I picked up the stem and lit the end, dragging in a few puffs as the embers burn in red spots. The fumes entered my diaphragm offering a pleasant irritation; unfamiliar and exotic at the same time. The evening sun dips down the horizon sleepily. I blow a long fume into the opposing wind. It spat back at me. I smiled. Nature has been in constant opposition to man since I know. But the wind is my companion.
It is my second one of the day. I am breaking a rule. Well, rules are meant to be broken goes the old saying. I have never waited so long, that is another rule I’ll break today. What am I waiting for? Or who? I do not know? I have been waiting ever since I was born. For someone or something, doesn’t matter. They’ll come in the end. You cannot deny what has already been given. Maybe it’s the smoke, but I’ll still ramble. Who cares? I do. Well, I should. That is the least I could do to my own self.
I should get a girlfriend. That is what my friends seem to tell me. I never know why. As though women had the answers to everything? Nothing against women. Loneliness is not depressing. I like it. It offers me a certain freedom of thought. Lonely yet happy. It is a wonderful place to be. It is a wonderful feeling to be able to sit back on the steps outside a closed shop at night, not listening to anybody’s version of the day or about political arguments. Just sitting and watching the world dissolve into smoke. Like that song from dev anand’s film’ har fikr ko dhuey me udaata chala
This was good. Felt a little different. Surreal, but nice. I should speak to you more often. So what if you think I am a little looney? I am.
I exist as I am, that is enough, If no other in the world be aware I sit content, And if each and all be aware I sit content. I stood quietly by the corner
Watching patiently ,
Watching those black eyes
As they scanned the crowd,
They were beautiful.
They were true,
Night was not darker
And day was never so bright;
They sat on either sides of her nose
Bridging the two halves of a moon,
One that rose on my sleeping soul;
Nothing else did I see,
Nothing that could be
More beautiful
Except maybe her smile,
That shall be my one regret.
I shall see his bloodstained face
For days and days to come;
His scream shall rent my dreams
At hollow nights and empty scenes,
I cannot forget him.
How still he stood, or his eyes
Set at sights in the distance;
He would’ve heard the wind,
Screaming into his ears
A song of death,
But it was too late.
He never turned to see
The rattle of metal wheels,
The clang of death’s shield;
And the moment was past.
His body twisted, limbs flailed
And mouth frothed in his soul’s blood;
Ripped apart by cold metal,
He ceased to be.
He was no longer a friend, son,
A lover or student.
He wasn’t even human anymore.
Food for cats, dogs and crows,
That is all he would be.
I saw a man die today,
It could have been me;
But it was his day.
Today we sleep. In the cosy comfort of our blankets, we forget everything that was; for everything will be new. We shall wake up when the sun is still dark and light new lamps. Lights for our bright futures that will dot the earth like yellow stars while the sky shall still be black. Our naked skins covered by new clothes. Colours dot our foreheads and sweets stain our tongues. Rejoice. Rejoice for the day that comes.
I can’t. For everyday I see and feel and feel when I see. I see hungry women holding dirty children. Children corrupted by the pangs of hunger. I see men; ambitious, insensitive and cruel. I see promises caged in forgotten imaginations. Something I cannot forget. And everywhere I go, they haunt me. I sleep and wake up again wanting to know why it is so. Why is it that I celebrate and they watch? I have tried to make them go away. Bribe charities and missions and yet what I do is never enough. Something more wants to be done. A new face asks for something I cannot give. And like everybody else, I too shrug them off and walk ahead. But they remain… So I shut them away from my eyes by burning crackers, loud enough to drown their wails. I watch money burn up in piles as I let it fire up to the sky. I pig myself on dainty dishes and satiate my conscience. I lie and cheat and gamble upon it. And yet after these few days, I shall wake up with a heavy heart and wonder why I did what I did.
Maybe I should’ve walked down the street. Found a poor soul alone and hungry. I could’ve fed him a morsel or two. That’s what dickens in A Christmas Carol asks us to do. I should light up a few kids’ lives. Teach them how to use the fork and the knives. Not that I myself know. But it would be fun to do so. I know a beggar boy who could agree. He smiles every time he sees me. Honestly, that’s the best time of my day. When I see unknown souls rejoice that way.
And you know what he said to me today ……. “ Happy Diwali” HE didn’t even wait for me to say
HAPPY DIWALI .
It has been so long a time that the form feels alien to me. I do not know why I chose to do this today, nor why this today… I have long been absent from this land of abstract thoughts, yet not long enough as to banish its memories form my own heart. What am I writing?? Nonsense.. Yes. But then not a lot of things are making sense these days. Those apart from the American President’s latest imperialistic conquest on Noble Minds. I feel like being surrounded by the fumes of memories like cigarette smoke that cloud everything in my view. I will have to hold my breath in order to see clearly. Hell, I might as well try connecting the dots.
Where did I last leave you guys and gals?? My graduation ? Yes, that tragedy happened. I graduated as a Bachelor of Arts. But Unlike Narayan’s hero, I never managed to find an Adventure along the way. Well, Que Sera Sera… So I had nothing else to do now? Unless I decide to spoil my wisdom even more by educating myself further. I now pursue the Masters along with a couple of other courses. Funny, I never imagined studying after my HSC debacle. The past is put into perspective from the future.
Hows Family?? Yeah. They’re good. Mom’s nervous about me being unemployed. Dad’s pissed off. I lack the ability to use hyperboles, so I’ll leave their expressions to your imagination. True. I should’ve been more responsible. I could’ve been somebody. I could’ve been a contender. I can’t do it as well as Brando; but the emotions are the same. Sorry for rambling about. Its hard to keep a rein on memories. They have a tendency to stray. More so when you’re filled with so many that you’ve to let out.
My days are long nights short. Nothing new, somethings older. I have lost weight ..Not a good thing if you’re me. I have lost hair. I have lost love. Come to think of it, I have lost a lot of things. As though I am on my way to become an ascetic. Ok. I may be overdoing it. But I no longer am the same person. Change is natural, even compulsory but it is not readily acceptable. I had a picture of me in my mind. Never knew it would be so wrong. But then C’est La Vie. I am no more than another nerd sinking under the weight of his knowledge. No more am I a rebel. No more a radical. Just another idiot who thought he could change the world. How stupid of me? The world changes without me doing anything. It changes us with it. So Forward dear heart, swim to further shores… Enough of this nonsense.
Is it still I, who there past all recognition burn?Memories I do not seize and bring inside.O life! O living! O to be outside!And I in flames. And no one here who knows me.
Visions flee my sight
Before I can see
Clouds muddle a clear night
And visions cease to be
Raindrops fall tenderly
On dried, dusty roads
And music plays silently
In the wet ponds of toads.
I woke up to a dark night
Blinded by the presence of light
Awakened to a sense of sound
My mind wanders around
And suddenly everything is alive
Buzzing with the energy of a hive
A silent whisper floated in
On the chariots of a cool wind
And vreathed into my ears
The answer to all my fears
A universe revolved around me
In a wondrous cacophony
Notes sounded everywhere
On water, land and air
Every moment was a dance
I danced as in a trance
And then I saw
The Universal Law
Every soul was a note
That some other wrote.
“You ever tried writing your name on these walls with…?”
“Why in heaven’s name would I want to do that? Give me one good reason!!”
“To show that you could..that is a start. Its kinda fun actually.”
“Seriously…whay are we having this conversation? Are you done yet? I need to get outta here.”
“Because we have run out of any more conversational topics.” Long pause..”So back to the paintings..”
“Shut up.Please.”
“Hey!! You are H, right?”
“Yup.”
“ English literature, right?”
“Yup”
“So…………Whats up??”
“Nothing much.” You don’t wanna know, seriously.
“What are you doing here?”
Long pause…..Should I … “ Just came to visit an old friend.”
“Really!! Who?”
Who are you!!!! “You know the girl in sociology…”
“Ummmm..No”
I thought so. “ Yeah!! That’s the one.”
“Ohhhhhhhhh!!”
“See ya!!” thank god.
“You know what happened yesterday?”
“No.Enlighten me.”
“ You missed a great laugh man”
“Yeah..really.”
”Yeah. S there, you know, really went hysterical. You should’ve seen the look on M’s face.”
“ohhkaay”
“So where were you yesterday?”
“Home.Sleeping”
“With whom?”
“I’m done.”
You know sometimes ii just wonder if there might be a time when my classmates wouldn’t walk in on my ‘time’ and talk. Why can’t they just pee and get out. Get in, drain and get out. No chitchat. No hi or Wassup..God!! Why??
I have always been an obstinate child. This has been a cause of constant worry for my parents. They have had courses in good parenting for all these years and yet never managed to figure out the reason why two perfectly obedient adults produced one crazy rebellious fool. There have been annoyed aunts and grand aunts who have been unable to figure out the cause of my unhealthy disposition coupled by a healthy disregard for anything religious. The legend goes that I was a very ‘good boy’ till my last school year; it never can be confirmed. Reports keep varying. What changed though is a mystery even I do not remember, though I think the basic catalyst would be the song ‘Its my life’ by Jon Bon Jovi. It was a rage in our SSC days, and somehow it seeped into my unconscious.
Lights lit up the dark street,
Throwing shadows far and long,
Across dark pavements that
Led people endlessly through
This urban maze.
Cracked, dry cement crunches
Under tires of passing vehicles,
Moths buzz up at streetlights
Lonely and lifeless.
Somewhere down the bend
In a small tea shop
I might find solace
IN a hot cup of sweet tea
Swirled amidst fumes of
Burnt filter cigarettes,
Sometimes I find it strange
To strain my ears to hear
That unique sound of silence,
Between intervals of passing cars.
Till the time that the night sets
And dawn stands on the threshold,
The silence will hold;
Then with the first chirp of orange skies
A flame would rise up
Through the empty blackness
Lighting up tired eyes,
And the mountains come peeping shyly,
Staring at a wide awake world;
Just a moment before the cacophony
As though living in a dream
That lasts longer than the sleep;
Only empty memories float,
Ghosts of an invisible spectre
That continue to haunt
After passing on,
Blinds are thrown apart,
Coffee steamed up
And gulped in sugarless draughts,
Speeding feet kick up dust
And skim off morning dew,
The rush begins again.
I can see the heads hang on
To a tin centipede,
As I walk back home.
Sometimes when I am wandering
Through perfectly still nights
Awaiting the morning lights,
I think about you;
And memories flash
In front of tired, dreamy eyes;
Floodlights of passing vehicles
On a deserted highway.
None still or stagnant,
But forever in motion;
Like seconds in lost minutes
That hovers in your sight
Before vanishing forever.
In that momentary existence,
Within that bright kaleidoscope,
I traverse through my subconscious
Towards my only ray of hope –
You.
I remember everything I thought
I would not;
Memories hang on
Limp limbs to half severed members
And pull on the joint
Of past pain’s flashpoint;
Till memory fades
And the experience returns.
Memories distilled to feeling,
Visions to being
And I find myself seeing
Through the looking glass
Into a myriad world of dead time.
Where you exist with me,
For in those moments
I see you again as you were;
From the lazy twinkle in your eyes
To the last wavy curl in your hair,
Innocently twisted like sweet lies;
I see myself feeling, breathing,
Living.
How do I describe it?
Knowledge fails vocabulary.
What you feel
Cannot be expressed,
The expression can never be felt.
An absent perfection completes art
In its perfect silence.
Silence can be intoxicating.
When memory is drained away,
And feeling dies;
One moment of absolute emptiness
Demands to be filled,
And you have nothing.
THERE IS SOMETHING ABOUT FATHERS THAT I WILL NEVER UNDERSTAND. They have this innate fear of their children’s independence. It is almost as if they dread the day that their children will grow up, and wait in patient horror of the future. They toilet train kids like pet dogs, make them study mathematics and weird algebraic formulae; insert in their heads words like discipline, love and duty so that children would do what they want them to. But it is the future that they expect to be potty trained. Unfortunately for them, the future has a bad habit of shitting where it pleases. Children often turn out to be what their fathers fear. In my case, if ever you happen to ask my father who I am; the answer would be “My worst Nightmare.”
I was not exactly a big fan of my dad since the childhood, as my mother often reminds me. You might quote the ‘oedipal complex’ and other Freudian gloop but it remains that my dad and me have always been on the opposite sides of the coin. Legend goes that pissed off with his work antics and regular absence of family time, I once asked my mom to ‘give this dad away’ and get a new one. My mom still jokes that would have been a good idea. But it is not always that way. I love my dad. He is honest, well read, idealistic, hardworking. I love him for the way he will not compromise his principles. I adore him for his uninhibited faithfulness to what he likes. I can even like his popularity with people. He is what every child hopes to have – a loving father, a hero.
The problem with fathers is very strange, it stems from the fact that they are too old. Their experiences in a cruel world make it seem necessary to them that they should warn their prodigals of the dangerous world that they step into. What they do not notice is that in their hurry to protect their ‘dear ones’, they are denying them of a chance of experiencing the world. Every human that is born sees the world in a different light. If it were up to fathers, we would see only the best. A noble ideal, nonetheless constricting and suffocating to their wards.
Children are almost like aliens coming into this world, says a line in the movie ‘Martian child’ (Great movie, by the way!!) . They have no idea who they are, or where they are. To them each day is like an experience, to live life in a particular way only would be to close up an inquisitive mind. Yet, agreeably there are things that are not to be disclosed to children. But once they have reached a certain age, it no longer is up to the parent to choose how the child should be. The parents are the ‘cause’; children are the ‘effect’. As they say in philosophy – the effect has its origins and nature in the cause but the cause does not share the same with the effect. Thus, though the effect is similar to the cause, the cause is not similar to the effect. The father might have been like the son, but the son cannot be his father.
MY father has toiled for fifty long years. Sun, rain and false promises have made him cynical. His ideals have now been eaten away by constant hunger and principles weakened by the termites of responsibility. He no longer has the vigour of a young man and the strength of a believer. I have watched him go from being a believer to a skeptic. I know he fears the same looking at my growing fearlessness. I am sure he sees the image of himself in his younger days and does not want me to become a picture of him in the older days. But his experience does not necessarily have to be mine. He has every right to be afraid and warn me, but it remains that I choose the other way. I want to be my father, the ay he could not be. “You’ll never make it in this world”, he says. “You have no idea how hard it is”. Yes, Sir. I have no idea. But if you won’t let me find out, I never will.
I woke up today feeling like a stuffed doughnut. The extra rice and ‘sambhar’ from Sunday had decided to cancel their tour of my smaller intestine and were returning through the wrong direction. I rushed into the loo and to spare the rest of the details, I sent off the rice and sambhar, they left unwillingly though. I wonder why. The rest of the day promised to be a bummer till the call came. I was actually hoping to hear a sweeter voice, when the phone crackled to a loud ‘Wassup!”.
I hate when people manipulate me to do what they want without even trying too hard. After half an hour of wait under a steaming sun; with the crowd teeming around, you decide to head up to the loo again to piss your pants off. You are almost in the process, when the phone rang again. It is such an awkward moment when you are very busy relaxing and like the devil’s bugle, your phone rings out loud, and somebody in the neighbouring compartment says, “Would you please pick it up!! I’m trying to concentrate here.” So you curse, zip up and head out; but not before checking the zipper again. The phone turns out to be your ‘long-lost’ friend who, it seems, has been caught up in some urgent work and won’t be able to make it for another half an hour. So whaddya do, jack? What d’ya do? You wait. What else is there to do!
The most exciting time of a year to visit a college is when the results are out. O! The excitement, the rush, the hopes and the nail biting, tear jerking finish. Ahhh!! All the ingredients of a potboiler. But this is also a day for the memories. Behind the scenes of jubilant teenagers and crying mothers, there are nostalgic passersby. TY students and their juniors, who, have just passed this same state last year; watch these people and smile cynically. But somewhere deep inside they feel happy, or sad, knowing their own emotions at the time. They smile wry smiles and try to carry on with whatever they do.Often I go back in time to think about the moment I was handed m result which showed 13 marks less in two subjects from the passing grade. I remember feeling numb and having an Out of body experience of the entire day. Three years have passed and not one passes without reminding me of that day.
And after almost an hour of waiting, the ‘VIP’ finally arrives. Between thoughts of violence to knock him down and rub his nose on the hot concrete and the curiosity at why are we here in the first place, you stand flummoxed. He runs up to you with the smile of a slimy politician, and grabs you in a bear hug. For the next three seconds, you feel like you’re stuck in a “Friends” episode, feeling like chandler. After the morphine induced excitement dies down, you decide to ask what the F#@k is the reason of your standing here today. He smiles, then blushes and smiles again. And just when you are thinking, again, of smacking him on the head, he answers “You know the crush I had in college…. She has a sister…she was in 12th this year. She passed. She might be coming to take her mark sheet. I might be able to see her.”
And you sit there wondering who she is. As the carnival carries on through the day.
A single caw flew across the trees,
Whispering its way through darkness.
I watched the pale light fall,
Upon barren branches and withered leaves
Waiting for a drop to quench slaked throats.
It is an unusual morning, I thought,
To be asleep.
I walked through the lonely street,
Snaking endlessly through graveled earth.
Stillness in motion, a silent echo.
The corners dropped off the edges
Of a darker horizon surrounded by brick walls;
Walls that were coated in ivory white,
Stained by a sanguine red.
With every foot my feet covered,
I found a foot more waiting to be covered
Crunches screamed from beneath the earth
As I trampled upon skulls and bones.
Life slept around me and snored
I just couldn’t take it anymore.
So I ran.
I ran from freedom, and the oppression it promised;
I ran from duty and worship;
I passed knowledge and wisdom,
As they waited at the next bend.
From virtue’s honest opinion,
To philosophy’s truthful deceit,
I ran, to forget memory
That lasted longer than the meet.
I ran past faces of truth, of sorrow
Hatred and peace.
I ran at the speed of darkness
That creeps across men’s souls.
I could feel the wind cursing at my ears
I heard its deathly wail.
It coursed through my pale veins
Swimming in my blood, to reach my heart
Which repeated the cry.
The echo was louder.
Till the end I never knew
Where I was running to.
When upon a hill I came,
Dried and dusted with red barrenness.
Soil red as blood, seeping out of earthen pores
Bleeding a dark hidden secret
Waiting to be unearthed.
I waited and waited,
I prayed the prayers I pray,
Wailed and sighed at the day;
I cursed the curses I knew
Till language no more came to my aid.
And I could no more curse or pray.
I lay there, silent and still,
Like the dawn that crept upon the hill.
And painted the red earth around me
Rich golden brown.
But the stains on my hands still seemed red,
Like the sun that rose
Upon the dead.
MY eyes saw no more sights
And wetted my skin with tears.
I had lost my world to a fight
A fight I always feared.
I had lost and lost badly,
Everything that I had loved so madly.
But there was nothing called love anymore,
That could soften the fire at my core.
So I let that fire out to burn,
And stoked the fire even more
Till it burned the dark core;
And nothing remained.
Not the fire, nor me.
Everything was ash,
And the dawn was grey.
And so the nightly ritual begins. In the middle of the room; in front of a dimly lit monitor I sit and type the things that enter randomly in my subconscious. I sit in the quiet that surrounds me, interrupted by the occasional sputtering snore of my father lying on the cot adjacent to the computer. I wonder at everything that used to occupy my thoughts and think about them. They sound silly and childish now. Man is a strange creature; with a memory that looks behind accompanied with the fact that he is in a linear motion into the future. He cannot go back, and yet can never forget his past.
“You do not think practically. Have you any idea how stupid your words are sounding right now. Is that your dream? To travel?? Like a vagabond? Try making use of the education we gave you. Why can’t you be like everybody else? You cannot survive a day without money.”
I wanted freedom. Is that a crime? To choose what we want, what we like rather than do what we have to. Maybe I am too idealistic for this world. But money was never my goal. NO, I do not consider money unimportant. I just do not like it. It is a means to a necessity. It is not a necessity in itself. All I wanted is to go away on a long journey, where people will not look on me as a future asset. I would like for once to be accepted for who I am, rather than as a freakish comparison to the ideals in society. I have a dream. And I wish to follow that dream till the end of my life, regardless of whether I am a success or a failure in this world that I live in. How do people judge success? It is a personal definition. It is just something you wanted so badly that your life however comfortable it be will not be competed without it.
“Listen, I was just as idealistic as you when I was young. I know, you want to do something no one has ever done. You have ideas in your head. Education does that to you sometimes. But this is a practical world. Think about it. Your parents are old. They brought you up till this day, are you going to leave them like this?”
Everyone in his/her life has a purpose. Something that they cherish their entire life. Their ‘MAGNUM OPUS’ their life’s work. I have something in my mind. It is not wrong for me to pursue it. In fact it would be morally incriminating on my part to ignore it. I am not planning to give up all material desires and walk away in the sunset in search of nirvana. No. I want to take up a job. Be a journalist; preferably end up as a Chief Editor. I will take care of my parents. Any ways, my parents did not bring me up to be a mutual fund investment, as a security for their future, did they? As for being like ‘others’, I simply do not wish to be. Doesn’t everybody wish to assert their individuality? If not, why the ambition, the thirst and the toil? What are they for?
The question remains are we really free? We are taught to be someone in some manner through education. Education, that has ceased to be a means to acquire knowledge and become an end in itself. Every year of our life we are processed to be ‘civilized’. Man has a strange relation with freedom.He believes, we need to be civilized o achieve it. Yet, civilization requires him to give up his primal freedom. So what is it that we search for when we say freedom? To pursue a dream, believe in something. Something that can be done with the least intervention of money. I am sorry. Dreams have to be realistic in this ‘society’. I didn’t know.I believed you had to follow them.Whether you achieved success, or failed was just a matter of opinion. The constancy to the dream was the key. Taking a path is always a matter of choice. I just tend to choose differently.
Past dusty streets and dusty streetlamps
Where bored shopkeepers stare at passersby lustily,
shoving capitalism down their innocent throats
Wrapped in neon lights and shiny tags;
While outside under a red sun
Kids draw eights on little bicycles
Between speeding cars and
An occasional handcart.
I wish I could go back there
Playing like I did as a kid
Chasing rubber balls across graveled pavements
Hiding behind paan stained walls
And cursing people for no reason
But I have grown up now;
That’s what they tell me.
And I do what they tell me to do.
The market has not yet begun
The shops pause with a hum on their lips,
That would soon turn to cracked cries;
Of prices and haggling customers
Till the darkness overcomes their desires,
And leads them home to troubled sleep.
Chocolate éclairs stare at me
From within round jars of plain glass.
Juicy apples in forbidden jars,
I remember the counting and waiting,
Turning over 5o paise coins again and again
Till there were no more chocolates;
And no more coins.
Young men wait on railway bridges
In search of that utopian feeling – love:
Something I’ll never know,
Till death itself brings me a peace of that feeling
Where, to attain it is to overcome its desire
But till then smoke rings fill the empty void
That surrounds a heavy air around the bridge.
Feet carry on their tiresome job of treading dust
That rise in small puffs and swirl away
Behind the exhausts of big cars
Driven by shoeless vagabonds with puffy red eyes
Till the petrol runs out in the air cooled tanks.
Something is bothering me
If I knew what it was it wouldn’t anymore
But the liquid keeps simmering in that deep place
Where feelings are hid like inside a dingy cupboard
Till they burst out like old clothes stinking of sweat
But till then I wait endlessly.
Then the sun goes down in a dirty red sky
The vultures come out of the hiding
And men hunt for prey
Behind dark alleys and brightly lit corridors
Where flesh is sold by butchers,
Hung up on hooks, while the wolves
Surround it and howl.
Sometimes I wonder if this is all there is..
It has become a major war now. My mom never forgets to wake me up with a grimace. She keeps pointing out that I need to cut my hair. I can see the reason for her contempt when the mirror cannot contain the rebellious strands that rise above my head like a black halo. And I wonder as I shave my face if that patch of skin between my parting line and my forehead isn’t growing larger. And something tells me it is.
Throughout the exams I made it a point to ignore facets of my beauteous personality that led to me practically looking like a deranged lunatic high on dope……My mother’s words. Somehow it seems, the women in your life notice everything about you, even though you never do. They look at me and go, “what happened to you??...been through a tough time…ohh, don’t worry so much about the exams; you’ll do fine..” Ohh,bloody hell!! I thought the world was coming to an end…!!!!
What is it with people and appearances. You may say they are deceptive,don’t matter and real beauty is deepr than the skin, but it remains that beauty is skin deep. I have stopped reacting to people’s opinions on myself. It makes me feel like a reclusive artist walking in the midst of lesser mortals. Somewhat like the stray dog on my street who makes it a point to ignore the purebreds that keep barking on him while their owners strain on leashes shouting ‘pappu, down.’ I am free in some way.At least I do not have to conform to people’s orders. I am free…Into the Wild..
And once again I look into the mirror and try to settle down those unruly strands of hair.They refuse to go down quietly or stay there. I smile and shout back to my mom, and answer for the sake of all rebels everywhere, “ I am not going to cut my hair!!!”