we the living

The line of story living closest to those It boasts about.The impulsive,uncompromising Leo,the stiff Kira,and the supermature Andrei.
Ayn Rand's narrates have the touch of the perfect,the rainbow dreams of a child ,the glow of yellow morning lights.Untouched,and sculpted
to shape at the very moment of birth.A certain sway is We the living ,like a young leaf among the offering pangs of the thorns .The three
characters have one thing in common,they are mutual compatriots ,beings of the same law,of the same gravity.
While the world has much to say of the greats,time has many to explain and reveal.An Andrei,A Leo,a Kira,of their livings.

One thing ,Kira,what is your heart ?The bosom of love ?

Blood:India

I reckon that would have been a single picture upload anywhere outside India.


The mystic hero,who multiplied himself to a shield.

Courtesy :Sterin Thalonikkara Jose,and team.Location :Kargil

JACKSON IS CRYING...

He is raw.
A whole bunch of immense gravity.A man of formidable talent,enormous drive and force.
A quest into the mind of one of the greatest men in history,what should that reveal?
A heart of rose,made ornate by a poignant drop of dew,or a deranged tear.
An oyster of hope,a grand ambition skyhigh.
Jacko!
The heart of freedom,the ornament to times.
The pain of a golden cage,the restlessness of vagabondage,
The eternal child,the young cub of the Alaskan wild,
Jacko!Oh,Jacko!

Your voice is a cry,a storm of emotions,a river of love,a roar into the mirror.

Jackson is crying.
Listen to his lament.
If that thrilled Time,what are us men?

The Fountainhead.

"Whatever their future,at the dawn of their lives ,men seek a noble vision of man's life and of life's true potential."-Ayn Rand

The Fountainhead of great currents.The grandeur of great histories.

What is it to be Roark?To be the fountainhead?
Is it pure conviction?Or True Revelation?The feel of the Superlative?

The dawn of a Man's life.-The bringer of the very gale,or the gentle wind.The negotiator,the dirty boy. The skin of steel,the kind of leather.The pull in the Heart, the pulse in the brain.

The Voice inside to the voices around.The feeble sight of far away buildings unyielding,the killing wounds of a deceive done.

Roark begins.

And she set out on a sail ...

The Jahre Viking.
Who was she?
The crown of the seas once ? Or the love and awe of the clan of engineers who built her ?Or a rage ?
A marvel ? A statement ?

Ravage that guitar !

IT Began on the soft notes of innocence and ignorance.Quite time and again ,though rarely,when the notes slipped and the chords misspelt, the show just went on.
The guitarist wasn't showing signs of weariness or muscular fatigue,and his frame swayed not from exhaustion ,but from happiness.The drummer behind was a machine,he was perfect,as if he had been drumming from times seldom thought of.The bassist had a similar go.
But the lead was the man in light ,and the passersby had begun to take notice.
The end ,lasting few minutes,was a call ,or rather a roar ,of the brute force and sheer power.The strings were intact and shining ,and the beads of sweat on his face were now showing under his great laughter.
"This" ,he said holding out the black electric guitar in his hand ,"is my beloved:my great agony and joy,my great inspire and my confession theatre".
"This is my great love ,my ravage."

Drifting !

Maybe I have never been the better man.Maybe I never even was good.And all those pains and dejections I have given you ,because of my lack of self control ,I am being apologetic about.
I have no words as such that could convey how much i am sorry,Only hoping that the Truth that is eternal listens to my atonements and forgiveness ,I never deserve !
How life sometimes carry you in a drift so slow and unnoticed but strong enough to take away your peace of mind.
I love you from the depths of my heart...