The irresistible urge for Being.

Now the fact is that most of you must’ve read either Hermann Hesse’s work, where he makes the normal ‘the guy the next door’ guy into Buddha, or any other body of work which extols the virtues of being other worldly. Hermit is the new cool. Growing a beard is the steam that drives the rotor of happiness (as these guys say).

But then how many of us do really sit down and follow these tenets down to the last line. There are a lot of laudable take-aways from these books like smiling at random strangers (though the experience has been far from what I would have liked), saying a heartfelt thank you, or simply meaning ‘good’ bye when we say it to someone.

These are priceless little things which can add that extra glimmer of hope, the little proverbial cherry without which the cake remains nameless.

But we are ascriptive human beings aren’t we. We all want to climb up Maslow’s staircase of aspirations and we all want to hit home run before it turns too late. Like the old Greeks said that a ship is safest at the harbor, but that’s not what ships are really meant for.

The idea of humans ‘being’ rather than humans ‘doing’ is therefore an inflated concept.

What if the guys at OPCW decide to follow the adage, what if the arctic council guys do so, what if the NATO, CBD all of them decide to be. But here in lies the catch.

Being is a state of mind. Doing is manifestation. If one isn’t secure within, he can’t seek it without. The duties of the Karmayogi with a thorough grounding in action have an even firmer belief in ‘Ishwar Aparna BUddhi’ in Nir Manava Bhava. These tenets are rooted in the a priori essentiality of an equanimous mind.

Wearing a yellow robe, or finding a haven in the hills isn’t sine qua non to achieving that cosmic thrust of joie de verve . A sweeper is equally Buddha and so is a manual scavenger. The act of manual scavenging although one of the biggest incrimination’s on modern day humanity, does require tremendous amounts of duty ethics and the perseverance of a saint. Who else can be Buddha more.

The soldier is the Buddha, the postman in rural Odisha is so. The mother who prays at her sons epitaph, the software dudes making life easy for the blind, the dog who carries her wounded owner to the grocery store.

What’s your score. How do you picture into the frame. Are we running around in circles? And even if we are, are we watering the plants that grow along the road. Are we growing okra or are we growing hatred?. Are we being or are we doing? Believe me the line is imaginary. Blur it! Crush it! DO. BE. LIVE. GIVE.

Happy New Year
Ayush.K.

The child within

Dear brother,

I hope things are awesome. It did cross my mind, last summer, that you were under strains of an odd sort. I expect, like many another, you’ll spend your life oscillating between fierce relationships that become tunnel traps, and sudden escapes into wide freedom when the whole world seems to be just there for the taking. Nobody’s solved it. You solve it as you get older, when you reach the point where you’ve tasted so much that you can somehow sacrifice certain things more easily, and you have a more tolerant view of things like possessiveness (your own) and a broader acceptance of the pains and the losses.

I came to new Delhi 3 years back, why didn’t I explore India then? I wanted to. I knew it was there. Ten years later I could have done it, because by then I would have learned, maybe, that one person cannot live within another’s magic circle, as an enchanted prisoner.

So take this new opportunity to look about and fill your lungs with that fantastic land, while it and you are still there.

I remember once there was a most curious and interesting remark you made about feeling, occasionally, very childish, in certain situations. don’t you know about people,this first and most crucial fact: every single one is, and is painfully every moment aware of it, still a child. To get beyond the age of about eight is not permitted to this primate—except in a very special way, which I’ll try to explain. When I came to New Delhi, it was quite obvious to me that in some of the most important ways you are much more mature than I am. And your self-reliance, your Independence, your general boldness in exposing yourself to new and to-most-people-very-alarming situations, (I know it probably doesn’t feel like that to you, but that’s how it looks to the rest of us) is the sort of real maturity that not one in a thousand ever come near. As you know. But in many other ways obviously you are still childish—how could you not be, you alone among mankind? It’s something people don’t discuss, because it’s something most people are aware of only as a general crisis of sense of inadequacy, or helpless dependence, or pointless loneliness, or a sense of not having a strong enough ego to meet and master inner storms that come from an unexpected angle. But not many people realise that it is, in fact, the suffering of the child inside them. Everybody tries to protect this vulnerable two three four five six seven eight year old inside, and to acquire skills and aptitudes for dealing with the situations that threaten to overwhelm it. So everybody develops a whole armour of secondary self, the artificially constructed being that deals with the outer world, and the crush of circumstances. And when we meet people this is what we usually meet. And if this is the only part of them we meet we’re likely to get a rough time, and to end up making ‘no contact’. But when you develop a strong divining sense for the child behind that armour, and you make your dealings and negotiations only with that child, you find that everybody becomes, in a way, like your own child. It’s an intangible thing. But they too sense when that is what you are appealing to, and they respond with an impulse of real life, you get a little flash of the essential person, which is the child. Usually, that child is a wretchedly isolated undeveloped little being. It’s been protected by the efficient armour, it’s never participated in life, it’s never been exposed to living and to managing the person’s affairs, it’s never been given responsibility for taking the brunt. And it’s never properly lived. That’s how it is in almost everybody. And that little creature is sitting there, behind the armour, peering through the slits. And in its own self, it is still unprotected, incapable, inexperienced. Every single person is vulnerable to unexpected defeat in this inmost emotional self. At every moment, behind the most efficient seeming adult exterior, the whole world of the person’s childhood is being carefully held like a glass of water bulging above the brim. And in fact, that child is the only real thing in them. It’s their humanity, their real individuality, the one that can’t understand why it was born and that knows it will have to die, in no matter how crowded a place, quite on its own. That’s the carrier of all the living qualities. It’s the centre of all the possible magic and revelation. What doesn’t come out of that creature isn’t worth having, or it’s worth having only as a tool—for that creature to use and turn to account and make meaningful. So there it is. And the sense of itself, in that little being, at its core, is what it always was. But since that artificial secondary self took over the control of life around the age of eight, and relegated the real, vulnerable, supersensitive, suffering self back into its nursery, it has lacked training, this inner prisoner. And so, wherever life takes it by surprise, and suddenly the artificial self of adaptations proves inadequate, and fails to ward off the invasion of raw experience, that inner self is thrown into the front line—unprepared, with all its childhood terrors round its ears. And yet that’s the moment it wants. That’s where it comes alive—even if only to be overwhelmed and bewildered and hurt. And that’s where it calls up its own resources—not artificial aids, picked up outside, but real inner resources, real biological ability to cope, and to turn to account, and to enjoy. That’s the paradox: THE ONLY TIME MOST PEOPLE FEEL ALIVE IS WHEN THEY ARE SUFFERING, when something overwhelms their ordinary, careful armour, and the naked child is flung out onto the world. That’s why the things that are worst to undergo are the best to remember. But when that child gets buried away under their adaptive and protective shells—he becomes one of the walking dead, a monster. So when you realise you’ve gone a few weeks and haven’t felt that awful struggle of your childish self—struggling to lift itself out of its inadequacy and incompetence—you’ll know you’ve gone some weeks without meeting new challenge, and without growing, and that you’ve gone some weeks towards losing touch with yourself.

Brother,the only calibration that counts is how much heart people invest, how much they ignore their fears of being hurt or being caught or humiliated. And the only thing people regret is that they didn’t live boldly enough, that they didn’t invest enough heart, didn’t love enough. I tell you this with personal remorse. Nothing else really counts at all. It was a saying about noble figures in old Irish poems—he would give his hawk to any man that asked for it, yet he loved his hawk better than men nowadays love their bride of tomorrow. He would mourn a dog with more grief than men nowadays mourn their fathers.

And that’s how we measure out our real respect for people—by the degree of feeling they can register, the voltage of life they can carry and tolerate—and enjoy. Live like a mighty river Bhai, And live as though all your ancestors were living again through you.

A very Happy birthday

Love,
Ayush katheria
New Delhi

Avatar singh Pash~ Ghaas

Main ghaas huun
Main aapke har kiye-dhare pe ugg aauungaa
Bam fek do chahe vishwa vidyalaya par
Banaa do hostle ko malbe kaa Dher
Suhaagaa firaa do bhale hii hamaari jhopriyon par
Muje kyaa karoge
Main to ghaas hun har chiiz par ugg aauungaa
Bange ko Dher kar do
Sangrur mita dalo!!
Dhool mein milaa do ludhiyana jila
Meri hariyali apna kaam karegi
Do saal….das saal baad
Sawariya fir kisi kandctar se poochegi
Yeh kaun sii jagah hai
Muje barnala utaar denaa
Jahan hare ghaas ka jangal hai
Main ghas huun, main apna kaam karunga
Main apke har kiye dhare par ugg aauungaa…

A very hot Delhi evening.

It so happened on a Thursday
Sultry and sordid
Like a damp fish awakens

Beholding, the last bit of sweat
As a sacrament of promise,

We ruffle our feathers and
Fidget and all
Do the hill peoples chose to listen?
When it drizzles
And snows on a mountain mall.

I happen to be on a plateau(plato?) of mine.

A mountain that rises on surreal realms.
Us talking
To strangers,
Thriving on fountain pens.

-ayush

Forge reason, build identity.

Amazing ted talk on how our worst moments are our greatest source of strength.

Ray Bradbury-If only we had Taller Been

Heres some midweek inspiration.

Urban Candles and notions thereof

Urban candles and notions thereof

What appalls me is not the fact that we are secure and fat and educated. It is just the opposite. Overtures appall me, knee jerks appall me, facebook appalls me, the youth appalls me, girls appall me, boys appall me. The delhite as I call myself, ready to post a picture or two. I am the person who voted a neoliberal dispensation to power, I am the person who is a master at compromise now. Compromise comes as a natural to me. I am the person who’s always complaining about state subsidies to the poor, haranguing with my ‘colleagues’ about the all so known pilferages that plague the subsidy system. I am the one, one among the many with a ‘Face’ today who want a better phone, a better road, a better network. I am centric. That’s not a bad thing to be. I guess?. I am a city dweller, I pay my taxes, I stand up in obeisance to the national anthem, I’m considerate enough. I think I’m a good  human being.

I AM PLAGUED. I AM SICK.

My  roots are traceable to the rural hinterlands of Uttar Pradesh. When December 16^th happened, I was up in arms. I arranged for people to show up at munirka. I was in the thick of things, my blood boiled down to a simmer, I thought I was making a difference, even if a small one. I was content though. Things started to clear up after a little while. I am no longer the person I ever was. I am thoroughly conscious of my presence. Conscious, that I do not intrude into some ones domain even if unknowingly. I am scared that I am a boy today. I am a plague. I am sickness manifested. I am an Indian male.

What had the Badaun sisters done?  Did they steal out of someone’s shelf. Were they “unscrupulous elements” according to this “old and glorious and immutable” culture of ours. Were they eating Chow mien or talking on phones? Did they even dare to watch television ever. I bet not. I bet not. They were just  teenage girls, living the big Indian dream. Im sure they were aware about the neoliberal euphoria that has swept this “ great nation of ours”. Im sure they had shouted ‘Ab ki Baar’ at least once. At least once I’m sure.

Being born in a Dalit family, therein lies the catch. Why didn’t anyone point it out before? They were taught to be lesser mortals, since time immemorial. Their mother must’ve been taught the same. The father would never have dared to ride a cycle in front of an upper caste  house, the bidis must’ve been a secret affair. The food must’ve been onion, salt and roti. The water must’ve been from the well outside the village. Life must’ve been live-able. Communions work that way. Proponents would say that boundaries were laid down by the manusmriti.

And they lived happily ever after. Yes in the meanwhile, the Girls were found hanging, reports suggested that they were also raped by the lords. They had every right to do so. Even the chief minister was nonchalant in saying that the English speaking reporter was safe, so why was she so curious.

The girls had gone to relieve themselves at night. Days are for men. They always were. The girls were always theirs. They always were.

And they lived happily ever after.

Back in Delhi.  I am watching the IPL. There’s a new flavor which a popular pizza delivery joint has come up with.  Its on the cards. I just hope that the guy is late today.

The heat brings with it power cuts. Yesterday night it was. I lit up a candle. And I lit up a candle. And I lit up a candle. Punjab qualified for the finals.

And they lived happily ever after.

 

 

Stop this train-notes on becoming obdurate.

No I’m not colorblind
I know the world is black and white
Try to keep an open mind
I just cant sleep on this tonight

Stop this train
I want to get off and go home again
I cant take the speed its moving in
I know i cant
But honestly wont someone stop this train

Don’t know how else to say it
Don’t want to see my parents grow
One generation length away from fighting life on my own
Stop this train

 

Bittersweet mornings at home do not come easy when the titular song is playing in the background . Color is such an important part of expression. Im sure people who study design have a separate semester devoted specifically to the effects of color. The intricate foreplay of lights and shadows. A hue in our surrounding can extrapolate the most inane feelings within us. A whiff of saffron. Walking into the sunset…the crimson dusk. The pale mornings. The placid white sheets, when they strike the pale blue outside.

I moved out of my home almost 10 years back. I was to go to boarding school. The engine was lubricated, the coolants were a check. The TRAIN LEFT before I could take the proverbial sighs. Im a traveller ever since. Ive been visiting people. Ive been saying Hi’s. Ive been eating with them, sharing a joke or two, and then I have the next train to nowhere. The Bye’s do not happen now. They had stopped hurting a long time back. The stench of stale food, fresh out of the pantry, crumbled clothes, Crumbles, Crumbling… Squalor, putridity, The Sanctimonious excrement on the tracks, home to me. Me to home. Me.

Wanting the ephemeral, transcending the present, my hand is stretched out for the Thing, but i am really not sure if it is part of me.Part of me says it is.
Part of me. PART. Me.

The Bye’s do not happen now. Someone! Someone, Say a Bye. I am sure i will stretch my hand out and wave a hearty goodbye. My hand stretched out. Stretched. Part of me says.
Part. Me.

~A

Cinematic Faith

Intriguing.

Citizens of Gotham

Director Christopher Nolan on set

I found an article online titled Cinematic Faith, within this article was an interview between director Christopher Nolan and journalist Scott Foundas. Not only did I find this interview intriguing due to my interest in Batman, but because I found it to be unlike any other interview. Not only are the questions asked unlike most that simply inquire into irrelevant information such as, what inspired this film? Who is your real life hero? Why choose Christian Bale? Instead they are more in depth and thought provoking. Christopher Nolan’s answers are perfectly to match, they are detailed and serious. His love for this trilogy and Batman’s history is evident. His ten years working on these films show his research and knowledge as he is fully aware of the political and religious aspects incorporated into the film. He talks about how this is a entirely different type of cinematic experience which has brought seriousness, darkness and realism into the…

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THE QUOTIDIAN MAYER

THE QUOTIDIAN MAYER
‘

My Life and times with John Clayton Mayer’

I was 12, borderline obese and fidgety when by some divine providence i was gifted a CD man. A sony CD man. Im talking about 2002, and a CD man in those days was a gilt edged possession. I grew up in a small suburban town in northern india, Dehradun it says. Back in those days good expressionist music was something unheard of, not that i had any semblance of either as to what it was. Now i had a CD man, but i didn’t have any clue as to where i’d find some good cd’s to go along. Not that i had a beautiful and rich musical lineage, nor was the case that my family were musical aficionados in the least bit of sense. Out of dearth and desperation i went scouting for some music in a shanty little establishment of a shop, which was quite a dugout for the quintessential and proverbial ‘lazy bones’ of our Pahaari towns, the people who quit jobs and quit family and rent a room and listen to Stevie ray vaughn or Colin James or say even Kenny Wayne Shepherd, ok ill put Robert Cray too in the list. For the ones who know what i am talking about, this was the shop behind the universal filling station. I don’t register the name, but yes it did sell pirated cd’s, home made pirated stuff at throw away prices. And damn was the collection something to reckon with.

Ive had my share of metal days, but now i can punctuate them with ease. Yes for all the detractors out there, YES I’m a lesser mortal, YES i have an unabashedly pop art sentimentality, and i like music that celebrates life. To be very honest I’ve had my share of music that extols the virtues of existential ennui, that extols the solemn depravity in our society, that extols being hermitic in a negative sense of the word. And yes i say ‘negative sense of the word’ with all my other world sentimentalities intact.
John Mayer to me is not some blues rock artist sitting half way across the globe, he’s not to me ,the story of steadfast beginnings and near mortal failures, he’s not just the person I’ve grown up with since the past decade and more. He’s the person I’ve cried my heart out to, he’s been with the downs and downs of my life. He’s been neck deep in the little elements of happiness that came and went like the breeze on a chilly november morning. He’s been an avuncular countenance i banked on. Sitting on the top of my broken iPod. Always ready for a song or two, rummaging through my hurt endings and healing them with candor and pristine melodies in b flat.

So yes i was 13 maybe, when i got my hands on inside wants out heavier things on a pirated Cd written by an unknown Mr. Pawan Rawat. Thank you Mr. Rawat. Heres an attempt to bring into picture my life paralleled by some Mayer and how and in what subliminal ways it shaped me as a human being.

INSIDE WANTS OUT/ ROOM FOR SQUARES

It was the winter of 2002, my father had just come out of a near fatal paralysis attack, so i in my own little kid way had realized and come to terms with the ephemerality of life. In my own little way i learnt to face things on face value. I was young and very proud of the way this young man was shaping things on the block, i had immediately found resonance with some of the tracks on the EP. Back to you and ‘ no such thing’ just made so much sense to me. I still cant fathom how they made such sense to me when i was a just a kid waiting to hit puberty.”

Welcome to the real world”, she said to me
Condescendingly
Take a seat
Take your life
Plot it out in black and white
Well I never lived the dreams of the prom kings
And the drama queens
I’d like to think the best of me.

Life lesson learnt: theres no such thing as the real world, just a lie you gotta rise above.

The staccato picking and plucking licks (used in Neon)which formed an intrinsic part of much of Mayer’s body of work took me completely in a different zone. Id attribute solely to ‘neon’ for making me pick up the guitar in a town so sleepy that the closest i came to the ‘best guitar’ was worth some 800 bucks. Things in this phase of my life were soporific and content. I mean i was at school, was listening to a lot of mayer, playing a lot of G chord and thinking i had found out the secret of happiness by striking that mellifluous G.

HEAVIER THINGS

High school. And the name of his next project couldn’t be more predictable. School as it turned out wasn’t so much fun after all, we had our own sense of internalized fraternities, which in fact was a euphemism for unadulterated and lesser fictionalized versions of rivalries. Frustrations, that sense of growing up against odds. Urban middle class canon isms. The indian education system, the rut of being in the rut, girls growing up faster than we could have imagined and things happening to us that we had imagined were part of folklore or happened only in the badlands of middle earth. Internet was something which was starting to have a reputation, it had something to do with books i had heard. Television was perennially pillaging our interiors and our minds with squalid content. Content so depraved and worthless, it was fit to be banned in Guantanamo.
‘Bigger than my body’ screeched through the scene. The alternative and pop rock jingle was a complete departure from Mayer’s earlier acoustic sensibilities and it was an instant soar. I remember myself air guitaring in front of the mirror on the track so many times.

‘Someday ill fly
Someday ill soar
Someday I’ll be so damn much more
Cause I’m bigger than my body gives me credit for’

I wont be platitudinous and call this a teen anthem, but it did set certain things straight. It was the ‘smells like teen spirit’ for me, GRUNGE WAS DEAD. IT WAS. And I’m glad it was.
Another track was ‘somethings missing’ which was simply put epic brilliance in all it little ways. Steve Jordan’s drumming, David la Bruyere on the bass and later Pino Palladino made the tightest possible thump i had heard of, and mind you i had heard a lot.

“I’m dizzy from the shopping malls
I searched for joy, but I bought it all
It doesn’t help the hunger pains
and a thirst I’d have to drown first to ever satiate
Something’s missing
And I don’t know how to fix it
something’s missing
And I don’t know what it is”

Lifes lesson learnt: i was witnessing Mayer’s growth both as a songwriter and a lyricist. And at that petulant age of 16, i had come to know that the only thing that was pertinent was GROWTH.

CONTINUUM

By some twisted sense of circumstance, i prepare for entering medical school. Continuum was flying off shelves, by this time Mayer was ‘THE international’. Gravity, Slow dancing and Stop this train was something no one had ever imagined would come out of his stable. The TRY trio was working magic, this was blues in all its commercial glory. Pino Palladino on the bass was a beast, i did miss La Bruyere though. The edition i had downloaded was a radio pre release with some informal commentary interspersed in between.
I remember listening to the first lines, ”here i am with a product of my invisibility” Slow dancing in a burning room he said was a song about two lovers knowing that their relationship is ending and they wanting to make the end a beautiful thing. This was both intriguing and intimidating. I better not extol ‘Gravity’, for it till this day stands tall in the annals of blues glory, with the likes of Clapton, BB king and Buddy Guy acquiescing to this guy being the be all and end all of blues legacy.
I was again studying nothing for my pre med entrance. I was locked up in my room, sitting on the edge of my bed and practicing for hours on length. Trying to own the BB King box on the B flat, and trying my hands on pentatonic scale progressions.
I even did an intensely kitschy video, playing slow dancing in a burning room, which of course i now despise doing. The women liked it though.

This was the interregnum which Mayer filled with a lot of touring and some insanely original compositions coming from the TRY, ‘good love is on the way’ remains my favorite.

BATTLE STUDIES

Im midway into medical school by this time. Battle studies, the name was picked up from Ardant du Picq’s book, which found a mention in another book called ‘Of Killing’ which Mayer was reading. This is again one of the most thought provoking Mayer albums of all time, each song being a story in itself. The sequencing too is done with precision and subtle delectability. This was a time when i was facing my slow dancing moment, on the verge of an imminent breakup, i found meaning in ‘Edge of Desire’

Young and full of running
tell me where is that taking me?
just a great figure eight
or a tiny infinity?

love is really nothing
but a dream that keeps waking me
for all of my trying
we still end up dying
how can it be?

‘Friends lovers or nothing’ was the song i stuck to after the breakup happened. ‘Perfectly lonely’ was more of an obtrusive pennant i was beginning to be sure of.
I found love again, luckily.

This is the time of my life, when things did a volte face, i was practically sitting On a Velvet sofa, well ensconced in the four glittered walls of my unassuming identity, when out of some sense of self righteousness, i decided to shake things up, i was fed up of being suffused with hubris, tired of being not tired.

I took a bag, sold my car, sold my happiness and bid goodbye.

BORN AND RAISED

The beards a sign of giving into sublimation, i feel happiness after a long long time. I know my precincts, my precincts know me. Ive hurt a lot of people, friends lovers or nothing, there can never always be one. I was hedonistic in my own sense, i seeked mental hedonism, i was seeking a mental construct that was impervious and obstinate to other worldly travails. Travails which i miss dearly today. Acceptance is part of the process. When there is acceptance, finding an escape route to the sordid acceptance is truculence in all its maleficent form. This is the one thing I’ve learnt now when I’m 25. Embalming yourself in the dead dreary acceptance for some time and coming out stronger is the right way to go according to me. Why are people perpetually finding ways to come out of things in a hurry. Scurrying across situations is one thing ill repent all my life. I want those travails of life back, if only.
It was almost like magic, I’m sure people who follow their stars( both figuratively and literally) have this uncanny knack of finding parallels, but this was actually happening.
I didn’t want to now, but i did stumble upon born and raised. ‘Queen of California’ was me all the way. ” just found out a ghost left town, the queen of california is stepping down” “hello beauty, hello strange”.

Then there was ‘shadow days’ which says “I’m a good man, with a good heart, had a tough time, made a rough start, but my shadow days are over now”. I agree its kitschy, but looking beyond the kitsch, could i agree less? In the time that ensued i sent a letter to my ex girlfriend with the song ‘Walt Grace submarine ride 1967’, i thought it was the perfect analogy to my life.

“Walt Grace, desperately hating his old place
Dreamed to discover a new space and buried himself alive
Inside his basement
The tongue on the side of his face meant
He’s working away on displacement
And what it would take to survive

‘Cause when you’re done with this world
You know the next is up to you

And his wife told his kids he was crazy
And his friends said he’d fail if he tried
But with the will to work hard and a library card
He took a homemade, fan blade, one-man submarine ride”

I signed the letter saying ‘hope you drink up to me’.

PARADISE VALLEY

Present, things look up, and they show promise. The world is but a canvas to our imagination. All i know is this is a phase, we all come out of it. As he says in ‘whiskey whiskey whiskey’.

On the way home~

The summer’s over, this town is closing.
They’re waving people out of the ocean.
We have the feeling like we were floating.
We never noticed where time was going.

Do you remember when we first got here?
The days were longer; the nights were hot here.
Now, it’s September; the engine’s started.
You’re empty-handed and heavy-hearted.

But just remember on the way home (ooh ooh ooh)
That you were never meant to feel alone.
It takes a little while, but you’d be fine:
Another good time coming down the line.

John mayer at an interview at oxford says the biggest compliment he gets is people coming to him and saying “Man I’ve had a tough life, thanks a lot man!!”

Thanks a lot indeed you beauty. Ill be cliched now.
SHINE ON YOU CRAZY DIAMOND. Thanks for the happiness.