Knatia Parson

While it is an opportune moment to make examples of similar inductees into terror and crush future admissions into such perilious camps and pro-seperatist outfits, the situation calls for a deeper analysis and prerogative into this pulsating ailment eating away at the Kashmiri youth. The way forward is an enlightened and balanced policy which, while fostering national identity, is pro-development; zero-tolerant on terror and reviews the special status accorded to the state. On this front, we must resort of heavy lobbying in international organizations and gather support of the international community and Indian diasporic connections against Pakistan, which harbours terror, and commits such acts of violence with impunity. The way forward is raising this issue while MBS visits New Delhi on his five-nation tour, convincing UAE and IMF to abandon their positions on Pakistan, and albeit their consequences on India as such, and convincing China to enlist Masood Azhar in the most-wanted list, and JeM as a to-be-neutralized and obliterated terror group.

He has a fan in the little, curious son of his housekeeper, who is the inspiration behind the recovery of the facts of his last case that has been gathering dust of time, veiled in the film of guilt, the sins of his immense and rare intellect. Bees occupy a large portion of cinematic space, and although we see an unfortunate incident at the end, we witness the death of nature, literally, metaphorically, while the wasp nest burns- the primordial debate among naturalists and horticulturists on weed and herbs. Mrs. Munro of Holmes as a father figure, and to her son’s interest in bee-keeping; Roger, of the varied and curious ways of intellect and simplicity, and Holmes Jr., who accepts the experiences of life, accepting to be lonely no more. We also see momentary release of guilt when he completes the story, chooses to bestow kindness on a grieving family by concocting a fictional encounter with Umezaki Sr. and also comes in terms with the estrangement and death of his dear Dr. Watson.

I met him once- pockmarked face, little man with a snuff-coloured hat, a little limp on one leg. He knew about my uncontrollable lust for his words. He smiled like he could smell love on you, and someone who took secret pleasure in it. He smiled like one would to his estranged mistress when he was with his wife.

M: I do remember, Devi. Those hungry eyes do not light up anymore, devi, like the old days D: [They are watching the passengers in their beautiful costumes as they line up across the platform for the upcoming commute] M: What can be done, really, devi? D: I think people should understand the spirit of Durga Puja and the essence of giving back to the society.