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There is a single mantra that has been passed down through generations in our family, and I am sure in many others. One of the most important things we believe in is "sakkaram" or self-sacrifice. I think every person on this planet does not do enough to make it a reality by giving back to society and following their hearts and dreams, whatever they may be. Self-sacrifice is easily one of the best things you can give your loved ones, your peers, your community. I see the world as it is. Unfortunate, chaotic, turbulent. That's life. Some people are more fortunate than others; some people are more unfortunate than others; some people are more fortunate or unfortunate than others; despite of that, we all share the same human experience and emotions together. I take it upon myself to help those who have been spoiled, or have been forgotten by their families or communities, or have been an outcast in society at any given point in time. It doesn't matter what race a person is from, a person's humanity can not be denied no matter what he may be from. My name is "Rajadurai" or "Raja". I come from a unique family where everyone is named after ancient Tamil kings, queens, generals and princesses. My parents are Karikala Chola and Kundavai Chola, my brother is Sundara Chola, my sister is Parantaka Chola II; my uncle is Rajendra Chola; my grandmother was Vaanamadevi also known as Vaanamalai (Meaning: Protector of the Land). I think that's all the names before me I can remember. My earliest childhood memory is running through forests holding on to the loose fabric of my father's dhoti. I remember how well I was able to run in that cotton fabric. I loved the loose texture of the fabric, and I loved the way it felt when it brushed against my skin. I used to make faces at everything my father said, even though he looked angry or upset. I always thought he was too angry with me, but if he did not yell at me for doing something wrong, I would go running after him because I did not understand why he was so angry about anything. I loved that old building which is now our house, but then it used to be a temple. It' s probably because of the smells which are lingering in this building that are still very strong today. It's the smell of flowers, of flowers whose colors have faded. I remember there is one particular time where I would cry for hours and hours, and my father is just telling me not to do that. He was trying to sing me a little song, but I refused to listen to him, because whenever he sang to me it made me sad. So he pulled out a knife from his pocket and threatened to cut our fingers off if I did not listen, which was bound to work since then I would listen to what he said anyway. One day my mother took me on a trip around the city with her, an old lady who used be an incarnation of Kannagi or Kali or something like that. cfa1e77820
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