Each time

Never stop;

especially when tempted to.

The joy it brings is one of pride, satisfaction and an immense sense of relief for having gone on, for not having given up.

Shamanth.

August 17th, 2011.

My Self

I am so awkward with people sometimes.

Well, it doesn't really matter.

What matters is what I tell myself - that I listen to myself; that I be myself.


Shamanth.
August 6th, 2011.

Growing up

Just like being lied to is a huge part of growing up, isn't lying a huge part of being a grown-up?

Shamanth,

10th August, 2011.

Stand

Dreams, Desires, Faith, Thought, Action, Perseverance, Hope, Resilience;

An entire artillery.

One tender heart.

Pretty Pink

Finish a good breakfast - ond upittu, ond coffee (strongu). Hurriedly, start for the bus stop.

Spot a newspaper stall amidst the morning rush.

Be reminded of the talk you have had with your father every other night of the last several weeks, and of your employment status - 'Recent Graduate (May 2009) actively seeking an Entry Level Position'.

The profile of a graduate unemployed for over eighteen months after finishing school is not recent enough for most companies to consider it suitable for an 'Entry Level' position. Nor does it qualify for a 'Senior' position for the lack of experience such a position demands.

May 2009 was over twelve months ago.

'Seeking an Entry Level Position' has been the status of your self since.

'Worried about him' has been the status of your father since.

Deliberate his suggestion one more time. Unlike you, he did not have the internet to search for vacancies when he was a 'Recent Graduate (May 1980) actively looking for an Entry Level Position'. With great reluctance, walk to the stall.

Ask for Employment News. It's your first time buying it. Curiously scan the items he has on display but fail to spot it. Watch him attend to others before he acknowledges your enquiry and disappears into the main shop behind the stall. A few moments later, watch him emerge with a thick bundle of papers, folded in his hands.

Ask him the price.

9 Rupees.

It is a weekly issue - priced almost twice as much as you expect a daily to be. Trade for it a ten-rupee note. Hold it outstretched, to take a look at the front page while waiting for him to return the change.

Gasp! before you are paralysed.

The blow, immense in power, is dealt at the centre of your guts.

A moment later, gather your shattered senses.

Close your eyes as you shake your head and scream out to the world -

Why. . .?

Why is it PINK?

The front page. . .

Why?

Just . . . why?

Only, no one hears you.

May be it is soft on the soul - the colour. Soothing, perhaps.

May be it is the government's way of pacifying its unemployed citizens - telling them not to worry. That it will be all right. That they will all find a job soon. That it will all be okay. Soon.

Pretty pink soon?

May be. Just. . . may be.

Pure Irony

Alone in the house, walk into a room,


a table with a writing pad on it; a pen lying across.


the clean, crisp page – untouched; blank and spotless – inviting.


the heart craves expression – pristine and unrestrained;


handicapped by form though, expression fails the heart upon a single touch.




Shamanth.

And they said. . .

Sometimes, words are just not enough. But for what they are worth, I'll always be grateful to them. And of course, to the people they belong to -

It is the natural progression of things. You are either happy with what you have or you strive for something more, better, and the key point is that you, living your life, happens somewhere in that striving. I mean it surely sucks in the present tense, but that's not a reason that your future tense should suck too. Because if you are not doing anything worthwhile in your present limited tick-tocking time then you definitely have a reason to mope around.

 - Rohit Tenpe

You're the only one who really cares.

- Chetan Kale

Never forget what you once believed in, even if you don't anymore - it is what helped you make your choices, when you did believe it.

- Adwait Paranjpe

A day when we wake up from our dreams, realizing that life has become an upside down tumbler with us trapped inside... we search for ways outside... a small crevice enough to gasp in a lungful of air, the primordial factor of sustenance...

- Pankaj Shivarama

Take care, stick around. The world is too full of mediocrity, and it takes a lot to keep going.

- Chinmayee Hiremath

There is always a point from where it begins but it is totally upon you when and where you'll end it. 'It' being everything.

- Diwakar Sinha

Enjoy while it lasts, and weep not when its gone.

- Mikimbizi

When we do what we love we don't even mind losing, just the satisfaction of being alive for a while is enough.

- Atrisa

No one has it all figured out. No one. If it seems like they do, they are doing a fantastic job of covering it all up. And you are doing a fantastic job of buying what they are selling.

- Tapan Hoskeri

Life is all about questions: why and why not?

 - Vaishnavi

Essence remains the same, expression varies.

- Meghana Naidu

For the love of it

I was so caught up with running towards something that I had forgotten how much I love running.

Running towards something means desperately racing against time, filling my head and chest with an increasingly throbbing pain; unlike the joy of running for the love of it which fills my heart with a strong, thumping energy that makes me want to go even faster with every push.

Shamanth,

26th March, 2010

Have pun

What is the one thing you wouldn't have to worry about when stranded on a deserted island?

"Going" anywhere.



Shamanth,
22nd March, 2010.

Not a joke

What is more painful than suppressing a laughter?

Faking one.




Shamanth,
18th March, 2010.

What it takes

Being there is all it takes.

Being there is what it takes.




Shamanth.

What you want

Do what you want to. You are not a character from a book. You are what you are. You are everything that your name brings to your mind. Don’t live your ideals for the sake of the ideals. You don’t need the approval of your ideals. Don’t seek from them what they can never provide you. They are but what you believe in. Live them only if and when you want to. Bend them, if and when you want to. Break them, if and when you want to. But believe in them when you do.

Not knowing what you want might make you lesser of a man that you are. However, the one thing that certainly makes you even lesser of a man that you are is not working towards what you know you want. Nothing else matters. Fight the world if you have to. Join the world if you have to. But do what you know you have to do in order to get what you want. Anything less is a compromise, precisely, of the man that you are.

Shamanth,

4th March, 2010.

A lot

It takes a lot to have a place of your own in a place of your own.

A lot.




Shamanth,
4th March, 2010.

My two C's

The power of choice over chance is that I can always choose to take it or leave it.




Shamanth,
25th February.

Have fun

Where's the fun (in)sanity?





Shamanth,
16th February, 2010.

Strive

When you can tell your reality from your ideals, you know you are living somewhere in between.




Shamanth,
13th February, 2010.

Take care

The world can sometimes turn out to be a sick place. Half the battle is won if you can stop it from infecting your mind.




Shamanth,
10th February, 2010.

To Be

Learn from the past.
Think of the future.
Live the present.




Shamanth,
8th February, 2010.

So you shall

Some underestimate you, some overestimate you;
You shall disprove some.




Shamanth,
7th February, 2010.

Trust me

Kill the timing, and it shall avenge in kind.



Shamanth,
4th February, 2010.

Unspoken

Every word not spoken,

is the closest to my heart.




Shamanth,
1st February, 2010.

Regret's never enough

Choosing fear over regret. . .
Because once I learn to handle fear, I'll never regret it.

Never.



Shamanth,
15th January, 2009.

Naturally

Excellence knows no mercy ineptitude seeks.

Brilliance sees no shadow ignorance casts.

Genius has no excuse foolishness offers.

mind clutter

thought flutters,
ruffles rest,
chaos ensues,
disorder reigns;

thoughts battle,
for attention,
each in lieu
of a solution;

mind freezes
sinks a chasm,
receding steps,
hit the bottom;

beaten, the violence,
steady, it grows,
hushing the thoughts
in silent throes;

settling down,
gather around,
approaching mind
slow, but sound;

make a choice,
pick a kind,
please a thought, but
at a time.



Shamanth,
31st December, 2009.

to live them

moments

so lovely,

last for

an eternity,

if only

as memories;




Shamanth,
29th December, 2009.

Those Eyes

And she closed her eyes.

Those eyes, when they looked at his, spoke so fervently. They spoke of love, of longing, of care, of reproach and of forgiveness. They spoke a thousand languages and showed a thousand places. But they never stopped there. They urged his to speak as well. They would listen intently and once in a while flit furtively, just a little, as if searching for that which was left unheard by his consciousness, untouched by his conscience and untold by his eyes.

But now, she closed those eyes, leaving his bereft of everything they ever sought, and much more. Now, shut close, they refused to speak; of what it was that thrived in them; of what it was they sought in his. Like a lovely book sealed shut, yet woeful for not being read, beneath the delicate lids, they trembled unbearably and drove his wild with despair.

If only,

they could speak silence.

I, Insomniac

I share a love-hate relationship with Sleep.
During the day it is deeply in love with me when, being at work, I ruefully decline to go to bed with it.
So it hates me all night, leaving me alone in bed.




Shamanth,
15th December, 2009.

About me

Deep, deep inside,

















I am pretty shallow.




Shamanth.

When

When
at the point of
utter helplessness,
the pit in your stomach
threatens to churn your insides out,
making you want to
embrace yourself
and be a curl,
on the ground,
it’s only vital
that you stand tall,
and forget not
to breathe at all.



Shamanth,
7th December, 2009.

Tired

What does the insomniac struggle to do?

Relax.




Shamanth,
30th November, 2009

Hope for the hopeless

I'm looking down now that it's over
Reflecting on all of my mistakes
I thought I found the road to somewhere
Somewhere in His grace
I cried out heaven save me
But I'm down to one last breath

I'm six feet from the edge and I'm thinking
That maybe six feet
Ain't so far down

Words by Creed. (Source - http://www.songlyrics.com/creed/one-last-breath-lyrics/)

Poetic Justice

Verbally speaking, I am not as witty as I would like to be, though occasionally I do surprise myself with my words. An incident I am rather fond of comes to my rescue here.

One fine day as I was engrossed in writing a poem, my friend (let's call him Adwait, because his other real name is Abhijeet), who is great with words, more so in his mother-tongue, Marathi, could not resist vaunting his quality of being a शीघ्र-कवी (sheeghra-kavi : an impulsive and an on-command one-shot-poet, if you will) to me, as he watched me writhe about in labour pains from my attempt at poetic delivery, for what he thought was a painstakingly long time.

"I get the job done quickly" was all I heard, as he spoke highly of his ability to write a poem when needed, in just a couple of minutes. On my end, I held up the plain old desire of expressing myself, the way I could and, hence, I would, no matter how long it took to get it right, which, before me, only a million must have said and done. But the look on his face (at least for argument sake, I felt) told me he was determined to save Time, as opposed to take it, when it came to writing. Realising the futility of arguing any further, I decided it was time to wrap it up. Vaguely shaking a fist near my face cringing with the sentiment of the words to follow, I said to him, (in a rather constipated voice, I may add) "Passion boss! Passion is what it takes!"  to which he replied wryly, "थोडा सा पागलपन काफी है ज़िंदगी के लिए|" (thoda sa paagalpan kaafi hai zindagi ke liye : life needs but a pinch of madness.)

Even as he began speaking, I had made up my mind to ignore his words, mumble a vague acknowledgment and continue with my work. But something about those words made me pause for a bit and play them over in my head. Looking at the words discretely for a moment I swapped just two of them and was amused at the diametrically opposite meaning brought out by the new sentence. With a triumphant smile, I shot it back,"थोड़ी सी ज़िंदगी काफी है पागलपन के लिए|" (thodi si zindagi kaafi hai paagalpan ke liye : madness needs but a pinch of life.)

The next moment filled the inside of my head with an imaginary round of applause, like a cheering only for me, for suddenly coming up with something remotely witty. Drowned in its din was his reply I could barely hear.

It is not often that I can think so fast, yet so clear. It is one of those things that one can never be taught and, unfortunately, it doesn't come to me so naturally.

Shamanth,

19th November, 2009.

in my head, yet again;

fleeting;
the memories of,

a smile,
of the face, I never met;

a gaze,
of the eyes, I never caught;

the touch,
of the hands, I never held;

the presence,
of the being, that never was;



Shamanth,
18th November, 2009.

Bereft

A light once revealed to me a brilliant world of Excellence.

It shines for me no more, leaving me fairly disoriented;

And now, bereft of the light's kindness, I'd rather be lost in that world, than be condemned to one filled with mediocrity.

Shamanth,

15th November, 2009.

For you; too little, too late

When all I wanted to do
was be there - 
with you, for you,

but simply couldn't;
(nor realise it then)

instead,
led you to believe
that it doesn't matter anymore;

And now, I realise,
how little is too late, this realisation;
for you don't care anymore.



Shamanth,
4th November, 2009

क्या करे

कभी ज़िंदगी से माँगा पिंजरे में चाँद ला दो,
कभी लालटेन देके कहा आसमान पे टांगो|

क्या करे ज़िंदगी इसको हम जो मिलें,
इसकी जाँ खा गये रात दिन के गिले|

-गुलज़ार

Alas!

Rise! O Sleepyhead, lest you hit the desk,

Wake! O Sleepyhead, 'tis no time to rest;

The day beckons, it makes the call –

"Work and toil! One and all!"

Dream shall you not, slumped in your throne,

work have you got - go be a drone;
Steeped in the twilight, of a computer,

slog in your cube-dom, for bread and butter;

Slower by the tick, the day moves on,
by eventide, a headache you've don;


Wait! O Sleepyhead, wait for your foam,

Hold! O Sleepyhead, we’re almost home;

Draw in the shades, turn off the lights,

crawl in your bed and say Good Night;

Sleep may you now, sleep may you well,

Until the dawn ringeth its bell;

Oh but the sorrow! Oh what a loss!

Fate, it seems, won’t let you doss;

Sleepy you were, sleep not you why,

O Insomniac! How restless you lie!

Shamanth,

23rd October, 2009

Home, he was

And he was home, after a very long time. He had been away for the first time, and back too since his departure. And now, being there – the presence of his own self in the place which was his home – he was happy. Extremely happy! And in such a state of exalted happiness he found himself torn between fetching memories of this place from his past to see, out of mere childish curiosity, how much of those resembled the present and imbibing every dram of now to make new memories while he still had the time. The frenzy seemed to dumb him down for a moment as an awkward grin found its way to his delighted face.

Soon enough it was time for him to leave home – once again. He was now back to being away. The air he now breathed was heavy with melancholy. He lay on his bed and closed his eyes, trying to fall asleep. Instead, he was unmistakably transported back home. His eyelids trembled. He now stood outside his apartment. Its brown wooden door appeared poised with the white wall around it; their edges blurred and running into each other. One corner of his eye held the door bell; the other held the black stairs running up. He stood motionless for a few moments. Then stepping back, he turned around and started walking towards the exit of the building. An old tube light hanging from the ceiling made a low buzz. The light from it showed varying shades of grey on the tiled floor and on the walls around till they ended in a blotch of darkness at the grilled exit gate. With every step, the roughness of the concrete floor outside the gate was growing vivid to his senses, like he was leaning against it. He stopped at the threshold and looked around. Yellow street lights and an occasional pair of wobbling headlights gave him a sense of the slope of the dusty street across. He stepped into the grainy darkness of the night.

This time, dumbed down by melancholy, he did not know whether to walk off into the night or go back inside his house or simply stand there. Choice was rendered futile in the pursuit of his past. But soon, he knew, the hopelessness of the pursuit would remind him of his present and eventually restore the power of choice for the sake of his future. "Soon," he whispered to himself and closed his eyes. When he opened them a moment later, he still wished he was on the other side of the world.

Discern

What is more challenging than recognising a counterfeit amidst the authentic?
 
Vice versa.



Shamanth,
29th September, 2009.

The Test

The bell rang and the kids scattered all over the hallway now scuttled in all directions fumbling through books and bags. Gathering his belongings hurriedly, Neil urged, "Come ON! Last ten minutes!" Without taking his eyes off the book Viraj nodded and signaled him to go ahead without him.

"In a bit . . .," Viraj said.
"OK!" Neil replied and dashed into the examination hall.

Few moments and Viraj was now walking into the room, all the while reading from the book in his left hand and a bag clutched in his right. He looked up to find his seat among what he expected to be rows of benches sparsely occupied by solemn faces, anxious to get the test over with. What he saw instead, perplexed him. He saw Neil in his Doctor's coat, stethoscope hung loosely around his neck, flipping through some medical files. A busy looking nurse walked around him. Looking up at Viraj rather apologetically, Neil said, "I . . . I'm sorry. . . the test . . . it . . . it came out. . . positive . . . But it's not too late . . . we still have a fighting chance. We can treat this . . . Trust me . . . "

The book and the bag seemed to disappear in the horrible dark pit that had begun to form in Viraj's guts. He tried to step back and breathe, but a grim heaviness arrested him. The bell rang again and suddenly with a violent jerk of his limbs he broke free and the next moment he felt as if his body was dropped on something soft but firm, as he fought the air.

His eyes were wide open with confusion and terror. Gasping for air, he now lay on his bed, thinking of what he had just dreamt. The bell rang again and he winced. He looked at the clock. It told him it was close to ten on a Sunday morning. The bell rang once more, even as he was getting out of bed, and this time it did not stop till he opened the door with a sleepy face cringed in the morning sun.

"What took you so long, Dad?" screamed his nine-year old as he scrambled inside, dropping his cricket bat into a corner.

"Straight to the bathroom!" Viraj yelled, looking at his son's grazed skin covered in dirt, as he was settling down on the couch to play his video game.

"Just one game, Dad!" he pleaded as the system booted.

"NOW!" thundered Viraj, who had hastily followed his son to the video game and was, now, holding his finger on the 'Power' button of the system threatening to switch it off.

Reluctantly pausing the game, which had hardly begun, the kid threw the joystick on the couch with an annoyed grunt and stomped his way to the bathroom. Viraj let a sigh out as he watched him leave.

Looking around the empty house he wondered where Neeta was. Walking towards the phone he saw a little note stuck on its receiver. Ripping it off, he read it -

Off to the temple with the gang – last minute plans, as usual! Didn't wanna wake you up. Will be back by noon. There's cake in the fridge. Oh and btw, Good Morning :)

Luv,
Neet

He smiled warmly as he folded the note and slipped it into his pocket. He picked the phone, dialled a number and waited awkwardly till he heard a voice on the other end.

"Hey . . . ," answered Neil.

"Hey," Viraj said, "were you sleeping?"

"No, no . . . what's up?"

"Mmm. . . nothing much," Viraj paused for a moment before continuing reluctantly, "well, actually. . . I just wanted to make sure, this one last time . . . ,"

"DUDE!", Neil interrupted in a reassuring voice, "Stop worrying! I've told you several times. I have verified the results myself . . . twice!"

"Ya . . . I know . . . I just . . . ,"

"Listen, I do understand what you might be going through. I know it is scary. But TRUST ME, you don't need to be. Not anymore," Neil asserted. "It was a stupid mix-up at the lab. The test is most certainly NEGATIVE. You are perfectly healthy. There's no tumor growing in your head. There never was. I'm telling you as your doctor and your friend – STOP WORRYING about it!"

"OK . . . ok . . . ," sighed Viraj, "I will . . . I will . . . Thank you . . . Really . . . Thank you . . . "

"GOOD. Just relax, OK?"

"Yeah . . . I. . . I'll talk to you later . . . "

"Sure. Take care. Bye"

"You too. Bye."

Viraj closed his eyes as the phone clicked. Drawing in a slow long breath, he opened his eyes as he let the air out with a faint smile. Turning around he opened the fridge as two little wet feet ran across the room hastily towards the abandoned joystick.

"Want some cake?" Viraj said, peering into the fridge.

"Yeah!" came the reply.

Dormant

Patience, my child,
is the key to sleep.



Shamanth,
15th September, 2009.

Rise

The hardest thing to do,
is what you want to.



Shamanth,
13th September, 2009.

Savaged

The three of you are eating chaat at a South Indian Cafe in Silicon Valley, US. You all know eighteen Rupees in Mumbai, India fetches much better delectables than the eighteen dollars you spent above, did. Well, you rue.

The geek talk gives way to lewd talk about a girl – an acquaintance of one of the guys. You may not be the gentlest-of-men, but you are not the lecherous kind either.
Well, the two of you are not; the third one acts so. It's his forte. He pines for the girl, you laugh. To extend the joke, you laugh scornfully at the piner and in a threatening tone, remind him of his girlfriend in India.
With a blank glance, he corrects the tense of your reminder – from present to past.

The joke's on you, buddy!

You bite your lip – regret is never enough. You cannot escape but ask, "Why, you guys broke up?" with what you hope is a straight face. What follows is a straight answer.

"She got married," he stirs the food on his plate, you fight your expressions.

"Was married off - against her consent, by her parents as soon as we told them about us."
He looks down at his plate with defeated eyes.

Your heart cries. Were you the General of an army, and the piner – your warrior, you would slay him for meeting defeat and then avenge him by killing the monsters.
Civilisation condemns such ferocity.

Instead, "Oh shit!" is what you utter, and mean.

Brevity reigns. Propriety prompts, you inquire about the necessary details and finally curse the girl's parents, Indian society and fate for ruining a four year old relationship over religious trivialities.
Silence follows, more depressing than awkward, till the piner dismisses the subject with an entreating dejection.
You, the General of an emotionally incapacitated army, sigh.

The lewd talk resumes.

Solace

A bench,
a book,
sunset.


Shamanth,
28th august, 2009.

Forever

The lonely bench,
awaits your company,
only to be
left alone again -

when,

you
find yours.



Shamanth,
19th august, 2009.

Smoken

Curling through the air,
weaving threads, of
delicate existence,
the haze wisps,
towards the sun
and
a pale shadow
trails.



Shamanth,
18th august, 2009.

Strange

Strangers in my dreams
lose their faces,
when mine is astir.


Shamanth,
15th august, 2009.

A promise never made

The bus roared away after dropping him off. Adjusting his shirt between his back and the bag pack, he started walking towards home. The familiar street did no more than watch him placidly.

The Recession (of 2008) had cost many recent graduates like him months of applying, preparing, interviewing and waiting for responses from a myriad of companies. Just two weeks ago, he was hired by one. That was his first job ever, and today - his first pay day. So, he thought with a smile, let me put my mind at ease for a while. That his story wasn't much different from million others' did not matter; that it was his story, mattered.

He had assured his parents of making arrangements with his bank to repay the monthly installments for his education loan. There were a few more trivial accounts to be settled. But all of that can wait one more night, he thought.

Approaching home, he saw a bunch of cheery kids hovering around an ice-cream truck parked nearby. For years he had spotted this truck being driven around the block, selling chilled joy. But he never bought one from it. Perhaps, it never occurred to him. "And you say you love ice-creams!" he said to himself mockingly.
Then, smiling complacently, he walked up to the truck and bought himself his favourite – a chocolate ice-cream.

Not yet

"आँखों में सपने लिये,
घर से हम चल तो दीये,
जाने यह राहें अब लेजाएंगी कहाँ |"
-Shaan

"I begged for this", he sighed. "I cried...for THIS!" He wasn't sure if that was a question he was asking himself. But the words echoed through his head. He turned the volume of the player up a notch and crossed the street awkwardly, rocking clumsily to the beats. The world seemed to lose its charm when needed the most. Sometimes, even the need faded. Nothing was wrong in particular. But it was, in general.

Once home, he turned the player off as he dropped his bag besides his bed. The song continued on his lips, loudly. His roommates usually returned home a couple hours later and he liked having the place all to himself till then. Today it felt a little calmer than usual. A few violent splashes of cold water against his tired face, with his eyes open, left them blinking furiously and his lungs gasping for air, as if he had just been rescued from drowning in a cool lake.

Memories of his mother's scrumptious snacks sometimes flashed unannounced, more so while buttering his toasts in the evening, leaning against the kitchen counter.
"So much for education and career!", he sighed. He reminded himself to call his parents in India, before he slept tonight. In the last two years, since he had moved to the US, whether time had dashed or stretched – he could not tell.

On the couch, he sat looking outside the balcony. Past the clutter of window shades, trees, rooftops and wires, he scanned the visible patches of the sky for an early moon. On their way back, his eyes caught a brilliant gleam. The sinking sun had become a radiant speck in the thick glass of a round lamp hanging from the balcony's roof. The colossal ball of fury was tolerably visible in the glass. "Perspective!", he thought, amused at the beauty of simplicity and the power of perception. Smiling palely, he stared at it for a while.

The player was on again. Stretching along the length of the couch, he folded his knees slightly upward and rested his lower back against the side arm. He selected a soulful instrumental track. Punctuating the silence, the music slowly grew into it. Every rising note stirred his mind. Random, but warm memories beckoned a surge of emotions. The seemingly simpler life he had left behind mocked him. A few loved ones – some estranged, some closer than ever, some not so close anymore, some just the same and some new ones – all smiled. His eyes closed, but tears found their way out. Even before he could react to his emotions, his nose twitched and he sneezed as his head jerked ahead in violent obedience. He stared blankly in disbelief, panting, for a moment. His own body would not allow him some graceful solitude at times! He chuckled and adjusted the earphones. The music grew again and engulfed him completely this time. He slowly rested his head against the couch and every tired muscle in his body loosened. A tear tickled his cheek till it dropped down on his forearm.

An Angel, I saw

Like a fleeting song,
On a radio being scanned,
Her smile - Evanescent,
In a crowd of nameless faces.


Shamanth,
31st july, 2009.