tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34781993358031544532024-03-05T16:56:12.820-08:00Plainly Blunt!Maybe I'll tangle in the power lines
And it might be over in a second's time...
But I'll gladly go down in a flame
If the flame's what it takes to remember my name...
Someday I’ll fly, Someday I’ll soar
...Someday I’ll be so damn much more '
Coz I’m bigger than my body gives me credit for.-John Mayer...Unknownnoreply@blogger.comBlogger54125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3478199335803154453.post-70501806260652863542012-09-29T11:22:00.001-07:002012-09-29T11:23:03.838-07:00Do we live?<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
We breathe, we eat, we walk, we laugh, we cry, we feel
euphoric, we go through despair, we want people, we want to be alone, we win,
we lose, we love, we hate and yes sometimes choose be in between. And thus we
survive. But do we live? </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
This question has been hovering around with me for so many
years. At the age of 6 I asked my mother, “Why was I born”? </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“To be my daughter and give me company” was my mother’s
reply. I was in total disagreement with her as I thought I was born to become
Miss Universe. (You can read about it <a href="http://www.plainlyblunt.blogspot.in/2010/01/broken-dreams.html">here</a>). I was living to become Miss
Universe.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Few years later I again asked myself the same question and
left it unanswered. The woes of having an inquisitive mind is that once it goes
on seeking an answer, it will rest only after finding. You can try to subjugate
it, try to ignore it, try to crumple it but it will not stop bothering without
meeting its goal. And when it does find its goal, life becomes more blissful
and beautiful. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Few days back while coming back from office, I was feeling
unusually intrigued about my future prospects. So much that I began talking to
myself, going to and forth on every nuances and facets. I was completely unaware
of the world around me. Two children walked past me. One was around 3 and the
other 6. The younger one was in a bad mood with tears welled up in his eyes,
face turned red and steps refusing to go ahead. I took few steps back and
turned to them. The elder one kept his gaze fixed on the ground and whispering
to the little one to move quickly. The younger one looked straight into my eyes
and suddenly my whole being smiled. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The eyes gave u tears and acquired a tinkle, face left the
redness and lit up while the kid gave away the smile I had not seen and felt
earlier. I kissed the kids and went away. The kids unknowingly taught me
something which my books could not. I truly lived in that moment, the moment of
pure happiness, happiness that is not conditional and dependent. It stems out
from your own being, your being which is devoid of any kind of materialistic
values. It gives away the notions of worldly love and tells us to not just
survive but live. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
And yes, we do live. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
</div>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3478199335803154453.post-43102218905790748742012-09-23T05:14:00.000-07:002012-09-23T05:14:39.389-07:00Helplessness<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
There are so many emotions that dwell in me, some come and
go, some have a permanent base and some just like to amble around a bit. They make
me feel complete and close to being a human being who is flowing and not
monotonous. But I dread the coming of one, “Helplessness”. Though it doesn’t come
often but when it does, it leaves so many unanswered questions, unfilled voids
and a dreadful silence. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Last night I went to the living room to find some magazines needed
for reference for an article. I was taken aback to find my family teary eyed in
front of the television. The show “<st1:country -region="-region" w:st="on">India</st1:country>’s got talent” was being
aired. A girl of no more than 5 was balancing herself on the rope without
giving much attention to the audience or the judges. She was determined and gritty,
much oblivious to whatever was happening around her. After completing her act,
she stood silently without any change of expression. Her face was cold and
devoid of the child like free spirit. The whole audience burst into applaud but
it did nothing to bring even a faint smile on her face. She was just there to
do her work like she has been doing it since she began to crawl or speak in
every nook and corner of the country.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
My heart was silently weeping watching the little girl lose
her childhood. If you ask any person that which period of their life is most
memorable to them, a lot of people will definitely point out childhood. The time
when we are carefree and have the liberty to believe and dream anything without
planning about the money that would go into it. We can live without worry
yesterday and tomorrow and just be in present. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Every day we see thousands of children on the streets living
a life which even animals don’t deserve. We ignore it and become naive about the
reality until one day when it comes face to face, leaving behind nothing but
Helplessness. </div>
</div>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3478199335803154453.post-11244540562985585932012-09-21T14:45:00.000-07:002012-09-22T02:50:51.382-07:00Sailing Over Lives- Absence<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
Iti didn’t remember when she met Neil for the first time. She
thought she knew him from the day she was born. And it might be true too since
they were just two days apart. He was her family. She vividly remembers the
time when both of them were about 6, they had gone to a nearby church to get
married when nobody was in their. And they did get married. Only their wedding
vows were different. Till the time Iti was 15, her life revolved around Neil
and cooking up stories about their possible future together. But the possibilities
came crashing down when she saw him kissing a girl of her class. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Soon the whole school was talking about Neil and his
girlfriend. He was not the most handsome boy around but definitely the most
charming one. The one who would make a puppy face and get away with a murder. Iti
began to see less of Neil and drowned herself into her world of books. For several
weeks she cried herself to sleep imagining Neil with the other girl and Neil
completely forgot about her existence until one day when he came running down
her room. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“We are moving to turkey within a fortnight. Dad has been
transferred” Neil exclaimed. He sounded excited.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“When are you leaving?” Iti asked trying hard to control her
tears.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“After few days may be.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Iti stood up and left for her lawn tennis practice without
asking anything else further. Down the road she again tried hard to stop the
tears rolling down her cheeks but nothing would stop them. She skipped her lawn
tennis practice, went to a nearby park and cried for more than an hour. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
When she came back, the house was quiet and the only sounds
were of cutting of vegetables. She went into her room to find Neil still
waiting for her. He stood up and handed her a envelope and left without
saying another word. Iti tore the envelope within seconds and sat on the floor
with it. It contained several of their photographs. The ones she always
wanted to have but Neil would never give them to her. She now had them all but
happiness of acquiring them eluded her. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“<st1:place w:st="on"><st1:placename w:st="on">Madam</st1:placename>
<st1:placetype w:st="on">Airport</st1:placetype></st1:place>”, Auto driver
said loudly.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Iti was woken up from her thoughts. She paid the driver and
made her way to the airport. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
</div>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3478199335803154453.post-77359103177957248272012-09-21T13:08:00.000-07:002012-09-21T13:11:00.250-07:00Shit Happens<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
You are not a saint. You have told this yourself over and
over again. after months of drooling over her, fantasizing, always turning up
in the middle of her perfectly planned date, plotting to get the chance of dropping
her home, taking advantage of every trivial argument to lead it to a break up,
you are now gearing up to admit that you are in love with your best friends
girlfriend.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Shit has happened!</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Bur now what? You cannot possible tell your best friend. He will
either kill you or leave the girl right away to make you feel terribly meagre. You
cannot go and confess to the girl. You stand the chance of losing both your
friend and the girl. Also you might not want to get into the melodrama and
become a character straight out of a Hindi daily soaps. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
There is nothing you can do. Trying to date your best friend’s
girlfriend is like evading another tiger’s territory. You will either win or
lose but both the catastrophes will come your way with loss and guilt. Do it
only if you want to enduringly acquire the territory otherwise the effort will
turn out to be worthless. Save this effort for something more prolific than
this mere upsurge of adrenalin.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
But wait; there are still things which you can do without
harming the cat. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<ol start="1" style="margin-top: 0cm;" type="1">
<li class="MsoNormal">Continue
to drool over her and keep dropping hints that you completely adore her.
She will not leave your friend for you but you might get lucky for a
coffee.</li>
<li class="MsoNormal">Plan
a double date. You can ask your most entertaining friend to join you and
keep your friend busy while you keep his girlfriend.</li>
<li class="MsoNormal">You
can also make your friend a little more drunk than usual while you become
the responsible guy next door who ends up driving her home.</li>
<li class="MsoNormal">On
days when you have nothing better to do, you show up at her workplace and
get your share of moments with her.</li>
</ol>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
You may get several chances of being lucky while you try
your hand with these tips. But you should never give in as no girl would be
worth cheating your best friend.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<a href="http://blog.dateiitians.com/2012/09/girlfriend-versus-best-friend/">Happy Dating</a><span style="font-family: Wingdings; mso-ascii-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-char-type: symbol; mso-hansi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-symbol-font-family: Wingdings;">J</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
</div>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3478199335803154453.post-20665461327322846652012-09-19T10:23:00.000-07:002012-09-19T10:50:52.716-07:00Girlfriend versus Best friend<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
We all remember how valiantly Julia Roberts fought to stop
her best friend from marrying because she realised she is in love with him or
is it so that she has always been. If it was a Hindi flick, the guy would have
easily left his bride to be just a second before uttering, “I do” but it was
not. Julia is left behind to find the second perfect for herself. Sigh. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I know a lot of people believe in the notion, “a boy and a
girl can never be best friends, sparks will definitely fly’. But I don’t. They
can be and they forge bonds which are beyond the sibling or the lover
phenomenon. But are these bonds life long? </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
There is no definite answer to this question but they
definitely are much tenderer and become vulnerable with the presence of the
Miss Right who suddenly takes up all the attention in a man’s life which was
previously enjoyed by our now quietly sidelined best friend. This obviously doesn’t go down too well with
her. She begins to feel cynical and lonely. Her days will start and end with
the fickle hope of his call and after two days he does call, but only to ask
where should he take her for date? The girl would want to scream ‘Hell’ but
ends up uttering several options. He picks up one and keeps the phone down.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
End of the world.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
She may or may not cry. She may or may not sleep. She may or
may not eat. But she will definitely fall in love. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
But is she really in love? Not really. She is just too
lonely to feel any other emotion. And she would not feel anything else until
she manages to get the new toy out of his life. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Relax girl. Just because you always completed his
assignments and got him his favourite jersey, he will be enslaved to serve you.
It will hurt in the beginning and you too will succumb to the gloom but you
will end up fine. Don’t take refuge watching dumb Hindi movies in the hope that
your might turn into one. It will not. Instead go guy hunting.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
And the boys even though you have got a sexy new thing to
flaunt the whole day, you will need the old pillow to hug and fall asleep.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://confessionsofaconfidante.files.wordpress.com/2010/10/bf.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="281" src="http://confessionsofaconfidante.files.wordpress.com/2010/10/bf.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<a href="http://blog.dateiitians.com/">Written for Dateiitians</a></div>
</div>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3478199335803154453.post-34597021532663415502012-09-17T09:59:00.000-07:002012-09-17T10:26:30.459-07:00What Not to Think About Women<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<br />
<ol start="1" style="margin-top: 0cm;" type="1">
<li class="MsoNormal">Women
feel safe with men who smoke</li>
</ol>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Though I have seen this statement being used extensively by
Cigarettes companies to promote their brand, safety and smoking are completely
oblivious to each other. For some it may turns out to be a turn off. So from
now onwards don’t make women another excuse for your habit. We may like you but
certainly not because you smoke. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<ol start="2" style="margin-top: 0cm;" type="1">
<li class="MsoNormal">Women
have no sense of humour </li>
</ol>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Just because we didn’t laugh at a third rated joke you just
cracked about your teacher it doesn’t mean we are deprived of humour. We like
to laugh and have fun but are not heartless and shameless creatures on a hunt
to rip and mock almost anybody out there. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Men out their have to take it easy, get out of the hangover
of impressing the girl in 5 minutes and be himself. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<ol start="3" style="margin-top: 0cm;" type="1">
<li class="MsoNormal">Just
because she is out with you, she is available </li>
</ol>
<div class="MsoNormal">
You asked her out for a coffee and she said yes without
giving you a run for your money. Life is bliss and you start rolling the film a
step ahead. But wait a minute. There can be a thousand other reason for that
one yes, why anticipates anything further? Take it easy.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<ol start="4" style="margin-top: 0cm;" type="1">
<li class="MsoNormal">Only
you have to pay the bill </li>
</ol>
<div class="MsoNormal">
We are living in recession hit times and money is hard
earned so don’t think and dread about the bill you have to pay when out on a
date. You can ask her the woman to contribute something too. And if still your
male ego doesn’t allow you as her, don’t take her to a brutally expensive
place. Places don’t make a date, people do. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
5. Women are not good listeners</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I know most of you will not agree to this but yes women can
be good listeners provided some intelligent talk. But if you think that they
will listen to the endless ramming about the ongoing EPL or the new Ferrari on
the block, take a break. Tell me will you listen to a woman sighing about the
limited edition Jimmy Cho she was not able to buy? No you will not. So put down the judgemental
hat and initiate on the grounds of common interests. <br />
<br />
<a href="http://blog.dateiitians.com/">Written for Dateiitians</a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
</div>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3478199335803154453.post-86145562105874842172012-09-16T10:39:00.002-07:002012-09-16T10:44:07.854-07:00The Purple Colour: Book Review <div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
I generally don’t read books after watching the movies based
on them but here I made an exception which I don’t regret. I picked up the DVD
of the movie just by its title,” The Colour Purple”. Purple always fascinates
me. Also the back of the DVD cover said. “Directed by Steven Spielberg’. And I
could not resist. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I laughed and cried through the movie and bought the book
the next day. The Colour Purple is the story of Celie, a black woman in <st1:country -region="-region" w:st="on">America</st1:country>. She
lives with her mother, her stepfather and her sister Nettie in shacks of
poverty. Her stepfather repeatedly rapes her and fathered her two children whom
he takes away. He furthers marry her off to Albert who treats her worse than a
beast, let alone love or respect her. Albert then forbids her to meet her
sister, only love of her life. One fine day Albert brings Shug Avery home, his
love of past so many years. Shug initially shuns Celie but slowly a bond is
formed between the two. A bond made in heaven. She finds her lost spirit back
and courage back through the charm and magic of Shug.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
What makes this Pulitzer Prize awarded creation by Author
Alice Walker being hailed as one of the greats is its narration. Celie writes
to God her story in her own broken English which is some times heartbreaking
and sometimes relishing. The characters bring in every nuance of human
behaviour. The book brings out the greyscale of all the character so seamlessly
that they entwines with the shambles of good and bad perfectly. At the end you
just leave the book with a smile, sigh, and utter astonishment at the ordinary
characters and their extraordinary struggle with life. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/en/thumb/6/60/ColorPurple.jpg/200px-ColorPurple.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="http://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/en/thumb/6/60/ColorPurple.jpg/200px-ColorPurple.jpg" width="264" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
P.S It doesn’t matter what you have read or not in the past,
this book is definitely worth a read. </div>
</div>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3478199335803154453.post-18764895172289983452012-09-15T10:46:00.000-07:002012-09-16T09:54:26.768-07:00 Love in the time of Facebook. <div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
50 years ago it was easier to define Love without tagging
the “it’s complicated” status. Love meant secret courtships, clandestine
meetings, long letters, even longer melancholic periods, and of course every
reason to be together. Phrases like “breakup” and move on” would not have found
any takers. It was love, it was true, and it was forever. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Fast forward the time and here we are. In words of Megan
Fox, “we live in the times where losing our phone is more dramatic than losing
our virginity”. No raising the eyebrows please. It is certainly true. We meet,
we sleep and we forget. What happens to Love in this vicious circle of sleeping
and forgetting? Well, it happens but it has happened before, and before and
before. And we let it go. But believe me it will haunt you back. And it doesn’t
matter how many times you have laughed and shrugged the mills and boons
romance, called Danielle Steel boring, mocked Yash Chopra for making yet
another romantic tale, the whole world will croon to violins when you will fall
in love. It’s just that you have to keep the earphones off. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
But what after the violins? We date, we romance, it gets
complicated, careers take over love and we decide to move on. We will unfriend each
other on Facebook, delete each other’s phone numbers unfollow on Twitter and
will vow never to meet again. Has it become that simple? </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
No it hasn’t. Love and cannot be unloved. We all know but
never admit it. We take refuge under the neon lights of Pubs, Bloody Mary and a
reloaded Ipod full of old classic melancholic numbers. But do we have to it?</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Not really. 50 years later when we will be too old for sex
and too old to update our Facebook status. All we would require is someone you
have loved all your life and want to live more to love that person more and
more and more. </div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://www.fbcoverphotos.co.in/covers/love_is_love_and-851x315.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="118" src="http://www.fbcoverphotos.co.in/covers/love_is_love_and-851x315.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<a href="http://blog.dateiitians.com/2012/09/love-in-the-time-of-facebook/">You can also read this article here!</a></div>
</div>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3478199335803154453.post-87390107197867534512012-09-07T12:10:00.001-07:002012-09-07T12:10:33.433-07:00Letter to Yourself<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
So you turned 21 this year. Though I know you don’t feel a
day older than 12. you still imagine yourself dancing with Tom Cruise in some
Mission Impossible x, you still want to take every stranded puppy home, you
still dream of wearing the Miss Universe crown, you are still Blossom of the
Power Puff Girls, you still make notes and keeps journals and of course you are
simply awesome. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
But I know you don’t feel the awesomeness in you all the
time. You get bogged down; feel defeated, purposeless and useless. The 21 years
weigh on your shoulders like they were 40. You feel sad that you still don’t
have written a book, people are not running into you to get autographed, there
are countries left to travelled, books left to be read and written, coffees to
be smelled and life to be lived. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Relax girl! You were good, you did well and you will do
better. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Think about the time when you first stood on the stage,
cried and ran back. You were three at that time. Did you think about it again? Did
the thoughts of quitting flood your mind? No. you just went on it again only to
capture it for the rest of your years. How proud it was for your parents to see
you command the attention of everyone in the opening sentence itself. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Think about the time you fumbled in maths and algebra
refused to form a way with your understanding. You hated mathematics for five
years of your school life. Still you managed o score a 93 in your board examination
and fought the phobia making maths a dear subject too. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Think about the days when you were going to start a new life
away from the safe cocoon of home. You spent days and nights crying yourself to
sleep. But that did not let you sway away. You worked hard and proved everyone
of your worth within a few days. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Think about the time when you won your first national prize
and followed the legacy with two more within a year. Remember you and your
friend were up against the whole world and you guys won. You guys even started
your publication “Skyline”. Though I agree it died a silent death. But you
tried and created!</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Think about the time when you edited a national magazine and
unveiled it in front of more than 3000 students from all over the country. Aren’t
you proud of it?</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Think about the time when you handed your grandmother her
first flight ticket from your own salary.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Think about the time when your father proudly tells his
friends, “my daughter has my genes. She will never give up. She is a tigress. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
And do remember what your grandfather once told your father
when they were going through bad times.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“ Falak ko chaah jahaan bijliyan girane ki,</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Humein bhi zidd wahin hai aashiyan banane ki.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
There is so much more to you girl that you yourself can measure
let alone fill this letter with it. All I have to say in the end is</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Embrace life with open arms, live every moment, love every
soul, believe in your worth. Be you. Because you know what?</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
You are Bhawna Jaimini;-). </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
.<a href="http://www.blogger.com/%3Cblockquote%3E%20%3Cp%20style=%22text-align:%20center;%22%3EThis%20post%20is%20part%20of%20the%20contest&nbsp;%3Cspan%20style=%22color:%20#800000;"><strong><a title="A letter to yourself.. | WriteUpCafe.com" href="http://www.writeupcafe.com/contest/4" target="_blank">A letter to yourself..</a>&nbsp;</strong><span style="color: #000000;">on</span><strong> <a title="WriteUpCafe.com" href="http://www.writeupcafe.com/" target="_blank">WriteUpCafe.com</a></strong></span></p> </blockquote>">This post is part of the competition on writeupcafe!</a></div>
</div>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3478199335803154453.post-35113294146823952802012-09-06T10:15:00.002-07:002012-09-10T03:29:51.403-07:00Sailing Over Lives: This is How It Is<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The sun was shining hard on her head. The partly cloudy sky did
nothing to sieve the heat. Iti laughed at her judgemental self after
recognizing the events of the morning. The moment she met Shiv, she was
clear and she knew what lay ahead of her. But here she was; walking back astonished
and amazed and shamed at her outlook towards the less privileged people than
her. Lost in her thoughts she continued to walk. Walking without knowing the
destination was something new. A part of her was enjoying it and another part
was sceptical. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
And she was listening to none.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Iti spotted a Costa Coffee outlet and made it her momentary
destination. Although she often complained about it being brutally expensive,
she loved their outlets, the pristine white cutlery, the cappuccino mug kept at
off centre in the saucer served with a cookie, and their policy of employing deaf
and dumb people. She somehow felt as if she herself is contributing to their
well being after paying for a highly over priced coffee. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The café was sparsely crowded. Iti was seated on the table
next to the window. She always preferred to sit and watch the world go by. And she
suddenly realised she was doing this after a long time. Whenever she needed a
coffee outside her home, her laptop accompanied her and she too was smitten by
his loyalty that she never deprived him of her attention. But today she had
ditched him. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
And she was not guilty. <br />
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The coffee arrived precisely after 15 minutes. The rich
aroma was soothing to her senses. She poured half the packed of brown sugar into
the cup and sipped the coffee and her phone rang. “It might be from the office”,
Iti thought. She fumbled for few minutes in her larger than life bag before
getting stuck to its screen.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Neil calling”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The screen flashed the name. Iti gazed at the screen in
excitement and horror and despair. Her last few years of life ran in her mind
in mere seconds. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
She pressed the ‘Accept’ button without even knowing.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Hello? Am I speaking to Iti?</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Yes Neil you are”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“So you have not deleted my phone number?”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“What do you want?”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“I want you to meet me?”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Why?”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“I need you here.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Where are you?”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“In Gangtok.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“What the hell are you doing there? Are you alright?” </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Yes I am all fine here. Can you come here?”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“When do you want me there?”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Now!”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Are you nuts?”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Yes I am! I want you to take the next possible flight and
come here.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Fine I am coming.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Call me after you have booked your tickets. Bye”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Call disconnected. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The last time they have met, she had vowed never to see his face
again. And now was she was ready to fly miles just because he needs her. Perhaps
he was the only one who ever needed her.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Iti took an auto and headed to the airport. Her morning
became hazy and melted into the physical form of Neil. Perhaps this is what
life is. She just was living it.</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://www.footwa.com/wp-content/uploads/2009/03/costacoffee.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="http://www.footwa.com/wp-content/uploads/2009/03/costacoffee.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
P.S those who are new to the series find the earlier parts here<br />
<a href="http://plainlyblunt.blogspot.in/2012/08/sailing-over-lives.html">Part 1</a><br />
<a href="http://plainlyblunt.blogspot.in/2012/08/sailing-over-livesjourney-shall-begin.html">Part 2</a><br />
<a href="http://plainlyblunt.blogspot.in/2012/09/sailing-over-lives-this-is-how-it-is.html">Part 3</a><br />
<br /></div>
</div>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3478199335803154453.post-1638550824778643342012-08-29T13:48:00.002-07:002012-08-29T13:50:37.485-07:00"A Fine Balance" By Rohinton Mistry <div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
Its past one o clock at night and I should have been in the
bed two hours ago in order to be prepared to reach office on time tomorrow but
here I am trembling and shaking, unable to move with the baggage of having read
a saga of great misfortunes in the book “A Fine Balance” by Rohinton Mistry. I toiled
with last 100 pages for more than week with a meek hope that somehow the author
will contradict the statement made over and over again in the book, “everything
ends badly”.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“A Fine Balance” is a story of four people and how their lives
get intertwined with each other, yet their fate remains solely theirs. Dina Dalal is woman in her forties, a widow
and is trying hard to lead a dignified life without taking help from her snobbish
elder brother Nusswan. She had always been the tough nut to crack for her
brother with her indomitable spirits. She married a man of her own choice much
against his will. Her husband died after 3 years of their marriage and she
never married again. She gets into a
contract with a garment company and hires two tailors, Ishvar and <st1:place w:st="on">Om.</st1:place> <st1:place w:st="on">Om</st1:place> is Ishvar’s
nephew and they belong to the Chamaar community. Ishvar and <st1:place w:st="on">Om</st1:place>
had come to city to ward off their past which stinks of ill-treatment, sufferings,
burnt bodies and with them a whole generation of hope, love and happiness. For
a steadier income, Dina decides to accommodate a paying guest into her flat.
Maneck, Dina’s ex-classmate’s son enters the scenario. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Set in the emergency era, the story impeccably handles the
details of the world the government creates for the poor and the world that is
ultimately created. For person born in the nineties like me who had known
nothing about those turbulent times, the book indeed drafts out the era with
precision. And the precision comes out boldly with the characters the author
has painted in bright colours even though their lives are painted in stale
chalk powder.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
This is not the book you would want to open and re read
again as once you have read it, it will remain with you and direct your
understanding of life. You will feel sad and will remain in despair for a long
time, accusing the author of stealing you a happy ending. You will curse him
for over exaggeration and will produce a catastrophe at the end of every
misfortune. But you will surely thank the author for writing such brilliant
novel which has greatly changed your perception of life. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://photo.goodreads.com/books/1165518291l/5211.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://photo.goodreads.com/books/1165518291l/5211.jpg" width="206" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
P.S Please share your reviews on the book if you have read
it. </div>
</div>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3478199335803154453.post-82767067606384708992012-08-26T10:48:00.000-07:002012-08-26T10:48:18.543-07:00 Sailing over lives: I Am No Mother Teresa <div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
Walking into the lanes of the slum dwellers haven, Iti felt
an unusual ache in her heart. Often she had thought about these people and
sighed and pitied at their animal like existence. She was not sure what she was
feeling today, the happy faces and cheerful demeanour contradicted her opinion.
Kids playing on the dirty streets flanked by garbage, open gutters, shit and
everything despicable evoked trivial guilt into her being. Why are they happy? The
question hovered over. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Between her thoughts, Shiv interrupted her to show her his
dwelling. Tot her surprise the dwelling was a lot cleaner and habitable than
any other she had stumbled upon before. Bare brick walls covered with a tin
roof. There were no doors and entrance was through opening covered by an old
rug. She hesitated to enter, waiting for some to come out and give her the permission
to invade someone’s private territory. But Shiv quietly led her inside. His mother
was nowhere to be seen. The place was cleaner and organised to clichéd description
of a slum dwelling. A 21” T.V in one corner, an old double bed, a rack neatly
stacked with few clothes, one racking holding the utensils atop it a gas
burner. Everything hinted towards a poor yet dignified existence. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Shiv took out a folding chair from beneath the bed and
offered her to sit. Why was she here? What can she offer this family? What has
dragged her to come here? She was no Mother Teresa. Neither can she pretend to
be one. She began to rehearse how will she start a conversation with Shiv’s
mother and before she could make up anything, his mother appeared. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
"Namaste", mother gently greeted Iti.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Iti to her own amazement froze in her seat; the woman was partially
covered with burn marks. Iti stood up and reciprocated. "Namaste"</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Your son was roaming on the roads in the morning. I though I
should bring him back here”, Iti initiated. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Oh, thank you but you need not have bothered he is doing
this for many days now, thinks he can find his good for nothing father and
bring him back but I don’t stop him. He will realise it himself one day and get
back to his senses.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“But he is just 5 and you should stop him. He needs to go to
school; also he might get hurt while roaming around”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Shiv’s mother remained silent for a moment and began
speaking again.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“I am running this house for 10 years. Shiv’s father used to
work in a garment factory. He was paid well to feed the family but his desires
of earning big money led to his demise. Now here I am running this house alone
and taking care of three kids. You cannot meet them now. I sent them to the
village to study just after their father died as it is difficult to raise
children in this big city. We don’t have much in the village also but enough to
make the ends meet and give them a good life.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Will you be sending him also?”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
"I thought of sending him too but I need someone here with
me. I will live in the city for one more year and then both of us will go back
to our village. I have saved about one lakh in the past 5 years and I will use
to start a new life."</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Iti looked puzzled.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Oh, you must be thinking how a poor woman like me can save
so much money. But I am working as a house maid for so many years. Initially I used
to spend everything on the house but one day I stopped. I took some help from
my employer and got a bank account. Never told his father about this though. He
would have grown suspicious. I stopped taking any diwali or holi gifts from
madam and asked her to instead deposit money of the value in my account.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“You should be an economist. You can run the country”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“I am illiterate. I can’t even read or write, but I know to
read money.” She laughed.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Iti was speechless. And she thought she would help this poor
kid and his family. She rose and asked to leave. She didn’t know what to talk
more. Words refused to form a way with her and she willingly gave in. </div>
</div>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3478199335803154453.post-73936972752389418312012-08-20T23:52:00.000-07:002012-08-23T21:48:11.763-07:0030 by 30<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
I will be turning 21 within few days (though I distinctly
feel not a day older than 13) and realising the fact that I have not done
anything worth bragging about in the last so many years has irked me to pen
down this list which I believe will add some amount of farsightedness to my “always
on the edge” outlook. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Here it goes</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<ol start="1" style="margin-top: 0cm;" type="1">
<li class="MsoNormal">Write
a book or many</li>
<li class="MsoNormal">Design
and build my own house (It is perhaps the only thing I want to design)</li>
<li class="MsoNormal">Take
a foreign vacation alone.</li>
<li class="MsoNormal">Attend
a literary festival as a speaker</li>
<li class="MsoNormal">Take
my mother to <st1:place w:st="on">Venice</st1:place>,
her dream destination</li>
<li class="MsoNormal">Build
a personal library</li>
<li class="MsoNormal">Live
alone for a year in a different continent, preferable <st1:place w:st="on">South
America</st1:place></li>
<li class="MsoNormal">Wear
a bikini</li>
<li class="MsoNormal">Scuba
diving in coral reefs</li>
<li class="MsoNormal">Volunteer
in rural parts of <st1:place w:st="on">India</st1:place></li>
<li class="MsoNormal">Adopt
more dogs (I believe in adopting, not buying)</li>
<li class="MsoNormal">Buy
a Armani Suit for my Father</li>
<li class="MsoNormal">Visit
all states in <st1:place w:st="on">India</st1:place></li>
<li class="MsoNormal">Take
a cross country road trip</li>
<li class="MsoNormal"> Start and build a venture of my own (part
of it has been started<span style="font-family: Wingdings; mso-ascii-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-char-type: symbol; mso-hansi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-symbol-font-family: Wingdings;">J</span>)</li>
<li class="MsoNormal">Learn
a new dance form</li>
<li class="MsoNormal">Trek
in <st1:place w:st="on">Himalayas</st1:place></li>
<li class="MsoNormal">Visit
all seven continents</li>
<li class="MsoNormal">Form
a book club</li>
<li class="MsoNormal">Visit
a coffee estate </li>
<li class="MsoNormal">Visit
a vineyard</li>
<li class="MsoNormal">Get photographed
at all <st1:place w:st="on">Seven Wonders of the World</st1:place></li>
<li class="MsoNormal">Get
drunk</li>
<li class="MsoNormal">learn
to paint</li>
<li class="MsoNormal">Meet
any five of my favourite writers</li>
<li class="MsoNormal">Watch
a Nadal play in a Grand Slam</li>
<li class="MsoNormal">Develop
a habit of writing 1500 words everyday</li>
<li class="MsoNormal">Plant
100 trees</li>
<li class="MsoNormal">Be
financially independent</li>
<li class="MsoNormal">Take
a course in filmmaking and make a documentary</li>
</ol>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 18.0pt;">
<br /></div>
</div>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3478199335803154453.post-17488664975698150342012-08-17T11:24:00.000-07:002012-08-20T05:26:35.892-07:00Sailing Over Lives:journey shall begin <div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
Iti started to feel the rush in her veins. Packing was
something detestable for her but tonight she felt her life was changing and she
should welcome it with change. It was the first time she had no idea of what
was she going to do ahead. For the first time nothing was certain and this
precarious state amused her. Vague thoughts of being an escapist crossed her
mind but thoughts held no importance in her life at this moment. She was
beginning to feel like Julia Roberts in “Eat Pray Love” but knew instinct alone
was not enough. She needed money and that too not just in mere numbers.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
After 3 hours all she could pack was some clothes, toiletries
which to her amazement left the mere backpack feeling light too. She left her
home after a quick bath. It was 6 in the morning. The morning sun was still
rising. The last time she woke up into the early hours was six years back. The rays
falling on her skin illuminated it. She almost felt angelic about her existence
for the brief period of time until she was bought back to reality. A child of
about 5 was begging on the road. “Begging at this hour?” Iti felt baffled. There
were no cars on the road and only a section of the society was running its
errands. She went closer to the child but he kept moving away. She realised he
was too timid to talk. She took a chocolate out of her bag and showed it him. His
nerves began to relax and he made way for Iti. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Iti began talking.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“What is your name?”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Shiv”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Where do you live?”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Silence</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“What are you doing here?”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Silence</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Do you go to school?”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Silence</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Iti thought the boy might be hungry. She took the boy with
him to a nearby dhabha and ordered only for the boy. But when the aloo parantha
came, buttery aroma tingled her nostrils and she ordered for herself too. She
felt satiated watching the boy eat. She had been right. He was hungry, may be
for ages or so. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Iti initiated the conversation again. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Where is your school?”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“I don’t go to school anymore”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“What do you do then?”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Find my father”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Iti was baffled at his answer. Before she could ask him
about his father the waiter arrived at the table with a piece of paper passing
off as bill. Waiter sighed at the boy and told Iti that his father had died in
an accident last month. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“And the boy wanders around looking for his father everyday.
His mother is pregnant with another child. She wants to go back o her village
but has no money. His father was a painter but was out of work due to the off
season, barely able to meet ends. And now he is gone leaving behind a pregnant
wife and a child. God help them”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Iti looked at the boy and asked him to take her to his home.
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
She now began to know her journey. </div>
</div>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3478199335803154453.post-85144772624983257132012-08-15T11:13:00.000-07:002012-08-15T11:13:47.386-07:00 Sailing over Lives <div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
Its over!</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
This was the thousandth time Iti was reiterating the words
in the last two hours. She checked her watch. It was 2:30 AM. The coffee was
cold now. She stood up and drained the cup in the sink of her tiny kitchen. She
made herself another cup and sat with an old book her mother has given her. It was
one of those books a teacher would gift a student after the latter has
repeatedly failed. Iti knew she was not going to read it but she liked holding
it. It reminded her of her mother. Mother she hasn’t met for two years now.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
World was just more than perfect when Iti arrived in <st1:city w:st="on">New Delhi</st1:city> leaving behind the big lanes of <st1:city w:st="on">Chandigarh</st1:city>. This was the place she was born
and she was happy to be back here. She was the senior graphic designer at a
leading Ad agency. Staying over at couple of relatives for 4 months, Iti
decided to finally have it on her own. She found a little less decent lodging
as compared to her sprawling bungalow in her home town but the run with
struggle was something she had yearned for years. And to her amazement, she loved
it to the fullest. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The moment she began to know her reality of a dream
struggle, things begin to change. The flat provided nothing more than shelter,
independence was more of a baggage, and friends …forget it. She stopped talking
to her parents, her old friends and completely subsided into her own nut shell.
A shell that was too hard to be broken. At times the urge of calling some one
and cry loudly would come so strong but Iti always shrugged it aside thinking
how will she explain her unhappiness? How will she explain why her world was
falling apart? How will she explain her perfect life is not perfect any more? How
will she explain that she herself doesn’t know these answers? </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
So she kept quiet and moved on with the sleazy pace of her
life until one day when she decided to call the struggle off. No she was not
going to end her life. She was the last person on earth who would succumb to
the temptation of dying. She gulped down the coffee quickly which burned her
throat. But she was too busy to feel anything. For the first time in two years
she felt full of beans and began packing. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Where was she going? And why?</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
…wait for the next post to find out<span style="font-family: Wingdings; mso-ascii-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-char-type: symbol; mso-hansi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-symbol-font-family: Wingdings;">J</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
</div>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3478199335803154453.post-65500259184157572172012-08-12T09:59:00.000-07:002012-08-15T11:15:13.787-07:00Things I Want My Daughter To Know<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
Things I Want My Daughter To Know</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
by Elizabeth Noble</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I bought this book few years back and left it after reading
first few pages. I am not one of those who get hooked to a book just after
laying hands on it. I take time to let the book grow on me till I get immersed
in its world (not if it’s Dan Brown of course). But I didn’t give this book the
privilege of grow on me. Last week when I had nothing left to read, I skimmed
through my bookshelf and reluctantly took it out with the thought of scanning
the pages till my next visit to the bookshop which was due on the following
evening. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
But against my due plans, the visit to the bookstore never
happened as I found myself glued to the book within minutes of opening it. The
book revolves around a mother, Barbara and her four daughters. The mother dies
of cancer but she still feels there are things that she always wanted to tell,
share and teach but will not be able to do so because of her illness. So she
writes each daughter one letter and leaves her journals where she has penned
down every phase of her life. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Lisa is 37 and still commitment phobic. Jennifer, 36 is
dealing with an unhappy marriage and can’t share it with anyone. Amanda the
traveller has been an escapist all her life until she finds herself in love and
begins to confront things. And Hannah is the teenager who is just exploring her
adulthood after going through her mother’s illness for two years. Amidst all
the girls is Mark, Barbara’s husband and Hannah’s father. He too misses Barbara
deeply and is confronted by his moral guards when he decides to date again. Barbara’s
letters and journals give them the common thread to bind their lives together
once again. </div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://images.indiebound.com/597/686/9780061686597.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://images.indiebound.com/597/686/9780061686597.jpg" width="212" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Overall the story is simple but with an impeccable
narration. I would like to quote the opening line on the book’s cover,” I laughed,
I cried. I could not put it down.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
</div>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3478199335803154453.post-22072757527754057752012-08-03T12:30:00.001-07:002012-08-23T21:48:50.350-07:00Jigsaw Puzzle<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
Three years old Iru woke up to a misty morning with a broad
grin on his face. He was completely oblivious to the world around him. The world
which was tattering away in pieces and innocent Iru was still trying to join
the pieces together as he did with his animal puzzle set. For him life was just
about making and breaking the puzzle. He spent hours juggling the pieces and
joining them correctly. With each piece into its place, Iru would elate with
happiness. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
But that morning was different. He was not able to find his
puzzle set and was petrified to see his house full of people. People he could
not recognize. People who were sighing looking at Iru. Some embraced him, some
began to sob and some handed him notes rupee 10 and 20. Iru felt perturbed. His
eyes were restlessly moving through the crowd to find his father but he was
nowhere to be found. He felt his heartbeats hard and feared not seeing his
father again. A moment later he saw his father coming through the crowd towards
him. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Iru said,”I thought you went away with mother”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
His father gave him a smile and said,” I can’t. Not till you
want me to go.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“I would never want you to go.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Do you love me?”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Yes”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“More than baba?”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Iru didn’t answer and Adil felt his heart in his mouth. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Adil was a man in his early 30s. Leaving his native village
where he lived since he was born was more than just difficult. He had made a conscious
decision of leaving the village after his wife passed away due to a prolonged
illness. There was no hospital in the vicinity of the village and the
dispensary doctors kept asking Adil to take his wife to the city. But he had no
money. He never had. He worked for the village Sarpanch and was dependent on
his charity which was just not enough to keep his wife alive. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Sarpanch was the richest man of the village and lived with
his wife in the haveli which was big enough to accommodate more 30 people. But he
had no children. He once asked Adil to give him his son but Adil refused
vehemently and threatened to leave the job to which Sarpanch pacified him and
said it was all in humour. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
But it was not in humour.Whole of the village talked
between the sheets of the Sarpanch’s desire to adopt Iru. He was always buying
gifts for him asked Adil to get Iru along with him to work. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
After Adil’s wife died, Sarpanch started visiting Iru more
and more and the deep down desire was coming out loud and clear. Adil was
always sceptical of his visits and tried to keep Iru away from him but the
effort was futile. Iru developed a liking for Sarpanch and would ask for him on
days he could not visit. Iru’s inclination towards the old man was becoming
more and more profound which made Adil anxious and one day he decided to end it
all.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
He bid farewell to his village mates of 30 years and put Iru
on his shoulders. It was 5 AM in the morning but he decided against waiting and
set out. He had spent only an hour packing his home of 30 years and was taking
only few meagre things with him. He started to walk towards the bus stop in a
fast pace so that Iru would not notice sarpanch’s house. He had not allowed Iru
to take any of the presents Sarpanch has given him including his favourite
jigsaw puzzle. Iru spotted the house and pointed at the balcony where he and Sarpanch
sat for hours and played.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Can I play with Baba one last time? I promise I would not
love him more than you”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
A tear fell from Adil’s eyes and he continued to walk but
not to the bus stop. He has now solved his own jigsaw puzzle. </div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://goingbeyondthepages.files.wordpress.com/2012/08/contestphoto.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="http://goingbeyondthepages.files.wordpress.com/2012/08/contestphoto.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<a href="http://www.blogger.com/%3Cblockquote%3E%20%3Cp%20style=%22text-align:%20center;%22%3EThis%20post%20is%20part%20of%20the%20contest&nbsp;%3Cspan%20style=%22color:%20#800000;"><strong><a title="A picture can say a thousand words.. | WriteUpCafe.com" href="http://www.writeupcafe.com/contest/3" target="_blank">A picture can say a thousand words..</a>&nbsp;</strong><span style="color: #000000;">on</span><strong> <a title="WriteUpCafe.com" href="http://www.writeupcafe.com/" target="_blank">WriteUpCafe.com</a></strong></span></p> </blockquote>"> Contest entry for "A picture can say a thousand words" on www.writeupcafe.com</a></div>
</div>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3478199335803154453.post-52483338978268528692012-07-27T12:35:00.002-07:002012-08-23T22:04:39.031-07:00Santa Story<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
Still months to go for Christmas Eve but I will share my Christmas
story. I feel lucky to be the child who was told that of course there is a Santa
Claus and he watches over secretly from his den (don’t know where he lives) all
over the year, just to evaluate what you deserve at the end of it. Well, this
was my mother’s version and I believed it without a doubt. My belief was so
firm that it often led to long arguments with my friends or anyone who tried to
stand against it. (Yes I was argumentative at 8 too)</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
It all changed when I was 8 and was beginning to enter the “why”
era. I would put a why, how to every sentence my parents said but Santa Claus
was simply sacred. His existence was my centre of gravity as I felt him
watching over my every deed. Few days before the Christmas Eve, I went over to
my mother asking her if she knows what Santa will get me this year. She smiled
and told me that I have grown up and I should know that Santa is just a figment
of imagination. I slowly moved out of the room and did not speak to anyone that
night. I felt betrayed and sagged. I felt as if a pillar of existence has been
crumpled. I felt the world is too bad to live</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Ten years later when I am writing this, I can feel the pain
and twinge of my 10 year old self. But I would like to ask her to still believe
that Santa is real because your 20 year old self believes he is real and is
watching over from somewhere, taking pride in my achievements, shedding tears
on my sorrows, smiling on my ability make people smile, and also evaluating my
performance to give something someday...someday when I will really need it and
he would be the only capable of giving.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
</div>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3478199335803154453.post-25692074438614798742012-07-15T11:45:00.003-07:002012-07-15T11:45:45.765-07:00Flat Cocktail!<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
Watched cocktail and simply didn’t like it. I was left
baffled thinking how Imtiaz Ali could have written a story sewn around weak
characters and empty bonds?</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Cocktail didn’t work for me. And the reasons are here</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpFirst" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -18.0pt;">
<!--[if !supportLists]-->1.<span style="font-size: 7pt;">
</span><!--[endif]-->A rich bitch finds a vulnerable Indian girl
crying in a washroom and brings her home. Overnight they become not good but
best friends. Why? How? I simply couldn’t figure out.</div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpFirst" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -18.0pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -18.0pt;">
<!--[if !supportLists]-->2.<span style="font-size: 7pt;">
</span><!--[endif]-->The best parts about imitiaz’s earlier outings
were the real characters and the real bonds they shared. Here it was all made
up and fake. Meera says,”yeh ghar aur coffee main sirf gautam ke saath share
kar sakti hun. Aur yeh use kabhi pata nahi chalna chaiye”. What kind of bond
does this line suggests.</div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -18.0pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -18.0pt;">
<!--[if !supportLists]-->3.<span style="font-size: 7pt;">
</span><!--[endif]-->Saif has got into a habit of playing roles 10
years younger to his actual age. But no matter how much you swear to yoga for
keeping age away, it does show! Watching two beautiful ladies by his side, when
they can be easily mistaken as his daughters is indeed painful.</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/en/thumb/5/5d/Cocktail_2012_poster.jpg/220px-Cocktail_2012_poster.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/en/thumb/5/5d/Cocktail_2012_poster.jpg/220px-Cocktail_2012_poster.jpg" width="238" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -18.0pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -18.0pt;">
<!--[if !supportLists]-->4.<span style="font-size: 7pt;">
</span><!--[endif]-->Boman Irani is such a talented actor that it
hurts to see him wasted in non competent role.</div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle">
Well these were the things that didn’t work
for me but it would be unfair to highlight only the downside. Cocktail has its
swings too. Dimple Kapadia playing the ultimate Punjabi mom brings in the
refreshing break from the monotonous characters we see daily around ourselves,
breathtaking locations, and of course Deepika’s style statement.</div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle">
This was my side of story on cocktail. Would
love to read your reviews too.</div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpLast">
<br /></div>
</div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3478199335803154453.post-62231733805437309062012-07-13T12:05:00.003-07:002012-08-23T21:49:30.427-07:00Tell Me If You Know The Answer...:-(<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://kyllingsara.files.wordpress.com/2012/06/lost_childhood.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" src="http://kyllingsara.files.wordpress.com/2012/06/lost_childhood.jpg" width="200" /></a></div>
Internet, news channels, newspapers, everyone is debating
over the safety of women in our country after the incident of molestation of a
girl by around 20 people took place. It fills me with shame and anger,
helplessness and tenacity towards the attitude of the people in this country. Who
is to be blamed? The girl who stepped out of her house late at night in a wild
country full beasts? The men who have been brought up with the notion that no
matter whatever they do, they will always have the authority to turn the tide
to themselves? Or the society which has succeeded incessantly in keeping the
gap between the two genders? Or the authorities who could not care less?</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
This takes me to an incident which keeps giving me goose
bumps even after 10 years.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I remember playing on the terrace with my sister on a sunny
winter day. A friend of mine came upstairs in a hurry as if someone has stolen
his new pencil box and whispered something into my ear which I did not
understand. “Jules has been raked” were his words. Jules was 5 year old, a
daughter of a worker in our locality. She was one of the most beautiful girls I
have ever seen. Golden locks, deep brown eyes, rosy complexion and everything
else you would never imagine on a poor worker’s child. After that day, I never
saw her again.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I tried asking my mom about her but my inquisitiveness was
always put to rest. A 10 year old will never be interested in what “being raked”
means. So I let it pass as easily as it came to me.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Jules was raped by a man who was 27 years old. Her parents
left the place after filing the police complaint and watching the bastard being
freed in just a week of judicial custody. On what grounds you want to ask? I will
tell you...The man was proved to be mentally retarded.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
A five year old was raped, of her childhood, her innocence,
her free spirit...</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I was ten and my mind was fickle. But why did the world
around me behave like 10 years old?</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Why did not my parents do something?</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Why was the man easily forgiven by the court and by the society
when the poor girl had to be taken away by her family?</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Why?</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Tell me if you know the answer.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<a href="http://www.blogger.com/%3Ca%20href=%22http://www.womensweb.in/articles/i-stood-up-blogathon%22%20target=%22_blank%22%20alt=%22I%20Stood%20Up%22%20width=%22302px%22%3E%3Cimg%20src=%22http://www.womensweb.in/wp-content/uploads/2012/07/I-stood-up-blogathon.jpg%22%3E%3C/a%3E">"i stood up"</a></div>
</div>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3478199335803154453.post-50702495655928034542012-07-08T10:09:00.000-07:002012-07-08T10:09:01.359-07:00Being You!<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
You are practical, insensitive and emotionally drained!</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I grew up hearing these compliments (I choose to take them
that way) from every soul who was close to me and over a period of time I
started believing in them too. Acting stronger than I was, being a loner when
all I wanted was a long conversation over a cup of coffee, getting on without
support when a little help would have actually made it better and being someone
else when my inner self was dying to surface above. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
In short, I screwed up and I am happy to admit now. I took
refuge in somebody else’s perception and let it take all control. I took the
practicality as my perfection and thought that any kind of attachment will
cause me nothing but pain. And I actually went through a lot of pain not
because of attachment but because of lack of it. The shell of loneliness that I
created has left a void in me which I find difficult to fill now. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I can no longer fill these voids as they have become big
enough to engulf me but I hope to peacefully coexist with them. Living with
them every moment will make me surer of who I am and who I was being. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://origin.kaboodle.com/hi/img/c/0/0/14c/7/AAAADEd-2KMAAAAAAUx25w.jpg?v=1303046219000" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="217" src="http://origin.kaboodle.com/hi/img/c/0/0/14c/7/AAAADEd-2KMAAAAAAUx25w.jpg?v=1303046219000" width="320" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
This reminds me of these very beautiful lines by Janis Joplin</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Never compromise yourself; you are all you have got”</div>
</div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3478199335803154453.post-2395739671255891082012-07-01T11:32:00.000-07:002012-07-01T11:47:25.879-07:00DO aur DO...PANCH!!<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
I thank myself for the time when I started keeping journals
or my spell in despair would have continued for many more days to come. It has been
months that I have been whining about my precarious state of life in every
possible way. Staying away from socialising, lashing out on siblings, trying to
run away from home, cursing my parents for mistakes they don’t even know about
and of course being unhappy to the core. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Nothing helps but aggravates it in very possible way. But just
when I decided to stop fighting it learn to live with it; a blessing clad in
the most stupid attire came my way. I was going through my old journals and an
entry dated 27<sup>th</sup> June 2003 caught my attention and gave me a sudden
laughter attack. It actually had lines of song from an old Hindi movie with a 2
page description of how elated and confident I felt those days after hearing
the song. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Just after I came to my senses and was about to shrug the
entry as a sign of mere childishness, a sense of guilt was all over me. Guilt of
letting my fears and doubts take over my free spirit and receptivity, guilt of
building a shell around me and guilt of getting into the cynical habit of
finding reasons. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
This world is driven crazy by reasons where we don’t even
smile without one. We continue to put ifs and buts and whys to the end of every
sentence. So I guess it’s time to loosen up a bit, travel back to the times
where knew nothing but to stay happy and dream and let the child in us stay
alive forever. Whatever happens in the end, we will happy moments to cheer and
celebrate for. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Heres the lines from the ultra funny song </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“ jo soche jo chahein woh karke dikhade</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Hum woh hai jo do aur do paanch bana de”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Wingdings;">J</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
</div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3478199335803154453.post-85716071640052879152011-11-13T10:16:00.001-08:002012-08-23T21:50:42.584-07:00Coffee...The Ultimate Companion<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
Its 3’o clock in the morning and I am savouring my favourite
indulgence, coffee. Thanking God for creating these wonder beans, the only ones
who love to get crushed just to tickle our taste buds. My mother often warns me
over keeping my consumption under control as it may lead to caffeine addiction.
But I am not addicted to coffee as it is too virtuous to get addicted to. I am
just head over heels for it. There are times when I am too lazy to work, or
it’s too much work giving me a head spin, or my mind is brimming with 10
thousand reasons to be sad, I know where to turn my head. Coffee. <br />
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Nobody in my family drinks coffee, the typical Indian one
swearing by tea for every other occasion. But I had to find some other refuge. I got acquainted with coffee about 4 years ago
when I was preparing for my 10th grade board examinations which required me to
study through the nights. Though I have always been a night bird since the time
I was born and my mother still sighs about the fact that she hardly slept
through the night in my growing up years as I refused to put my eyes to rest.
So as I matter of fact I didn’t require any dose of coffee to push the mark on
the clock. But one day after an appalling defeat by trigonometry, I made myself
a cup and fell in love at the first sip. <br />
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That day, the brew must have been far from the perfect one I
have learned to make in these years. But
I still remember it as a teenager who remembers her first date throughout her
life in spite of knowing that she was all fingers and thumbs.</div>
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Unknownnoreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3478199335803154453.post-40511613381375069542011-09-30T07:01:00.000-07:002011-09-30T07:01:21.742-07:00I Don't Have Any Title For This...<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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What happens when a frog that has spent his whole life in a
well of 1m radius is suddenly asked to swim in a lake? What happens when a
butterfly, accustomed of flying with the flies thrown to fly with birds? What happens
when Lewis carol himself wakes up to the wonderland he creates for <st1:city w:st="on"><st1:place w:st="on">Alice</st1:place></st1:city>? Sheer amusement,
discomfort, bafflement…but why I am asking these questions? To give you people
a sneak peek into my heart.</div>
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<span> </span>It was a very usual
day for me as I geared up for “just another interview”. Camera, pen, diary,
documents and I were ready. But nothing could have made me ready for what I stumbled
upon in the hours to come. I felt like someone on a desert safari is asked to
swim in the ocean. Completely unprepared, unrehearsed and ill equipped. <span> </span>But I didn’t panic, instead chose to drown
then to swim. </div>
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<span> </span><span> </span>He didn’t show me the ocean but the desert
devoid of knowledge I was living in and cursing for years. He didn’t ask me to
come up to the surface but took me down into the kingdom where nobody else is
capable of ruling. He didn’t give me answers but questions, questions which I was
timid to ask myself. He made me feel dumb, yet managed to dignify my presence.</div>
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<span> </span>I can go on and on
but I would like to conclude this by saying, I have found my calling. </div>
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Unknownnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3478199335803154453.post-48652120113917313212011-07-24T12:42:00.000-07:002011-07-24T12:42:54.416-07:00Lets Just Be Human Beings<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><br />
<div class="MsoNormal">Few days back while I was jostling inside a book shop, not knowing enough where to rest my hands and eyes. I settled for book from the feminism section, “Reading Lolita in Tehran” by Azar and made my way towards a secluded corner. A voice behind me stood up and asked, “Are you a feminist”? To which I replied in the most callous tone...I am just a human being minus the various adjectives.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjbysbS3L-XmmrGUvChUth72AwpO09bzlOJRmHwgwZ0o8DPcyVgAXKuRo-j8t2noN3VOn4MYlBLC1mNoOjRCquTZ1JGOhfmi1UpB6aE-rfINkJKhoX5ogFxaNQCkj9HZrwi91k6T5JI-YY/s1600/IMG_0236.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjbysbS3L-XmmrGUvChUth72AwpO09bzlOJRmHwgwZ0o8DPcyVgAXKuRo-j8t2noN3VOn4MYlBLC1mNoOjRCquTZ1JGOhfmi1UpB6aE-rfINkJKhoX5ogFxaNQCkj9HZrwi91k6T5JI-YY/s320/IMG_0236.JPG" width="240" /></a></div><div class="MsoNormal">I was first introduced to the term Feminism about 6 years back when i heard a college professor called herself a staunch feminist and asked on national T.V,” why is history His Story and not Her Story? I find the question really out of proportion and felt people like this women responsible for the ill fate of women across world. I left the question back then as there were much important issues to be taken seriously( that new guy still hasn’t noticed me, my nose is too sharp...will tom cruise ever marry me). But that whiff of anger and rage I felt that day came rushing back to me when the question of being a feminist was put up in front of me.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">I think the women race has been the worst victim of differentiation which makes me baffle at this race’s love for sets and classes. How can we ask the humble male race to treat us equally when we ourselves have failed in doing so miserably? We have continued to divide us into class, sets, and beliefs and then reaching to the limits of hypocrisy by fighting for women’s rights. But have we authenticated the right to project ourselves as one...I am <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>not attacking Feminism per se but the whole system of divisional <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>system. If we want our societies to function in unison we should try treating ourselves as one human race differentiated into males and females, Nothing more and nothing less.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Let’s promote individuality and nurture the beliefs and thoughts without undergoing the pain and burden of giving in or giving up to any precedence. </div></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0