Poornima Manco

Author

india

Distil and percolate

by

I was asked an interesting question recently. As most of you know, all my books have Indian settings and characters. It is a milieu I am intimately familiar with, having been born and raised in New Delhi. Those formative years are what I plumb for my locales, my characters and their stories. I am an Indian by birth, and even though I am a naturalised British citizen now, nothing can take that Indian identity out of me.

The question was, why didn’t I write stories based in the United Kingdom? After all, I have lived here for over two decades and surely that counts for something?

That got me thinking. Why am I unable to translate what I see around me, or my own experiences into stories worth telling? The answer, I think, is distance and perspective.

When I look back on my time in India, it seems like another life. A life that I lived well and enjoyed too, but I was a different person back then. It is so much easier for me to distil those experiences and percolate them to you in the form of my stories or novella. Far far more difficult to do that about my life in the here and now.

That’s not to say that I will not do this someday. Maybe even someday soon. But chances are, that it will take a few more years for these stories to fructify. In the meantime, I will continue to write what comes naturally to me, and if that just happens to be another tale, set in the fertile land of my birthplace, well, so be it!

Parvathy’s Well & other stories

Damage

The Intimacy of Loss: A Novella

Life’s Nudges to Eke an Untrodden Path- Mohana Narayan

by

Holi, the festival of colours, was just around the corner. I was commuting back from my work at TCS, my first job out of college, in Delhi back in 1995. The bus journey back from Gulab Bhawan to Gurgaon required me to take a DTC (Delhi Transport Corporation)  bus from ITO to Dhaula Kuan, and then board a Haryana Roadways bus from Dhaula Kuan to Gurgaon, each about an hour’s journey, depending on the traffic.

I used to observe the differences in the interactions of the people in the two sections of the journey. The Haryana Roadways bus would be filled with older middle-aged folks typically used to the long commutes, and who seemed to know many on the bus. One of the middle-aged men would take out a couple of decks of cards and lay out his briefcase between the seats as a tray and a few of them would start playing their card games amongst chit-chat and entertaining jokes. It had been on one of these commutes that I had struck up a conversation with a co-passenger, a lady I saw regularly reading a book on Buddhism. Something about her aura had me asking her questions about the book, and we ended up having some good discussions. After a few chats, she had invited me to their Buddhist SGI group meeting and a couple of months earlier, I had attended one of their meetings and found their resonant mantra chanting to be a powerful source of connecting deeper. In fact, more recently I had started waking up early to chant for an hour or so and somehow would find that on those days, things would just fall into place and somehow I would be in rhythm with the universe.

In contrast, the DTC buses would be filled with people who had shorter commutes, each busy and lost in their own world, mostly avoiding any substantial conversation with their co-passengers. Not to mention the riff-raff crowd that would regularly harass the women on these buses, in a city that was infamous for ‘eve-teasing’ even 20 years ago.

On this particular day, there was a man standing right next to where I was seated, leaning in more closely than required, making me quite uncomfortable. I was still in my early 20s, a tad shy to create a huge hue and cry, but did tell him in no uncertain terms to stand properly (it was a super crowded bus, with no leg-room but one could perceive the unwarranted brushes). Even after a few sharp remarks, this man continued to push and shove and take every opportunity to rub up against me. At this point, I just started chanting my mantra in my mind and just zoned inwards, as the bus still had a good half hour or more to reach my destination. As guided, I requested my Higher Self to annul any karmic equation between this “unknown” person and me, seeking forgiveness for any past karmic negativity on my part and sought help in this situation.

The bus was moving at its regular Delhi DTC speed, the breeze flowing in through the windows, which had a couple of bars across them and I was just tuned inwards. The most amazing thing happened next! Splaaaash! A wet, plump, water-balloon came flying in through one of the windows (missing the bars across a moving bus) and slapped across this man’s face, getting him all wet! The physics of the path of that balloon as well as the math of the probability of it landing on his face are mind-numbing! All I remember is his mumbling something incoherent and getting off the bus at the very next stop. This was during Holi, and somehow a balloon, some kid had thrown at some other kid, had become the missile that launched my heart into steadfast faith for the rest of my life!

My God! Yes, I use that term so lightly without realising how close my God is to me. The one who has so many galaxies to attend to, looking after me, hearing my sincere, inward plea, a teeny-tiny soul in the vast cosmos of creation. Imagine! No less than the story of Narasimha Avatara (which I now teach as part of a Dashavatara dance piece to young dancers), where God could no longer take the atrocities of an arrogant father towards his own son and stepped out of a stone pillar, from an intangible form into a living, breathing form to protect the boy and his steadfast faith.  

I believe God is willing to help out, as long as I own up to my mistakes and am willing to grow and learn from all the drama that happens around me. A humbling but mind-boggling experience for me at an early age that formed a foundation of Faith, that has been tested many times since. And there have been times, when I was disappointed momentarily or wondered why I had to deal with certain situations with seemingly no help from the Higher one. In most of these cases, however, a few years down the line, when I looked back in retrospect, those very challenges where I did not get the help I asked for, were the ones that helped forge my next growth arc.

Even my current full-time job/mission of teaching classical Bharatanatyam (an Indian classical dance form) and something that I enjoy so much, has been a result of multiple challenges that were thrown my way. After working in software technology and product management for about 15 years including 3 years at TCS, 7 at Oracle and 5 at Yahoo!, when I was laid-off unfairly (or so it seemed to me) by a man I had myself interviewed and hired into a position before going on maternity leave, only to come back after the break to find my work being continuously undermined, partly I believe due to some feeling of  insecurity, it had seemed like a big blow. Though in part, I was relieved because with two kids including an infant, I had been spreading myself thin with early morning calls with EU and late night calls with the Bangalore office, with diminishing time for the family. Even so, without a full-time job, life seemed incomplete.

I decided to go with the flow, and start an Indian after-school program, based on what I felt was needed for my son, who was in third grade then. My Masters degree and education in Entrepreneurship from Stanford came in handy and gave me the required impetus as well. The advice of my Professor Tom Kosnik rung in my ears – “When you want to start something new, don’t wait till you get it all perfect – just start somewhere, and things will evolve in the right direction!”.

I put together a creative program (the first Indian after-school program in Bay Area, thankfully many have started since 2008), with wholesome snacks and multiple classes including Hindi, Vedic Math, Yoga, Indian music, Bollywood dance, Bharatanatyam, Spelling Bee, Science Bee etc during the after-school hours so kids could spend more time with their parents on the weekends. This ran very well for 5 years and I had 25 kids attending classes from 3pm to 6pm daily, in a rented space with 3 rooms. In particular, I started enjoying teaching Bharatanatyam dance classes, as my mother and Guru had been performing (an AIR A-grade artiste) and teaching for over 30 years, while for many of the other subjects, I hired other instructors.

Then God struck again with a different water-balloon! Disaster or challenge is just another name for God, I say. Just before the summer break, five years into running SarvaGuna, my printer which I used to use to print worksheets for the kids broke down; the projector we used to use for presentations stopped working; the rental space came up for leasing and the landlord wanted to only lease for a period of 3 years minimum.

I was feeling bogged down by the operational logistics of running an after-school program (including the pick-ups of students from various schools etc.) but in contrast enjoyed the time spent in creative choreography and found teaching dance to be truly fulfilling.  I decided to listen to God carefully and check if he was guiding me on to my next step. Stepping back, I realised it was teaching dance that I enjoyed the most, and the hours would just melt away in dance classes! I realised that whenever I am dancing or teaching dance, every moment is spent right here in the present – there is no band-width for the past or the future, so every minute dancing was a minute of meditation for me.

Having just moved into a new home, I decided to be courageous and not risk-averse. I took a leap of faith, with just a handful of students to focus on teaching Bharatanatyam dance classes at SarvaGuna, and built a dance studio in our home itself. I told myself that as long as I am doing what I am passionate about and good at, other things will take care of themselves.

And they did! Everything just fell into place like it was meant to be. I enjoyed the time choreographing new pieces, especially those that helped me connect with my God in various shapes and form. Soon students just came by word-of-mouth and I started earning enough for a decent livelihood; we started doing very well at local competitions and now my summer Arangetram (solo debut recital of 3 hours) students have started performing beautifully! A few months ago, Indian Raga approached me to choreograph a piece for a collaboration. (Here is the Hanuman Chaalisa I enjoyed choreographing and dancing to: http://youtu.be/eWaRWqb5FNs ). We have 4 summer Arangetrams planned for this summer. In late March 2019, at a competitive Bharatanatyam competition (only Bharatanatyam entries were evaluated exclusively), SarvaGuna students won awards and placed in top three across all categories! (https://www.facebook.com/166823550147119/posts/1194310570731740/)

While my Faith has come a whole circle back to appreciate the depth of content in our Hindu texts, my spirituality continues to let God intervene as and when needed in my life. In different life situations, when one feels like one just got dumped with a bucket of cold water, it is perhaps the Universe’s way of nudging us along a different direction. I know my own story is incomplete and there may be more surprises, jolts and nudges to come my way in this roller-coaster life. All I can do is hang on and have Faith. Let us all pay attention to those nudges (or jolts), seek courage for travelling down untrodden paths and we may just discover new joys and lessons come our way…

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Mohana Narayan
Website: www.SarvaGuna.com
FB: www.facebook.com/SarvaGunaLearning/photos
Video: http://youtu.be/eWaRWqb5FNs

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With a masters in Entrepreneurship from Stanford University and a background in Computer Science Engineering (Birla Institute of Tech, Ranchi) prior to 2008, Mohana spent the early part her career focused on product management in the software technology world.

Mohana Narayan has also trained in Bharatanatyam from a very young age under the able guidance of her mother and teacher Guru Smt. Usha Narayan, who is a renowned dancer and AIR A grade artiste from New Delhi. Smt. Usha Narayan, has passed down a deeply ingrained sense of aesthetic values and awareness of clean lines and angles of movement and a natural gift for heart-felt abhinaya or expression. Mohana has performed from a very young age along with her mother in many performances and dance productions in India and abroad. She has assisted in training young students for over 20 years now. Mohana enjoys teaching dance as well as formulating unique choreographies. She has presented various thematic productions over the years including recent ones such as Navavidha Sambandham, Andaal Anubhavam, Sri Ramanuja Vaibhavam, Nruttya Nikshepa Atma Nikshepa, training hundreds of students for these large productions with a creative flair founded on pain-staking attention to detail. Mohana trains students of various age groups with an eye for detail and focus on one-on-one attention promoting individual strengths. As the founder of SarvaGuna, which has since 2008 conducted many workshops, classes, and student performances, she has worked with students of various age groups and enjoys bringing out the best in each individual. Mohana’s forte is understanding, utilising and enhancing stage dynamics’s whether it be in solo or group performances, as well as to seek out the divine, magical element in literary compositions. While her primary training in classical dance has been from her mother Guru Usha Narayan in the Pandanallur style, she has also trained with other instructors and Gurus of the Tanjavur, Kalakshetra and Vazhuvoor styles. She continues to train and learn from senior Gurus at every possible opportunity. She incorporates the most dynamic of these aspects in her own choreographies. In addition, she continues to train post-arangetram students in new items for a second margam to advance their skills and finesse in this beautiful artform.

Mohana lives with her husband and two children in the Bay Area of California, where she has been residing for over 20 years now.

 

The ghost in the office – Shantanu Saha

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It was the year 2004, and I had set up my own bootstrapped venture, an Executive Search Firm. Our first office was in a fairly old bungalow in the heart of South Delhi.

I had leased the entire ground floor of this bungalow, spread over an area of 3000 sq. ft. with an additional front lawn and a back courtyard. Outside the house was an old Banyan tree adjacent to the main gate, with aerial pop roots hanging from the branches, giving an eerie look and feel to the whole house. The first floor with terrace had the landlord’s family: a husband, wife, child and his elderly mother.

The ground floor of the house that we occupied had three fairly large rooms with an attached bath in each. There was an even larger drawing and dining area. Doors of some of the washrooms, especially the one in front of the house, tended to make a creaking sound whenever the wind blew. In this place I occupied one room at the back of the house from where I used to work and I had a team of three girls: Raj, Swati & Rupa who would sit and work in the adjacent room. There was also an old chap Kartik who was the office help. His job was to manage the pantry, lay out the lunch, supervise the cleaner who would come once a day and open & close the office.

The business was doing well and all was hunky dory till a series of strange events happened. Initially these were minor things.  A couple of the girls complained that after lunch when they went back to their workstations, all the windows tabs in their computers they had kept open while searching for profiles on job sites, had been closed. Another girl complained that though she had switched off the light and fan switches in their room before coming to the dining hall for lunch, they had all been mysteriously switched on when they went back. I made light of all this and told them that they were getting absent minded. However, after a while, they got it into their heads that this was all down to a ghost. They were also convinced it was a female ghost who was not bothering me but only the girls, as everything happened to them and not to me. I refused to buy into this line of thought.

Then something even more mysterious happened. It was a bright sunny afternoon in the month of June, when one of my team members Swati was discussing something with me in my room. The doorbell rang. In those days we were recruiting for our own team and we used to call candidates over to the office for an interview. The candidate would be attended to by the office boy, given a job application form and after they filled that out, Kartik would bring the candidate’s resumé and form in to me. I would send one of the girls to do the first round of interviews and if they cleared that, I would meet the candidate.

I asked Swati if she could see who the candidate was, as although the drawing room was a little far off, there was a direct line of sight from the place where she was standing in my room. She described that the girl was looking away toward the French windows overlooking the lawn and was wearing high heels and a salwar kameez. She added that she looked smart enough, and that she would meet her once Kartik had got her to finish the formalities. We then went back to our discussion.

After 10 minutes, I suddenly reminded Swati that Kartik had not yet come in with the candidate’s form. She called out and Kartik came in from the back courtyard which had an entry from the room where the girls used to sit and work. We asked him what had happened and why he hadn’t brought in the girl’s form and resumé. He asked – which girl? Swati and I looked at each other. I asked Kartik had he not opened the door when the bell rang? He said he never heard the bell ring and that he was in the back courtyard anyway. We immediately went to the drawing room and there was no one there. I was stunned! I thought I had heard the bell ring and so had Swati. Besides, she had vividly described the girl. We did not know what to make of it.

However, when I discussed  this with Raj and Rupa separately, they speculated that since Swati had recently been through a bereavement and been quite distressed, that maybe she had hallucinated the episode. Although I was not fully convinced, I thought I had what could be the best explanation under the given circumstances.

A few days later, I was talking to the girls in the room where they used to work. All the girls at that time had Personal Computers on which they worked. To ensure an uninterrupted power supply in the event of a power failure, all PC’s had a Battery Backup Device attached to them. While talking to them I walked across to the window in the room where the curtains were a little out of place. I was adjusting the curtain when all of a sudden Swati’s PCs Battery Backup Device started beeping. She looked at me in alarm. I looked at the power plug to which the battery backup device was connected on the wall which was located just below the curtain and I noticed that the switch was off. I told her that maybe the switch had shut off when I was adjusting the curtain and there was nothing to be alarmed about.

That night I was at home when at around 10 pm Swati called and her first question was – ‘Sir, what’s the backup time of the Battery Backup Device?’ At that instant, a shiver ran through me as I realised that the device had, at the very least, a 15 minute backup. It was fairly new, so its in-built alarm would not beep unless it ran out of power. If  by my moving the curtain I had inadvertently switched off the main switch from which the device was drawing power, the beeping sound could not possibly have started that soon. Swati had been working on her machine all morning, and the power backup device had beeped only when I was in the room that afternoon. Both of us realised that no logical explanations were working. She insisted I speak to the landlords about any unnatural deaths in the house.

I briefed the landlord the next day and he said he had no clue why these things were happening. He said that only his father had passed away in this house but, there was no reason why he would be spooking us. It was then that Rupa in my team disclosed some more details about the area where this house was located.

Apparently, just across the road from our house was a 5 star hotel that had been built adjacent to an old graveyard that had been there for centuries. She had worked in that hotel for a short while before she joined our firm. She said that many guests and staff in that hotel had reported hearing eerie screams on the upper floors quite frequently during the night. It had come to such a stage that hotel staff had refused to go to the upper floors late in the night. She also pointed out the Banyan tree outside our office. Banyan trees in India are associated with the God Yama, or the God of Death. The tree is often planted outside villages in India near crematoriums. It is believed to be the abode of ghosts.

Upon hearing all of this, my entire team and I decided that it would be difficult to work from there any more. We frantically searched for an alternate location and within a week shifted out.

I do not know whether the house was truly haunted or not, but our experience there was spooky enough that even now, reminiscing about these incidents sends chills down my spine.

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Shantanu resides in New Delhi, India and holds a bachelor’s degree in Economics as well as a Master’s degree in Business Administration.

He had a successful Corporate Stint in the Human Resources Function and became a Head  of HR at the age of 25 in a Manufacturing Multinational. He worked in various sectors subsequently as a Head HR, before setting up his own Executive Search Firm in 2004 that now has a presence in multiple cities across India. He is also a guest judge and speaker in various management forums & institutes in India.

He lost his father at the age of ten to a genetic disease that later affected him and his sister as well. He had multiple surgeries and a near death experience and survived to tell the tale both literally and figuratively. He wrote a book on how he overcame the disease describing his whole experience and the same is available on Amazon globally. He unfortunately lost his sister to the disease too.

He is a workaholic, likes traveling, is an amateur photographer, likes reading & writing occasionally, is an exercise freak and also has interests in the areas of Science, Arts and Politics.

He can be reached on :-

Twitter : @ShantanuSaha1

Instagram : @shantanusaha1

Linkedin : https://www.linkedin.com/in/shantanusaha/

His book – “Fight for Life: My Journey from a Fatal Disease to Good Health” is now available for Kindle on Amazon. The Paper back is also available in some countries.

The link for India is: http://www.amazon.in/dp/B014YFEFES

The link for US is: http://amzn.com/B014YFEFES

The link for UK is: http://www.amazon.co.uk/dp/B014YFEFES

Damage (India Book 2) is here!

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Are damaged people destined to inflict damage?

16 stories that examine the internal and external landscapes of people damaged by birth, upbringing, nature and circumstances. Set primarily in India, they examine the socio-political climate of the country alongside. Dark and disturbing, this collection endeavours to shed light on the duplicity and evil that exists amongst and sometimes, even within us.

Yes, that’s the blurb for my second book of short stories. Considerably longer than my first, this book is the one that I’ve been beavering away at, and hence been suspiciously quiet on the blogging front. The stories are dark but I’ve been told by my previewers that they are impactful. I hope you think so too…

Go buy it, read it and please, please don’t forget to review it. Any kind of feedback is always welcome, but written reviews help an Indie writer far more than you can imagine. They don’t just propel more custom towards the book, but Amazon’s algorithms pick up on the reviews and positively promote a product that seems to be doing well. So, once again, please do review the book on Amazon and Goodreads. It doesn’t have to be more than a couple of lines of your completely honest viewpoint on what you think of the book and my writing. A very BIG thank you in advance!

Links to purchase the books:

UK

US

IN

Also available on Amazon worldwide.

You can review the book after reading at your respective Amazon site. To put a review on Goodreads, follow the link below:

Goodreads

I really hope you enjoy the book. Don’t forget to drop me a line or follow me on Facebook.

Happy reading! 🙂

 

 

Scared yet?

by

The #Metoo movement has finally hit India. From an actress who unwittingly regurgitated a ten year old case against a senior actor to many more young girls coming forward with their own tales of abuse and harassment, it has been a litany of complaints against rich and powerful men at the top of their game, be it in films, journalism or politics.

It is no surprise that this kind of abuse occurred. After all, in a country like India which is trenchantly patriarchal, women have only ever been seen as secondary to men. To those women who chose to enter films, unless they had their own protection in the guise of a powerful boyfriend or family, they were ripe for the plucking. Besides, these men knew how to use their status and money to intimidate and overpower, much like Harvey Weinstein did in Hollywood.

However, times have changed. Young Indian women are no longer willing to put up and shut up as the previous generations did. It took one lone voice. One girl who challenged the status quo and once again the ball was set rolling. The difference this time was that the climate was conducive to the naming and shaming of these perpetrators. People were willing to listen and people were outraged enough to demand redressal.

Yet, astonishingly, there were also many voices of dissent. Voices that questioned the veracity of the claims. Voices that insinuated that it was a fame game. That these girls wanted the notoriety to be able to get more work or find a foothold in the notoriously fickle film industry. That women who were attacking journalists and politicians had their own agendas of revenge and retribution. Sour grapes and all.

Why, I wondered, was there such a backlash against women who were willing to go through the public mauling of their characters just so these wolves in sheeps clothing could be outed? Why, I wondered, were so many of the fingers pointing at these women belonging to women themselves?

The jokes that abounded were plentiful and tasteless to an extreme. Jokes that showed disclaimers at the start of a film saying ‘No women were harmed in the making of this movie’ just as you would about animal cruelty. Jokes that talked about powerful men quaking in their boots at the thought of false accusations being brought against them. Jokes that talked about marital rape and the grey areas of what constituted consent.

Here’s the thing: suddenly the very foundation of Indian society is being questioned. Men, who have for years taken their position in society for granted are being asked to reassess their own actions and attitudes. Women, who have perhaps put up with their own share of harassment, are unwilling to support these young women for fear of their  hypocrisies and double standards coming to light. Status quo is a very difficult thing to let go of. Status quo protects and hides and allows things to carry on as they were.

The accusers have been denigrated, slapped with injunctions and made fun of. Counter accusations asking why it’s taken them all this time to come forward, have been levelled at them. Why? Would you come forward if all you were met with is opposition, disbelief and a destruction of your career? The fact that it has taken them all this time is indicative that the culture of abuse is widespread and has deep roots.

To those women who have boldly iterated that they would NEVER have put up with any kind of abuse, that they would have slapped the assailant in the face and walked out and that they would not have returned to further abuse, I ask- look back in your past and see how many times you have bowed to patriarchal pressure to be a certain way, act a certain way or follow the dictates of your father, your husband or your in laws and tell me, in all honesty, whether you really had the courage to stand up for yourself?

As for the men who stand against these women, I ask- is it fear that makes you doubt and question? Is it fear that some long forgotten skeleton rattling in your cupboard might fall out? Is it fear of losing the respect of your family and of society, because suddenly, you are being exposed for the predatory monster that you are?

If it is, then be very very afraid. For this movement is catching and gathering momentum. After every #Metoo comes #Timesup. The actions of these brave young women may well destroy their own lives and careers, but they are paving the future for the generations to come. Where all women feel empowered and emboldened enough to stand up for not just themselves but also for their sisterhood. Where they forge ahead in their careers without being subjected to any kind of sexual harassment or power play. Where they stand shoulder to shoulder with the men in their lives and patriarchy becomes a distant, distasteful phenomenon discussed only in the most academic way. Yes, that day will come and it will come on the back of the actions of the brave few who ventured forward with the truth of their experiences.

Are you scared yet?

 

 

The mood in Delhi

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This is another short piece I had written a few years ago. Strangely I think it still holds true.

The Mood in Delhi

Delhi, as I knew it, has changed so much in the two decades that I have been away. Yet it never fails to astound me every time I return. This time is no different.

I am a tad worried as we deplane at nearly midnight. “Is it safe to take a taxi?”, I asked my father over the phone. “Yes, as long as it is pre paid”. Strange that I should worry so, considering I have my rather strapping husband and young children with me and am not travelling alone. We have taken taxis from the airport as long as I can remember. However, things have altered dramatically in the last six months. Crime rates have shot up, particularly after the horrific rape of the 23 year old medical student, and the mood is sombre as well as cautious in the city.

We drive home in our luggage laden taxi, encountering a few desultory police check posts along the way. There is still a fair bit of traffic at that hour of the morning. I feel relatively safe, constantly assessing the young driver to see if we could take him on, if the need arose. I have always felt rather churlish on previous occasions refusing to let the driver’s mate ride with us. In hindsight, I am glad. This time, we weren’t asked and I know I would have refused again.

The driver is rather put out that he has to take the longer route to get to our house. The gates leading in are all locked at night, and there is just one way to get in and out. My husband points out that if there was a medical emergency, there is no way an ambulance would make it in.

Our taxi parks outside, and immediately the watchman comes over. He sees us and smiles and nods. Familiar faces that pose no threat. My daughter giggles. At 12 she is taller than him. We find out later that there was a break in next door while he was ostensibly on duty. So much for security.

All night, the locality’s stray dogs bark in a chorus, allowing us very little sleep. My father says this is quite normal. The local stray dogs association has provided them with collars and feeds them regularly. They are rather like the street gangs of East London. No one messes with them.

We acclimatise slowly to the time zone. Delhi is heaving, buzzing, pulsating. People go about their business as usual. Yet I feel there is a definite change in the air. Friends we meet for dinner confirm this. “We rarely travel alone at night anymore”, Manoj volunteers. “It’s just not safe.” There are reports every day of girls being attacked, abducted, raped. The Government makes all the right noises, but very little is being done. The laws are outdated and offer more protection to the perpetrators than the victims.

I am rather sad to see the city of my birth thus reduced. I cannot wait to leave. Albeit, a piece of my heart stays behind.