Another day. I stand at the corner of Elm Street. It’s a bright sunny Sunday morning; not many around. I look at my shadow stretching across the street. "Strange! Longer than usual..." I thought. The sun is climbing swiftly. Soon it’s going to be right overhead. It’s going to be a lovely day.

The Chevy comes out of nowhere. The bright red truck is swinging wildly and out of control. I see wide eyed as the driver is trying to make the turn, but in vain. A split second later, I realize that the truck is on a collision course; with me! I have no time to think. I stand in shock, rooted in my place, unable to move. My life flashes before me, in all its abundance, in all its impotence. I have nowhere to go. The car is too fast and too close. The driver swerves but its too late. It hits me with alarming impact. I feel my legs go weak. 

I look at the vehicle. It’s a total wreck. The front is smashed beyond recognition. I see two bodies pressed against safety bags. I see another on the back seat, hunched rather awkwardly. I am unable to think clearly. I am too stunned. A little while later, a cop passes by and raises the alarm. More cops arrive. So does the ambulance, and the tow truck. They try to pry the doors open. After a couple of minutes, they break in through the window and pull the injured out. They hook the truck to the car to pull it off my legs. I scream for them to slow down. Nobody's listening. They wrench it out. I scream again, longer. They start inspecting the damage. Deciding that it was totalled, beyond salvage, they signal the tow truck to drag dump to the scrapyard. The truck tows the metal away. The medic sits the three down beside me and inspects their injuries. The two in the front seats just seem stunned. The one in the back however, seems to bear greater injuries. He lies at my foot, in pain. They swiftly lay him on the stretcher and drive him away while the other two pile up into the cop's car to be taken to the police station for inquiry.

I look at all of them, dumbfounded. None of them can hear me. A medic reaches for my leg, but backs off. Maybe he realizes it’s too late. It feels like the afterlife, just like in the movies. The guy doesn't realise he's dead. He tries to make conversation. Nobody hears him. Nobody hears me. I am left to my fate at the corner of Elm Street. The heat from the crash is searing through my feet. I can smell the stench of burning skin. The pain is making its way higher up my legs to my waist. I can hardly feel my legs anymore. It’s mind-numbing and rising with a sense of finality. I start choking and breathe harder. Not much use though. I can hardly take in any air. The sun is at its best, just like I wanted. I wouldn't be around long enough to enjoy it though. I can feel the sunlight seeping in through my skin. It makes me feel good. The pain eases a little bit. I continue to choke, on my own fluids. It’s getting harder and harder to stay awake. I lose focus of night and day. I breathe harder and faster. I realize that with every passing moment, I am one step closer to the edge.

The pain continues to fade away. So do I. I have lost track of time. I look up briefly. It’s getting dark. Night is approaching. I haven't had enough air to breathe. Without the oxygen, it’s all a blur. But fate hands me a momento. A sparrow perches on my shoulder and looks down at me. I can only make out its silhouette in the darkness. It is looking down at me, I figure, rather curiously. An ant has made its way up my shoulder. In one swift motion, the sparrow makes for the ant and grabs the poor thing in its beak. It gives me a peck, as if to thank me for the food.

It’s dark. The stars are up in the clear black sky. I am happier than ever before. There is no pain anymore; only the stillness of the night. I am satisfied that I shall be let go. Freedom. Without warning, my legs give way. I bend over toward the fence. I try to stop my descent but I have lost all control. I continue to fall. I crash, taking the fence down with me, facing the brightly lit sky. Time stands still. I have taken the plunge; over the edge.

I am Neem.

THE END

Vladimir Rhostovsky switched out the light of his 12th floor office on Lexington Street and made his way toward the elevator. It was well past midnight. As the leader of AMD, one of the largest computer hardware manufacturers, he had had a lot on his mind lately. But now nothing else mattered anymore. Claire, darling, not much longer now. We will be united once again. The elevator door opened on the first floor and Rhostovsky made his way through the reception. No one. Strange! He did remember seeing Ralph that morning. Well, it didn't matter. Rhostovsky made his way to the entrance. He stepped out and stood on the pavement, stretching himself, feeling the cold midnight air. At a distance a long range rifle fired a single shot. Rhostovsky lay on the pavement, dead.

Abigail Knight stood still on the roof of her apartment. She had lost the man she had so dearly loved. The pain filled her body and mind. It was unbearable. The last 10 hours of her life had been more than happening. The markets were taking a fall as expected. There was nothing left to do but leave. She was the owner of the largest mutual fund organization in the country, the Knights Group. The death of the AMD supremo had caused quite a furore. AMD was a major market mover. And now it seemed as if the market had lost confidence in one of its pet companies. The last few hours were characterized by large scale off loading of AMD as well as Knights holdings in the market. The portfolio of one of her lesser known Growth Fund was under the hammer. The fund had invested an unprecedented 35% on AMD. Most analysts were skeptical of such an 'all-eggs-in-one-basket' move. But Knight had been at it all along. With all the aces up her sleeve, she had perfectly timed the gigantic offload of her AMD shares.

She strutted back inside and down the steps, still lost in thought. At the foot of the staircase, she reached for the light switch. The whole neighbourhood lit up in a huge fireball. The skies looked like they were in celebration; embracing the dancing flames. In the distance, an unregistered car made its way out of the city, with a satisfied driver.

THE BEGINNING

Vladimir Rhostovsky climbed out of his Buick with his trademark hat wave and the crowd erupted. Rhostovsky made for the dais. 'Today, we make history." was all he said. Every soul that attended the gathering would believe him. For Rhostovsky had brought about the turn around of the largest disaster of post Civil War America. 10 long years it had taken to build it again, to right every wrong, to pull the fallen giant back to its feet. And this was the zenith of it all. Here in this gathering were the people who had made it possible. The heart. And Rhostovsky knew the heart needed to be taken good care of. And so he did. And annual reports showed it all. Attrition down to 8%. YoY profits up 64%. Loans down by 76%. It was the story every CEO would wish for, but would never get. And Rhostovsky was happier than ever. To his success. Or so it seemed.

Nicholas Ferdinand, CFO and second in command, walked into his private study, smiling. As he sat himself down, the phone rang. "Hello". "Congratulations Nick. You did it!". "No. We did it." He laughed hysterically and put the receiver down gently. He was more than pleased with himself, for he had come a long way, walking alongside his boss in times of hope and despair. Now this had all gone far enough. It was time to make his move. After ten minutes, he finished the email and attached the file. The moment of truth! He picked up the receiver and made the first of a series of calls he would be making over the coming week.

The following week seemed rather uneventful for Rhostovsky; a board meeting after lunch, a team gathering after tea; that was it more or less. Then it came. The following Saturday, the Washington Post took out a quarter page article on the allegation against AMD. The claim was that AMD had been fabricating its progress reports for over five years in a row, and getting away with it. Alongside were the purported actual figures for all of them. Rhostovsky took light of the allegation. No one is going to believe that! To think any organization would be so outrageous as to publish fake progress reports for five years! Outrageous! But as the week passed, Rhostovsky had more and more on his hands. The news caught on like wildfire. Every major news channel was now talking about it. He was suddenly attending 3 press conferences in a day, trying to convince the nation that it was all a hoax.

Abigail Knight was ecstatic. Their plan had worked out perfectly for them. The Knights Group was on the track to fast growth with more than 30% of the investors holding at least a thousand units of her Knight Growth Fund. It had been a tedious five years of manipulation that had resulted in high investments in her group. She had been prepared to go to any extent to build this and was prepared to go to any extent to keep it that way. On the D-Day, she had called her accomplice to congratulate him. "Congratulations Nick. You did it!". "No. We did it." he had said. She was on seventh heaven. She imagined herself and Nick on the patio of the large bungalow they had hand picked for themselves. It was just perfect.

THE BETRAYAL

Unable to stand any more accusations, Rhostovsky dug into the reports the had published in the last eight years from the database. He pored over the results for four hours. All in order. Not knowing where to look next, he walked down to Nick's office and let himself in. Nick was nowhere to be seen. But Rhostovsky had nowhere else to go. He sat himself behind Nick's desk and looked around. His mind was numb from the strain and he wasn't particularly interested in anything. His eyes fell on the computer screen in front. An email alert popped up on the right bottom of the screen. The subject read "Thank You". He casually clicked the email, not really expecting anything. The email read:

Mr Ferdinand,

It was a pleasure doing business with you. Be sure that your favour will be returned in kind, my love.

Regards,

Abigail Knight
Executive Director
Knights Group of Companies

Abigail! He scrolled down the mail chain. It continued with that one subject, Thank You. Curious about what Nick was doing new for AMD, he moved over to the Sent folder. He opened the first attachment. It was financial report of a company for that year. Wait a minute! Not 'a' company! That was the financial report of AMD! Rhostovsky's brain could not quite comprehend what was in front of him. Slowly and painfully then, it dawned on him, with brute force. His body went numb. He felt sick in his stomach and a lump formed in his throat. He had no need to see any more attachments, for he had understood the magnitude of it all. Nick! You traitor!

In front of him was the original annual report of AMD Incorporated showing losses to the order of a 130 million for the year 2006-2007. All major holdings were in mortgage and the company was in heavy debt. The fake reports had been marketed by the Knights to further their own interest. Rhostovsky knew they had invested in his company rather lavishly, causing the AMD share value to rise higher and higher. Now all that he had built was going to fall. And there was no stopping it. Anger rose in his chest until he found it hard to breathe. Amidst labored gulps of air he heaved himself up and out of the room toward his own.

Rhostovsky lay on the couch spread-eagled. The scale of betrayal had hit him with full force. He was at the very top, very alone. His second in command had betrayed him ruthlessly and there was no telling how many more were with him. Nick had managed to keep from him, the actual records and performance of his company for more than five years. Anybody in his right mind would have spotted it years ago. He felt foolish and naive; having fallen for some old trick like a stupid country bum. He had put all trust in Nick to practically run things for him, for his own life hadn't been a bed of roses. His dear wife, Claire, had had three abortions in the last two years, and remained terminally sick. Doctors seemed to think her body had taken the toll of the alcohol and smoke she had had. He had done what he had to do. And then finally, she gave way to inevitability. Rhostovsky had put himself together again for the sake of the empire he had built. Then he met Abigail, and fell for love once more. But little did he know. He hated his self with shame. He wanted, more than anything, to destroy Nick and everything that was dear to him. He was going to make them pay. He wanted nothing more than to be with his wife, to be re-united, to kill, to die.

Rhostovsky rose, now, with strange determination and went to his computer. He looked up his contacts and shortly found what he was looking for. He made a call he never thought he could make. "Hello"."I have a contract to propose. I can pay well. You have two targets to kill ..."

THE KILLING

Rhostovsky made his way to Nicholas Ferdinand's room with the .45 Colt he always carried with himself. The name Nicholas suddenly seemed distant and unfamiliar. At the door to the room, he could hear the man speaking lovingly to Gail. He stepped in. Nicholas Ferdinand not bothering to look up, kept to his conversation. Rhostovsky went around the desk and stood beside Nick. Rhostovsky pulled out his gun from the trouser just as Nicholas hung up. Nick looked up and a look of utter shock spread across his face. Rhostovsky jammed the revolver to Nick's forehead and pulled the trigger. Once, twice, thrice ... . Rhostovsky strained against the desk, shivering with rage. He looked for a long moment at the lifeless body now sitting on the chair, then turned and walked out of the room to his own. It was time to leave.

Sylvio's was puzzled but the instructions were clear. This rather strange request had come from the man himself and he promised to pay, and pay well. Nevertheless a mark was a mark and he had his job to do. Sylvio, the hitman, got into his car and made for the address he had written down from the call. The house was empty. He broke in and felt his way around. Standing in the middle of the hall he looked for a suitable place to fix the bomb. He walked down the hallway and his eyes fell on the switch at the base of the staircase. This is it. She has to use this one time or another. After another ten minutes he left the house with the bomb securely in place. It was only a matter of time now.

Sylvio made for his next destination. He still couldn't digest it, what with all his kills. To the task at hand now he said to himself. He reached his destination and looked around for a good location. Not long after, he was seated on the roof of a low building on the opposite side. Sylvio picked up his rifle, aimed it at the entrance and waited. At the appointed hour the man came out and reached out to the sides as if to stretch himself.

Sylvio fired.

9:00 PM. I alighted from the train at Dover, having slept for a better part of the hour long journey from New York Pennsylvania Station. It had been a long day, and I had been walking since morning. I got out of the train and stretched my legs. Oh! How they ached! Willing me to bed, they were. Willing them to walk, I was.

I walked across the length of the platform and down onto the road. I crossed the tracks to make my way home. Randolph is just a mile away. But the real problem is that my Gateways Apartments is halfway up a hill. I knew that, but I had no idea what was awaiting me. I started up the first ascent slowly half expecting my legs to give way any moment. I had no inkling how far up this was going. I looked up again and again failing to find the gas station where I was to take right. My thighs screamed in pain. I walked on. The road took a bend and levelled out. I reached the gas station and took the right.

My heart leapt with joy. A descent! What good fortune! I started walking down with fresh enthusiasm and pretty much worn out legs. The descent was pretty short lived. As I neared the base of the road, it started rising again. I felt my spirits sink. I reached the base and looked up. The sky and the road merged into one dark scenery. I wondered how high this one would be. Just then, a car passed by and started its ascent. I pitied the car, for it was dragging four people other than itself. I looked up again. Its tail lights went farther into the darkness. After another 30 seconds, I looked up again. I stopped walking and started in disbelief. The tail lights were visible, only far higher up than before and they still seemed to keep climbing and climbing. Finally after another 20 seconds, the lights vanished, going over the hill.

I had no choice. I started up again, more painfully this time. I kept to the side walk suddenly aware of the darkness surrounding me. The shrubbery sticking out from the compounds were making it difficunt to keep to the sidewalk. Each step was more painful than the one before. I stopped, yet again, to catch my breath. It was more than 15 minutes since I had started from Dover station.

In the distance, a dog barked, aware of my presence. Another shot out of the darkness toward me with startling speed. I froze. It was within a few feet. It took another leap. I was certain this night would be my last. As I awaited my destiny, it stopped in mid air and landed on the ground five feet from me. Then I noticed the chain, with relief. I started walking, still breathing heavily and not yet fully out of what had just happened.

I kept climbing and climbing now able to faintly distinguish the road from the sky. It was another 100 metres above.

I finally reached the top. It was another fifteen minutes before I reached my house.

And to think the Dover Taxi Company is 50 metres from Dover Station.

We entered the canteen in the basement of 5, Sylvan Way. Its a little walk from 3,Sylvan Way through the basement car park. Today wasn't really my day to begin with. I had just screwed up on my status call and my business analyst wasn't working. But why not let's leave that aside for the moment. So, the canteen.

I stood in line for my turn. There is this fat Italian guy, who is by far the snobbiest guy I have ever seen in whatever I have seen of my inconsequential life. My turn came and I gave my order: 'One veggie sandwich, please'. He pointed at a packaged item nearby. It read 'Vegetable Panini sandwich'. Grilled vegetable, some thing dipped in some other thing. I am sure it was nothing non-vegetarian. But I really couldn't say. Alarm bells had gone off inside my head. I hadn't heard of it before, and there was no way I was going to try it out. So I said, 'No panini!'. There was stunned silence all around. The two guys looked at each other and started laughing.

The fat guy pulled out a wheat bread and started filling it up with vegetables, spinach and pickle. Can you imagine that? Cucumber is called pickle in this country!!! So he filled it up and pushed it toward me. I pushed it back and said that I wanted it grilled.

He gave me an incredulous look and said, 'you said you didn't want it grilled!'. Wha..what?!!! Now when did I say I didn't want it grilled?! I told him again, that I wanted it grilled. He repeated, 'But you said that you didn't want it grilled!'. There was no way I could get through to him and get him to understand. So I said, 'Fine...' I took the uncooked bread and vegetables and went to the paying counter. '3$ and 27 cents', she said. I reluctantly pulled out a 5$ bill and gave it to her. She gave me the change and I proceeded to eat.

It tasted like soiled clothes. The jalapanoes was too much and the rest of it was too little or none. Grill, none. Taste, none. Heat, none. I cursed the fat Italian, for he had successfully screwed up my lunch. To think I'd call this lunch would have been hilarious. But I was not feeling remotely humorous. I tried pushing the sandwich in, but my throat revolted until I could push no further. I laid back and pecked on the onion rings while my colleague 'feasted' on the salad. There was nothing else to do, but wait and look at the remnants of my lunch. Another Gujarati colleague and friend of mine brought food from home. Aah! Home made Gujarati food! That's a delicacy not available to lesser mortals as us. We eat whatever crap we cook.

As the referee would say, 'Time! Quite please. Thank you.'

I started my first walk into the streets of New Jersey; on my own. There was a cold wind blowing outside. Flurries were falling. It took me a while to realize that it was almost snowing. I put on my woollen cap. As I crossed the next street, Subway came into view. Well, well. Now we're talking!

I made my way in. I went to the counter and looked for the 'Veggie Delite'. I found it shortly. The choice of vegetables, bread and cheese. He was asking me so many questions that I chose 'American Bread' and 'Honey Oat cheese' instead of 'American cheese' and 'honey oat bread'. Apparently he understood and agreed to process my request. Then came the vegetables. There was red onion (what! I thought onions were always red!), tomatoes, jalapanoes, cabbage and something else I coundn't quite figure out. I chose the familiar ones. He started filling my sub up. I looked around the place. Just a couple of guys around. I happened to look into the eyes of one guy standing beside me waiting for his order. Then suddenly, out of the blue, he said, 'Hi! How-ya doin?'.

I was pretty sure I had never seen him before. But he had said it. He kept looking at me waiting for a reply. I was stymied with fear and indecision. Who is this guy?!! And why the hell is he so interested in how I am doing? After a long moment, I smiled. He looked at me strangely; it was a mix of incredulity and amusement. He continued staring at me. By the way, I am reasonably good at returning a stare. So I stared back, without knowing what I had said, or didn't say. The man behind the counter came to my rescue. He handed this lunatic his order and sent him on his way. I kept staring at his back, ready to return the stare the moment he were to turn back and do it again. He never did.

I looked back at the guy who had taken my order. He had just finished filling up my sub. Whoa! Where is the filling, dude?!! All I could see was one piece of tomato, exactly four strands of 'red onion', one cucumber ring, a grand helping of jalapanoes and some cheese. It looked quite dead. A Chennai Subway would have put in a little more than two times what he had put in. Come on! Well, I didn't argue. It would have been to no end. I was sure this guy would just look down upon me with contempt if I did.

I needed something to drink. Water? What's that? There were about ten little silos ready to spew out crap like Coke, Pepsi, 7 up, etc. I chose a Coke. Bill please. 4$ and 38 cents. I pulled out my wallet, pulled out a 20$ bill (that word from the movies too). The conversion process began involuntarily. I paid close to Rs. 180/- for a dead Sub. I reluctantly surrendered the bill to this guy. What he did next, I truly hadn't expected. He retuned 15$ in bills and pulled out a little white container (like those we get from homoeopathy doctors.) and counted 62 cents. Now I had 10 coins more with me; four 10 cent, four 5 cent and two 1 cent coins. I pocketed them. I felt remarkably heavier with these new entrants. My pyjama pocket was tugging at the pyjama relentlessly. I pulled it up for the fifth time and moved on to the shopping complex another couple of hundred yards away.

There ends my day out.

I decided I needed a new pair of spectacles. I was wearing a three year old one that I had stopped using long ago. I was with this old one because I 'executed' by ex-new one under my leg; I mean I actually squashed it so badly that I couldn't even give it a proper burial.

So here I am, congratulating myself on finally turning 'pro-active' and 'reaching out' to some spects shops (I am from Information Technology). It has been about two months since the above incident occured, by the way. I took the left after Adyar Bus Depot and proceeded into Indira Nagar. I vaguely remember having seen a shop somewhere there.

As I said, I was quite happy to have finally come round to deciding that I am going to buy new spects. And happiness brings extravagance. So I took a right turn.

Enter Lawrence And Mayo:

Well, well, just what the doctor ordered. I parked in the space provided and started up the stairs aware that I was going into one of those 'Elite' shops. I entered the shop; the air was pleasant. Just as I started to grow comfortable, I found myself feeling, rather strangely, like an object of inspection. I dont know, but every time I enter a place like this, I get the feeling that everyone is staring at me for some alien reason; looking down upon me for some un-figure-out-able reason. I am yet to figure out if the look in their eyes is one of curiosity or pity, or both; like they have just seen an organism so low in the socio-economic hierarchy that it merits their utter and undivided disgust.

I walked to the counter and told the guy I wanted a new pair of spects. He asked me to sit down; rather emphatically I thought. Another gesture at the 'Gollum'? Regardless; I sat down and picked up a SportStar on the table below. There was a 'Health' there too. But I figured those kind of magazines were only to be read by the 'Elite'; if seen in the hands of the down-trodden would be taken to be a sign of pervertism. Anyways, I was so pre-occupied with the stares that I didn't feel like picking it up anyway.

I read for about five minutes, trying to generate some interest in the Cricket gibberish written all over the magazine. Not one piece of futbol anywhere! Will this country never satiate of cricket?!! I reached the fag end of the magazine in another five minutes; still no sign of the man. Does he think lower middle class have all time in the world to spare? Or is it that the 'Elite' really have all the time in the world to spare in a god-forsaken spects store!

Another smart white guy came in; waved a 'Hi' to someone in the shop he already knew and went over to collect his spects. More minutes passed; ten, maybe fifteen. No sign of anyone. I decided that they do not deserve my presence anymore. Time to leave.

Wait! There's a problem here. I can't just leave! Ever noticed those beggars who pester you on the main road; they wait, hoping that you'll shell out something, and when you don't, they start moving away slowly. I would have waited for their mercy, and when they showed none, I would be moving out of the store. No way! I racked my brains, thinking how to outsmart my would be 'benefactors'. I pulled out my cell-phone. That's the only escape route in such places. Whip the cell phone out and pretend to receive the most important call of life at that exact moment, so that you have no choice but to rush outside, sacrificing your personal needs in the store for some greater cause. And so I did!

I mounted the bike and raced away without a second glance; just in case some of those 'eagles' were still looking-down on me.

I have been thinking of blogging on issues of relatively greater significance and importance than the drivel I write here. I am trying to start now (if this doesn't come off well, this post is going to go off my blog. Maybe I will start another blog for those things alone.)

Shilpa Shetty
She seems like a good place to start. I guess I have entered this space at the opportune moment. It all started with her nomination for a British reality TV show called 'The Big Brother Show'. This show is notorious for the dirt it throws on some of the biggest names on the big screen. It is known for its B-grade, participating, actor population.

Shilpa Shetty is no A-grade actor herself, what to talk of her now famous UP-Bihar 'thumak's . So it seems quite natural that such an actor should vie for such a show. After all, participation entails money, Big money.

All seemed to go on well, until one Jade Goody made things rough for herself and Ms. Shetty. Ms. Shetty had accused her of racist behavior. At once, the cameras zoomed in, cashing in on every second of coverage. Ms. Shetty, meanwhile, shed enough tears to make a crocodile go pale with shame. UK dailies started their front pages with Shilpa-Goody goodies, relegating more pressing matters to later pages.

What seemed more curious was the fact that the Government of India brought this incident into its Parliamentary agenda! One of the highest institutions in the country, seemingly didn't have anything worthwhile to talk about and took up Ms. Shetty for a change. A formal communication was sent to the British Government expressing the displeasure of India at the mal-treatment of Ms. Shetty. Given the status quo on racism in Britain, I guess the Govt. couldn't afford such an accusation at this point of time. It rendered a formal regret statement to the Govt of India and warned Channel4. The channel saw its ratings go down drastically.

Racism has suddenly taken centre stage and governments are doing all that is in their power to keep it low. I bet, such treatment has been endured by many Indians for quite a while now, and I am certain there would have been atleast a dozen formal complaints against the perpetrators. Why was our Government blind to this for so long. Why does Shilpa Shetty command greater importance than all those others whose fate has eternally been tied to Britain? And why should the Government interfere at all? After all she was being paid to endure what she went through. The show in itself is quite infamous for its ill-treatment of celebrities!

It seems quite naive to assume that Ms. Shetty has somehow been wronged beyond repair, and that we must do all that is in our power to make sure that the wrong is corrected. What about the three and a half crore she has earned? What comes next is anyone's guess. She is going to beg the Indian government for a tax waiver.

I would have been happier if somehow, this incident could have made way for stricter anti-racism laws against the common 'alien' in Britain. This could have been the right opportunity to bring to the forefront this issue. But Ms. Shetty took a U-turn where there was none, and escaped withougt being fined for it. She simply took back all her allegations at the end of the show; when she had won, of course. Shilpa, the 'hero', took the dias on the 30th day of the show to be declared as the winner, unanimously. She then went on to declare her 'love' for the audience and the people of Britain. I read arguments from people, saying authors like me have no right to criticize Shilpa because we have no idea what they go through everyday. I fully agree with them; there is only one flaw though. Neither does Ms. Shetty! By taking back her allegations, she has blatantly discarded the plight of thousands of Indians, for whom, her so-called 'Reality TV show' is a way of life! I would suggest to my critics to try and reason out for themselves the fact that Ms. Shetty has been well paid; and for all she cares, all's well, that ends well!

I cannot say whether expelling practising doctors and interns from British medical facilities makes any more sense than this; but it sure brings certain pressing issues to the fore. Indians are being increasingly side lined; forced to return to their own country or flee to some other, in hope of living. The Government has not taken any decisive steps in this direction though; none that have taken to such proportions as the Shilpa-Goody scandal.

The Government would do well to take this up instead.