DALAI LAMA : The unhoused monk

Benjamin Netanyahu's H'air' raising strikes

David Petraeus & the writing between his legs

American Pie : cross 'poll-I-nation'

US Presidential elections 2012 : The After Effect

A SPUR-ME-SIDE (spermicide) called GADKARI

'POLI-TICKLING'

The story of India's valiant ruler and the fierce opposition that threatens him.

MITT ROMNEY : Of Nitwits & eloquent follies

"SILENCE PAYS MORE THAN ELOQUENT FOOLISHNESS"

  

To rock a boat of misery

From a state of

SWALLOW AND CHERISH

To a point of

FOLLOW OR PERISH

Earlier satire and caricature references of posts from this blog:

Mamata Banerjee (In the grip of a Bengal Tigress : MUM's the word)

Dr Manmohan Singh (Manmohan Singh)

- COALPLAY -

 

On an unusually hot and sultry September afternoon, the soot smeared and reputation charred ministerial class gathered around burning blocks of coal, lit in the Prime Ministers lackluster courtyard, desperate to keep warm from the cold feet caused by a potentially damaging CAG report.

'God damn these blocks of coal' , cursed Mr Shriprakash Jaiswal, stoking the slow burning flame,with a hope the little blocks would burn quickly, enough to provide succor to their freezing limbs

'Thank you, I am shivering', exclaimed Dr Manmohan Singh , in gratitude for the momentary relief provided by Jaiswal , his teeth chattering and body quivering to the Governments 'scam of the season'.

Cleaning soot from the lens of his nasal bone lodged myopia corrector, the Finance Minister, Mr Chidambaram expressed dismay that concerted efforts by him to NULLIFY the heat produced by the fossilised fuel was in vain. 

Insignificants like Manish Tiwari, Kapil Sibal, Digvijay Singh and Ambika Soni concurred and cursed in chorus 'death kneel to the CAG, long live the dynasty'. Both parts of the unholy chant, to the common man were forgone conclusions. As for the former,it was only a question of time that the government would render the CAG spineless and voiceless.

When a boorish regiment of brooders cry hoarse, can the adversary be far away ? By a generous measure of history,definitely not !  

A resounding whisper laced with desperation, echoed from the nearby foliage.A 'large mass of deception' was attempting to unsuccessfully hide and seek attention of the desperate leg warming community.

'Pssst ...Pssst...I am here to warm my feet too..... besides expressing solidarity with you ..incognito ofcourse' pleaded a poorly hidden Nitin Gadkari. Though not a bird of the same feather, his attempt to flock uninvited with those in despair was clear.A crisis brings together strange bed fellows.

Another mundane writing on the wall for the not so shocked citizen : If you have an odd number of socks, of these,no two will make a pair.

The curious case of CHIDDY's zero

Between the pious devil and the knee deep blue sea

Stood the protector of gluttonous thugs who sadly roam free

With one sweep of the broom and the tardy old wand

heaven on a platter, to hell it was pawned

For a penny under, the land was ripped of coal

for many more over, the minister sold his soul

  

  

Between Love and War

In London, fortune favours a Jailbird

    In defying magnitude,the Commonwealth Games 2010 Organising Committee chairman, Suresh Kalmadi chose to wipe clean, soiled buttocks from all over the world, with toilet paper that cost $ 80 a roll. As a twist  of 'but(t)s' , relief  came in the form of counting bars in prison, in lieu of counting clean bottoms at leisure. That however did not deter his soiled hindsight from being persistent with legacy.

   The analogy groomed Mr Kalmadi as an expert on all kinds of paper meant to grease palms and hinds alike.Thus the jailbird ventured from tendering toilet paper for the Commonwealth Games 2010 at New Delhi, to selling them during the 2012 Olympics at London.The business model floored the British Parliament,very much like it did floor the Indian house of chaos . Afterall,the English politicians,like their Indian counterparts, were blessed with stiff upper lips and stiffer colonial hips, both which called for an adequate stuffing of the flimsy.

  

  Suresh bhai's hard selling waist liner only added to the bonding spirit of the games. Displayed on bumping bed boards and lumping toilet seats, the language crowned on Kalmadi rolls, a promising competitive feel.It read:-   

'launder the rear for a winning headstart'  

Now which participating country would leave any stone unturned in an effort to taste victory.To say the least, the ablution stone.Not taking a chance, they took to Kalmadi rolls like a fish to water No...a writer to paper !!! $ 80 is a small price to pay for national pride.

  So what if in his own country, the jailbird's travel jaunt set to peak the mountain of shame,has been castrated by judicial jurisprudence ? In London,the sporting community stood impressed (and clean of course).Danny Boyle promised to pay tribute to the cloud kissing price of the rolls in his next big performance.The British Monarchy have sc'rolls' of honour being readied to be bestowed on the Commonwealth Games 2010 organising committee. As for our man of the moment, Mr Kalmadi...Knighthood is only a 'roll' away.  $ 80 anyone ? 

PRANAB on a platter

“Ask not what you can do for your country. Ask what’s for lunch.”  :- Orson Welles

On the 19 of July 2012, the Congress party did just that, reducing to record, the national political pastime as orchestrated flatulence.What an indigestible meal was made of a good prime ministerial candidate ! 

   What many are not privy to, is the little story behind this delicate gastronomic disaster that has taken days to contrive. Afterall, every grand feast good or bad, carts with it a story.


    Chef Diggy was busy sifting air in his makeshift scullery behind madams lawn when a commi de rang of questionable repute called Sibal, rushed to the floor of the kitchenette and bellowed " high time to create a masterpiece for the family." Chef Diggy was neither surprised nor shaken,but ever ready to please his masters. After all, he was the chosen one forced into both a political hiatus and a jesterly role, only to deliver the magnum opus.


   The insidious Chef and the crafty commi set to work. With the math done, the flavourings in place, the cold cuts ordered and the garnishes readied, what just did not fall in place was how to 'hunt down the game' which is to be marinated,cooked and served on a social platter. Their masters were neither hunters not connoisseurs of the taste buds, they were after all just gluttonous foodies who would chomp at anything that stood their measly way.

   Thus in wily party circles was coined the term 'sacrificial meal', where the man in the benevolent eyes of their masters was praised for having done so much for the nation and deserved a befitting retirement. He would be offered gratuity on a smouldering spit. The unsuspecting Babu moshai, also the erstwhile chairman of the Indian Statistical Institute,Kolkata, got his statistical count wrong,slipping,tripping,sliding and rolling deep into a coveted 'retirement grease trap'.
   
   Trimmed of matter,as enough has been said in my earlier rants, this is the third sequel in this blog devoted to the well garnished and tastefully served babu moshai. An emboldened reference to earlier posts illustrating the first citizen to be:
  
Press I to.. Dent 
(A dig at the 2012 Presidential Elections)

PRANAB MUKHERJEE : Needs must when the devil drives 

(A cynical profile of the aura that looms around the 13th President)

 



 .

.

PISSOMANIA (piss-oh-man-yeah)

'The golden trickle' is the latest health brew to have bombarded news headlines and muse punchlines alike. If one would have the privilege of being privy to reverse psychology, then what could possibly be wrong with reverse biology. After all, what goes around, comes around !!

The perfect ambassador for causes going around to come around, is the folly filled prince of attention seeking kidney discharge Swami Agnivesh.

While the medicated distillation  promises to give the word cocktail a new meaning , it also threatens to relegate future broths to literal 'piddle puddles' inside their respective lodgings.

When toasting with  liberal servings from the closet, the fly by night Swami saw self decorating opportunity in the punishment mooted out to a juvenile by the hostel warden of Visva Bharati University in Santiniketan. And loo behold, (literally) the man commences a rant about his urine flavourings and favourings.

 

Press I to.. Dent

The mangled clamour outside the Presidential estate has raised a nasty pile of uneasy queries. 

Lest  we lesser mortals plague our jinxed minds with simple questions pertaining to daily water supply, fuel price hike and energy conservation, the presidential candidates have one worded quips that race the confused length and ambitious breadth of their wondrous little heads. 

Permitted by the simple rules of satire, this illustration examines the polysemous question associated with each of our political brides men that could create a dent in marriages of convenience :

Ladies and gentlemen, the 'press-I-dent'

 

 

Afghanistan's worry

IN THEIR OWN LAND....

DAME-OH-CRAZY

 The temple housing the high priestess of political puppetry lies well enveloped by a string of self fostering voodoo dolls, mostly dressed in politically correct white - starched to  angelic deception.  

Voodoo dolls of varying hues, proportion, fame and stakes, took on the numerous chores needed to keep the temple of conniving aspiration running, customised blessings flowing and bags full of charities coming. A vicious circle of confounding asymmetries it was. After all, it is politics.

In the inner chambers of the great mausoleum, was seated the high priestess ensconced in the comforts of her position. Placed in front of her, was her favourite figurine swaying East to West.In typical voodoo practice, this effigy too was pierced to silence.

Placed at her feet, was a stone of manipulative brilliance, etched on which was a personalised  definition of democracy put to practice in both letter and spirit.

FOR HER, BY HER, OF HER

JAYALALITHA : Mummy's Ire

There is this lady from Madras

whose head was covered in grass

When napping in the rice field

she stumbled on a prized shield

which she now claims is a farce

A farce it is not, announced a foe

he moved earth with his soiled toe

Down and under, the mummy swore

through heart and liver she charged and tore

letting it know, she was ready to mow

A change in time, moved the tide

terror, stuck the nation wide

while the country stood to thwart it hard

mummy chose to play a different card

She huffed and puffed

And had the rest muffed

down on their knees

and the effort in piece

she walked out stuffed

A WANTED Army !!

The ARMY Politicians want...

The ARMY People want...

The ARMY, the ARMY want 

'BOO-FOR'S & soldiers of fortune'

In military thinking, the might of a gun depends on the quantum and ferocity of firepower it can bring to bear on opposing forces. However, when the 'know all' bureaucracy and 'wealth sucking' politicians enter the domain of military shopping ,for an ant hill,you pay the price of a gold mine.

Going by history, we have a time tested yardstick for choosing our arsenal . Long ago, a very talented gunsmith from a far away land ,caught the drift of a trade wind in the ocean and set sail to sell combat wares to our all and mighty. On embarking on our shores, to his dismay, he found fellow gun smiths from banana republics far and wide, selling sanitary pipes capable of launching a single pseudo pregnant bull frog across the neighbours maternity chamber as mainstay artillery. 

Aghast at the buyers propensity, he chose to allow his wares to stand out in merit. BOOM went the gun. The military stood impressed, the competition stood perplexed, the conniving cocktail of bureaucracy and polity found grass growing under their well greased feet. The gunsmith felt, he had clinched the deal on the worth of his barell.

A small framed bureaucrat, well traveled at the expense of competition,  stood up, brought together his hands in applause and remarked ''brilliant.....very promising, but we are a peace loving nation, arsenal of this magnitude will commence the end of the world from our own daisy and orchid bearing back yard, what we seek is a muzzle that can launch stool pigeons from one end of a ping pong table to the other. So...very good, but unfortunately does not serve our purpose ''  With this announcement, it was now the turn of the military to be perplexed,competition to be impressed and the bureaucracy-polity duo to mow unwanted grass from beneath their well anchored feet.

Ladies and gentlemen, this is also part of the dismal  tale of how we as a state indulge in the worthy art of state sponsored shopping.

 

HU JINTAO : Chinese Feud for thought

A powerful man from China

swallowed a starving hyena

when contemplating bowels

he mixed up his vowels

and now,there is a soiled arena

When his neighbour fired a rocket
the China man fetched a musket
showing his tears to the world
thought he had them blurred
Alas,the show slipped out of his pocket

Having felt the pinch
He decided to shift an inch
kissing his neighbour's cheek
on the rocket he chose to peek
Horrendous it may seem ,his hind is feeling the lynch.

The President's Principles of Flight

The unsuspecting taxpayers weak heart would not so gladly,miss a well deserved beat when stealing a curious glance at the Presidents travel bill. 

Rs 205 crore on overseas jaunts alone ?????

What did the honorable President of an austerity preaching government do to incur such an elephantine travel cheque ? But obvious, this is one pinching query that will solicit no convincing answer. However, touts brokering banana republics on e bay have a theory of their own to offer.A spokesperson from the Presidents office, a subset of the above tout clan, on conditions of anonymity uses the forces of flight viz Lift,Weight,Thrust and Drag to explain the result of the obese 'phoren' travel bill.

LIFT

This is a positive force wielded by the President, her kith, kin,fauna,flora,germs,virus and anything in the vicinity bearing a presidential liking. This microcosm can lift itself from the presidential confines of Rashtrapati Bhavan to enjoy a tan on the pristine beaches of Greece or gyrate to the rhythms of hip dislodging Samba in Brazil.All courtesy, the power flaunting wings that have elected her to office.

WEIGHT

If you are a distant cousin of the President who harbours dreams of skiing in the Alps, dial 'A' for auntie dear and that will ensure that the office of President is not weighed down by decorum, rule or principle. Rest assured,her good office would have you manifested on the festive chartered jets holiday itinerary. 

THRUST

Thrust is defined as the force that propels an object forward.Thrust is also defined as this gentle, kind and caring force which sends the President and her extended family to  twenty two countries on an all expenses paid holiday. Accommodation, local travel, daily allowance and "miscellaneous" expenses, according to the information provided by the ministry of external affairs, is only a meager 36 crore. Now what great force of this nation can propel whimsical gimmicks of this proportion.The answer lies in the obvious,polity of the day,plagued by ethical paralysis.

  

DRAG

Philosophically, life is a vicious circle.In saying so, we get the governance we deserve.If the electorate was vibrant,judicious and mature, the 'drag' acting  on such an audacious wanderlust would have ensured a no take off.

RUSKIN BOND : What goes around,comes around

It is with a well meaning sentiment I attempt to replay cherishable slices from my formative years. During those knicker clad days,post dinner, my father followed a sedative ordeal.He would would lodge his warring  brat pack  on his cushioned lap and read aloud short stories from books piled up in the study. Those, were also the fragile moments, when serene tranquility descended in liberal servings to every rattled corner of our commotion garnished home. This process of story narration, constructively shaped our adult minds. My favored reading, revolved around the acclaimed works of two gentlemen, icons in their own right : Sir Baden Powell and Ruskin Bond. While the former shaped passion for outdoor living,field craft and a bouquet of lessons that formidable leadership programs would want to emulate, the latter nurtured love and respect for nature, an insight into the cherished wilderness and painted rural India as bursts of green hues where time stood still,only to be unsettled by the sighting of a wandering panther or the growl of a stray tiger seeking out a prey.   

It was happenings like those that infused  a fresh contrast to the crisp settings that his words described. Ruskin Bond thrived on a charm well woven. In doing so, his  tales helped me dream of undulated stretches of land carpeted in pristine grass, divided by crystal clear streams, fenced by snow capped peaks and kissed by the rising sun. In such serene settings, little me always managed to find a cameo appearance. Interposed into my fathers narration, I bargained to be brave Tembu in The Tiger in the Tunnel,  Lion hearted Jai in The Eye of the Eagle, Little Bond in Grandpa tickles a tiger  and just me in the other many stories narrated. The Bond magic had become a staple nightcap that helped me slip into my own sphere.

On my part, I yearn to relive those moments, both as a father and a son. As a parent, I attempt to narrate Bond's captivating  aura to my six year old offspring.He first protests, then the charm of the man takes over........ !!  

The caricature I have sketched is by no measure an attempt to mock the man who has left a deep impression on my literary taste and most importantly,the sense to merge with and respect our natural surroundings. 

FAROOQ ABDULLAH's piggy bank woes

Recently, a socially mannered and well meaning piggy bank, the largest in its stock, lost its way from its rather humble sty in the Jammu & Kashmir Cricket Association run piggery and wandered into the ministerial abodes of the associations chairman. Predictably, like most of his stock, his innards were emptied of every last dime and the vacuum bellied pig, unceremoniously shown the door.

Tired,hungry and exhausted, the mass of swine and twine commenced retracing his naive and misled steps back to his feeding ground when en route, he was ambushed by the fourth estate.A hasty interview,familiar in tone but tangent in content followed...

Piggy Bank, Piggy Bank, where have you been ?

I've been to the chairman, to be wiped out clean.

Piggy Bank, Piggy Bank, what did you do there ?

I straightened the other pigs who went against the chair.

With the interview done and the valley abuzz with the news of a scandal, the hollow willows of the valley commenced a new game, the blame game.

The centre stage actor, in his signature style, appears, floods his eyes with a  liberal flow of crocodile tears and utters the award winning cliche , that every politician learns when he enters the arena  ...'' this is a political conspiracy ''  

Well....take your pick...CONSPIRACY or CON-S-PIRACY ?

BARACK OBAMA in BASIC 'IN - STINK '

The third sequel of the instinct filled trilogy is a live performance with a political twist. It stars the highest echelons of the US government  squealing,wriggling and flashing a generous display of hairy scary legs.

With the stimulus bill on crutches, a growing debt and unemployment to measure up with, he does need to flash his leg to seek re election. Well..he is certainly out to 'woo'- manise the 'man-date'.

MAHINDA RAJAPAKSA :The twist in the tail

Vidya Balans hip dislocating gyrations was noticed with eye socket bursting awe and strategic ponder in the tear drop shaped nation,more often than not, referred to as the 'isle of delight'. This spirited shooting from the uncontrollable hip, prompted makeover pundits seated in the once cushy couches of Colombo to draw a simple parallel. If Vidya mamis tomb shaped hips can cause so much of a heart warming flutter, Rajapaksa Uncle was blessed with monumental posterior that gyrates wider, longer and mind it, with a soulful grace of a circus lion feeding after a tiring show.

So was concieved, the island nations own 'Dirty Picture'. With curtains drawn on the war and movie making the new fervor, pronounced sidekicks jumped at the calculated opportunity with rhythmic ease. The military polished his shoes, the bureaucracy ironed his underpants, corporates greased his hind and expectantly, party workers took on more important chores like passing around a cash bowl and pasting pre release banners.

Thus,in the long and short of a nations timeline, it came to be,Mahinda Rajapaksa was the 'shooting star' in the Sri Lankan government sponsored fiction 'Lies Agreed Upon'. Of course, one would not expect it to come with a statutory warning ''...resemblance to anyone alive,dead or a state in between, is purely intentional.'' 

Nota Bene

Lies Agreed Upon is a Sri Lankan government initiative concocted to counter Channel 4 documentary on alleged war crimes by the Sri Lankan army in the last phase of its war against LTTE, Sri Lanka’s Killing Fields : War Crimes Unpunished  http://www.firstpost.com/world/video-decoded-chilling-evidence-of-sri-lanka-war-crimes-245746.html

ME THE MALAYALI

DICTION,FASHION & PROPORTION

A. DICTION.

It is the innate ability of my Malayali ancestry, to rival the English language like an Englishman that compels the Ghost of Wordsworth to change colour from pale white to buffalo green. While the poor Brit spewed through his stiff upper lip, constipating generations of Union Jack oratories,  the Malayali chettan let loose from his stiffer lower lip, flooding phonetic lavatories. Thus, 'temple' to the sundry was heard  as 'temble','simply' as 'simbly', the feline 'cat' stretched its existence to 'caat' , the killer instinct in a 'donkey' was replaced by the sublime g-string sporting 'dongey' and certainly not the least,the runaway fraternal slang 'pop' has been elevated in diction, to the papal distinction of 'pope'. Thus,heard commonly in flavoured Kerala pop musical circles   'Madonna is singing and dancing to sexy pope music...papa don'd breach'. The Papacy, as we read is still reeling under Madonna and Malayalis in equal measure.

B. FASHION

Half my country cousins are. accused of being trade unionists. The other half is believed to run the Indian  porn industry. This explosive amalgamation of Karl Marx and Vatsayana is epitomized by the  lungi. Worn perpetually at half mast, the garment is hoisted or lowered  with ergonomic ease before a labour strike or after hastened copulation,whichever his day begins with. Either way, the lungi is the atomic Keralite's cultural flag that sways on a steady diet of testosterone. In native dressing ethics, an act of omission will displace 'Gods own nut'

C. PROPORTION

When mentioning nuts,  the Malayali  and the omnipresent coconut is a gleaming symbol of man-tree love.In the many positions revealed in the 'cocosutra' , the fruit and its bearer, a sky kissing palm tree, haunts the average Malayali from birth to death. The man vehemently displays the utility of the omnipresent coconut using liberal geometric progression. If cooking is undertaken with the produce of one tree a day,Hair will be greased with the produce of two trees a day.If both the above are true, toddy will be consumed with the produce of nine trees a day.If not true, please pull up your nuts and quantify 'true bloodiness' as equal to jero. 

MULAYAM.. Uttar Pradesh's Bully Goat

MULAYAM.. Uttar Pradesh's Billy Bully Goat

Ephemerally, only the sure footed can survive the Ulta Pradesh power quest. This hollow horned mammal hopes he has put his best foot forward.What inspired this caricature is this apologue.

One day, a farmer in UP noticed a funeral procession coming up the road, and behind the hearse was a politician walking with a mean looking goat.  Behind them followed about 20 people, mostly  aspiring politicians.

 The following day, the farmer noticed the same hearse, the same man, the same goat, and now about 75 followers walking behind the hearse. The farmers curiosity got the best of him. So he walked up to the politician with the goat and asked, "I saw you yesterday about the same time as today, do you mind telling me what is going on?"

The politician explained that his wife died, and the farmer said "Oh I'm so sorry! What happened?"
 

The politician replied that the goat had killed her. The farmer said, "If you buried your wife yesterday, who's in the hearse today?'' The politician with the goat replied, "My mother-in-law." 

The farmer thought a minute, gleamed and asked the politician with the goat, "Can I borrow your goat?" and he replied, "You'll have to get in line with the rest of these people."

KARUNANIDHI : Deep Pockets,Deeper Secrets

Ethically constipated, morally plural and easily, one of our country's 'stray cash bulls with udders' that boasts of dispensing a steady supply of unlactic wealth, buttered in the acceptable flavours of corruption, manipulative power and timely deceit. This nursing mystery of scholarly talk and un- scholarly demeanor, has created a lineage of 'so mannered fledglings' his sperm composition will definitely be proud of. In our land, such an unsocial occurrence is as common as finding an army of cockroaches in a sewer.      

With sons wailing and a daughter counting bars

this octogenarian,  curses his failing stars

With deep  pockets and deeper secrets

concealing slimy corsets and slimier dockets

he treads a path of glorified shame

bartered for two pennies of craving fame

Blinded by greed

he went on to feed
Now... when the odds seem hard
he sits pretty... praying for a trump card
With a flurry of many a rival
the question is,is there hope for revival 
-------

Added Dimension. This, as you see and read, is a 'censored version'. The original thought process,both in illustration and verse have been banished from the humble abode. 

SALMAN RUSHDIE : Satanic Purses

There was a man from Leeds

who swallowed a packet of seeds

The show of a sprout

who bloomed into a tout

while his essentials are covered in weeds

His claim to fame

was rather lame

It played on verses

and fattened purses

 while he sang to many a dame

In a state of mind

that emanated from the hind

he was invited to a fest

with the demeanor of a pest
leaving the organisers in a bind.

'SELL-MAN' KHURSHID : A Victim of wrong Toilet Training

The defecating fields have provided an ideal training ground for our Polity. One, it is believed, reaps what they sow. Thus, the sales pitch of this vote reaping 'Sale-man' is no surprise. However, what is, is the fact that the law minister could subscribe aptly to the adage 'Power corrupts; absolute power corrupts absolutely' .Thus, with ease, there is scant regard for the Election Commissions prescribed 'moral code of conduct' . Excuse me, what code of what ??? Forgive this soul bearing specie, he chooses to understand not what 'moral' means

Can we really blame him ? Well.... attribute it to bad toilet training, the unrepentant gentleman cannot differentiate between a night soil receptacle and his own seat of thought. 

'SON-YEAH' and her 40 year old toddler

A latent mom from Italy

braided her plaits  flatly

Through the corridors of power

she held many  a bar lower

From the mammoth cart in tow

was a four decade old rattle to show

 Sounds of a wail

made side kicks hail

The mother gleamed

the toddler beamed

The nation cried

now..............

aren't we all tired ?

 

In Jihad.... the perfect BLOW job !!!!

PRESS HERE TO COME

LIFE'S LITTLE IRRITANTS....

How to paint a frown on a friend

(With due apologies....the Truth, served with a generous helping of Fiction)

There are indeed a thousand ways to skin a cat, I am yet to discover one of those ignoble approaches. What I did though, was to discover an uneasy way to upset a friend.

A class fellow from B school, excited by the prospect of caricatures requested me to doodle one of hers. With a job that gets me to live off a Bergen, i stuffed my drawing ink, pens and pencils to the deviously pregnant looking back pack and found a far corner at the airport to set to work. Hooked to the world wide web for photographic reference, I commenced...stroke by stroke to create what I thought epitomizes her ....as a caricature of course.Inking the creation and following it up with a quick mobile capture, I shot out this self appreciated work of art. 

That was almost a month ago since I heard from her. I wonder, if silence is indeed....acceptance   :)