On the Internet connection-Chennai. maximum speed of 14 megabits (Mbps) per megabyte. so which only 1.2 percent enjoy Internet speed is only able to take, but the country's Prime Minister Narendra Modi in Office will be shocked to hear that the Internet speed you.-ji, of course, the Prime Minister's Office (PMO) to get the Internet speed is via a disclosure released. anlainaartiai dot com co-founder vinoth ranganathan filed on behalf of Wright of inforamtion (RTI) was asked in that country's Prime Minister's Office in response to how to get the Internet speed is was reported that national informatics Center (NIC) PMO Office 34 Mbps speed for allowing that country being more than twice the speed of 14 Mbps. in response to the PMO also pointed out that 34 Mbps speed is not a trip to our Prime Minister being Prime Minister., They must get the best connectivity. USA is citizen get saikend per 1 gigabyte speed. as well as in the PMO maintains that India's Kochi is a village of 1 Gbps Internet speed is 30 times higher than that found PMO. significantly, the Union Government has Prime Minister Narendra Modi in August's ambitious project to get 1 million digitized India approved the objective of this project, all Villages of delivering high-speed Internet. this project is estimated to be completed by the year 2019. also in response to the PMO PMO RTI in computers that run on Windows 7 and 8 and server Linux Enterprise and Windows are both on identi.ca, Twitter, account information in the PMO was told that this is not an expense. these aren't told RTI was asked in the past five years, how many
Computers have been hacked, but the answer was not given a second asked Prime Minister of RTI was Modi after many new computer supplied, but this also was not the answer.

Internet speed in India.

On the Internet connection-Chennai. maximum speed of 14 megabits (Mbps) per megabyte. so which only 1.2 percent enjoy Internet speed is only able to take, but the country's Prime Minister Narendra Modi in Office will be shocked to hear that the Internet speed you.-ji, of course, the Prime Minister's Office (PMO) to get the Internet speed is via a disclosure released. anlainaartiai dot com co-founder vinoth ranganathan filed on behalf of Wright of inforamtion (RTI) was asked in that country's Prime Minister's Office in response to how to get the Internet speed is was reported that national informatics Center (NIC) PMO Office 34 Mbps speed for allowing that country being more than twice the speed of 14 Mbps. in response to the PMO also pointed out that 34 Mbps speed is not a trip to our Prime Minister being Prime Minister., They must get the best connectivity. USA is citizen get saikend per 1 gigabyte speed. as well as in the PMO maintains that India's Kochi is a village of 1 Gbps Internet speed is 30 times higher than that found PMO. significantly, the Union Government has Prime Minister Narendra Modi in August's ambitious project to get 1 million digitized India approved the objective of this project, all Villages of delivering high-speed Internet. this project is estimated to be completed by the year 2019. also in response to the PMO PMO RTI in computers that run on Windows 7 and 8 and server Linux Enterprise and Windows are both on identi.ca, Twitter, account information in the PMO was told that this is not an expense. these aren't told RTI was asked in the past five years, how many
Computers have been hacked, but the answer was not given a second asked Prime Minister of RTI was Modi after many new computer supplied, but this also was not the answer.

For India’s rich, having a sports club of one’s own is the newest status symbol. Mohit Burman (right), 44, scion of the Burman family (No. 18) that owns the Dabur consumer goods empire, has two of them. The family jumped into the fray in 2008, snapping up a stake in the Kings XI Punjab cricket team at the inaugural  auction of the Indian Premier League. Burman explains his move: “In India cricket is like a religion with a mass following. IPL has made it a household name.” The tournament has generated $3.2 billion (in sponsorship fees and broadcasting revenues) over the years.

The cricket bonanza stoked Burman’s appetite. Last year he picked up the Mumbai Magicians field hockey team and the Pune Pistons badminton team. But he exited hockey in September because it proved financially unviable. Burman contends that sports needs patient money. Even his cricket franchise turned profitable just this year. Yet team owners are flocking to sports.

Leading the pack of team owners is India’s richest person, Mukesh Ambani, along with wife, Nita, whose Reliance Industries picked up the Mumbai Indians cricket franchise for more than $110 million in 2008. The team is worth an estimated $200 million. Other billionaire IPL team owners are G.M. Rao (No. 98), who owns the Delhi Daredevils, and media magnate Kalanithi Maran (No. 38), who owns the Sunrisers Hyderabad. The Ambanis are backing what they see as the next big thing: soccer. The newly launched Indian Super League, in partnership with sports management firm IMG, debuts in October with Brijmohan Lall Munjal’s (No. 23) Hero MotoCorp as the title sponsor. Electronics magnate Venugopal Dhoot (No. 43) and Sanjiv Goenka (No. 69) are among the eight franchise owners.


Kabbadi, an ancient Indian contact sport, recently got a fresh lease on life when Anand Mahindra (No. 74) created the Pro Kabbadi League in March–he played in boarding school–reeling in banker Uday Kotak (No. 15) and retail mogul Kishore Biyani as team owners. The inaugural edition garnered 435 million TV viewers over the 37-day event as teams with names like the Telugu Titans, Bengaluru Bulls and Jaipur Pink Panthers went at it. It’s now the country’s second-most-viewed sporting tournament. –A.R.

India's Richest Race To Own Sports

For India’s rich, having a sports club of one’s own is the newest status symbol. Mohit Burman (right), 44, scion of the Burman family (No. 18) that owns the Dabur consumer goods empire, has two of them. The family jumped into the fray in 2008, snapping up a stake in the Kings XI Punjab cricket team at the inaugural  auction of the Indian Premier League. Burman explains his move: “In India cricket is like a religion with a mass following. IPL has made it a household name.” The tournament has generated $3.2 billion (in sponsorship fees and broadcasting revenues) over the years.

The cricket bonanza stoked Burman’s appetite. Last year he picked up the Mumbai Magicians field hockey team and the Pune Pistons badminton team. But he exited hockey in September because it proved financially unviable. Burman contends that sports needs patient money. Even his cricket franchise turned profitable just this year. Yet team owners are flocking to sports.

Leading the pack of team owners is India’s richest person, Mukesh Ambani, along with wife, Nita, whose Reliance Industries picked up the Mumbai Indians cricket franchise for more than $110 million in 2008. The team is worth an estimated $200 million. Other billionaire IPL team owners are G.M. Rao (No. 98), who owns the Delhi Daredevils, and media magnate Kalanithi Maran (No. 38), who owns the Sunrisers Hyderabad. The Ambanis are backing what they see as the next big thing: soccer. The newly launched Indian Super League, in partnership with sports management firm IMG, debuts in October with Brijmohan Lall Munjal’s (No. 23) Hero MotoCorp as the title sponsor. Electronics magnate Venugopal Dhoot (No. 43) and Sanjiv Goenka (No. 69) are among the eight franchise owners.


Kabbadi, an ancient Indian contact sport, recently got a fresh lease on life when Anand Mahindra (No. 74) created the Pro Kabbadi League in March–he played in boarding school–reeling in banker Uday Kotak (No. 15) and retail mogul Kishore Biyani as team owners. The inaugural edition garnered 435 million TV viewers over the 37-day event as teams with names like the Telugu Titans, Bengaluru Bulls and Jaipur Pink Panthers went at it. It’s now the country’s second-most-viewed sporting tournament. –A.R.

story behind a Prostitution girl in india HAPPENED ONLY IN iNDIA!!!!!!

“I won’t pay a penny more than 200 rupees.” Sahib said. I looked at him seductively biting my lips. “Make it 300 sahib, I promise you won’t regret it.” “I’ll pay you 250 and that is final. You have to make my night worth or I won’t pay you a single penny.” I had no customers that day and I had no option but to agree. “Okay Sahib, as you say. Give me the money and I’ll make preparations for everything.”

I am a prostitute by profession and a proud one at that. My name is Priti but people here call me ‘Chikni’. It’s like a pen name you writer guys have. My parents wanted me to become a doctor. But I have always wanted to be a lawyer. Things became bad when my dad lost his job as a security guard when the mall closed down. I had to discontinue my studies because I was expected to take care of the house, my parents, and my younger brother.

I remember how my mother forced me to sleep with my neighbour for a hundred rupees. I was fifteen then. I felt dirty and used. But I had a hearty meal after days. I couldn’t sleep that day. I kept wondering what is worse: people’s self-imposed morals or sacrificing yourself on the altar of your self-imposed morals. Hell, I don’t think I did anything wrong. I would rather be called a prostitute and be looked down upon than go hungry for days because somebody else thinks it is morally wrong.

“Here’s your money.” Sahib threw the notes on my face. “Thank You Sahib.” I bowed. I couldn’t stop thinking what I’d do of those notes. I had to buy rice and vegetables. I was going to buy a few onions too. It’d been ages since I had onions. I wanted to buy an ice cream too, strawberry flavour. So much to do, so little to spend, I smiled.

In life, I’ve realised, morals are like neighbours. We are all fine with them, until they threaten to invade our life to totally ruin it. I could see the glee on my brother’s face when I gave him the ice cream. Your morals don’t make him happy, my lack of it, does.

story behind a Prostitution girl in india HAPPENED ONLY IN iNDIA!!!!!!

story behind a Prostitution girl in india HAPPENED ONLY IN iNDIA!!!!!!

“I won’t pay a penny more than 200 rupees.” Sahib said. I looked at him seductively biting my lips. “Make it 300 sahib, I promise you won’t regret it.” “I’ll pay you 250 and that is final. You have to make my night worth or I won’t pay you a single penny.” I had no customers that day and I had no option but to agree. “Okay Sahib, as you say. Give me the money and I’ll make preparations for everything.”

I am a prostitute by profession and a proud one at that. My name is Priti but people here call me ‘Chikni’. It’s like a pen name you writer guys have. My parents wanted me to become a doctor. But I have always wanted to be a lawyer. Things became bad when my dad lost his job as a security guard when the mall closed down. I had to discontinue my studies because I was expected to take care of the house, my parents, and my younger brother.

I remember how my mother forced me to sleep with my neighbour for a hundred rupees. I was fifteen then. I felt dirty and used. But I had a hearty meal after days. I couldn’t sleep that day. I kept wondering what is worse: people’s self-imposed morals or sacrificing yourself on the altar of your self-imposed morals. Hell, I don’t think I did anything wrong. I would rather be called a prostitute and be looked down upon than go hungry for days because somebody else thinks it is morally wrong.

“Here’s your money.” Sahib threw the notes on my face. “Thank You Sahib.” I bowed. I couldn’t stop thinking what I’d do of those notes. I had to buy rice and vegetables. I was going to buy a few onions too. It’d been ages since I had onions. I wanted to buy an ice cream too, strawberry flavour. So much to do, so little to spend, I smiled.

In life, I’ve realised, morals are like neighbours. We are all fine with them, until they threaten to invade our life to totally ruin it. I could see the glee on my brother’s face when I gave him the ice cream. Your morals don’t make him happy, my lack of it, does.

Who is a MAN?

A man is a beautiful part of God's creation who starts compromising at a very tender age.

He sacrifices his chocolates for his sister.

He sacrifices his dreams for just a smile on his parents face.

He spends his entire pocket money on buying gifts for the lady he loves just to see her smiling.

He sacrifices his full youth for his wife & children by working late at night without any complain.

He builds their future by taking loans from banks & repaying them for lifetime.

He struggles a lot & still has to bear scolding from his mother, wife & boss.

His life finally ends up only by compromising for others' happiness.

If he goes out, then he's carelessIf he stays at home, then he's a lazy
If he scolds children, then he's a monster
If he doesn't scold, then he's a irresponsible guy
If he stops wife from working, then he's an insecure guy
If he doesn't stops wife from working, then he's somebody who lives on wife's earnings.
If he listens to mom, then he's mama's boy
If he listens to wife, he's wife's slave

Respect every male in your life. U will never know what he has sacrificed for you.
Worth sending to every man to make him smile & every woman to make her realize his worth!

The untold story of a men

Who is a MAN?

A man is a beautiful part of God's creation who starts compromising at a very tender age.

He sacrifices his chocolates for his sister.

He sacrifices his dreams for just a smile on his parents face.

He spends his entire pocket money on buying gifts for the lady he loves just to see her smiling.

He sacrifices his full youth for his wife & children by working late at night without any complain.

He builds their future by taking loans from banks & repaying them for lifetime.

He struggles a lot & still has to bear scolding from his mother, wife & boss.

His life finally ends up only by compromising for others' happiness.

If he goes out, then he's carelessIf he stays at home, then he's a lazy
If he scolds children, then he's a monster
If he doesn't scold, then he's a irresponsible guy
If he stops wife from working, then he's an insecure guy
If he doesn't stops wife from working, then he's somebody who lives on wife's earnings.
If he listens to mom, then he's mama's boy
If he listens to wife, he's wife's slave

Respect every male in your life. U will never know what he has sacrificed for you.
Worth sending to every man to make him smile & every woman to make her realize his worth!

Along with

Milkha Singh, PT Usha can lay claim to being India’s greatest track & field athlete. And like Milkha, her finest moment was in Olympic finals. In the history of Olympics she is the first Indian woman to reach the final of an Olympic event by winning her 400 m hurdles Semi-final in 1984 Olympics. But in the final In a photo finish, Usha missed out on a bronze by 1/100th of a second.

She is often called the "queen of Indian track and field" and also nicknamed "the Payyoli Express" because of her speed on the race-track.

She had plenty of success at the Asian level. At the Asian Games in 1986, Usha was the brightest star on the continent. In total, she won four golds and six silvers over a span of four Asian Games between 1982 and 1994.In all, she won 101 medals in international competition, a total no other Indian athlete comes close to matching.

“Everyone thinks that bagging an Olympic medal is a difficult task. It is not. I am convinced that what we lack in India is not talent, but the basic, modern and scientific facilities. If we train our young Indian sports talents, even many Olympic medals are achievable.", Usha says.

She runs Usha School of Athletics near Kozhikode to teach and train young Indian talents. Usha inspired and enthused a generation of girls and boys to plunge into the world of athletics, and continues to remain the future of hope for aspiring Indian Olympians.

PT Usha

Along with

Milkha Singh, PT Usha can lay claim to being India’s greatest track & field athlete. And like Milkha, her finest moment was in Olympic finals. In the history of Olympics she is the first Indian woman to reach the final of an Olympic event by winning her 400 m hurdles Semi-final in 1984 Olympics. But in the final In a photo finish, Usha missed out on a bronze by 1/100th of a second.

She is often called the "queen of Indian track and field" and also nicknamed "the Payyoli Express" because of her speed on the race-track.

She had plenty of success at the Asian level. At the Asian Games in 1986, Usha was the brightest star on the continent. In total, she won four golds and six silvers over a span of four Asian Games between 1982 and 1994.In all, she won 101 medals in international competition, a total no other Indian athlete comes close to matching.

“Everyone thinks that bagging an Olympic medal is a difficult task. It is not. I am convinced that what we lack in India is not talent, but the basic, modern and scientific facilities. If we train our young Indian sports talents, even many Olympic medals are achievable.", Usha says.

She runs Usha School of Athletics near Kozhikode to teach and train young Indian talents. Usha inspired and enthused a generation of girls and boys to plunge into the world of athletics, and continues to remain the future of hope for aspiring Indian Olympians.

"This is not about Mary Kom. The film. I promise! 

Though I wanted to say it, like it is. At the end of a melodramatic & thoroughly predictable climax in the Priyanka Chopra starer boxing biopic, the national anthem is played. But naturally. We stand up. It's date night, for Ma and me. Chinese dinner awaits. I keep telling her I urgently need to pee. We must leave.

Except, a real life brawl has broken out. A wrestling bout, like no other. One Indian couple who didn't stand up for the anthem vs. another Indian couple who grab them by the collar, screaming the most jarring Hindi abuses, reminding them of their Indianness, and how if Mary won the medal, and her son lived, and she made us so proud, how dare you 'motherch**' sit and watch the fun. You have a national right, kuttey!' The fight turns nasty.

More abuses are hurled. More Indian couples join in. Some the refree, some the good samaritan, some innocent bystanders, trapped in the same aisle. Some like me, with a rather bashful bladder. Bottles start flying. 'Chutiye,' the word used liberally. The women agitated. Almost Kom-ish, baring their teeth, their heavily done up eyes red with rage. After twenty minutes, the security is summoned. We manage to scurry out.

In the restaurant, after we have powdered our noses, we are just about settling down to a tangy prawn Tom Yum, when in walk in a group of Manipuri women. I recognize them from the movie-hall. There were a lot of Manipuri people, their faces glistening with a rare pride, probably hoping to feel a sense of inclusiveness in the damp darkness of a movie hall. The only kinds that is safe, for their women & children.

A group of young Punjabi boys are chomping away. They leech lustily, start singing the cheesiest songs, one of them even constantly calling the same waiter serving the ladies, addressing him as 'Mary had a littel lamb,' laughing hysterically. One of the women, stands up, at which point one of the boys whistle, and then, turning his face to his friend, say, 'oye yeh toh saali Mary wali aankhen dikha rahin hain...' to which his pimple-faced, turbaned, heavily chiseled friend smugly retorts, pointing his fork at the group, 'abbe Mary ke aankhen kahan the be?'

The rest of us squirm. Some shaking their shoulders. In disapproval. The manager pretends nothing has happened. Taking orders. Ordering his 'Chinese looking,' staff, possibly hired from the North East. One of them tries telling the boys to take it down a notch. To which he pushes him, retorting, 'yeh dekh Mary ka ek aur aashiq!'
I call the Manager. He avoids me. Ma is scared. She says she has read guys in Delhi carry guns, these days. Or they must be drunk, she alleges. Missing dad being there.

The girls quietly pay, and leave. Their jasmine tea and dumplings and salad untouched. The guys singing loudly, 'Hindi chini bhai bhai...'
It's another Saturday night, in the burgeoning national capital. Mary Kom, produced by Sanjay Bhansali (who in my view should stick to set designing!!), & directed by erstwhile set designer Omang Kumar (who's been proudly bragging how he never knew who Mary Kom was, before she won the World Championship, as a sign of his pea-brained reverence!!!) is probably a hit, by then, making it to the coveted 100 crore club. PC will sweep all awards, next year, and, the National Award, of course. The film surely our best bet for the prestigious Oscars, going forth.

A movie that represents a myopic and patriarchal view of a world champion's tumultuous journey, that is hardly about the State or the sporting stars it produces year, after, year, despite subsisting in a hostile environment of curfews and atrocities by our armed forces, with extreme poverty and a step-motherly attitude by our Government. Or Mary's struggle, in the broader sense. Except when she is breast-feeding her twins, her husband comparing her to a milk producing cow. Or falls in love. Or must bear to hear to news of her son going in for a heart surgery. A sad day. I say to myself.

Remembering how impotent we truly are as a nation. How twisted our jingoism is. Limited to standing up for a song and clapping. How easily Bollywood bullies us. And makes up so much of our so-called cultural bravado. When in real life, we can't even respect our women, in the most basic conditions. Despite our so-called education, plush mall culture, economic estrogen, when most of us probably don't even have a single Manupuri friend or know just where its on our geography map. When we still had to ride on the success rate of a Bollywood heroine, with limited histrionics, happy to brag about her muscle power, when we, hardly demonstrate enough, everyday...

Ma, tujhe salaam? Sorry, India. Come again...."

Credits: Sreemoyee Piu Kundu
Original Article:www.facebook.com/sreemoyee.kundu/posts/10152244624212751

"This is not about Mary Kom. The film. I promise!

"This is not about Mary Kom. The film. I promise! 

Though I wanted to say it, like it is. At the end of a melodramatic & thoroughly predictable climax in the Priyanka Chopra starer boxing biopic, the national anthem is played. But naturally. We stand up. It's date night, for Ma and me. Chinese dinner awaits. I keep telling her I urgently need to pee. We must leave.

Except, a real life brawl has broken out. A wrestling bout, like no other. One Indian couple who didn't stand up for the anthem vs. another Indian couple who grab them by the collar, screaming the most jarring Hindi abuses, reminding them of their Indianness, and how if Mary won the medal, and her son lived, and she made us so proud, how dare you 'motherch**' sit and watch the fun. You have a national right, kuttey!' The fight turns nasty.

More abuses are hurled. More Indian couples join in. Some the refree, some the good samaritan, some innocent bystanders, trapped in the same aisle. Some like me, with a rather bashful bladder. Bottles start flying. 'Chutiye,' the word used liberally. The women agitated. Almost Kom-ish, baring their teeth, their heavily done up eyes red with rage. After twenty minutes, the security is summoned. We manage to scurry out.

In the restaurant, after we have powdered our noses, we are just about settling down to a tangy prawn Tom Yum, when in walk in a group of Manipuri women. I recognize them from the movie-hall. There were a lot of Manipuri people, their faces glistening with a rare pride, probably hoping to feel a sense of inclusiveness in the damp darkness of a movie hall. The only kinds that is safe, for their women & children.

A group of young Punjabi boys are chomping away. They leech lustily, start singing the cheesiest songs, one of them even constantly calling the same waiter serving the ladies, addressing him as 'Mary had a littel lamb,' laughing hysterically. One of the women, stands up, at which point one of the boys whistle, and then, turning his face to his friend, say, 'oye yeh toh saali Mary wali aankhen dikha rahin hain...' to which his pimple-faced, turbaned, heavily chiseled friend smugly retorts, pointing his fork at the group, 'abbe Mary ke aankhen kahan the be?'

The rest of us squirm. Some shaking their shoulders. In disapproval. The manager pretends nothing has happened. Taking orders. Ordering his 'Chinese looking,' staff, possibly hired from the North East. One of them tries telling the boys to take it down a notch. To which he pushes him, retorting, 'yeh dekh Mary ka ek aur aashiq!'
I call the Manager. He avoids me. Ma is scared. She says she has read guys in Delhi carry guns, these days. Or they must be drunk, she alleges. Missing dad being there.

The girls quietly pay, and leave. Their jasmine tea and dumplings and salad untouched. The guys singing loudly, 'Hindi chini bhai bhai...'
It's another Saturday night, in the burgeoning national capital. Mary Kom, produced by Sanjay Bhansali (who in my view should stick to set designing!!), & directed by erstwhile set designer Omang Kumar (who's been proudly bragging how he never knew who Mary Kom was, before she won the World Championship, as a sign of his pea-brained reverence!!!) is probably a hit, by then, making it to the coveted 100 crore club. PC will sweep all awards, next year, and, the National Award, of course. The film surely our best bet for the prestigious Oscars, going forth.

A movie that represents a myopic and patriarchal view of a world champion's tumultuous journey, that is hardly about the State or the sporting stars it produces year, after, year, despite subsisting in a hostile environment of curfews and atrocities by our armed forces, with extreme poverty and a step-motherly attitude by our Government. Or Mary's struggle, in the broader sense. Except when she is breast-feeding her twins, her husband comparing her to a milk producing cow. Or falls in love. Or must bear to hear to news of her son going in for a heart surgery. A sad day. I say to myself.

Remembering how impotent we truly are as a nation. How twisted our jingoism is. Limited to standing up for a song and clapping. How easily Bollywood bullies us. And makes up so much of our so-called cultural bravado. When in real life, we can't even respect our women, in the most basic conditions. Despite our so-called education, plush mall culture, economic estrogen, when most of us probably don't even have a single Manupuri friend or know just where its on our geography map. When we still had to ride on the success rate of a Bollywood heroine, with limited histrionics, happy to brag about her muscle power, when we, hardly demonstrate enough, everyday...

Ma, tujhe salaam? Sorry, India. Come again...."

Credits: Sreemoyee Piu Kundu
Original Article:www.facebook.com/sreemoyee.kundu/posts/10152244624212751

* Tainted *

[ Based on a True Story ]

"You see that man? He is Professor Garg, the man who raped his student," whispered a young student to her friend.

"Oh my god! What is this monster doing back in college?"

Prof. Garg seemed to have overheard the conversation because he turned his head around and stared at the girls for half a second. The girls froze, and stood silently as the professor continued his walk across the college lawns towards the dean's office.

~ The Dean's Office ~
"Prof. Garg, I am aware of the circumstances you are going through, but I am under tremendous pressure to remove you from service. I keep getting phone calls from worried parents every day. They do not wish to keep their kids in a college which employs a rape accused. I am sorry," the dean told the professor.

Prof. Garg got up from the seat and slowly walked out of the dean's office.

~ The Canteen ~
"Arey yaar, this is that same professor who raped your classmate. What was her name?"
"Neha Lamba. Pretty girl she was too. Old man has too much libido it seems. I wonder how much he paid the cops to hush up his case."

~ The Truth - One Year Ago ~
"Neha! What are you doing in my office? What are those papers in your hand?" shouted Prof. Garg at the young girl he had caught red-handed.
"Umm, nothing sir. We just... just came to..." Neha tried to explain but could not cook up a good story.

Prof. Garg snatched away the papers from Neha's hand. It was the question paper for the exam due to be held the following day.
"Sorry sir, I was not trying to do anything wrong," Neha started crying.
"Beta, you were trying to steal the question paper. That is cheating. I will need to lodge a complaint against you," the professor replied with regret.

"Help! Save me somebody, this man is trying to rape me. Help!" Neha shouted at the top of her voice. Everybody rushed to Prof. Garg's office to find Neha on the floor with her clothes dishevelled, and the professor standing near the exit with a confused look on his face.

~ The Media ~
"Prof. Garg, you have been accused of molesting your own student. Aapko kaisa lag raha hai?"
"How could you do this heinous act professor? The nation wants to know"
"Teacher bana Darinda, 17 saal ki ladki se balatkaar"

~ The Trial ~
"The court hereby acquits Mr Garg of all charges levelled against him for lack of evidence. The court is dismissed," the judge ordered.

~ The End ~
"Prof. Garg, the man recently acquitted in the famous college rape case, has been found dead at his residence this morning. A case of suicide has been registered by the police. Prof. Garg was under severe depression for the past few weeks"

* Tainted * "Oh my god! What is this monster doing back in college?"

* Tainted *

[ Based on a True Story ]

"You see that man? He is Professor Garg, the man who raped his student," whispered a young student to her friend.

"Oh my god! What is this monster doing back in college?"

Prof. Garg seemed to have overheard the conversation because he turned his head around and stared at the girls for half a second. The girls froze, and stood silently as the professor continued his walk across the college lawns towards the dean's office.

~ The Dean's Office ~
"Prof. Garg, I am aware of the circumstances you are going through, but I am under tremendous pressure to remove you from service. I keep getting phone calls from worried parents every day. They do not wish to keep their kids in a college which employs a rape accused. I am sorry," the dean told the professor.

Prof. Garg got up from the seat and slowly walked out of the dean's office.

~ The Canteen ~
"Arey yaar, this is that same professor who raped your classmate. What was her name?"
"Neha Lamba. Pretty girl she was too. Old man has too much libido it seems. I wonder how much he paid the cops to hush up his case."

~ The Truth - One Year Ago ~
"Neha! What are you doing in my office? What are those papers in your hand?" shouted Prof. Garg at the young girl he had caught red-handed.
"Umm, nothing sir. We just... just came to..." Neha tried to explain but could not cook up a good story.

Prof. Garg snatched away the papers from Neha's hand. It was the question paper for the exam due to be held the following day.
"Sorry sir, I was not trying to do anything wrong," Neha started crying.
"Beta, you were trying to steal the question paper. That is cheating. I will need to lodge a complaint against you," the professor replied with regret.

"Help! Save me somebody, this man is trying to rape me. Help!" Neha shouted at the top of her voice. Everybody rushed to Prof. Garg's office to find Neha on the floor with her clothes dishevelled, and the professor standing near the exit with a confused look on his face.

~ The Media ~
"Prof. Garg, you have been accused of molesting your own student. Aapko kaisa lag raha hai?"
"How could you do this heinous act professor? The nation wants to know"
"Teacher bana Darinda, 17 saal ki ladki se balatkaar"

~ The Trial ~
"The court hereby acquits Mr Garg of all charges levelled against him for lack of evidence. The court is dismissed," the judge ordered.

~ The End ~
"Prof. Garg, the man recently acquitted in the famous college rape case, has been found dead at his residence this morning. A case of suicide has been registered by the police. Prof. Garg was under severe depression for the past few weeks"