Peer pressure Essay

à ¤ ªÃ  ¥â‚¬Ã  ¤ ¯Ã  ¤ ° à ¤ ªÃ  ¥ Ã  ¤ °Ã  ¥â€¡Ã  ¤ ¶Ã  ¤ °Ã¢â‚¬â„¢ à ¤Å"à ¤ ¹Ã  ¤ ¾Ã  ¤â€š à ¤â€¦Ã  ¤ §Ã  ¤ ¿Ã  ¤â€¢Ã  ¤ ¤Ã  ¤ ° à ¤ ¨Ã  ¤â€¢Ã  ¤ ¾Ã  ¤ °Ã  ¤ ¾Ã  ¤ ¤Ã  ¥ Ã  ¤ ®Ã  ¤â€¢ à ¤ ¢Ã  ¤â€šÃ  ¤â€" à ¤ ¸Ã  ¥â€¡ à ¤ ¤Ã  ¥ Ã  ¤ ®Ã  ¥ Ã  ¤ ¹Ã  ¥â€¡Ã  ¤â€š à ¤ ªÃ  ¥ Ã  ¤ °Ã  ¤ ­Ã  ¤ ¾Ã  ¤ µÃ  ¤ ¿Ã  ¤ ¤ à ¤â€¢Ã  ¤ °Ã  ¤ ¤Ã  ¤ ¾ à ¤ ¹Ã  ¥Ë†, à ¤ µÃ  ¤ ¹Ã  ¥â‚¬Ã  ¤â€š à ¤ ¯Ã  ¤ ¹ à ¤ ¸Ã  ¤â€¢Ã  ¤ ¾Ã  ¤ °Ã  ¤ ¾Ã  ¤ ¤Ã  ¥ Ã  ¤ ®Ã  ¤â€¢ à ¤ ­Ã  ¥â‚¬ à ¤ ¹Ã  ¥â€¹ à ¤ ¸Ã  ¤â€¢Ã  ¤ ¤Ã  ¤ ¾ à ¤ ¹Ã  ¥Ë† à ¤ ¯Ã  ¤ ¾Ã  ¤ ¨Ã  ¥â‚¬ à ¤ ¹Ã  ¤ ®Ã  ¤â€°Ã  ¤ ®Ã  ¥ Ã  ¤ ° à ¤ ¦Ã  ¥â€¹Ã  ¤ ¸Ã  ¥ Ã  ¤ ¤Ã  ¥â€¹Ã  ¤â€š à ¤ ¦Ã  ¥ Ã  ¤ µÃ  ¤ ¾Ã  ¤ °Ã  ¤ ¾ à ¤ ¡Ã  ¤ ¾Ã  ¤ ²Ã  ¤ ¾ à ¤Å"à ¤ ¾Ã  ¤ ¨Ã  ¥â€¡ à ¤ µÃ  ¤ ¾Ã  ¤ ²Ã  ¤ ¾ à ¤ ¯Ã  ¤ ¹ à ¤ ¦Ã  ¤ ¬Ã  ¤ ¾Ã  ¤ µ à ¤Å"à ¥Ë†Ã  ¤ ¸Ã  ¥â€¡ à ¤â€"à ¤ ²Ã  ¤ ¤ à ¤â€¢Ã  ¤ ¾Ã  ¤ ®Ã  ¥â€¹Ã  ¤â€š à ¤â€¢Ã  ¥â€¡ à ¤ ²Ã  ¤ ¿Ã  ¤  à ¤ ¹Ã  ¥â€¹ à ¤ ¸Ã  ¤â€¢Ã  ¤ ¤Ã  ¤ ¾ à ¤ ¹Ã  ¥Ë†, à ¤â€°Ã  ¤ ¸Ã  ¥â‚¬ à ¤ ¤Ã  ¤ °Ã  ¤ ¹ à ¤ ¯Ã  ¤ ¹ à ¤â€¢Ã  ¤Ë† à ¤ ¬Ã  ¤ ¾Ã  ¤ ° à ¤ ¤Ã  ¥ Ã  ¤ ® à ¤ ªÃ  ¤ ° à ¤ ¯Ã  ¤ ¾ à ¤ ¤Ã  ¥ Ã  ¤ ®Ã  ¥ Ã  ¤ ¹Ã  ¤ ¾Ã  ¤ °Ã  ¥â€¡ à ¤ ¦Ã  ¥â€¹Ã  ¤ ¸Ã  ¥ Ã  ¤ ¤Ã  ¥â€¹Ã  ¤â€š à ¤ ªÃ  ¤ ° à ¤â€¦Ã  ¤Å¡Ã  ¥ Ã  ¤â€ºÃ  ¤ ¾ à ¤ ªÃ  ¥ Ã  ¤ °Ã  ¤ ­Ã  ¤ ¾Ã  ¤ µ à ¤ ­Ã  ¥â‚¬ à ¤ ¡Ã  ¤ ¾Ã  ¤ ² à ¤ ¸Ã  ¤â€¢Ã  ¤ ¤Ã  ¤ ¾ à ¤ ¹Ã  ¥Ë†Ã  ¥ ¤ ‘à ¤ ªÃ  ¥â‚¬Ã  ¤ ¯Ã  ¤ ° à ¤ ªÃ  ¥ Ã  ¤ °Ã  ¥â€¡Ã  ¤ ¶Ã  ¤ °Ã¢â‚¬â„¢ à ¤ ¯Ã  ¤ ¾Ã  ¤ ¨Ã  ¥â‚¬ à ¤â€¦Ã  ¤ ªÃ  ¤ ¨Ã  ¥â€¡ à ¤ ¹Ã  ¤ ®Ã  ¤â€°Ã  ¤ ®Ã  ¥ Ã  ¤ ° à ¤ ¦Ã  ¥â€¹Ã  ¤ ¸Ã  ¥ Ã  ¤ ¤Ã  ¥â€¹Ã  ¤â€š à ¤â€¢Ã  ¥â€¡ à ¤ ªÃ  ¥ Ã  ¤ °Ã  ¤ ­Ã  ¤ ¾Ã  ¤ µ à ¤ ®Ã  ¥â€¡Ã  ¤â€š à ¤â€ Ã  ¤â€¢Ã  ¤ ° à ¤â€¢Ã  ¤ ¿Ã  ¤ ¯Ã  ¤ ¾ à ¤Å"à ¤ ¾Ã  ¤ ¨Ã  ¥â€¡ à ¤ µÃ  ¤ ¾Ã  ¤ ²Ã  ¤ ¾ à ¤â€¢Ã  ¤ ¾Ã  ¤ °Ã  ¥ Ã  ¤ ¯, à ¤Å"à ¥â€¹ à ¤Å"à ¤ ¿Ã  ¤ ¤Ã  ¤ ¨Ã  ¤ ¾ à ¤ ¨Ã  ¤â€¢Ã  ¤ ¾Ã  ¤ °Ã  ¤ ¾Ã  ¤ ¤Ã  ¥ Ã  ¤ ®Ã  ¤â€¢ à ¤ ¹Ã  ¥â€¹ à ¤ ¸Ã  ¤â€¢Ã  ¤ ¤Ã  ¤ ¾ à ¤ ¹Ã  ¥Ë†, à ¤â€°Ã  ¤ ¤Ã  ¤ ¨Ã  ¤ ¾ à ¤ ¹Ã  ¥â‚¬ à ¤ ¯Ã  ¤ ¹ à ¤ «Ã  ¤ ¾Ã  ¤ ¯Ã  ¤ ¦Ã  ¥â€¡Ã  ¤ ®Ã  ¤â€šÃ  ¤ ¦ à ¤ ­Ã  ¥â‚¬ à ¤ ¹Ã  ¥â€¹ à ¤ ¸Ã  ¤â€¢Ã  ¤ ¤Ã  ¤ ¾ à ¤ ¹Ã  ¥Ë†, à ¤Å"à ¥Ë†Ã  ¤ ¸Ã  ¥â€¡ à ¤â€¢Ã  ¤ ¿ à ¤â€¦Ã  ¤â€"à ¤ ° à ¤ ¤Ã  ¥ Ã  ¤ ®Ã  ¥ Ã  ¤ ¹Ã  ¥â€¡Ã  ¤â€š à ¤ °Ã  ¥â‚¬Ã  ¤ ¡Ã  ¤ ¿Ã  ¤â€šÃ  ¤â€" à ¤â€¢Ã  ¤ ¾ à ¤ ¬Ã  ¤ ¹Ã  ¥ Ã  ¤ ¤ à ¤ ¶Ã  ¥Å'à ¤â€¢ à ¤ ¹Ã  ¥Ë† à ¤ ¤Ã  ¥â€¹ à ¤ ¹Ã  ¥â€¹ à ¤ ¸Ã  ¤â€¢Ã  ¤ ¤Ã  ¤ ¾ à ¤ ¹Ã  ¥Ë† à ¤â€¢Ã  ¤ ¿ à ¤ ¤Ã  ¥ Ã  ¤ ® à ¤â€¦Ã  ¤ ªÃ  ¤ ¨Ã  ¥â‚¬ à ¤ ªÃ  ¤ ¢Ã  ¤ ¼Ã  ¥â‚¬ à ¤â€"à ¤Ë† à ¤â€¦Ã  ¤Å¡Ã  ¥ Ã  ¤â€ºÃ  ¥â‚¬ à ¤â€¢Ã  ¤ ¿Ã  ¤ ¤Ã  ¤ ¾Ã  ¤ ¬Ã  ¥â€¹Ã  ¤â€š à ¤â€¢Ã  ¥â€¡ à ¤ ¬Ã  ¤ ¾Ã  ¤ °Ã  ¥â€¡ à ¤ ®Ã  ¥â€¡Ã  ¤â€š à ¤ ¬Ã  ¤ ¤Ã  ¤ ¾ à ¤â€¢Ã  ¤ ° à ¤â€¦Ã  ¤ ªÃ  ¤ ¨Ã  ¥â€¡ à ¤ ¹Ã  ¤ ®Ã  ¤â€°Ã  ¤ ®Ã  ¥ Ã  ¤ ° à ¤ ¦Ã  ¥â€¹Ã  ¤ ¸Ã  ¥ Ã  ¤ ¤Ã  ¥â€¹Ã  ¤â€š à ¤â€¢Ã  ¥â€¹ à ¤ ªÃ  ¥ Ã  ¤ °Ã  ¤ ­Ã  ¤ ¾Ã  ¤ µÃ  ¤ ¿Ã  ¤ ¤ à ¤â€¢Ã  ¤ ° à ¤ ¸Ã  ¤â€¢Ã  ¤ ¤Ã  ¥â€¡ à ¤ ¹Ã  ¥â€¹ à ¤â€Ã  ¤ ° à ¤ «Ã  ¤ ¿Ã  ¤ ° à ¤ µÃ  ¥â€¡ à ¤ ­Ã  ¥â‚¬ à ¤ ¤Ã  ¥ Ã  ¤ ®Ã  ¤ ¸Ã  ¥â€¡ à ¤ ªÃ  ¥ Ã  ¤ °Ã  ¤ ­Ã  ¤ ¾Ã  ¤ µÃ  ¤ ¿Ã  ¤ ¤ à ¤ ¹Ã  ¥â€¹Ã  ¤â€¢Ã  ¤ ° à ¤â€¦Ã  ¤Å¡Ã  ¥ Ã  ¤â€ºÃ  ¥â‚¬ à ¤â€¢Ã  ¤ ¿Ã  ¤ ¤Ã  ¤ ¾Ã  ¤ ¬Ã  ¥â€¡Ã  ¤â€š à ¤ ªÃ  ¤ ¢Ã  ¤ ¼Ã  ¤ ¨Ã  ¥â€¡ à ¤ ²Ã  ¤â€"à ¥â€¡Ã  ¤â€šÃ  ¤â€"à ¥â€¡Ã  ¥ ¤ à ¤â€¡Ã  ¤ ¸Ã  ¥â‚¬ à ¤ ¤Ã  ¤ °Ã  ¤ ¹ à ¤ ¹Ã  ¥â€¹ à ¤ ¸Ã  ¤â€¢Ã  ¤ ¤Ã  ¤ ¾ à ¤ ¹Ã  ¥Ë† à ¤â€¢Ã  ¤ ¿ à ¤ ¤Ã  ¥ Ã  ¤ ® à ¤ ­Ã  ¥â‚¬ à ¤ ¸Ã  ¥ Ã  ¤ ªÃ  ¥â€¹Ã  ¤ °Ã  ¥ Ã  ¤Å¸Ã  ¥ Ã  ¤ ¸ à ¤ ¯Ã  ¤ ¾ à ¤ ªÃ  ¤ ¢Ã  ¤ ¼Ã  ¤ ¾Ã  ¤Ë† à ¤ ®Ã  ¥â€¡Ã  ¤â€š à ¤ ¹Ã  ¥â‚¬ à ¤ ¬Ã  ¤ ¹Ã  ¥ Ã  ¤ ¤ à ¤â€¦Ã  ¤Å¡Ã  ¥ Ã  ¤â€ºÃ  ¥â€¡ à ¤â€¦Ã  ¤ ªÃ  ¤ ¨Ã  ¥â€¡ à ¤ ¦Ã  ¥â€¹Ã  ¤ ¸Ã  ¥ Ã  ¤ ¤Ã  ¥â€¹Ã  ¤â€š à ¤ ¸Ã  ¥â€¡ à ¤ ªÃ  ¥ Ã  ¤ °Ã  ¤ ­Ã  ¤ ¾Ã  ¤ µÃ  ¤ ¿Ã  ¤ ¤ à ¤ ¹Ã  ¥â€¹Ã  ¤â€¢Ã  ¤ ° à ¤â€°Ã  ¤ ¨Ã  ¥ Ã  ¤ ¹Ã  ¥â‚¬Ã  ¤â€š à ¤â€¢Ã  ¥â‚¬ à ¤ ¤Ã  ¤ °Ã  ¤ ¹ à ¤ ¸Ã  ¥ Ã  ¤ ªÃ  ¥â€¹Ã  ¤ °Ã  ¥ Ã  ¤Å¸Ã  ¥ Ã  ¤ ¸ à ¤ ¯Ã  ¤ ¾ à ¤ ªÃ  ¤ ¢Ã  ¤ ¼Ã  ¤ ¾Ã  ¤Ë† à ¤ ®Ã  ¥â€¡Ã  ¤â€š à ¤ ¬Ã  ¥â€¡Ã  ¤ ¹Ã  ¤ ¤Ã  ¤ ° à ¤ ¬Ã  ¤ ¨ à ¤Å"à ¤ ¾Ã  ¤â€œÃ  ¥ ¤ à ¤ ¯Ã  ¤ ¾Ã  ¤ ¨Ã  ¥â‚¬ à ¤ ¤Ã  ¥ Ã  ¤ ® à ¤Å¡Ã  ¤ ¾Ã  ¤ ¹Ã  ¥â€¹ à ¤ ¤Ã  ¥â€¹ ‘à ¤ ªÃ  ¥â‚¬Ã  ¤ ¯Ã  ¤ ° à ¤ ªÃ  ¥ Ã  ¤ °Ã  ¥â€¡Ã  ¤ ¶Ã  ¤ °Ã¢â‚¬â„¢ à ¤â€¢Ã  ¥â€¹ à ¤â€°Ã  ¤ ¸Ã  ¤â€¢Ã  ¥â€¡ à ¤â€¦Ã  ¤Å¡Ã  ¥ Ã  ¤â€ºÃ  ¥â€¡ à ¤ °Ã  ¥â€šÃ  ¤ ª à ¤ ®Ã  ¥â€¡Ã  ¤â€š à ¤â€¦Ã  ¤ ªÃ  ¤ ¨Ã  ¤ ¾ à ¤ ¸Ã  ¤â€¢Ã  ¤ ¤Ã  ¥â€¡ à ¤ ¹Ã  ¥â€¹Ã  ¥ ¤ à ¤â€¦Ã  ¤Å¡Ã  ¥ Ã  ¤â€ºÃ  ¥â‚¬ à ¤ ¬Ã  ¤ ¾Ã  ¤ ¤Ã  ¥â€¡Ã  ¤â€š à ¤ ¸Ã  ¥â‚¬Ã  ¤â€"à ¤ ¨Ã  ¥â€¡ à ¤â€¢Ã  ¥â€¡ à ¤ ²Ã  ¤ ¿Ã  ¤  à ¤â€Ã  ¤ ° à ¤ ¸Ã  ¥ Ã  ¤ µÃ  ¤ ¸Ã  ¥ Ã  ¤ ¥ à ¤ ªÃ  ¥ Ã  ¤ °Ã  ¤ ¤Ã  ¤ ¿Ã  ¤ ¸Ã  ¥ Ã  ¤ ªÃ  ¤ °Ã  ¥ Ã  ¤ §Ã  ¤ ¾ à ¤â€¢Ã  ¥â€¡ à ¤ ²Ã  ¤ ¿Ã  ¤  à ¤ ­Ã  ¥â‚¬ à ¤ ¯Ã  ¤ ¹ à ¤ ¤Ã  ¥ Ã  ¤ ®Ã  ¥ Ã  ¤ ¹Ã  ¥â€¡Ã  ¤â€š à ¤ ¹Ã  ¤ ° à ¤â€¢Ã  ¤ ¾Ã  ¤ ® à ¤ ®Ã  ¥â€¡Ã  ¤â€š à ¤ ¬Ã  ¥â€¡Ã  ¤ ¹Ã  ¤ ¤Ã  ¤ ° à ¤ ¬Ã  ¤ ¨Ã  ¤ ¾Ã  ¤ Ã  ¤â€"à ¤ ¾Ã  ¥ ¤ à ¤â€¡Ã  ¤ ¸Ã  ¤â€¢Ã  ¥â€¡ à ¤â€¦Ã  ¤ ²Ã  ¤ ¾Ã  ¤ µÃ  ¤ ¾, à ¤ µÃ  ¤ °Ã  ¥ Ã  ¤Å"à ¥â‚¬Ã  ¤ ¨Ã  ¤ ¿Ã  ¤ ¯Ã  ¤ ¾ à ¤ µÃ  ¤ ¿Ã  ¤ ¶Ã  ¥ Ã  ¤ µÃ  ¤ µÃ  ¤ ¿Ã  ¤ ¦Ã  ¥ Ã  ¤ ¯Ã  ¤ ¾Ã  ¤ ²Ã  ¤ ¯ à ¤ ®Ã  ¥â€¡Ã  ¤â€š à ¤â€¢Ã  ¤ ¿Ã  ¤  à ¤â€"à ¤  à ¤ Ã  ¤â€¢ à ¤â€¦Ã  ¤ §Ã  ¥ Ã  ¤ ¯Ã  ¤ ¯Ã  ¤ ¨ à ¤ ®Ã  ¥â€¡Ã  ¤â€š à ¤Å"à ¤ ¾Ã  ¤ ¹Ã  ¤ ¿Ã  ¤ °Ã  ¤ ¾ à ¤ ¤Ã  ¥Å'à ¤ ° à ¤ ªÃ  ¤ ° 12 à ¤â€Ã  ¤ ° 13 à ¤â€¢Ã  ¥â‚¬ à ¤â€°Ã  ¤ ®Ã  ¥ Ã  ¤ ° à ¤â€¢Ã  ¥â€¡ à ¤â€ Ã  ¤ ¸Ã  ¤ ªÃ  ¤ ¾Ã  ¤ ¸ à ¤ ¦Ã  ¤ ¬Ã  ¤ ¾Ã  ¤ µ à ¤ ¸Ã  ¤ ¹Ã  ¤â€¢Ã  ¤ °Ã  ¥ Ã  ¤ ®Ã  ¥â‚¬ à ¤ ¸Ã  ¥â€¡ à ¤â€¦Ã  ¤ µÃ  ¤â€"à ¤ ¤ à ¤â€¢Ã  ¤ °Ã  ¤ ¾Ã  ¤ ¯Ã  ¤ ¾ à ¤â€"à ¤ ¯Ã  ¤ ¾ à ¤ ¹Ã  ¥Ë† à ¤Å"à ¥â€¹ à ¤ ¬Ã  ¤Å¡Ã  ¥ Ã  ¤Å¡Ã  ¥â€¹Ã  ¤â€š à ¤â€¢Ã  ¥â€¹ à ¤â€¦Ã  ¤ §Ã  ¤ ¿Ã  ¤â€¢ à ¤ ¨Ã  ¤ ¹Ã  ¥â‚¬Ã  ¤â€š à ¤ ¥Ã  ¥â€¡ à ¤Å"à ¥â€¹ à ¤ ²Ã  ¥â€¹Ã  ¤â€"à ¥â€¹Ã  ¤â€š à ¤â€¢Ã  ¥â‚¬ à ¤ ¤Ã  ¥ Ã  ¤ ²Ã  ¤ ¨Ã  ¤ ¾ à ¤ ®Ã  ¥â€¡Ã  ¤â€š à ¤â€¦Ã  ¤Å¡Ã  ¥ Ã  ¤â€ºÃ  ¥â‚¬ à ¤ ¤Ã  ¤ °Ã  ¤ ¹ à ¤ ¸Ã  ¥â€¡ à ¤ ¸Ã  ¤ ®Ã  ¤ ¾Ã  ¤ ¯Ã  ¥â€¹Ã  ¤Å"à ¤ ¿Ã  ¤ ¤ à ¤ ¹Ã  ¥â€¹ à ¤â€"à ¤ ¯Ã  ¤ ¾ à ¤ ¹Ã  ¥Ë† à ¤â€¢Ã  ¤ ¿ à ¤ ªÃ  ¤ ¤Ã  ¤ ¾ à ¤Å¡Ã  ¤ ²Ã  ¤ ¾ à ¤ ¹Ã  ¥Ë†. à ¤ ¯Ã  ¤ ¹ à ¤ ¹Ã  ¤ ¾Ã  ¤ ¨Ã  ¤ ¿Ã  ¤â€¢Ã  ¤ ¾Ã  ¤ °Ã  ¤â€¢ à ¤ ¸Ã  ¥â€¡ à ¤Å"à ¥ Ã  ¤ ¯Ã  ¤ ¾Ã  ¤ ¦Ã  ¤ ¾ à ¤ «Ã  ¤ ¾Ã  ¤ ¯Ã  ¤ ¦Ã  ¥â€¡Ã  ¤ ®Ã  ¤â€šÃ  ¤ ¦ à ¤ ¹Ã  ¥Ë† à ¤ ¸Ã  ¤ ¾Ã  ¤ ¥Ã  ¤ ¿Ã  ¤ ¯Ã  ¥â€¹Ã  ¤â€š à ¤â€¢Ã  ¥â€¡ à ¤ ¦Ã  ¤ ¬Ã  ¤ ¾Ã  ¤ µ à ¤ ¹Ã  ¤ ®Ã  ¥â€¡Ã  ¤ ¶Ã  ¤ ¾ à ¤ ¬Ã  ¥ Ã  ¤ °Ã  ¤ ¾ à ¤ ¨Ã  ¤ ¹Ã  ¥â‚¬Ã  ¤â€š à ¤ ¹Ã  ¥Ë†. à ¤ ¯Ã  ¤ ¹ à ¤ ¤Ã  ¥ Ã  ¤ ® à ¤â€¦Ã  ¤ ªÃ  ¤ ¨Ã  ¥â€¡ à ¤â€ Ã  ¤ ª à ¤â€¢Ã  ¥â€¹ à ¤ ªÃ  ¥ Ã  ¤ °Ã  ¤ ¤Ã  ¤ ¿Ã  ¤ ¬Ã  ¤ ¿Ã  ¤â€šÃ  ¤ ¬Ã  ¤ ¿Ã  ¤ ¤ à ¤â€¢Ã  ¤ ° à ¤ ¸Ã  ¤â€¢Ã  ¤ ¤Ã  ¥â€¡ à ¤ ¹Ã  ¥Ë†Ã  ¤â€š. à ¤ ¸Ã  ¤ ¾Ã  ¤ ¥Ã  ¤ ¿Ã  ¤ ¯Ã  ¥â€¹Ã  ¤â€š à ¤â€ Ã  ¤ ª à ¤â€¦Ã  ¤Å¡Ã  ¥ Ã  ¤â€ºÃ  ¥â‚¬ à ¤ ¬Ã  ¤ ¾Ã  ¤ ¤Ã  ¥â€¡Ã  ¤â€š à ¤ ¸Ã  ¤ ¿Ã  ¤â€"à ¤ ¾Ã  ¤ ¨Ã  ¥â€¡ à ¤â€Ã  ¤ ° à ¤â€ Ã  ¤ ª à ¤â€°Ã  ¤ ¨Ã  ¥ Ã  ¤ ¹Ã  ¥â€¡Ã  ¤â€š à ¤â€¢Ã  ¤ ¾ à ¤ ªÃ  ¤ ¾Ã  ¤ ²Ã  ¤ ¨ à ¤â€¢Ã  ¤ °Ã  ¤ ¨Ã  ¥â€¡ à ¤â€¢Ã  ¥â€¡ à ¤ ²Ã  ¤ ¿Ã  ¤  à ¤ ªÃ  ¥ Ã  ¤ °Ã  ¥â€¹Ã  ¤ ¤Ã  ¥ Ã  ¤ ¸Ã  ¤ ¾Ã  ¤ ¹Ã  ¤ ¿Ã  ¤ ¤ à ¤â€¢Ã  ¤ ° à ¤ ¸Ã  ¤â€¢Ã  ¤ ¤Ã  ¥â€¡ à ¤ ¹Ã  ¥Ë†Ã  ¤â€š. à ¤â€¢Ã  ¥ Ã  ¤ ¯Ã  ¤ ¾ à ¤ ¦Ã  ¥â€šÃ  ¤ ¸Ã  ¤ °Ã  ¥â€¹Ã  ¤â€š à ¤â€¢Ã  ¥â€¹ à ¤ ¦Ã  ¥â€¡Ã  ¤â€"à ¤ ¤Ã  ¥â€¡ à ¤ ¹Ã  ¥Ë†Ã  ¤â€š, à ¤ ¤Ã  ¥â€¹ à ¤â€ Ã  ¤ ª à ¤ ¸Ã  ¥â€¹Ã  ¤Å¡Ã  ¤ ¨Ã  ¥â€¡ à ¤â€¢Ã  ¥â€¡ à ¤ ¤Ã  ¤ °Ã  ¥â‚¬Ã  ¤â€¢Ã  ¥â€¡ à ¤ ®Ã  ¥â€¡Ã  ¤â€š à ¤ Ã  ¤â€¢ à ¤ ¸Ã  ¤â€¢Ã  ¤ ¾Ã  ¤ °Ã  ¤ ¾Ã  ¤ ¤Ã  ¥ Ã  ¤ ®Ã  ¤â€¢ à ¤ ¬Ã  ¤ ¦Ã  ¤ ²Ã  ¤ ¾Ã  ¤ µ à ¤ ²Ã  ¤ ¾Ã  ¤ ¨Ã  ¥â€¡ à ¤ ®Ã  ¥â€¡Ã  ¤â€š à ¤ ®Ã  ¤ ¦Ã  ¤ ¦ à ¤â€¢Ã  ¤ ° à ¤ ¸Ã  ¤â€¢Ã  ¤ ¤Ã  ¥â€¡ à ¤ ¹Ã  ¥Ë†Ã  ¤â€š. à ¤â€ Ã  ¤ ª à ¤Å¡Ã  ¥ Ã  ¤ ¨Ã  ¤ ¿Ã  ¤â€šÃ  ¤ ¦Ã  ¤ ¾ à ¤Å¡Ã  ¥ Ã  ¤ ¨ à ¤ ¸Ã  ¤â€¢Ã  ¤ ¤Ã  ¥â€¡ à ¤ ¹Ã  ¥Ë†Ã  ¤â€š, à ¤ ¸Ã  ¤ ¾Ã  ¤ ¥Ã  ¤ ¿Ã  ¤ ¯Ã  ¥â€¹Ã  ¤â€š à ¤â€¢Ã  ¥â€¡ à ¤ ¦Ã  ¤ ¬Ã  ¤ ¾Ã  ¤ µ à ¤ ®Ã  ¥â€¡Ã  ¤â€š à ¤â€¢Ã  ¥ Ã  ¤â€º à ¤ ¸Ã  ¤â€¢Ã  ¤ ¾Ã  ¤ °Ã  ¤ ¾Ã  ¤ ¤Ã  ¥ Ã  ¤ ®Ã  ¤â€¢ à ¤ ¦Ã  ¤ ¿Ã  ¤ ¶Ã  ¤ ¾ à ¤ ®Ã  ¥â€¡Ã  ¤â€š à ¤ §Ã  ¤â€¢Ã  ¥ Ã  ¤â€¢Ã  ¤ ¾ à ¤â€¢Ã  ¤ ° à ¤ ¸Ã  ¤â€¢Ã  ¤ ¤Ã  ¥â€¡ à ¤ ¹Ã  ¥Ë†Ã  ¤â€š. à ¤â €°Ã  ¤ ¦Ã  ¤ ¾Ã  ¤ ¹Ã  ¤ °Ã  ¤ £ à ¤â€¢Ã  ¥â€¡ à ¤ ²Ã  ¤ ¿Ã  ¤ , à ¤ Ã  ¤â€¢ à ¤ ¬Ã  ¤Å¡Ã  ¥ Ã  ¤Å¡Ã  ¥â€¡ à ¤â€¢Ã  ¥â€¹ à ¤â€¦Ã  ¤ ªÃ  ¤ ¨Ã  ¥â€¡ à ¤â€¢Ã  ¥ Ã  ¤â€º à ¤ ¦Ã  ¥â€¹Ã  ¤ ¸Ã  ¥ Ã  ¤ ¤Ã  ¥â€¹Ã  ¤â€š à ¤â€¢Ã  ¥â€¹ à ¤ ¨Ã  ¤ ¿Ã  ¤ ¯Ã  ¤ ®Ã  ¤ ¿Ã  ¤ ¤ à ¤ °Ã  ¥â€šÃ  ¤ ª à ¤ ¸Ã  ¥â€¡ storybooks à ¤ ªÃ  ¤ ¢Ã  ¤ ¼Ã  ¤ ¨Ã  ¥â€¡ à ¤ ¯Ã  ¤ ¾ à ¤â€¢Ã  ¤ ¿ à ¤â€¢Ã  ¥â€¹Ã  ¤Ë† à ¤Å"à ¤ ¾Ã  ¤ ¨Ã  ¤ ¤Ã  ¤ ¾ à ¤ ¹Ã  ¥Ë† à ¤â€¢Ã  ¤ ¿ à ¤ µÃ  ¥â€¡ à ¤Å"à ¤ ¬ à ¤ µÃ  ¤ ¹ à ¤ Ã  ¤ ¸Ã  ¤ ¾ à ¤â€¢Ã  ¤ °Ã  ¤ ¨Ã  ¥â€¡ à ¤â€¢Ã  ¥â€¡ à ¤ ²Ã  ¤ ¿Ã  ¤  à ¤ ªÃ  ¤ °Ã  ¥â‚¬Ã  ¤â€¢Ã  ¥ Ã  ¤ ·Ã  ¤ ¾ à ¤â€¢Ã  ¤ ¾ à ¤ ®Ã  ¤ ¾Ã  ¤ ¨Ã  ¤ ¨Ã  ¤ ¾ ​​à ¤ ¹Ã  ¥Ë† à ¤ ­Ã  ¥â‚¬, à ¤ Ã  ¤â€¢ à ¤ ªÃ  ¥ Ã  ¤ ¸Ã  ¥ Ã  ¤ ¤Ã  ¤â€¢Ã  ¤ ¾Ã  ¤ ²Ã  ¤ ¯ à ¤â€¢Ã  ¥â‚¬ à ¤ ¸Ã  ¤ ¦Ã  ¤ ¸Ã  ¥ Ã  ¤ ¯Ã  ¤ ¤Ã  ¤ ¾ à ¤ ²Ã  ¥â‚¬ à ¤ ¹Ã  ¥Ë†. à ¤ µÃ  ¤ ¹ à ¤â€¦Ã  ¤ ªÃ  ¤ ¨Ã  ¥â€¡ à ¤ ¸Ã  ¤ ¾Ã  ¤ ¥Ã  ¤ ¿Ã  ¤ ¯Ã  ¥â€¹Ã  ¤â€š à ¤â€¢Ã  ¥â‚¬ à ¤ µÃ  ¤Å"à ¤ ¹ à ¤ ¸Ã  ¥ ‡ à ¤ ªÃ  ¤ ¢Ã  ¤ ¼Ã  ¤ ¨Ã  ¥â€¡ à ¤â€¢Ã  ¥â‚¬ à ¤â€ Ã  ¤ ¦Ã  ¤ ¤ à ¤ ®Ã  ¥â€¡Ã  ¤â€š à ¤ ¶Ã  ¤ ¾Ã  ¤ ®Ã  ¤ ¿Ã  ¤ ² à ¤ ¹Ã  ¥â€¹ à ¤ ¸Ã  ¤â€¢Ã  ¤ ¤Ã  ¤ ¾ à ¤ ¹Ã  ¥Ë†. à ¤â€¦Ã  ¤ ªÃ  ¤ ¨Ã  ¥â€¡ à ¤ ¦Ã  ¥â€¹Ã  ¤ ¸Ã  ¥ Ã  ¤ ¤Ã  ¥â€¹Ã  ¤â€š à ¤â€¢Ã  ¥â€¡ à ¤â€¢Ã  ¥ Ã  ¤â€º à ¤ ¦Ã  ¥Ë†Ã  ¤ ¨Ã  ¤ ¿Ã  ¤â€¢ à ¤ µÃ  ¥ Ã  ¤ ¯Ã  ¤ ¾Ã  ¤ ¯Ã  ¤ ¾Ã  ¤ ® à ¤ ¦Ã  ¥â€¡Ã  ¤â€" à ¤ °Ã  ¤ ¹Ã  ¤ ¾ à ¤ ¹Ã  ¥Ë† à ¤â€¢Ã  ¤ ¿, à ¤ ­Ã  ¤ ²Ã  ¥â€¡ à ¤ ¹Ã  ¥â‚¬ à ¤â€ Ã  ¤ ª à ¤â€ Ã  ¤ ¦Ã  ¤ ¤ à ¤ ²Ã  ¤â€" à ¤ ¸Ã  ¤â€¢Ã  ¤ ¤Ã  ¥â€¡ à ¤ ¹Ã  ¥Ë†Ã  ¤â€š. à ¤ ¸Ã  ¤â€¢Ã  ¤ ¾Ã  ¤ °Ã  ¤ ¾Ã  ¤ ¤Ã  ¥ Ã  ¤ ®Ã  ¤â€¢ à ¤ ¸Ã  ¤ ¾Ã  ¤ ¥Ã  ¤ ¿Ã  ¤ ¯Ã  ¥â€¹Ã  ¤â€š à ¤â€¢Ã  ¥â€¡ à ¤ ¦Ã  ¤ ¬Ã  ¤ ¾Ã  ¤ µ à ¤â€¢Ã  ¥â€¡ à ¤Å"à ¥â‚¬Ã  ¤ µÃ  ¤ ¨ à ¤ ®Ã  ¥â€¡Ã  ¤â€š à ¤â€¦Ã  ¤Å¡Ã  ¥ Ã  ¤â€ºÃ  ¥â‚¬ à ¤â€ Ã  ¤ ¦Ã  ¤ ¤Ã  ¥â€¹Ã  ¤â€š à ¤â€¢Ã  ¥â€¹ à ¤â€¦Ã  ¤ ªÃ  ¤ ¨Ã  ¤ ¾Ã  ¤ ¨Ã  ¥â€¡ à ¤â€¢Ã  ¥â€¡ à ¤ ²Ã  ¤ ¿Ã  ¤  à ¤â€ Ã  ¤ ª à ¤â€¢Ã  ¤ ¾ à ¤ ¨Ã  ¥â€¡Ã  ¤ ¤Ã  ¥Æ'à ¤ ¤Ã  ¥ Ã  ¤ µ à ¤â€ ¢Ã  ¤ ° à ¤ ¸Ã  ¤â€¢Ã  ¤ ¤Ã  ¥â€¡ à ¤ ¹Ã  ¥Ë†Ã  ¤â€š. à ¤â€¦Ã  ¤ ªÃ  ¤ ¨Ã  ¥â€¡ à ¤ ¸Ã  ¤ ¾Ã  ¤ ¥Ã  ¤ ¿Ã  ¤ ¯Ã  ¥â€¹Ã  ¤â€š, à ¤Å"à ¥â‚¬Ã  ¤ µÃ  ¤ ¨ à ¤â€¢Ã  ¥â€¡ à ¤â€°Ã  ¤ ¨Ã  ¤â€¢Ã  ¥â€¡ à ¤ µÃ  ¤ ¿Ã  ¤â€¢Ã  ¤ ²Ã  ¥ Ã  ¤ ª à ¤â€Ã  ¤ ° à ¤ ¤Ã  ¤ °Ã  ¥â‚¬Ã  ¤â€¢Ã  ¥â€¹Ã  ¤â€š à ¤ ¸Ã  ¥â€¡ à ¤â€ Ã  ¤ ª à ¤â€¦Ã  ¤ ªÃ  ¤ ¨Ã  ¥â€¡ à ¤ËœÃ  ¤ ° à ¤â€¢Ã  ¥â‚¬ à ¤Å¡Ã  ¤ ¾Ã  ¤ ° à ¤ ¦Ã  ¥â‚¬Ã  ¤ µÃ  ¤ ¾Ã  ¤ °Ã  ¥â€¹Ã  ¤â€š à ¤â€¢Ã  ¥â€¡ à ¤ ¬Ã  ¤ ¾Ã  ¤ ¹Ã  ¤ ° à ¤â€¢Ã  ¥â‚¬ à ¤ ¦Ã  ¥ Ã  ¤ ¨Ã  ¤ ¿Ã  ¤ ¯Ã  ¤ ¾ à ¤â€¢Ã  ¥â‚¬ à ¤ Ã  ¤â€¢ à ¤ Ã  ¤ ²Ã  ¤â€¢ à ¤ ¦Ã  ¥â€¡. à ¤â€¢Ã  ¥ Ã  ¤ ¯Ã  ¤ ¾ à ¤ µÃ  ¥â€¡ à ¤Å"à ¥â‚¬Ã  ¤ µÃ  ¤ ¨ à ¤ ®Ã  ¥â€¡Ã  ¤â€š à ¤Å¡Ã  ¥â‚¬Ã  ¤Å"à ¥â€¹Ã  ¤â€š à ¤â€¢Ã  ¥â€¡ à ¤ ¬Ã  ¤ ¾Ã  ¤ °Ã  ¥â€¡ à ¤ ®Ã  ¥â€¡Ã  ¤â€š à ¤ ¸Ã  ¥â€¹Ã  ¤Å¡Ã  ¤ ¤Ã  ¥â€¡ à ¤ ¹Ã  ¥Ë†Ã  ¤â€š, à ¤ µÃ  ¥â€¡ à ¤ ¸Ã  ¥ Ã  ¤ ¥Ã  ¤ ¿Ã  ¤ ¤Ã  ¤ ¿Ã  ¤ ¯Ã  ¥â€¹Ã  ¤â€š à ¤ ®Ã  ¥â€¡Ã  ¤â€š à ¤ ¦Ã  ¥â€¡Ã  ¤â€"à ¤ ¤Ã  ¥â‚¬ à ¤ ¹Ã  ¥Ë†, à ¤â€¢Ã  ¥Ë†Ã  ¤ ¸Ã  ¥â€ ¡ à ¤ µÃ  ¥â€¡ à ¤ µÃ  ¤ ¿Ã  ¤ ­Ã  ¤ ¿Ã  ¤ ¨Ã  ¥ Ã  ¤ ¨ à ¤ ªÃ  ¤ °Ã  ¤ ¿Ã  ¤ ¸Ã  ¥ Ã  ¤ ¥Ã  ¤ ¿Ã  ¤ ¤Ã  ¤ ¿Ã  ¤ ¯Ã  ¥â€¹Ã  ¤â€š à ¤ ®Ã  ¥â€¡Ã  ¤â€š à ¤â€¢Ã  ¤ ¿Ã  ¤ ¸ à ¤ ªÃ  ¥ Ã  ¤ °Ã  ¤â€¢Ã  ¤ ¾Ã  ¤ ° à ¤ ªÃ  ¥ Ã  ¤ °Ã  ¤ ¤Ã  ¤ ¿Ã  ¤â€¢Ã  ¥ Ã  ¤ °Ã  ¤ ¿Ã  ¤ ¯Ã  ¤ ¾ à ¤ µÃ  ¤ ¾Ã  ¤ ¸Ã  ¥ Ã  ¤ ¤Ã  ¤ µ à ¤ ®Ã  ¥â€¡Ã  ¤â€šÃ‚  Ã  ¤Å¡Ã  ¤ ¾Ã  ¤ °Ã  ¥â€¹Ã  ¤â€š à ¤â€œÃ  ¤ ° à ¤ ¦Ã  ¥ Ã  ¤ ¨Ã  ¤ ¿Ã  ¤ ¯Ã  ¤ ¾ à ¤â€¢Ã  ¥â€¹ à ¤ ¬Ã  ¥â€¡Ã  ¤ ¨Ã  ¤â€¢Ã  ¤ ¾Ã  ¤ ¬ à ¤â€¢Ã  ¤ ° à ¤ ¸Ã  ¤â€¢Ã  ¤ ¤Ã  ¥â€¡ à ¤ ¹Ã  ¥Ë†Ã  ¤â€š. à ¤ ¸Ã  ¤ ¾Ã  ¤ ¥Ã  ¤ ¿Ã  ¤ ¯Ã  ¥â€¹Ã  ¤â€š à ¤â€¢Ã  ¥â€¡ à ¤ Ã  ¤â€¢ à ¤ ¬Ã  ¤ ¡Ã  ¤ ¼Ã  ¥â€¡ à ¤ ¸Ã  ¤ ®Ã  ¥â€šÃ  ¤ ¹ à ¤â€¢Ã  ¤ ¾ à ¤ ¹Ã  ¤ ¿Ã  ¤ ¸Ã  ¥ Ã  ¤ ¸Ã  ¤ ¾ à ¤ ¹Ã  ¥â€¹Ã  ¤ ¨Ã  ¥â€¡ à ¤â€¢Ã  ¥â€¡ à ¤ ¨Ã  ¤ ¾Ã  ¤ ¤Ã  ¥â€¡ à ¤ ®Ã  ¤ ¾Ã  ¤ ¨Ã  ¤ µ à ¤ µÃ  ¥ Ã  ¤ ¯Ã  ¤ µÃ  ¤ ¹Ã  ¤ ¾Ã  ¤ ° à ¤ ®Ã  ¥â€¡Ã  ¤â€š à ¤ µÃ  ¤ ¿Ã  ¤ µÃ  ¤ ¿Ã  ¤ §Ã  ¤ ¤Ã  ¤ ¾ à ¤â€¢Ã  ¥â€¹ à ¤â€°Ã  ¤Å"à ¤ ¾Ã  ¤â€"à ¤ °. à ¤ ¯Ã  ¤ ¹ à ¤â€ Ã  ¤ ªÃ  ¤â€¢Ã  ¥â€¹ à ¤â€¦Ã  ¤ ªÃ  ¤ ¨Ã  ¥â€¡ à ¤ µÃ  ¥ Ã  ¤ ¯Ã  ¤ µÃ  ¤ ¹Ã  ¤ ¾Ã  ¤ ° à ¤ ªÃ  ¤ ° à ¤ ªÃ  ¥ Ã  ¤ °Ã  ¤ ¤Ã  ¤ ¿Ã  ¤ ¬Ã  ¤ ¿Ã  ¤â€šÃ  ¤ ¬Ã  ¤ ¿Ã  ¤ ¤ à ¤â€Ã  ¤ ° à ¤â€ Ã  ¤ ª à ¤â€¢Ã  ¤ ¹Ã  ¤ ¾Ã  ¤â€š à ¤â€"à ¤ ¡Ã  ¤ ¼Ã  ¥â€¡ à ¤ ¹Ã  ¥Ë†Ã  ¤â€š à ¤ ªÃ  ¤ ¤Ã  ¤ ¾ à ¤ ¬Ã  ¤ ¨Ã  ¤ ¾Ã  ¤ ¤Ã  ¤ ¾ à ¤ ¹Ã  ¥Ë†. à ¤ ¸Ã  ¤ ¾Ã  ¤ ¥Ã  ¤ ¿Ã  ¤ ¯Ã  ¥â€¹Ã  ¤â€š à ¤â€¢Ã  ¥â€¡ à ¤ ¦Ã  ¤ ¬Ã  ¤ ¾Ã  ¤ µ à ¤â€¢Ã  ¥â€¡ à ¤Å"à ¥â‚¬Ã  ¤ µÃ  ¤ ¨ à ¤ ®Ã  ¥â€¡Ã  ¤â€š à ¤ ¸Ã  ¤ ¹Ã  ¥â‚¬ à ¤ µÃ  ¤ ¿Ã  ¤â€¢Ã  ¤ ²Ã  ¥ Ã  ¤ ª à ¤ ¬Ã  ¤ ¨Ã  ¤ ¾Ã  ¤ ¨Ã  ¥â€¡ à ¤â€¢Ã  ¥â€¡ à ¤ ²Ã  ¤ ¿Ã  ¤  à ¤â€ Ã  ¤ ª à ¤â€¢Ã  ¤ ¾ à ¤ ¨Ã  ¥â€¡Ã  ¤ ¤Ã  ¥Æ'à ¤ ¤Ã  ¥ Ã  ¤ µ à ¤â€¢Ã  ¤ ° à ¤ ¸Ã  ¤â€¢Ã  ¤ ¤Ã  ¥â€¡ à ¤ ¹Ã  ¥Ë†Ã  ¤â€š. à ¤â€ Ã  ¤ ª à ¤ Ã  ¤â€¢ à ¤â€¦Ã  ¤Å¡Ã  ¥ Ã  ¤â€ºÃ  ¤ ¾ à ¤ ¸Ã  ¤ ¹Ã  ¤â€¢Ã  ¤ °Ã  ¥ Ã  ¤ ®Ã  ¥â‚¬ à ¤ ¸Ã  ¤ ®Ã  ¥â€šÃ  ¤ ¹ à ¤ ªÃ  ¤ ¾Ã  ¤ ¨Ã  ¥â€¡ à ¤â€¢Ã  ¥â€¡ à ¤ ²Ã  ¤ ¿Ã  ¤  à ¤â€¢Ã  ¤ ¾Ã  ¤ «Ã  ¥â‚¬ à ¤ ­Ã  ¤ ¾Ã  ¤â€"à ¥ Ã  ¤ ¯Ã  ¤ ¶Ã  ¤ ¾Ã  ¤ ²Ã  ¥â‚¬ à ¤ °Ã  ¤ ¹Ã  ¥â€¡ à ¤ ¹Ã  ¥Ë†Ã  ¤â€š, à ¤â€¦Ã  ¤ ªÃ  ¤ ¨Ã  ¥â€¡ à ¤ ¸Ã  ¤ ¾Ã  ¤ ¥Ã  ¤ ¿Ã  ¤ ¯Ã  ¥â€¹Ã  ¤â€š à ¤â€¢Ã  ¥â€¹ à ¤ Ã  ¤â€¢ à ¤ ¸Ã  ¤â€¢Ã  ¤ ¾Ã  ¤ °Ã  ¤ ¾Ã  ¤ ¤Ã  ¥ Ã  ¤ ®Ã  ¤â€¢ à ¤ °Ã  ¤ ¾Ã  ¤ ¸Ã  ¥ Ã  ¤ ¤Ã  ¥â€¡ à ¤ ®Ã  ¥â€¡Ã  ¤â€š à ¤â€¦Ã  ¤ ªÃ  ¤ ¨Ã  ¥â€¡ à ¤ µÃ  ¥ Ã  ¤ ¯Ã  ¤â€¢Ã  ¥ Ã  ¤ ¤Ã  ¤ ¿Ã  ¤ ¤Ã  ¥ Ã  ¤ µ à ¤â€¢Ã  ¥â€¹ à ¤â€ Ã  ¤â€¢Ã  ¤ ¾Ã  ¤ ° à ¤ ¦Ã  ¥â€¡Ã  ¤ ¨Ã  ¥â€¡ à ¤â€¢Ã  ¥â€¹ à ¤ ªÃ  ¥ Ã  ¤ °Ã  ¤ ­Ã  ¤ ¾Ã  ¤ µÃ  ¤ ¿Ã  ¤ ¤ à ¤â€¢Ã  ¤ ° à ¤ ¸Ã  ¤â€¢Ã  ¤ ¤Ã  ¥â€¡ à ¤ ¹Ã  ¥Ë†Ã  ¤â€š. à ¤â€°Ã  ¤ ¨Ã  ¤â€¢Ã  ¥â€¡ à ¤Å"à ¥â‚¬Ã  ¤ µÃ  ¤ ¨ à ¤â€¢Ã  ¥â€¡ à ¤ ªÃ  ¤ °Ã  ¤ ¿Ã  ¤ ªÃ  ¥ Ã  ¤ °Ã  ¥â€¡Ã  ¤â€¢Ã  ¥ Ã  ¤ ·Ã  ¥ Ã  ¤ ¯ à ¤ ¤Ã  ¥ Ã  ¤ ®Ã  ¥ Ã  ¤ ¹Ã  ¤ ¾Ã  ¤ °Ã  ¤ ¾ à ¤ ¬Ã  ¤ ¦Ã  ¤ ²Ã  ¤ ¨Ã  ¥â€¡ à ¤â€¢Ã  ¥â€¡ à ¤ ²Ã  ¤ ¿Ã  ¤  à ¤â€ Ã  ¤ ª à ¤â€¢Ã  ¤ ¾ à ¤ ¨Ã  ¥â€¡Ã  ¤ ¤Ã  ¥Æ'à ¤ ¤Ã  ¥ Ã  ¤ µ à ¤â€¢Ã  ¤ ° à ¤ ¸Ã  ¤â€¢Ã  ¤ ¤Ã  ¥â€¡ à ¤ ¹Ã  ¥Ë†Ã  ¤â€š. à ¤ ¯Ã  ¤ ¹ à ¤ ¹Ã  ¤ ° à ¤ ¸Ã  ¤ ®Ã  ¤ ¯ à ¤ ¦Ã  ¤ ¬Ã  ¤ ¾Ã  ¤ µ à ¤ ¨Ã  ¤ ¹Ã  ¥â‚¬Ã  ¤â€š à ¤ ¹Ã  ¥Ë†, à ¤â€ Ã  ¤ ª à ¤â€¦Ã  ¤Å¡Ã  ¥ Ã  ¤â€ºÃ  ¥â€¡ à ¤â€¢Ã  ¥â€¡ à ¤ ²Ã  ¤ ¿Ã  ¤  à ¤ ¬Ã  ¤ ¦Ã  ¤ ² à ¤ ¦Ã  ¥â€¡Ã  ¤ ¤Ã  ¤ ¾ à ¤ ¹Ã  ¥Ë† à ¤Å"à ¥â€¹ à ¤â€¢Ã  ¤ ­Ã  ¥â‚¬ à ¤â€¢Ã  ¤ ­Ã  ¥â‚¬ à ¤ ¯Ã  ¤ ¹ à ¤ ªÃ  ¥ Ã  ¤ °Ã  ¥â€¡Ã  ¤ °Ã  ¤ £Ã  ¤ ¾,. à ¤â€°Ã  ¤ ¦Ã  ¤ ¾Ã  ¤ ¹Ã  ¤ °Ã  ¤ £ à ¤â€¢Ã  ¥â€¡ à ¤ ²Ã  ¤ ¿Ã  ¤ , à ¤ ¸Ã  ¤â€¢Ã  ¤ ¾Ã  ¤ °Ã  ¤ ¾Ã  ¤ ¤Ã  ¥ Ã  ¤ ®Ã  ¤â€¢ à ¤ ¸Ã  ¤ ¾Ã  ¤ ¥Ã  ¤ ¿Ã  ¤ ¯Ã  ¥â€¹Ã  ¤â€š à ¤â€¢Ã  ¥â€¡ à ¤ ¦Ã  ¤ ¬Ã  ¤ ¾Ã  ¤ µ à ¤â€ Ã  ¤ ª à ¤ §Ã  ¥â€šÃ  ¤ ®Ã  ¥ Ã  ¤ °Ã  ¤ ªÃ  ¤ ¾Ã  ¤ ¨ à ¤â€ºÃ  ¥â€¹Ã  ¤ ¡Ã  ¤ ¼Ã  ¤ ¨Ã  ¥â€¡ à ¤ ¯Ã  ¤ ¾ à ¤ ¤Ã  ¥ Ã  ¤ ® à ¤ ¹Ã  ¥â€¹ à ¤ ¸Ã  ¤â€¢Ã  ¤ ¤Ã  ¤ ¾ à ¤ ¹Ã  ¥Ë† à ¤â€¢Ã  ¤ ¿ à ¤ ¬Ã  ¥ Ã  ¤ °Ã  ¥â‚¬ à ¤â€ Ã  ¤ ¦Ã  ¤ ¤Ã  ¥â€¹Ã  ¤â€š à ¤â€¢Ã  ¥â€¹ à ¤ ¦Ã  ¥â€¡Ã  ¤ ¨Ã  ¥â€¡ à ¤â€¢Ã  ¥â€¡ à ¤ ²Ã  ¤ ¿Ã  ¤  à ¤â€¢Ã  ¤ ° à ¤ ¸Ã  ¤â€¢Ã  ¤ ¤Ã  ¥â€¡ à ¤ ¹Ã  ¥Ë†Ã  ¤â€š. à ¤â€¦Ã  ¤ ªÃ  ¤ ¨Ã  ¥â€¡ à ¤ ¸Ã  ¤ ¾Ã  ¤ ¥Ã  ¤ ¿Ã  ¤ ¯Ã  ¥â€¹Ã  ¤â€š à ¤â€ Ã  ¤ ª à ¤â€¦Ã  ¤ §Ã  ¤ ¿Ã  ¤â€¢ à ¤â€ Ã  ¤ ¶Ã  ¤ ¾Ã  ¤ µÃ  ¤ ¾Ã  ¤ ¦Ã  ¥â‚¬ à ¤ ¯Ã  ¤ ¾ à ¤â€¦Ã  ¤ §Ã  ¤ ¿Ã  ¤â€¢ à ¤â€ Ã  ¤ ¤Ã  ¥ Ã  ¤ ®Ã  ¤ µÃ  ¤ ¿Ã  ¤ ¶Ã  ¥ Ã  ¤ µÃ  ¤ ¾Ã  ¤ ¸ à ¤ ¬Ã  ¤ ¨Ã  ¤ ¨Ã  ¥â€¡ à ¤â€¢Ã  ¥â€¡ à ¤ ²Ã  ¤ ¿Ã  ¤  à ¤ ªÃ  ¥ Ã  ¤ °Ã  ¥â€¡Ã  ¤ °Ã  ¤ ¿Ã  ¤ ¤ à ¤â€¢Ã  ¤ ° à ¤ ¸Ã  ¤â€¢Ã  ¤ ¤Ã  ¥â€¡ à ¤ ¹Ã  ¥Ë†Ã  ¤â€š. à ¤â€¦Ã  ¤ ªÃ  ¤ ¨Ã  ¥â€¡ à ¤ ¸Ã  ¤ ¾Ã  ¤ ¥Ã  ¤ ¿Ã  ¤ ¯Ã  ¥â€¹Ã  ¤â€š à ¤â€¢Ã  ¥â€¹ à ¤ ¬Ã  ¤ ¦Ã  ¤ ² à ¤ ¸Ã  ¤â€¢Ã  ¤ ¤Ã  ¥â€¡ à ¤ ¹Ã  ¥Ë†Ã  ¤â€š à ¤â€Ã  ¤ ° à ¤â€ Ã   ¤ ª à ¤ Ã  ¤â€¢ à ¤ ¬Ã  ¥â€¡Ã  ¤ ¹Ã  ¤ ¤Ã  ¤ ° à ¤â€¡Ã  ¤â€šÃ  ¤ ¸Ã  ¤ ¾Ã  ¤ ¨ à ¤ ¬Ã  ¤ ¨Ã  ¤ ¾Ã  ¤ ¨Ã  ¥â€¡ à ¤â€¢Ã  ¥â€¡ à ¤ ²Ã  ¤ ¿Ã  ¤  à ¤â€ Ã  ¤ ªÃ  ¤â€¢Ã  ¥â€¹ à ¤ ªÃ  ¥ Ã  ¤ °Ã  ¤ ­Ã  ¤ ¾Ã  ¤ µÃ  ¤ ¿Ã  ¤ ¤ à ¤â€¢Ã  ¤ ° à ¤ ¸Ã  ¤â€¢Ã  ¤ ¤Ã  ¥â€¡ à ¤ ¹Ã  ¥Ë†Ã  ¤â€š. à ¤ ¸Ã  ¤ ¾Ã  ¤ ¥Ã  ¤ ¿Ã  ¤ ¯Ã  ¥â€¹Ã  ¤â€š à ¤â€¢Ã  ¥â€¡ à ¤ ¸Ã  ¤ ®Ã  ¥â€šÃ  ¤ ¹ à ¤ ¸Ã  ¥ Ã  ¤â€¢Ã  ¥â€šÃ  ¤ ² à ¤ ®Ã  ¥â€¡Ã  ¤â€š à ¤ ¹Ã  ¥â€¹Ã  ¤ ¨Ã  ¤ ¾ à ¤ ¹Ã  ¥â€¹Ã  ¤ ¤Ã  ¤ ¾ à ¤ ¹Ã  ¥Ë†, à ¤ ¤Ã  ¥â€¹ à ¤â€ Ã  ¤ ª à ¤â€¦Ã  ¤ ªÃ  ¤ ¨Ã  ¥â€¡ à ¤â€¢Ã  ¤ ¿Ã  ¤ ¶Ã  ¥â€¹Ã  ¤ ° à ¤ ®Ã  ¥â€¡Ã  ¤â€š à ¤ ¹Ã  ¥â€¹ à ¤ °Ã  ¤ ¹Ã  ¤ ¾ à ¤ ¸Ã  ¤â€¢Ã  ¤ ¾Ã  ¤ °Ã  ¤ ¾Ã  ¤ ¤Ã  ¥ Ã  ¤ ®Ã  ¤â€¢ à ¤ ¬Ã  ¤ ¦Ã  ¤ ²Ã  ¤ ¾Ã  ¤ µ à ¤â€¢Ã  ¥â‚¬ à ¤ Ã  ¤â€¢ à ¤ ¬Ã  ¤ ¹Ã  ¥ Ã  ¤ ¤ à ¤â€¢Ã  ¥â‚¬ à ¤â€"à ¥â€¹Ã  ¤Å" à ¤â€¢Ã  ¤ °Ã  ¥â€¡Ã  ¤â€šÃ  ¤â€"à ¥â€¡. à ¤ Ã  ¤â€¢ à ¤ ¸Ã  ¤ ¹Ã  ¤â€¢Ã  ¤ °Ã  ¥ Ã  ¤ ®Ã  ¥â‚¬ à ¤ ¸Ã  ¤ ®Ã  ¥â€šÃ  ¤ ¹ à ¤â€¢Ã  ¥â€¹ ‘à ¤ ¸Ã  ¤â€šÃ  ¤ ¬Ã  ¤â€šÃ  ¤ §Ã  ¤ ¿Ã  ¤ ¤Ã¢â‚¬â„¢ à ¤â€¢Ã  ¤ °Ã  ¤ ¨Ã  ¥â€¡ à ¤â€¢Ã  ¥â€¡ à ¤ ²Ã  ¤ ¿Ã  ¤  à ¤â€ Ã  ¤â€"à ¥ Ã  ¤ °Ã  ¤ ¹ à ¤â€¢Ã  ¤ °Ã  ¤ ¤Ã  ¤ ¾ à ¤ ¹Ã  ¥â€šÃ  ¤â€š à ¤â€¢Ã  ¤ ¿ à ¤ ¶Ã  ¤ ¾Ã  ¤ ®Ã  ¤ ¿Ã  ¤ ² à ¤ ¹Ã  ¥Ë† à ¤â€Ã  ¤ ° à ¤ ¸Ã  ¥ Ã  ¤ µÃ  ¥â‚¬Ã  ¤â€¢Ã  ¤ ¾Ã  ¤ ° à ¤â€¢Ã  ¤ ¿Ã  ¤  à ¤Å"à ¤ ¾Ã  ¤ ¤Ã  ¥â€¡ à ¤ ¹Ã  ¥Ë†Ã  ¤â€š à ¤ ®Ã  ¤ ¹Ã  ¤ ¸Ã  ¥â€šÃ  ¤ ¸ à ¤ ¸Ã  ¤ ¬ à ¤â€¢Ã  ¥â€¡ à ¤ ¬Ã  ¤ ¾Ã  ¤ °Ã  ¥â€¡ à ¤ ®Ã  ¥â€¡Ã  ¤â€š, à ¤ Ã  ¤â€¢ à ¤ ¸Ã  ¤ ¹Ã  ¤â€¢Ã  ¤ °Ã  ¥ Ã  ¤ ®Ã  ¥â‚¬ à ¤ ¸Ã  ¤ ®Ã  ¥â€šÃ  ¤ ¹ à ¤â€¢Ã  ¥â‚¬ ‘à ¤ ªÃ  ¤ ¸Ã  ¤â€šÃ  ¤ ¦Ã¢â‚¬â„¢ à ¤â€¦Ã  ¤ ¨Ã  ¥ Ã  ¤ ¯ à ¤ ¸Ã  ¤ ¦Ã  ¤ ¸Ã  ¥ Ã  ¤ ¯Ã  ¥â€¹Ã  ¤â€š à ¤ ¸Ã  ¥â€¡ à ¤ µÃ  ¥ Ã  ¤ ¯Ã  ¤ µÃ  ¤ ¹Ã  ¤ ¾Ã  ¤ ° à ¤â€¢Ã  ¤ °Ã  ¤ ¤Ã  ¥â€¡ à ¤ ¹Ã  ¥Ë†Ã  ¤â€š à ¤â€Ã  ¤ ° à ¤ ¬Ã  ¤ ¨Ã  ¤ ¨Ã  ¥â€¡ à ¤â€¢Ã  ¥â€¡ à ¤ ²Ã  ¤ ¿Ã  ¤  à ¤ ¯Ã  ¤ ¹ à ¤ ¸Ã  ¥ Ã  ¤ µÃ  ¤ ¾Ã  ¤ ­Ã  ¤ ¾Ã  ¤ µÃ  ¤ ¿Ã  ¤â€¢ à ¤ ªÃ  ¥ Ã  ¤ °Ã  ¤ µÃ  ¥Æ'à ¤ ¤Ã  ¥ Ã  ¤ ¤Ã  ¤ ¿ à ¤ ­Ã  ¥â‚¬ à ¤ µÃ  ¤ ¹Ã  ¤ ¾Ã  ¤  à ¤ ¹Ã  ¥Ë†. à ¤â€¡Ã  ¤ ¸Ã  ¤ ²Ã  ¤ ¿Ã  ¤  à ¤ ¸Ã  ¤ ¾Ã  ¤ ¥Ã  ¤ ¿Ã  ¤ ¯Ã  ¥â€¹Ã  ¤â€š à ¤â€¢Ã  ¥â€¡ à ¤ ¸Ã  ¤ ®Ã  ¥â€šÃ  ¤ ¹ à ¤â€¢Ã  ¥â€¡ à ¤ ¸Ã  ¤ ¦Ã  ¤ ¸Ã  ¥ Ã  ¤ ¯Ã  ¥â€¹Ã  ¤â€š à ¤â€¢Ã  ¥â€¡ à ¤ µÃ  ¤ °Ã  ¥ Ã  ¤â€" à ¤ ®Ã  ¥â€¡Ã  ¤â€š à ¤â€¦Ã  ¤Å¡Ã  ¥ Ã  ¤â€ºÃ  ¥â‚¬ à ¤ ¤Ã  ¤ °Ã  ¤ ¹ à ¤ ¸Ã  ¥â€¡ à ¤â€¢Ã  ¤ ° à ¤ °Ã  ¤ ¹Ã  ¥â‚¬ à ¤ ¹Ã  ¥Ë† à ¤â€Ã  ¤ ° à ¤ ¦Ã  ¥â€¡Ã  ¤â€"à ¤ ­Ã  ¤ ¾Ã  ¤ ² à ¤â€¢Ã  ¥â€¡ à ¤ ¸Ã  ¤ ¾Ã  ¤ ¥ à ¤â€°Ã  ¤ ¨Ã  ¤â€¢Ã  ¥â€¡ à ¤ ¨Ã  ¤ ¿Ã  ¤ ¯Ã  ¤ ®Ã  ¤ ¿Ã  ¤ ¤ à ¤ ¸Ã  ¤ ¬Ã  ¤â€¢ à ¤â€¢Ã  ¤ °Ã  ¤ ¨Ã  ¥â€¡ à ¤ ®Ã  ¥â€¡Ã  ¤â€š à ¤ µÃ  ¤ ¿Ã  ¤ ¶Ã  ¥ Ã  ¤ µÃ  ¤ ¾Ã  ¤ ¸ à ¤â€¢Ã  ¤ °Ã  ¤ ¤Ã  ¥â€¡ à ¤ ¹Ã  ¥Ë†Ã  ¤â€š, à ¤ ¤Ã  ¥â€¹ à ¤â€ Ã  ¤ ª à ¤â€¦Ã  ¤ ªÃ  ¤ ¨Ã  ¥â€¡ à ¤ ¬Ã  ¤Å¡Ã  ¥ Ã  ¤Å¡Ã  ¥â€¡ à ¤â€¢Ã  ¥â€¹ à ¤ ­Ã  ¥â‚¬ à ¤ ¸Ã  ¥â€šÃ  ¤Å¸ à ¤â€¢Ã  ¥â€¡ à ¤ ¬Ã  ¤ ¾Ã  ¤ ¦ à ¤ ®Ã  ¤ ¿Ã  ¤ ² à ¤Å"à ¤ ¾Ã  ¤ Ã  ¤â€"à ¤ ¾. à ¤ ªÃ  ¥ Ã  ¤ °Ã  ¤ ¤Ã  ¥ Ã  ¤ ¯Ã  ¤â€¢Ã  ¥ Ã  ¤ · à ¤ ªÃ  ¥ Ã  ¤ °Ã  ¤ ­Ã  ¤ ¾ à ¤ µ à ¤â€"à ¥ Ã  ¤ °Ã  ¥â€¡Ã  ¤ ¡ à ¤ ®Ã  ¥â€¡Ã  ¤â€š à ¤ ®Ã  ¤ ¨Ã  ¤ ¾Ã  ¤ ¯Ã  ¤ ¾ à ¤Å"à ¤ ¾ à ¤ ¸Ã  ¤â€¢Ã  ¤ ¤Ã  ¤ ¾ à ¤ ¹Ã  ¥Ë†. à ¤â€¢Ã  ¤ ¿Ã  ¤ ¶Ã  ¥â€¹Ã  ¤ °Ã  ¥â‚¬ à ¤â€¢Ã  ¥â€¡Ã  ¤ µÃ  ¤ ² à ¤â€¦Ã  ¤ ªÃ  ¤ ¨Ã  ¥â‚¬ à ¤ ªÃ  ¤ ¢Ã  ¤ ¼Ã  ¤ ¾Ã  ¤Ë† à ¤ ªÃ  ¤ ° à ¤ §Ã  ¥ Ã  ¤ ¯Ã  ¤ ¾Ã  ¤ ¨ à ¤â€¢Ã  ¥â€¡Ã  ¤â€šÃ  ¤ ¦Ã  ¥ Ã  ¤ °Ã  ¤ ¿Ã  ¤ ¤ à ¤â€¢Ã  ¤ °Ã  ¤ ¨Ã  ¥â€¡ à ¤â€¢Ã  ¥â‚¬ à ¤ ¸Ã  ¥â‚¬Ã  ¤â€" à ¤ ¨Ã  ¤ ¹Ã  ¥â‚¬Ã  ¤â€š à ¤ ¹Ã  ¥â€¹Ã  ¤â€"à ¤ ¾, à ¤ ²Ã  ¥â€¡Ã  ¤â€¢Ã  ¤ ¿Ã  ¤ ¨ à ¤ ¯Ã  ¤ ¹ à ¤ ­Ã  ¥â‚¬ à ¤ ¸Ã  ¥ Ã  ¤â€¢Ã  ¥â€šÃ  ¤ ² à ¤ ®Ã  ¥â€¡Ã  ¤â€š à ¤â€¢Ã  ¤Ë† à ¤â€¦Ã  ¤ ¤Ã  ¤ ¿Ã  ¤ °Ã  ¤ ¿Ã  ¤â€¢Ã  ¥ Ã  ¤ ¤ à ¤ ªÃ  ¤ ¾Ã  ¤  Ã  ¤ ¯Ã  ¤â€¢Ã  ¥ Ã  ¤ °Ã  ¤ ® à ¤â€Ã  ¤ ° à ¤â€"à ¥â€¡Ã  ¤ ² à ¤â€"à ¤ ¤Ã  ¤ ¿Ã  ¤ µÃ  ¤ ¿Ã  ¤ §Ã  ¤ ¿Ã  ¤ ¯Ã  ¥â€¹Ã  ¤â€š à ¤ ¹Ã  ¥Ë† à ¤ ¶Ã  ¤ ¾Ã  ¤ ®Ã  ¤ ¿Ã  ¤ ² à ¤ ¹Ã  ¥â€¹ à ¤ °Ã  ¤ ¹Ã  ¥â‚¬ à ¤ ¹Ã  ¥Ë† à ¤â€Ã  ¤ ° à ¤ ­Ã  ¤ ¾Ã  ¤â€" à ¤ ²Ã  ¥â€¡Ã  ¤ ¨Ã  ¥â€¡ à ¤ ®Ã  ¥â€¡Ã  ¤â€š à ¤ Ã  ¤â€ ¢ à ¤ Ã  ¥ Ã  ¤â€¢Ã  ¤ ¾Ã  ¤ µ à ¤ ¦Ã  ¤ ¿Ã  ¤â€"à ¤ ¾ à ¤ ¦Ã  ¥â€¡Ã  ¤â€šÃ  ¤â€"à ¥â€¡. à ¤ ¸Ã  ¤ ¾Ã  ¤ ¥Ã  ¤ ¿Ã  ¤ ¯Ã  ¥â€¹Ã  ¤â€š à ¤â€¢Ã  ¥â€¡ à ¤ ¸Ã  ¤ ®Ã  ¥â€šÃ  ¤ ¹ à ¤ ¸Ã  ¥ Ã  ¤â€¢Ã  ¥â€šÃ  ¤ ² à ¤â€¢Ã  ¥â€¡ à ¤ ¦Ã  ¥â€¹Ã  ¤ ¸Ã  ¥ Ã  ¤ ¤Ã  ¥â€¹Ã  ¤â€š, à ¤ ªÃ  ¤ ¡Ã  ¤ ¼Ã  ¥â€¹Ã  ¤ ¸ à ¤ ®Ã  ¤ ¿Ã  ¤ ¤Ã  ¥ Ã  ¤ °Ã  ¥â€¹Ã  ¤â€š à ¤ ¯Ã  ¤ ¾ à ¤ Ã  ¤â€¢ à ¤ µÃ  ¤ ¿Ã  ¤ ¸Ã  ¥ Ã  ¤ ¤Ã  ¤ ¾Ã  ¤ °Ã  ¤ ¿Ã  ¤ ¤ à ¤ ªÃ  ¤ °Ã  ¤ ¿Ã  ¤ µÃ  ¤ ¾Ã  ¤ ° à ¤â€¢Ã  ¥â€¡ à ¤Å¡Ã  ¤Å¡Ã  ¥â€¡Ã  ¤ °Ã  ¥â€¡ à ¤ ­Ã  ¤ ¾Ã  ¤Ë† à ¤â€¢Ã  ¥â€¡ à ¤ ¶Ã  ¤ ¾Ã  ¤ ®Ã  ¤ ¿Ã  ¤ ² à ¤ ¹Ã  ¥Ë†Ã  ¤â€š à ¤ ¯Ã  ¤ ¾ à ¤ ¨Ã  ¤ ¹Ã  ¥â‚¬Ã  ¤â€š, à ¤ ªÃ  ¥ Ã  ¤ °Ã  ¤ ­Ã  ¤ ¾Ã  ¤ µ à ¤ ¹Ã  ¤ ®Ã  ¥â€¡Ã  ¤ ¶Ã  ¤ ¾ à ¤â€¦Ã  ¤ ªÃ  ¤ ¨Ã  ¥â€¡ à ¤ ¬Ã  ¤Å¡Ã  ¥ Ã  ¤Å¡Ã  ¥â€¡ à ¤ ªÃ  ¤ ° à ¤ ¦Ã  ¥â€¡Ã  ¤â€"à ¤ ¾ à ¤Å"à ¤ ¾ à ¤ ¸Ã  ¤â€¢Ã  ¤ ¤Ã  ¤ ¾ à ¤ ¹Ã  ¥Ë†. à ¤â€¦Ã  ¤ ¨Ã  ¥ Ã  ¤ ¯ à ¤ ¸Ã  ¥ Ã  ¤ ªÃ  ¤ ·Ã  ¥ Ã  ¤Å¸ à ¤ ªÃ  ¥ Ã  ¤ °Ã  ¤ ­Ã  ¤ ¾Ã  ¤ µ à ¤â€¢Ã  ¥â€¡ à ¤ ¬Ã  ¥â‚¬Ã   ¤Å¡, à ¤â€ Ã  ¤ ª à ¤â€¢Ã  ¤ ¿Ã  ¤ ¶Ã  ¥â€¹Ã  ¤ ° à ¤â€¢Ã  ¥â‚¬ à ¤ ¸Ã  ¤â€šÃ  ¤Å¡Ã  ¤ ¾Ã  ¤ ° à ¤â€¢Ã  ¥Å'à ¤ ¶Ã  ¤ ² à ¤ ®Ã  ¥â€¡Ã  ¤â€š à ¤â€¢Ã  ¤ ¾Ã  ¤ «Ã  ¥â‚¬ à ¤ ¸Ã  ¥ Ã  ¤ §Ã  ¤ ¾Ã  ¤ ° à ¤ ²Ã  ¤ ¾Ã  ¤ ¨Ã  ¥â€¡ à ¤ ®Ã  ¤ ¿Ã  ¤ ²Ã  ¥â€¡Ã  ¤â€"à ¤ ¾. à ¤â€°Ã  ¤ ¨Ã  ¤â€¢Ã  ¤ ¾ à ¤ ¦Ã  ¥Æ'à ¤ ·Ã  ¥ Ã  ¤Å¸Ã  ¤ ¿Ã  ¤â€¢Ã  ¥â€¹Ã  ¤ £, à ¤ ¦Ã  ¥Æ'à ¤ ·Ã  ¥ Ã  ¤Å¸Ã  ¤ ¿Ã  ¤â€¢Ã  ¥â€¹Ã  ¤ £ à ¤â€Ã  ¤ ° à ¤ µÃ  ¥ Ã  ¤ ¯Ã  ¤ µÃ  ¤ ¹Ã  ¤ ¾Ã  ¤ ° à ¤ ¹Ã  ¤ ®Ã  ¥â€¡Ã  ¤ ¶Ã  ¤ ¾ à ¤ ¸Ã  ¤â€¢Ã  ¤ ¾Ã  ¤ °Ã  ¤ ¾Ã  ¤ ¤Ã  ¥ Ã  ¤ ®Ã  ¤â€¢ à ¤ ¹Ã  ¥â€¹ à ¤Å"à ¤ ¾Ã  ¤ Ã  ¤â€"à ¤ ¾. à ¤â€°Ã  ¤ ¨Ã  ¥ Ã  ¤ ¹Ã  ¥â€¹Ã  ¤â€šÃ  ¤ ¨Ã  ¥â€¡ à ¤â€¢Ã  ¤ ¹Ã  ¤ ¾ à ¤â€¢Ã  ¤ ¿ à ¤ ®Ã  ¥â€šÃ  ¤ ²Ã  ¥ Ã  ¤ ¯ à ¤ °Ã  ¤ ¿Ã  ¤ ¶Ã  ¥ Ã  ¤ ¤Ã  ¥â€¹Ã  ¤â€š à ¤â€¢Ã  ¥â€¹ à ¤ ¸Ã  ¥â‚¬Ã  ¤â€"à ¤ ¨Ã  ¤ ¾ à ¤ ¹Ã  ¥â€¹Ã  ¤â€"à ¤ ¾ à ¤â€Ã  ¤ ° à ¤ ¯Ã  ¤ ¹ à ¤ ¬Ã  ¤ ¨ à ¤â€"à ¤ ¯Ã  ¤ ¾ à ¤ ¹Ã  ¥Ë† à ¤â€Ã  ¤ ° à ¤Å"à ¤ ¿Ã  ¤ ®Ã  ¥ Ã  ¤ ®Ã  ¥â€¡Ã  ¤ ¦Ã  ¤ ¾Ã  ¤ ° à ¤ µÃ  ¥ Ã  ¤ ¯Ã  ¤â€¢Ã  ¥ Ã  ¤ ¤Ã  ¤ ¿ à ¤â€¢Ã  ¥â€¡ à ¤ ²Ã  ¤ ¿Ã  ¤  à ¤ ®Ã  ¤ ¹Ã  ¤ ¤Ã  ¥ Ã  ¤ µÃ  ¤ ªÃ  ¥â€šÃ  ¤ °Ã  ¥ Ã  ¤ £ à ¤ ¹Ã  ¥Ë† à ¤â€¢Ã  ¤ ¿ à ¤ ¸Ã  ¥â‚¬Ã  ¤â€"à ¤ ¨Ã  ¤ ¾ à ¤ ¹Ã  ¥â€¹Ã  ¤â€"à ¤ ¾. t is more beneficial than harmful Peer pressure is not always bad. It can help you reflect on yourself. Peers may teach you good things and encourage you to follow them. Looking at what others do, can help you bring a positive change in your way of thinking. If you can pick selectively, peer pressure can push you towards something positive. For example, when a child knows that some of his friends regularly read storybooks or that they have  subscribed to a library, even he feels tempted to do so. He may get into the habit of reading because of his peers. Seeing that some of your friends exercise daily, even you may take up the habit. Positive peer pressure can lead you to adopt good habits in life. Your peers, their choices and ways of life give you a glimpse of the world outside the four walls of your house. What they think about things in life, how they perceive situations, how they react in different circumstances can actually expose you to the world around. Being part of a larger group of peers exposes you to the diversity in human behavior. This makes you reflect on your behavior and know where you stand. Peer pressure can lead you to make right choices in life. If you are fortunate enough to get a good peer group, your peers can influence the shaping of your personality in a positive way. Their perspective of life can lead you to change yours. It’s not pressure every time; sometimes it’s inspiration, which makes you change for good. For example, positive peer pressure can make you quit smoking or give up bad habits that you may have. Your peers can inspire you to become more optimistic or more confident. Your peers may influence you to change and make you a better human being. If the peer group happens to be in school, you will discover a lot of positive changes happening in your teenager. Since the urge to ‘belong’ to a peer group is all about feeling included and accepted, there is also this natural tendency to behave and become ‘like’ other members of a peer group. Therefore when the members of the peer group believe in doing well in class and doing their regular lessons with care, you will find your child also following suit. The direct effect can be observed in the grades. The teenager will not only learn to focus on his studies but will also show an inclination in getting involved and participating is several extra-curricular and sports activities in school. Whether the peer group comprises of school friends, neighborhood friends or cousins of an extended family, the effect can always be seen on your child. Amongst the other apparent effects, you will find that the communication skills of the teen improving significantly. His approach, attitude and behavior will always be positive. He will learn to value relationships and will learn that it is important to become and responsible individual. Pure s peer pressure beneficial or harmful. Opening statement: My point of view on this subject area is simple and straightforward; peer pressure can be beneficial. Facts and supporting evidence: 1. Peer pressure can be beneficial because it can help you achieve things in life. For example: You’re about to audition for something that’s been your dream forever, then you all of a sudden get too scared so you decide your not going, but then your friend pressures you into doing it. And because of your friend giving you peer pressure, you achieved your goals, and you’ve succeeded. Without this type of peer pressure not many people would be successful in our world. 2. It can also be beneficial because it can help you get out of bad habits. Peer pressure is very well known for getting people into drugs, but nobody ever thought about peer pressure getting you out of them, and peer pressure can get you out of many habits. Last year I used to be late†¦ A lot, but then my mom pressured me into getting up earlier in the morning, and getting ready faster. If it wasn’t for her, I would not be a good student. 3. Peer pressure can lead you to making the right choices. Say you’re in a bad situation your friend wants you to do something that you really don’t feel like doing, so you talk to your other friend, they also think the idea is bad. So he/she pressures you to not do it, later on you somehow find out that your friend was setting you up, if your friend didn’t help you in that situation, you had the chances of ending up in jail or being dead. Facts: 89.5% of the teens in high schools haven’t been pressured into trying cocaine 80% of teenagers haven’t been pressured into trying a cigarette Peer pressure can even start at kindergarten Closing: I know peer pressure can also be harmful, but many people don’t realize how beneficial it can be. When people hear the words â€Å"Peer Pressure† usually the first thing they think is peer pressure involving drugs, and that can happen too, but there are many ways of good peer pressure. My personal motto is: CHOOSE YOUR FRIENDS WISELY! See, first of all i would like to mention that, a fact which clearly reports that there are approximately more benifits than harms of peer pressur. Also it have an appropriate reason:- In our Society, there are more good citizen than bad ones. People mostly have good friend cirlce, than having bad friend circle. Yes there are some bad groups, which involves drug case, robbery etc. But the Fact is clear that there are less cases in which a person gets harm due to peer pressure. Good friends persuade us to do good thing, even we too advise our friends to do good things. I agree with 1st argument with my support. What he/she said is true. People when hear this word † Peer Pressure† they usually thinks of situation involving drugs robbery etc. But As i said , there much more benifits than harms.

Environment Issue Essay

I choose to have quantity of water over the quality of it. We all know that water, is a inportant in our daily life. It is a fact that our body is composed of 75 percent water and it is understandable that water is the most essential ingredient of our daily life. A person can survive without eating in a span of 1 month, but no one can survive with more than 3 days without water. Aside from the fact that our earth covers 70% of water only 1% percent of it serve as a reliable source of drinking. Therefore it is important to increase the quantity of available water for drinking to supply the growing public demands for rehidration. (Audet p. 1) As we enter to globalization, the rise in population creates an impact to society in water consumption. Modernization and continued growth in infrastracture creates an environmental impact in our society. Continued contamination to primary source of water is a major reason why we need a quantity of available water for drinking. This one reason, I chose quantity of water over quality. It may also be relatec to the modern ways of water filtration. With the help of modern technology and comprehensive reaseach for clean water, it shows that the increase on the quantity of water is more important than quality. There are already existing ways to create a clean water to drink out of contaminated water. One of which is the Bioremediation. It is an evironmental process for water purification and has the capability to convert contaminated water to a suitable water for drinking. (Audet p. 1) In relation to the case of Las Vegas campaign for water shortage, increasing the quantity of water promotes growth for the so called Sin City. Studies shows, the population of Las Vegas City doubled up its population upon hitting the year 1990. Due to this significant growth of the city population, sourcing water for rehidration became an issue as the primary source of water (Colorado River) reported worst drought in its history. (Hutchinson p. 1). In fact, the primary Question here is how to contain the demands of water for the growing city of Las Vegas.Therefore, a campaign to increase the quantity of water can address the issue on water shortage of the city. Reference Marye Audet (n. d). Water Filtration Systems: Clean Drinking Water for All. 2007 Hubpages Inc. : http://hubpages. com/hub/Water-Filtration-Systems-Clean-Drinking-Water-for-All Alex Hutchinson (2007). Las Vegas Tries to Prevent a Water Shortage. 2008 Hearst Communications, Inc: http://www. popularmechanics. com/science/earth/4210244. html

Accepted Accounting Principles related to Health Care Essay

Accepted Accounting Principles related to Health Care - Essay Example These rules were established by the Financial Accounting Standards Board. The first principle is the entity concept which is the group or organization such as a hospital, medical school, or nursing home. Inother words, it separates the business from its owners and treats it as an economic unit. Only assets, liabilities, and owner's equity related to the group or organization are on one financial statement. If there are sub entities, the financial records of these entities are maintained separately. The second principle is the going - concern concept which is a presumption that the group or organization will be running in the future and will not be liquidated in the next 12 months. It is a very concept in case of healthcare business because hospitals, nursing homes, etc. which do not intend to stay in business the net realizable value of the asset may be not ascertained and could be sold at a much higher price than they worth at the moment of sale. The third principle is the matching principle which is a combination of cash accounting and accrual accounting. The matching principle and cash accounting states that revenue or expenses are recognized only when the organization receives cash or pays cash. For example, medical equipments are recognized in the books of accounts only when the cash is paid out in entirety. The problem therefore is, all transactions that are not done on a cash basis and not done in the same accounting year are not recognized which gives a deceptive pictur e of what actually occurred a respective accounting year. On the other hand, when accrual accounting is done this gives the actual as to what occurred in that year. An example of this is if an organization provides care for a patient but does not receive reimbursement until the following year but the funds will be documented on the year the patient was cared for. The fourth principle is known as the historical cost principle and states that the cost of a resource is what the organization pays to receive the economic need. Historical cost does not reflect the current market valuation of the asset. Therefore the problem with the cost principle for example is if a hospital pays twenty dollars for I.V. tubing in the current accounting year and the following year that same tubing costs thirty dollars. This will not show a real account of the asset because of the variation in price. The fifth principle is called objective evidence. This principle states that evidence can be reported on fi nancial statements that are objective in nature and can be analyzed, measured, observed and verified. An example of this is the cost of an EKG machine but the problem is the amount that it is worth as an asset. Do you use what the organization paid for it, what it is worth, or how much you could sell it for if the hospital did not need it? All of these are subjective views and most accountants use the value of what an asset is at cost. Fair market value is what the GAAP prescribes in recognizing the value of the asset. Materiality is the sixth principle which states that an organization will have accounting errors but the error will not be to an amount that items that would affect the direct value of the organization depending on several factors such as size of the organization It tries to conform to the situation wherein the information that might have been omitted in the financial statements does not bear any influence on the economic decision of the users of these financial state me

Business Management Assignment Example | Topics and Well Written Essays - 3500 words

Business Management - Assignment Example Leadership involves establishment of a clear vision, sharing and conveying the vision with the associates so that they can follow it enthusiastically, providing knowledge, information as well as describing the methods by which the vision can be realized, balancing the conflicts and coordinating with the stakeholders and other associated members. In this tumultuous business environment, the importance and necessity of efficient leadership cannot be denied. The complex and dynamic nature of business has further augmented the need of leadership in an organization. As a result of this, it has been observed that companies nowadays have started to instigate several leadership development trainings and programs which clearly points out that although off late, originations have been able to understand the extent to which efficient leadership adds to the efficiency and competence of an origination (Agard, 2010). Leadership is a vast area and its application is be found in different facets of an organization. However, there are huge differences between management and leadership styles. Moreover, the role played by leadership is different from that of the role of managing. Although the major role of leadership is to ensure people in n organization are working towards a common goal, but is not constrained or limited to only a single area. Leadership also plays several other roles and is crucial to an organization’s day to day activity. Some of the most crucial roles played by leadership in an organization are describe below. Management of the Workforce: - Leadership is extremely important in organizations to ensure proper management of the people. Leadership not only provides assistance in initiating actions within organizations, but also plays actives roles in motivating the workforce, providing them with guidance, building confidence, improving the morale, creating a healthy working environment and also coordinating with the employees for better outcome. Strategy Implementation: - The notion of leadership is also vital in the strategy implementation process of an organization. The implementation of stagey in organizations is equally important like that of strategy formulation. A strategy is generally formulated by the upper management but the implementation is in the hands of the leaders. They are the one who are accountable to implement and communicate the strategy to the entire organization. Hence, the role of leadership in strategy implementation is imperative. In the meantime, it has been also observed that, employees often resist the implementation of a new strategy thinking that this may dislocate their current state. In this context also leadership plays a crucial role in managing the resistance to the change offered by the employees thereby implementing the strategy successfully. The above discussion has made it evident that leadership practices are indeed significant for an organization. Therefore, it is also necessary to shed light on the different types of leadership. The type of leadership practices differ from one organization to the other. The leadership style or the type of leadership is greatly dependent upon the objectives of the organization and also the intentions of the organization. A number of authors in this context argue that the leadership style of an organization also depends upon the organizational culture. Echoing these thoughts, several other scholars have mentioned that the national culture of a country also

Cultural Diverse Backgrounds Assignment 3 Example | Topics and Well Written Essays - 250 words

Cultural Diverse Backgrounds 3 - Assignment Example As a result of working together in our home, my mother had taught my siblings and me the value of family. Until now, we have a close relationship to each other and to our mother. As I remember, my mother treated my older brother, sister and I similarly and yet differently as well. It was dependent on our varied temperament and behavior. Being the only girl, my sister was shy so my mother was more soft-spoken and more gentle when scolding her. She was harder on my brother and I because we were more stubborn and naughtier than my sister. My grandparents were from Ireland and had to learn English. This difficulty in culture was one my mother did not want us to deal with. At an early age, she taught us English and yet never failed to remind us of our Irish heritage. Influence from religious beliefs was strong. My mother is Catholic and so are we. I remember mother teaching us to pray before meals and before we went to sleep. She would take us to church and remind us that God is good and we could ask Him for help but should also thank Him for our graces. Finally, my mother believed that children learn from their mistakes. So, she let us be hurt growing up. She was there to console us though and explain why we were hurting and how to deal with our problems. She let us solve our own problems but was ready to help if we asked

GLOBAL FINANCIAL MARKETS - LAW AND PRACTICE Essay

GLOBAL FINANCIAL MARKETS - LAW AND PRACTICE - Essay Example ? According to Kravitt (1998), securitisation works by employing superior knowledge about the behaviour of particular assets with the help of structures that could promote a more efficient management of assets. In most legal systems around the world, securitisation can only be achieved by separating the assets subject to the securitisation from the wealth or the originator, which is in this case, the B Bank of Ruritania. In order to separate the assets subject to securitisation from the wealth of the originator, such assets must be transferred to a special purpose vehicle (SPV). An SPV is a company whose sole purpose is to serve as a financing, holding, servicing, and liquidating assets (Kravitt et.al 1998). The isolation of the assets in securitisation is made to more efficiently deal with the indirect effects of securitisation such as but not limited to the following: (1) the attempt of the parties to the transaction to cause such transfers to be "true sales† thereby effectively eliminating the ability of the originator to call on such assets in the event where the originator becomes bankrupt (2) to cause the "perfection" of the purchasers interest in the assets which are made subj ect to the transfer, (iii) protection on the part of the SPV, its operations and structures to make the SPV "bankruptcy remote"2. Part of the securitization system is the issuance of asset-backed securities (ABS) and the securitisation of receivables. In the case of Milroy v Lord (1862)3, the court ruled that â€Å"it is possible in equity to alienate a right under a contract, such as debt or other chosen action by the means of an equitable assignment or by a declaration of trust†.4 By virtue of this decision of the Court, we can safely say that B Bank can exercise its right to turn the non-liquid assets into marketable securities. As it is, the requisites of the legality of the transaction are hereby fulfilled. Note that since the B Bank of Ruritania may use either the mortgage

EVALUATION Assignment Example | Topics and Well Written Essays - 250 words

EVALUATION - Assignment Example Firstly, the game leads to participants pushing their bodies to the limits. Secondly, they use drugs to gain extra strength and outdo their competitors. Lastly, the participants contact injuries such as concussions (Arkinstall, p, 2). Participants in the game of football harm their bodies by pushing it to the limit. The coaches in this game do not consider the fatigue generated by players in consecutive matches. Players end up straining their muscles due to restless playing in different matches in different tournaments. The existence of a super player in the team leads to overworking of the player to retain the title or class of the team(Arkinstall, pp, 2-3). Football as a sport is also a competition. For players to maintain their standards in the world of football, they end up using hardcore drugs such as cocaine and bang. An example of such players is Diego Maradona, who has become an addict of drugs because of football. In the world of football, many upcoming young talents force the elder players to engage in drugs to maintain their positions (Arkinstall, pp, 2-4). Due to increased competition, players get rough in the field to earn a position in their teams. Due to this, they develop injuries such as concussions. The injuries keep on recurring that risk the life of players. For these reasons, strict measures and rules should be put in place (Arkinstall, pp,

Metropolitan studies Essay Example | Topics and Well Written Essays - 1250 words

Metropolitan studies - Essay Example Mass production of manufacture requires that not only machines are concentrated in specific locations but also the labor force. In turn, the creation of the proletariat led to the creation of the middle class in the cities. Soon the services sector emerged as a market, for services were created due to the concentration of labor. Urban centers are actually centers of concentration of labor residents and the middle class. It is both a system for rule and a result of the division of labor, natural flow of development, and a phenomenon brought about by technological factors. A city can be created through myths and violence but basically it is â€Å"an agglomeration of productive forces built by labor employed within the temporal process of circulation of capital† (Harvey 214-228, 229). For the first case, we can cite the work by W.E.B. Dubois of 1899. Du Bois reported that during the year American Blacks had been segregated, unlike other social groups of Philadelphia, in that â€Å"they do not form an integral part of the larger social group† (117). According to Du Bois, unlike other social groups, the segregation of the American Blacks was â€Å"conspicuous, more patent to the eye, and so intertwined with a long historic evolution, with peculiarly pressing problems of poverty, ignorance, crime and labor, that the Negro problem far surpasses in scientific interest and social gravity most of the other race or class questions† (118). Du Bois hinted that the growth of the Black American slum district of the Philadelphia is somehow linked with the development of the working class. He noted that many alleys are â€Å"haunts of noted criminals, male and female, of gamblers, and prostitutes, and at the same time of many poverty-stricken people, decent but not energetic† (122). Du Bois also noted an â€Å"increased restriction in the employments open to the Negro men since 1880 or even

The U.S cultures and business perspectives Essay

The U.S cultures and business perspectives - Essay Example Just like the U.S.A, Brazil is a melting pot of nationalities due to long periods of slavery and European domination. The country has about 190 million people, whereby 50% of the people are white. Majority of the Brazilian people are Catholics and speak Portuguese as a national language. Bananas are the staple food in Brazil. Bananas are also grown in America, Texas. The Brazilians prefer to deal with companies, rather than individuals when doing business. The people have a close adherence to business etiquette like the Americans. The Saudi Arabians are primarily Arabs and Muslims. Greetings are very formal in Saudi Arabia. On the other hand, people in the U.S don’t take too much time greeting each other. Women in Saudi Arabia dress in abayas (cloths that cover the entire body except the face and hands). The manner of doing business in Saudi Arabia is largely similar to that of the U.S.A in terms of etiquette and communication style. The country is the Middle East’s lar gest trading partner of the U.K. Dressing in suits and ties is a similarity for Saudi and American businessmen.  Territorial-wise, Russia is the largest country in the world. With Russian serving as the main language, the country has over 190 ethnic groups. Christianity, Islam and Tengrism are the primary religions of Russia. The Russians eat unique foods such as Borshch, Caviar and Pirozhkis. The Russians value time keeping highly when doing business. The ceremonial practice of receiving and exchanging business cards is taken seriously in Russia.

Male and Female Roles in Society Essay Example for Free

Male and Female Roles in Society Essay Mozart Beethoven Within the classical style of music stand two well-known, well-versed composers: Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart and Ludwig van Beethoven. Both men were crucial, influential figures in the Classical era of music and composed works that are still held with great praise and dignity over 200 years later. To passive listeners, Mozart and Beethoven are very similar in their style and compositions. Although similarities do exist, their music and personal lives differed, most appropriately due to the periods in which they became famous. Mozart, considered the best and most successful composer of the Classical era, began his work at a time when classical music was prominent. Beethoven, meanwhile, was successful during the transition between the Classical and Romantic eras. Although hes considered an influential figure of the Classical era, he is also credited with developing a new style and pushing the boundaries of classical music. Because Beethoven was born when Mozart began composing his early successful works he was able to take advantage of learning and studying classical music when it was at its best. Both composers were born into highly-musical families. Their fathers were their first teachers who considered their sons musical prodigies. Sonically, their works were quite different. Its often said that Beethoven stands out more than Mozart in classical music, that his compositions are more complex are more in touch with personality and emotion. At the same time, it could be said that Mozart was ahead of his time. Beethoven borrowed many ideas from numerous composers before him, including Mozart; in adding his own touch he made his works loved then and now

Issues of War Monuments in Estonia

Issues of War Monuments in Estonia Empty Spaces and the Value of Symbols: Estonias War of Monuments from Another Angle * This article is the first published output from British Academy small research grant ref. SG-39197, entitled Public Monuments, Commemoration and the Renegotiation of Collective Identities: Estonia, Sweden and the â€Å"Baltic World† Since the summer of 2004, the new EU member state of Estonia has been in the throes of what is described as a War of Monuments. The events in question began in the town of Lihula in western Estonia, where a veterans group erected a stone tablet commemorating those Estonians who in World War Two donned German uniform and fought on the eastern front against the USSR. Bearing the inscription To Estonian men who fought in 1940 1945 against Bolshevism and for the restoration of Estonian independence, the Lihula stone became the latest of several monuments commemorating a group that most Estonians today regard as freedom fighters. In this case, however, the soldier depicted bore SS insignia. Hardly surprisingly, this fact elicited widespread international condemnation, notably from Russia, the EU and Jewish organisations. The groups behind the monument insisted that the men in question had had no truck with Nazism, and had only enlisted as a last resort in order to obtain access to arms w ith which to repel the Soviet invader. The display of the SS insignia nevertheless disregarded the taboo that surrounds the display of Nazi symbols in todays Europe. Also, while the vast majority of Estonian SS legionnaires did indeed sign up only in 1944 as the Soviet army advanced into their homeland, at least some had previously belonged to auxiliary police battalions which have been implicated in Nazi atrocities.1 Concerned to limit potential damage to Estonias international reputation, the government of the day ordered the removal of the monument. The police operation to carry out this order on 2 September 2004 nevertheless provoked clashes with local residents, while the political fallout from the episode contributed to the fall of Prime Minister Juhan Parts several months later. Critics of the government action argued that if the Lihula monument was to be construed as a glorification of totalitarianism, then the same logic should be applied to Soviet monuments that had been left standing following the restoration of Estonian independence in 1991. Singled out in this regard was the Bronze Soldier on T[otilde]nismgi in central Tallinn—a post-war monument erected on the unmarked grave of Soviet troops who fell during the taking of the city in 1944. For the vast majority of Estonians, the arrival of the Soviet Army signalled the replacement of one brutal occupying regime by another, whic h quickly resumed the arrests, executions and large-scale deportations previously witnessed during the first year of Soviet rule in 1940 41. This remains the dominant perception amongst Estonians today. The leaders of post-Soviet Russia, by contrast, have adhered steadfastly to the Soviet-era view of these events as marking the liberation of Estonia from fascism. The defeat of the Nazis during 1941 45 remains central to Russias self-understanding in the post-Soviet era; its  current leaders emphatically deny that the events of 1940 and 1944 in the Baltic states constituted a Soviet occupation, and refuse to acknowledge the suffering which the inhabitants of these countries experienced at the hands of the Soviet regime. Commentators in Russia have emphasised that they will brook no alternative interpretations of the Soviet Unions role in the events of 1939 45, and have therefore characterised calls for the removal of the T[otilde]nismgi monument as a manifestation of support for fascism. For many of the ethnic Russians who today make up nearly half of Tallinns population, the Bronze Soldier has also remained a locus of identification, providing the site for continued unofficial commemorations on 9 May, which was celebrated as Victory Day during the Soviet period. Red paint was thrown over the monument just prior to 9 May 2005, when several other Soviet war memorials were also attacked across the country, and a German military cemetery desecrated in Narva. The following year, this date again elicited tensions: local Russian youth mounted round-the-clock surveillance at the Bronze Soldier, while an Estonian nationalist counter-demonstration led to scuffles on 9 May (Alas 2006a). The monument was subsequently cordoned off by police pending a decision on its future. This formed the object of vigorous political debate ahead of the March 2007 parliamentary elections. Matters relating to the establishment and upkeep of public monuments in post-Soviet Estonia have for the mo st part fallen to local municipalities. In late 2006, however, new legislation was adopted giving central government the power to override local decision making in this regard. This provision was motivated expressly by a desire to remove the monument and the soldiers remains from the centre of Tallinn to the more peripheral setting of the military cemetery on the citys outskirts (Alas 2006a, 2006b, 2006c; Ranname 2006). The subsequent removal of the monument in late April 2007 provided the occasion for large-scale rioting in central Tallinn. On 9 May 2007 hundreds of people visited the monument at its new location in order to lay flowers. Issues of past or memory politics2 have assumed a growing prominence in recent scholarly work on Estonia and the other Baltic states, with a number of authors also highlighting the apparently divergent views of the past held by Estonians and Estonian Russians, and the obstacles that this poses in terms of societal integration (Hackmann 2003; Budryte 2005; Onken 2003, 2007a, 2007b). Publicly sited monuments are evidently central to any discussion of such issues: as recent events in Estonia have shown, they frequently act as catalysts eliciting both official and unsanctioned expressions of collective identity (Burch 2002a, 2004).3 Thus far, however, surprisingly little attention has been devoted to monuments within the relevant academic literature on Estonia. This article is intended as a contribution in this regard, but it approaches the issue from a slightly different angle. The War of Monuments has focused political and media attention upon two different cases, one involving a settlement that is predominantly ethnica lly Estonian by population (Lihula) and the other a capital city (Tallinn) that is almost equally divided between Estonians and Russians. This article shifts the focus to the overwhelmingly Russian-speaking city of Narva, which today sits on Estonias border with the Russian Federation. In particular, our study examines the local politics surrounding the Swedish Lion monument (see Figure 1), which was erected in the city in November 2000 on the 300th anniversary of the Battle of Narva between Sweden and Russia. The Lion monument relates to a past that is far less immediate than the events of 1940 45, but which, as we demonstrate, is still highly salient to contemporary identity politics within Estonia. How, for instance, was the commemoration of a decisive Swedish victory over Russia framed and debated in a town where ethnic Russians and other Russian-speakers constitute 96% of the population? Equally significantly, todays Lion is depicted as the successor to a similar monument erected in 1936 during the period of Estonias inter-war independence. The reappearance of this symbol could therefore potentially be understood as part of a state-sponsored effort to banish the Soviet past and reconnect with a past Golden Age. Once again, one wonders how this was interpreted by a local population that was established in Narva as a direct consequence of the Soviet takeover and which, by dint of the legal continuity principle, mostly did not obtain the automatic right to Estonian citizenship after 199 1.4 Who then decided to erect the Lion monument, and why? What form did the commemoration of November 2000 take, and what are the main lines of public debate that have surrounded it? The current article will address these questions, and will also seek to link the Narva case to broader conceptual issues of identity politics and post-communist transition, particularly the current debate surrounding the possibilities for the development of a tamed liberal/multicultural nationalism in Central and Eastern Europe.5 Past politics and post-communism The dramatic events that have occurred in Europe over the past two decades have entailed a profound redefinition of collective identities at a variety of scales—national, supranational, regional and local. The end of the Cold War, the demise of the USSR, and the consequent processes of EU and NATO enlargement, all occurring within the overall context of economic globalisation and growing movement of population, have led communities and groups across the continent to revisit existing understandings of who We are and where We are going. Since historical memory is an essential component in the construction of collective identity, this process has necessarily involved renegotiation of the Past as well as debates concerning the Present and Future. Like all forms of identity politics, such memory work is contested, being embedded in complex †¦ power relations that determine what is remembered (or forgotten) by whom, and for what end (Gillis 1994, p. 3). In a similar vein, Graha m et al. (2000, pp. 17 18) remind us that heritage is time-specific and thus its meaning(s) can be altered as texts are re-read in changing times, circumstances and constructs of place and scale. Consequently, it is inevitable that such knowledges are also fields of contestation.6 Publicly sited monuments offer a particularly useful way into researching this phenomenon, since they provide us with a tangible manifestation of some memory work process. The memorial function of such objects can take the form of carefully choreographed gatherings at times of heightened political awareness, or precise moments of commemorative anniversaries. Wreaths might be laid; silence observed; political rallies enacted; pageants performed. Other actions might be characterised more by spontaneity: collective grief at a sudden, tragic event, or an iconoclastic attack on a memorial construed in negative terms. Individuals and groups will attach different, often mutually exclusive meanings to particular monuments. Moreover, such meanings are shifting and contingent: what constitutes an eloquent memorial at one particular moment in time (for instance during an annual commemoration) might become a mute, invisible monument for the rest of the year. In this regard, being ignored is as s ignificant as being noticed.7 Political changes in the present can radically alter the import of a memorial, without any physical change on its part. This reiterates that the context of the monument is intrinsic to meaning. Context, however, can also be physically rendered, as with the shifting of a memorial/monument from some focal point to somewhere more peripheral and less visible. Issues of collective identity have proved especially challenging in those states that have been created or recreated following the collapse of the USSR. These are for the most part configured as classic unitary nation states, and yet in nearly all cases, processes of state and nation building have been effectuated on the basis of societies that are deeply polyethnic or multinational in character (Brubaker 1996; Smith et al. 1998; Smith 1999). Moreover, nearly all of the states in question have painful pasts with which they need to come to terms (Budryte 2005, p. 1). In relation to this region, Paul Gready (2003, p. 6) reminds us that stripped of the fossilising force of Cold War politics, nationalism has become central to political transitions, both as a means and an end. Narratives of history that focus exclusively on the titular nationality and its subjugation and suffering at the hands of former colonial regimes invariably elicit opposition from minority groups, which can easily f rame their own exclusivist narratives of history along the same lines. Indeed, as the Estonian case exemplifies very well, conflicting narratives of the past can be seen as an integral part of the triadic nexus of nationalist politics—the relationship between nationalising states, national minorities and external national homelands—discerned by Rogers Brubaker in his 1996 work Nationalism Reframed (Pettai 2006). In using the past for present purposes, political and intellectual elites in the Baltic and other Central and Eastern European states have also had to take account of the requirements of integration with the European Union, which in the Estonian and Latvian cases especially, has entailed significant changes to the direction of nation-building (Smith 2002a, 2002b, 2003a, 2003b, 2005; Budryte 2005; Kelley 2004; Galbreath 2005). EU-supported state integration strategies launched at the start of the twenty-first century have set the goal of creating integrated multicultural democracies which will enable representatives of the large non-titular, non-citizen population to preserve certain aspects of their distinct culture and heritage as they undergo integration into the polity and the dominant societal culture (Lauristin Heidmets 2002). According to a number of authors writing on the politics of the past and of memory, these efforts to promote an integrated multicultural society necessar ily require all the parties involved to engage with a process of democratising history. Democratisation in this context would imply that history is no longer used extensively for political purposes, alternative readings are allowed to challenge dominant master narratives, a plurality of guardians of memory is tolerated, and that rather than merely stressing the suffering endured by ones own nation, historical narratives recognise that other groups suffered equally, and that the nation in question served as both a bystander and a perpetrator as regards the suffering of others (see Onken 2003, 2007a; Budryte 2005). A significant step in this direction came during 1998, when all three Baltic states established historical commissions.8 Composed of academic experts from home and abroad (in the Estonian case exclusively the latter), these bodies have been called upon to produce an independent assessment of events during the Nazi and Soviet occupations of 1940 91, and have already begun to publish their findings (Onken 2007b). However, developments such as the Estonian War on Monuments and the Baltic Russian dispute over the commemoration held in Moscow to mark the sixtieth anniversary of the end of World War Two (Onken 2007a) underline the extent to which the past is still underpinning conflictual political dynamics in the present. In this regard, Russias increasing reliance on the Soviet past for nation-building purposes and its indiscriminate blanket accusations of fascist tendencies in the Baltic states prompt Baltic politicians to insist that Soviet communism should join Nazism as one of the great evils against which contemporary European values should be defined. As is the case with other aspects of post-communist transition, however, a focus on the state level tells us only so much about the renegotiation of identity in post-socialist Central and Eastern Europe. In this highly complex multi-ethnic environment, the sub-state regional level cannot be disregarded (Batt 2002). A focus on the sub-state level appears especially apposite as far as the study of Estonias public monuments is concerned, for, until now at least, decisions in this area have rested with local rather than with national government. Furthermore, one can point to different political logics that obtain at national and local level. As a result of the citizenship law adopted in the aftermath of independence, ethnic Estonians have constituted a comfortable majority of the national electorate during 1992 2007. The local election law of 1993, however, stipulates that while citizens alone can run for office, all permanent residents have the right to vote, regardless of citizenship status. This has meant that the ethnic composition of the electorate has in some cases been wholly different at municipal level. In this regard, the outright repudiation of the Soviet past displayed by local elites in Lihula stands in marked contrast to trends observable in the capital Tallinn, where Russian-speakers make up almost half the population, and Russian and pro-Russian parties, such as the Centre Party (Keskerakond), have been able to obtain a significant foothold in local politics. This contrast became evident not least in 1995, when the fiftieth anniversary of the end of World War II brought calls for the removal of the Bronze Soldier. The city council, however, tried instead to imbue this monument with an alternative meaning: a Soviet-era plaque referring to the liberation of Tallinn by the Red Army in 1944 was replaced by one that reads simply to the fallen of World War Two. This step can be read as an effort to inculcate some kind of shared understanding of a highly contentious past within a deeply multi-ethnic setting. What trends, however, can one identify in the more homogeneously Russian pe riphery that is Narva? Estonias new best friend. The rediscovery of Estonias Swedish past The return of the Swedish Lion monument to Narva, as one local newspaper described it (Sommer-Kalda 2000), can be seen in many ways as the culmination of a process of Swedish re-engagement with the eastern Baltic Near Abroad that began in 1990 with the establishment of a Swedish consulate in Tallinn. With considerable financial resources now being made available to support processes of economic and political transition in Estonia, Swedish cultural attach Hans Lepp began to explore how past cultural links might be utilised in the service of what he has termed soft diplomacy.9 Historic ties with Scandinavia have assumed an important place within the discourse of the ruling ethnic Estonian political elite since the 1990s, where they have been used to support the notion of a Return to Europe—or, more broadly, a Return to the Western World following the end of Soviet occupation (Lauristin et al. 1997; Smith 2001, 2003a, 2003b). Within this framework, the period 1561 1710, when Sweden progressively extended its dominion over much of the territory of present-day Estonia and Latvia, is remembered as the Happy Swedish time, which is said to have brought about a considerable improvement in the lot of the Estonian peasantry, before serfdom was returned to its former rigour following entry to the Russian empire. Hans Lepp and his diplomatic colleagues were alive to the possibility of trading on this feeling of goodwill in order to make Sweden Estonias best friend in the Baltic region, with all that this implied in terms of political and economic influence.10 It quickly became apparent, however, that Swedish assistance was most needed in Narva and its surrounding region of Ida-Virumaa. Quite apart from the socio-economic and environmental challenges posed by this largely Russian-populated border region, rising nationalism in neighbouring Russia raised the prospect that the local inhabitants might look eastwards towards Moscow rather than westwards towards Tallinn, with drastic implications for regional stability and security.11 In this specific context history had particular potential as a resource, given the important place of the Battle of Narva of 1700 within the Swedish historical imagination. Although the opening salvo in a disastrous war that saw the Baltic provinces ceded to Russia,12 the first Battle of Narva was nevertheless a remarkable victory by the troops of King Charles XII (often referred to as the Lion of the North) against the numerically superior forces of Peter the Great. In this respect, Eldar Efendiev, who as Mayor of Narva planned the November 2000 commemoration of the battle, claimed in an interview with the authors that Swedes know three dates—the birthday of Gustav Vasa; the birthday of the present King; and the date of the Battle of Narva.13 The significance of the latter event had been seen already in the inter-war period with the installation of a Lion monument on the battlefield site in 1936.14 Already prior to his appointment as cultural attach in 1990, Hans Lepp—then Curator of the art collections at the Swedish Royal Palace in Stockholm—suggested to Efendiev (at that time Head of the Narva Museum) that the restoration of the Lion monument might help to foster closer ties between Narva and Sweden in the present. Lepp subsequently pursued the idea of restoring the Lion with Narva city council in his roles as Swedish cultural attach to Estonia and member of the Swedish Institute. Not surprisingly, however, planning the commemoration of a decisive Swedish victory over Russia was a potentially fraught endeavour in a town where Russian-speakers now made up 96% of the population. Narva: Eastern, Western or in-between? The more essentialising geopolitical discourses of the post-Cold War era would see Narva as sitting on the westward side of the border that divides Western Christianity from Eastern Orthodoxy. Those who discern a Huntingdonian civilisational fault line between Estonia and Russia could point by way of evidence to the presence of two great fortresses—one German, one Russian—on the respective banks of the Narova River that separates Narva from its neighbouring settlement of Ivangorod and which today marks the state border with the Russian Federation. Not unnaturally, however, the citys past is rather more complex. As noted on the current website of the city government, Narva has not merely served as a defensive outpost and site of struggle between competing regional powers, but has also constituted a locus for trade and interaction between West and East, not least during the period when the city belonged to the Hanseatic League.15 From its foundation in the twelfth century to 1558, Narva did indeed constitute the easternmost point of the province of Estland, which was ruled first by the Danes and later by the German Livonian Order. Neighbouring Ivangorod takes its name from Tsar Ivan III, who ordered the construction of a fortress on the western border of his realm following Muscovys annexation of Novgorod in the late fifteenth century. Muscovy subsequently conquered Narva during the mid-sixteenth century Livonian wars, controlling the city from 1558 to 1581. The city then came under Swedish rule for 120 years following the Livonian Wars, a period which is described on the webpage of todays city government as Narvas Golden Age.16 For nearly three and a half centuries, Narva and Ivangorod functioned in effect as a single composite settlement, first under Swedish rule and then later during the tsarist period, when Narva came under the joint jurisdiction of the Estland and Saint Petersburg Gubernii of the Russian Empire. The conjoined status of the two towns persisted after 1917, when the inhabitants of the Narva district voted in a July referendum to join the province of Estland created following the February Revolution.17 After a brief spell of Bolshevik control during late 1918 to early 1919, when Narva functioned as the seat of the abortive Estonian Workers Commune, both towns were incorporated into the Estonian Republic under the terms of the 1920 Treaty of Tartu. It was only after the Soviet occupation in 1945 that the border was redrawn so as to place Ivangorod in the territory of the Russian Republic of the USSR. Although this division was little more than an administrative formality within a Soviet cont ext, the frontier revision set the scene for the establishment of a fully functioning state border between the two towns after 1992. The Narva that emerged from the Soviet period is almost completely unrecognisable from the one that existed prior to World War Two. Previously characterised as the baroque jewel of Northern Europe, the city was quite literally reduced to rubble in 1944 during fierce fighting between German and Soviet forces in eastern Estonia. While at least some historic buildings—notably the castle and the town hall—were restored, the ruins were for the most part demolished and the city entirely remodelled on the Soviet plan. As was the case with Knigsberg (Kaliningrad), Narva was inhabited by both different inhabitants and a different ideology after 1945 (Sezneva 2002, p. 48). The previous residents, having been evacuated by the occupying Nazi regime, were not allowed to return by its Soviet successor, and were replaced by workers from neighbouring Russia, who oversaw a process of Soviet-style industrialisation in the region. Today, Estonians make up less than 5% of the towns inhabit ants. As part of Narvas transformation into a Soviet place, new monuments were erected to commemorate the fallen of the Great Patriotic War and of the brief period of rule by the Estonian Workers Commune.18 All remaining traces of the pre-war Estonian Republic were swept away following the Soviet re-conquest of 1944. The 1936 Swedish Lion monument, which had been erected at the approaches to the city during a visit by the Swedish Crown Prince, was destroyed by artillery fire and the bronze lion removed by German forces during their retreat. This monument did not reappear under Soviet rule. The authorities did, however, restore and maintain objects linked to the citys Russian past, such as the two tsarist-era monuments to Russian soldiers killed in the battles of 1700 and 1704. As the movement for Estonian independence gathered momentum between 1988 and 1991, Narva gained a reputation as a bastion of support for the maintenance of Soviet power. The city government that came to office in December 1989 set itself resolutely against political change, demanding autonomy for north-east Estonia within the context of a renewed Soviet federation and, in August 1991, voicing support for the abortive Moscow coup which precipitated the collapse of the USSR. The Council was promptly dissolved in the aftermath of Estonian independence; yet, remarkably, its former leaders were allowed to stand in new elections, and were returned to power in October 1991, albeit on a turnout of only 30%. As ethnic tensions mounted in Estonia between 1991 and 1993, and Narvas economy went into freefall, local leaders again set themselves in opposition to central government policies that were designed to engineer a decisive political and economic break with the Soviet past. The last stand o f the Soviet-era leadership came in the summer of 1993: with fresh local elections scheduled for the autumn, the city government organised an unofficial referendum on local autonomy, in which it gained a 97% majority in favour on an officially proclaimed 55% turnout of local voters. With the national government standing firm and refusing to acknowledge the legality of the vote, and no support forthcoming from neighbouring Russia, a growing section of the local political elite appeared to accept that intransigent opposition to the new state order was blocking any prospect of achieving much needed economic renewal. These circles now called upon the existing leadership to give up power peacefully, which it did in October 1993 (Smith 2002b). At the time, the referendum of July 1993 was widely regarded as secessionist in intent. Available evidence, however, would seem to suggest that redrawing physical borders was not on the agenda: the aim was rather to tip the overall political balance within Estonia in favour of the Russian-speaking part of the population and, in this way, to bring Estonia as a whole more firmly within the ambit of Russia and the CIS. In this way, the leadership hoped both to retain power and to restore the citys previous economic ties with the East as well as developing new links with the West (Smith 2002b).19 While Soviet constituted the principal identity marker for Estonias Russian-speaking population prior to 1991, this did not preclude the development of a simultaneous strong identification with the specific territory of the Estonian SSR (widely identified in other republics as the Soviet West or the Soviet Abroad), and with the local place of residence. Between 1989 and 1991, the movement to ass ert Estonian sovereignty gained support from a significant minority (perhaps as much as one third) of local Russian-speakers, who could subscribe to a vision of Estonia as an economic bridge between East and West. Such feelings were by no means absent in Narva, where the 1989 census revealed that seven out of 10 residents had actually been born in Estonia (Kirch et al. 1993, p. 177). Even so, the collapse of the USSR inevitably created something of an identity void as far as Estonias Russian-speakers were concerned. Despite perceptions of discrimination, recent survey work has confirmed a growing identification with the Estonian state (Kolst2002; Budryte 2005; Ehin 2007) as well as significant support for EU membership. Most Russians, however, have scarcely been able to identify themselves with any notion of Estonian national community, with local place of residence and ethnicity serving as the prime markers of identity (Ehin 2007). Despite having an obvious cultural affinity with Russia and with the transnational Russian community across the territory of the former Soviet Union, a population raised in the different socio-cultural setting of the Baltic has found it hard to conceive of actually living in Russia or to identify politically with the contemporary Russian state. It is with this complex identity that the post-1993 leadership in Narva has had to reckon. The Estonian law on local elections passed in May 1993 stipulated that non-citizens could vote but not stand for office. This excluded much of the local population from seeking election, including a substantial proportion of the Soviet-era leadership. Ahead of the October 1993 poll in Narva, however, the state was able to co-opt elements of the local political elite through a process of accelerated naturalisation on the grounds of special services rendered to the state. The elections of October 1993 saw a strong turnout by local voters, and brought to power a coalition of locally based parties and interest groups. The city governments elected during the period 1993 2005—a period when the national-level Centre Party attained the dominant position within local politics—were far more ready than their predecessors to embrace the new political economy of post-socialism, and thus better placed to cooperate both with central government and with Western partners within the wid er Baltic Sea area. In this regard, the commemoration of the Battle of Narva and the installation of the Swedish Lion can be understood as an attempt to create a narrative of the citys past capable of underpinning growing ties with Sweden in the present. These ties assumed a particular significance after 1995, when Swedish textile firm Boras Wfveri purchased a 75% stake in Narvas historic Kreenholm Mill, then the citys second-largest employer. According to Raivo Murd, the ethnic Estonian who served as Mayor of Narva from 1993 to 1996, the investment was proof that Narva was finally beginning to shed the Red image that had prevailed under the former political dispensation.20 In a clear sign of its determination to break with the Soviet past, the city government appointed in October 1993 removed Estonias last remaining statue of Lenin, which had remained standing in the central Peters Square in Narva during the first two years of Estonian independence. The subsequent period has seen the installation of new monuments commemorating—inter alia—the victims of Stalinist deportations during the 1940s and key moments in the transition to Estonian independence during 1917 20. The Old Narva Society founded by surviving pre-1944 residents of Narva also put up a number of commemorative plaques marking the sites of churches and other key buildings from the pre-war city. Yet the post-1993 political e Issues of War Monuments in Estonia Issues of War Monuments in Estonia Empty Spaces and the Value of Symbols: Estonias War of Monuments from Another Angle * This article is the first published output from British Academy small research grant ref. SG-39197, entitled Public Monuments, Commemoration and the Renegotiation of Collective Identities: Estonia, Sweden and the â€Å"Baltic World† Since the summer of 2004, the new EU member state of Estonia has been in the throes of what is described as a War of Monuments. The events in question began in the town of Lihula in western Estonia, where a veterans group erected a stone tablet commemorating those Estonians who in World War Two donned German uniform and fought on the eastern front against the USSR. Bearing the inscription To Estonian men who fought in 1940 1945 against Bolshevism and for the restoration of Estonian independence, the Lihula stone became the latest of several monuments commemorating a group that most Estonians today regard as freedom fighters. In this case, however, the soldier depicted bore SS insignia. Hardly surprisingly, this fact elicited widespread international condemnation, notably from Russia, the EU and Jewish organisations. The groups behind the monument insisted that the men in question had had no truck with Nazism, and had only enlisted as a last resort in order to obtain access to arms w ith which to repel the Soviet invader. The display of the SS insignia nevertheless disregarded the taboo that surrounds the display of Nazi symbols in todays Europe. Also, while the vast majority of Estonian SS legionnaires did indeed sign up only in 1944 as the Soviet army advanced into their homeland, at least some had previously belonged to auxiliary police battalions which have been implicated in Nazi atrocities.1 Concerned to limit potential damage to Estonias international reputation, the government of the day ordered the removal of the monument. The police operation to carry out this order on 2 September 2004 nevertheless provoked clashes with local residents, while the political fallout from the episode contributed to the fall of Prime Minister Juhan Parts several months later. Critics of the government action argued that if the Lihula monument was to be construed as a glorification of totalitarianism, then the same logic should be applied to Soviet monuments that had been left standing following the restoration of Estonian independence in 1991. Singled out in this regard was the Bronze Soldier on T[otilde]nismgi in central Tallinn—a post-war monument erected on the unmarked grave of Soviet troops who fell during the taking of the city in 1944. For the vast majority of Estonians, the arrival of the Soviet Army signalled the replacement of one brutal occupying regime by another, whic h quickly resumed the arrests, executions and large-scale deportations previously witnessed during the first year of Soviet rule in 1940 41. This remains the dominant perception amongst Estonians today. The leaders of post-Soviet Russia, by contrast, have adhered steadfastly to the Soviet-era view of these events as marking the liberation of Estonia from fascism. The defeat of the Nazis during 1941 45 remains central to Russias self-understanding in the post-Soviet era; its  current leaders emphatically deny that the events of 1940 and 1944 in the Baltic states constituted a Soviet occupation, and refuse to acknowledge the suffering which the inhabitants of these countries experienced at the hands of the Soviet regime. Commentators in Russia have emphasised that they will brook no alternative interpretations of the Soviet Unions role in the events of 1939 45, and have therefore characterised calls for the removal of the T[otilde]nismgi monument as a manifestation of support for fascism. For many of the ethnic Russians who today make up nearly half of Tallinns population, the Bronze Soldier has also remained a locus of identification, providing the site for continued unofficial commemorations on 9 May, which was celebrated as Victory Day during the Soviet period. Red paint was thrown over the monument just prior to 9 May 2005, when several other Soviet war memorials were also attacked across the country, and a German military cemetery desecrated in Narva. The following year, this date again elicited tensions: local Russian youth mounted round-the-clock surveillance at the Bronze Soldier, while an Estonian nationalist counter-demonstration led to scuffles on 9 May (Alas 2006a). The monument was subsequently cordoned off by police pending a decision on its future. This formed the object of vigorous political debate ahead of the March 2007 parliamentary elections. Matters relating to the establishment and upkeep of public monuments in post-Soviet Estonia have for the mo st part fallen to local municipalities. In late 2006, however, new legislation was adopted giving central government the power to override local decision making in this regard. This provision was motivated expressly by a desire to remove the monument and the soldiers remains from the centre of Tallinn to the more peripheral setting of the military cemetery on the citys outskirts (Alas 2006a, 2006b, 2006c; Ranname 2006). The subsequent removal of the monument in late April 2007 provided the occasion for large-scale rioting in central Tallinn. On 9 May 2007 hundreds of people visited the monument at its new location in order to lay flowers. Issues of past or memory politics2 have assumed a growing prominence in recent scholarly work on Estonia and the other Baltic states, with a number of authors also highlighting the apparently divergent views of the past held by Estonians and Estonian Russians, and the obstacles that this poses in terms of societal integration (Hackmann 2003; Budryte 2005; Onken 2003, 2007a, 2007b). Publicly sited monuments are evidently central to any discussion of such issues: as recent events in Estonia have shown, they frequently act as catalysts eliciting both official and unsanctioned expressions of collective identity (Burch 2002a, 2004).3 Thus far, however, surprisingly little attention has been devoted to monuments within the relevant academic literature on Estonia. This article is intended as a contribution in this regard, but it approaches the issue from a slightly different angle. The War of Monuments has focused political and media attention upon two different cases, one involving a settlement that is predominantly ethnica lly Estonian by population (Lihula) and the other a capital city (Tallinn) that is almost equally divided between Estonians and Russians. This article shifts the focus to the overwhelmingly Russian-speaking city of Narva, which today sits on Estonias border with the Russian Federation. In particular, our study examines the local politics surrounding the Swedish Lion monument (see Figure 1), which was erected in the city in November 2000 on the 300th anniversary of the Battle of Narva between Sweden and Russia. The Lion monument relates to a past that is far less immediate than the events of 1940 45, but which, as we demonstrate, is still highly salient to contemporary identity politics within Estonia. How, for instance, was the commemoration of a decisive Swedish victory over Russia framed and debated in a town where ethnic Russians and other Russian-speakers constitute 96% of the population? Equally significantly, todays Lion is depicted as the successor to a similar monument erected in 1936 during the period of Estonias inter-war independence. The reappearance of this symbol could therefore potentially be understood as part of a state-sponsored effort to banish the Soviet past and reconnect with a past Golden Age. Once again, one wonders how this was interpreted by a local population that was established in Narva as a direct consequence of the Soviet takeover and which, by dint of the legal continuity principle, mostly did not obtain the automatic right to Estonian citizenship after 199 1.4 Who then decided to erect the Lion monument, and why? What form did the commemoration of November 2000 take, and what are the main lines of public debate that have surrounded it? The current article will address these questions, and will also seek to link the Narva case to broader conceptual issues of identity politics and post-communist transition, particularly the current debate surrounding the possibilities for the development of a tamed liberal/multicultural nationalism in Central and Eastern Europe.5 Past politics and post-communism The dramatic events that have occurred in Europe over the past two decades have entailed a profound redefinition of collective identities at a variety of scales—national, supranational, regional and local. The end of the Cold War, the demise of the USSR, and the consequent processes of EU and NATO enlargement, all occurring within the overall context of economic globalisation and growing movement of population, have led communities and groups across the continent to revisit existing understandings of who We are and where We are going. Since historical memory is an essential component in the construction of collective identity, this process has necessarily involved renegotiation of the Past as well as debates concerning the Present and Future. Like all forms of identity politics, such memory work is contested, being embedded in complex †¦ power relations that determine what is remembered (or forgotten) by whom, and for what end (Gillis 1994, p. 3). In a similar vein, Graha m et al. (2000, pp. 17 18) remind us that heritage is time-specific and thus its meaning(s) can be altered as texts are re-read in changing times, circumstances and constructs of place and scale. Consequently, it is inevitable that such knowledges are also fields of contestation.6 Publicly sited monuments offer a particularly useful way into researching this phenomenon, since they provide us with a tangible manifestation of some memory work process. The memorial function of such objects can take the form of carefully choreographed gatherings at times of heightened political awareness, or precise moments of commemorative anniversaries. Wreaths might be laid; silence observed; political rallies enacted; pageants performed. Other actions might be characterised more by spontaneity: collective grief at a sudden, tragic event, or an iconoclastic attack on a memorial construed in negative terms. Individuals and groups will attach different, often mutually exclusive meanings to particular monuments. Moreover, such meanings are shifting and contingent: what constitutes an eloquent memorial at one particular moment in time (for instance during an annual commemoration) might become a mute, invisible monument for the rest of the year. In this regard, being ignored is as s ignificant as being noticed.7 Political changes in the present can radically alter the import of a memorial, without any physical change on its part. This reiterates that the context of the monument is intrinsic to meaning. Context, however, can also be physically rendered, as with the shifting of a memorial/monument from some focal point to somewhere more peripheral and less visible. Issues of collective identity have proved especially challenging in those states that have been created or recreated following the collapse of the USSR. These are for the most part configured as classic unitary nation states, and yet in nearly all cases, processes of state and nation building have been effectuated on the basis of societies that are deeply polyethnic or multinational in character (Brubaker 1996; Smith et al. 1998; Smith 1999). Moreover, nearly all of the states in question have painful pasts with which they need to come to terms (Budryte 2005, p. 1). In relation to this region, Paul Gready (2003, p. 6) reminds us that stripped of the fossilising force of Cold War politics, nationalism has become central to political transitions, both as a means and an end. Narratives of history that focus exclusively on the titular nationality and its subjugation and suffering at the hands of former colonial regimes invariably elicit opposition from minority groups, which can easily f rame their own exclusivist narratives of history along the same lines. Indeed, as the Estonian case exemplifies very well, conflicting narratives of the past can be seen as an integral part of the triadic nexus of nationalist politics—the relationship between nationalising states, national minorities and external national homelands—discerned by Rogers Brubaker in his 1996 work Nationalism Reframed (Pettai 2006). In using the past for present purposes, political and intellectual elites in the Baltic and other Central and Eastern European states have also had to take account of the requirements of integration with the European Union, which in the Estonian and Latvian cases especially, has entailed significant changes to the direction of nation-building (Smith 2002a, 2002b, 2003a, 2003b, 2005; Budryte 2005; Kelley 2004; Galbreath 2005). EU-supported state integration strategies launched at the start of the twenty-first century have set the goal of creating integrated multicultural democracies which will enable representatives of the large non-titular, non-citizen population to preserve certain aspects of their distinct culture and heritage as they undergo integration into the polity and the dominant societal culture (Lauristin Heidmets 2002). According to a number of authors writing on the politics of the past and of memory, these efforts to promote an integrated multicultural society necessar ily require all the parties involved to engage with a process of democratising history. Democratisation in this context would imply that history is no longer used extensively for political purposes, alternative readings are allowed to challenge dominant master narratives, a plurality of guardians of memory is tolerated, and that rather than merely stressing the suffering endured by ones own nation, historical narratives recognise that other groups suffered equally, and that the nation in question served as both a bystander and a perpetrator as regards the suffering of others (see Onken 2003, 2007a; Budryte 2005). A significant step in this direction came during 1998, when all three Baltic states established historical commissions.8 Composed of academic experts from home and abroad (in the Estonian case exclusively the latter), these bodies have been called upon to produce an independent assessment of events during the Nazi and Soviet occupations of 1940 91, and have already begun to publish their findings (Onken 2007b). However, developments such as the Estonian War on Monuments and the Baltic Russian dispute over the commemoration held in Moscow to mark the sixtieth anniversary of the end of World War Two (Onken 2007a) underline the extent to which the past is still underpinning conflictual political dynamics in the present. In this regard, Russias increasing reliance on the Soviet past for nation-building purposes and its indiscriminate blanket accusations of fascist tendencies in the Baltic states prompt Baltic politicians to insist that Soviet communism should join Nazism as one of the great evils against which contemporary European values should be defined. As is the case with other aspects of post-communist transition, however, a focus on the state level tells us only so much about the renegotiation of identity in post-socialist Central and Eastern Europe. In this highly complex multi-ethnic environment, the sub-state regional level cannot be disregarded (Batt 2002). A focus on the sub-state level appears especially apposite as far as the study of Estonias public monuments is concerned, for, until now at least, decisions in this area have rested with local rather than with national government. Furthermore, one can point to different political logics that obtain at national and local level. As a result of the citizenship law adopted in the aftermath of independence, ethnic Estonians have constituted a comfortable majority of the national electorate during 1992 2007. The local election law of 1993, however, stipulates that while citizens alone can run for office, all permanent residents have the right to vote, regardless of citizenship status. This has meant that the ethnic composition of the electorate has in some cases been wholly different at municipal level. In this regard, the outright repudiation of the Soviet past displayed by local elites in Lihula stands in marked contrast to trends observable in the capital Tallinn, where Russian-speakers make up almost half the population, and Russian and pro-Russian parties, such as the Centre Party (Keskerakond), have been able to obtain a significant foothold in local politics. This contrast became evident not least in 1995, when the fiftieth anniversary of the end of World War II brought calls for the removal of the Bronze Soldier. The city council, however, tried instead to imbue this monument with an alternative meaning: a Soviet-era plaque referring to the liberation of Tallinn by the Red Army in 1944 was replaced by one that reads simply to the fallen of World War Two. This step can be read as an effort to inculcate some kind of shared understanding of a highly contentious past within a deeply multi-ethnic setting. What trends, however, can one identify in the more homogeneously Russian pe riphery that is Narva? Estonias new best friend. The rediscovery of Estonias Swedish past The return of the Swedish Lion monument to Narva, as one local newspaper described it (Sommer-Kalda 2000), can be seen in many ways as the culmination of a process of Swedish re-engagement with the eastern Baltic Near Abroad that began in 1990 with the establishment of a Swedish consulate in Tallinn. With considerable financial resources now being made available to support processes of economic and political transition in Estonia, Swedish cultural attach Hans Lepp began to explore how past cultural links might be utilised in the service of what he has termed soft diplomacy.9 Historic ties with Scandinavia have assumed an important place within the discourse of the ruling ethnic Estonian political elite since the 1990s, where they have been used to support the notion of a Return to Europe—or, more broadly, a Return to the Western World following the end of Soviet occupation (Lauristin et al. 1997; Smith 2001, 2003a, 2003b). Within this framework, the period 1561 1710, when Sweden progressively extended its dominion over much of the territory of present-day Estonia and Latvia, is remembered as the Happy Swedish time, which is said to have brought about a considerable improvement in the lot of the Estonian peasantry, before serfdom was returned to its former rigour following entry to the Russian empire. Hans Lepp and his diplomatic colleagues were alive to the possibility of trading on this feeling of goodwill in order to make Sweden Estonias best friend in the Baltic region, with all that this implied in terms of political and economic influence.10 It quickly became apparent, however, that Swedish assistance was most needed in Narva and its surrounding region of Ida-Virumaa. Quite apart from the socio-economic and environmental challenges posed by this largely Russian-populated border region, rising nationalism in neighbouring Russia raised the prospect that the local inhabitants might look eastwards towards Moscow rather than westwards towards Tallinn, with drastic implications for regional stability and security.11 In this specific context history had particular potential as a resource, given the important place of the Battle of Narva of 1700 within the Swedish historical imagination. Although the opening salvo in a disastrous war that saw the Baltic provinces ceded to Russia,12 the first Battle of Narva was nevertheless a remarkable victory by the troops of King Charles XII (often referred to as the Lion of the North) against the numerically superior forces of Peter the Great. In this respect, Eldar Efendiev, who as Mayor of Narva planned the November 2000 commemoration of the battle, claimed in an interview with the authors that Swedes know three dates—the birthday of Gustav Vasa; the birthday of the present King; and the date of the Battle of Narva.13 The significance of the latter event had been seen already in the inter-war period with the installation of a Lion monument on the battlefield site in 1936.14 Already prior to his appointment as cultural attach in 1990, Hans Lepp—then Curator of the art collections at the Swedish Royal Palace in Stockholm—suggested to Efendiev (at that time Head of the Narva Museum) that the restoration of the Lion monument might help to foster closer ties between Narva and Sweden in the present. Lepp subsequently pursued the idea of restoring the Lion with Narva city council in his roles as Swedish cultural attach to Estonia and member of the Swedish Institute. Not surprisingly, however, planning the commemoration of a decisive Swedish victory over Russia was a potentially fraught endeavour in a town where Russian-speakers now made up 96% of the population. Narva: Eastern, Western or in-between? The more essentialising geopolitical discourses of the post-Cold War era would see Narva as sitting on the westward side of the border that divides Western Christianity from Eastern Orthodoxy. Those who discern a Huntingdonian civilisational fault line between Estonia and Russia could point by way of evidence to the presence of two great fortresses—one German, one Russian—on the respective banks of the Narova River that separates Narva from its neighbouring settlement of Ivangorod and which today marks the state border with the Russian Federation. Not unnaturally, however, the citys past is rather more complex. As noted on the current website of the city government, Narva has not merely served as a defensive outpost and site of struggle between competing regional powers, but has also constituted a locus for trade and interaction between West and East, not least during the period when the city belonged to the Hanseatic League.15 From its foundation in the twelfth century to 1558, Narva did indeed constitute the easternmost point of the province of Estland, which was ruled first by the Danes and later by the German Livonian Order. Neighbouring Ivangorod takes its name from Tsar Ivan III, who ordered the construction of a fortress on the western border of his realm following Muscovys annexation of Novgorod in the late fifteenth century. Muscovy subsequently conquered Narva during the mid-sixteenth century Livonian wars, controlling the city from 1558 to 1581. The city then came under Swedish rule for 120 years following the Livonian Wars, a period which is described on the webpage of todays city government as Narvas Golden Age.16 For nearly three and a half centuries, Narva and Ivangorod functioned in effect as a single composite settlement, first under Swedish rule and then later during the tsarist period, when Narva came under the joint jurisdiction of the Estland and Saint Petersburg Gubernii of the Russian Empire. The conjoined status of the two towns persisted after 1917, when the inhabitants of the Narva district voted in a July referendum to join the province of Estland created following the February Revolution.17 After a brief spell of Bolshevik control during late 1918 to early 1919, when Narva functioned as the seat of the abortive Estonian Workers Commune, both towns were incorporated into the Estonian Republic under the terms of the 1920 Treaty of Tartu. It was only after the Soviet occupation in 1945 that the border was redrawn so as to place Ivangorod in the territory of the Russian Republic of the USSR. Although this division was little more than an administrative formality within a Soviet cont ext, the frontier revision set the scene for the establishment of a fully functioning state border between the two towns after 1992. The Narva that emerged from the Soviet period is almost completely unrecognisable from the one that existed prior to World War Two. Previously characterised as the baroque jewel of Northern Europe, the city was quite literally reduced to rubble in 1944 during fierce fighting between German and Soviet forces in eastern Estonia. While at least some historic buildings—notably the castle and the town hall—were restored, the ruins were for the most part demolished and the city entirely remodelled on the Soviet plan. As was the case with Knigsberg (Kaliningrad), Narva was inhabited by both different inhabitants and a different ideology after 1945 (Sezneva 2002, p. 48). The previous residents, having been evacuated by the occupying Nazi regime, were not allowed to return by its Soviet successor, and were replaced by workers from neighbouring Russia, who oversaw a process of Soviet-style industrialisation in the region. Today, Estonians make up less than 5% of the towns inhabit ants. As part of Narvas transformation into a Soviet place, new monuments were erected to commemorate the fallen of the Great Patriotic War and of the brief period of rule by the Estonian Workers Commune.18 All remaining traces of the pre-war Estonian Republic were swept away following the Soviet re-conquest of 1944. The 1936 Swedish Lion monument, which had been erected at the approaches to the city during a visit by the Swedish Crown Prince, was destroyed by artillery fire and the bronze lion removed by German forces during their retreat. This monument did not reappear under Soviet rule. The authorities did, however, restore and maintain objects linked to the citys Russian past, such as the two tsarist-era monuments to Russian soldiers killed in the battles of 1700 and 1704. As the movement for Estonian independence gathered momentum between 1988 and 1991, Narva gained a reputation as a bastion of support for the maintenance of Soviet power. The city government that came to office in December 1989 set itself resolutely against political change, demanding autonomy for north-east Estonia within the context of a renewed Soviet federation and, in August 1991, voicing support for the abortive Moscow coup which precipitated the collapse of the USSR. The Council was promptly dissolved in the aftermath of Estonian independence; yet, remarkably, its former leaders were allowed to stand in new elections, and were returned to power in October 1991, albeit on a turnout of only 30%. As ethnic tensions mounted in Estonia between 1991 and 1993, and Narvas economy went into freefall, local leaders again set themselves in opposition to central government policies that were designed to engineer a decisive political and economic break with the Soviet past. The last stand o f the Soviet-era leadership came in the summer of 1993: with fresh local elections scheduled for the autumn, the city government organised an unofficial referendum on local autonomy, in which it gained a 97% majority in favour on an officially proclaimed 55% turnout of local voters. With the national government standing firm and refusing to acknowledge the legality of the vote, and no support forthcoming from neighbouring Russia, a growing section of the local political elite appeared to accept that intransigent opposition to the new state order was blocking any prospect of achieving much needed economic renewal. These circles now called upon the existing leadership to give up power peacefully, which it did in October 1993 (Smith 2002b). At the time, the referendum of July 1993 was widely regarded as secessionist in intent. Available evidence, however, would seem to suggest that redrawing physical borders was not on the agenda: the aim was rather to tip the overall political balance within Estonia in favour of the Russian-speaking part of the population and, in this way, to bring Estonia as a whole more firmly within the ambit of Russia and the CIS. In this way, the leadership hoped both to retain power and to restore the citys previous economic ties with the East as well as developing new links with the West (Smith 2002b).19 While Soviet constituted the principal identity marker for Estonias Russian-speaking population prior to 1991, this did not preclude the development of a simultaneous strong identification with the specific territory of the Estonian SSR (widely identified in other republics as the Soviet West or the Soviet Abroad), and with the local place of residence. Between 1989 and 1991, the movement to ass ert Estonian sovereignty gained support from a significant minority (perhaps as much as one third) of local Russian-speakers, who could subscribe to a vision of Estonia as an economic bridge between East and West. Such feelings were by no means absent in Narva, where the 1989 census revealed that seven out of 10 residents had actually been born in Estonia (Kirch et al. 1993, p. 177). Even so, the collapse of the USSR inevitably created something of an identity void as far as Estonias Russian-speakers were concerned. Despite perceptions of discrimination, recent survey work has confirmed a growing identification with the Estonian state (Kolst2002; Budryte 2005; Ehin 2007) as well as significant support for EU membership. Most Russians, however, have scarcely been able to identify themselves with any notion of Estonian national community, with local place of residence and ethnicity serving as the prime markers of identity (Ehin 2007). Despite having an obvious cultural affinity with Russia and with the transnational Russian community across the territory of the former Soviet Union, a population raised in the different socio-cultural setting of the Baltic has found it hard to conceive of actually living in Russia or to identify politically with the contemporary Russian state. It is with this complex identity that the post-1993 leadership in Narva has had to reckon. The Estonian law on local elections passed in May 1993 stipulated that non-citizens could vote but not stand for office. This excluded much of the local population from seeking election, including a substantial proportion of the Soviet-era leadership. Ahead of the October 1993 poll in Narva, however, the state was able to co-opt elements of the local political elite through a process of accelerated naturalisation on the grounds of special services rendered to the state. The elections of October 1993 saw a strong turnout by local voters, and brought to power a coalition of locally based parties and interest groups. The city governments elected during the period 1993 2005—a period when the national-level Centre Party attained the dominant position within local politics—were far more ready than their predecessors to embrace the new political economy of post-socialism, and thus better placed to cooperate both with central government and with Western partners within the wid er Baltic Sea area. In this regard, the commemoration of the Battle of Narva and the installation of the Swedish Lion can be understood as an attempt to create a narrative of the citys past capable of underpinning growing ties with Sweden in the present. These ties assumed a particular significance after 1995, when Swedish textile firm Boras Wfveri purchased a 75% stake in Narvas historic Kreenholm Mill, then the citys second-largest employer. According to Raivo Murd, the ethnic Estonian who served as Mayor of Narva from 1993 to 1996, the investment was proof that Narva was finally beginning to shed the Red image that had prevailed under the former political dispensation.20 In a clear sign of its determination to break with the Soviet past, the city government appointed in October 1993 removed Estonias last remaining statue of Lenin, which had remained standing in the central Peters Square in Narva during the first two years of Estonian independence. The subsequent period has seen the installation of new monuments commemorating—inter alia—the victims of Stalinist deportations during the 1940s and key moments in the transition to Estonian independence during 1917 20. The Old Narva Society founded by surviving pre-1944 residents of Narva also put up a number of commemorative plaques marking the sites of churches and other key buildings from the pre-war city. Yet the post-1993 political e