Cruising Alone

I've seen how the stereotypical male mindset has shifted over time, but still, so many carry the same ego-driven attitudes, disguised in new forms. It’s as if nothing has changed, just the packaging. I can't help but question—when will this outdated thinking finally fade? Behold the Desert Ego of old, With pride so grand, with heart so cold, Who laughs at hearts and eyes that weep— As if feeling’s a weakness, for those too deep. He points his finger, judges with glee, "How dare you love? How weak you be!" Yet when we point to his little sins, He stammers, “I’m human—just where to begin?” Oh yes, the righteous, who preach and pray, Then sign deals with devils to get their way— With hands clasped tight, they're holy on display, But slip into shadows when it suits their way. Ambition! He’s got it, can’t you see? A drive so fierce, it’ll set him free! But spare us, please, your noble bribe, When all you chase is your name’s own vibe. He laughs at dreamers breaking mol...

There’s a sensual rhythm that we often ignore, hidden beneath the surface, waiting to be explored. It’s more than just physical—it's about connecting with every part of ourselves. Can you feel that connection? The notes I discover, beneath the silk covers. All these octaves seamlessly blend together. As the moonlight seeps through my window, The gentle breeze flowing over my curves, slow. The rhythm of my body—I feel the flow, A whisper within that only I know. My fingers glide like a feathery trace, Awakening each vein in a soft embrace. Back and forth, I move like waves, Riding the crest of every crave. Fluid, undulating, a gentle tide, Where pleasure and pulse, effortlessly collide. Sometimes, it's the quietest movements that tell us the most about who we are. How do you tune into your own rhythms, your own sensations?

It’s hard when you give so much of yourself, only to watch others discard it like it meant nothing. But there’s a fire inside that no one can take away. How do you reclaim your light after someone’s departure? Some people don’t care who they hurt, Chasing pleasures with hearts inert. They leave behind pieces, broken trust, While I’m left grieving, swept like dust. I gave my soul, my love so true, But they just played, then bid adieu. Their hearts were rusted, cold, unkind, Seeking magic I’d confined. They moved on, roles neatly played, While I stayed lost in what we’d made. They took my light, then walked away, Leaving shadows in my day. But I’m not dust to blow apart; I know the strength within my heart. They can’t steal the fire I hold— Even rust can’t dim pure gold. Even in moments of heartbreak, there’s a resilience we often forget to acknowledge. How do you rise after others have tried to dim your shine?

I used to think I had it all figured out—sweet, bold, or somewhere in between. But life’s struggles have a way of shifting that. How do you hold onto yourself after losing pieces along the way? I thought I am a Betty, sweet as can be, But sometimes I’m a Veronica, wild and free. Even if I’m chatty, I won’t hide my claws, I’ll be a little catty, breaking all your laws. I can dance on tables, sing all night, Or curl in a cradle, tucked in tight. That’s how I felt, oh, that’s how I felt— Once so bold, now the cards have been dealt. All my hope turned to despair, What’s the point to share or care? When the youth of my life should’ve been bright, A monster came creeping in and stole my light. Now I just hope to live with that loss, No clue where I lost the girl boss. The world didn’t scare me, I held my ground, Now every whisper feels like a wound. I pretend I’m grown, I pretend I’m whole, But it’s just a mask over a fractured soul. Still, deep inside, there’s a spark I won’t smother, A dre...

There’s something to be said for seeing through the masks people wear. When the truth comes to light, what’s left behind? Have you ever felt like the watcher, not the fool? I see the human in you—oh, I do, All your vices, and sins, laid bare in full view. Yet still, I find that human trace, While you ignore the monster’s face. You think I’m blind to the tricks you play, To all the sly words and games you sway, Trying to keep me small, under your thumb, But honey, I’ve seen the places you’re from. You feel so free to “be yourself,” Let your demons roam and make themselves felt, While I watch, amused, at your bold display, As you pretend I’m clueless prey. But I’m not the fool you think I am, I see through each carefully crafted sham. You who act so noble and pure— But I’ve seen your kind, that’s for sure. Oh, keep spinning your tangled thread, The webs of lies you’ve so carefully spread. I see the human, the beast, and the act, And I smile, knowing all that you lack. So go ahead, wear t...

It’s strange how the same old narratives seem to play out in cycles, with some men hiding behind power and privilege. But can they truly silence the fight within? When the system fails you, your rage gets a veil, But oh, it’s fine—you’re a man, after all, you prevail. How could they wrong you, the self-proclaimed saint, Now it’s revenge as you brush over your taint. Justice for your man, you cry with a roar, But trample another for your pleasure’s encore. You seek power, and money—oh, such a climb, Oppress your own roots, isn’t that prime? You feel elite now, part of the “meat,” Favours on call just to keep things discreet. But please, spare the theatrics, it’s old, it’s trite, Men like you won’t define my fight. I’ve lived in your shadow, your towering threat, But none of your games can make me forget— You silence my laughter, but never my choice, And none of your power will silence my voice. They can play the power game, but what happens when we stop playing by their rules? Do you th...

It's amazing how some men think they can define a woman's worth, discarding the depth of her love and pain. What happens when we stop accepting their twisted narratives? Know the difference, Before you boast about another— Her younger body, her sweeter scent, Her taste you flaunt like a trophy to me. You, who preach about love, Who claim to care for her. Do you think I asked for less? Do you think I begged for scraps? I asked you to protect, to cherish— And you turned my plea into a mockery. I don’t care If my rage makes you question my sanity Or if my pain paints you As the anchor to my despair. Did you ever hear the cracks in my voice? See the ways I folded my agony Into quiet smiles, The ways I hid my breaking? And then, you dared to ask, "What do you have to offer?" I offered what I didn’t have— Laughter, stolen from barren years; Love, forged through agony’s fire; A memory, crafted for you Even as my soul unravelled. And yet, you call me insane. Why is it so easy...

It’s staggering how some people can dismiss another’s pain with such ease. How do we keep going when our truths are met with mockery and indifference? How does it feel to mock my cries? To twist my pain into casual lies? While I bled my truth with a trembling pen, You called it envy— not again, not again. It wasn’t their faces that haunted my mind, But the stories they shared that you’d readily find. Theirs were believed, held soft and dear, While mine dissolved into silence and sneer. And when, at last, I summoned my voice, Bravely broke through the noise—my only choice, You laughed, you pitied, offered no embrace, Just an empty shrug in a hollow space. So I buried it deep, let the midnight bell toll, Screams turned inward, a rent in my soul. A living hell, where shadows prey, While I wore strength-like armour each day. But strength gave way to the endless night, Pressure and silence dimmed my light. When I showed you the depths of my aching core, You laughed, then whispered, "Le...

How often do we give our warmth and care to those who never truly value it? When does a woman’s kindness turn into a force of reckoning? To the boy who saw a mother In my warmth, my care, like no other— You leaned in close, wide-eyed and free, Sipping on love like sweet honey tea. Did you think I’d raise you strong, Hold your hand, hum you a song? Feed your dreams and stroke your pride, While you danced in and out like the tide? I gave you light, a mother’s grace, Held your fears, kept steady pace— But look here, darling, make it clear: This mama’s wrath is near and dear. If babes of mine I’ll never hold, Then I’ll craft a payback, fierce and bold. For every tear, for every sigh, For every heart, you left high and dry. I’ll be the thorn in every scheme, The storm that floods your sweetest dream— Not ‘cause I’m broken, cold, or bare, But ‘cause I’m fire in the midnight air. So cheers to you, who played the part, Wore my kindness like a borrowed heart— But mama’s done, and oh, beware, Fo...

How often do we see men pretending to be saints, only to reveal their true colours when the mask slips? Have we forgotten the price of their hollow promises? You made beds with a pro, thought you were a hunk, Stumbled home drunk, all swagger and funk. "Trust me," you said, "shower me with love," As if loyalty is a gift sent from above. The boy who "hates" my tears, oh, what a show, But laughed loud and clear at my screams, you know. "Anything for you," you said, such a saint— Yet broke me by phone, with fruit chaat as paint. Smirking, "I’ve got a meeting," what a line— While I drowned in my pain, you sipped your lime. And now you want babies, a fresh new start, Praying to gods you made me hate in my heart. Audacity, dear, should be your middle name, You play the victim but fuel the flame. Man of the hour? Oh, what a disguise— Your greatness ends with your own hollow lies. How many times have we seen men like this, using charm and lies t...

In a world often shaped by expectations and labels, it’s easy to overlook the men who have quietly shaped us with their kindness, strength, and wisdom. Have you ever considered how the positive men in your life have truly transformed you? In the embrace of my father’s care, I learned that strength comes with being fair. He showed me how to face the world bold, With a heart that’s warm, a spirit that’s gold. My brothers, mischievous yet kind, Taught me how to laugh, and unwind. They showed me a love that doesn’t demand, But always offers a helping hand. From friends who never made me hide, I learned the power of standing by one’s side. Their words lifted me when I was down, They saw the queen, even without a crown. Teachers with wisdom, gentle and wise, Opened my mind and cleared my eyes. They nurtured the dreams I dared to chase, With patience, guidance, and boundless grace. Yes, I’ve met shadows, men who’ve been unkind, But I refuse to let them define my mind. For every wound, there’s...

There are moments when people try to reduce you to something less—less than human, less than deserving of respect. This poem stands as a fierce reminder that boundaries and dignity aren’t negotiable. Easy, isn’t it, to dismiss my anger— To call me vile, evil, a temper tantrum’s danger? But let me ask you, mister, Would you take it lightly if someone Spoke of your mother this way? "Only sex, only sex," As if I’m here to fulfil every primal reflex As if my worth starts and ends in a bed, As if I exist just to feed your head. Mature, you say? "It’s just a joke." Your immaturity leaves me choked. Would you call it joking around If the same venom was thrown at someone You call your own? And then the mockery: "Better a hooker, peaceful and free." If that's your truth, then by all means, Go sleep with a sex worker, Because that's her profession—not mine. She, with dignity, does her work. But I am no machine, no hired perk. I am human, with breath, with dr...

Have you ever felt forced to shrink yourself, to fit into others' perceptions of who you should be? What happens when your truth is twisted and your silence is mistaken for peace? I shrank myself into shadows, tucked small, and Fed myself tales like, You’re lucky, after all. Not “too beautiful,” not “too tall or fair”— As if these were shields to what I had to bear. I wore my “short, dusky” like some magic shield, Fooling myself with a fake battlefield. Friends and well-wishers, oh, they played their parts, Saw my silence, my cracks—but stitched their hearts. Now I’m uncapping the jars of what’s bottled inside, But they call me crazy  and say I shouldn’t mind. They brand my memories a lie, my pain a disease— How bold to twist the truth when I finally find ease. Retard, they said, if a tear broke the calm— How dare I disrupt their peace with my qualms? Now I speak for the girl they told me to smother; I’m growing back to my full, unshrinking colour. But what if you decide to uncap...

Some people weave their lies with smooth words, hoping to shape you into something you’re not. They prey on your vulnerability, believing you’re an easy target. But what happens when the truth rises, and the lies fade away? Good boy. The words slip off your tongue Like oil on water, Masking the truth That clings to your fingers— Dirty, grasping, cold. You called yourself my friend, Whispered your way into my cracks, Where monsters used to live, And built a new kind of hell. A woman, you thought, Too fragile, too broken, A low flame; easy to snuff. But you forget: A smouldering ember burns hotter than fire. You sought to carve me into shame, Your hands measuring my worth Against the curve of your lust. But this skin—my skin— Is not yours to claim. Do you see me now? I’ve stepped out of the shadows you cast, Standing taller than the lies you tell yourself. Your "Momma’s good boy" act Won’t save you from the truth: You are no man. And I— I am no one’s prey, No one’s guilt to car...

For too long, you've been the one carrying the weight of others' problems, pretending to fix things you didn’t break. But now, the time has come to let go and reclaim your freedom. I’m throwing off these chains, tossing duty to the wind, No more “fix it all” games, I’m done playing pretend. You scoffed at my pain, called me crazy for speaking, But I’m done carrying your weight, my patience is leaking. I played protector, shielded from storms I didn’t create, Made sacrifices for grown folks—what a mistake. You’d roll your eyes, tell me to walk away and disappear, Like I wasn’t the one catching your every tear. Well, newsflash, I’m dropping these bags at the door, No more martyr for hire, I’m hitting the floor. Called me mental for venting, said I was out of my mind, But guess what? I’m not caring, I’m leaving that behind. I used to hold tight, keep your secrets, your woes, Always the first to show up, the one who just knows. But now, I’m unstrapping these burdens from my back, A...

This poem is a powerful affirmation of the simple yet profound joys of existence. It celebrates the freedom to experience life in all its facets, from the smallest moments to the grandest dreams. I get to live, I get to breathe, I get to love and chase my dreams. I get to laugh, I get to cry, I get to watch the stars up high. I get to start fresh, a brand-new day, I get to find my own unique way. I get to sleep, I get to wake, I get to learn from each mistake. I get to dance to my heart's own beat, I get to share smiles with those I meet. I get to taste, to share a tart, I get to cherish this beating heart. Oh yes, I get to live, to thrive, To feel the magic of being alive. I get to dream, I get to give, And oh, how sweet— I get to live. I get to live. I get to live. In these verses, life is embraced fully—both its light and its challenges. The repetition of "I get to live" is a reminder to cherish every moment, to find joy in every breath, and to be grateful ...

So you were ashamed 'cause you slept with a hooker? Pretty sure she regretted having you as her looker. You think you're a hottie, strutting around all cool, But you hide your flaccid excuses behind that paycheck tool. You really thought you owned me—oh, what a joke! Now you flaunt your toned body like you're bespoke. Better? Maybe. Braver? Never. Let’s tell the world: you’re a coward, forever. Oh, the boy with mommy issues, so cliché, so trite, Thinking your Western rating could make you Mr. Right. You thought I cried because I wanted you so? Nah, honey, you were more of a haunted "no." A dream? Please, don’t flatter your fragile esteem. You were the villain in my frightened scream.

  My voice—it's rising, raw and true, Gone are the “motherly” tones they knew. I’m done with soft, with being their balm, They’ll call me a “bitch” for not staying calm. Understanding? That role's been tossed, It got me nowhere, just made me lost. I was the warmth, the light, the care, And they took all I gave, left me bare. Once I told them, “You’re magic, pure,” And they lapped it up, so self-assured. But if I point to cracks in their shine, Suddenly, I'm out of line. They say, “I don’t want to hurt you,” oh please— People like that just take it with ease. I won’t shrink back, won’t dim my light, I’m claiming my space, my own birthright. No more sweet talk, no gentle frame, For those who play their selfish game. People like you? You’ve had your time— From here on out, I guard what’s mine.

Hey there Amazon Worker, Do you think you pulled one over? Mocked my vulnerable side, only to protect your fake pride. I can’t fathom why I ever asked you to pamper and protect. Your wealth was never my concern, yet you watched my trust burn. As I began to share how I felt, you made a snide remark, hitting below the belt. Do you think I care if people change the way they stare? I’m no longer trying to hide; the girl you knew has long died. It’s amusing now that you said I remind you of your mother— What kind of devil hurts the daughter of another? Everyone says to forgive and forget since you were only a child. I would if you didn’t parade your weak masculinity, born of Rothschild. Your false grandeur can’t erase the damage done, I’ve found my strength and my journey’s just begun. If you thought you were good for my image, Know this: my growth surpasses your limits. I’m a woman whose name you can’t tear from the page, And I will stand tall, owning my own stage. ~ Kanika Kau...

Ever since I was a child, all I wanted was to shield and protect, from the shadows lurking in daylight, from the quiet bruises, no one sees. The desire to be a masked hero seeped into my very bones— I swallowed my own pain whole, never an unkind word spoken, always a steady hand, always on guard. My mind, a watchtower, scanning every face, keeping my loved ones safe, and even strangers too—especially the little ones, making sure no child felt a shadow’s touch, no innocence stripped by cruel hands. They never knew my silent vigil, how I absorbed each hurt, how I swallowed every unspoken ache, so their lives could stay smooth, and untouched. And now, when my body cries for release, when the weight of swallowed wounds cracks me open, you call me names no one would say to their mother. I was the silent defender in the shadows when others laughed and danced, the watchful eye ensuring innocence remained whole. But you—all you care about is your pleasures, your comforts, your distractions. Yo...

  You came to me, asking for mercy, pleading for the sake of your unborn, for the tenderness of your wife, for a forgiveness you say you now deserve, because you were "just a child." But when I was fragile, when I was an open wound in this world, your words were stones and you threw them, your hands were knives and you wielded them. The child in me was buried under bruises you called "just a phase." And now, here you stand, eyes wide, wrapped in the innocence of fatherhood, a child again, you say, looking to me for shelter. But did you forget how you crossed my boundaries, how you fed off my spirit to quiet your own chaos? I see you, cloaked in fresh humility, but my own scars still bleed. How do I forgive what still lives in me, what broke and remade me a thousand times, to suit your whims and ease your fears? This mercy you seek, it isn’t mine to give anymore— not because I am bitter, but because mercy begins with those who knows the price of pain. And you still s...

  I am just learning to feel, so don’t ask me to hide the depths that I’m peeling, the pain tucked inside. I hid behind sorrow, layers so thick, numbed by shadows and wounds I let stick. If my truth makes you uneasy, please walk away, for I spent decades feeling sick day by day. I wore the scars from a devil’s touch, let bitterness linger far too much. Now, I’m tracing my fingertips slow, from head to heart—letting each whisper go. Every ache that I buried, the fear I held tight, unravelling now in this newfound light. For I’d rather dream, with a heart full and free, than live bound by the ghosts that once haunted me.

  They sit in circles, patting backs, Whispering tales of their so-called attacks. "Breaking a woman," they say with pride, While hiding their ignorance deep inside. Their mothers taught them they’re gods on a throne, While teaching girls to stand alone. Self-respect in a woman? That’s called a flaw— But their ego? Protected by unspoken law. They say they admire a woman’s mind, Yet mock her strength and try to bind. Call her “crazy,” “obsessed with pride,” When their own insecurities they can’t hide. In the locker room, they measure worth, Boasting of dominance, power, and mirth. Yet real women aren’t ranked on a scale, No prizes to win, no points to nail. They ask if we pray, or if it's just for show, While scriptures and verses they don’t know. Lecturing on faith they don’t own, Judging our values, but hiding their own. They’d say it’s “Kalyug,” and things are grim, An excuse for hypocrisy buried within. Star Wars tales borrowed from Vedic lore, But they’d teach us reli...

Oh, you value your peace, claim you’re above all the noise, Yet here you are, defending your honour and your boys— Cristiano or Messi, the battle’s your creed, You’d wake the dead just to argue whose speed. But when I speak, suddenly I’m “too much,” Emotional baggage that just needs a crutch. Call me a saddle, call me a rein— You’ve got tips for managing my pain. Meanwhile, you’re calling me up at 3 a.m., loud, To shout that your G.O.A.T. made the whole stadium proud. Oh, now who’s dramatic? Who’s drowning in feelings? I get it, I get it—your hero’s ideal. My emotions, you say, are a storm to be quelled, Yet you’ll raise a glass when the trophy is held. How brave, how noble, to praise from afar— Does your screen worship make you a star? When I need a word, a hand to hold tight, I’m “needy,” I’m “clingy,” I’m just not right. But my friend, my dear, take a seat and behold— Emotions are human, they’re not bought or sold. So cheer for your player, debate who’s the best, But don’t come for ...

  He, with his wallet, buys a thrill, Thirteen grand for a night to kill— But call him out, oh, don’t you dare, Suddenly, you’re “crazy,” unfair. The same guy who taught me to assert, Now scolds my voice, calls it perverse. “Don’t you have chores or better things to do? Try finding a guy who’ll put up with you.” Funny, how “peace” is all he seeks, While planting chaos, snide critiques. Says he’s here for “mental health,” While gambling mine to boost his wealth. Boundaries? Oh, they’re fine for him— But if I protest, it’s “Just another whim.” He lectures me on how I should behave, While stashing his dignity in a shallow grave. So here’s to the “mentors” who teach and preach, Who claims “assertive” yet cowers and screechs. Stakeholders, executives, suit and tie— Funny how high that ladder is when built on a lie.

  Once upon a time, I fell for the tricks, Like a snake charmer's flute and got caught in the mix. You had me swaying to your borrowed tune, But the charm’s wearing off, and I’m biting back soon. Oh, I was cute, I was kind, played the motherly part, I patched up your messes and healed your heart. La Familia filters—yeah, I used to care, But now I’m shedding that skin, you’re left in the glare. I’m not shrinking my growth just to fit your frame, I'm not playing mediator in your petty little game. Do you want me to raise my voice, and join the show? Well, I’m out, honey, no wisdom to throw. I’m done doling out advice like a sage on call, I’ve got no interest in catching your fall. I won’t tiptoe around to keep you at ease, I’m uncharmed and unleashed, doing as I please. So go ahead, spin your drama, run wild and free, But I’m not here to mend what I didn’t decree. I’m past the point of caring, you’re on your own, I’ve left the stage, and I’m claiming my throne .

  I’m done carrying equality’s torch, For these boys who sit on their judgment porch, Quick to shame, faster to blame, While calling it “culture,” a broken game. They praise a woman when a man walks out, When she stands strong, they cheer and shout, But never a word on the ones who leave, Their cowardice is hidden up their sleeve. Boys who sin without a pause, Wrap women in shadows, without a cause. Yet when she fights to find the light, They label her “crazy,” and call her “uptight.” If the “man of the house” loses his ground, Stumbles through bars, and booze all around, It’s called a struggle, a bump on the way, But if she cries? It’s pity and scorn they display. They’ll gamble with love in a game of dare, Saying they want “truth” — but do they care? They write off her worth, then call her mad, When she builds herself from what they had.

  So you ask a girl to love you, to trust you, And then you try to shame her for that trust, Laughing behind her back, like it’s some game— But let me make one thing crystal clear. This is my open challenge to you, If I ever catch that smirk on your face, If you dare to laugh at the vulnerability I shared, Or try to turn my honesty into a weapon against me— Go ahead, run to anyone, You coward—do what you will say what you want. But know this: nothing will shield you from my rage, Nothing can save you from the fury you’ve awakened. You talk about respect for your mother and sister, You parade your virtues like they shine so brightly, But let me ask when you pick on others, Does that respect extend beyond your own bloodlines? Because I swear if you ever try to pick on me again, I’ll be the one to tear you apart, limb from limb, Not in some whispered, secret revenge, But with the truth, with the fire I carry inside. Do you really think shaming a woman for trusting you Makes you a man?...

  Bhopal’s skies crack open wide, Lake’s waters surge like an ocean tide. The Upper Lake flows, bold and proud, City’s heart beating, strong and loud. Hawkers pause, eyes gleam in awe, This watery wonder, the city's charm. Nature lush with life, in green hues so deep, Glistening leaves in the raindrop sweep. Indian Cuckoo calls, Pitta prances, Both catching tunes, as monsoon dances. Hot chai’s brewed, pakoras stacked high, Mirchi, Aloo, Pyaaz—all tempt the eye. Each snack speaks, its own Andaaz, Crunchy bites met with stormy applause. Kids jump puddles, young hearts swoon, Girls spin dreams to the monsoon tune. For rain doesn’t just feed earth alone, It seeps through hearts and lifts the soul’s tone.

This poem reflects the intricate dance between inner turmoil and outward resilience. It explores how, in moments of deep emotional struggle, seemingly superficial acts of self-care—like tending to your appearance—can offer more than just surface comfort. They become a lifeline, a way to reclaim control and rediscover hope. Sometimes, nurturing outer beauty isn’t vanity; it’s a creative expression, a shield, and a source of strength that helps us navigate through the darkness. This piece celebrates how small, external gestures can spark inner healing and guide us past the shadows, reminding us that beauty, even in its most visible form, has the power to sustain and empower. When I was all hollow, dead inside, Skin and bones, that broken-eyed, There it was, my vanity bright— "Girl, an ugly corpse? Not quite my vibe." Pretty ain’t just surface gloss, Sometimes it’s the shield, the boss, When the bubbly zest had almost gone, I leaned on beauty and sang my song. Darkness tried to ...

  Here come the men who love their pride, With “culture” on speed dial, their mothers beside them. They want a wife who’ll light the lamp, While they scroll through pages of virtual vamp. They call themselves leaders, oh so wise, But sex ed is a topic they just despise. If you ask them about anatomy's flow, They’ll stammer, then boast about paychecks to show. Progressive now, they’ll have you believe, Because daughters study, and daughters leave The home to work—but don’t go too far, Or they’ll pull you right back by some invisible bar. They crave the respect, the honour, the fame, Yet when faced with real talk, they’re quick to shame. These "modern men" with their ancient views— One foot in the past, and the other confused. Oh, fools of entitlement, kings of the mud, With egos so fragile, they’re bound to flood At the slightest nudge of applied insight— They’ll laugh, then pull you out of their sight. So here’s to these men, these leaders so grand, With “values” in one, ...