"My partner is so much like me, yet I fight with her..
Because sometimes I need to fight myself. "































































Raghupati rāghava rāja rām,
Patit pāvana sīta rām.
Īśvar allāḥ tero nām,
In sabme sanmati tu rakh bhagavān

Rough Translation:

Oh Lord! king of the house,
you are our uplifter (savior).
Amongst the names of our Gods,
May your wisdom endure.

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Disclaimer: Solely my views. Not intended to be derogatory upon the created beings.
It was a cold night - one of those where silence chills more than the weather. DB, as he was called by one and all, sat up on his bed, wet with sweat and constipating in his thoughts. He peered and glanced at his mother's bed, throwing a loving and helpless glance at her. He got up, picked the bottle of pesticide mixed water hidden under his bed and walked out towards the fields. His mother shivered and murmured as if she was having a bad dream. DB heard it, but did not turn back, because if he did, then a demon would stop him from going forward...
Somewhere in a corner of the vast and mighty desert, lost among the shrubs and brush, was the dung bettle, relentlessly pushing on the dung pellet, trying to get it atop the little sand mound. She was miniscule, silently apparent in the shifting desert winds, weighing not enough even to leave footprints in the sand she treaded. Queerly, the dung left more of a footprint than the beetle did. Like an avatar of the modern day Sisyphus, she forced herself upon the pellet.