A man is captive within himself. He dwells in a freedom which is confirmed to bounds, he breathes in an ambience ensnared to limits, he nurtures a shriveled valiance with the quaint promises of trepidation, he is infinite to his content and eternal only to his perception. He lives up to the demure equilibrium in his life and devours the inherited symmetric patterns of faith. His endeavors to abide the rudiments of life, to tread the arduous avenues with fervour, to encroach the realms and intervene the horizons, to be incorrigible, infallible, immaculate and to be the protagonist are just mere participants of his supreme urge to promote self. To him, self is the blatant proposition of an existence without ethics, the ideal definition of a life without morals and a pragmatic conclusion to all dubious queries that scrutinize a man