tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-48315056603339541922024-03-05T12:50:18.784+05:30Vivcupeople, places, perceptions.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14984070293939418833noreply@blogger.comBlogger28125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4831505660333954192.post-81932477613031081332011-12-11T21:28:00.001+05:302012-01-10T01:44:17.666+05:30Gorai Beach<div style="text-align: justify;">
As a west coast boy, I always wondered what it would be like to witness sunrise at a sea. I was always ready to compromise my morning sleep, but I just didn't get the chance to travel to the eastern coast of the country. Lately, I found this beautiful beach in Mumbai and since then it has been a routine to spend every Saturday evening there. </div>
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One can't forget this symbolic golden dome like structure that comes enroute to the beach. It was erected by the Essel World authorities to make a mark on Mumbai's map. And yes, you have to take a ferry from Borivali to cross a hundred meters or so patch of creek. Else, next available option is to travel all the way 30 kms by roadway. Auto-rickshaws and buses are available from the ferry point to get to the beach.</div>
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The best thing about Gorai beach is that the water is really shallow and calm. And when people are aimlessly walking on the beach, it creates illusion of walking on the water. Another thing is, people with not so brave hearts can also enjoy the sea. (Most of my friends would fall under this category.) During low tides, you could actually walk and touch those little fishing boats resting on the shore.</div>
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It seems to be just the perfect place to go footloose. Most of the people bring their vehicles to the beach for a nice run and ultimately end up getting stuck in the sand. It's been a number of times, me and my friends have helped the drivers to get their cars out of the mud. But I guess it's worth it. May be, even I would like to do that stupidity when I get a car on my own.</div>
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Most people would enjoy the sea from a distance without getting themselves wet. I have no respect for those kind of people. (This is my argument when my friends laugh out loud, at me whenever I can't resist my urge to take a swim in the oceans.)<br />
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Apart from all these jokes, the beach gets its real beauty in night. Believe me when I say, I even swam in those shallow waters, under the moonlight. Drifting like a wooden log, facing that dark grey sky, on those lazy waves covered in a shiny white blanket of moonlight. Indeed, an experience of a lifetime!</div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14984070293939418833noreply@blogger.com2Gorai Beach, Gorai, Mumbai19.2419548 72.780826919.226963299999998 72.7610859 19.2569463 72.80056789999999tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4831505660333954192.post-44419586266990233892011-11-22T20:07:00.001+05:302011-12-07T20:33:55.851+05:30Way By The Sea<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0.917969);"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">Marine drive may be the first place that pops up in most people's minds when they talk about </span>Mumbai<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">. May be that's how we are fed images of the place through Bollywood cinemas. A beautiful curve, blinding lights, tall buildings, classical horse-buggies and a Gucci showroom that boasts of its royalty. I hate those </span>skyscrapers<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">, they make me feel how small I am. But it's good in a way, you know that you have new heights to climb. Motivational stuff!</span></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0.917969);"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">For most Mumbaikars, it's the sea that lures them. I am no exception. We used to spend hours watching that calm, sleepy sea at warm nights. I won't exaggerate it to level of a spiritual gateway, but all of a sudden, you have all the time in the world to yourself. The world starts moving in slow motion. You achieve what they call it as solitude! It gets really buggy when you are deep in your thoughts about life and other such heavy matters and then a Chaiwala comes and tries to sell you some tea and cigarettes. Or the </span>eunuchs<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"> disturbing a 'busy' couple, trying to earn a buck. Or a rare roar of a distant mighty motorcycle. </span></span></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0.917969);"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">This road is just the perfect place for some </span>burn down. If you are lucky enough, you might even get to witness a street race. It all can be associated with the glamour in the city.</span></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhpjd429pfDT1TV1a48yAWzwBVrDkU7eJCI5rGIjU4j2S-BzoCeyr2Z_A4O75MVIytsXQneKyv1joB320-pkqwmJznxKK7rbhfz5Iwxzr9RbMrQ-go0zKsNdkfaBLDBFiHKsHNp48PTduQ/s1600/Marine_Drive.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: black;"><img border="0" height="175" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhpjd429pfDT1TV1a48yAWzwBVrDkU7eJCI5rGIjU4j2S-BzoCeyr2Z_A4O75MVIytsXQneKyv1joB320-pkqwmJznxKK7rbhfz5Iwxzr9RbMrQ-go0zKsNdkfaBLDBFiHKsHNp48PTduQ/s400/Marine_Drive.JPG" width="400" /></span></a></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0.917969);"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">Those rock there always reminded me of my chemistry teacher. She once taught us what a CH4 molecule looks like and its resemblance these rocks.</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"> </span></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0.917969);"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">On a completely different note of memory, I used to laugh my ass off seeing those helpless tiny </span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0.917969);">crabs walking on and falling from those rock structures. Never felt pity for them, but she did. Told me. Life is full of struggle. In the city. Of blinding lights. </span></div>
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<br /></div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14984070293939418833noreply@blogger.com4Marine Dr, Mumbai, Maharashtra, India18.9426018 72.823433918.9125643 72.783951899999991 18.972639299999997 72.8629159tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4831505660333954192.post-25764641534914510542011-11-01T21:21:00.002+05:302011-11-01T21:27:41.743+05:30W.A.R.<div style="text-align: justify;">
We Ain't Rats</div>
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I see all these people around me, so engrossed in their work lives, trying to give their more than cent percent to the organization, trying to impress their bosses, trying to bag the piece of cheese. Most of the people wouldn't find anything wrong with it. Neither did I, until I realized that this rat-race is going to consume me ultimately. The question is, is this what you are born to do? Sitting in a chair and doing books, managing accounts, giving support to some alien software? I wouldn't dare to ask this question to my colleagues, 'what is your ultimate aim in life?' And if I did, I am sure I would get answers like, nothing; to die one day in piece; to be a man of no regrets; etc. The biggest fools are those who actually argue with you about they being right. Oh god, please. Give them a life!</div>
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I had decided not to bother about this stuff anymore. I mean its their life and I can't liberate (or whatever is the right word) everyone I see. But, watching my friends do the same thing, makes me lose my mind. I wish I could slap them and tell to stop. And thus W.A.R.</div>
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The system is a trap. They lure you for all those corporate awards and promotions, make you work so hard so that THEY can enjoy a good show, even without letting you know why. Tell me how it's different from a rat-race, all rats running behind the cheese. Every god damned initiative taken by the company to make you feel good, let me tell you, is a trap. If someone benefits, it's the company. And that's why HR guys are the most hated people in the company.<br />
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The funny thing is one doesn't really need anything to break out of the trap. All it takes is mere realization. So declare a W.A.R. and save yourself.</div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14984070293939418833noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4831505660333954192.post-86534225132570515042011-10-22T03:22:00.000+05:302011-11-01T19:51:18.494+05:30The Girl At My Office<div style="text-align: justify;">
It was getting more awkward each day. Friend, colleague, life partner? Saying 'Good morning' to her always popped the question in my mind. And I couldn't really decide for myself. I wanted to get close to her, simultaneously maintaining workplace boundaries. I had read in books that love at workplace is a bad, bad idea!</div>
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Next Monday, some admin guy came to my desk and said that they are shifting my desk to a new position. They shifted it right next to her. Now I didn't have to peek above that stupid desk-divider-wall. I was happy with this change. We even got a shared office-telephone. It happened once that I was busy reading some shit on reuters.com (apparently that's the only decent website which is not yet blocked by our office authorities), and the phone rang for 10 seconds or so. I knew it wasn't for me as it's just been a month since I joined the organization and nobody really called me. That irritating, good for nothing telephone was now getting to my nerves. I had to pick it up. The person on the other side asked for a random name, I don't really remember now. I got so irritated that, without even letting the other guy finish his sentence, I announced, 'No. She's not here.' I knew, the call was meant to be for her, and so did she. After 15 minutes of dead silence, she asked, 'Do you know my name? It's Amy.' Awesome! Now I knew her name. (The point here being, she didn't say, hey hi there, I am Amy. Instead she said it the other way, in a kind of bossier way. In later days, I found her more friendly than bossy.) </div>
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I didn't have anyone to talk to, except her as I was the new guy in the organization. I hated it. Adjusting to a new place, when people around you were not so friendly, rather supportive. Its like everyone I came across in the cages they bought. Though it was killing me inside, I didn't let it get it on my mind. It was someone's birthday in my bay (that's what they call it), and everyone was going to canteen to celebrate it. I wasn't. 'Hey, it's Mounil's birthday. Why don't ya join us. It'll be fun', Amy said to me . It was relieving and I felt happy that someone noticed, knew I was there in their bay too.<br />
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Days passed and we were talking more often than ever. I must have misunderstood this part, but still took the next step. Asking a girl out for coffee. It was the evening tea/coffee time so I asked as casually as I could, as if it was just out of the boredom. 'Do you wanna grab some coffee in canteen?'. Canteen? Mistake! She said she would love to but she was busy. I figured out it was just a big, fat NO said a very non-offensive way. Doesn't matter, I said to myself.<br />
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Though I doubted if she is committed to someone else, I really never cared about it. (I believe in a perfectly competitive world.) From initial experience with her, I had made a perception about her being jolly and stuff. But it turned me off to see her not take part in team games, which were usually held on Friday. May be as a part of their Feel-Good initiative by the HR.<br />
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We talked about other people in the company, movies, shopping, hangout places, music, books. Making an eye contact with her is what I used to love. I pined for her. Things were good if not great. She even gave me her cell number without me asking for it. Big achievement, as I see it. I was getting a bit serious now. Next day, she invited me to have breakfast with her. I declined, making a lame excuse.<br />
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The following Monday brought a bad news. Team-wise relocation was taking place and they were going to shift her desk. I begged her to stay at her current desk itself, but there wasn't much she could do about it. I was just praying if the admin guys just forgot to move her desk. She seemed resilient about this change.<br />
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Small talks had become rare now. But the final nail in the coffin was yet to be hit. Yesterday, I saw her with a guy from our office only. She saw that I saw her. Our eyes met. Though it left my heart to pieces, I managed to give her half a smile. It was pretty sure from their comfort level that they were going out. Like a slap in my face. It was coming back to me, all those pieces of the memories. Suddenly, I hated her, I don't know why. May be it's like that, if the girl you like is with someone else, you curse her for no substantial reason.<br />
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Now I had no reason to that bloody office. But my friends somehow kept me going. I still see her sometimes. An awkward eye contact! But always, either of us quickly turn eyes and pretend nothing happened. Feels like, Ouch! That hurt!</div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14984070293939418833noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4831505660333954192.post-59687520956754993942011-08-02T19:19:00.000+05:302011-08-02T19:19:27.236+05:30Experiencing Chennai<div style="text-align: justify;"> It's been two weeks since I moved to Chennai. This phase of "exploring city" is more like a new marriage. You are enthusiastic and open to new ideas. I have been roaming in prominent parts of the city, trying to absorb as much as I could. The city seems good. Big and beautiful, blessed with a long coastline. Some of my friends would completely disagree saying that, it's a shitty place. I mean, if you have this pre-determined notion in mind about a place, howsoever beautiful a place might be, it's gonna look shitty to you. And I don't blame them, it's just human nature.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiAgcW4raD5qpl9NGe1AQMLrKOdJEwA3YKWKUgvlVTh0KWBUl5v70wGLvL-t0ZqY1sk2gC6tjTr_Rg1ht-fMOLLsDYBlwxucdTFcRWxSwZ9_-sbnLESAEjgogIZu8gPXlvtjGlwl0Gq5Bc/s1600/chennai_central.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="217" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiAgcW4raD5qpl9NGe1AQMLrKOdJEwA3YKWKUgvlVTh0KWBUl5v70wGLvL-t0ZqY1sk2gC6tjTr_Rg1ht-fMOLLsDYBlwxucdTFcRWxSwZ9_-sbnLESAEjgogIZu8gPXlvtjGlwl0Gq5Bc/s320/chennai_central.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Chennai Central</td></tr>
</tbody></table><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;"> Chennai is more like Russia. They don't speak English (or Hindi for that matter), taxis are a scam, and they talk of communism all the time. The people have helping nature nonetheless. A few days ago, I had to go <a href="http://maps.google.co.in/maps?q=Marina+Beach,+Chennai&hl=en&sll=13.054841,80.283003&sspn=0.028763,0.045447&z=15">Marina beach</a> and I was asking a passerby for directions. He didn't understand Hindi or English. He might have just picked the word 'Marina' and figured that I wanted to go there. And of course he know that I don't know Tamil, still he is explaining me in Tamil. I mean it's not his fault or I am not undervaluing his help or anything like that. I was just staring at him while he was talking. He was talking with so much dedication, so much efforts that I had to nod my head in approval, as if I understood every single word. After ten steps, I asked someone, who could speak Hindi, for helping me out. One more incident. I was going to my place in Kazhipattur by bus and I pronounced it as what it sounds. And then this bus-conductor tells me its <i>Kaipattur</i> not <i>Kazhipattur</i>, making me repeat till I get it right.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;"> The language barrier. For the first time in my life, I felt diversity as an issue. Imagine entire India speaking the same language, there would have been no IPL. Jokes apart, we really need to think over this "issue".</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;"> Till now, I had this thought that only Ahmadabad is something that could be called as the city of malls. But Chennai is giving it tough competition. <a href="http://maps.google.co.in/maps?q=spencers+chennai&hl=en&ll=13.049546,80.243454&spn=0.110872,0.181789&sll=13.058838,80.264086&sspn=0.007191,0.011362&z=13&iwloc=A">Spencer's</a> and <a href="http://maps.google.co.in/maps?q=Express+Avenue+Mall,+Whites+Road,+Express+Estate,+Thousand+Lights,+Chennai,+Tamil+Nadu&hl=en&sll=13.054841,80.283003&sspn=0.028763,0.045447&z=17">Express Avenue</a> are really something (And perhaps the only places to spot some hot chicks). One shouldn't miss them on his Chennai trip. Four floors of pure awe each. Marina beach, Basy beach, Broken Bridge are some other places to see. I had heard a lot about Marina Beach but when I witnessed for myself, it was just another beach full of people.<br />
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I am still exploring new places in Chennai. The thing I noticed about myself and my friend Madhu is that we wouldn't go to certain kind of places, howsoever good they are. Like museums or zoos or art galleries. Turns out, we are missing something in our lives.</div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14984070293939418833noreply@blogger.com2Chennai, Tamil Nadu, India13.060422 80.2495830000000312.916343000000001 80.157828500000036 13.204501 80.341337500000023tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4831505660333954192.post-31449858081574921022011-07-25T22:33:00.000+05:302011-07-25T22:33:11.297+05:30Running Away!<div style="text-align: justify;">In continuation with: <a href="http://vivcu.blogspot.com/2011/06/escape.html">Escape!</a></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;"> Wisdom had struck him like lightening. He did not feel like carrying the burden of this restlessness anymore, that would have been cheating himself. For many days afterwards he tried to drag himself to his boring routine of life, for the sake of his lovely wife, for the sake of his corporation. But it wasn't the same anymore, the food wasn't tasty, beer wasn't intoxicating, sex wasn't desirable. Anymore. He know that it was eating him from inside. Like a bird trying so hard to break out of the cage, not caring if it would all fall apart. </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjqq3mkfpe2CQsQMu3340wUMSJZHdPAGkrYDe5zPTDuH_fCnrmtGtJ3pLqVGfnxzgNxmVsMQSdS4oMWeVGBgpwpJmzRmyOHVHAru3wJQDtrbcUgsArXZxUcMQSWX3MVw7zO3baca42ph_w/s1600/work.746577.5.flat%252C550x550%252C075%252Cf.restless-sleep.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjqq3mkfpe2CQsQMu3340wUMSJZHdPAGkrYDe5zPTDuH_fCnrmtGtJ3pLqVGfnxzgNxmVsMQSdS4oMWeVGBgpwpJmzRmyOHVHAru3wJQDtrbcUgsArXZxUcMQSWX3MVw7zO3baca42ph_w/s320/work.746577.5.flat%252C550x550%252C075%252Cf.restless-sleep.jpg" width="240" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: serif;"> </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">Nikhil gave it all a second thought, calculating all other possibilities, like explaining it all to his wife or his close friend, but each time it rendered him disappointed as he felt they would never understand him. The more he tried to avoid that thought, more it kept popping in his mind. He just needed some time to figure it out all.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><br />
</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"> And one ordinary day, it did happen. He ran like a fugitive. Threw away his mobile phone, burned down all the cash, gave his blazer to a </span>beggar<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"> who needed it more than him. He held his wedding ring in his hand to throw it off, looked at it for a second, and then put it back. His </span>righteousness<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"> told him to keep it as it would remind him of his loved one and the fact that he has to come back one day. He walked his way to the railway station and decided to aboard the first train out of here, irrespective of where it took him, leaving his beloved ones in </span>despair<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">. Gathering himself in the general compartment to save himself from the cold. It was all so new for him and he was open to this new world.</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: serif;"> E</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">xcited. Pumping up adrenaline through his blood.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><br />
</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;">To be continued...</div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14984070293939418833noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4831505660333954192.post-9700664251662243532011-07-11T15:28:00.005+05:302011-07-11T16:10:24.358+05:30Robbers' Cave at Dehradun<span class="Apple-style-span" style="clear: right; float: right; font-family: inherit; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><br />
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<div style="text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"> We all grew up hearing bedtime stories about how Alibaba found a robbers' cave and enjoyed all the gold for the rest of his life. Probably even fantasized about finding one ourselves. Just never thought such a place would exist in Dehradun. Don't get your hopes high; it doesn't have any more gold left in it.</span><br />
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</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhSs1ewmHMQPFV2ny9h_cPvAuhRqn8rZF8SxQZ37NXEejMwuwUg9XqQnuos0XPmHgDIq92yR0VMibG4jNCycAwn2foVErB8l8w0pzjXUcX2wJzfmscQtKMjqAdkxQIhOuCMvOKtFkvy09k/s1600/DSCN5667.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhSs1ewmHMQPFV2ny9h_cPvAuhRqn8rZF8SxQZ37NXEejMwuwUg9XqQnuos0XPmHgDIq92yR0VMibG4jNCycAwn2foVErB8l8w0pzjXUcX2wJzfmscQtKMjqAdkxQIhOuCMvOKtFkvy09k/s400/DSCN5667.JPG" width="300" /></span></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><br />
</span></div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"> At my first glance, the place looked like an extended gutter. Only after exploring further, I found sheer awesomeness. As they say, <i>never judge a book by its cover</i>.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><br />
</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"> The place was like a passage for water to flow through those rocks. It pops two things in mind: <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Grand_Canyon">The Grand Canyon</a> and <a href="http://www.imdb.com/title/tt1542344/">127 Hours</a> movie. The rocks were corroded by water smooth, just like pebbles. It is ironic that a thing as hard as rock can be so smooth. It was getting narrower and deeper as we moved inside. The ankle deep water level soon became knee deeper. Though the water looked brownish, it wasn't dirty at all. I mean no plastic garbage in it. Just water with some soil in it. Plastic garbage shows the existence of human race at a place. If you find a place without it, you can be sure that it's untouched, virgin!</span><br />
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</span></div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"> We were getting closer to water source. Discrete drops of water falling downwards were just adding up to the experience. Sunlight was getting rarer as we went deeper. Or should I just say, it was getting more awesome! At the end of the cave, it went more than 7 feet deep. It felt good to drown in such a compact place, just like a cavity. I might be able to describe it down fully because it was an experience that can't be expressed in words. Indeed one of the best places I have explored. </span><br />
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</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhmDBz4XNj3LfK_y7DWex863Qz600HgYrQ4ny9U_URxpslhI-binYvh3OyNlh9Iz81qxCZQ6TtbQRoe6qqI6R1kWgJ11bKxiw8EW5P4wIYjKVPLEX3viFUeE-KIUh4FklWbeO6tUsxjsxk/s1600/DSCN5597.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhmDBz4XNj3LfK_y7DWex863Qz600HgYrQ4ny9U_URxpslhI-binYvh3OyNlh9Iz81qxCZQ6TtbQRoe6qqI6R1kWgJ11bKxiw8EW5P4wIYjKVPLEX3viFUeE-KIUh4FklWbeO6tUsxjsxk/s400/DSCN5597.JPG" width="300" /></span></a></div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: serif;"></span></span></div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14984070293939418833noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4831505660333954192.post-41337036740061247452011-07-04T18:46:00.001+05:302011-07-05T15:01:28.709+05:3007:12 ST Fast<div style="text-align: justify;"> <span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">When you spend more than three hours everyday in a local train (that way, 7 years of an average Mumbaikar's life), commuting from home to work and back, it becomes your second home and the fellow passengers your friends. Some read a book, some solve crossword in the newspapers, some do office work, some keep looking outside the window for hours and some decide to just kill time by looking at those cheap adverts on the walls or enjoying a heavy breeze in the doorway. Or just inspecting an item the street vendor is trying to sell. All in all, if you exclude the pathetic crowd in the trains, all of my commutes have been extremely enjoyable.</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_mvMTjlN6YlQMNgNT3xdQwyjEaYdz-rNZYYd4EXxx79Dwg0dynxYcIWW4b0NZyqxBSxuQmvz5M4GpF9gtLdZMMR0-4VGSwzOYQ8CPsx1XpVGmGx9RuT0OMpYdRaRKusJSB4kt7fMlAl8/s1600/Local-Trains-925006607-7339245-1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="195" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_mvMTjlN6YlQMNgNT3xdQwyjEaYdz-rNZYYd4EXxx79Dwg0dynxYcIWW4b0NZyqxBSxuQmvz5M4GpF9gtLdZMMR0-4VGSwzOYQ8CPsx1XpVGmGx9RuT0OMpYdRaRKusJSB4kt7fMlAl8/s320/Local-Trains-925006607-7339245-1.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br />
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</div><div style="text-align: justify;"> Talking of local trains, you might have seen the <i>Bhajanwalas</i> in early morning trains. Those are just ordinary men, like you and me, trying to devote some time for the higher powers through religious, Marathi songs, most of them dedicated to <i>Lord Vitthal </i>of Pandharpur. Some people see it as an irritating thing; but for me it was purely amazing to see the entire bogie joining in on rhythms of <i>tabla</i>.<br />
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The single craziest thing I have seen in the local trains is probably <i>the water boy</i>. A water boy brings water bottles for the commuters with absolutely no motive behind it. He circulates the bottles amongst the fellow commuters and collects back once they have consumed water. And he does it everyday, year after year. There couldn't be more selfless act than this. Although I have been travelling in local trains for more than six years now, I have never seen the <i>water boy</i> people more than twice. And if you ask why this - May be those people don't find time for doing some good things in their life. The part of <i>punya</i> as defined by the Hindu mythology.<br />
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</div><div style="text-align: justify;"> I was going to CST the other morning when I took the 07:12 train to ST and I felt like I have crashed in a wrong party. Every damn passenger in that bogie seem to know each other and I was the odd man out in their gossip and jokes. It almost felt like a get-together in that train. They probably sent off each other saying, 'See you tomorrow, same train, same coach!'</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;"> It leaves me confusing every time when I think why do local trains symbolize only Mumbai city? Why not Chennai or Delhi for that matter. They have EMUs too. Who knows? May be these cities and its people haven't accepted the local trains as much as Mumbai has.</div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14984070293939418833noreply@blogger.com0Mumbai, Maharashtra, India19.0176147 72.85616440000001118.826811199999998 72.7533269 19.2084182 72.959001900000018tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4831505660333954192.post-2201256777395426862011-06-29T17:59:00.000+05:302011-06-29T17:59:37.458+05:30Meeting Madhu<div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> I was summing up my courage to taste the Rajma at hostel 3 mess, on my very first day of the college. There was this guy sitting opposite to me on the same table, with a stud in his left ear, a clean shave, a tucked in formal shirt, a soda bottle glass thick spectacle and underneath them, a pair of fierce eyes. It all seemed very contradictory to me. Like the one they show in movies, a gunda getting dressed so well that he looks like a manager at a bank. But I kept my opinions to myself as I thought he was a senior guy and staring at him would only lead to me getting ragged. In the later days, Madhu told me that he though I was a senior guy and hesitated to talk to me. Years later, when we look back to that day, we laugh our lungs out.</span><br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjD32i_si3aFGS7dOFyW13cfuCHZqP_FWdkayvP2tZIwO2C8h4LN3xojcWmzuG8FoTFJAUswrrIhEhcOcmPMzqko0UoD1OcbL5_canR1YC0VH55UK9vMoQPdQp8S65e7g_YPsKj1aZGQvA/s1600/Friends_6_tns.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjD32i_si3aFGS7dOFyW13cfuCHZqP_FWdkayvP2tZIwO2C8h4LN3xojcWmzuG8FoTFJAUswrrIhEhcOcmPMzqko0UoD1OcbL5_canR1YC0VH55UK9vMoQPdQp8S65e7g_YPsKj1aZGQvA/s1600/Friends_6_tns.png" /></a></div><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"> It so happened one day that I had a big fight with some rowdy guy in college. And when it eventually came down to settling down physically, Madhu stepped in. The more important thing is that he never asked me what was it all about? Not by a single word. And that's what I like about him. Or how he used to curse the professor when he got more marks than me despite copying from myself. Funny! </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"> </span><span style="font-family: inherit;">Most times, it used to come down to just two of us up for a thing. Like watching movies in exam times, playing pool while others were busy doing assignments. He used to be friendly with most of colleagues and I hated most. I believe it's the <i>academic trouble</i> that brought us together.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"> One more insignificant but memorable incident. We were coming back to hostel in Madhu's car when someone bumped it from behind, on a red signal. Without saying a word, both of us got down, ready to kick some. Thankfully, there wasn't any damage and so we let it go. The point is we had such strong communication between us that we didn't need words. And I am sure that he doesn't remember this. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"> </span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"> Madhu had been a great friend till date and I hope we remain. </span></div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14984070293939418833noreply@blogger.com0Mnit, Jhalana, Malviya Nagar, Jaipur, Rajasthan 302017, India26.862228 75.815642000000025-10.1290555 16.050017000000025 63.8535115 135.58126700000003tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4831505660333954192.post-87292405110741376132011-06-24T18:59:00.000+05:302011-06-24T18:59:30.117+05:30Now Downloading: Dreams<div style="text-align: justify;"> Was the dream, you had last night, so beautiful that you wanted to spend the rest of your life in it? Don't worry, it happens to the best of us. And you know why? Because in those dreams, you can be whatever you want to be, irrespective of the boundaries of this materialistic world. I can't be superman in reality. That's a physical impossibility. But in my dreams, I can be whatever I want. </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiFugLW723J0pMHc4HU_Us_dRybjvVvhUJ0m2PUrRoqeCgKNdx1zC6D9KGLjZtYV7frp32HqyXzvB5eE_nfqEuZIpOO9XmkzCLUPUMv6k9MjyvJ1hkUN6Os7pxYM2Xo5EIQyiV8FQm42ss/s1600/dream-blue-II.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiFugLW723J0pMHc4HU_Us_dRybjvVvhUJ0m2PUrRoqeCgKNdx1zC6D9KGLjZtYV7frp32HqyXzvB5eE_nfqEuZIpOO9XmkzCLUPUMv6k9MjyvJ1hkUN6Os7pxYM2Xo5EIQyiV8FQm42ss/s320/dream-blue-II.jpg" width="236" /></a></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;"> It's surely not this way: If you are a dreamer, you lack some comforts in real life and seek relief in the virtual world. I think of it as a very creative thing. The weirder it gets, the more creative person you are. Dreams are your imagination's playground. There are well established platforms for various arts. For example, there is sculptures, CAD modeling, Lego, Animation tools etc. (I am not including photography here because I think it's not about creating, it's about capturing beauty which already exists.) If they invent a way to download and transfer data from one's dreams, it would soon become such a platform. And they won't have any limitations as seen in these platforms. Teachers would give homework to students as, ' Go home, dream and draw me a sports car.' The best part is, you don't have to do a damn course to show your proficiency. </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjxI-Nle0S0ywSrWk7Gf-l9rMgfZ9eeNh-C11pSN2AJsLmprc5lmH4ETak-zPX4Sh_yp8Z0JqThKppj56UwtPPv-4Ltrn5gLQ4g2dfe81tM9e0mjnVyJkZVA8qA-C4Rma_yWJPZRZKCClU/s1600/Dreams.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjxI-Nle0S0ywSrWk7Gf-l9rMgfZ9eeNh-C11pSN2AJsLmprc5lmH4ETak-zPX4Sh_yp8Z0JqThKppj56UwtPPv-4Ltrn5gLQ4g2dfe81tM9e0mjnVyJkZVA8qA-C4Rma_yWJPZRZKCClU/s320/Dreams.jpg" width="273" /></a></div><div style="text-align: justify;"></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;"> I am not at all kidding here. Haven't you heard the <a href="http://www.bellaonline.com/articles/art19119.asp">benzene ring story</a>? It's quite fascinating. Even John Lenon told his vision of world peace through dreams. <i>Imagine!</i></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjc78tu7P9rDfO7NgN5Shkbkr-_1qA7MpMATiVGwsN6f0-tXX77zMHLLvQODc9JoIomiAniLWb1ln6hZgGR6CMw0spkHks3Kg1IGIreqVOh2hNLeAjo-YeyrvQ4t3a3EhyYTG9v9XE8EhE/s1600/index.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjc78tu7P9rDfO7NgN5Shkbkr-_1qA7MpMATiVGwsN6f0-tXX77zMHLLvQODc9JoIomiAniLWb1ln6hZgGR6CMw0spkHks3Kg1IGIreqVOh2hNLeAjo-YeyrvQ4t3a3EhyYTG9v9XE8EhE/s200/index.jpeg" width="188" /></a></div><div style="text-align: justify;"></div><div style="text-align: justify;"></div><div style="text-align: justify;"> <br />
I remember this particular incident in particular when my dad got a new car. I did not know driving at that time and my dad wouldn't let me touch the car unless I go to a driving school. The insane part starts here. I started having dreams about how to drive a car. I really did. I used to practice driving in dreams. I got so confident after that I took his car one day and tried out myself. Surprisingly, I bumped within a few meters. That was what I call as 'reality shock'. And then they made <a href="http://www.imdb.com/title/tt1375666/">Inception</a> which explained the phenomenon when you can't distinguish between reality and dreams. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiNYOrArI6UQ0phxKTHvteG7rl8rR9HTPZOJYHXC_hm0ny0qKgXTQFiL2X4n5k9u6s1sV4ueXFbnmc14AYnWyK6lgHEglaCkV4r8NcGAb_Et_WLkoKPgyptFAMi9ckq6hVFuW7ihhwEH9o/s1600/index11.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiNYOrArI6UQ0phxKTHvteG7rl8rR9HTPZOJYHXC_hm0ny0qKgXTQFiL2X4n5k9u6s1sV4ueXFbnmc14AYnWyK6lgHEglaCkV4r8NcGAb_Et_WLkoKPgyptFAMi9ckq6hVFuW7ihhwEH9o/s1600/index11.jpeg" /></a></div><div style="text-align: justify;"></div><div style="text-align: justify;"> <br />
When dreams become so good, so larger than life, humans find it tough when it ends. I had this dream in which I was role-playing a mafia like they show in those action movies, wearing a black tuxedo, a Cuban cigar in lips, tens of body-guards, long black car, fancy guns and stuff. Things were taking shape quite quickly in that dream and I hated it to hell when I got woken up by the stupid alarm. I just threw the clock away and closed my eyes hard, trying to force myself back into the dream. Surprisingly, it did happen. Sometime or other, all of you must have tried this and those who have know that I am not making this up.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhgbm6PoTAUpeHk2FRm4iEBwVsi0-6xivpYztW7PaOu6GeR-qUIZDDJILGaun74PIumcnrnd4-Nix812HjNnx0VrZcCen2cAG1ZnLZ3cMenOMGFIZMMhY-RH4ZtfLlazMBw0CKTtqMbUqY/s1600/images.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhgbm6PoTAUpeHk2FRm4iEBwVsi0-6xivpYztW7PaOu6GeR-qUIZDDJILGaun74PIumcnrnd4-Nix812HjNnx0VrZcCen2cAG1ZnLZ3cMenOMGFIZMMhY-RH4ZtfLlazMBw0CKTtqMbUqY/s200/images.jpeg" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>River of dreams</i> by <i>Billy Joel</i></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br />
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</tbody></table> People wish to remember their dreams, they wish to capture its beauty. Just, if there was a way to download our dreams and view them just like we watch movies. I don't know what breakthrough research has been made till date on dreams, but they should start experimenting in this field as soon as possible, realizing its potential.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"></div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14984070293939418833noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4831505660333954192.post-23814071733666444902011-06-21T03:56:00.002+05:302011-06-21T12:40:27.446+05:30What's With the Ship?<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"> It's not everyday you see such a large vessel parked so elegantly on a beach. You must have seen this beauty making it to evening <a href="http://timesofindia.indiatimes.com/topic/MV-Wisdom/news">news</a> for a past couple of days. For those without a clue, it's an abandoned Srilankan ship, named MV Wisdom, drifted to Juhu beach while being towed away to some scrap yard in Gujarat. I don't understand why's everybody making such a big fizz about it. Authorities burning down cash to move the bloody thing. They don't freaking understand: It has become as unmoving as the sea itself. </span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><br />
</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"> People have doubts: Where did it come from, where's it going, why isn't that moving, is it broke? But the big question to me is why do they want to move that thing? It ain't eating nobody. And how many beaches in the world have such a vessel parked at? None! It really looks awesome this way. The beach has witnessed more tourist than ever. People pouring from all side to have a glimpse of this thing. My friends had been talking about it and today I couldn't control the urge to see it myself. It is nice to know how amazing things can happen in India. They should let people enjoy it for a while. May be, they should use it for something like a hotel, museum or just open it for public to see from inside. I am sure people would be ready spare few bucks to see it. I would pay. If they still want to move it, there are two possibilities. First, the authorities don't want people to be happy. Second, they are fools. </span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh3ano2hRci1QX2gx55b3JgpB02gM1eQZ1EQXBlkxsYcKG5ynNx8qXbUH2FiXeNjd8RnD4auG6iSyNJhMJhk3Ae4u1EtptUgJEap9BPTs37CC4387uIvJxIni3bRt-jgGx8rv1zjLAGJ90/s1600/DSC00126.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh3ano2hRci1QX2gx55b3JgpB02gM1eQZ1EQXBlkxsYcKG5ynNx8qXbUH2FiXeNjd8RnD4auG6iSyNJhMJhk3Ae4u1EtptUgJEap9BPTs37CC4387uIvJxIni3bRt-jgGx8rv1zjLAGJ90/s400/DSC00126.JPG" width="400" /></span></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit; font-size: small;">The ship at Juhu beach</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table><div style="text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 14px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: serif; font-size: small;"></span></span></span></div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14984070293939418833noreply@blogger.com0Mumbai suburban, Maharashtra, India19.092581972960009 72.8265099841307818.951061972960009 72.72355148413078 19.234101972960008 72.92946848413078tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4831505660333954192.post-76039809608137130482011-06-19T19:59:00.001+05:302011-06-29T18:05:16.806+05:30Kurt's Suicide Note<div style="text-align: justify;"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">To Boddah</span></i></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><br />
</span></i></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">Speaking from the tongue of an experienced simpleton who obviously would rather be an emasculated, infantile complainee. This note should be pretty easy to understand.</span></i></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><br />
</span></i></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">All the warnings from the punk rock 101 courses over the years, since my first introduction to the, shall we say, ethics involved with independence and the embracement of your community has proven to be very true. I haven't felt the excitement of listening to as well as creating music along with reading and writing for too many years now. I feel guity beyond words about these things.</span></i></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><br />
</span></i></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">For example when we're back stage and the lights go out and the manic roar of the crowds begins., it doesn't affect me the way in which it did for Freddie Mercury, who seemed to love, relish in the the love and adoration from the crowd which is something I totally admire and envy. The fact is, I can't fool you, any one of you. It simply isn't fair to you or me. The worst crime I can think of would be to rip people off by faking it and pretending as if I'm having 100% fun. Sometimes I feel as if I should have a punch-in time clock before I walk out on stage. I've tried everything within my power to appreciate it (and I do,God, believe me I do, but it's not enough). I appreciate the fact that I and we have affected and entertained a lot of people. It must be one of those narcissists who only appreciate things when they're gone. I'm too sensitive. I need to be slightly numb in order to regain the enthusiasms I once had as a child.</span></i></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><br />
</span></i></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">On our last 3 tours, I've had a much better appreciation for all the people I've known personally, and as fans of our music, but I still can't get over the frustration, the guilt and empathy I have for everyone. There's good in all of us and I think I simply love people too much, so much that it makes me feel too fucking sad. The sad little, sensitive, unappreciative, Pisces, Jesus man. Why don't you just enjoy it? I don't know!</span></i></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><br />
</span></i></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">I have a goddess of a wife who sweats ambition and empathy and a daughter who reminds me too much of what I used to be, full of love and joy, kissing every person she meets because everyone is good and will do her no harm. And that terrifies me to the point to where I can barely function. I can't stand the thought of Frances becoming the miserable, self-destructive, death rocker that I've become.</span></i></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><br />
</span></i></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">I have it good, very good, and I'm grateful, but since the age of seven, I've become hateful towards all humans in general. Only because it seems so easy for people to get along that have empathy. Only because I love and feel sorry for people too much I guess.</span></i></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><br />
</span></i></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">Thank you all from the pit of my burning, nauseous stomach for your letters and concern during the past years. I'm too much of an erratic, moody baby! I don't have the passion anymore, and so remember, it's better to burn out than to fade away.</span></i></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><br />
</span></i></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">Peace, love, empathy.</span></i></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">Kurt Cobain</span></i></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><br />
</span></i></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">Frances and Courtney, I'll be at your alter.</span></i></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">Please keep going Courtney, for Frances.</span></i></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">For her life, which will be so much happier without me.</span></i></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><br />
</span></i></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">I LOVE YOU, I LOVE YOU! </span></i></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVGBRQL4oOLVnZthZi03gr7bjiGcd4k-LFYtKwadRG33ogwrZS5vea2qRmDkGgdaMeZWfrvZdNUFsu_AxIeHGzzv8wUlVJlnPYvoOlAA39rKZ22SBVWvDY0rx7zib9SCPB6aj3jtSLO1k/s1600/kurtcobainssuicidenote.com_suicidenote.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVGBRQL4oOLVnZthZi03gr7bjiGcd4k-LFYtKwadRG33ogwrZS5vea2qRmDkGgdaMeZWfrvZdNUFsu_AxIeHGzzv8wUlVJlnPYvoOlAA39rKZ22SBVWvDY0rx7zib9SCPB6aj3jtSLO1k/s1600/kurtcobainssuicidenote.com_suicidenote.jpg" /></span></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;">The note</span></td></tr>
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</i></div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14984070293939418833noreply@blogger.com0171 Lake Washington Blvd, Seattle, WA 98122, USA47.616636 -122.28179147.615997 -122.282703 47.617275 -122.280879tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4831505660333954192.post-24077575282847387712011-06-19T00:20:00.000+05:302011-06-29T18:04:42.259+05:30The 108 Feet Tall Hanuman<div style="text-align: justify;"> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh9NEGLkL6K-Cgz4afmCzhGM7CLAyaeZnXU2Om2sTPHdZrMGtoF2ooRUFJKS6nQpZJmpGBVRgllk-yg6kXxyfKMVeoAKOMcNygpw1Sdh9z0WWPDJclI5vNBTl1ArVs0VPCGst0KXxaCOzo/s1600/3067385921_4f73477dd2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh9NEGLkL6K-Cgz4afmCzhGM7CLAyaeZnXU2Om2sTPHdZrMGtoF2ooRUFJKS6nQpZJmpGBVRgllk-yg6kXxyfKMVeoAKOMcNygpw1Sdh9z0WWPDJclI5vNBTl1ArVs0VPCGst0KXxaCOzo/s320/3067385921_4f73477dd2.jpg" width="320" /></a> I get a funny feeling whenever I see this place. The huge Hanuman statue, also known as <a href="http://108foot.com/">108 feet Sankat Mochan Dham</a>, is situated right in the middle of Delhi. It is weird to see such a enormous, unmoving, orange statue amongst all those tall, concrete buildings with shining glasses on them. Amongst all those honking cars, those flashing lights, all the crowd, all the ad-boards. It points out distinctively amongst them. But it looks kind of beautiful. The only thing that disturbs its beauty is the snobby, immortal metro line laid in front of it. India has developed. And so its people. But its amazing to see that people here are still religious and that's a good thing as per me. People buy a new laptop, but before turning it on, they burst a coconut and put up a swastika on it. Funny!</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiaZZY_yI04x0OH4bQqVFtq8VaX44O_zl0lounfp6RVV9vbXRePrPN2q-Sc_THo7j5gUb1S9020pgx2zFyOIF0JjMxjFg9JVCQmT9FG4FMC5JZDHsuMpwfiDobSeEFZKPFBW45nAt2VgyY/s1600/hanuman.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="208" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiaZZY_yI04x0OH4bQqVFtq8VaX44O_zl0lounfp6RVV9vbXRePrPN2q-Sc_THo7j5gUb1S9020pgx2zFyOIF0JjMxjFg9JVCQmT9FG4FMC5JZDHsuMpwfiDobSeEFZKPFBW45nAt2VgyY/s320/hanuman.jpg" width="320" /></a> It looks to me like as if proud Hanuman is watching the city, its people, their deeds, its progress, its filth. If you see closely, he is protecting Lord Ram and Sita, behind his palms, in his chest. It is derived from that part of Ramayan where Hanuman is asked to open up his chest and when he does, they find Ram and Sita resting there. The statue also poses as he crushes the head of a devil with his foot. It implies the victory of good over bad and such similar religious stuff. </div><div style="text-align: justify;"></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9bMJ1P_MVK7FZP3sbR_6XAEU_wHRKAaZlKQJjK6Ws7iyOH67T6pD2bcz7NCuVysdyWXN8iuBh7kJGYbLirzmGQUOm3hIQNHG2vCs5JsAZWzpfcWRayrAQtnRsnFvS_bCORos8Tda70h0/s1600/108+feet+hanuman+delhi1.jpg" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"></a> There's more. The open mouth of the lying devil is entrance to the temple having idols of lord Ram and Sita. The core looked just like any other temple. That might be because I am not such a religious. Irrelevant! If you are driving around the Carol Baugh area, Take your heads out of car windows and look up. He shouldn't be too hard to spot.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9bMJ1P_MVK7FZP3sbR_6XAEU_wHRKAaZlKQJjK6Ws7iyOH67T6pD2bcz7NCuVysdyWXN8iuBh7kJGYbLirzmGQUOm3hIQNHG2vCs5JsAZWzpfcWRayrAQtnRsnFvS_bCORos8Tda70h0/s1600/108+feet+hanuman+delhi1.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9bMJ1P_MVK7FZP3sbR_6XAEU_wHRKAaZlKQJjK6Ws7iyOH67T6pD2bcz7NCuVysdyWXN8iuBh7kJGYbLirzmGQUOm3hIQNHG2vCs5JsAZWzpfcWRayrAQtnRsnFvS_bCORos8Tda70h0/s320/108+feet+hanuman+delhi1.jpg" width="233" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Entrance to the temple</td></tr>
</tbody></table><div style="text-align: justify;"> </div><div style="text-align: justify;"></div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14984070293939418833noreply@blogger.com0New Delhi, Delhi, India28.6439569 77.18852519999995828.4187649 76.94444569999996 28.8691489 77.432604699999956tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4831505660333954192.post-59269006792151393462011-06-17T02:52:00.008+05:302011-06-29T18:03:07.552+05:30Gaga Saga<div style="text-align: justify;">Gaga: a slang for insanity.</div><div style="text-align: justify;">Gaga: a slang for obsession.</div><div style="text-align: justify;">Gaga: a dancing technique for the regular.<br />
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</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhmP0RFJcaUeiP7HoytEI-jwjjtECURqeixZiEJ53kTd7c79_P6_EGRjJ3exNBHhPMcRGT675LXw9hboHu5cjyU2W1l8NKyDCg3pAzvYq3Enan-HwbnENMfqAPBG-CbQkhBrTxx3XlwqGE/s1600/Lady-Gaga.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="123" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhmP0RFJcaUeiP7HoytEI-jwjjtECURqeixZiEJ53kTd7c79_P6_EGRjJ3exNBHhPMcRGT675LXw9hboHu5cjyU2W1l8NKyDCg3pAzvYq3Enan-HwbnENMfqAPBG-CbQkhBrTxx3XlwqGE/s200/Lady-Gaga.png" width="200" /></a></div>No wonder, Lady Gaga has symbolized the three in recent years. A fabulous stage name, Stefani Joanne Angelina Germanotta, I must complement. She has launched three studio albums, featured in two tours, won 5 Grammies and literally a hundred <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/List_of_awards_and_nominations_received_by_Lady_Gaga">other awards</a>; she just doesn't seem to stop. Be it the crazy costumes, weird hairstyles, pop rhythms or the dancing, she has left a print everywhere. </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">I did not listen to much of pop before Gaga. I have a theory about pop music. It sounds good in mere two places: in a pub and in the backseat of my car. But there's something different about Lady Gaga's songs. Each song is as revolutionary and artistic. Pick up a line from any of the songs and it has some deep meaning attached to it, just like Jim's poetry. Love it. </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKVuJr2p7krQNaCk9ugPlrrLjdhyfbIK3w_mSNxNwQrdVBhL7xkgC8fhqx4V3TZUtwDuid5yJrXkH6uQ-6yoLzyPoOm6WLO6ITK1WWGFBziK43sX-yJGVbwTgh3nWokEafFGbioPXhm3I/s1600/Lady_Gaga_Sexy.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKVuJr2p7krQNaCk9ugPlrrLjdhyfbIK3w_mSNxNwQrdVBhL7xkgC8fhqx4V3TZUtwDuid5yJrXkH6uQ-6yoLzyPoOm6WLO6ITK1WWGFBziK43sX-yJGVbwTgh3nWokEafFGbioPXhm3I/s200/Lady_Gaga_Sexy.jpg" width="132" /></a>I really hate it when the media portraits her negatively or when people make comments on dressing style or behavior. Only after watching her <a href="http://www.vh1.com/video/interview/lady-gaga/458958/pop-couture-lady-gaga.jhtml">interview on VH1</a>, I realised that beneath all the mascara, it's a very sensitive soul in there, trying to break free, trying to show the world what she feels, trying to display her love for art through music, make-up, dance and more. It amazes me when she does experimenting with dresses. The police ribbon costume is my favorite one. </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">It looks like to me as if she needs fame to survive. As if she can't live without million eyes staring at her, a thousand lips humming her tune, hundreds dressing up just as weirdly. Her first two albums named as <i>The Fame</i> and <i>The Fame Monster</i>. She does remind me of Jim. But I think of all this fame thing as only natural.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEis9VvFhUGUC5hiLf6Qp1DaY682Cn232gBh8lfRjCvO-FkpPgjGcfIAe4_7SiqQ4kGJ-LezwmzcVA-Sf52pVzfWTbU44ADWW0fkzdqSdUpiV7uRlR-N43ITD1ejtH7nx7eMJj4ogtkdoJk/s1600/born-this-way-lady-gaga.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEis9VvFhUGUC5hiLf6Qp1DaY682Cn232gBh8lfRjCvO-FkpPgjGcfIAe4_7SiqQ4kGJ-LezwmzcVA-Sf52pVzfWTbU44ADWW0fkzdqSdUpiV7uRlR-N43ITD1ejtH7nx7eMJj4ogtkdoJk/s200/born-this-way-lady-gaga.jpg" width="200" /></a>Everyone's been talking about her latest single <i>Born This Way</i> and why shouldn't one? She's indeed a genius. She surely picked up some good things at Tisch. May be she wants co transform one's inferiority complex into attitude and pride. 'Fuck the world, this is how I am' attitude. What all those Yes, Yes+ people couldn't do it, she did it just with a song. The world is thankful to her for that. Some might think of this video as viral , anti-cultural or even disgusting; but for her fans it's seven minutes of pure pleasure.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
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</div><div style="text-align: center;"><iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="349" src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/wV1FrqwZyKw" width="560"></iframe></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
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</div><div style="text-align: justify;">Don't you get it? Lady Gaga taught us to love ourselves, howsoever we are. Even the Gleeks made a version. </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;"><iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="349" src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/Widfun4HjPY" width="560"></iframe></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
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</div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14984070293939418833noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4831505660333954192.post-71347284131949486872011-06-13T21:50:00.000+05:302011-06-13T21:50:40.869+05:30We Are Boys<div style="text-align: justify;">Dear girls,</div><div style="text-align: justify;"></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">We might not act like the perfect sons to our parents; they exist only in movies.</div><div style="text-align: justify;">We might not talk to our parents about issues; we are boys, we don't talk.</div><div style="text-align: justify;">We might call our moms only when we need food or money;</div><div style="text-align: justify;">We might flatter our dads just to borrow their cars;</div><div style="text-align: justify;">We might help mom in housework just because we need a favor in return;</div><div style="text-align: justify;">But we love them as much as you do.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">We might look like Homer Simpson to you; trust us, we are Bart.</div><div style="text-align: justify;">We might pretend that we are not listening to your stories; we are.</div><div style="text-align: justify;">We might not know what is your pet's name; well we might not know it for real.</div><div style="text-align: justify;">We know how to drive; please stop giving us instructions. </div><div style="text-align: justify;">We might not know what your friend said to you the other day; we don't want to know.</div><div style="text-align: justify;">We might pretend that we haven't noticed your new bag; we have.</div><div style="text-align: justify;">We love our girlfriends as much as you do. </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">Sincerely,</div><div style="text-align: justify;">boys.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVULjtUu4jks2Onlx_AL25xA5tG8QBAv1N2vIrOkcX97G6725GUnvKLAJ8_6ELwmxx6hE9SbDH_3L3yvXvghfCDrjMgUjbGpq_G29dM2Bg5zrKda6vvPoc46LQZDa-E4TmOgwW777SS6g/s1600/50_Amazing_Psychedelic_Wallpapers_HD__1920x1200__www.HQPictures.tk-13.jpg_29.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVULjtUu4jks2Onlx_AL25xA5tG8QBAv1N2vIrOkcX97G6725GUnvKLAJ8_6ELwmxx6hE9SbDH_3L3yvXvghfCDrjMgUjbGpq_G29dM2Bg5zrKda6vvPoc46LQZDa-E4TmOgwW777SS6g/s320/50_Amazing_Psychedelic_Wallpapers_HD__1920x1200__www.HQPictures.tk-13.jpg_29.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14984070293939418833noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4831505660333954192.post-59026049173155471872011-06-08T19:15:00.000+05:302011-06-08T19:15:03.915+05:30Inflation, Investments and Entrepreneurship<div style="text-align: justify;"><b>Inflation</b></div><div> </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;"> </div><div style="text-align: justify;">The cost of any commodity goes on increasing as time passes. This is called as inflation. All of us must have seen that the prices of land, crude oil, food items and similar commodities goes on appreciating year by year. Let's say, India's current annual inflation rate is 8%; then an object costing Rs. 100 today, would cost Rs. 108 after one year.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"> </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;"> </div><div style="text-align: justify;">If you see it the other way, it's the value of money that goes on decreasing. Buying power is another term used for value of money. Suppose, today you can buy 10 chocolate bars with Rs.100; but after 2-3 year, you might be able to buy only 9 or 8 with the same amount of money. That's the reduction in buying power of money. This is another way of defining inflation.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><b>Investments</b></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">Investments gives you returns on your idle resources after a period of time. It creates value addition to your money, thus increasing its buying power than it would have been if kept idle. Most of the people think that, the objective of investment is to get maximum returns with minimum risks. The actual objective is to beat inflation. You should get more money (more buying power) in investments than you lose due to inlfation. </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><b><br />
</b></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><b>The Good, the Bad and the Ugly!</b></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">When the rate of interest is greater than the rate of inflation, it's called as a good investment. When the rate of interest is approaximately equal to the rate of inflation, it's not so good investment. It's like no profit no loss situation. And the worst thing one can his money is to keep it idle. He is creating losses in this process and his money would ultimately vanish. </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">All those people who put their money in savings account or fixed deposit accounts in banks, please check the inflation rate. It is much more than what your bank could give as interest rates. That means you are losing money year by year. It's a bad investment. I would recommend something high return and medium risk financial instruments like bonds, debentures, stocks, mutual funds, forex, gold, land etc. Let's categorize them into two (not on the basis of risk). Bonds, debentures and stocks in one. The rest in other. </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><b>Entrepreneurship </b></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">If you invest in the second category, you are doing nothing extra than investing. Wherein if you investing in first category, you are indirectly promoting entrepreneurship by raising capital for an entrepreneur. When you buy shares of a company, you become the shareholders. If you see the bigger picture, you are actually contributing towards country's GDP by creating more start-ups, creating jobs for people.There are countless benefits. And this is how inflation promotes entrepreneurship. </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhD1WOQcL_L0pXta8vZ1hkLK-1md4CFD8pm2yVg6kjcbgBNgjWdUhHYe9BirrT8mkRp7owJ47ySwfaI6jgfUJfqcR7iXZ1zeZx-Sy8BTl58_-AvcJ5QefpTy5XHdhISZWvh1Pqq5f-c0CA/s1600/growth.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhD1WOQcL_L0pXta8vZ1hkLK-1md4CFD8pm2yVg6kjcbgBNgjWdUhHYe9BirrT8mkRp7owJ47ySwfaI6jgfUJfqcR7iXZ1zeZx-Sy8BTl58_-AvcJ5QefpTy5XHdhISZWvh1Pqq5f-c0CA/s1600/growth.jpg" /></a></div><div style="text-align: justify;"> </div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14984070293939418833noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4831505660333954192.post-26767470448006149882011-06-05T01:53:00.001+05:302011-07-25T22:36:34.409+05:30Escape!<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj0AWEEAAhuyEmWjHdCq0JIzivcRYrV7fsKu6viZ7WZm3Be5HkCY_r27CUVF75jps3A2iW_dwda9_F3OG5MU4tnB8lfzOwxIw-vAx12-9dBL-JMfR2R48ZzSZ5b53srDpKBQuzKHlG4TlI/s1600/Prisoners-for-life.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;">He was tramping aimlessly on the streets. Just looking at those old, British styled building; looking at passing faces; looking at speeding taxis in tiger skins; enjoying a cold breeze amid a hot, humid day. Like a juvenile, kicking an empty can of coke all the way. Every time Nikhil tried to understand the city and its people, it rendered him as clueless ad he was before. </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
He saw a junkie sadhu across the street, like the ones who reside by Shiva temple and practice marijuana (otherwise known as ganja). The sadhu had a big blob of hair on his head, uncut, most probably for years. He wore a half torn, dirty, vibrant orange coloured gown. It filled eyes quickly. He was lost in his own world. And that's only natural when you submit yourself to such a lifestyle. Surrender to lord Shiva and ganja. And still, HE looked like a man with no regrets. Soon, Nikhil's observing turned into stared. Sadhu also noticed a guy in a nice suit and shining shoes, staring at him. Their eyes met. Without speaking a single word, they had a conversation of a lifetime. <br />
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Nikhil felt uncomfortable, he quickly turned his eyes and started taking big footsteps. Though his heart beat was pumped up considerably, it wasn't fear. It was sheer awkwardness. He felt betrayed. Betrayed by the system. he felt like somebody has pushed him off the edge. It felt like his college degree, high paying job at an i-bank, a beautiful wife, a shining black BMW car and a posh, sea facing bungalow didn't matter any more to him. He had every luxury one could dream of. He was the man, but still he wasn't. Somehow, that lunatic sadhu was happier, wiser. While he was smoking up his life with the ganja, Nikhil was appearing for exams, making graphs in office, doing financial planning, spending time with his loved ones. Moving up in life. And that was the time he realized that it's never going to happen. Just like a mirage. You run for it and every time it looks just a little further. </div><div style="text-align: justify;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj0AWEEAAhuyEmWjHdCq0JIzivcRYrV7fsKu6viZ7WZm3Be5HkCY_r27CUVF75jps3A2iW_dwda9_F3OG5MU4tnB8lfzOwxIw-vAx12-9dBL-JMfR2R48ZzSZ5b53srDpKBQuzKHlG4TlI/s1600/Prisoners-for-life.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="197" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj0AWEEAAhuyEmWjHdCq0JIzivcRYrV7fsKu6viZ7WZm3Be5HkCY_r27CUVF75jps3A2iW_dwda9_F3OG5MU4tnB8lfzOwxIw-vAx12-9dBL-JMfR2R48ZzSZ5b53srDpKBQuzKHlG4TlI/s320/Prisoners-for-life.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div style="text-align: justify;"></div><div style="text-align: justify;"></div><div style="text-align: justify;">We are prisoners. Prisoners of love, expectations, greed, comfort, society. Prisoners of life! Nikhil got wiser that day and he escaped. The question is, when would YOU?<br />
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Next part of the story: <a href="http://vivcu.blogspot.com/2011/07/running-away.html">Running Away!</a></div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14984070293939418833noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4831505660333954192.post-31814625322146814192011-06-02T14:35:00.001+05:302011-06-02T14:37:23.954+05:30The Last British Hill Station<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">There couldn't be any quicker runaway for a </span>Mumbaikar<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"> than </span><a href="http://maps.google.co.in/maps?f=q&source=s_q&hl=en&geocode=&q=Matheran,+Maharashtra&aq=0&sll=21.125498,81.914063&sspn=44.648199,56.513672&ie=UTF8&hq=&hnear=Matheran,+Raigad,+Maharashtra&ll=18.956298,73.319321&spn=0.361718,0.441513&z=11" style="font-family: inherit;">Matheran</a><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">. Being just 90 km away from </span>Mumbai<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">, one actually doesn't need to plan much to tramp there. He could just put on his shoes and head right there. </span>Neral<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"> is the base town and can be reached through </span><a href="http://ww.go4mumbai.com/" style="font-family: inherit;">local trains</a><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">. When we got there, we found that the </span><a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Matheran_Hill_Railway" style="font-family: inherit;">toy train</a><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"> running on </span>Neral<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">-</span>Matheran<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"> was called off due to rains. I kind of expected it. This toy train is one of its kind in the country. I feel bad I didn't get a chance to </span>experience<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"> it a single time, </span>despite<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"> going so many times to </span>Matheran<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">. </span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><br />
</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjbcpIcaN314VNG_4JGwK56VkrT_tTC5diPNbvY_Wpwr1PpZ3s-EY92X0dO3xfAupXJh4Aidi8PAlDbAsqI4eFc3RNbh0RHipnE6feYotYO1koaIFOtt29FkMFJ9HcyTrmNxIvjKxZXTSk/s1600/100_1315.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjbcpIcaN314VNG_4JGwK56VkrT_tTC5diPNbvY_Wpwr1PpZ3s-EY92X0dO3xfAupXJh4Aidi8PAlDbAsqI4eFc3RNbh0RHipnE6feYotYO1koaIFOtt29FkMFJ9HcyTrmNxIvjKxZXTSk/s320/100_1315.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdr1ArArPfBvYI-bzG6SDmT-NsabI6oEa8u8tPP4dy0AmC0w19Wn6g8N1Zvygjy1kENppauISH5yL77VyEXorgxqhBOll_o8w7sawVgz5R-aa6zGYsfwiSifCSi3oN1883r_zIqWGe9jw/s1600/100_1396.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdr1ArArPfBvYI-bzG6SDmT-NsabI6oEa8u8tPP4dy0AmC0w19Wn6g8N1Zvygjy1kENppauISH5yL77VyEXorgxqhBOll_o8w7sawVgz5R-aa6zGYsfwiSifCSi3oN1883r_zIqWGe9jw/s320/100_1396.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Matheran Hill Rail</td></tr>
</tbody></table><div style="text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">We took taxi all the way up. If you visit this place in monsoons, you can notice the frequent, tiny waterfalls at the side of the road. One could just pull over and have a nice little shower there. It's that awesome. Well, we reached the top and had to take tickets to enter Matheran. Let me tell you, there are other ways too. One could just wander through the jungle and get into. </span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><br />
</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgyAetghAzFiIehVGdFxRXx-OkyDFb9oJ2rbvY2SNzaa3-9yOowktFGHbvCgcB-gd_HFb0hEb56kCGLyb2N31Qou86rq3drsnegkxHa8ir2CmxqTE6qe2DRMqhfL2_5NeTp0Id47plEHL0/s1600/matheran-hill-station.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="239" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgyAetghAzFiIehVGdFxRXx-OkyDFb9oJ2rbvY2SNzaa3-9yOowktFGHbvCgcB-gd_HFb0hEb56kCGLyb2N31Qou86rq3drsnegkxHa8ir2CmxqTE6qe2DRMqhfL2_5NeTp0Id47plEHL0/s320/matheran-hill-station.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhanhSApEnStSAURZUMMF3NedpKaRMkvndn3Lj7IllVhzVZRuuvnUluliJ0gGQG1SKkzZqGqMrYvEnXSoQfjnd-Y6sdsCx89jV40r-ThItinZw1W11bsh48tpKMoWk9MiQ7K2dfE_YgP6s/s1600/r_Matheran_waterfalls.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhanhSApEnStSAURZUMMF3NedpKaRMkvndn3Lj7IllVhzVZRuuvnUluliJ0gGQG1SKkzZqGqMrYvEnXSoQfjnd-Y6sdsCx89jV40r-ThItinZw1W11bsh48tpKMoWk9MiQ7K2dfE_YgP6s/s320/r_Matheran_waterfalls.JPG" width="213" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Falls by the road</td></tr>
</tbody></table><div style="text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">It was sunny. We decided to go to </span>Panorama<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"> Point first. It was a healthy three kilometres walk there and back. </span>Oh<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">! I forgot to tell you that motorised vehicles are banned here. The most comfortable thing you could get is a horse. At the Panorama point, one could see 360 degrees standing there. </span>Punit<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"> explained me the meaning of Panorama and the fact that </span>digicams<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"> have such a mode, used to capture long, </span>continuous<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"> images.</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiveVsSD_ktsBmTtf0CrEcIqWDKBVzaOrFTbda60oEbiJc6yQZXbpngxCbZ0jrsQ4tiPchyah1Mlv6Kpl2uJolEugKW4CJJ0Hft6s5tSpWvIzy50qsoVLADvTqWNGoQKUbDf05aRCiXy8U/s1600/DSCN1566.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiveVsSD_ktsBmTtf0CrEcIqWDKBVzaOrFTbda60oEbiJc6yQZXbpngxCbZ0jrsQ4tiPchyah1Mlv6Kpl2uJolEugKW4CJJ0Hft6s5tSpWvIzy50qsoVLADvTqWNGoQKUbDf05aRCiXy8U/s320/DSCN1566.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A lovely path</td></tr>
</tbody></table><div style="text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">People talk about hundreds of vibrant colours in a scenery. For </span>Matheran<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">, there are just three. Red, green, blue. The red soil, green woods and blue sky. And it didn't make it any less beautiful for sure. It was </span>getting<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"> darker as clouds were having a get-together in the skies. We scrolled back to the main area, called </span>Bazaar<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">. It soon started raining. Gradually, it was all white. It surprised me that being just 800 metres high, we were already walking in the clouds. </span>Punit<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"> and </span>Ankit<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"> were not ready to get wet, but a little persuasion worked. It felt good, and cold. We had some snacks and started skipping again. </span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEij90GJlBit6aCwftNmePzvbcmbLNeZkVkr9-3FaFC9mdAH8JGg0sDscEp5iSGw9ue7IEGNlRp3dpsiTn1lMA_qvG-L7YJgLkYLSXaZDllus35I0dnUYnZqdft2kx4-NBlsce4cTyjXEEY/s1600/DSCN1609.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEij90GJlBit6aCwftNmePzvbcmbLNeZkVkr9-3FaFC9mdAH8JGg0sDscEp5iSGw9ue7IEGNlRp3dpsiTn1lMA_qvG-L7YJgLkYLSXaZDllus35I0dnUYnZqdft2kx4-NBlsce4cTyjXEEY/s320/DSCN1609.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Bazaar</td></tr>
</tbody></table><div style="text-align: justify;">There is this point, One Tree Hill, which is quite amazing. I loved the empty spaces on that tiny hill, for a change. Other points seemed pretty much ordinary to me. We couldn't take out time to visit the temple on the other side of the hill. There's nothing special about it except for there's a dam nearby. Don't get your hopes high; they don't allow swimming there. Although there is a club which does this thing. Crossing the valley on a rope. I don't know what do they call it exactly. </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhzjdXkZpGYdtRkLZTLCRtmMvo7sWa3OKHsqJVxqfJH0gZGreoAMZUrcVDYwNpbycuwm0LdSPIWGq2ebRpEgGmLCB7dVEL8LJd3yVXgLR7UB4jIEGSPX27qdpDTxCbF4dJ188wzgUDoIAc/s1600/1treehill.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhzjdXkZpGYdtRkLZTLCRtmMvo7sWa3OKHsqJVxqfJH0gZGreoAMZUrcVDYwNpbycuwm0LdSPIWGq2ebRpEgGmLCB7dVEL8LJd3yVXgLR7UB4jIEGSPX27qdpDTxCbF4dJ188wzgUDoIAc/s320/1treehill.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">One Tree Hill</td></tr>
</tbody></table><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgRlSujTaBXIm6X5qF7ro8lmNTRE23hJ0DZwW4wqaY2Lcy8kkPk4TNr3Xj58b1bm74nFh_9XHIFPQcOFXb6lXy53ASO_eNd13zm4rCkumI9sfivl_6K6lqXKDZRQkI1ZMSJbZCPNCZumWU/s1600/dam-reservoir-in-matheran.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="239" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgRlSujTaBXIm6X5qF7ro8lmNTRE23hJ0DZwW4wqaY2Lcy8kkPk4TNr3Xj58b1bm74nFh_9XHIFPQcOFXb6lXy53ASO_eNd13zm4rCkumI9sfivl_6K6lqXKDZRQkI1ZMSJbZCPNCZumWU/s320/dam-reservoir-in-matheran.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Dam reservoirs </td></tr>
</tbody></table><div style="text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">While coming down, we chose to go by the railway tracks. The scenery was just amazing. Also, had a natural shower. It was an </span>awful<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"> long and lonely way down. I noticed some numbers besides the tracks, like the ones they write for informational </span>purposes<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">. 109... after some time 108...107...106. To my horror, those meant fucking kilometres. It was actually 109 km from </span>Neral<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"> to </span>Matheran<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"> via the railway. I kept mum about the fact and let my friends enjoy the scenery. Tired, exhausted, we took a cab from the first intersection point, to </span>Neral<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">. We reached within minutes. Took a local back home. </span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjz0netSzWa05vcB6uu22oKBNjA0ZE72gZXcoKejEUt4C7HiAlV9sBjw237J5CB6ZB949EV4t3vz-ms-mY0rm0nesxcC2fuuTEt5ttsfR421aLo-dNZEumnsCi335Hx_RTZI9yyEUiwJo4/s1600/DSCN1627.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjz0netSzWa05vcB6uu22oKBNjA0ZE72gZXcoKejEUt4C7HiAlV9sBjw237J5CB6ZB949EV4t3vz-ms-mY0rm0nesxcC2fuuTEt5ttsfR421aLo-dNZEumnsCi335Hx_RTZI9yyEUiwJo4/s320/DSCN1627.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The Railway Track</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg8CrudeEMsmTL9C6-_Z6jqcEkkrVjcH0knLzf13Ze_0l7KsCcrPcKatdOKuOI1mSl6eku4D02ryhnR6_viAg86hnLG-Af3XdJBBy3GiEY0W2GXj5RwYuusiTFi7Hv0UbRmazr1iTNHRpw/s1600/DSCN1664.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg8CrudeEMsmTL9C6-_Z6jqcEkkrVjcH0knLzf13Ze_0l7KsCcrPcKatdOKuOI1mSl6eku4D02ryhnR6_viAg86hnLG-Af3XdJBBy3GiEY0W2GXj5RwYuusiTFi7Hv0UbRmazr1iTNHRpw/s320/DSCN1664.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The Ganesha Idol</td></tr>
</tbody></table><div style="text-align: justify;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtzmIatXL9w577qvVMhFUGz8EAZRmTusoKq-8VVTjRRJFVxZ33JCL8QgVb-Ggi6kW7yWWKsCCbH4MphzCBn9OWAf2WxtEgMH4M_gQpCGDwLSNSoHiDdbm9exanxBdo-E3eNLAzW8aWGm4/s1600/DSCN1605.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtzmIatXL9w577qvVMhFUGz8EAZRmTusoKq-8VVTjRRJFVxZ33JCL8QgVb-Ggi6kW7yWWKsCCbH4MphzCBn9OWAf2WxtEgMH4M_gQpCGDwLSNSoHiDdbm9exanxBdo-E3eNLAzW8aWGm4/s320/DSCN1605.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvnNOu8oB4S5BCgn09RBabrH4B6kliPoYvNa6gQFlxRazHF1zk2qY2lMCQjO99EqNcE6BQ_MNb0uuN69TQPFVtX-ongYfXGj3GVucywoe_GGSbmFprIEqzDDx0RLjQJbnDMvaj7UWY_9Y/s1600/DSCN1563.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvnNOu8oB4S5BCgn09RBabrH4B6kliPoYvNa6gQFlxRazHF1zk2qY2lMCQjO99EqNcE6BQ_MNb0uuN69TQPFVtX-ongYfXGj3GVucywoe_GGSbmFprIEqzDDx0RLjQJbnDMvaj7UWY_9Y/s320/DSCN1563.JPG" style="cursor: move;" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">As Punit Says - Boys love it, nature isn't too far behind.</td></tr>
</tbody></table><div style="text-align: justify;"></div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14984070293939418833noreply@blogger.com2Matheran, Maharashtra, India18.98 73.26999999999998218.948009 73.255008999999987 19.011991000000002 73.284990999999977tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4831505660333954192.post-18277626109841443012011-06-01T00:26:00.001+05:302011-06-01T00:32:40.595+05:30My First Afghani Friend<div style="text-align: justify;">It was a lonely road. The midnight cold breeze, a flickering street light, distant sound of dogs barking made the stroll only more enjoyable. It was silent. As silent as it could get. We were heading towards the main gate of the campus. An auto-rikshaw approached us but it left us disappointed when we found out that it was already taken. But we still took our chances and stopped it. There was a boy, our age, sitting alone in the corner seat. It was dark and I couldn't see his face properly, so I did not make an opinion about him. </div><div style="text-align: justify;">'Dude, can we share auto till Sindhi Camp? We have to catch a bus.', I asked hesitatingly, while Dodo was looking at sky as if he had no hopes to get a ride. <br />
<br />
'Sure! Hopp in.' It brought instant smiles to our faces. We did. </div><div style="text-align: justify;">'Ketan. Final year mech', I said, approaching him for a handshake. </div><div style="text-align: justify;">'Dodo. Same.', Dodo said, bringing an artificial, forged smile.</div><div style="text-align: justify;">'Hi! Lativ. Second year civil engineering. Where are you guys headed anyways?' He was talking in a very slow and broken accent. At the same time, his voice seemed full of pride and respect. It hit me that he must be from Afghanistan. I knew that they had some kind of scholarship programme for Afghani students in our college. There were a few in our batch too but I never went their way.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
'Delhi', we said in union. 'We'll take a bus to Delhi from Sindhi Camp...'. He didn't let me complete. </div><div style="text-align: justify;">'That makes us friends till Delhi', he said in excitement. </div><div style="text-align: justify;">That last line made me like him instantly. All three laughed healthily. We didn't speak a word for the rest of journey in that old, noisy, annoying auto-rikshaw. We retired at Sindhi Camp just to find out that the last Volvo bus to Delhi was already full. Shit! We turned to other private buses; but no luck. </div><div style="text-align: justify;">'Weird. There are buses to Delhi every 15 minutes. What is it today? WTF day or something?' I said getting a little frustrated. </div><div style="text-align: justify;">'Guys, I can't afford to get late. I have a flight tomorrow, to Afghanistan, at 11. It's gonna cost me a lot if I miss it.' Lativ said in a serious tone. </div><div style="text-align: justify;">'Don't worry Lativ, we'll get you there...on time.' Dodo said promisingly, putting his right hand on Lativ's shoulder. <br />
<br />
Without wasting a second, we turned to most ordinary government buses. These were the cheapest, dirtiest and most dangerous buses one could get. There was a long queue. I stood in line like a good boy, while Dodo and Lativ were trying their luck to get a cut in the queue. Lativ got one. When he reached the ticket counter, he asked for three tickets to Delhi. There were only two available in that bus. (It surely was WTF day that day.) Lativ was in confusion again. He couldn't decide weather to take it or wait for the next bus. </div><div style="text-align: justify;">'You go ahead. Me and Ketan will catch the next bus. dont worry about it.' Dodo told him. Standing a little behind them, clueless, I could only guess what could be the matter. Both returned with long faces. </div><div style="text-align: justify;">'They had only two left. I said Lativ should take it as he has a flight to catch.' Righteous thing as it seemed to me. <br />
<br />
We helped Lativ to put his luggage and bought few food items for him. He seemed awkward. To be sorry or to be thankful. We hugged and said good bye. We got another bus half an hour later. It felt good. Good to have a stranger as friend for such a short time!</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgqV2piE68QqcsXNuUy5ais1dyHHgTe2aPeZ5ps-0fisS21xaTjr8YXbkYnHDSAlG00cW9wHmMqLIg71BJYvdhXV_BhnzBAYpLAVCIy8wE7CqAe0GJZGy_irmmvQUMxsice9Wx7qsUdI4A/s1600/peace+sign.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgqV2piE68QqcsXNuUy5ais1dyHHgTe2aPeZ5ps-0fisS21xaTjr8YXbkYnHDSAlG00cW9wHmMqLIg71BJYvdhXV_BhnzBAYpLAVCIy8wE7CqAe0GJZGy_irmmvQUMxsice9Wx7qsUdI4A/s200/peace+sign.jpg" width="200" /></a></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
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</div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14984070293939418833noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4831505660333954192.post-35906722456859617532011-05-31T01:42:00.000+05:302011-05-31T01:42:57.491+05:30What Made the Birds Angry?<div style="text-align: justify;">A dirty gang of few filthy, toxic-green coloured pigs stole eggs to make omelette's. When the pigs are just about to put them into a frying pan, the birds spot them. The pigs take a long run and hide in their homes, castle like structures. But the birds are determined to take revenge as they suffered loss of lives of their unborn ones. They decide to destroy their homes and bury the pigs underneath. All this at the cost of their own lives. The birds bombard themselves to the structures with help of a slingshot and make them collapse. These revenge driven creatures are indeed angry and insane. </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><a href="http://www.rovio.com/index.php?page=angry-birds">Angry Birds! </a></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgiKqEnjRsNBA1Blu8VOJogiXKG3ZJfWY021K_I10bx0PEH535h5o0O4sSLtKtFzfdSIYSSlS7pw1lgi9QWORuXqT8k5KXKGx1vaD1PIaDT0eBvNPDdHkRJb9-AY3p-QBKSE0jlt6CqC3o/s1600/250px-Angry_Birds_promo_art.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgiKqEnjRsNBA1Blu8VOJogiXKG3ZJfWY021K_I10bx0PEH535h5o0O4sSLtKtFzfdSIYSSlS7pw1lgi9QWORuXqT8k5KXKGx1vaD1PIaDT0eBvNPDdHkRJb9-AY3p-QBKSE0jlt6CqC3o/s1600/250px-Angry_Birds_promo_art.png" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Angry Birds Promo</td></tr>
</tbody></table><div style="text-align: justify;"> </div><div style="text-align: center;"> <iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="349" src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/1Bk_nqUQ0fc" width="425"></iframe> </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">It's not a tale; it's a game. A freakishly addictive game. Originally developed for the iOS by <a href="http://www.rovio.com/">Rovio</a>, it still stands as the most downloaded app in US and UK. With time, the game expanded on platforms like Symbian, PSP, Android, WebGL, Mac and Windows. Recently chrome launched the web version of this game via <a href="https://chrome.google.com/webstore/detail/aknpkdffaafgjchaibgeefbgmgeghloj">Chrome Web Store</a>. </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">The gameplay is very simple and neat. Just put the bird in the slingshot and aim for the pigs. As level advances, birds with different special powers come into play. The triangular yellow bird is my favorite one. One can tell how angry they are just by their killer looks. </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;"><iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="349" src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/bNNzRyd1xz0" width="425"></iframe></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">The game became so successful that the company is taking out an IPO for further expansion. Rumors are they are making a movie too. You can find a few fan-made movies on youtube too. First things first, you enjoy the game at <a href="https://chrome.google.com/webstore/detail/aknpkdffaafgjchaibgeefbgmgeghloj">Chrome Web Store</a>. Or follow the Angry Birds on <a href="http://www.facebook.com/angrybirds">facebook</a>.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEguNVlBkNVPJOWP0unyjb9SiYV8RcBwVB5SLiT5mH3Y0rLrbzuXRGFgKrH-rsvZJosaVenWR42tK2Krw1B5PiRjmwBA1bJtx9VCAiRZV0C_H7QVKX2QCMH7LRPOHbVG8PDp8vWEIXcqxp8/s1600/angry-birds.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="209" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEguNVlBkNVPJOWP0unyjb9SiYV8RcBwVB5SLiT5mH3Y0rLrbzuXRGFgKrH-rsvZJosaVenWR42tK2Krw1B5PiRjmwBA1bJtx9VCAiRZV0C_H7QVKX2QCMH7LRPOHbVG8PDp8vWEIXcqxp8/s320/angry-birds.png" width="320" /></a></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">Just don't piss them off and they are good!</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14984070293939418833noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4831505660333954192.post-50857235514679191212011-05-30T01:22:00.002+05:302011-05-30T01:27:32.206+05:30Waterfalls at Marleshwar<div style="text-align: justify;">Last summer, I got chance to visit <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Konkan">Konkan</a> with few of my friends. It's just a couple of hundred kilometers south of Mumbai. Konkan is a region consisting of three districts namely Raigad, Ratnagiri and Sindhudurga. The region is blessed with a beautiful coast line. And the scenic beauty of course. I have an equation about Konkan.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>Konkan = Goa - crowd - foul things </i></div><div style="text-align: justify;"></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">There are hundreds of places to see in this region, but this one held my heart aback. <a href="http://maps.google.co.in/maps/place?cid=1691622799651131951&q=marleshwar+google+maps&hl=en&ved=0CDsQ-gswAQ&sa=X&ei=RIfiTdKZCMr5kAWrtITzDQ&sig2=KuuF2oCMsZyM7ee55FuQ9A">Marleshwar</a>. I would surely put this one on the <i>100 places before you die.</i> The place is just radical. Especially when it's raining out there. Marleshwar is known for the temple of Lord Shiva, beautifully carved in the caves. One has to literally crawl down to get into the caves. The caves are so small that only three or four persons can enter it at time. Inside, it's pretty much same as any other temple. The only thrill is the small cavity dug into big mountains. </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhcA3wmRHaNa8TivnlIaiiINzrlxZXc4d16RWbYb6mez99FaGKdeQfe9yLNcEz4eUSGRTX7GqZ5qPDE2fyJU2eK1BnlKqNh2bG4AN3BdGnS9S1Ef229EuaKIDUMJEQXG9iQhQ-1DT5uv2w/s1600/1446121907_d6fa27365b.jpg" imageanchor="1"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhcA3wmRHaNa8TivnlIaiiINzrlxZXc4d16RWbYb6mez99FaGKdeQfe9yLNcEz4eUSGRTX7GqZ5qPDE2fyJU2eK1BnlKqNh2bG4AN3BdGnS9S1Ef229EuaKIDUMJEQXG9iQhQ-1DT5uv2w/s1600/1446121907_d6fa27365b.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Caves at Marleshwar Temple</td></tr>
</tbody></table><div style="text-align: justify;">The temple is surrounded by hills in all four directions. Hundreds of water streams from these hills unite to form a bigger one. I remember spotting a single dirt water line among hundred brighter ones. And the clouds... it seems like an ocean on milk floating in the sky. It is the beauty that can not described by words (May be that's why they invented photography). </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgB1_cIRKWdYB5InZEp_cFHtekC7KECFjZnvbryzsPkEwZPyhHCKeyQRhUv9ofE8k_Lo5bf9iS65ROP6s6ZseLgyhTCEzQMbXxVZOAtSsgW2sbmRBXPipCBMaCX-S7PGMdR1-5JGYqVM-E/s1600/37646138414ed417e1ceb1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="265" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgB1_cIRKWdYB5InZEp_cFHtekC7KECFjZnvbryzsPkEwZPyhHCKeyQRhUv9ofE8k_Lo5bf9iS65ROP6s6ZseLgyhTCEzQMbXxVZOAtSsgW2sbmRBXPipCBMaCX-S7PGMdR1-5JGYqVM-E/s400/37646138414ed417e1ceb1.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Waterfalls at Marleshwar</td></tr>
</tbody></table><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;"></div><div style="text-align: justify;">Beauty without equal!</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhpQcy5wbXO_NOLjbmPmd8r9_GftOaFIaFU7q7p-x6gykLQxTdUCOudjvTPEivTvrn4wXuBBeMBP39TdO-zSemqC1KEhibpbvDMUqiVIOAP_B3UI6KPgCO43Fd9yO9NH-xhOTd31NVaJ8A/s1600/Marleshwar_Fall.jpg.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhpQcy5wbXO_NOLjbmPmd8r9_GftOaFIaFU7q7p-x6gykLQxTdUCOudjvTPEivTvrn4wXuBBeMBP39TdO-zSemqC1KEhibpbvDMUqiVIOAP_B3UI6KPgCO43Fd9yO9NH-xhOTd31NVaJ8A/s1600/Marleshwar_Fall.jpg.jpg" width="224" /></a></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14984070293939418833noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4831505660333954192.post-89871445150399323402011-05-29T19:15:00.000+05:302011-05-29T19:15:26.160+05:30Epic Rap Battles of History<div style="text-align: justify;">I was browsing <a href="http://www.youtube.com/">youtube</a> as usual when I came across these videos. They ARE viral. They might look creepy but I love the idea of comparing two personalities through rap music. Despite the usage of foul language, I must say that they are quite innovative. The producer must be spending awful lot of money for these videos. And what does he gets in return? Your laughing faces. (And of course the money through adverts)</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">Just enjoy the god damned videos.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;"><iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="349" src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/UcTLJ692F70" width="560"></iframe></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;"><iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="349" src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/AFA-rOls8YA" width="560"></iframe></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;"><iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="349" src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/zj2Zf9tlg2Y" width="560"></iframe></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;"><iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="349" src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/YHRxv-40WMU" width="560"></iframe></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">And my favorite one</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;"><iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="349" src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/mhTd4_Ids80" width="560"></iframe></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14984070293939418833noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4831505660333954192.post-42081613346321218582011-05-29T00:24:00.011+05:302011-05-29T19:52:26.316+05:30Composed!<div style="font-family: inherit; text-align: justify;">It was a sunny day and I had to go to <a href="http://maps.google.co.in/maps?hl=en&q=thane+google+maps&um=1&ie=UTF-8&hq=&hnear=0x3be7b8fcfe76fd59:0xcf367d85f7c50283,Thane,+Maharashtra&gl=in&ei=XT7hTc6NHNHRrQfG9ZSdBg&sa=X&oi=geocode_result&ct=title&resnum=1&ved=0CBsQ8gEwAA">Thane</a>. It's been years since I had gone there. I discovered that they had implemented a crazy system of queue, outside the railway station for hiring auto rickshaws. It got to my nerves to see almost half a kilometre long queue ahead of me. The only thing good about it was its fast moving pace. Within a minute or two I had come halfway through.<br />
<br />
</div><div style="font-family: inherit; text-align: justify;"></div><div style="font-family: inherit; text-align: justify;">Meanwhile, I was noticing an old lady, wearing a <a href="http://www.indiaart.com/imageb/1917b.jpg">typical Maharashtrian attire</a>, in her late sixties, already passed through the bottleneck of the queue. She was holding a marriage card in her hand. May be that's where she was going. When her turn came, she showed autowala the card. I guess she did not know the venue herself. Without taking a deep glance, the autowala nodded in denial. Determined, she then proceeded to next auto with the card in her hand, where she got the same response. And then it was a trend. Until a lady constable came and helped her. It was clear that she couldn't keep up with the pace of the system.<br />
</div><div style="font-family: inherit; text-align: justify;"></div><div style="font-family: inherit; text-align: justify;">All this time, the lady never lost her calm; Neither the smile on her face. I would have started yelling at people by this time, if I were in her place. It was eating my mind. How can a person stay so composed? What is it? The enthusiasm of going to an unknown place. Or celebrations of someone beloved's marriage. Or may it's just her. Her nature to smile. May be I'll never figure it out. </div><div style="font-family: inherit; text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: inherit; text-align: justify;">I just want god to keep her smiling.....Always!</div><div style="font-family: inherit; text-align: justify;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-family: inherit; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjV7PEbAnb6BcpIy-1C0KjGGoFEsHfj3F0Uc8cccvXw8vAOFPveJap7h65re0REID8op6a7MTSmDc-js19AKmcZC3s10VO4_XstGA8rR8D-OroR37SzIpEwqSUSYAylT9SUz96pHe5lQeo/s1600/smile.jpg" imageanchor="1"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjV7PEbAnb6BcpIy-1C0KjGGoFEsHfj3F0Uc8cccvXw8vAOFPveJap7h65re0REID8op6a7MTSmDc-js19AKmcZC3s10VO4_XstGA8rR8D-OroR37SzIpEwqSUSYAylT9SUz96pHe5lQeo/s1600/smile.jpg" width="200" /></a></div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14984070293939418833noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4831505660333954192.post-36028185653480979562011-05-28T22:06:00.003+05:302011-05-29T19:51:35.412+05:30Killer Insticts<div style="text-align: justify;">They say, by the age of 18, everybody has found a person who will love him for the rest of his life. I say, by the age of 18, everybody has found at least five persons whom he wants to kill brutally. For Ketan, it was every single asshole he came across. He had this notion - if you can't remove bad things from this world, just remove the bad people. He hated people, most of the people. He reminds me of Christian Bale from <a href="http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0144084/">American Psycho</a>.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
Lately, he had literally started planning murders of his enemies in his mind. He once said,'Killing them virtually, in my mind, in my dreams, alone gives me so much pleasure; imagine when it would happen for real', giving a dark, wicked smile. It sounded like a psycho killer who always had the last laugh. It scared shit out of us. But deep down, we always knew that he was just joking, just enjoying the strange looks on our faces. </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiOOtquMDNaCPaiuSkvZzOGJfaI3Cvgn1UNpjGvxhPwEL8BAQv45HGj9RPAAozSjf84RDEhiSs_QdACZ-wG6kSSNrJO9bMUEXCW3GwQWiwhL07QjyIYwA7N_XOGvIUs7a9cV7FAqpcP71E/s1600/medium_p69559b.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiOOtquMDNaCPaiuSkvZzOGJfaI3Cvgn1UNpjGvxhPwEL8BAQv45HGj9RPAAozSjf84RDEhiSs_QdACZ-wG6kSSNrJO9bMUEXCW3GwQWiwhL07QjyIYwA7N_XOGvIUs7a9cV7FAqpcP71E/s200/medium_p69559b.jpg" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Killing fantasies</td></tr>
</tbody></table></div><div style="text-align: justify;"></div><div style="text-align: justify;">He always said that he wanted to be an assassin, say like Hitman. He wished to open a secret organization that would do political assassinations for money. I think he took <a href="http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0465494/">the movie</a> more seriously than everyone else. I remember, we used to have a good laugh whenever he used to tell us about this. I even said,'Hey, may be I should join this thing. We would kill people, together. We would be rich players.' Real bullshit. It still brings a smile on my face.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
And just for the record my friends, he hasn't killed anybody till date.</div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14984070293939418833noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4831505660333954192.post-74826834352622663132011-05-27T20:05:00.004+05:302011-05-28T00:19:29.467+05:30Rock MJ<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"></div><div style="text-align: justify;">If you say 'I love pop' to a hard core rock music fan, chances are you would be punched right in the face.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">I can't figure out the reasons why rock and pop just can't go together. The battle is quite is old. They say that these two are two extreme ends of a string called music. The only similarity is the prominent use of drums. </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhAX0sIYm_PdJ707OccWpBvKLB9m3rX18ksuf8WrMTOZUuQz-8hdZK-VaFgGmOuogj9Nx5Myt6MPZm8qdrCicWO70KJyDw5FQzFq6o38kpBEUBDBL8YhmnYwidZP8nT1QMcPbJ3raqRy6c/s1600/220px-Michael_Jackson_-_Beat_It_cover.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhAX0sIYm_PdJ707OccWpBvKLB9m3rX18ksuf8WrMTOZUuQz-8hdZK-VaFgGmOuogj9Nx5Myt6MPZm8qdrCicWO70KJyDw5FQzFq6o38kpBEUBDBL8YhmnYwidZP8nT1QMcPbJ3raqRy6c/s200/220px-Michael_Jackson_-_Beat_It_cover.jpg" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Beat It by Michael Jackson</td></tr>
</tbody></table><div style="text-align: justify;">I cant stop myself telling you about this particular song where the king of pop and the guitar hero, jam together. <i>Beat it</i>. A single from the album <i>Thriller</i> by Michael Jackson. Eddie Van Halen being on guitar. I couldn't believe myself when I found out that this single went on the list of <i>100 Greatest Guitar Solos</i>, despite belonging to a pop album. The song's marvelous. No doubt about it. A perfect blend of beats and strings.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhI6Yd6CmvEkacfXUpihb1DpZvmkm5JUWZf0cDuW8w6M0RMyoQJNJQU4tMYhOKhyphenhyphenoEkiHsuKMuX4UsqwzXlcQyyK9eSYAgr46exrNK6qykkTFZUczmCEpeQ0CB40BjjvXDuchhqlGVwnIo/s1600/1425491334_6d373c48d9.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="214" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhI6Yd6CmvEkacfXUpihb1DpZvmkm5JUWZf0cDuW8w6M0RMyoQJNJQU4tMYhOKhyphenhyphenoEkiHsuKMuX4UsqwzXlcQyyK9eSYAgr46exrNK6qykkTFZUczmCEpeQ0CB40BjjvXDuchhqlGVwnIo/s320/1425491334_6d373c48d9.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Van Halen and MJ jamming up in a concert</td></tr>
</tbody></table><div style="text-align: justify;">It is wonderful to know that they were not together just for namesake. Van Halen showed up in MJ's one of concert <i>Victory Tour</i>. It fetched MJ two grammies. It is very sad that we didn't get to see another such melody. Whenever I listen to it, I get stuck at this part of the song. </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">Just beat it, beat it, beat it, beat it <br />
No one wants to be defeated <br />
Showin' how funky and strong is your fight <br />
It doesn't matter who's wrong or right </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;"><iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="349" src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/Ym0hZG-zNOk" width="425"></iframe></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14984070293939418833noreply@blogger.com0