introduction

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If any body in calcutta wants to know the identity & address of Mohammad Patanjali a more familiar person to calcutta,would rather ask"where's the man's house who loved Ilayaraja & a.r.rahman &and acted as a distributer a few years ago" than "where's the house of Mohammod Patanjali, the ex-pollution contoller officer "for he is more known by his favourism towards the elite than in his own favour. The word 'house' in the above sentence should be replaced by 'historic monument' in the next expergated edition of this story , thanks to the C.B.I who have extrapolated the adventures of the great patroit due to thier misperceptions regarding his nexus with Bin Laden and his sudden diappearance , which made me really moved & atlast write his life story.

                                           k.r.sanjeev kanth

                                                krskanth.
                                                ---------

    He is a poet. he wrote his poems on his letter pad. and those are ........
prolouge:-
  All was that Iam a man with altristicm and humanity
  Travelling with my bengali pen , inkling over coartships,
  To the dulcet dances of the distant woods mans hips,
  My perversions kept to myself and nothing in wrong to manity
  But to the gilt of love,I earthned my wound unvieled by her feminity
  Then opening my eyes, i saw to where it trips
  Almost a half in hades in my nips
  The world as it is and will be in its family
  In koma i felt a more sweet dream
  Frustrated to mans paradoxical life
  As stubborn as a stone until the hour turns fatal
  For poor man's tears and his fears to beam
  A sinister flowers with an aweful dream on my fore head still to me rife
  To what i travel to my mother mantle

  Let me draw my mother of east
  Stretching her hand over bengal in shy of bride
  Kanyakumari standing over the flowers of spring hide
  The spirit of unity , the inspiring culture for the west
  Let me draw my mother of christ
  Raising her head to grab the paki purdah over kashmir tide.
  While on its way was shown jasmine over her beatous braid.
  The goa in soul , the millinium in the birds nest.
  Let me draw her dreams as classics we find in novel muster
  Though austere we love to see the rain drops falling over tender leaves
  So do we to see children running, pulling tutters over their heads &shoulders
  Let me kiss the monalisa of my mother
  And as we like the invasions of babri masjid &inversionof oppressors &grievers
  So do we find our civilization raising deserts & our emotions in holy wars.
                      
  Let me kiss the monalisa of my mother
  For i dont know where i lead my way and where it leads me
  But if possible i cannot think of the subtle thing but join chorus in the song.
  _
  I write the poem he wrote on his letter pad , the dreams he dreamt  in  his doze
  But never expect anyone of you to ask for evidences