They are always worried.

By VIJAY


I am sitting in my room, listening to Beethoven and reading Dostoyevsky, creating some memories of painting some watercolors and doing some portraits as well. And somewhere, in another part of the city, some old bitch and a middle-aged bitch are deciding my future—creating sorts of rumours and shaping my future without any conscience, deciding what should happen to me, deciding what sort of woman is good for me, deciding how I should die.

Hmm… those bitches—they don’t have a life of their own and try to shed the life of others.

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