tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-291593962011-12-27T06:31:08.105+05:30A take on life. My style.EnKryptiKhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13411798163267683382noreply@blogger.comBlogger431100tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29159396.post-38572211460170219952010-11-15T12:42:00.002+05:302011-02-04T11:45:28.482+05:30

It’s dawn. I’m walking down Mumbai’s Marine Drive. It’s strangely warm, despite the drizzle. My left eyebrow itches. Suddenly, the Queen’s Necklace is switched off. I turn to the sea. The Arabian ocean. It’s glassy, but somewhat revolting in appearance. I can’t understand it; I love the sea. I love the sheer sense of space – an expanse of wide open water. Today, it just seems so pale, like a

EnKryptiKhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13411798163267683382noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29159396.post-3097039710878114862010-05-21T11:15:00.000+05:302010-05-21T11:16:17.404+05:30

it stumbled. stalled. stuttered. sparked againwould it be all in vain?he new it mattered littlebut thoughts of walking awaycaused too much pain"you walk, and walk away, keep walking"the voice told himwhy should i care?he thought for a momentit was harder still, to stand the groundsongs of victory, AND memories of toil"this is my land, my soil"i will fightstand my ground"burn, ye heathen,torched

EnKryptiKhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13411798163267683382noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29159396.post-13675095072849209512010-03-22T18:55:00.002+05:302010-03-22T18:57:57.024+05:30

Does Pathos inspire or conspire?Is Time enough?Does Guilt wane?Does Hurt fade?Is Forgiveness real?Is Love everlasting?Are Pain and Longing the same?

EnKryptiKhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13411798163267683382noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29159396.post-33241496984251808322010-03-22T18:45:00.002+05:302010-03-22T18:50:54.762+05:30

FriendLover ConfidanteMotherTeacherGiverTakerMakerit needn't have been this way. it needn't have. oh, you fool. the loss and longingthe courage and the cripplethe human male is but a drone. the progenitor of life, the maker of the home, the tender to the hearth and heart is Woman. and when you find her, cherish. relish her. love her. respect her. want her and make her feel wanted. you, Man, exist

EnKryptiKhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13411798163267683382noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29159396.post-69627602979118203442010-03-22T17:16:00.003+05:302010-03-22T18:44:45.764+05:30

the knot was tightit closed around methe emptiness the crime, gravethe penalty, harshspoken in a momentcontemplated over timethe sentence was swiftthe plea, over-ruledthe cell was coldquestions of heart and headmade no sensethe heart seemed alivethe head, deadthe dawn was slow there weren't any pieces to pick upthe water was tepidthe shower, rapidcontemplation with the car keys...u-turns made and

EnKryptiKhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13411798163267683382noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29159396.post-7003824951917145252010-03-22T16:52:00.001+05:302010-03-22T16:52:48.806+05:30

From a million miles awayLike a waking handThe touch of a sun's rayA flower understandsLike a smile it opens wideBlowin' rainbow kissesTo the skies...- Sudheer

EnKryptiKhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13411798163267683382noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29159396.post-50441711445917640422010-03-22T16:45:00.000+05:302010-03-22T16:46:57.978+05:30

in between heartache and a kiss, maybe there lies love, beauty, peace, truth...for ours to find, ever

EnKryptiKhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13411798163267683382noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29159396.post-61026929212543073202009-09-01T16:17:00.003+05:302011-02-04T11:47:27.924+05:30

The car, or self-propelled carriage, is a relatively recent invention. But it has inspired more people than can be accounted for, it has changed the way the world travels, it has widened the common man's horizon, it has been art and beauty and technical brilliance. But, for something which at the end of the day still has only four bloody wheels and is used mostly to get about, we have plenty of

EnKryptiKhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13411798163267683382noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29159396.post-14709396248015394152009-02-17T15:13:00.001+05:302011-02-04T11:48:36.588+05:30

"Do you exfoliate?" she asked me.Huh?"Do you use a scrub?" she enquired exasperatedly.A scrub?"Never mind." She sighed, the long whistling sigh.I was getting the look. You know the one; it mixes maternal disapproval with boredom and a sense of 'why am I with this idiot'."You should use a scrub once every two days," she explained. "It removes the dead skin giving your face a fresh glow," she

EnKryptiKhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13411798163267683382noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29159396.post-89641064567905048452009-02-08T15:59:00.001+05:302011-02-04T11:51:51.712+05:30

“O Shantaben….paani ochhoo vapro,” yodelled Tanay as he splashed out of the bathroom, leaving a dripping trail on his way to his room. “Toh amhe nahiyye ke nai?” Shantaben screamed back from the servant’s quarters downstairs. Vijyant meanwhile was preening in front of the little mirror, hair slickly combed back, as he proceeded to dab a sulphur-based medicated cream upon his pimply countenance. “

EnKryptiKhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13411798163267683382noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29159396.post-43594730945679705472009-02-02T15:16:00.001+05:302009-02-02T15:18:29.945+05:30

"Do you know the hallmark of a second-rater? Its resentment of another man’s achievement. Those touchy mediocrities who sit trembling lest someone’s work prove greater than their own – they have no inkling of the loneliness that comes when you reach the top. The loneliness for an equal – for a man to respect and an achievement to admire. They bare their teeth at you from out of their rat holes,

EnKryptiKhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13411798163267683382noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29159396.post-65337296215900313972008-12-04T13:50:00.001+05:302008-12-04T13:51:51.360+05:30

Screw five-year plans.This is what we need:1. A uniform civil code. Scrap reservations. All are equal under law. No more religious processions through the streets.2. Compulsory conscription and basic training for all for one year, to be served between the ages of 18 and 21.3. Constructive opposition in Parliament. The Opposition should exist to question what action the ruling party has taken on

EnKryptiKhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13411798163267683382noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29159396.post-54766447903906160732008-11-26T13:20:00.000+05:302008-11-26T13:21:06.092+05:30

Why don’t you see?Why won’t you?You can, can’t you?Whether it’s you and meOr notWe all have a priceSome paid grudgingly, some willinglySome bought, some soldSome rusty, some goldAnd then we feelOur senses cloudedMisguidedAffectedBut do we feel when free?What do we feel when free?Do we feel free?I have felt trustI have felt lustSometimes I want to be evilSometimes cruelSometimes I just want to

EnKryptiKhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13411798163267683382noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29159396.post-43374918405506200692008-11-22T01:08:00.000+05:302008-11-22T01:09:17.847+05:30

Words fail me. This is either the most over-rated piece of musical chaos, or sheer genius, far removed from the aural abilities of mere men. It rises and falls, a piece strung together by the awesome delivery of its theme – the overriding chorus if you will. Yet, at its centre, it remains very hollow; the lilting piano seems plaintive, the clarinet quintet a tribe of sycophants which hang on

EnKryptiKhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13411798163267683382noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29159396.post-65749182059028538662008-10-21T12:57:00.000+05:302008-10-21T12:58:49.150+05:30

Stop and look at me now…See where you’re goingWhy’d you stop running?Why’d you start?There’s that lookThe one at which I meltYou hold the power stillTo make me cryAnd then you ask me whyLike you don’t know howYou smell the sameYou still have that walkYou still stand closeYou let my hand brush your assYour nails are still the sameWhen you sip your drinkYour big eyes over the rim…I look at the

EnKryptiKhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13411798163267683382noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29159396.post-42271703278560508752008-10-03T02:24:00.002+05:302008-10-03T02:26:19.123+05:30

Twerp 1, Twerp 2 and Twerp 3, henceforth referred to as T1, T2 and T3 respectively, for the sake of brevity, were three friends, linguists all, who happened to be technically challenged in their respective professional choice of a doctor, an engineer, and an architect, (which, it would seem was no bad thing, for indeed 'twould have hilarious consequences, such as Dilbert's botched attempt at

EnKryptiKhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13411798163267683382noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29159396.post-50824318456578077502008-09-09T13:10:00.001+05:302011-02-04T11:54:07.286+05:30

India, the land of the Indus, a cradle of civilisation, a land of milk and honey, a lumbering global economic elephant. India, independent India, exists as a post-colonial ideal, a Gandhian philosophy which doggedly persists despite a fractious identity crisis – one of belonging to a greater ideal; the ideal of the state. Does it transcend the ideal of faith? Is your identity the colour of your

EnKryptiKhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13411798163267683382noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29159396.post-63664896644947182612008-08-27T23:43:00.002+05:302008-08-27T23:46:12.436+05:30

Aha! Stereotypes exist for a reason. You tell yourself that when you try to understand the fundamental nuances of securing a mate. ‘Mate’ could be a friend (if you’re Aussie), but, as its verb form suggests, ‘tis an act. One to be engaged in with a member of the opposite sex. “Mating” would suggest having sex, doing it, or making out. Here again, we have some difficulties. A colonial

EnKryptiKhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13411798163267683382noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29159396.post-13217199964331500872008-07-12T16:35:00.000+05:302008-07-12T16:36:00.780+05:30

I who have lived And so borne the right of passage to be here To revolt even, For I care not what they say I care not what you think. It is true The lies are true… Come now into the light, Stand up and be counted, Claim your worth Weigh yourself in measures of truth. Sucked have we been, Fucked over repeatedly. Enough is enough I want anarchy… I want to hold their heads

EnKryptiKhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13411798163267683382noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29159396.post-39972099038268324152008-05-26T11:53:00.001+05:302008-05-26T11:55:28.067+05:30

Irani chai, bun maska, broon and kheema, and bun omelette. I sit and stare into nowhere, just soaking it all in. The sunlight streaming in highlights the dust in the air. There are a few flies about, and the marble-topped tables have been scarred by lovers. The formaica ones have been wiped thin. Cheap stainless steel cutlery and coarse china cups and plates are de rigeur. The waiter has the

EnKryptiKhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13411798163267683382noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29159396.post-14919305668891931692008-05-15T16:42:00.000+05:302008-05-15T16:43:23.782+05:30

Touch… Hold on Help out Caress…. Where does she go from here? Her sunny smile and eccentric ways charmed all who saw her. Alive with a naiveté that disarmed me, her socialist ways and contradictory opinions always left me puzzled. A livewire of a woman, her disposition was electric. Big eyes, the biggest I’ve seen, and a nose carved by two swift strokes of her maker’s scalpel, a high brow

EnKryptiKhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13411798163267683382noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29159396.post-34090545224598508842008-04-21T17:13:00.002+05:302008-04-21T17:16:24.839+05:30

Danica Patrick’s won her first race. Wow! A chick won a major open-wheeled race. I for one, think it makes for a great story. I’m not sexist, and I detest rabid feminism, but at the same time I have no qualms about a woman driving a racecar. In fact, I’d love to date a female racing driver.Everybody’s got their fantasies, right? Nurse, biker chick, teacher, coffee shop lady…the list goes on. But

EnKryptiKhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13411798163267683382noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29159396.post-81554400049714935852008-04-10T18:01:00.002+05:302008-04-10T18:07:07.307+05:30

We can make certain assumptions. India is a country on the move. Ok, no surprises there. India has potential. (I love this word ‘potential’. It means any of a number of things, in varying degrees.) So let’s take these little assumptions for granted.Now before I act as firestarter once more, let me make it clear that what I say is all taken in the present context. We’re not going to delve into

EnKryptiKhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13411798163267683382noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29159396.post-86533319310646973412008-02-20T15:50:00.000+05:302008-02-20T15:52:07.171+05:30

“Neck-snapping acceleration” and “eyeball-popping brakes” are two of the more popular - and ridiculous – phrases used to describe a car’s performance. Now, if we’re talking 400bhp supercars which weigh about a tonne, well, I’ll give them that. 90-odd bhp booted boxes however, are a recipe for rubbish. The “most-est” car I’ve driven, yet, is the 453bhp Rolls Royce Phantom. A portly 2.3 tonnes she

EnKryptiKhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13411798163267683382noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29159396.post-54231437422057995002007-12-31T15:16:00.000+05:302007-12-31T15:57:54.693+05:30

Staggering. Wealth, not necessarily money, has many tangible forms, but not so many units. There are some forms of wealth you can't measure, but you can experience. Wealth of time, for example, which would not imply a surfeit, but instead a quantum of time which allows us to enjoy and sample an experience to its fullest. A meal with family, say, or sex with the woman you love. While big macs and

EnKryptiKhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13411798163267683382noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29159396.post-88580113220689091022007-12-10T10:28:00.000+05:302007-12-10T10:29:19.322+05:30

We talk of multipolar worlds, of money, of racism, of sex and what-have-you. We speak with wisdom, ancient and contrived. We talk of “way back when” and “nowadays”. Self-righteousness, cynicism, wit and intellect in some proportion constitute the whole. Clichés, where applicable, are liberally used. But the overriding factor which brings pen to paper or fingertip to keyboard, is honesty. Let me

EnKryptiKhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13411798163267683382noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29159396.post-42835607295749994082007-11-28T15:38:00.000+05:302007-11-28T15:40:14.749+05:30

She walked with a gait that was prose itself. A kind of sashaying of the hips marred by the limp she bore from a childhood fracture, further accentuated by the bobbing of her shoulders. Her head was cocked to one side, and her proud nose and wide mouth were set off by those big brown eyes. She had a certain arrogance to her gaze, which was quite an affront to those unfortunate souls who turned to

EnKryptiKhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13411798163267683382noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29159396.post-7679391090983804812007-11-16T20:39:00.001+05:302010-03-22T17:39:36.945+05:30

He loved her. A blind man. She was light and colour to him. He sensed her moves, he sensed her toss her hair; he sensed, for he knew, her smile. There was that singular dimple which he'd kiss, and he knew the way those cheek bones rose when she smiled.He sensed it as they glided over the floor. This was a pious emotion, for her rhythm banished the darkness from his mind. In his mind's eye he

EnKryptiKhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13411798163267683382noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29159396.post-54541496461682685072007-11-16T16:33:00.000+05:302007-11-16T16:34:34.300+05:30

I ran. I ran aroundI ran deep and ran agroundOn land and water deepMy spirit has no place to keepFor in this time I run aroundI run deep and run agroundKeeping alive by breathing freeTwo feet of solid ground but no water beneathTo breathe as a fish To fly free as a bird Yet think like a manMuch to do and far to goHow what where I don’t knowBut I run deep and I can’t run aground…Not here not now

EnKryptiKhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13411798163267683382noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29159396.post-64441607482096576192007-11-12T18:37:00.001+05:302007-11-12T18:37:57.140+05:30

Building on what he figured was the way forward, he stood and stagnated. That was the infernal conundrum, as he called it. Tired of the sing along rigmarole sing song, he wondered when he’d spin out of this orbit, charting his own course. Break through the invisible force shield that seemed to have him in its grasp; that inability to make others believe what he believed. What appeared

EnKryptiKhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13411798163267683382noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29159396.post-23777191148188060532007-11-10T23:07:00.000+05:302007-11-10T23:16:39.302+05:30

He strolls through lifeA wanderer…Waiting long enough for longingTo leave behind…To love and leave…He walks with aimless purposeStopping frequently to gazeAnd relieve his heartOffload that pain…Of belonging.Being the one who is no oneBeing free…My friend the onionLeaves leaves behindA tear shed at his passingEssential but worthlessAugmenting the substance of othersMy friend the onion Cut open to

EnKryptiKhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13411798163267683382noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29159396.post-91118635857336378012007-04-17T13:50:00.000+05:302007-04-17T14:50:46.480+05:30

I’d held my breath for a while now. Months, it’d been months since I’d kissed. What, in the name of all things beautiful and all things strange, was she doing in my life? My mindspace struggled with the intruder. I had settled into a comfort zone; a lazy lech was what I’d become. It was easy really, to stroll incognito checking out the variety of women that you get to see in this megapolis.

EnKryptiKhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13411798163267683382noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29159396.post-33960731015779977942007-04-10T10:37:00.000+05:302007-04-10T10:38:24.557+05:30

Hello, said Death. You’ve been mocking me. I looked Death in the eye. Hi Death, I said.I don’t have time for pleasantries, said Death. Ah well, as always, you’re too busy, foreclosing on life.Mock me not, mortal screamed Death. See? That’s the problem with you Death. You need to learn to relax.Relax?! RELAX?! Do you think I have time to relax? Well, considering there are so many people who need

EnKryptiKhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13411798163267683382noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29159396.post-1164021667576234232006-11-20T16:49:00.000+05:302006-11-20T16:51:07.586+05:30

There I sat on the grassThe wind rippled the lakeA bee buzzed around meDunno if I was awake.I snoozed there awhileMy dreams floated freeUp and over the mountainsTill I was wrapped up in me.Flying high I flew well overHowever high I’d flown beforeLooking down I thought of youAnd how insignificant you seemAn invisible speck on the groundAs I winged on around.Flitting from flower to flowerSipping

EnKryptiKhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13411798163267683382noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29159396.post-1157201184407372742006-09-02T18:15:00.000+05:302006-09-02T18:16:24.416+05:30

Greased and geared up, you rev to go,Wild rides and stormy moments Cherished fleetingly.Moments recalled, but the people forgotten,Hardened are you with a heart so tender,Anguish writ large you stumble and drown,Pulled under by vice you embrace.Honey eyes are cloudy and stark,Seeing nothing but searching afar,Maybe a soul, a friend you will find,Maybe nothingness lies ahead and behind. Into this

EnKryptiKhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13411798163267683382noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29159396.post-1153078550162067852006-07-17T01:02:00.000+05:302006-07-17T01:05:50.176+05:30

Bursting forth through the gloomA ravaged dusty wreck.Held in check the pain and goreA resilience and patienceNeeded no more.A hapless people tortured and tamedTaunted repeatedly by tormentors,Gather up the pieces.Swept under the carpet by spinelessScum, selected, elected and reveredBy the same helpless diaspora.Who is to blame?Singularly not doth Mumbai bleed,No loss of culture, no one to mourn,

EnKryptiKhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13411798163267683382noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29159396.post-1151747870469933402006-07-01T15:26:00.000+05:302006-07-01T15:27:50.476+05:30

A feeling now so alien yet tender,A drop of waterOn skin famished and throat dry.Falling gently from the heavensFor every tree and creature.Free yet rare, like true love,Nurturing from the mother,And tender caresses.Soft, clear, bright and clean.Seeping through soil and blooming Flowers and smiles from me.But she paused and sighedClouded mind and cataract eyesFailed to see the blinding

EnKryptiKhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13411798163267683382noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29159396.post-1150975172295831132006-06-22T16:48:00.000+05:302006-06-22T16:49:32.303+05:30

Wailing louderRocketing and bankedThunder low and distant.Clasped to my rib cageThrumming steadilyA four-chamber pumpsWhile a four-pot burbles.Harder, faster, on edgeI spank this bitchThrough to hell.Lower and lower till legAnd land caress.Fumbling lovers ashamed At the oneness.A foxy, feisty unwilling beast.Tamed and subservient beneath me.Fight me, bitch, and thrash you I will.“Spite me, you

EnKryptiKhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13411798163267683382noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29159396.post-1150972563441229422006-06-22T16:05:00.000+05:302006-06-22T16:06:03.450+05:30

Beggar child raped, my senses rupture.Eaten alive by urban sharks.Monstrous evil sheltered by fear,My senses rupture.With beaten brow and helpless limpStriding through slime…I am approached by a wizened pimp. A fifty for my daughter, says he,And your friend here can have her for free.Fifty for a fuck is certainly a deal, says he,Else she’ll have to fuck our landlord for free.Saddened and sickened

EnKryptiKhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13411798163267683382noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29159396.post-1150612213532104672006-06-18T11:56:00.000+05:302007-04-05T11:28:47.116+05:30

The stones struck the first flint,The hint of a spark, the first glint.A weary twig rescinded to ashes,The blaze grew as each twig surrenderedThe fallen forms a listless fate…Warmth and light spread from the glowAs she sidled closer.The sparks in her eyes Were mildly alight,Fire and water dancedIn them that night.Millions slain centuries agoA vulgar vengeance claimed a million moreYet she loved

EnKryptiKhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13411798163267683382noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29159396.post-1149252421819436542006-06-02T18:16:00.000+05:302006-06-02T18:17:01.820+05:30

fenced and wound,turned around,little she knew less she careda worthless lifemust not be spared! bound and gagged and tied to a treearms a-pinioned .he watched her as he mounted the slide,watched her as she swooned and cried,a condemned man must wrongly die,vultures feed on his once-loved hide.a bag was proffered and a question asked."I must kiss her, for her pain must last"wept did she as she

EnKryptiKhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13411798163267683382noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29159396.post-1149251130607004582006-06-02T17:54:00.000+05:302006-06-02T17:55:30.606+05:30

singer singer song writer, catch a butterfly, fly-fighter,loop u up and loop u down,ease the frown upon thy crown.kiss and try and kiss and cry.kiss me not and leave me dry.thence once gone and ground,the coffee's ground and the bean's not around. fill up well and crush the spacegrace the place with your face,live it, love it, acknowledge it not,what u love u haven't got.weep, bleed, sigh and

EnKryptiKhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13411798163267683382noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29159396.post-1149250430347134372006-06-02T17:43:00.000+05:302006-06-02T18:04:10.816+05:30

This is what happens when I have a bad week……..SERIOUSLY……..The plant kingdom is preparing to launch its vegetative vengeance upon the meat eaters of planet Earth. Leading the thrust will be the elite Ninja Brinjals of the Aubergine Army, led by Colonel Purple Plump. In a revolution funded by the bucolic Bovine Board and with extensive underground support globally, the revolutionaries aim to

EnKryptiKhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13411798163267683382noreply@blogger.com2