Just the Tip of an Iceberg

I've found out the main reason why my Blog stays barren most of the time: (drum-roll, please) It's because I sit at home all day, vetti, with no adventures. Except sometimes I jump around my room, air-guitaring to Bohemian Rhapsody and disturbing my neighbours; but that's hardly blog worthy.

Holidays suck, much more than school days do.

And I blame my friends for this.

Most of their homes are so far away and the fact that laziness is a common trait amongst my friends does not help. To make matters even worse, one of my friends, Amy, moved even far away, like out-of-station faraway. Athena is my only friends who's near me, just two streets away, but my cycle's got a puncture. And I can't walk all the way to her house because there's a dog (that's only rabid towards me) roaming the street housing her home. It once tried to bite my foot off when I was cycling towards her house. The nerve. 

Furthermore, Athena never picks up her phone and in Chennai, you don't show uninvited to a person's place, unless you're really cool and confident unlike me.  Okay, that's not true. The reason I won't go to her house without calling her beforehand is because I don't want to be greeted by an empty house.

It has happened once before and it's embarrassing as hell, alright?

Since my holidays suck, I thought I'd try writing about my thoughts on things in general. But since I tend to think too much in an unhealthy way, I couldn't decide on what thought to write upon. So here's a list of all the things that are bothering me:

1. The UCSB Shooting 
2. My inability to construct a story without plot-holes
3. My inability to finish my stories
4. The UCSB Shooting
5. Bleach
6. My sudden boredom of Shoujo mangas 
7. The UCSB Shooting

There are still a lot more, these are just off the top of my mind, but I can't remember them because my mind decided to go blank right when I decided to create the list. So anyway, the thought I want to ponder upon is obviously the intentionally repeated one and the most important one: the UCSB shooting.

Here's a link to a news report on the shooting.

Brainless twat.

In simple words, the story goes like this: this git named Elliot Rodgers killed six people and injured thirteen and then killed himself because he couldn't get laid. Because his arrogant ass couldn't get some. 

This twat called it his 'Day of Retribution' and had actually written a manifesto which he had then sent to someone online. He had also posted some videos on his Youtube account about how he was so lonely, how 'unfair' he felt that girls were 'repulsed by him'. 

No wonder no one could stand that racist, ignorant wanker. 

And did you know most of the comments on his videos were actually in favour of this psychopath's argument? This really shows the caliber of our society, doesn't it?

I get it, I get it that he was bullied and that he was ostracized. But that's no excuse nor is it a justification for his actions. In this guy's case, most of the people and even some of the media groups tried to blame his actions on his mental illness. And that's what gets on my nerve, because if Elliot Rodgers wasn't white, if he was black, the media would have slammed him down and run this shit for another few months. 

But since he was white, since he was 'mentally ill', they coddle him, defend him and blame it on society and all that it is not. Sure, society is partially to blame to raise a racist, sexist bastard. But the media and  the people won't mind the main contributing factors. 

Truth. 

They won't talk about male entitlement, they won't write about how this was an act of misogyny, of hatred, and they won't touch the topic of their shit-loose gun control laws. They even go as far as to blame it on the women. And this mostly comes from the Men's Rights Activists - the 'Pickup Artists' - and their misogynist followers who say that if the women had accepted his proposal, that he wouldn't have resorted to these 'extreme' methods. 

Are you freaking kidding me? 

So now women don't have the right to choose, or the right to say no, yeah? They can't decide who they want to be with or who they want to spend time with, huh? Boys will be boys and they don't need to take responsibility for their actions? 

Day by day, because of these kinds of fools, women everywhere are getting afraid. Because these things actually  happen, girls say yes against their own wishes in fear of being shot in the head. They give up their basic human rights and are forced to give in. 

Do you see how fucked up this is? Do you wanna see? 

Think of how devastated his parents would be. They raised him in wealth and love, hoping he would become a moral person. And their reward? Accused of raising a murderer. And the friends and family of all those people he murdered? What would they do now? 

I'm so pissed, I'm seeing red. How could a person like this be praised as a hero? 

Disgusting. 

He viewed women as property, something he is supposed to get and then, because he was denied, he killed them. The women he killed weren't even involved with him. So when he killed them, he was attacking on women in entirety of the population rather than the few he deemed to have 'wronged' him. He just professed a war on women and some people, men mostly, support him. All this because 'white' women rejected him while dating black men. 

Society acts in unpredictable, yet distasteful ways.

Defining beauty as fairness, the idea that women are propertied breeding machines, laughable gun control laws and white supremacy are what I believe as the elements for the massacre that is Elliot Rodgers. 

It is completely true that he was mentally ill, that it was one of the reasons why his thought process was so fucked up, all I'm saying is this: don't. use. it. as. an. excuse. I'm not blaming the whole gender of men here either. Nor am I blaming this on patriarchy or anything. But the ratio of men who will support this to who are against it is what baffles me.

And once a part of something is poisoned, the whole of it is just as doomed. 

- Alex.

P.S. Please shut up about your 'Not all men are...' shit. I never blamed every freaking man/boy on the earth. Saying men were killed too doesn't change the fact that this was all the cause of deep-imprinted misogyny. And to the people who support Rodgers: get the ever living fudge over yourselves. 

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Anticlimactic

Forty seven minutes had passed since she turned into Seventh Avenue. Still, the Ameonna stood in front of the locked gates, gazing almost desirously behind the rusty iron bars.

Except for the few dark strands that danced to the cold breeze, the Ameonna was as still and silent as the night itself. The December rain fell about her, light, and glued her white sundress to her unmoving body.

Erika fell into the shadow of the sunshade, wriggling her toes when they started to get numb. She observed the woman from a few meters away, hidden from sight and shielded from the rain by the broker shop’s overhang.

Although the woman was spoiling her plans, Erika couldn't help but admire her fairy-like form. Her long raven hair slid down her back in wet waves, contrasting against her pale, ashen skin. Light blue eyes were unfocused and lifeless, as if they had lost the will to just see anymore. She was thin, too thin that it would be a surprise that her legs still held her. The Ameonna’s lips were curled in a sad smile that seemed to be permanent.

Any other day, any other second, Erika would have stamped this woman as absolutely bonkers; clinging obsessively to her past, so much so that she let it take over her health. She wouldn't have given her another glance because she was no big mystery. She was just the same as the others around her: predictable, banal, human.

But today was different. Today the woman intrigued her.

She had seen this woman only twice before, during the rare yet routine moments when she opened the main door of her shabby one-storey house. The Ameonna always stepped out to greet the world on every fifth of December, for the past eight years, her feet taking her on a ten mile journey across the town to the gates of the graveyard on the other side of the town.

She never took her car, or the bus; she never not walked. And she never got in once.

She just stood in front of the gates, simply staring inside at the grey headstones, at the dead cemetery, which was usually closed by the time her slow gait came to a stop.

The town people stopped gossiping about her odd ritual after the first three Decembers. They eventually got tired of her grief and the strange things it made her do. People no longer took a sudden jog by her house on the fifth, or point in wonder and worry when she came out once in a year, sicker than the previous time. The Ameonna had become a bore.  

Erika was, or rather- had been, the same. She had never actually cared much about the woman in the first place. The first time she had seen this woman, by chance, Erika had instantly nicknamed her the Ameonna, the Japanese spirit, due to her ghostly appearance. Erika had regarded her enough to give her a nickname, but never more to learn her real one.

So why was today any different?

Erika let out a quiet sigh into the night when she realized that this December wasn't going to be any different. The Ameonna was going to stare for fifty minutes, maximum, and then walk back to her house by midnight.

Just as Erika had predicted, the woman stirred after five minutes, as if awaking from a trance.

But instead of walking past the broker shop in her usual light walk, the Ameonna stopped right after five steps and stood staring at an alarmed Erika.

To say Erika was scared would be an understatement. She was petrified.

Why did the Ameonna stop? Why did she stray off her course? Did she figure out what Erika was up to?

Fear and confusion pulsed along her veins, sending her heart into overdrive. But it was completely irrational; there was no reason for Erika to fear the sickly woman nor there could be any way that the woman knew about Erika’s plans of grave-robbing. Just no way.

Erika had never confided in anyone about her secret hobby. She was never one to talk more than necessary; her words were clipped and her answers precise, giving away only a few aspects of her. Nobody knew about her deeper than what she had let off on the surface.

The Ameonna took a step forward, then another, her head gradually tilting and her brows sharply furrowing in what seemed like sympathy.

Erika didn't move, she couldn't. She watched with bated breath as the woman finally came to a stop a few inches before her.

A drop of sweat trickled down the side of her face, instantly chilled by the December cold. It sent a slight shiver down her spine, and set off goose bumps along her arms like falling dominoes.

“Oh honey,” The Ameonna started, a soft sigh of disapproval lacing her words. “You’re standing on poo.”

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Sehnsucht

Right now I'm waiting for Hyouka's episode two to load and listening to Highway, although I can assure you that I'm nowhere on any road or in Japan.

Cutie-pie alert. Oreki ♥

The only adventure I had had aside from swiveling in my new swivel chair and re-blogging Tumblr posts the past week was when I went to Kashmir. And what an adventure it was. (Take note that I apply the term 'adventure' loosely here.)

Us: Throughout Kashmir

It was us nine - the usual ennead of the Natarajans sans Manoj, the Rajagopals, and the Veerasubramanians.

Us being 'nautral'. My horse's name was Dilkul. Such a lazy-bum but we got along. Situation Song: Dreams on Fire

Like before any vacation, like any never-before-seen-snow recipients, we were all absolutely numb with excitement. It was our first time actually crossing the equator, can you imagine how excited we were at that prospect? Sure I was a bit apprehensive in the beginning, to be completely honest. But I wrote it off as just a silly fear of a motion-sickness-prone girl of the five-hour to-and-fro flight. Completely rational apprehension, right?

It would seem so. But the events that occurred later make me doubt if I'm clairvoyant. Or maybe just intensely intuitive.

I might be Raven, guys.

While we were all jumping with excitement and chanting Kashmir like it's our national anthem (only with a bit more patriotism) before the trip, we certainly weren't after the first few days. Last week's trip was the first trip in my whole life that I'd ever detested.

The irony of it all is this: during our trip to Goa, I specifically remember us saying 'Yuck, GOA!' on our flight inbound. But after we reached, we were all 'OMG. OMG. LIke Goa's THE BEST!'. (Okay, not really. I don't ever start a sentence with 'OMG', but we were/are still thinking it.) But it was exactly the opposite for our 'adventure' in Kashmir. Most of the time in Kashmir, we were all 'I want Chennai!' Never have I ever been so enthused and expectant of the Chennai heat.

My photography B) I just edited the horde of people out :P Place: Pahalgam

 Just to be clear, I'm not dissing Kashmir here. Kashmir is absolutely stunning. But it's food is dangerous for us South Indians.

Food not advised for South Indians

Place is recommended.

We were all hearty and happy for just twenty-four hours. Drowned in our elation and bliss, we missed the foreboding signal that the rest of our trip days were to be doomed. Even me, who was a bit weary at first, was delighted, unaware of our impending doom.

It started with Mum. Late night the second day, she suffered in the restroom with no water. Then it spread to the rest eight of us, slowly, poisoning us through the food. In the end, all nine of us were sick in two ways - nothing-is-staying-in-our-stomach sick and home sick.

But nevertheless, I have to acknowledge the fact that we would have immensely enjoyed Kashmir if it was not for our sickness. We would have had a snow-fight (as I'd dreamed) if Gokul had been able to walk and Varsha hadn't fainted after her skiing stint. We would have gone to Sonamarg as planned if we hadn't been traumatized and made even more sick by the horse ride up Pahalgam.

Although I do have to say, snow wasn't at all what I expected it to be. All that hype was for nothing; maybe the scenery - that was really good, while going up the winch. But snow was just ice, you could see it in your own freezer. And it was really dirty. I had dreams of making a snowman, a snow-angel, referencing Frozen, riding on the sledge, taking a pose on the ski wearing goggles and all.

Needless to say, they were crushed. Like a bug. Under a boot.

Maybe I've been fooled by too many cartoons and Disney films.

Go to hell, Jack. You little cheat. 

Well if there was one thing we got in our favour, it was the things we bought. I got some cool leather-suede gloves I could use in future for motor-biking days, and I also bought a beanie like monkey cap. Varsha threw a tantrum and got herself a smoking-pipe. Gokul got, ugh, well, I guess he got high off the scenery and torturing us, of course.

♫ I'm Varsha the sailor girl ♫ I threw a tantrum cause I want me some pipe ♫

Bonus: Varsha and I discovered the wonder that is cameras. We were practically the photographers the whole trip; we just took a bunch of flowers because we'd found out about the 'Close-up' setting.

The quality was real good, but then I messed up. Sorry. PC: Varsha, Me. EC: Me. 

Gokul, Varsha, my mum and Varsha's parents dressed up in authentic Kashmir wear and took photos worth 50 bucks each.

Best thing was, in the last day, we cancelled our trip to Sonamarg and went to a local garden where we saw some really cute elementary kids on excursion. They were all so rosy and fair because of the weather and their teachers allowed us to take pictures with them. They even gave us some Frooti! :D

This one cute boy-cut kid was giving poses, hiding behind the shrub. And this one kid was grumpy as hell.

So it seems we only enjoyed ourselves when we strayed off the packaged-tour and went to local places. 

There you have it, I'm never going on pre-planned packaged tour ever again. The main problem with this trip was the stuffed and cramped planning. We had no time to catch our breaths or nurse ourselves.

The trip wasn't completely useless, I did get to learn some politics. See our parents like to talk a lot in our tempo/car/our-transport-vehicle in all our trips. The topics, as Gokie and I had made a deep study of it, go like this: movies to politics to events to cinema to politics-again. It is rather interesting when you hear it first-hand. They change topics so suddenly yet so gradually, and the changed topic will have no seeming relation to the original one. It's wonderful.

And I garnered some knowledge about Kashmir and the people's trifle with the GoI. Well, I only have one thing to say on this: unless and until the GoI meets the expectations of Kashmiri people, what right does it have over them?

If I continue talking, it'll become a full-blown rant occupying another five pages and I'll be left with sore fingers. Now neither of us want that, do we?

In other matters, our results came today and here we have mine:

For anyone who doubted the boundaries of my awesomeness. Peace out.

Okay, before all of you sneer at me, let me say this: I worked really, really hard for this and spent countless nights sleepless, so I have all the right to boast about it however much I want. Haters can suck it.

On a nicer note: thanks to all who congratulated me and congratulations to all my friends who passed, no matter your GPA, capisce?

-Alex

P.S. Click Here

P.S.S All pictures taken by us are edited either for enhancing the colours or for cloning out unwanted people. 

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Inspiration is a Grade-A Bitch.

When I was eleven, my uncle sat me on his lap and told me that with great power comes great responsibilities, and that, it is upto us powerful people to keep them in check and in a state of balance.

this is not my uncle. this is just another uncle giving the same advice. i think it's universal uncle advice.

 I was just kidding, really. I wanted a good opening that will pull the reader and somehow my thoughts went to Spiderman. I don't know why. My uncle didn't say that; my uncle wasn't even in India when I was eleven. Kudos for those of you who saw right through my bullshit; you're eligible to take the highly-esteemed and often-vacant position of 'friend' in my reality. 

Side Note: I'm pretty sure Uncle Ben didn't even say that to Peter. Hmm.

Anyway, what I am trying to convey is this: I'm so irresponsible that I'll probably forget to feed my own kid. And with the added bonus of procrastination, I'm a dangerous combination procured by laziness. So you get where I am going right? 

[I'm trying to give reasons for my half-year long absence and basically suck up to my non-existent follower(s). - to those who are dumb]

So the real reason why I decided to make a come-back today of all insignificant May-days (is that a pun?) is that I had a WONDERFUL time yesterday. My cousin had come from her hometown, which is Kovai, to our beautiful yet awfully rude Chennai to spend time with me, of course. She reached the recently bomb-blasted Central on April 22nd with my lovely paternal grandparents. This was the second visit in a year for my gramps and they'll be coming again it seems [woe be me: they watch a lot of serials, which means no TV for us ): ]. 

they started airing serials on weekends too. bye world. 

Back to the point, my cous, Rosh, is leaving for Kovai tomorrow and so my dad asked me to take her somewhere. Like the movies, the mall etc.,. We had consumed the previous week by gossiping everything there is to about our respective schools and had watched a lot of movies at home (World War Z, Soodhu Kavvum, Gravity and Hasee toh Phasee). Apparently she hadn't seen even SK or Gravity before. How sad, huh? But I was there to corrupt her, so no probs. 

After having watched all the movies we want and talked all the gossip there were, we were met with a humongous full stop. It was like an amplified version of an awkward pause; we had nothing to do or say. 

And the fact that I lived in a shit-hole in the middle of nowhere with no mall or movies nearby, or even a park, didn't help. Seriously, there is a gap of fifteen-mile radius between fun and my home.

here, have a tom. complimentary of reading my post ;)

So what my Dad suggested was that we go to Varshu (my hot-as-**** best friend, who lives near Skywalk) and go to the movies from there. See, that was a ritual for me. I always went out with Varshu to the movies alone or with some of her friends whenever I had the time, with no parental supervision. But Rosh's family (aside from us, that is) is a bit odd - they confine her too much. Her parents never allow her out alone, even with her friends, nor do our grandparents. I was shocked to hear that they never even allow her to sit in a room alone. It sent shivers up my spine. It's not that she's real rebellious; its just that they are over-protective. 

But I have to admit, I felt sort of relieved too. Because my parents had bought a separate home for ourselves and refused to live in our gramps' home. What would I've been if our places had swapped, with me ending up in the confining household?

I'd have gone completely bonkers, that's what. 

bonkers does not mean a group photo

Anyway, my Dad and Rosh's perippa dropped us off at Varshu's. After waiting for a fashionably-late Varshu and her even more late cousin, we left for the auto stand. From there, we took a ride to Virugambakkam which is where Chandra Metro Mall, our destination, lies. I could tell that Rosh was awful excited; she had never gone anywhere without her guards - sorry, parents - before. And even our gramps' stayed mum on our trip since they couldn't win against my Dad. 

So after having the auto driver stop a few miles away from CMM (for whatever reason Varshu found plausible), we walked the rest of the way. I had stupidly worn the short-heels I had bought for my farewell because I wanted to seem as tall as Varshu (it's an ego problem) and furthermore it seemed to be collecting dust in my wardrobe. 

My shirt was soaked wet with my sweat and my legs cramped like hell, but the idea of reaching a centralised-air-conditioned area numbed my pain. After reaching the Mall, Varshu stumbled about trying to get our online-booked tickets. But me being the genius I am, found out that online-bookings were to be printed at a kiosk and printed it out with a smug smile on my face. 

[Please don't throw pans at the PC. Please let me have my moments of pride.]

The movie we had selected was Vaaiyai Moodi Pesavum. Before watching the movie, I had my doubts about the film 'cause I'd never seen D Salmaan before; I solely accepted the film because my cutie-pie Nazriya was there. But needless to say, I inevitably had my arse handed to me 

talking is injurious to the IQs of the people around you (that's not the plot, really :P i stole that from Sherlock)

I can't gather enough beautiful adjectives and praises to describe it. I would need a whole new post to talk about it. And since this is already getting longer, I'll just stick to saying this: VMP is one hell of a film. 

And this also (I can't resist *_*): It is one of those films, that has the right amount of romance and action and plot. It doesn't let the romance rule over the wonderfully crafted, unique and almost un-cliched plot. It comes on the level of Soodhu Kavvum's uniqueness. I'd go as far as to say that it deserves a Hollywood remake. And this film has opposites-attract love story, what more do you need in romance?

If you don't get the awesomeness of the film, consider this: me, a cynic on all levels, finds this film - a director's second film, fresh.

Back to the point, everyone of us enjoyed. We ordered the usual coke and popcorn and finished it before the movie even started; we ordered some gobi and baby corn during the interval and feared that the guy had cheated us when he didn't live up to his promise of five-minute delivery. I missed a small part of the movie because I wouldn't go take a piss during the interval. 

Dulqueer is an eligible cutie-pie lister :) 

he's married???!! :O :O

Paru (Varshu's cous) took off after we reached Varshu's home and the rest of our quad had some yummy vanilla ice-cream, that might or might not have expired, and talked about what a god-send of a movie VMP was. After that, we decided to go to V's old home at the end of the street and sit in the roof and talk. The roof of her old home is one of those places I had known as home. Varshu's family had lived in the lonely apartment on the roof since her bro's birth and it was on that roof, in countless starry nights, that Varshu and I shared all the secrets and doubts and emotions we bore. 

Varshu had moved about two years ago and so we wanted to take a trip down memory lane. Going there, we met Shriya - Varshu's niece (yes Varshu is already an aunt at 17, but that's a story for another day) - and played with her for awhile before deciding to go to the Pani Poori shop down the road. 

the lady kept giving me long pieces that wouldn't fit in my mouth

Pani Pooris are the best; no one could say otherwise. After having about ten delicious pooris each, we walked back to her current place of residence. There again, we talked about VMP and had a bonding time. After my Dad arrived to pick us up and meet his best-friend (Varshu's mum), we lured him into taking us to a restaurant called the Little Hut. We ended up ordering more than what we could eat and packed the left-overs for Manoj (V's bro) and his friends. 

Along the trip back in the car, Varshu being the frank-as-fuck girl she was, talked about sex and all the birds and bees to our parents like she was talking about what she had for breakfast. Rosh and I sat about uncomfortably, interested at the traffic outside the window. 

apparently she had went anna centinary with her friend and she had took this book covertly and read it *pokerface* 

By the end of the day, I was able to give Roshni the best day of her life (her words, not mine :P ) and get myself a bloated stomach :) Ahh, the pleasure.

In other news, the kitty that comes to my house every day for food and milk finally accepted me and let me touch it this morning (eeeep) and I reached a high score of 2,889,900 on Temple Run II (double eeeep). 

- Alex. 

P.S. Sorry for the long, long post. 

dont resist Boo :{

P.S.S I'm not really sorry; it is my blog after all :P 

i am so rad. i rock.

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I'm back from the dead.

If you are Will Graham or Sherlock Holmes, you can find out from my blog that I'm not active. I'm lazy, I rant a lot, I procrastinate and lose interest easily and I am so fucking rad.

Let us all just listen to me (I am always right) and just ignore the very, very random photoshopped (by me) picture posts.

As I said, I rant a lot. However much I try to deny it, I'm stubborn and I want to get what I want in whatever way possible, if I think that's the right thing to do. I complain, I complain like I drink water. It's as if it's inborn and invincible. I can't ever stop finding out flaws in anything, even pixel like flaws that are not visible to anyone's eyes but my own.

I have long rants speeches in the front of the mirror, that I hope that one day I will be able to express them freely without getting roundhouse kicked in my non-existential balls.

So now on, I promise I will tag all my rant-posts and save you the trouble.

 ~


 

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Being Human

I've realized of late that my cortical hemispheres are so crowded with existential thoughts, that I couldn't pin one down to blog it. I decided that I needed index cards. And most of them have been scribbled this: rant about your English teacher with the non-existential grammar.
I'm a ranter.
I like to complain. But hey, we are creatures of loss and anger. Being human is an excuse for complaining.
Actually being human is an excuse for everything and anything nowadays.
But being human isn't an excuse for my spaceboard key not working. You don't know how hard I have hit it to make a space. Back to the topic: I never, in my life, abused any of my keyboard keys. They're precious and I hate on-screen mouseclicked keyboards.
I got an 12 and a half out of 15 by the way in English.
It came to me a major, outlandish, wtf?? surprise. But then, it went down the drain just as soon as I heard that four students got half mark less than 15.
FML.
She hates me. And I didn't even feel anything human towards her this time. It was fully vouchsafed to be beasty.
Time for a confession, dear blog. I speak to my mirror self.
I have long drawn out speeches about various things in front of my mirror. I'm like that. I'm a human.
And since I'm a human, I will procrastinate to read the last of my lessons for tomorrow's exam until I'm crying about not reading ANYTHING tomorrow during the exam.
To people who didn't understand any word of this post: welcome to my cortex. 
 

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As Apple is to A

Coimbatore is to Canada and Chennai is to America.
People here are so nicer than Chennaities. You don't ever see a Chennai person hanging up on his call just to tell you the directions; you have a hole glared into your head.
I'm in Kovai for Pongal and to forget about that grammarless wicked witch of the west.
We went to the Isha Yoga center to see the Dhyanalingam and to be honest, I slept two times inside the Dome of the Dhyanalingam when I was supposed to be meditating.
But I woke up before they rung the bell and prayed to no one that that English teacher should be blessed with some grammar.
Before that, we actually went to another temple, this one not as modern as Isha Yoga, where we saw stone chains and were about to see a stone ball inside a lion's mouth but couldn't see since some people had shook the statue to its death.
In Isha Yoga, I bought a snake ring and am wearing it in the wrong finger just because and ate at the cafeteria and saw a lot of American hippies.
So you can conclude that this atheist likes to visit temples to buy mysterious rings.
Happy Pongal!

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