Ghorakh Dhanda (A confounding Conundrum)

Excerpts from the lyrics of the song Gharakh Dhanda - loosely translated 

I sought you out, looking at many a place

For a single sight, a mere touch of grace  

So many have perished in your pursuit, their existence erased,  

yet to no one, have you left a trace     

 

You do not exist yet emanate through universe’s every strum  

What are you if not a confounding conundrum?

 

Those lost in your love may be the only ones to have some hope, some light

While the places of worship remain bereft, a broken heart offers your sight

 

If you do not exist, why insist on denying you?

for rejection too confirms your presence,

That which I call “self” what is it if not the reflection of your essence?

Had you not presented yourself in my thoughts, how is it that I concocted of your Omnipresence?

 

What are you if not a confounding conundrum

 

This sense of wonder has captured me, a perplexing painting imbued in meaning

Unable to understand this mystery, this game you have set up from the beginning

Imprisoning my soul in the prison of this body, with death as a guard supervening

Guaranteeing free will, like wings to a bird, you have spread the net of destiny quarantining

After decorating this universe so beautifully, you have conspired to one day set it ruining.

 

What are you if not a confounding conundrum

 

You claim to live beyond time and space.. and still you meddle into the human world

Good, Evil, Heaven and Hell, I wonder what is the point of these words hurled?     

 

Adam commits the crime, and you punish his progeny, yet you claim to be the most Just

You gave humanity earth’s vicegerency, despite the havoc they cause, your judgment we must trust?

 

To reach you is why you say you created us,

But everyone’s eyes you have kept yourself hidden from,

What are you if not a confounding conundrum?

 

A journeying soul...

The beginning of this year has been so special! with so many opportunities to explore and rediscover subjects I have always been inspired and mesmerized with... of mystical, of human condition, of love, of music, of losing one's self, of finding meaning, of being in the state of awe, of taking it in and so much more....

Really proud to play a role in creation of a performance that touches all of above and so much more this Adelaide Fringe.

The Sufi Music Highway!!! 

Thank you Farhan for thinking my writing worthy of being the weaving thread to the mesmerizing journey you guys took us to...

Below is the text of the story I weaved with the brilliant musical performances... the un-referenced parts, my feeble attempt at poetic representation of a soul's journey....
.......................................................................................................................................................

Come listen to a tale both new and old
Of a soul on a quest, to make it whole

Along this highway the Sufi walks Of his journey we listen to as he talks
….
I wandered through years of existence and
One day when I sat lonely considering what’s the point of it all?
I bowed to the higher power, asking why am I here at all?

I said, “I have lived a great life! I have been happy,
and in sadness I have seen myself fall

I have been in love, I also have seen my heart break,
I have been the jester, I also have tasted loneliness’s ache,
I have experienced poverty at its worst, I also have been an affluent rake ,

But through it all I have never been able to shake,
A feeling that I miss something, there has been a mistake,
Someone calls from within, but there’s a veil that makes everything opaque ,
A thirst that never quenches, a question, what do I have at stake?

so I beg the higher power to help me seek or at least show me the path to take
 .......

It was as if my prayers were heard, that night I slept in peace and dreamt..

I dreamt of a strange place, and I don’t know how I describe to you what I saw. 

I was surrounded by love struct souls yearning in sweet agony, smitten in awe,

by fair, tall, heavenly maidens with tulip lips, 

Their bewitching beauty causing havoc on the already desperate souls. 

Such a strange place, this heavenly sight 

where God is the conductor and his beloved the light… *

......

But it was a dream and I had to wake up...  oh how I longed to go back to that place,
I must search for the path that takes me back to the heavenly grace!

So, I read, and roamed, and sought for people who may help me find my way.
Then one day I came across Attar, and here’s what he had to say.

“Do not imagine the way is short; Vast seas and deserts lie before His court. 

Consider carefully before you start; The journey asks of you a lion’s heart. 

The road is long, the sea is deep – one flies, First buffeted by joy and then by sighs; 

If you desire this quest, give up your soul, And make our masters court your only goal. 

Love made me clamour for the journey’s start. I set out on the Way, a noble deed! 

Hardly had I begun, to myself I concede, “A leader’s what I need,” **

Not just any leader, the master of all masters Ali indeed." 
.......

My first and most important lesson, Love…

Rumi said,

“I have this friend I have this cave 

I am gutted by love 

You are that friend, You are that cave 

My lord, don’t cast me off” ***

and Arabi, he saw the face of God everywhere he saw,

And Attar, he said,

“The lover is a man who flares and burns, Whose face is fevered, who in frenzy yearns 

Who knows of neither faith nor blasphemy, Who has not time for doubt or certainty 

True lovers give up everything they own, To steal one moment with the Friend alone” ****

.........................................................................................................................................................

The End for now...

Maybe someday I will write of other lessons :)

ماڈرن عشق (attempting poetry after a long time)

ماڈرن عشق

چاہت کی باتیں وغیرہ وغیرہ

محبت کی راتیں وغیرہ وغیرہ

ہمیں بھی بتاو، ہمیں بھی دکھاو

قصے ماڈرن  دیوانوں کے ہم کو سناو

جو ہم نے سنی تھی محبت کہانی

وہ جس میں تھا راجا، اور اس کی رانی

خوابوں کی بستی، اور رت بھی سہانی

لبوں پے ہنسی، نہ کے آنکھوں میں پانی

اپنے دل کی دہلیز تو نہ پھولوں سے مہکتی

  ٹھنڈے لہجوں سے سانسیں کیسے دھکتی؟

معصوم خواہش وحشت سے در کو لپتکی 

 جب اسکی آنکھوں سے دانش کی برچھی چمکتی

سن کے راہ محبت کے قصے فسانے

عشق کی وادی چلے ہم بھی بن کے دیوانے

خساروں کا چٹھا لگا دل بنانے 

پریکٹکل لایف کا پاٹ جب لگے وہ سنانے

نہ دھڑکن تھی بہکی، نہ بجلی سی کوندی

دل کی بتیا نے بس اپنی آنکھیں لی موندی

چاہت کی باتیں وغیرہ وغیرہ

محبت کی راتیں وغیرہ وغیرہ

Transliteration Chahat ki batain wagera wagera muhabat ki ratain wagera wagera hamain bhi batao, hamain bhi dikhao qissay modern diwanoon ke ham ko sunao jo hum ne suni thi muhabat kahani wo jis mai tha raja aur us ki rani khwaboon ki basti, aur rut bhi suhani laboon pe hansi, na ke aankhoon mai pani apnai dil ki dehleez tau na phooloon se mehkty thanday lehjoon sai sansay kaisai dehakti? masoom khwahish wehshat se dar ko lapakty jab us ki ankhoon sai danish ki barchi chamakti sun ke rah-e-muhabat ke qissay, fasanai ishq ki wadi chalay hum bhi banke diwanai khasaroon ka chitha laga dil banane practical life ka paat jab lagai wo sunanain na dharkan thi behki, na bijli si kondi dil ki batya nai bas apni aankhain li mondi Chahat ki batain wagera wagera muhabat ki ratain wagera wagera

Translation Stories of desire, etc etc Nights of love, etc etc tell me those stories, show me those nights  narrate the tales of the lovestruck in modern times  the tales of love that I have heard (growing up) the ones in which there was a prince and his beloved the ones where they lived in the land of dreams and happiness Smiling all the time with no tears in their eyes But my own path was not showered with flowers how does one feel warmth of passion when one's tone is ice cold? My naive desires run for the door in bewilderment, when you attempt to slay them with the knife of rationality when I heard of the stories of the path of love I also ventured there being a fool But my heart was only left counting the loses when you decided to lecture me on practicality and rule (In this story of love) neither the heart skipped a beat nor was there a flash of lightening the light of my heart instead decided to extinguish itself  of stories of desire, etc etc Nights of love, etc etc

Let it go? or keep holding on...

As parent I constantly struggle with an urge to somehow show, emphasize and even prove (to myself, as well as the world) how my child is unique, different from the lot, very special... do you recognise the feeling? vicious cycle of the desire for them to be different, followed by dread that I expect too much, followed by the judgement that I am no better than the parents constantly judged by good Hindi films wanting their kids to become only doctors and engineers leading them to live lives of great wealth and no meaning? maybe its just me.... but I swear everytime i meet a child whose name I cannot pronounce my heart jumps with joy for finding a comrade...

Normally I behave well within the normality curve..., I enjoy her watching cartoons like Tom and Jerry without raising eyebrows about the violence within, Doremon despite its possibility of ruining her chances at awesome spoken Urdu and premature understanding of boy-girl relationship dynamics. I spoil her with a sugar treat pretty much everyday, still feed her with my hands and let her have a tablet... I am guilty of doing pretty much everything listed in the new guide to bad parenting for kids with super potential!

But frozen strikes a different chord. Its so out there, its so commercial that everytime my daughter picks something with Elsa or Anna on it I just cant help but shake my head at the power of market economy in influencing my 5 year old's choices in life. Everyone has Elsa shoes, and Anna dress and a pencil with frozen characters and a nightdress with Olaf and this and that and having to listen to "let it go all" the time in the car... (i am starting to rant)

So only yesterday, I opened my daughter's school library bag and found a book with Elsa and Anna on it! my first reaction (out loud too), "why did you bring a frozen book?, we know the story!!! you could have picked something else, something more meaningful" and she said, "but I wanted to read Elsa Anna story so I got this one"

Reluctantly I opened the book and started to read, "When you and I were little, we were close as we could be. I was happy you were Anna, you were thrilled that I was me."

And we had a chat about rhyme, picked be and me, brought in other worlds like jack and mack

then we read on and the book talked about the story of Elsa and Anna, yet again from a fresh perspective. It talked about how Elsa and Anna were different, one calculated another wearing her heart on her sleeve, one organised another clumsy and how in their difference they both hoped to have a sister that was more like themselves. Life would have been so much easier for them if they were alike... but then they recognised all the ways they complimented each other because of their differences, something they were only able to see when they both acknowledged the love they had for each other.

I was blown away towards the end of it... i was sold to the narrative once again despite the capitalistic reality of the frozen brand. Or perhaps I was blown away more because of that. I am scared of the power Frozen brand has on my daughter who often wants to buy all things Elsa, but in its shadow I marvel at the power Elsa and more importantly Anna can have on forming her person. Feminism and rethinking truelove undertones evidently and elaborately discussed but about difference? what of accepting the other, such a wonderful narrative to discuss the idea of difference as a point of dissatisfaction, conflict but yet a point of complementarity once you acknowledge the other with love... is it a lesson in relationship management? multiculturism?  accepting contradiction within oneself? battle of heart and mind? helping kids make sense of why their folks argue and then make up? helping her see Anna's magic was greater for her magic was to come forward and accept vulnerability and continue to show love?

I dont know how many of these ideas I will be able to touch... but I do promise myself that for the next whole week, this book is rented from school in her name, we are reading it everyday. And talking about it everyday!

I continue to fear brand frozen, but I shouldnt let its story go... its normal for her to love Elsa and Anna for everyone loves them and maybe in the process of acknowledging that love she will aspire to be open to many ideas of a more balanced society they have to offer....            

The book itself "A sister more like me" by Barbara Jean Hicks

New Canvas

Starting a new life; its exciting, its exhilarating but most of all its intimidating as shit. Its been a while since I have last written and while there have been moments in last month and a half when I have almost thought I should start a new blog and call it moving to Australia, I don’t really think I can get myself up for it. It would be fun though, to record all the hilarity, confusion and struggles even for small things such as choosing a new brand of tea can be like.

Too many firsts despite this not being my first time moving out and starting over. All through it all whats fascinating is how two people that are both me, but both so different coexist side by side, constantly rattling within one body. One, which keeps pushing for how great this is, how exciting to start on a clean canvas, lets paint it bold, lets run around in the wilderness, lets enjoy what you have gotten yourself into, yes its scary but that’s the fun of it. Lets walk the path shrouded by greens everywhere, deserted and oh so beautiful just coz of that. And another; hesitant, intimidated; wanting to curl back into the comfort zone of what is known and safe and (and this really sucks) is missing.

While them two bicker, I feel a third me constantly going through a fr

eeze burn. Being high and being low all at the same time. Oh but this isn’t the first time I have felt this way, not knowing its place in the world, the wandering soul keeps wandering, keeps exploring, always abandoning the safe zones and then missing them terribly. But there is beauty in this pain, a beauty which like mirage of freedom is too tempting to not attempt. Freeze burn…. Ouch! Wow... But... Dark… Strangers are scary… Perhaps until they become acquaintances… perhaps even after that. Wanderlust…. Awe. Home…. Freeze burn …. .. .. ouch!

An unnamed not-so-fairytale

He sat there, waiting, like everyday. Since morning at 7 when he woke up he had an odd feel that something was wrong. He couldn't put his finger on it. Everything was as it always was. When he woke, as usual his mother had already laid his breakfast. His young wife had placed his clothes where they always were. The dishes clattered as always in the makeshift kitchen on the side. He sat to eat his breakfast and as always his mother started talking about how she needed more money to run the household. Now that his wife was expectant they needed more food, more milk, more money so that some of it could be stashed away for the baby to arrive soon. 

He listened, as always, quietly, chewing his breakfast slowly. Breaking his bread with his teeth, bit by bit, nodding every time his mother took a pause between her morning jab about how little they had. If it wasn't for the nagging feeling in his gut, everything would have been the same, as always. But he didn't feel quiet right today, he tried to figure out what was it that was not as usual? what was it absence or perhaps presence of which has stirred this strange anxiety in him. A ripple in his otherwise placid life. 

He searched his wife's face for a hint, for something unusual, reconfirmed with her about when she was due. She wasn't due for another four months she said looking almost offended at his lack of concern for the baby. He changed, left the home, still thinking of what bothered him. He looked at his mobile phone, "8:30" it said, he was out of the home at the usual hour of the day, He unlocked his fruit cart from the usual parking spot in the shared compound and went about his business. 

He stopped after walking the usual 30 minutes to his usual spot, started unpacking the oranges from the crates he had packed last night. He looked at his phone again at usual 9:30 am he was all set to start another day. The wait has started, it was another hour before the first customer arrived, "how much for the oranges?" "the same", he replied, "a dozen for rs. hundred". "Thats too much", the man exclaimed. He played the futile game of bargain, at least that will keep the customer here for a few more moments. He finally sold a dozen for rs. 80, taking his time packing them, anything to keep him busy for longer. 

By 12 in the maddening heat of the city, he had forgotten all about the nagging feeling he woke up this morning with. Sitting under the meager shade of his fruit stall. he waited, hoping to land another customer soon. At three he took a short walk asking the hawker next to him to keep an eye on his stand. He wandered aimlessly. The day wasn't any different since morning, he has sold a baker's dozen of oranges since morning. Each transaction a calculated 4 minutes 35 seconds with what seemed like eternities in between. But this was his life, everyday he waited hours before he could sell the target amount of fruits to make enough profit to last another day. 

His life was a sum of hours of perpetual wait salted with instances of gratification. As a new born he had to wait until his baba was done to be served his moments of suckling, as a child too he was served food when baba was done. He would have gone to school but then baba died leaving a widow and a four year old behind with a destiny to wait. After baba, he waited the whole year for Eid, the only time his maternal uncle would come with a full serving of biryani, the only meal of the year when his heart contented before his plate was empty. His uncle would also bring a cheap toy as Eidi which would last him a few months until it broke.

He also waited for a few moments of quiet that lay between him drifting off to sleep and his mother starting to snore softy. This was the only time he could see no lines of worry on his mother's forehead, it was the only time she would shut up, not completely but enough to given him a few minutes of peace. 

He also waited seventeen years, saving every penny he nicked from his daily wage from ustad to make enough to afford himself the ability to have his own employment. He had thought this would be a turning point in his life. Now that he was self employed, amma would finally feel adequate enough to task for Tabasum's hand in marriage. He would make her compensate for everything he missed out in his life. She would submit to all his whims, fulfilling all his demands like an obedient wife, showering him with unconditional love that he never felt his mom had the time to. 

It seemed that fate has finally granted him some immunity, Tabasum was all that he had dreamed of, an obedient, loving wife with patience of a saint. She listened to him endlessly, paying attention to everything no matter how trivial, fulfilling all his wishes no matter how impractical. One time just to test her limits he woke her up in the middle of the night asking her to squeeze him fresh orange juice. She looked surprised but obliged nevertheless. All was well for a couple of months, until he found out that she was pregnant. 

The wheel once again began to rotate backwards, Tabasum was sick most of the time, unavailable for his whims, amma's concern for money had tripple folded and thus was her rant about it as well. He still remained hopeful, he wanted the baby to arrive. This was one entity he wanted to wait for, "unlike baba I would let Tabasum cater to his/her needs first", he thought to himself. "I will also help out in looking after him/her" he promised himself. "It would be someone who would wait for me to come home, my wait would finally be reciprocated", he thought excitedly. 

All was well, however he didn't feel right this morning. While strolling, he was reminded of the nagging feeling pulling somewhere deep in his subconscious mind. He wanted to go home, stay with Tabasum. "What if she needs me to take her to the hospital", he thought. But he had to make the target amount if he wanted to be able to afford the baby. After all he had his phone with him, if there was an emergency amma would call him home. He convinced himself to go back to his cart and managed to stay and sell for another few hours before he could not take it anymore. It was almost as if he was being called by someone, he had to go home. He started packing his cart then thought otherwise. "I could always sell on the way" he thought and started to move. 

He moved towards home, the vendor next to him quizzically looking at him. "I have to go home early today" he explained. His fellow gave him an understanding nod and pretended to be occupied. Moving forward he was able to sell a couple more dozen of oranges and almost thought it was a good idea to keep moving. At least it wasn't a perpetual wait, he felt better as he walked along the road and decided to take a longer route home thinking that he might be able to match his target after all.  

On the far end of the bridge that he was now climbing he saw a similar sight. Aaqib sat at the edge of the bridge, his head in his hands, his legs folded across his chest. Many called Aaqib a mad man, he was very handy when he was in his senses which however wasn't the case most of the time, He knew Aaqib saw things, talked to beings that were invisible, fought with his inner demons out loud, but he also knew Aaqib as an intelligent listener. At times when he could not take it anymore, he actively sought Aaqib who willingly listened to his rants offering him a cigarette while also telling him its not good for him to smoke. Twisted man this Aaqib was, when he sought solitude he would vanish for weeks and then suddenly make an appearance in their lives fixing someone's faucet, or stove knob or something. The very next day women would steer away their children as he screamed and kicked unseen demons and then often, one would find him on this bridge, legs crossed, face in his hands.

He moved towards him, in exchange for a few oranges Aaqib will share his cigarette, a story or two and maybe an advice on how better to run his cart business. Perhaps, he could talk to Aaqib about this nagging he felt, he would know, with his inner demons and all he seemed the most equipped person around to consult. He approached Aaqib, he looked different today, there was something about his posture, it almost seemed like he was crying. He came forward, called his name, in response he heard him grunt, muffled sob, almost a groan. "Aaqib tu theek hai" he called out. Aaqib didnt look up, he came further close, now worried for the man. "Aaqib" he called again. He looked up, his face twisted with pain, he grunted asking him to leave. He came further close attempting to put his hand on his shoulder trying to console him. Aaqib further backed into the wall, " Jao, Jaaaao! Jao!" he said to him. "Please", he whispered to someone invisible next to him then he looked at him stern and asked him to leave. He didn't go, instead offered him a hand to help him up, Aaqib took the hand, looked at him in the eye and begged him now to not leave him alone. He promised he wont go anywhere. Aaqib hugged hum tight, said thanks and jumped off the bridge with him still strangled in embrace. 

Aaqib the madman died that night, as for him, fate was never this kind. He waited on the single bed he was placed three months ago. His son was named Rustam by his mother, who often stayed by his side constantly talking to him about financial worries. Tabasum was too busy taking care of the baby and finding whatever means of income she could scourge. The fall led him perpetually immobile and as always perpetually waiting. 

Brown bagging fear itself...

I have been wanting to write this, but I have considered, reconsidered and then do what I ultimately do when some part of me disagrees to express an opinion about something. I hang it in the air hoping one fine day I would express it but that this day is not it.

I took my notes, I made a mental outline, and I put it in pile of to write things where thoughts gather dust and eventually get buried somewhere deep inside of me. 

And it would have been the case if this morning i didnt wake up to @Shehzad89 talking about sanitary napkins, women, social embarrassment, oppression and patriarchy. And I felt I needed to add another keyword to all of this, "fear". 

And I write this as an expression of coming out coz it makes me as vulnerable. And I share it for the sake of all 13,14,15,16,...32 (and still counting) year olds who have felt and not expressed the intense fear in that, out of nowhere, sudden moment that shakes you down to the very core of you regardless of how strong you are.

Here goes....

Its 9:30 am, I am driving to work. I have just dropped Adiyah to school and am almost at work ready to start (hopefully) a productive day. I am passing through a residential lane, that I often take to avoid the traffic on the main road to work, when I hear a honk behind me. 

A biker, first thought "Double to nahi hai" cant be snatcher. I move to the side thinking he wants to pass. Looking in the rear view mirror I see him fiddle with something on the patrol tank. "Probably a pack of biscuit", I think to my self. 

The man parallels with me instead of passing, looks at me, I am now confused thinking, "I didnt offend anyone while driving today why is he trying to communicate rather than passing". Then I see him make an interesting eye contact. 

He looks at me, gestures between his legs and gestures back as if saying, "wanna have some". 

I am often surprised at how much thinking human brain can do in nano seconds because it couldn't have been more than that. I think simultaneously, "why is he offering me a biscuit?" "oh no wait! thats not what he is offering" "fuck why the hell is my heart sinking, I am 32 God damit why am I shaking like this?" "Oh let me teach him a lesson" "no but what if it goes the wrong way" "aisi ki taisi womens bill zindabad" 

He crosses me still looking at me while he cuts into an alley on the left I look at him, my mind made up... I gesture him "Yes". I want him to turn around, I want to somehow get back at him. I reverse my car which by this time has moved a bit further up from the alley in which he went. He turns around, in my effort to reverse I am standing perpendicular in an alley; he comes behind me I confirm, "Kia de rahe thay" He understands that I will cause trouble, I reverse further in an effort to scare him (oh wait a minute in that moment I wanted him to fall) I miss... I turn... he runs.... and I chase him. 

Hoping, only hoping, to catch a glimpse of his face and to click it with my awesome always available camera, my phone. I dont get it, what I get instead is this 

Defeated... once he disappear after chase of good 4-5 minutes into a random alley, I head back to work. Still shaking, now trying to justify my shaking being caused more because of anger than fear. But I keep thinking about it, I kept thinking about it for the whole day but I didnt think of what it did to me only.

What I thought more about was what it would have done to a 14 year old me, it would have caused me trauma at 14. How do I know? because I have been through a less intense version of a similar story when I was 17 and it was traumatic even then, because I have heard similar stories friends (who didn't feel as vulnerable to come out at that spur of the moment in our 30 year grown up talk) and what it did to them at that time.

My first instinct was to think how I will protect my 4 year old from such traumatic experience that she might face in next 10 years or so. My second thought, what about all the girls I have taught or I still teach?

And it sucks that I can probably not do much to protect any of them in real sense.

All I can do is come out and show them that it happens to me too. That they are not alone, and if they see nothing wrong with me (hopefully) then there is nothing wrong with them. And most importantly I want them to know that It gets better. Not that it changes but your response to it has the capacity to change.

I dont get dysfunctional when I am intimidated like this, I instead almost on autopilot stand up for myself and fight back knowing that when I stand up they run away like coward little wussies.   
But I thought further, and what I could not get my head around was "why". Why is it that some people would do such useless things that lead to nothing but instead just makes the other person immensely scared. Like what is it that one gets out of casually touching the opposite gender in the wrong places at a crowded bazaar? or by cat calling or by touching or pointing to your genitals to scare the shit out of someone.

It cant be for any practical reasons, I am yet to meet a woman who felt aroused by any of the above gestures let alone be attracted. So while it is sexual in connotation it inst really part of the mating game. So then what is it? I guess I should thank @Shehzad89 for giving me the right word for it, and from now on I will use it everytime #brownbagging :).


So heres what I am gonno do, I wont feed further the cycle of social control through intimidation on my end. Instead what I will do is try to fight back. I will fight back with vengeance and with a tool I carry with me everyday, my phone.

Ever since I acquired a phone with a camera I used to have a funny little trick to get rid of guys who fancy following women around. I would pretend to click their photo and talk on phone with someone.

Now I tell you the following lot is not a very intelligent one coz without considering the mp size of my mobile camera they would all steer away after diligently following me for a few miles as soon as they saw me pretending to take their photo.

Anyway so once I got the current phone I have which actually can take high res photos that can be zoomed for an outcome I actually started clicking. I dont know to what outcome I took their photo but this incident had motivated me to bring these individual out in public who will hopefully be "Baap-Bhai" of someone.

And I invite all the girls who have ever felt intimidated by these scoundrels running around on our streets to next time take their photos and publicly share them. Hopefully some of them will realize what they do when publicly acknowledged. Here are mine...

Mr Biscuit guy

Mr trying to find something between his legs guy

Mr Half Face

Now I would love to make a facebook page to allow a portal for all to share photos of their perpetrators but am not the page maintaining kind, so please feel free to make one and tag me on it so I share future trying to scare me idiots!