A Night Trek | Kaurava Kunda | 12-April-2014

NOTE: Pictures will follow soon! 

Some time back, I saw ‘Yeh Jawani Hai Deewani’ and that closed the deal. In the movie, a nerdy looking girl goes on a trek to Himalayas and meets a group of people that changes her life and in the process she rediscovers herself. As the movie ended with yet another cliché teary eyed Bollywood ending, I was certain that rediscovery or not – I had to go trekking. Freedom is after all not reality, it is, like any other story an idea that enters your head like a happy bug and then stays there.

And so I registered myself on Bangalore Trekking Club (BTC) ® (http://www.bangaloretrekkingclub.com/) and started looking for a Beginner’s trek which would not take me away from work and yet provide that necessary thrill of a journey worth remembering. And then there it was – A night trek to Kaurava Kunda, near Chikaballapur which is a small town 75 km away from Bangalore. I had never heard of the place or the trekking range, but how does it matter for a first time trekker like me, I thought and gave it a go.

It was the evening of 12^th April 2014, when it started raining in Bangalore and checking the weather conditions, I saw a storm at Chikballapur late in the night. I called up the organizers and found they knew their stuff and had contingency plans in case of emergency. That put my mind at ease. With no previous experience, I carried some basic stuff like Sleeping Bag, a torch (a must for night trek), energy bars, juice and lots of water. ‘And let the journey begin,’ a little unsure me told myself as I boarded the bus to Bangalore bus stand near Majestic.

Meeting new people can be unnerving for some, especially for people who spend almost the entire day coding their life out on a computer. But that was the beauty of this plan – to bring in a few people who are wrecked with their monotonous week and spend some time getting to know and hopefully make friends with new people. And though I met everyone at the bus stand and all looked forthcoming, I had my reservations on travelling without some common friends. It was all about to change.

We started our journey at 8 PM. We made small talk with each other on the way to Chikaballapur. Some guys who already knew each other from previous trek @BTC were very obviously much more comfortable in their zones. But Anshul had pointed out that there would be introductions later – ‘So don’t worry,’ he said which I later found was his favourite dialog.

Chikaballapur is a small district about 75km from Bangalore, which can be reached easily through a KSRTC bus. The journey takes about 1.5 hours and takes you through Hebbal-airport road. Due to traffic, we reached the town at about 10 in the night and started walking towards the foothills of Kuarava Kunda which is about 5km from the town. The road took us to the outskirts and into the villages. In a secluded corner, we all were told to stop for introductions. One by one, under Ramya’s glaring torch into our eyes, everyone introduced themselves and then recounted their previous experiences trekking with BTC. The surprise of the party was Kishore who turned out to be a professional singer and was aiming for World Record in balancing certain things on his nose and chin, skills which he demonstrated as well.

As the night fell and moon shone bright in the west, we reached the foothills of Kaurava Kunda between sleeping villagers and barking dogs. The hill looked a little formidable and mysterious in the night but that added to our already enthused adventurous spirit and we began our ascent to the summit.

One funny feature of this ascent were the over enthusiastic tail wagging dogs who decided to accompany us on the hilly trail right up to the top. It was funny because the guys decided to have a go at Garima who was very vocal about her fear of dogs. I guess the dogs too conspired with everyone to give everyone a good laugh. But frankly even I was not very fond of this idea of dogs chasing us around on a hill top (Alright! I was scared too!)

From the foothills, there are steps leading to the Shiva temple. This part of the trek was fairly simple and everyone decided to take a break here. Someone among the group wondered why this place was called Kaurava Kunda and we got some pretty hilarious and historically incorrect replies. Basically nobody knew. But who cares till you having a good laugh.

The organizers at BTC were very understanding when it came to people like me and few others who were trekking for the first time. ‘We will take 100 breaks, if you ask us to,’ Virander told us.

From Shiva temple we began a much more arduous journey over steep slopes and rocky terrain. Everybody was helping everybody and that made the bond even stronger. It was an example of true team spirit and accolades to BTC for bringing out the best in everybody. We collected twigs and dried branches on the way anticipating a bon-fire at the top.

We reached the top at about 1:30 in the morning. Sometimes in life, you put everything into perspective. But before all of that, you take a massive leak! Alright, no crude details from here on.

I will give the perspective in the last paragraph because right now more important things first – Maggi. We all sat down with our cup noodles in hand as the organizers set up the fire and boiled water. We put on our jackets and in the mean tried to keep the dogs at bay who wanted a piece of everything we were trying to eat.

Someone was definitely making notes on ‘first timers’ with BTC because as soon as we finished our Maggi noodles, people cried out dance and there we were – the ‘first timers’ who had to showcase their dancing talent. Well, as always I danced on item numbers only! ‘Sheela Ki Jawani’ is a must if I am dancing. Then there was Chikni Chameli by Garima, Lungi dance by Virander and Swati. And a cool performance by Kishore (is there anything this guy doesn’t do). And then everybody in the group joined in to shake some legs.

We then settled down in a circle around the camp fire and discussed the most famous topic in the world - our first crush/love. Ramya had a very funny story to tell about Complan boys. Everybody spoke with an air of nostalgia of ‘those days’ when we were young (some only 3^rd standard). Nobody got sentimental, thank god. But amazing stories were told – some funny, some heart breaking and some just downright cute.

At about 4 AM, Ankit prepared some awesome coffee. It is called ‘Ankit Special Coffee’. One of the secret ingredients in this coffee was – believe it or not - salt. But it was amazing. Standing on the top of a hill - with chilly winds blowing away - having a coffee at 4 in the morning. There are only few things in the world that can beat that.

We talked some more, while some people (Yes Virander – You!) slept.

In the morning, we were greeted by a beautiful view of the city. People decided to go to the edge and enjoy the scenic view. Almost everyone cried out when we saw the sun rising above the horizon in the east. It was bright, it was orange, it was majestic.

Channa, you have clicked some of the most amazing morning pictures I have ever seen. He went to immense pains to get that right shot while everybody posed with the rising sun.

The descent was quick and uneventful. It is important to keep track of your foot while descending because there is a lot of loose soil at Kaurava Kunda and hence the needed precaution. Channa made sure he got the right clicks by descending way before us and then calling out with a whistle signalling us to stop and pose.

After a few group pictures at the foothill, we started the long walk back to the bus stand. Abhishek and Swati decided to race to the end and it ended in a close tie but fun to watch. We encountered grape vines and a big well before we decided to stop in the middle of a field and have breakfast. Over some bread/jam, khakra and coconut water, we shared a few laughs before finally reaching the bus stand. I was so relieved that I wanted to die. And then it’s a blur till Bangalore! But what amazing trek, what amazing people and what an amazing night.

So the perspective, an afterthought that, at the end of it all, lives with you all your life.

At 1:30 in the night, we were at the top of the hill. And there I was - you are standing on top of everybody your eyes can see. You are above everyday nuances of life and you are away from the chaos of everyday struggle. You are above the sleeping towns and hollow people. You are above the noise that threatens to burst your ears and smoke that fills your lungs. You are not on top of the world and yet you are. You are not deaf but you let the roar of the wind filter any unwanted sound that troubled you for so long. And here you are, at the summit, drenched in sweat, letting the wind ruffle through you hair, letting it slap your face, letting it drum your ears, letting it fill your nose and letting it touch your soul.

Let’s Ask For That Change

Everyone is talking about change now a days. They are all asking change in public utilities, change in government policies, change in climatic conditions, change in society  and change in perceptions. I am also concerned about change. I am concerned about my change. The change that I deserve. The change they have robbed me of. The change that they all owe me.

I read newspaper (worth Rs.3) every day. World economy is facing a slowdown. US economy is still hanging on a balance. Euro zone is in pits. But guess what - Indian economy is thriving. Ah! don’t believe what the share markets or industry experts tell you. They don’t know what is happening in India since they are busy - shouting all day. Don’t trust the local traders as well because they are also busy shouting. They are shouting the trading rates of shares, bonds and commodities. And they are so busy shouting that no one has the time to wonder where these commodities are going or who is buying them. Well, I am buying them.

And it so happens that after all the shouting and ding-dong in the mandi (market where pulses (worth Rs. 42), vegetables etc. are sold), I buy some potato (worth Rs. 31), a little tomato (worth Rs.21 ) and one onion (worth Rs. 4). Onions have become really expensive for me to buy now, you see. “Chappan rupya hua hai!,” cried the vegetable monger (Rs. 56 in total). I hand him Rs. 60 and wait for my change. Keeping the notes firmly in one of his wooden boxes the monger started helping another customer with his vegetables. After a lull of about 5 seconds, he looked up at me. I looked back at him. His ‘look’ changed to frown followed by my own burrowed frown. Only when his expression turned into quizzical that I demanded my change. The vegetable monger was horrified. The customer-in-waiting besides me gave me a how-cheap look. Fed-up of all these twisted faces, I decided to leave the place with dignity (worth Priceless).

These people have now devised strategies to steal my change. They tag their services with prices such as Rs. 399 or Rs. 1099. Now when I give them 100 rupee notes, they slyly rob me of that 1 rupee extra I give them. They are all in this together and they are all out to make me poorer by not giving back the change.

I remember the good old time when nobody was really worried about the economy or about inflation or rising petrol prices (worth Rs. 73). Times like these, I had to beg at home for a rupee to buy even an ice-cream gola (worth Rs. 1). You had to fight with the rickshaw wallahs for every 2 rupees. These were good times - since there was no 500 rupee note, people always had change.

Today, people have devised new methods to loot people of their change. Not two but three shining examples of this phenomenon that has caught up with all general store owners and others:

1    You go to a store and buy a Sneakers chhoti waali (worth Rs. 15) and give the owner Rs. 20. He always tries to sell me a Five Star chhoti waali (worth Rs. 5) along with it to avoid giving me the change. He wants to eat away at my 5 rupees! I could buy a coke chhoti waali in 1998 with 5 rupees.

2    I ordered a few books from an online store. The books cost me 1057 rupees and I gave 1060 rupees to the delivery boy. The guy took the money and left. No sir! Not even a word about 3 rupee change.

3    Once travelling in a city bus, the conductor in the bus told me that I can take the 8 rupees in change the ‘next time’ I board the same bus. How kind of him. But how will I find the same bus in 1000s of other buses in the city is a still a riddle to me.

The worst part is – you cannot, you just cannot ask for the change. Because if you do, you are labelled as cheap. People in the city bus stare at me if I ask for my own change. Grocery store owners talk to me with contempt once they come to know that I won’t take a candy for the change they owe me. Nobody wants to talk about the change they have to give me back.

I beg of these people to watch and study share markets, US economy news, Euro zone crisis, recession, inflation and everything that is making me poorer and give me back my change. This Diwali, with Goddess Lakshmi as my witness, I took an oath to always ask for my change. I don’t care if it is humiliating to ask my own money back. I don’t want that extra five star with the Sneakers. I just want my change back!

When I was little, I used to maintain a piggy bank where I used to store all the change that I got from the once honest shop owners.  And whenever it was full I used to break it with anticipation, counting how much money I had collected. And it used to be sufficient to buy unlimited candies. Now there is no piggy bank. All that is left is a bank and a credit card which I use to avoid being robbed of any change only to look with the same anticipation and a little dread at my credit card bills.

It’s been years now since I last held that shining one rupee coin or a little heavy five rupee coin. But I often wonder that if I don’t have change, if my friends don’t have it and the shopkeepers don’t have it then who owns the change that all of them owe me. I promise, anyone telling me where my change is will get all the change owed to him. So, here is to bringing about that change because change is our wallet’s right and we shall have it.

Flyting too high – Flying a little too low

There are two things I see every day:

1.       The standoff between KFA and its employees on the overdue payment of salaries in the daily newspaper.

2.       A huge poster of Siddharth Mallya smiling sheepishly out of a ‘Hunt for Kingfisher Calendar Girl’ poster.

KFA (Kingfisher Airlines) was a birthday gift from Vijay Mallya to his son Siddharth. And he has managed to do what every kid in the block would do with his birthday gift- flaunt it to his friends, play with it and then utterly bored let it rot in a corner. The interesting fact in this case being that both father and son happily played with it and then decided to take a vacation on some exotic island.

Vijay Mallya, without any doubt, is quite an icon. With his flashy lifestyle, Nirma washed white jackets and scantily clad girls giggling around him, he has been able to do what no Aditya Birla or a Ratan Tata could ever achieve – gain a paparazzi. And his son followed right into the big and hairy footsteps of his father by dating a super model actress and going right ahead and kissing her during an IPL match. Now this begs me to reminisce the news I read a couple of years ago. Remember ‘Operation Majnu’ in U.P. where girls and boys were rounded up by police and beaten up for being ‘indecent’. I am sure some policemen watching that match might have realized that the suave Mr. Mallya Jr. is quite some ‘Majnu’ himself.

I must tell you that I, along with a lot of 20s something sincerely revere Mr. Mallya Sr. for his contribution to the liquor industry by making some of the cheapest brands in alcohol and making all of us falling in love with the Kingfisher bird on their logo. Some of us even went ahead and sang songs of merriment which went like ‘Oo La La La La Le E O’ (Or was It.. Le Le Lo!). We were hurray to the king of good times till he was serving us some cheap and nice beer. But then one day, probably Lord Brahma appeared in Mr. Mallya’s dreams and he got all sober and started buying air planes. The next day to reaffirm his devotion he bought some cars and called them ‘Force India’. And just the other day he bought a cricket team with some cheerleaders and pit girls who came free of cost because Virat Kohli was playing for them.

In the mean time, when he was busy buying all these stuffed toys for himself and his son, he forgot that he had also hired a staff that he has to pay. It was a sad day when the wife of one of his employee committed suicide after the KFA fiasco due to enormous economic constraints. It was sadder that Mallya Jr. decided to tweet about his bikini volleyball match on the same day. I am sure that the combined cost of travel and living expenses of father-son duo would have been sufficient to feed that family for atleast a month. But obviously there is no time to ponder over these facts when there is an F1 race coming.

“No one likes him but everyone wants to live like him,” said one admirer. I agree. Who wouldn’t want to live like him. When you have a personal yacht, a jet and numerous properties all around the world, you would be envied and looked up to. Though today, it is an entirely different situation when the people looking up at him are ones who have not been paid by him for last 7 months. Their condition is desperate. Many had to move their families because they could not afford the expenses. Many had to re-register their kids in different schools. And where is Mr. Mallya all along? You and I can only guess..

 You can enjoy the vacations Mr. Mallya Sr. and Jr. and being citizens of this great nation where the rich remain rich, we know that you will pour Champaign on Kingfisher calendar launch for years to come but remember that that one Champaign could have saved the life of that unfortunate woman whose husband was a little more unfortunate to be employed by you. He lost his job and then his wife. Bad times have just begun I guess. Not for you, obviously.

An Open Letter to Mr. Arvind Kejriwal

Keeping up with the trend of writing open letters to ‘celebrities’, here is an open letter to Mr. Kejriwal.

Dear Mr. Kejriwal,

I must begin by saying that unlike you I do not belong to any political party and do not support one as well (both openly and discreetly). I am, much like you, a humble citizen of this great nation who dreams of a united and corruption free India.

Let me also clarify that I used to be a great fan of your’s (and Anna Hazare’s) movement against corruption till I realized that it was becoming an everyday affair for you guys to stage an agitation or sit on a hunger strike. So, like many other enthusiastic youngsters shouting away how they love their country, I too got bored. You, obviously realized to a very thankful stomach of yours that even the public is bored of too many of these strikes and the anti-government agenda. So one fine day, you had a great lunch and called it all off.

In my opinion, the entire Anna Hazare team should be lauded for bringing a social and everyday evil like corruption on the national stage. But one must question, like many a leaders have, where do I stop agitating and do something about it. Because after all we too, the common man (or should I say the Mango people) are involved in this corruption. Don’t we want to pay that extra hundred to a cop to let us go when we cross that signal or a couple of more hundred when we don’t wear our seat belt? Don’t we bribe an RTO officer to push our application on top of the stack? Or don’t we give an expensive gift to that bank employee when we want a loan approval?

Mr. Kejriwal, since I am a common man like you and Mr. Prashant Bhushan, believe me I am not concerned if Kalmadi is swimming in crores of rupees or if A. Raja allocated some spectrum (my phone bills are still same) or if Kanimozhi bought her way out of jail. Yes, it hurts me to see these people I have chosen to power behaving irresponsibly but then you see, Mr. Kejriwal, I had no option. It was either Congress or BJP or some other obscure regional party. It was like taking a pick from Mayawati or Mulayam and Karunanidhi or Jayalalitha. And you might just whisper it in hushed voices and never say it aloud, but all these parties are full of corrupt people. So, I thought let me vote Congress and see if they can do better. Sadly, they couldn’t.

It is then that people like you – educated, good orators and people with a will to change the society decide to form political parties. If you notice the fathers of our political movement, leaders like Pt. Jawahar Lal Nehru or Sardar Vallabhai Patel, they too dreamt of a great nation and formed political parties without realizing that it would take just 60 years to turn that nation into a market of corrupted politicians. Still I would respect them as politicians because they had a broad and vast horizon of thinking and planning. But Mr. Kejriwal, I am sure you realize that there are scores of other problems plaguing this great nation and corruption is just one amongst them. How do you expect me to find a leader in you when you have no say in any other matter besides corruption. Why don’t you talk about Kashmir issue, Telangana issue or say the FDI or how do you plan to improve the educational system in India or how would you bring about health care reforms. All you do is go around Delhi protesting with people who are now equally jobless.

You, Mr. Kejriwal, along with Mr. Bhushan decide to talk about one Robert Vadra. Again, you have to trust me, I don’t care about Vadra or his dealings with DLF and you know why? Because LPG prices just got inflated by Rs. 11. And that is a bigger concern for me and mango people. But let’s say, you have our best interest at heart and you want to save tax payer’s money (Please note that ‘Mango people’ are creating fake identities to save taxes from government and this is just one way they are duping on the taxes), then why in the world do you wait for a day to reveal that ‘extra information’ that you have. It prompts me to question your motive. Is it sensationalism in the media you want to create or are you just playing with our minds? Do you want to say, “Let these guys wait for a day. Let them churn their brains before I make my grand revelation infront of the lenses.” Well, let me congratulate you because you have achieved exactly what you wanted - create a national celebrity out of you.

You have a vision of a great nation Mr. Kejriwal. Don’t let it be obscured in petty media gimmicks because I am sure you know that there are people sitting on hunger strikes in North East who don’t make a huge cry about it. There was also, recently a sadhu who died on the bank of Ganges trying to protest against the impurities the mango men dump in it every day. The government did nothing in their case as well. But has it done anything in yours? Those people atleast did not make a fool of themselves by calling off the hunger strike and then forming a political party. They died for their cause, sir. Please take a moment and let it sink in.

I am sure you are not offended by me calling the people of India (including me) as mango men. It might be a slang for some but for me it is a namesake. We are all so seasonal and we so depend on some good rain, in the end just to be eaten by animals or if we are lucky an educated man who will peel us before eating.

Regards,

A Mango Man

Understanding Dudes - Dudism, its origin and ethnic culture

Yesterday night I was enjoying a quite stroll with Nimmo who was busy contemplating the jewelery she would want to wear at her sister's wedding while I was busy thinking of loans or better – suicide. Nimmo was saved of an early widowhood by a boy shouting over to his friend, 'What the f*** dude'. Unfazed by the use of a swear word, the other youth promptly replied, 'Dude! What the f***'. And deeming the conversation over, zipping their leather jackets they both rolled away on their bikes, leaving me impressed with this new form of conversation which was not only short and crisp but also let people swear others without any harm meant or done.


Keeping the idea of suicide on hold for a while (it was still 6 months for my sister-in-law's wedding), I followed up on swear words with a meticulous research on the subject and found that what I was looking at is not just an art of conversation as I had initially thought but infact a society now gaining popularity after years of torture, social trauma, injustice and sub domination. Little did I know that my misadventure was leading me directly into the world of – the mighty and revered – 'The Dudes'.


With the help of Ballu's son Bittoo who turned out to be a self-confessed converted dude, I delved deeper into their world and secrets and was mesmerized by the organizational structure of the dudes community. Bittoo, who preferred being called by his dude name – Hunter, was more than willing to share with me the secret and then if found eligible, convert me to dudism as well.


As it turns out, an aspiring dude should have the following characteristics in order to be referred as a true dude: a) A goti mustache just below the lower lip b) a torn jeans that always threatens to slip below the hip showing off unwashed boxers and c) atleast one 'f' word in every 3 sentence. These characteristics mixed with some chronic disorders of unkempt hair filled with lice, uncanny habit of not bathing for a week and sudden impulses of forming a rock band, together promise the making of a complete dude – since 1825.


Though now seen in huge numbers in the metropolitan areas wandering road sides or roaming in malls with dazed eyes and no specific purpose, dudism is infact a very old religion which was curbed by years of so called reformist propaganda. Those of us fortunate enough to study the dude lore can tell you that the first signs of dudism can be traced back to Mahabharata and it is often said that Duryodhana was the first dude to be born in India. Now a deity of the dudes, Duryodhana set an example for everyone by going almost pinto infront of his mother and hurling abuses at Krishna, as Hunter very proudly recalls reading from their sacred text – 'Ddudo Nahao Ddudo Phalo'. Dushasana, following the large and ugly footsteps of his brother was the first converted dude who tried, unsuccessfully, to convert Draupadi into a dudette. Dude historians however argue that Draupadi, owing to her husband management skills, was infact a dudette in disguise. The legend was famously depicted in the screenplay – A Very Dirty Picture.

During my extensive travels over the past few months, I met dudes from all over the country, fraternizing with them and understanding their culture. I found that though some typical qualities are spread across India, every region has its own kind of dudes. The dudes from Chandigarh are often adrenaline high and would jump on any occasion to do the most dim witted thing in the world because its 'Oye Cool Oye.'. The Delhi dudes on the other hand have recently devised a new language called 'Hinglish'. They often revert to this language to hide their inadequacies at English which according to them is 'Nahin yaar. This is not so cool yaar.'. Rajasthani dudes are the simplest of them all. They are all just Rajasthan Royal fans, though they deferred from choosing Duryodhana as their lord, choosing Shilpa Shetty instead - to symbolize dudette power. Anyone doing a Lux Cozi adverisement is a dude in Mumbai with all the links you need to become a penniless homeless model (or did anyone say gay?). In Southern parts of India, anyone with a good pelvic muscle which can be gyrated to and fro and misunderstood for being a dance can call himself a dude (Mind it!). Sadly, all the dudes in UP and Bihar have been killed either by the mafia or in a covert operation by Shiv Sena. “We won't let the most awesome dudes come from this region. Jai Maharashtra.”, they said in unison.

Bittoo a.k.a. Hunter also introduced me to his Holiness Monty-IV in my search for spiritual guidance under the laws of dudism. His Holiness, sitting on a red Harley Davidson very calmy told me, “Dude, A true f**kin' dude always remembers to love three f**kin' thin' – mah hair, mah i-pod and mah gal”. The “gal” sitting behind him cried in exclamation, “Mah Hero!”. Somehow I had a sudden urge to use the bathroom and puke. Sitting in the bathroom with no one around to disturb my thoughts, I let my thought wander around to the things I had observed over the past few months.


I summarized that dudes were the coolest people in the world. For one thing, almost every dude is a rock fan. And rock is always cool, isn't it? As a part of 'dude induction training', every aspiring dude is instructed to read, learn and appreciate every rock musician in the world. They also have to undergo a daily head banging therapy which is the only way to get lice out of your hair. Bathing is obviously not an option even for an aspiring dude. Bathing would be so uncool for a rock fan. A dude is supposed to be cool. So he doesn't mind his jeans wearing off from the bottoms or his Metallica t-shirt not being laundered for over a century. A dude is so cool he never bothers himself with issues like Lokpal and Black money. “Whatever,” said Hunter when he saw Prashant Bhushan argue why CBI should come under Lokpal ambit. But Anna Hazare was offered an honorary doctorate on dudism for being on stage more than Jim Morrison which he politely refused.


“A dude is so cool that I want to be a dude as well,” I decided. Flush.


I felt a complete dude (since 1825) sitting in my sister-in-law's wedding. I had given up the plan to commit suicide which was deemed as an undudely act by His Holiness Monty-IV. Instead, I bought a guitar, messed up my hair a little and sold my Maruti 800 to buy an Avenger. Touching my goti beard, I noticed the crowd around me. Many relatives and aunties had cried in shock when they saw me in a leather jacket, a chain hanging out of my rugged jeans getting off my brand new bike. But then - what did these people know about coolness. Sitting in a corner, I saw a few girls with colored hair, black nail paint and heavy mascara around their eyes. Definitely dudettes, I mused. I looked for Nimmo. She was probably away chatting with some aunties. I winked at the dudette with blue hair. She smiled. A dude always gets the “gal”. God bless the dudes.




Disclaimer: This post is just intended at humor and not to hurt any person's, religion's or region's sentiments. Please let me know if you have any objections to this post.