as “nerd” talk.

Syamili was asking her friend, the yellow bird she had named as ‘Appu’. ” Appu, how are you today ?” . To my bewilderment a sober single twirp could be heard in reply.

She continued “Why , are you sad today ?”

Appu : ( no reply)

And I was about to rejoice on the my belief, my thought, that the twirp heard before was faux tympanic simulation

Syamili kept her colour pencils and writing pad on the ground. Some red ants which was searching for its way continued its pursuit from the damp soil onto the writing pad, only to move fast out the pad and back to the damp soil.

She said ” I believe that if I was closed in a cage like you, I would have been happy for a while. Because, I will feel safe and I would be taken care of by Gopi. I would have food and water. And I do not have to worry about finding my food. Or I would not be scared by any cats or bigger birds that may attack me , if I were a bird.”

Appu was nonchalant and seemed to look at a distance in deep thought.

” But , then after a while I would get bored, for I cannot meet any new birds like me. And I would be bored, I guess”

And there was a definite sharp tweet from Appu. Oh boy! It was as if the sound penetrated my bones.

“So I guess, now you are bored, unhappy and sad at the thought that you have no freedom to really fly”

Appu nodded ‘yes’.

“I heard Gopi is going on a tour for a week. I guess this would be a good chance for you to fly around and make new friends. May be you can return from your tour when brother Gopi also returns.”

Appu had turned its head at an angle as if in thought.

” OK ! I will ask Gopi, but I am not sure if he will let you out. You know he loves all the birds here, that is why he takes care of you very well. I am pretty sure that he would like to see you safe here all the time.”

saying this Syamili turned . At the same time Gopi was there with food for the birds, some grains and milk. The eager child wanted to feed the grains to the birds, and Gopi allowed her. Her tiny little hand would be as big as the birds themselves. And Gopi was concerned if the birds beaks would hurt her hand. The birds were delicate and enjoyed their dinner thoroughly, they all made some sound which was like a chorus music.

Syamili requested Gopi to let the birds go away for one week and come back when he returns from his trip. Gopi patted on the child’s head saying ” I am sure they won’t come back even if they try to . This is because Freedom is heavenly pleasure. And no creature would trade freedom for anything else. I feed them and take care of them . These have no meaning compared to them enjoying their own freedom. I appreciate your concern Syamili but I will not let them out. ”

“But then, have can you go on a trip and enjoy your freedom and not let them go ?”

For which Gopi replied ” I like them so much that I don’t want them to leave”.

Meanwhile, some friends had just brought in the news of a new finding of rose apple tree. And a child’s mind is so dynamic Syamili said a quick ‘bye’ to Appu and ran with the folks for her share of rose apples.

 

Next week, I was sitting at home like a caged bird, with nowhere to go. It was raining very heavily. I had not joined Gopi on his trip because it was his family’s tour. And then I had 2-3  days passing between the 3 teas that I had everyday in the morning , the brunch and the evening. Clouds parted and it was sunny for rest of the holidays. I joined the local group of Cricket gang and went to hangout with them. And the 10 -day school break just got over and I thought I should visit Gopi just before we were busy again.

There was this pleasant smell of from the red hibiscus flowers from Gopi’s garden when I took the turn to the entrance of his house. I could hear Syamili’s giggle as I entered the gate. Gopi was there playing with a puppy dog which was licking Syamili all over. And more giggles followed as the puppy played with her.

After a few exchange of pleasantries regarding the days of raining and his trip and my Cricket and his new puppy, I felt that something was missing in the background. The smell of hibiscus was somewhat stronger inside the plot. I checked to see how big the plant has become and there were undoubtedly lot of flowers ready to join the many others which have fell on the ground. And in the foreground to my surprise the bird’s cage was empty. I could not help wonder and asked Gopi what had happened? I asked if he had let the bird’s embrace their freedom. And then Gopi replied ” The birds were all dead when I returned from the trip.”  I was shocked and asked ” how and why ?”

He explained   ” There was this strip of coconut leaf hanging from a dwarf coconut tree that just about touched the bird’s cage. The ants had initially apparently come for the grains and later consumed the bird’s too. And when I returned the cage had only dead birds. And I cleaned the cage and threw all the remnants at the base of the hibiscus plant.”

I said “that is very sad, If only you had let them out . Atleast the guilt of causing their death, by capturing their freedom could have been avoided”.

With nothing more to say. I hung around with the new puppy. And left in sometime taking with me some of the hibiscus’ smell and the little girl’s innocent giggle. And at the gate when I turned to wave ‘bye’ to Gopi and Syamili , my eyes may have deceived me but I definitely saw a yellow hibiscus flower among the red.

 

PS: Adapted from True Story by Aneesh

 
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Posted by on March 15, 2016 in creativity

 

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AC Gayatri

Srikaalahasti is a really very very old temple of Worship. It is so old that the temple tower had collapsed some time back.  The temple is visited by people all over the world. It is situated in a very hot place for people who are not used to Andhra Pradesh.  Therefore, someone had very generously provided Air conditioning units in the sanctum . It is so positioned that we feel that the A/C also gets a feel of being side-deity-idol, as is common in many temples. Definitely the units there would feel so auspicious themselves by having Hundi in front of them. And therefore it is of utmost importance for a devotee not only to pray to God but also pay obeisance to these divine entities. A prayer to go with that in the metric of Gayatri is given here.

 

|| ॐ उष्णनाशकाय विद्महे

शीतकारकाय विद्महे

तन्नो ए\सी प्रचोदयात् ||

> In Romanaagari

||Om Ushnanasakaaya vidmahe

sheetakaarakaaya dheemahi

tanno A/C prachodayat ||

 

 

All Rights Reserved:

If you are using this for any commercial / advertisement purpose you should get the permission from the author

 

 
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Posted by on January 23, 2016 in creativity

 

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Snow

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The boy once asked for a land full of sugar

The God asked “fine or coarse grain, dear ?”

The boy said “finest fine is fine for me”.

And it was granted in cold white fine dust.

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The boy was mesmerized by chilly bus rides

Through the clouds on road which winded up the ghats

He asked for days of travel through the clouds

On the land, and there was cloud on the roads.

Inner Clock Tower Commons UB

The girl would shout with childish clamour

Excited when the container of rice flour

Fell on the floor, for she could walk and slide,

As if on snow; the roads were spread with white.

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The baby elephant who once tasted salt,in infant fantasy,

Wanted a world covered in the white powder,so tasty,

All over the surface, where it could roll, happily

Have a little or all whenever, it was the snow.

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The child in the grown-up wanted to fall

And never break a bone whatever the fall

And the coincidence happened near the fall

Niagara and the lake effect made it fall.

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The teen who got a sniff was addicted to the drug

And wanted the dreams through the stuff come true

In a sense of a joyous life full still on the brew

And sleep and walk on the white dust of the crew.

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Taking upon the task to complete the task all at once

How much was needed was beyond the measurement in tons

So, it was made simple, to let the cloud pass over the road

Make it feel chilly, cold, dusty and out of the world.

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The snow was made, not without much thought.

Based on the wishes as dreamy colourless white,

Shapeless, flaky, powdery, featureless sight,

Restless, slippery, forgery, seamless light.

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PS: Walk on the snow, Courtesy – Lake effect Advisory at Buffalo.

 
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Posted by on January 12, 2016 in creativity, poem

 

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Mental block

 

A wanderer by soul would wonder

To act, to go on to achieve what

To have the dream enact

Made possible without a bar

 

As I said I had to act I ran

To catch the bus if I can

Which was powerful yet busy

I thought I could catch it in few strides

 

So I ran, my legs moved so slow

I felt I moved, I was heavy,

But even after a fair “run” I did,

Made me nothing closer to destiny

 

Finding myself breathing heavily

It was not so much fun as a try,

Not even an exercise had made

To my schedule in a long time

 

The weighing machine doesn’t lie

Comments on my posted photos

Say the same that I have grown

And fatter than I thought I was

 

It was fall and trees had shed

Leaves that decorated the branches

Now lay coloring the ground

In hues other than green henceforth

 

Somehow the bus had waited

For the less privileged who could not

Make it on time, for it was usual

Among students who over slept and what-not

 

I meant business on the way out of bus

Of the bus that carried so similar dreams

All burst out onto the ground but

Kept moving without wind that blew the leaves

 

I barged into the class and I was

The presenter of a topic yet unknown

With guts of steel I approached the audience

Only to find me breathless with a struggled inhale

 

I blabbered on and on till they could take

No more; that was the idea to get

The applause that was uninvited

And a way to react and break away

 

The wind was cold and air was heavy

As lighthearted and peaceful I tried to be

But why I could not, I did not know, till I made

The discovery in a couple of steps to go on the way

 

I had the stimulant from the solace of

Tea that almost always had that punch

As I walked I came to face

The childish face that I admired

 

This kid had light lit on her face

And I had told her that at once

She took it for something else

Emotions of life that I had not explored

 

I was struggling to breathe, air I lose

Couldn’t Guess what she read on my face

It would have had evoked a joke in case

Lest I was stuck with something in my nose

 

Then it struck on me as I went my way ahead

The transparent look on the child left behind

What stuck on was just the mucus I had

To blow, to let off the blockage and all was set

 

 

PS:

Thanks to Dr.M

 

 
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Posted by on November 24, 2015 in creativity, poem

 

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I have a girl

This is a story/event as told by my friend Sarath.

There was this day in the middle of some other days. Sarath was travelling in the Delhi Metro. The climate was normal, as normal as Delhi could be. And the time was perfect, just like any other time. The travel was regular, as expected out of any Delhi commuter. Life became pleasant, in memory of this and many other funny incidents. As one may not expect, this was just the same unassuming, uneventful commute in life a Delhite. The train coach was full and still people came in. Occupying whatever space is left. The people quite talented at enterprising to get a foothold on this competitive world. And so there was this constant feel of getting pushed and getting squeezed in the crowded train coach. Pick-pockets create an additional effort to increase the pressure so that their job becomes easier. In middle of this there was this old lady who was quite self aware. She shouted at the boy who was standing next to her. For she was getting pushed. And if it was just the push for which the shout was aimed then again no one can help it. Further, the lady shouted at the boy for being disrespectful to women, and probably she spitted out quite a bit of her thoughts with venomous tongue standing for the collective emotions of womanhood. It is very unfortunate that the boy, whatever his intentions (known or unknown) got a tongue lashing in the public. A man of status in the boy could not bear it anymore. And there was something that he had to do. He had to prove his stand about his self respect and also his respect for the womanhood. What could he do? What reason can convince this lady that of his good upbringing? He needed a good defense shield.

With much courage this guy found a girl of his age next to him. He called out to the lady and said ” I have a girl, why do you think that I should bother you?” Saying so , he put his hand over the girl next to him.  This for sure silenced the lady. As an observer Sarath must have expected some reply from the lady. The crowd must have felt at peace for the defense of the boy and their expectation of an upright society, the boy being a building block of it.

And not a word was spoken later. Until the lady got out of train for her destination, grabbing the hand of the girl.

She was probably the lady’s daughter.

 
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Posted by on November 7, 2015 in Uncategorized

 

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Hands on Limerick the first time

I guess this piece works like Limerick,

form of poetry that maverick,

lines of thoughts jumble,

the words unclear mumble,

And this made my mind work with kick.

 

The journey of twenty six form

squeak and shout in mix quarrelsome

What is where is known

to the one who own

the power to wade through troublesome

 

 

Limerick Formula :

5 sentences:

1,2,5 longer, end in rhyme

3,4 shorter and end in rhyme

 
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Posted by on October 13, 2015 in Uncategorized

 

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Haiku on International Women’s day

God created her,
Hands that take care; mind that fare;
To help, love and share .

 
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Posted by on March 9, 2015 in Uncategorized

 

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Trying Haiku style for first time.

Is this a haiku
I cannot be very sure enough
To claim if it is.

The Fish of the water
Fresh of lake or of the sea
Tastes good when cooked well.

Born and breathe in water
Live and Die with the same water
Death, birth, repeat and replete

Where the life of fish
Goes with its ambulation
It knows not as the water

Crops grown with water
Makes the hunger die and let live
It is not the same without

Water used in
big city could cater to
many at outskirts.

We waste water, speak
Of life, love, thoughts, hate and death,
None would happen without this

—-

Trying haiku poetry for first time

Formula:
Line: Syllables

Line 1: 5,
Line 2: 7,
Line 3: 5.

PS: Updated/Edited to fit the haiku formula

 
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Posted by on February 18, 2015 in Uncategorized

 

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The rice ball of Morita

On any other day I would have agreed with my friend’s recommendation of getting some extra sleep. But today I felt somewhat odd. I was reading the story of Akio Morita the who made Sony. There was too much news on the media.

Some time back I watched Steve Jobs speech, an excellent speech that someone had shared on internet. Then suddenly the announcement of his death flashed in TV. A lot of people compared him to Einstein and Edison. But what had he done to society. Make some mad people who wait in queue to get some fancy gadget? Here, in my country, I see people standing in queue for water, for ration from ration shops, for voting, for getting tickets and for things that make life happen sustainably. But people out there mourn the death of a person who made a lot of money by making them addicts. Would it be the same if the liquor tycoons died and drinkers, Indians all over the sub-continent mourn their death by drinking more. What a tragedy it would have been! I should not talk bad about dead people let alone leaving ones. But questions and thoughts are one incessant flow without checkdams, until you open it out. My only relation with any apple being related to my digestive system, I ignored the news at first. Of course, my touchscreen phone cover has a bitten apple as logo, but it is considered an insult to give a bitten apple to someone. As far as ‘A for a full apple’ remains the learner’s rule, things are less harmful.

Continuing with the journey of Mr. Morita I could realize how much Japanese had suffered how it was that they , who believed “Made in Japan” to be of low quality item , made the same as one which people admire especially gadget freaks in the third floor of my apartments. They were involved in everything Japan, they didn’t believe in the USA, European or any other electronic merchandise. The thing was that there father had been to Japan and was a 5S guru in his office. The office got some recognition through implementation of 5S strategy. Theirs is an odd case, the two freaks, who may be called friends have their father a Gujarathi businessman and mother a Bengali. Sometimes I feel it is through her that the Japanese link came. She looks like a Japanese than anything else. Of course, I can’t tell the difference between a Japanese and Korean.

These freaks searched a lot for Japanese foods and settled for a Korean cuisine and Chinese if nothing else. They would go to a Korean Spicy chicken restaurant every Saturday after college hours and would learn Japanese from some place which has escaped my local expeditions. The duo would spend half their awake lives in Sony PS2 and both owned Japanese mobile phones. Their General Knowledge is not that sharp in that they didn’t know about the wireless charging mechanism that the Japanese telecom giant had commercialised. The philosophy of the Japanese caught my attention when the brighter of the two explained to me. The Japanese since the devastation during the nuclear attacks never went for war, they never made destructive weapons for themselves or for others. They are through commerce and technology the world leader, even the Western world looks upon them with reverence. So many calamities have struck them, manmade and otherwise. Frequent earthquakes and Tsunami’s are like seeing coconut trees in Kerala, always anytime anywhere. But they survived. They are the best examples of human race on that regard. They may not mingle with other races in mainlands as expected, but with their own language and culture intact they have helped themselves become mighty. “Had it been the Japanese who started conquests before the UK then I would be typing talking and reading in Japanese” sais the second freak. And saying this he lend a book for me to read , and that was about Mr. Morita. As I was engrossed in the reading I saw some rice balls steamed hot, and ready for stomach, (Kozhakatta) on the table. As the hand reached for one, the words I were reading struck me with awe. I read that Japanese eat rice and Mr. Morita was packing up some rice balls to be eaten enroute. I underlined those lines with red ink and bolted upstairs. They had been going to Korean and Chinese restaurant and here was the Japanese corporate leader going to have rice balls under my nose, I was reading with head down. I couldn’t wait to tell them this. I bolted off to meet those guys and announced my discovery. Their facial expressions did not flinch, and I was still wondering. It was lunch time and a sweet smell of something very familiar reached my olfactory senses. I checked my hands and made sure that there was no rice ball in my hand. The Bengali auntie called off loudly to both the boys “lunch is ready come and have it before it cools down, give that game boxes some rest”. With a small gap between the shoulders of the half Japanese boys I could see steam rising from a large transparent glass bowl. It was filled with rice balls.

 
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Posted by on February 10, 2015 in Uncategorized

 

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