Avenger - Fredrick Frosyth

I don't know why but I have always loved 'Avenge'. Be it in stories or in real life. Now after years it brings a smile on my face when I think of one such 'Avenge' I took on successfully which was one of my life rocking incidents. Therefore 'Avenge' is sweet and so are its stories.

"Avenger' is one such story by Fredrick Forsyth. When an enthusiastic young volunteer American boy is brutally murdered while he was on mission to help victims of Bosnian war, his rich grandpa decides to turn every stone to drag the culprit, a cold blooded psychopath leader of Seb militia Zoran Zilic in the feet of justice. Using his relations in the power houses of America, for one time he made the wheel spins. But in the wake of diplomatic, political and international laws, it was not a cake walk. As if this was not sufficient, CIA was protecting Zoran, who was a vital source for CIA to track down world's most wanted USB (Osama Bin Laden). After losing hope from everywhere Ricky's grandpa came to know about "Avenger".

Calvin Dexter, 50 years of age, a lawyer who loved to keep himself in shape, earlier was a Viet veteran who fought the most dreaded war in the underground death tunnels of Vietnam. After gruesome war he became a lawyer and later lost his only daughter by the hands of gangsters involved in sex slave trade. When Dexter returns home after killing his daughter's killer he faces the death of his wife who dies of the pain of their daughter’s loss. This changes Calvin’s life and he becomes ‘Avenger’. For good cause and against good fees he starts bringing down criminals to justice. Now grandpa of Ricky hires Dexter to bring billionaire Zoran who has vanished with the help of CIA. The story keeps readers in their toes where Avenger is looking for Zoran and CIA is looking for Avenger.

Who made the final move and how? Read it how writer of ‘The Day of Jackal’ has webbed the mystery.

My New Companion

My maternal uncle was professional photographer. With his Rolleiflex he used to click at me every now & then when I was kid. He taught me few tips including how to hold a picture in hand. My enthusiasm for photography started at that stage. And then in 1990 my sister in law gave me cute present of Mamiya NC1000s. I spent a lot of time and money on that one. But learning photography on old film cameras was very expensive. I was too hasty when digital cameras were introduced in India in 2000 and bought a 2.1 MP without making much fuss about it's very limited specifications. After that purchase I was determined to buy a good digital SLR and to be do photography as a serious hobby.

Since then every time whenever I made my mind to buy one, a new urgency would appear from nowhere. Priorities change so fast for a person in business like me that most of the times personal temptations have to take place at back burner. And my urge for a nice digital SLR was on back burner for good long years. But the time has to arrive and it did arrive at the appropriate time. After long wait and lengthy R&D, finally Canon EOS Rebel T1i is now hanging on my Naneu Pro backpack along a series of accessories.

Visiting places is not a new affair but with this new companion now the memories are definitely going to have new dimensions. My first visit after that buy was a fair at Kumarsain and many more are in the queue. I hope these journeys are going to be regular and memorable.

Just keep looking for what I look at on Flickr.

Koteshwar Mahadev

The Deity was dancing with the beats of drums and tunes of other musical instruments. On the shoulders on his devotees his colourful palanquin was swinging to & fro, up & down and left & right. These palanquins are not very big or with covering, these are open one just like big stools with four horizontal wooden poles to be carried by devotees. But these are beautifully decorated with mostly blood red coloured clothes. On the top rested main idol of the face of Deity made of eight different metals. This one is profoundly decorated with garlands of scented flowers and of coins, various ornaments, golden crown and with a gold umbrella. Beneath this main idol, lined up are other various idol of same Koteshwar Mahadev. One can easily judge the peace, happiness and eternal satisfaction on the face of Devataa (Deity). It seems that people who are carrying the palanquin are themselves maneuvering it but it is said that it is Devataa himself who drives the palanquin. All the four palanquins were moving all around the fair ground which was already filled more than capacity with humble devotees of Koteshwar Mahadev. People of every caste, age and sex were present and glorifying the fair. Young and old residents of Kumarsain were coming before palanquins to carry them and were feeling lucky to get a chance even for few seconds.

I was watching the entire proceedings with devotion, excitement and curiosity. The festivity was enhanced by grey clouds and then by rain. Air was filled with devotion towards Koteshwar Mahadev who is believed to be scared soul blessed by Lord Shiva himself and one is considered King of the area of Kumarsain, a small town around seventy five kilometers up north from Shimla, capital of Himachal Pradesh. For the devotees, this Deity is not some "God" but just like their beloved family member for whom they have extreme love and respect and the one who have blessings of God to fulfill their big or small requirement or to erase their day to day problems. For them this Deity is in constant touch with its people either by dreams or through his 'Gur" the main priest. The occasion was the local festival which comes after every four years when Koteshwar Mahadev would meet his other loving deities, Marechh and Malendu Devtaa. I spent last two days at that festival and was lucky to witness the farewell of all other deities from Koteshwar. Just like young kids those departing Devtaa were so reluctant to leave that their palanquins would not let its bearers take the exit route even when Koteshwar Mahadev himself was waiting at the end of road to see them off. Only the interruption of oldest 'Gur' made them ready to leave for another four years. The festival ended with the 'Nati' (local dance) by the people of Kumarsain. The charm on the faces of idols of Devtaa seem faded a bit cause of this departing.

More pics are available at:

Sitting On The Bank !

"Actually my odyssey (for mysticism) had begun in Chicago when I was a stock broker. Working on La Salle Street at Bear Sterns made me feel important since I was on my way to becoming financially independent. I worked hard, knowing my future was set. Three years passed, and one day I walked into the office and surveyed the scene. I noted that one colleague was recuperating from his third heart attack, another was getting his third divorce, six others were using tranquilizers like potato chips, and everyone was heading to the bar daily to forget their trades. I wondered what malfunction I would acquire over the years. It hit me in a flash that this struggle was not worth it. I resigned the following week and chose the next obviously logical step in my evolution: I joined a monastery. " ............................Justin O' Brien wrote these words in his early pages of "Walking with a Himalayan Master - Swami Ram". And while taking on this book for second time I closed the book after I read these lines and my thought train left the station for yet another unknown route of unknown destination.

Though monastery was not the final destination Justin was searching for since years, but of course it was a start of journey towards the correct direction at the crossroads of his life. At least Justin was attentive enough to listen his inner voice and then also brave enough to act on it and for that he achieved what he wanted to explore all his life till that moment. Kabir ji have written :

जिन खोजा तिन पाया, गहरे पानी पैठ

मैं बपुरन बूढा डरा, रहा किनारे बैठ ॥

"Those who tried, they achieved, by entering deep waters, me coward and feared of drowning kept sitting on the bank all time." (One can interpret 'deep waters' & 'fear of drowning' in his own lifestyle but it do implement on every saint to salesman.)

Also there are (lucky ?) people who are not even aware of any inner voice withing themselves. They have never heard any internal sayings or in other words they don't have so much of calm in their mind, body or spirit that they could hear one. Also there are (strong ?) people those who do hear inner voices but those voices do not bother them at all or they are able to ignore those voices through out their life spans. And then there are people like me (Confused ? ) those who find & listen their inner voices loud and clear but they are unable to understand it. Listening and then acting to callings of mind is far away thing, for a person like me the difficult most task on the earth is to measure the dimensions of own mind. Who are we? What are we here for? What is exactly we are looking for? Are we really happy? Or we are sad unnecessarily? Which happiness is real happiness, the joy of winning a million dollars lottery or moments of peace of mind ? Does everyone feels some vacuum somewhere ? These are very confusing questions. And I don't know where they come from in my mind? And I am seriously bothered by this non stop blah- blahing of my mind.

Once a friend (whom I think is the one of few persons I know who enjoy every second of their lives and who kept poking me for not enjoying my life to max as I kept wandering in search of unknown objects, told me that whenever she visits her nearby temple she feels great eternal peace and so she visits that temple daily. Now that's confusing. If she have so much of fun & joy of shopping, clubbing elite clubs, social - financial securities, having an affectionate family, keeping body in perfect shape etc, why that few moments of peace in that temple is on the top of the her list? I know she would never agree to sacrifice that 'small' peace in lieu of those other worldly gems of enjoyment. So what is real joy ?

No this has nothing to do with spirituality. I don't think I am spiritual but yes I do think God is there and I think I am curious, too curious to be worse. I have lot of questions to put in front of Him. But I also fear that if anyhow, I face Him ever, I won't be remembering a single question for Him. May be just the luminous of His presence would complete my search. And if this all is called mysticism, let it be. But I have countless contradictions in compare to a person to be in the realm of mysticism. And that's what the whole confusion is about. And that is about measuring the dimensions of my mind which don't let me take breath on one side. 'Useless show-off sucks' I am of the view point but fancy cars & bikes do attract me. My heart would enlighten with the idea of exploring the unseen world but my practical brain reminds me of my duties towards my family. I dream of having a cottage at a hill top with the view of lake amid snow clad mountains but then simultaneously I want to own a penthouse in the metro I live in. The imprisonment of our dependence on materialistic things (how many things we need daily to leave for office like cellphone, laptop (with wi-fi), wallet, keys, wristwatch, glasses etc and we feel handicap even if one thing is skipped for a day) irritates me but on the other hand I do own and wanna own the latest gadgets. I know if one has to find hidden meaning of life he needs to read 'those special' writings but those writing makes me sleepy in initial pages and rather I would read a thriller in one sitting. The list including, monetary interests, human nature, mentality, sexual interests, family bounding, religious activities is too long and my being a pendulum in opposite directions won't let me recognize myself. The quest would go on!

Is anyone else is sailing in the same boat?

Rainy Roads !

After a long wait finally rains are here. Everything around seems new, clean and so full of life. Colours are showing off at their best. The fragrance of wet earth is enlightening. I can imagine what would be the scene in hills. Numerous small and big water falls, gorges and waterways would be flowing in their full swing. White clouds would be hovering and mystifying the whole surroundings. The noise of rain drops on the leaves creating en thrilling music. What I am doing sitting here in office. I need to be there. I need to be driving my bike on those rainy roads.

Zindgi Aa Rahaaaa Hoon Main..............................!

What A Heart Wants ?

Those thoughts keep coming back every day now and then. Maybe those thoughts have never left me. May be it's deeply rooted in my DNA that keep surfacing with every this n that way.

Years back in around 1990 while I was roaming in Sangla valley of Kinnaur in Himachal along few friends, amid the small village of Sangla I came across a two roomed vocational training centre of Vanvasi Kalyan Ashram, an organization dedicated for upliftment of people of tribal areas in India. That centre was providing vocational training to big girls and basic education to small children of near by villages. Only a duo of husband-wife in their late thirties was running the whole show. They both belonged from Bangalore in Karnataka thousands of miles away from that small village of Kinnaur. They both were well educated and had their respective jobs back there and had decided to give six months for the welfare of their country and were deputed here as part of their non-paying duty. Those two rooms were their part of world for those six months.

Those few hours spent with that couple were engraved on my mind forever. With the divine surroundings of Himalayas, flowing of Baspa river, always smiling innocent people, mystic temples and Deities within, yellow harvest dancing in the fields, small houses made of stone and wood are still afresh in my heart. Sitting alone on the bank of Baspa that time I dreamt of settling there forever. I didn't know even after many years that if it was a serious thought or was a temporary attraction of young immature teen aged mind.

But one thing is for sure true, that all of my life till now, mountains fascinates me. It was not only that couple who showed me the way but as above I wrote it is in my blood which is very easily provoked when ever I see mountains. A small house in the hills is what I dream of for my retirement. The hassle basal of daily life, unnecessary competition in business and social life, rat race of earning more and more only to maintain your metro status, watching other people's possession of 'brands' and watching other people watching your possession of 'brands' sicken me. When will this blind circle end ? When I am gonna to be at my place? The place I have always dream of, the place where only peace of mind prevails.

But there is one hidden fear also. The way I wail about this routine life, who can be sure of that I won't get sick of that life too? May be it's only my mind, a confused mind. They say you can not get the depth of some one's mind but here it seem true with my own mind. Or may be it's just only one colour among the millions others contained in my mind. Who knows? But no doubt this colour is what my heart is made of.

'Six Suspects'

To help a friend for a project about how great this nation of Bharat was, is and still can be in future, I was searching for some images about India when I fell into a deep, dark and stinking gorge of a blog about India which contained nothing positive but only filth, sorrow, suffering, poverty, crime, backwardness, uncertainty, insecurities, evils, fears, hate and venom for India. That person titled "Zillion reasons to escape from India" to his/her blog and has totally dedicated his life to magnify every evil of India in his words. Spending very few minutes on those pages literally were like spending that much time in a hell for me. These are the people who can never find a tiny good thing about their country or could lift a finger to rectify a problem but would do their best to bring that weakness in front of the lousy spectators of entire world with the royal bash of orchestration. I don't know what do these people gain from such shameless self exposure but certainly few people do make money out of it and one of them is Mr. Vikas Swarup.

Six Suspects by Vikas Swarup is not very different from his 'very famous' novel Q&A. This Q&A is the same novel which gave a very proud new name to Indians, that is "Slumdog". I agree that every creative writer, poet or artist always tries to bring untouched, unseen and under the current subjects to his or her creativity but according to my knowledge Swarup has written only two novels and both are about the so called pathetic state of India. I think he have learnt the mantra of selling in global market where movies like Lagaan loses the rat race of Oscar and movies like Slumdog Millionaire bags all the awards.

Six Suspects is a twisted story of Jassica Lal murder case where accused is a spoiled son of a wealthy corrupt politician and both father son duo manipulates law accordingly to their will and gain. That son "Vicky Rai" in this story is murdered in the celebration party of his acquittal from this murder and police arrest six persons from the party under suspicion. These six suspects include, a leading Indian actress who is cheated by her cousin, an American who is cheated by an Indian, a tribal who's tribe is cheated by their welfare officer, a retired diplomat who cheated his wife and then is now cheated by his keep, a slumdog youth who was cheated by his luck all his life and finally that corrupt politician who kept cheating innocent people till now and was cheated by his own son in the end. So the whole story is about corruption, deceit and backstabbing which obviously prevail ONLY in India and ONLY things which prevail in India according these kind of writers. Mr. Vikas Swarup is an Indian diplomat in Indian Foreign Services and I think he cannot serve India better than what he has done by his writings to paint Indian picture in front of this globe.

Some very highly educated, open minded, global viewing and let's-face-the-fact attitude people may stand with their views of justifying such 'bold' topics but I would prefer to stay illiterate than to enjoy and applause such indiscriminate oeuvre about my country which is not entirely true.

'Tishay.......that's enough'

It was around a year and four months ago when last time this space was used for 'Tishay'. Since then countless 'huggies' have crossed under his legs. Since then many household items have reached their fate of untimely deaths or have crippled. If Tishay's toys could talk, they must have called him 'Terminator'. Any thing in his hands would be shattered on the floor as if he was a 'F-16, deployed in Iraq' in his previous life. He is not afraid of cockroaches and would hold one in his hand to see the horrific reaction on his mom's face. He loves travelling, we came to know about this nature of his when one Sunday we all were busy attending some guests and later realised that Tishay was missing. First in home then in neighbourhood and finally I had to take out car only to find him in near market sitting on a rickshaw shouting at confused rickshawala to take him on a tour. There are very familiar and stereotyped noises coming out of our house nowadays. Either it is a shattering noise or shouts of 'Tishayyyyyyyyy Enough, Tishu BUS KAR.......... Tishu........... my head is aching, Tishey ...............for God sake" etc etc. Everybody want him to sleep for a while. But he would sleep only after everyone and as if it's not enough, would wake before everyone else.

Tishay have started mumbling full sentences now. He is very curious and wants to explore everything he sees. His smartest teacher is Pogo. He also likes watching Nat Geo with me only to keep blasting, "Papa......... O Ka Ai (Woh Kya Hai .........whats that) ?" He is also getting fond of commercials on TV and tries to repeat after them. His favourite is Airtel's kid saying "Papa ka phone aayaa tha na". Whenever that ad is on TV, within seconds Tishay would emerge from nowhere like a missile from sky. I bet his teachers in playway are much happy to see him off in noon than to receive him in the morning. He loves to draw and his colourful drawings are exhibited free of cost for any visitor on the walls of our home. He also likes guessing pictures on his book of alphabets. The only problem is he would keep pointing his tiny lovely index finger on the picture for you to answer his non-stop 'what is that' questions. Whenever we are tired of a visitor, we would send Tishay to him along his alphabet book. Easy!

Tishay wants to have a doggy now. But as I am reluctant so far, his adventures with doggies of neighbourhood are on. They all are his best friends to play with. Though a head-ache, he is apple of our eye, beat of my heart. Taking him in my lap makes me feel heavenly and I can easily sail off from my worldly worries. But only problem is, like a frog he won't sit peacefully in my lap for long. "Papa............ O Ka Ai" ??

'The 3 Mistakes of My Life'

I heard and vaguely read a lot about Chetan Bhagat some time back when he was emerging as a writer on Indian horizon but simultaneously I kept ignoring those tv clips and news articles as I feel that our media always overreact and get horribly obsessed with any such issues where any Indian effort gets even a little foreigner attention. I am not saying proudly that I admire this habit of mine but I honestly feel that way. And cause of such nasty habit of being prejudice, many times I do miss enjoying some good things. Only cause of this habit till now I haven't seen 'Slumdog Millionaire' (that's another point that right now I am reading another novel 'Six Suspects' by Vikas Swarup, the same author of original novel 'Q & A' of Slumdog Millionaire) even after approvals of some friends. Anyway, we were talking of Chetan Bhagat, and few days ago I saw his novel 'The 3 Mistakes of My Life' in a shelf of the 'latest books' rack of my beloved 'Municipal Library' and got it issued.

I must admit here, though I got a fair idea from prologue that 'Gujarat' is going to be discussed in the novel, the prologue of book was so interesting that I could not help myself finishing the book ASAP even against the periodically repeated stern stares of sleepy eyes of my wife which used to start exactly one hour after each midnight. (If looks could kill - I better get a reading lamp now). Whenever the word 'Gujarat' came in front of my eyes or hits my ears, my both eyebrows shake hands together, my lip line dips downward and a sound of 'chuch chuch' comes out of my mouth automatically. In these seven years, I have gone really sick of these riots. Thanks to our secular media who is not letting this terrible happenings fade off as easily as countless other riots in the history of independent India have died and buried without much fuss.

Now thankfully, this story is not only about riots but also of friendship, passion, business, love and Cricket. And all these five (or six if to add riot) elements are essential ingredients of any average Indian life. Govind, Omi and Ish are best friends who dream like common Indian youths and try to convert those dreams into reality when different events keep changing their lives in different aspects. The main character is Govind who is narrating the story and about the mistakes he made in his life. The momentum of story never halts throughout the novel. As in the last pages riots took over, I am thankful to Chetan that he has not tried to be a preacher about riots even then just like every writer I felt him being storyteller of single side of the coin. The mixture of reality and fiction has made this novel worth reading. The end of the novel reminds me of the end of 'Dil Chahta Hai'.

The result of this novel? I am gonna try the other two (or three may be) books by Chetan Bhagat.

'The Faithful Spy'

'The Faithful Spy' is the debut novel by Alex Berenson, a correspondent by profession. The plot is beautiful, story is holding and contents are touching.

A CIA agent John Wells has penetrated Al-Qaeda network and trying to win trust of Laden and his deputies. In efforts to win trust of higher level of Qaeda, he spend so many years with jihadis in Chechnya, Afghanistan and Pakistan. During these years he genuinely converts to Islam and adopts Islamic rituals, though his mission remains intact. Being a foreigner and of a shady background Taliban didn't trust him completely and being unable to warn of 9/11 and LA bombings, his own agency got wary of him. In the last Taliban sent him to America for a huge terror plan where he is the alone person standing against the mission with both sides not trusting him. "What happens next " question never let a reader put off the book.

As terror has become a part of our life, the incidents in the novel sound so real and not fiction at all, even then Jihadi's die hard attempts to attain chemical, biological and nuclear weapons shock reader with horror waves. The plight of John Wells being a 'Non jihadi Muslim', somewhere reflects the same much debated issue within our society. The self suiting interpretation of Koran by jihadis and fueling the fire by Maulvis didn't let a madrass educated brain & heart sail away from so called Jihad. "We have plenty of fighters, what we need are scientists" a phrase by Laden's deputy in the novel reveals the map of their mentality and a clear and present danger too.

Look-alike Can Kill !

If I had another person in the car, he would have heard my heartbeat without any effort. My heartbeat had taken a vertical flight all of sudden. "Was that her?" I asked none other but myself while staring the reflection in the rear view mirror of the car ahead me.

Image of the driver in mirror of the car ahead my car was very resembling to her. We were driving in the hills and there was not much traffic on the road. The very thought of the possibility of her driving front of me had risen my pulse rate. "Damn it Praney, let her be if she is her. Why you are so bothered?" I tried to agree to my inner voice and tried to calm down. But was that so easy? I was still watching her in the mirror, trying to confirm whether it was her or someone else. But constant curves and her fast driving didn't let me be sure. She was really driving bit fast. I am a cool driver and do not drive rashly but in attempt to stay close of her so I could watch her in the mirror, I accelerated a bit.

"When did she learn driving?" I was calculating all the options of her being her or someone else. "Why not ? Can't she learn driving? It's been so many years and without learning to drive a car one is burden these days." I was arguing within myself. "But what the hell you think are you doing you fool" the inner of myself jerked me strongly. "She dumped you years back and you foolish still fighting for her little glimpse? What difference would that make if that is her or someone else. Let her go to hell damn it" I totally stand by what half of my heart was shouting. I thought of slowing down to my normal speed. But the other half was doing his job silently "Just a look and we shall leave to our directions. What's the harm?"

The lady driving front car was quite like her. She was wearing spectacles like her. Her hair were short like her (as she had in those good times). And the town ahead was her parental town. An elderly lady was sitting besides her on the front passenger seat who could be her mother or mother in law may be. There were strong possibilities of her being her. "Did she see me too?" I was thinking cause I saw her watching me back in mirror. "She did not see you when she should have and when you needed her most, what are you expecting from her now. Don't be a sentimental ass---- and be a man. Let her layoff. Why can't you erase her from your mind even after so many years?" "Fourteen years" I tried to be exact to my self. My half heart was right. In these long fourteen years for countless times I had cursed her in those sleepless nights for what she did to me and then the same time regretted my own words for her. Since then I have managed to put a brave face in front of all. I haven't seen her for over fourteen years. She was enjoying her life (I hope) and I have grown above it too (I hope). I thought I had erased her off my mind and soul. Then why her thoughts still got the power to thrill me or to haunt me if to be specific ? What made me so vulnerable and herself so permanent ? I do not know how many kilometers I drove sailing in these thoughts. That car had sped away since long. I sighed and felt pathetic simultaneously. "Come on buddy, she is gone for good and you should get over it, live your life and throw her thoughts in the waste bin once for all." My mind told me like always. I agreed like always and turned the volume high of car radio.

My breath leaped at the next turn. That car was stopped at a gas station and the driver was stepping out. My all the vows vanished in the air and I was watching her with my jaw dropped. And all sudden everything changed dramatically. She was not her. I drove past them smoothly and my mind was laughing at me. "What the hell man. what a drama it was." Both halves of my heart were silent now. No one knew what to say. I wish car FM was playing "I'll get over you" from Pretty Woman.

Happy Ashok Chakra Day !

Unlike every year this day, watching the show of 'Might of India' at Rajpath didn't let me have feel of pride for my country. Instead my heart is thickly covered by clouds of gloom and despair .

What are these Bramhos or Agni or Bhishma missiles are worth of ? What is the use of wasting money on all these weaponry ? What can a gun do if the hands handling it are not capable of pressing a trigger ? Our leaders are weak, sick and compromising. Our media is cynical and is interested only in numbers of circulation and TRP.

An Academy or Oscar award is more than enough for the people of this country to forget every slap & insult on them and dance madly on the eve of "Fight Against Terrorism". Indeed we all are Slumdogs and many of them are millionaires. Insensitive, incapable, without any self respect and ready to be crushed by any Jihadi like a stinking worm. Thanks to our DNA, the momentary anger of Indians after 26/11 is vaporised completely.

I am not a war freak but thinks, a country of 7 millions Israel, is far batter than the country of 2 billions who rocked the whole world on the killings of it's merely 10 citizens. Here leave the physical war away, the country of Chanakya has even lost the diplomatic war against Pakistan. "All options are open" boasting ministers are endlessly waiting other countries to do laundry for India. And with PM going for medical leave for another month have thrown the issue of Mumbai attacks forever into trash bin.

People here are more sensitive to save so called secularism than the safety and honour of India & Indians even if it means the burial of whole country by the hands of Islamic terrorism. Here enough is never enough. We are once again ready for another attack at another place. This is what spineless creatures are worth of. Our defence and home ministries should be re fabricated for writing dialogues in Hindi cinema. DRDO, ISRO and Ordinance factories should stop producing all these missiles or tanks and should start mass production of Ashok Chakra to be presented to Indians posthumously on every republic day. Because there will be no stopping on such award ceremonies ever.

Come on Jihadis come on ! We are again ready to be humiliated and killed by your holy hands.