Silicon Investor (SI) -- The First Internet Community

STOCKTALK

We've detected that you're using an ad content blocking browser plug-in or feature. Ads provide a critical source of revenue to the continued operation of Silicon Investor. We ask that you disable ad blocking while on Silicon Investor in the best interests of our community. If you are not using an ad blocker but are still receiving this message, make sure your browser's tracking protection is set to the 'standard' level.

Technology Stocks : Don't You Cry -- Ignore unavailable to you. Want to Upgrade?

To: elpolvo who wrote (166)	2/14/2003 2:50:06 PM
From: HG	Read Replies (1) \| Respond to of 239

The Blind Man In The Park Jun 7: Woman ends life due to dowry harassment. HAVERI: Dowry harassment claimed yet another life here recently. Jyoti, daughter of Chandrashekhar Byadagi, married to Ajjappa Siddappa Kaginelle in Guttal village (Haveri taluk) had taken her life after being allegedly harassed by her husband Ajjappa, mother-in-law Kotravva, sister-in-law Nagavva and father-in-law Siddappa for more dowry, the police said. Police said that the harassment compelled her to consume poison... The Guttal police have arrested her husband and father-in-law. He was a constant in the park, his face unshaven, his hair in disarray, his clothes crumpled. The tortuous maze of his bloodlit veins stood out against the whiteness of his protruding eyeballs, grotesqueness that he hid behind his impassive dark glasses. The sounds in the park where he sat for nearly 7 hours after his mother’s chauffeur dropped him off at the gate, probably soothed him. Or maybe he had nowhere else to go. He’d feel his way across the park and choose that very corner of that very bench, day after day. Sometimes he pulled out breadcrumbs from his bag and fed the pigeons, sitting erect with a vacant smile, his face straining to catch the surround sounds, his cane clutched tight. Most passers by ignored him, a few voices said hello and that made him happy. Occasionally, a footfall stopped and someone shared the bench with him. “Beautiful day,” he’d say. And if he was lucky, a conversation followed. As the evening wore on, everyone would go home, except him, the lonely, friendless figure on the bench, seeking warmth. Late evening, his father brought him a snack, a muesli bar he hungrily wolfed down as they walked back to the BMW. One evening, a pair of feet moved too close. He clutched his cane tighter, terrified, waiting for the assault of the imagined ruffian - he had encountered those before. Sweet perfume pervaded his senses instead and a feather touched his shoulder. “There’s something nasty on your shirt,” the angel chimed. “What was it?” He asked. “Bird poop.” His earns burned. The footfalls rested beside him. They became regulars at the park and talked endlessly. Six months later they got married against her parents approval and she moved into his father’s mansion. Her dad set her up with an allowance so she wouldn’t have to work, but she became subdued, the bruises showed up on her arms and legs and his impotence added to her unhappiness. She was frequently sick. Her face paled and thinned and her stylish hair became as disheveled as his had been before, her clothes, once fashionable, revealed age and despair. Time passed. They no longer talked like before, but her devotion for him showed in his manicured hands, ironed shirts, polished shoes, neatly brushed hair, home made meals and above all, in the way she looked at him. Only his blindness prevented him from seeing the wounds on her body and the melancholic adoration in her eyes. Then once he disappeared for several days. When he finally showed up, his face was unshaven, his hair in disarray, his clothes crumpled like before. She had killed herself. A few day later the police received the note in the mail blaming his mother. Metaphor. And I know* what you're goin' to say.....