70 : 30 , the ratio of foolishness to sanity in our education System

The education board came out with an extremely absurd rule (in the context of our city) over the weekend. That 70% of the seats in a college would be reserved just for the people staying in the zone of the college (i.e. in and around the college) and 30% would be reserved for the students from out of the Zone. This is the most absurd and ridiculous rule that I have seen made by any institution/board for a long time. It surely shows how adept and smart the people running our education system are.

First of all I cannot comprehend why these guys came up with this rule? Isnt the existing reservation for the schedule casts & tribes enough that a new dimension to reservation is trying to be put in place. There doesn't seem any visible advantage for doing this in a place like India. For eg. a zone in the central suburbs of mumbai stretches from Mulund to Sion. Now there are top class colleges like MCC & Kelkar college in Mulund, and other colleges like DAV, Menon, National in Bhandup, Vikas in Vikhroli, Somaya & RJ college in ghatkopar/vidyavihar & SIES in Sion. This covers almost all the major colleges in the central suburbs. But these have been the main colleges for the students from Thane & beyond also. A student from Thane who lives a stones throw distance from MCC in mulund will be at a disadvantage to a student from Sion who lives miles away. And beyond the border of thane, there are hardly any colleges of repute.

What does a student from Thane do in this case. The first list at MCC for commerce closed at 581. The second list closed at 580 for the 30% and at 573 for the remaining 70%. In this highly competitive era, a mark here or there can make or break a students college aspirations.

If the board wants to ape the west and come up with such rules, then there should be an even distribution of colleges across the city & zones. A parity should be maintained in the quality of the colleges across zones. Only then does it make sense to introduce such a rule in a setting like ours. Let us hope that the people in control would understand this soon & act upon the same quickly.

living Green

Have you ever felt the freshness of vivid Green, through a thin curtain of translucent white?

The drizzle made the fresh green play ground look even more refreshing. The cold spray on my face washed away my weariness. The Godrej Colony truly is beautiful. I should be grateful to God, that I have had an opportunity to stay here.

The same 24 hours

Right now there are a million things on my mind and my to-do list. So many things/people to catch up with, pending stuff to be done, self-set standards to scale up to, things to learn, posts to blog, exams to study for! How I wish every day had more than the standard 24 hours there are today. How I wish I could use the 24 hours that I already have better.

Even the most successful people on earth had only 24 hrs in a day. If Mother Tereza, Mandela, Gandhi, Gates, Federer, Tendulkar, Archer, Tolkein could achieve what they have in just sets of 24 hour days, there is no reason why I should not be able to get something even worth 1/10th of what they got done.

When I met Why

Why are the worst the rulers?
Do we choose them?
Or maybe we never ruled,
and got called worst instead.

Why is the other lane always faster?
Or did I never notice?
Maybe because when my lane is faster,
I lay lost in stupid bliss.

Why is poverty every where?
Am I also poor?
If no, why cant I give,
Is my heart really pure?

Why do wars go on?
Cant the world leaders hug?
Maybe they already have,
and now together others they slug.

Why do people have to smoke?
Does it give them a kick,
Does it feel better than cancer,
or would a tumour do the trick.

Why do terrorists go spread terror?
Have their souls gone dead?
Or is it really someone else,
Or is the terror in my head?

Why do celebrities act,
even when they're off screen,
Do they always have to be good,
Arent humans sometimes mean?

Why does tea taste better hot,
well, I like iced tea,
but then if they follow what I like,
The note would not have Gandhi.

Why are policemen corrupt?
Dont they get paid enough?
Or maybe even if paid double,
even their bribes will double up.

Why do fools fall in love?
doesnt everbody else?
Well id rather be a fool,
on second thoughts, id rise in love instead.

Why are little girls made of.
sugar spice & everything nice?
Then how come when they grow up,
they show slander and malice?

Why do peoms need to have rythm?
Why do their lines need to rhyme?
Well, my poems dont have rythm.(do they?)
So when you read them you'll know they're mine.

Indiana Jones and the Kingdom of the Crystal Skull (2008) - Movie Review

I was out shopping today, for a windcheater, with Ann & Sheril, on a day serial shoppers would drop their shopping bags in defeat. The day was painfully wet. And shopping on a wet day wasn’t really enjoyable, considering my allergy to shopping & to the monsoons. While making rounds of various shops in the Nirmal Lifestyle malls, we decided to take a break from shopping and go catch a movie. We didn’t have too many options.

a) Sarkar Raj
b) Indiana Jones & the Kingdom of the Crystal Skull

Not that I disliked the earlier Sarkar movie (I am a big Godfather fan), but Indiana Jones was the unanimous choice. We got last row tickets & started the adventure ride.

The movie starts out on the plains of Nevada, in 1957, where Jones is being carried captive by some Russian soldiers. The moment I first laid my eyes on Jones, I wished he was younger. If you have seen the earlier Indiana Jones movies, you will feel the same too. The ageing Harrison Ford looks a bit old in this movie. When watching an Indiana Jones movie, one would expect quite a bit of adventure and action from the protagonist. Ford in the movie, sometimes makes you wonder "How is he gonna do it?". But then Ford wasn’t all that young in Air Force 1 & The Fugitive. This also reminded me of Rocky Balboa. I haven’t watched the movie, but watching the trailer made me wish that Stallone hadn’t made this Movie. But in the end, Ford did a decent job with the action.

The whole movie revolves around the mystery of the Crystal SKull, some artifact that is actually some kind of alien skull with supermagnetic properties, and can unlock infinite knowledge. I wont tell you anything about the story, but what I can tell you is how the movie made me feel. The initial part of the movie bored me. Jones running around, and a nuclear explosion happening, and Jones hiding in a fridge, which gets thrown out of the radioactive area. It all seemed farfetched to me. Usually most of the Hollywood action/adventure movies are farfetched, but if the visuals are convincing (unlike Mithun movies) or entertaining enough, i dont mind. In fact I enjoy such movies. But this was not at all exciting or convincing.

Things changed though with the entry of Ray Winstone, a young face for a change. The bike chase really made me smile and sit up. One of the few good Bike chases I have watched on television. After this the adventure actually begins, something like a treasure hunt. The crystal Skull must be found and then returned to its original secret place which no one knows. The action and adventure sequences didn’t make me swoon, but it was entertaining all the same. There are some sequences where the characters are fighting each other across moving jeeps and trucks. Entertaining stuff, but the whole thing has more of a video-game feel. Looks artificial. Totally against the law of physics & practicality, but then served in Hollywood style, makes reason seem obscure enough to enjoy the whole thing. Falling off cliffs into trees, and multiple falls off waterfalls without a bruise though will make you wonder what is happening.

As the move rolls on towards the end, there were certain trap-doors and secret doors that open & corridors through which Jones and the other characters of the movie pass. I expected more of such stuff, but it was good enough. The end wasn’t all that great. Again I would rate it as average.

Considering it to be a Spielberg Movie & considering the quality of movies released these days, I expected more. In comparison with his earlier films this comes out as an average Special FX entertainer. The one thing I really liked about the movie was the ambience & the feel of the old Indiana Jones movies that this film gives.

I’d give the movie a B- rating. If you really wanna throw away your money, go watch it on the big screen, for very soon you will be able to watch it on Star Movies or HBO for free.

The Chained Generation

They whizz past my eyes, with an urgency that seems unwarranted for. Some sweaty, some dark, some tall, some tired, some angry. People. Different faces, different thoughts, different aspirations, different lives. One fate. I watch.

The view from the foot-over-bridge at the thane station isn’t entertaining. Otiose luggage leaning on my knees, people scampering around me en-masse, lonesome I stand in that crowd, awaiting my uncle. He should have been back with the tickets by now. Maybe the line at the ticket counter is long. Its almost 7 in the evening, ‘rush hour’. A rush to catch that train, to meet a beloved, to escape the city agony or maybe just to get there… faster. But are they really getting anywhere? I watch.

As the trains crawl into the station, people jump out & clamber onto the FOBs like animals. They push and pull, and don’t care if they hurt anyone. I am pushed to one side and am fighting to keep my luggage with me. Opposing a torrent of agitated & frustrated flesh, it is a losing war that is being fought here. An old man falls, a woman shrieks and concern & human emotion dampen the sweaty unrest & turmoil. People try controlling themselves and make room for that feeble old man. I watch.

Yes, Love still remains. These are not machines that are rushing somewhere. Each one was is human being. From the north Indian young struggler who doesn’t know whether he would meet dinner, to the maharashtrian middle class wife, who is struggling to meet dinner on time, everyone is as human as I am. Emotions, egos, a desire to excel, failure, regret, hope, joys, passions and… a right to be saved. I watch.

I stand on the banks of this river of men. I look at the sweaty water flow by. I am watching hundreds of worlds passing by. Each person has his own, and is the king, the centre of that beautiful world. But where are they heading to? towards doom? So many! They would flow out into the dark sea! How horrible this is. I wanted to help them. I am supposed to be a ‘fisher of men’, ain’t I. I lift my hand to pull out someone from this river. But my hand refused to budge. It is numb, frozen, bound, with chains of respectability, shyness, honour and selfishness. I can see the blood of Jesus on my hands, but the chains won’t budge. They won’t let me use the power of the blood. The chains cry out to me… “Its useless, they wont believe you! Do you want to be mocked! You cant convince someone who is born in a different religion. No way!” I struggle a while and give up, look up. I watch.

And Jesus came to them and spake unto them, saying, All authority hath been given unto me in heaven and on earth. Go ye therefore, and make disciples of all the nations, baptizing them into the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit: teaching them to observe all things whatsoever I commanded you: and lo, I am with you always, even unto the end of the world. – Mathew 28:18-20

The crowd starts to dim, my uncle is back with the tickets. I walk towards the train, disappointed, chained. I am going back to my world. What about all those people and the dark sea. There probably is a better ‘fisher of men’ downstream, I say & try to comfort myself. After all I am a part of this chained generation, aint I?

My Crime against Time

I want to stop you so bad,
I want to turn you back,
but how do I hold you?
you slip off like cold dew.

Testing times you make me see,
just because I dont respect thee.
Have all the successful been thy slave,
Is that why my success lies in a grave?

Ticking away, ticks me so!
unstoppable ticking,I so well know,
Just a little needle, that goes tick tock,
Makes the world spin like a top.

Maybe im wrong, maybe im blind,
I try to hide, when I should find.
I wouldnt find turnips, in a field of maize,
I wouldnt find darkness, in the midst of rays.

Maybe I should look at doing things,
with passion, desire, attention and zing.
Maybe fighting time, is like burning water,
Maybe its not about the fight, but about the potter.

Klueless3

My internet connection got restored after ages, and I am making the best use of it. Playing Klueless3. Kudos to the IIM guys who made this game.

I discovered Klueless a few days back and im hooked on to it already. This is something that has tangled up my grey matter. The arteries to my head are working overtime. Time has become irrelevant, and I am up awake at 4 a.m., struggling on Level 10 b, trying to decode some crap. Did 4 levels in an hour, not bad. But I waned to go uptill Level 15 before I slept. Am blogging after a real big gap. Hoping to post some stuff up soon.

UnioN

We finally met...

Change

Im looking for a change, or is change looking for me.
Its about time we met...

Waking up the BLASTed way

Well, after something like the blasts, I cannot think of writing on any other subject. 7 blasts that shook Mumbai, injured mercilessly, destroyed agonizingly, traumatized tardily and woke up instantly. Yes. Woke Mumbai up instantly!

Instead of raving about voices like “Look at the pain it caused”, I am going to jabber about “Do you need a blast to wake you up?”

Picture this. The bomb blasts take place on the 11th of July. And in the next two days, 26 communities on “Fighting Terrorism” Sprang up on Orkut (the popular friends network). And surprisingly, before the 11th not even a single community existed that raised a voice against terrorism or at least none showed up on my search results. Strange eh?

People talk about why it happened? How bad it was. And then a couple of days later, the whole city is patting itself on its back and grinning “Mumbai is unaffected, we can get back on track in a couple of days. No bomb blasts can shake us.” Well, I say ”You were unaffected because you didn’t lose a brother, mother or a father in the blast. You were unaffected because you have developed insensitivity towards the blast, developed by the frequency with what terrorism strikes. You are unaffected because you have to meet your deadlines, and you cant afford to take a day off because of some blasts.”

People may talk, people may cry. But if the same “people” look deep inside, they will see tainted souls that are deficient of the spirit of God. Did the blasts really affect you. What did you do? What about the hundreds who die on the streets because of Hunger? What about the thousands who die because of crime? What about the children who die as children, because their parents didn’t have enough money to get them treated? Why do we ignore the blasts that are happening everyday in the lives of the handicapped and the disabled? How many people prayed for the terrorists who did this? Don’t their souls deserve salvation?

Well the blasts were Gods way of telling a sleeping generation to get up. This is what I believe. Because we are a generation in slumber. A generation in sin. What are we doing as Christians? Do we need God to wake us up the BLASTed way?

Nailed for me...

The church organ began churning out tunes of lamentation. Everybody sank into their seats to send up a small prayer (or at least they pretended to) before they started scurrying out to avoid the human traffic at the small door of our church. In a few minutes, the exit was cramped with people of different shapes and ages, all wanting to get out and go home. For most of them, they had finished their responsibility of attending church on a Good Friday, and all they wanted to do, was to get out of that place now. Some of the more religious souls stayed on to be a part of the Holy Communion. As I walked out of church, I could imagine the scampering that would follow, scampering to eat the bread and wine as soon as possible, and just get out of there. I wondered how many people actually meant what they were doing that day. It was a Good Friday, not too different from the others that had come and gone. But for me, this year it was different. The message had worked its wonder on me.

I trudged out on to the street, the noon sun glaring on to my face, the message from the pastor still fresh in my mind, when something suddenly made me look at the palms of my hands. Why was it scar-less? Why weren’t there painful holes in my palms? I felt the side of my stomach. I didn’t find any spear wounds there. I felt my back. The flesh of my back wasn’t torn. Still wondering, I ran my fingers through my hair. I didn’t feel thorns clinging on to my skull. The sun beat on my forehead, and I wiped off my sweat. My sweat was colourless. Why wasn’t it blood instead of water?

That’s when Isaiah 53:5 hit me like a brick on the back of my head.

“But he was pierced for our transgressions, he was crushed for our infirmities, the punishment that brought us peace was upon him, and by his wounds are we healed.”
- Isaiah 53:5

I walked on, and before I knew, someone I disliked caught my sight. My heart was filled with abhorrence. Immediately I heard someone hammer on something. It sounded like a big nail being hammered into wood with a huge hammer, but on looking around I found nothing of that sort happening. I was stunned. Still in disbelief I walked towards the railway tracks, when a dirty beggar came up to me and grabbed my arms, dirtying my white shirt. The tragic expression on his face didn’t soften the anger that exploded in my veins. At that moment, out of nowhere, I heard whipping sounds accompanied by moans. This was crazy. My eager walk broke out into a desperate run. I was sweating and panting as I ran on the streets of my colony, I ran till I could run no more, I stopped under a tree and thought to myself...

“Whom am I running from? What am I running from? Am I running from the fact that Jesus was nailed on the cross for me. For every sin that I commit, I should be the one nailed through my hand. But in contrast, each sin of mine is like a blow to those huge nine-inch nails that almost crushed the tender bones of his hands as it inched deeper into the timber. Every blow must have sent raw agony down the spine of Jesus. Every lash must have ripped off a part of His determination to have the cup of sorrow.

Every thorn in that crown must have felt like a spear of torment embedded in his skull. Every second on that cross must have felt like a hundred years in hell. Every drop of spit that hit his face must have felt like boiling concentrated hydrochloric acid. Every centimeter he walked on the road to Golgotha must have felt like crawling on a 100- mile stretch of red-hot coals. And every time I sin, I rub his face into the burning coal. I hurt him exponentially more than he was hurt on the cross when i sin!!! Why am I so blind? Why…”

…. The church organ began churning out tunes of lamentation. I opened my sleepy eyes to find myself in church. What??? This was a dream??? The people around me got up and started scampering out of church. I just sat there, again in disbelief, realizing that I had missed the Good Friday message and I knew the late night movie I watched the previous day was the culprit. The church started emptying out. I just looked upwards and said, “That was the best dream I ever had.” I was somebody without a conscience when I slept in church, but the dream changed things. That day, I walked out of church determined to live for him, determined to make sure that the next time someone has to be nailed, it would be the guy with the tail. Three Cheers for Jesus!!!

Caribbean Blues

I clicked this on Hollywood Boulevard, Los Angeles. This man stood in solitude as he played the sax, one of the instruments that i really admire & I wish I knew. This is on snap that I love.

I vote

I decided to vote.

Because I want to have a say in who rules my hood.

Because I want to be a part of the decision making process.

Because I can go and caste a vote that I am not pleased with any of the candidates.

Because I can show them that I am not ignorant of what happens in my country.

Because I feel that taking a half day off to vote is worth exercising your right.

Because I am an optimist.

Because I believe that little drops make up the ocean.

Because the ink on my finger reminds me that I am a part if it.

I vote because I can.

Can you vote?

Outback outreach....!!!

One of my most soul shaking journeys...2 days in Khopoli, reaching out to tribal villagers with men of God. Unbeatable!

It started out with 8 of us (Bonny, Sheril, Edison, Ravi, Annette, Shimona, Serena & myself) friends deciding to participate in an outreach program to the tribal villages of Khopoli. The program was organised by our church. It was for the tough, adventurous and the brave kind of people. It wasnt a luxury camp that we were attending. This was something different.

We started off by staying at bonnys house. We had to catch the 8:15 am Khopoli Local from mulund. As usual we were late and we missed the train. Basically we had to prepare our own lunch, & that is the reason we got late.

On missing the train, we had to find an alternate mode of transport. We decided to Bike it out! I called our pastor to ask him if we could ride to khopoli, and I got a very prompt 'No!' from him. The next train to khopoli was scheduled 4 hours later. We pondered if we should take a train to Karjat and then change trains to khopoli. But looking at the crowd on the platform, we knew it was going to be standing journey. So we decided to take the ST Bus.

The next ST bus for Khopoli was at 10:00 am. We decided to wait it out with 'wada pavs' from Kunj Vihar. Beleive me, they never come as big as they come in Kunj Vihar. The best Wada Pav the city has to offer. Lost in our Indian style veg burgers, ...(you guessed it right), we missed the 10:00 am bus to khopoli. Patience was morphing into desperation. With options running out for us now, we boarded a bus to Panvel. We thought we could catch a connecting bus from Panvel to Khopoli, and jumped into a Panvel Bus.

The ST journey was decent, considering the fact I slept through most of it. On a few occasions, we were thrown a couple of feet into the air and woke up in our neighbours seat, but other than that it was a peaceful journey. Off at panvel we had to wait another 45 minutes before we got a connecting bus to khopoli. The driver in the bus was nuts. He had 'I cant be second' syndrome and also seemed to suffer from elephantitis. His heavy foot never seemed to get off the accelerator & his nutty brain kept telling him, 'you got to be first, dont let anyone overtake you'. The innocent victim - Me. I never could stand even looking at a merry-go-round, let alone riding one, and this fellow was rollercoasting me all the way to Khopoli. If my vomit would have started its upward journey in the Bus itself, I would make sure that the driver got a good taste of my 'reversed excretory process output'. But we just reached khopoli on time. I rushed out of the Bus, only to find Rev. Shalom waving at me. Semi-dazed and in a envioronment conducive to puking, I waved back weakly and managed to hold back my half digested wada pav from kunj vihar. When I got to my senses, I looked around. We were in Khopoli!

And this is where the humour in my write-up ends...

God had helped us overcome all the difficulties and arrive at khopoli... and I wondered... why?

Some of us were driven to a church in a large ambassador. The rest of us took a rickshaw. It was a small nice church where we put down our bags and joined the session. In this session, some people from the villiage gave their testimonies. We also had an orientation session where all of us were taught, how to behave while talking to the villagers.

After this all of us shared our lunch that we had brought along with us. It was a nice time of sharing we had. Once we were done, we were to set out on our trip to the village. The village was around 25 kms from the church, in the interiors. And our mode of transport was a truck. This was one of the most awsome journeys that I have had for a long time. A truck full of youngsters, chugging away to an interior village on an outreach ministry.

It was the 26th of january, and on that day, the police are strict about large processions moving about the place. The police wouldnt like to see a truck full of noisy youngsters and would have possibly stopped us and questioned us. The truck being an open air truck, would make it easier for the police to spot us. But we had a strategy. When the bus neared the check-point, someone from the back screamt out loud - 'Phatak!!' and all of use sat down and shut up. There was absolutely no place in the truck. People all crapmed up, but silent. We couldnt afford to make noise. It reminded me of how life would have been for those guys who lived during the 'War ages'. It reminded me of how the missionaries must have travelled.

The truck rolled to a groggy stop at a rustic little village. We jumped out of the truck one by one, slightly uncertain of what we were going to do in this rural setting. We were directed to a small house where we were given water. Then we were sent out in groups to visit members of the villiage. We visited believing homes of villagers.

We walked through the alleys of the village that consisted mainly of mud houses. We were taken to a house where a woman welcomed us with a warm smile. When we entered, I was asked to pray ... In Hindi! I had never done that before! And I realised how difficult it was to pray in another language. But God helped me with the prayer. He put words in my mouth. We were then offered a seat on a sheet spread over the ground made of dried dung. We sat down. And we started talking to the lady in the house.

We had to speak in marathi to the village woman. And this was a great challenge for me. Speaking in marathi!! No way! We were guided by bro. Nilesh on what to speak and where to take the conversation. My team members could speak marathi, and they were the ones who were talking to the lady. I was just a quite spectator, with storms brewing in my mind. The lady had simple faith. She was simple. No complexities. She did not worry about doctrines and debates, logic and knowledge. All she bothers about was her relationship with God. And that is what touched me most. For every question we asked, her answer was positive. It was like a mirror that I looked into that day. A mirror that showed me what I am and who I am. It was terrific.

She did not have riches nor did she have money. She did not have furniture in her house. Her furniture were the two goats tied inside her house. She did not have a cell phone or a Computer. But she had happiness and contentment. Though to the world she was poorer than me, I knew she was actually much richer than what I was. I realised that life is not about money. Life is not about material things. God will provide my needs and fulfill my desires. All I needed was to trust on him.

"Seek Ye first the Kingdom of God, and his righteousness, and all these things shall be added unto you" Matthew 6:33

We walked out of the lady’s house after taking a picture with the lady, with stirred souls and repentant hearts. We then assembled in the village courtyard, where Sheldon shared his experiences with us. Truly touching experiences of how God changed his life. And how he lives as a soldier for Christ. God bless you Sheldon, for your zeal and your encouragement.

It was then time to evangelise on the street. We performed skits on the road for the villagers. We sang songs, prayed and rejoiced on the street. What an experience. And my dense beard got me the role of Jesus in the Skits. I wish I could be more like him in real life! It was a joy to work on the streets reaching out to people.

Once we were done with skits, we were back on the truck to the church where we were put up. In the evening, all of us helped in making dinner. The girl’s cleaned the rice while we cleaned the garlic. We had a good time of praise and worship too. And then we wrote down in pieces of paper all the things & sins in life that pulled us behind. These pieces of paper were burned in the bonfire that we had in the night. Again it was an awesome time of praise and worship that we had around the bonfire.

When it was time to sleep, we were again driven in truck to a house nearby where we could sleep. I think it was the house of the pastor of the church. The ride to the house late in the night in an open truck was terrific. Something I have never experienced before. At one point of time, the truck driver slammed on the brakes suddenly and all of us fell flat backwards, as we were all standing with our backs to the driver. All of us flat on each other. It was fun.

The next day we were up early and back in the church. The morning praise and worship session was totally awesome. It touched my heart and tore my pride and my flesh into bits. I felt one with God. I cried like a child when I visualized what a sinner I was in front of Jesus and how small I was. I cried because he sacrificed his life for me on the cross. I cried because I knew he loved me even though I was an insignificant and unworthy person.

Then the villagers from afar came and visited the church. It was a nice time of praise and worship with the villagers. Their loud drums and maharashtrian styled marathi songs really got us jumping. It was an environment of joy and happiness. The villagers danced and sang with joy. We were all so happy. In the last session, we all prayed for the villagers, laying our hands on them. It was a joyous experience. Youngsters praying for old men and little children. I prayed for an uncle after which I was assigned the job of capturing people praying on my camera. I guess my ministry was to show the world what happened that day.

In the end we sat together and had our lunch. I did not have high hopes on the quality of food at khopoli before I went there. But the food was awsome. It was such a nice time that we had out there. We returned home that afternoon, and straight headed to our local church with our bags. All eight of us testified in our churches and fellowships that evening. I really praise and thank God for those 2 days in my life.

In khopoli, a spark set off a fire. The fire will be passed on. It will consume the evil of many. It will spread. For this is the consuming fire of God...

THE LAND LIES OPEN BEFORE US, LET US GO AND CLAIM IT TOGETHER WITH JESUS!!!