Tips for the New-Age Dictator

This post is specifically for those who are on the brink of overthrowing the premier/royal of a nation/state and taking over as the 'Dictator-At-Large' of said nation/state. But, I realize that the number of such people all over the world are limited, so I am also inclusive enough to state that this post is for people who are just interested in understanding the subtle nuances on being a successful dictator of a nation in the 21st century.

Drama unfolds in the Middle East as I pen these words. The region is perhaps undergoing its most volatile time in recent years. First it was Tunisia, where protests were sparked off against the incumbent government. Then it was Egypt, where things really took a serious turn for the worse for the Mubarak government and he had to flee the country before he could finish buying that vintage gramaphone player on ebay. Today's latest news is that riots have broken out in Bahrain, Yemen and even Libya (and not just over Gaddafi's weird costume choices) and the autocratic regimes or monarchies of these nations are under serious fire. This is very depressing time for a person who wants to take over as a dictator of a nation. He/She would think many times after seeing the failures of their idols (the dictators and monarchs) as they are on shaky ground against determined protestors and 'pro-democracy' oppositions galvanized through Facebook and Twitter. Fret not, I have come up with some tips to guard the interests of these budding dictators in a world which is clearly unjust. Here they are:

Internet Blackout: The Internet is the most disastrous thing for a successful dictatorship. The widespread use of the Information Superhighway is clearly the catalyst behind the rampant and irresponsible actions of these protestors who are intent on unleashing newfangled concepts such as 'Democracy' and 'Political Bargaining'. The first thing you should do as a dictator is to disband the concept of Internet in your country. The worst thing that a bad government can do is to reform itself and care for the people. Expose them to nothing. That way their heads will not be filled with garbage like 'Freedom', 'Elections' and other politically taboo terms. The biggest problem with the Mubarak government in Egypt was that it tried to reform itself by introducing Economic and Communication reform, providing broadband internet access to its people, and worse, providing access to sites like Facebook and Twitter. This can be suicidal to new-age Dictators. Not only can your people send friend requests to beautiful girls in foreign nations, but apparently they can also gather guys for a mass protest in your capital city. North Korea is the most successful example of this implementation. They do not have a broadband network. There is only a single Internet cafe in Pyongyang and Internet access in some upmarket hotels. This is supplemented by the fact that all North Korean Government websites are hosted outside North Korea. In fact the Korean Government even has official Facebook, Twitter and Youtube IDs where they post Anti-US and Anti-South Korean content. Ofcourse, the dictator needn't deprive himself /herself of the Internet. Kim Jong Il is said to love surfing the net and has a private link that he accesses via China. In fact, ensuring that computer illiteracy is rampant is the best way to restrict Internet Access. Be sure to appoint Mulayam Singh Yadav as your Information Technology Minister.

Stay away from the US: An important aspect of being a successful dictator is to stay as far away as possible from the United States of America. Not just that, make sure that your people dont even know what America is. The Hallmark of a successful dictator is to appear and act completely against the political skullduggery of the US. They are seen as the 'land of sugar and honey' and people think of being like them when they see anything belonging to the US. Record shows that any successful dictator, Castro, Kim Jong Il have all been fundamentally opposed to the US government at all times. Friendly links with the US results in a openmindedness to the government, which leads to this unnecessary need for reform. Thereby leading to freedom of thought. In fact, censorship on everything is an absolute must. TV broadcasts, Mobile phones and Internet should be banned or at the very least censored extensively. Believe me, 'American Idol' might just come to bite you in your autocratic rear

Random acts of Kindness: Being a citizen of a successful dictatorship is like being afflicted with Stockholm Syndrome. When a kidnapper kidnaps the victim, inflicts acts of violence and torture, inducing trauma and after a point, the very kidnapper performs random acts of kindness on the victim, the victim starts to develop positive feelings towards the kidnapper and is easier to control/manipulate. This habit should be cultivated by the modern dictator. Violence, Torture and Censorship should all have their space in the sun in your regime. But you should not reach a point where you tire your people with atrocities. Initiatives like lower cost of healthcare and better road transport systems would make sure that your image is rosy in the eyes of your delusional nation. Hey, Fidel Castro has done it. You should be able to do it too!

With these tips, I hope you will be able to forge a strong a economically rewarding dictatorship. May the force be with you!

The Neo-Narcissist's new toy

"For the most part people are not curious except about themselves." - John Steinbeck

Narcissism: Definition - "excessive interest in oneself and one's physical appearance."

I would safely declare that the decade leading upto 2011 as the "Decade of the Narcissist." Througout history, people have been narcissistic and experienced narcissism in their own personal ways. From Queen Cleopatra to Marlon Brando to Barack Obama, history is replete with fascinating stories of famous narcissists. However, I believe that the first 10 years of the 21st century put individual narcissism in the spotlight. It has shown us that all of us, famous or otherwise have a narcissistic streak, some more than others, some more distinguishable than others. However, there are several people who are yet to unleash their narcissism upon this planet. This article is for them. Through this, I hope to help some of those people who would like to share their greatest feelings of self-idolization to cope with the rising pressure imposed by their fellow 21st Century human beings.

Facebook is one of the greatest tools that a narcissist can have. It is a social network that allows one to make friends with his/her existing friends or mild acquaintances (online) or make new friends online. It is perhaps the greatest invention of the 21st century for the narcissistic human being. People on facebook allow their feelings to run amok. For instance, a post by a friend of mine about how he was "wasted and lying in a pile of his own/or somebody else's (he doesnt know) puke with a concatenated line saying "Best Night ever!" received 33 "likes" and 20 friends commenting on how his life was so fulfilling (even if it was in somebody else's excrement).

People can voice their most insignificant thoughts on facebook and be instantly recognized and hailed by their circle of friends. A simple thought from you like "I love the rain" might have several people agreeing with you and appreciating your 'love for nature and everything beautiful' (yes, that happens). Not only thoughts, but did I also mention that you can share pictures and videos. So, that picture of you doing a "V" sign with your hands next to a hooker from Bangkok is a photo that is sure to get you a lot 'o' love with the ladies ;)

If you are a gorgeous woman looking to flex your narcissistic muscles (not that you dont already), you will love facebook. There are desperate men (some seniors as well) who will comment on how 'interesting they found your profile' and whether you would like to 'mk frndshp wth thm' (even without the vowels).

Or you could even be a 'Thought Leader'. You could post clever links and interesting articles on facebook and be hailed as a 'cut-above' your set of intellectually deficient friends. You can "like" a few key pages like "Salman Rushdie" or "Arundhati Roy's fight for the Narmada Valley" and be seen as an erudite activist-in-the-making. If you are part of some social causes, then you have hit the jackpot, because you are seen as an left-wing intellectual and could get you virtually laid (yes, virtually).

Then there are the philosophers. These are the people who post the most rehashed philosophical thoughts and gain the admiration of their circle of friends who consistently believe that 'Chicken Soup for the Soul' is a holy scripture. Their consistent stream of quotes like "PRAYER is not an attempt to change GOD's mind, but an attempt to let GOD change our minds" shows us that "its not important to be original but to appear original at all times."

If you are looking to expand on your sense of concsiousness and self-worth, Facebook is the place for you. Dont fear that you will be chastised for your inadequacies or misgivings. You are guaranteed to not be the worst person out there....

Disclaimer: The author has performed all of the above and is yet to find his narcissistic sweetspot. He would like to place on record that he is willing to experiment with more social networking tools where he can show that he is superior to all of you.

The Topper

This is what 5:00 am in the morning actually looks like, he thought. He had never seen it before. He awoke groggily from his bed and sat in front of his Dell laptop. While he was sleeping, his laptop was doing overtime, downloading highly tasteful lesbian erotica, aptly titled 'Teen Divas.' Nothing could have made him happier than finding this rare film in some corner of cyberspace, waiting for him to get his eyes (and later his fingers) on it. But his happiness was short lived. Bryden called last night, frantically at 11:30 and told him the results were being declared the next day. He could feel his heart sinking. He had definitely failed physics and maths and he would be really, really lucky if he cleared Electronics. He knew that he would access the college website tomorrow morning, login with his ID and password only to find hurt bombs drop all over the computer screen. Mummy would be delirious. She had told Sheela auntie last week that he would be attending IIT coaching from the end of the month. Daddy would be crestfallen. Daddy wouldn't beat him or do the drama Mummy did, but his disappointed look would be torture.

He wanted to get the news early in the morning, so that he could plan his official parental statement. Preparation, he believed was paramount in such matters and time was always welcome. He opened up Mozilla Firefox and surfed to his college website. It was quite an eyesore. It was like the worst web designer threw up on it. An odd blend of colours and bad fonts reminded him of the confused 'temple of learning,' that was his college. He had to login and see if his single digit scores would show up on screen. He clicked on 'Students Corner' where he would login and witness history in the making. But to his surprise, he found the message 'This section is under construction'. He realized that they must be uploading the results and he should probably try later. He sat around on his chair and constantly refreshed the page, waiting for something to happen. Soon enough, he found the login page appear and he started to type out his username and password. He typed it quickly and hit 'Submit' on the page, only to be redirected to another page full of the results he so dreaded. He had failed in three out of six papers he had attempted and would bid adieu while the rest of his friends who would proceed 'onward and upward to greater heights', a phrase his father used when he chided him about not studying like his friends. He sat there dumbstruck, with his insides churning and the thought of having to work in some farm or mill. Thoughts of his parents going ballistic. Thoughts of Aditi leaving him because he was an academic failure. But in all these myriad thoughts bursting inside his head, he somehow managed to think about what Giri had told him last month. Giri had told him about a cyber-attack where one could enter some random characters in the input field ending with a ';' and some random password and get access to actual user accounts. SQL Injection, he had called it. He was crowing about how he had found it on some ticket booking site and how cool it was when he gained access to some other user's account.

He decided to give it a shot. He had nothing to lose. He opened up the login page again and this time entered the words 'admin' into the username field followed by a semicolon. He figured that the site should have an administrator and he had seen other devices with the username admin. He put the most random password he could think of, which naturally was dirty and something he believed, could never be tied to him even if he was caught. He clicked on 'Submit.' What happened later was something incredible. He was staring at a page called 'Administration Section.' His hands suddenly got sweaty and he felt a slight shiver up his spine. He had just hacked into his school's administration section, and if he knew the meaning of the word 'administrator', they could do a lot of stuff.

Even though his heart rate had gone through the roof, he managed to click on the link that read 'Student Data, ' which opened up to a simple page that one would be able to enter a student's name his/her class and section and a 'Submit' button. Unable to handle the curiosity of what lay beneath, he entered his name, class and section just to find his name appear below, after clicking 'Submit.' He clicked on his name and a new page opened up with his entire academic record. Attendance, test scores, exam scores, etc. He had just hit gold. He opened up the page that contained exam scores only to find that he could change his exam scores, after all, he was the administrator. So he promptly changed his scores for all the papers he had failed and those he had passed. He changed them to above average scores, in case someone suspected. He had never scored more than 60 in his life, and while he could have scored a few marks more, 80 and 90% was out of the question. He quickly changed the scores and logged out. He logged in with his own id, printed out his scorecard and woke up from his seat quickly and walked towards the kitchen, happily shouting out to his mother, "Ma, First Class!!!!!"

The Message

He sat on his grandfather's old rocking chair wearing his traditional morning costume, a slightly stained banian and an old dhoti of his father's. The only change today was that his father's old Nokia 1100 replaced the customary steel tumbler full of strong filter coffee, in his hands. His heartrate had way exceeded the pace of the rusty old fan from the ceiling. He was waiting for news, good or bad, he couldnt take the waiting any more.

It had been three months since he had been selected in a campus interview by this large software company. He had been impressive. He sailed through the technical rounds, with clearly superior knowledge of Java, XML and SQL. All his English training in the holidays had also paid off. He was able to spell 'believe' and 'receive' without mixing up the 'i's and 'e's. He was not very happy about his English speaking abilities, but for now it would have to do. Software Engineers dont really need to speak to too many people early on in their careers, he thought.

The company soon gave him the offer letter. The pay was good. Appa wouldnt have to bear the huge burden anymore. They could soon move out of this dump and go to a better place, if he saved up. Everyone at home was ecstatic and elated at these prospects. Then the recession happened. Two months ago, he got a call from the company saying that he had to wait for sometime before he would be called. He asked them what had happened, for which they replied that some 'corporate restructuring' was taking place, as a result of which new recruitments were being 'frozen' for the moment. This was bad news. He had to face two months of torture, staying at home and doing nothing. He tried applying elsewhere, but it was all useless. Same story, same result. He even tried working as a systems repairman in a computer store, but found himself completely dissatisfied and unhappy. Even his father's persistent visits to the Ganesha temple had not borne fruit.

In this period of fractured dreams, he had met her. She had moved to the house just next to his. Her father was a clerk in a Government Co-op Bank. She was having trouble with Maths in college, so her father had requested him to tutor her. He had accepted reluctantly. He hated teaching. Most of these students, werent motivated to study and they only did this out of force, he thought. Their waning interest was something he couldnt tolerate. But she had been different right from the beginning. Her curosity and inquisitiveness was positively refreshing. She challenged him at every front with questions and doubts that were vital, yet never raised. Her vivaciousness was so infectious, that for one hour a day, he used to forget all his troubles and bask in the joy of teaching her and find supreme satisfaction in successfully answering her questions. Although he fought the feeling for a few weeks, he realized that he had fallen for her. At first, he was shocked at himself. She was his student after all. He had been given a position of exalted privilege, not to be taken lightly or abused in any way. After a few weeks of shadow-boxing with himself, he realized that he had to tell her. So he did, one day at class, cooling all the
frenzied nerves in his body. He expressed his intent in a plain and simple way and left it at that. Her reaction had been unreadable as she got up and stormed out of his house. The next day, she had told him that she would think about and let him know.

Shankar, from the next street had told him that the software company was announcing recruitment calls today and that they would probably call him and formally announce that he could join soon. He hadnt told anyone, as he was quite sure that he would be disappointed. His father viewed him curiously when he had asked for his phone, before unfailingly heading towards the Ganesha temple close by. He didn't bathe. He sat there waiting for a call or an SMS to arrive. There were some text messages early on, which he frantically read only to find messages of "Pest Control" or "Stock Market Tips." He had sat there for 3 hours waiting patiently, before he lost hope. He wasnt getting any phone call or text message today. He was just fooling himself. As he got up to leave, the Nokia phone chirped its customary text message tone. He instinctively dived for the phone, and clicked on the 'Read' button. He read the message and smiled end-to-end. The message simply read 'I Accept' and it was from her. Suddenly, he felt a whole lot lighter. He prudently deleted the message from his father's phone. He walked towards the bathroom with a spring in his step and a firm confidence that things would only get better from here.

Prayer of Love

I sit in the waiting room, hoping for a miracle. My eyes are moist with tears and my hands are trembling from when I first brought you in here today. I cannot believe that this ghastly incident occurred today. Had I known that I could inflict this kind of pain on you, I would changed my whole way of life. But as fate would have it, we are here now. Now, as you are battling life and death, I cannot help but recount the wonderful times we had together.

I met you on a cold evening such as this, in the store. I am sure you remember. It was a year ago. I can remember it as if it were yesterday. I remember gazing upon you, and immediately feeling like sun rose in the morning sky. The first time I looked into your bright eyes, it was as if a thousand lights just lit up the dark abyss that was my life. I am not a moral man, and you were not my first love. I shattered several relationships with wanton neglect and complacence, but you made me want to be a better man, a more careful man. I knew from the moment I saw you that I couldn’t take you lightly. Your slightest touch commanded respect and invoked envy in lesser mortals. Every time I saw you, a world of new possibilities opened up to me as I had never imagined before. Every time I felt low, you were there for me like nobody had ever been. Giving a patient hearing for even my most depressing and scary thoughts. You were my soulmate and my best friend. You were my anchor, constantly taking the burdens of my life into your dainty but determined hands, making my life less complicated. The world was my oyster when I was with you. I can almost feel the nights of passion, where the two of us were caught in the warm embrace of love. It was not only physical, but those endless conversations are some things I just can’t stand to be without.

I am not a religious man. But I am fervently praying to the powers that be. I cannot imagine a world without you by my side. I cannot hope for a better life without your touch. I cannot go another day without looking at your beautiful eyes, unraveling the mysteries of the world. They have told me that the chances of your survival are a million to one. I was not even allowed by the technicians inside, to visit you. Their nebulous responses have found my confidence ebbing away. I cannot imagine how water can have such a devastating effect on life. But I guess it was my neglect that got the best of you in the end. I cannot forgive myself. Now, as I sit here in the waiting room of the Blackberry Service Center, with nothing but the loneliness of my own thoughts. I say a small prayer for your life. A Prayer of Love.

The Trojan Horse

Avi’s bag, awkwardly perched on the couch in the living, finally fell to the carpet below, dislodging some of its inanimate occupants. One of them was a small, square, blue plastic package. It had, printed on it, an ancient Greek warrior helmet and the words in bold white “Trojan - Extra Pleasure”. Sampath, Avi’s doting father was witness to this entire scene and the dreadful blue package that emerged from among the books, knicknacks and the IPod that fell out Avi’s bag. The saliva in his mouth dried up. Million thoughts came rushing to him in the brief 5 seconds he must have taken to react. He quickly gathered up the contents of the bag and restored them to their rightful place, inside Avi’s backpack. Sampath, normally quite a cool customer found himself having a mild anxiety attack, right there in his living room. A condom had emerged from his 17 year old’s backpack and it was something he or anyone from his world had never experienced before.

His face turned white as he grit his teeth, half with rage and half with fear. One half of his mind told him to lash out and give the boy a hiding with a cane or some other implement, a thought which he quickly put out of his head as he could be arrested in this country for executing it. The other half of his mind told him to discuss this issue with Avi now and when Savitha would be home that evening, they could have the family meeting and perform a ‘root cause’ analysis of the entire situation. This seemed more appealing to Sampath Kannada Brahmin sensibilities. After all, the boy was 17 and any physical abuse would land Sampath straight in a correctional facility, something that he feared ever since he landed in the US 12 years ago.
Avi was still showering, freshning up before leaving for his carnatic violin lessons with Ganesh. It was Sampath’s turn to drive him to Ganesh’s house in Redwood City, California. The place was quite a distance, 23 miles from their their house in Cupertino, but Sampath felt good that he and Avi could have some “alone-time” to discuss this very troubling issue. Avi emerged from the room, hair neatly combed, wearing a neatly starched kurta-pyjama, violin box in hand, ready to leave for his lesson. As he admired his handsome son, Sampath quickly got up from the couch and said “Shall we leave?”, smiling ear-to-ear, clearly failing at concealing his bubbling anxiety about the mystical contraceptive.

They pulled out the driveway in the Honda Civic and drove towards Lawrence Expressway. Sampath was nervous about opening the topic. Kids had changed so much since he knew. He recollected that his friend Ramesh’s daughter had shooed away her father out of her room citing reasons of “privacy” as she spoke to her boyfriend on the mobile phone. Ramesh was crestfallen that his daughter had spoken to him that way and lamented at his decision to move to the US and deal with an “American” daughter and her tantrums. Sampath had made sure that Avi was as Indian as possible, carnatic violin, Bhagawad Geeta lessons, the works. But, as he recollected Ramesh’s sorrow, Sampath was half-sure that he didn't want to bring up this issue with Avi, lest he face the same consequences. But this was too much to ignore. After all there must be some explanation for such a vile object to land in hands of a 16 year old. He couldn’t hold it in any longer and as their car pulled into US-101 N Interstate, he enquired “Avi, how was school today?”. Avinash replied with a honed North California accent “Good Appa, the usual. There was a surprise pop quiz on History today. We were expecting it sometime next week”. “How did you do?” asked Sampath quickly. “I did well. Actually, I had finished studying this chapter last week, so I think I will ace it” Avi said matter-of-factly. Sampath felt a jolt of pride. His son was always an academic achiever. But he quickly got back to the point “Avi, there was one thing I wanted to discuss with you...” he trailed off as he slowed down with the increasing traffic. “Your backpack happened to fall down today and some of your things scattered around. Among those things, I happened to see.....a c-condom.” he said. He wanted desperately to see the look on Avi’s face, but an idiot in an SUV was honking behind him, signaling that he move. Avi’s response was not the delayed one he expected. “Oh that, Appa, I dont know why, but in the senior year of school, they have a Physical Education class and in that class they give us some sex education tips. My coach gave it to all the boys telling us to use a condom if we ever had intercourse” Sampath was not entirely convinced. After all, he was a financial auditor. He wanted to probe deeper, so he asked with a little more confidence “Avi, what are you trying to tell me? How can someone from school tell you to use a condom for intercourse, that too at this age? They should be telling you not to have intercourse in the first place.” Avinash quickly added “But, Appa I am telling you. Coach Gardner gave us these and a talk on safe sex. The prom is approaching no, appa? Obviously they will know guys and girls are likely to hook up at prom and the least they should have is a condom.” Sampath was a little angry now at this incredulity “Avinash, are you seriously trying to tell me that your school allows you to have sex? Safe or not is not the question. If your school is teaching you such nonsense, then I will come and talk to your teachers and tell them that this sort of immoral behaviour should not be taught to students” he said firmly and muttered “least of all Indian students” But Avinash was calm, “Appa, I understand your concern. I know you feel that I am at a vulnerable age right now. I know that a condom in my bag does not exactly give out an innocent vibe. But believe me Appa, I have done nothing wrong. You can check with my coach. But I know you will believe my word. This Sex-Ed stuff is standard procedure. It is given to every senior in high-school. I am no different. But I have been raised right. I know you know that too” Sampath could now see Avi’s face as they had stopped because of a traffic build-up. The boy was like an open book. Sampath looked into Avi’s eyes and remembered the first time he saw him in the maternity ward at the Mission Hospital in Mysore. His joy and pride knew no bounds at Avi’s statement. He was overcome with emotion as he said, “I am sorry, Avi. I dont know what I was thinking. I was so afraid seeing that...that thing in your bag. I was afraid that you had made a big mistake. I know we have done our best with you.” now smiling “I dont think I have told you this, but your great-grandfather was a Diwan in the Mysore Maharaja’s court.” Avi replied fondly, “No Appa, you have told me and I am proud of our heritage.” A few minutes later, they reached Ganesh’s house for the violin lesson. Avi got out of the car and Sampath said, “Bye, Mum will pick you up later. Call her” Avi said, “Yeah, I will. And Dad, I dont think you should tell Mum about this. She was unnecessarily get worried.” Sampath nodded and drove off.

Avi’s pocket rang as he dug into to retrieve an Nokia mobile phone that displayed “new text message.” He clicked to open the message and saw that it was from Debbie, it read “Avi, baby. Thanks for the wnderfl tym. It was amazin! Lve u.” Avi thought of texting her, but he decided to call her later that night. He had the most amazing experience of his life that afternoon and she had made it happen. Of course, he had forgotten all about the Trojan that coach Gardner had given him last week. He walked into class and sat down to learn the new keerthana that his tutor was teaching him.

The worm that missed the early bird

The premise: To create an absolutely random short story in the shortest time possible.
Time start: 1:52 pm

The sweat was trickling down from his forehead, onto his brand new uniform. It was the middle of July and Bangalore was by no means, as hot as to make him sweat so. He decided not to go ahead with it and almost started walking back, but Gopal wanted none of it. He had been drunk with success from his previous conquest two weeks ago. Gopal goaded him on, threatening not to talk to him if he didnt muster up the courage and do what was necessary. He was now on the verge of a nervous breakdown. Gopal could never understand what he was going through. Gopal was the class captain, with extremely desirable athletic abilities. His aquiline physique made it possible for him to win, not only medals, but several aching hearts. He stared down at his stomach. It was not too bad, he thought, but it was not too good either. Obviously, the chocolate blitz in the holidays in Ooty had taken its toll. He was thinking about his mother who never encouraged the habit, and wished he had only had the good sense to listen to her.

Four boys in 4th standard C section had been successful last week. Each boy had taken it upon himself to go up to the girl he most 'liked' in the class and say "I really like you very much, would you like to be my girlfriend?" It was his turn today. If he chickened out, he knew that he would be out of the gang for good and that no shame would be worse than what he would face if he didn't go through with it. His palms had suddenly become sweaty, the tie that he had tied around his neck, suddenly seemed tighter and he felt short of breath. Had Gopal felt the same way, when he went up to Gayatri and uttered the magic words? He was sure that wasnt the case. How he wished he had that confidence. He started walking, taking smaller steps than he would usually take, always looking back to see Gopal and the others goading him on, cheering, whistling.

She was playing kho-kho and as always she managed to look perfect, even playing kho-kho in that dusty playground. The way her hair fell over her bright eyes was magical. Aditi was her name. She was the sports captain for the girl's kho-kho team and had sat next to him in 2nd standard. She was flawless even then. He thought that he would go up to her and say the words when she would take a break from the game, but Gopal's raised eyebrows and angry expression drove him to walk up, closer to her. He was now about 4 feet from her, when his view was blocked and he heard "Aditi, I like you very much, will you be my girlfriend?" from Keshav

Time done: 2:15 pm