tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13900499578941218852024-03-14T01:12:05.130+05:30Me 'n more...Kayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10570244118911302415noreply@blogger.comBlogger71125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1390049957894121885.post-13214333480428304832016-02-02T22:54:00.000+05:302016-02-02T22:56:16.462+05:30The Girl on the Train<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/--aqLlrL8-W0/VrDYAieso8I/AAAAAAAAQqQ/K_kpjf1YQdE/s1600/Train.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/--aqLlrL8-W0/VrDYAieso8I/AAAAAAAAQqQ/K_kpjf1YQdE/s320/Train.jpg" width="209" /></a></div>
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<a href="http://theliterarylawyer.ca/wp-content/uploads/2015/07/Train.jpg" target="_blank"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><i>Image Source</i></span></a></div>
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<a href="http://theliterarylawyer.ca/wp-content/uploads/2015/07/Train.jpg" target="_blank"><br /></a></div>
You know that realization when you read the first few pages of a book and you feel the protagonist is just like you? Every characteristic of them reminds you of a trait you have. That's how I felt when I started reading Rachel Watson's story. But the feeling soon changed. Her character progressed to be more muddled, raw and messed up.<br />
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The Girl on the Train is a smooth, easy read. Racy and engrossing. The climax grips you. Makes your heart beat faster. Just like a thriller should be.<br />
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Remember...<br />
<br />
That man whom you see in the same lift as you every time you take the lift to your office floor?<br />
That girl in the metro whom you notice standing at the same spot near the window every morning?<br />
That old lady whom you always find singing to herself when you are out for a run in the park?<br />
<br />
Those familiar strangers. We all have a list of them. They all take up some space in our mind, in our thoughts, even if it's just for a couple of minutes a day. We try to imagine their lives. We construe their stories. We cook up their quirks. We relate to their mannerisms.<br />
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Rachel Watson did the same. She was just like you and me. Her only mistake - she stretched this seemingly innocuous habit into a frustrating, annoying obsession. Conceiving stories around strangers. Imagining herself in their stories. Fighting hard to be a part of their stories. In the end, it messes up her life even more.<br />
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Moral of the story? Sometimes, it's better to be strangers. We are meant to stay strangers in certain stories.<br />
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<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-QKvzLp76l5c/VrDkRjD-NwI/AAAAAAAAQqg/f0W7wYlX0Y8/s1600/girl.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="140" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-QKvzLp76l5c/VrDkRjD-NwI/AAAAAAAAQqg/f0W7wYlX0Y8/s400/girl.png" width="400" /></a></div>
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Kayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10570244118911302415noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1390049957894121885.post-18780120512795043922016-01-26T13:05:00.000+05:302016-01-26T13:05:29.096+05:30I met a timekeeper<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-n10q06BWs6k/VqchR3KKU_I/AAAAAAAAQqA/kUe2aSjXkrU/s1600/12607247_10156974079165355_1632942126_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="266" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-n10q06BWs6k/VqchR3KKU_I/AAAAAAAAQqA/kUe2aSjXkrU/s400/12607247_10156974079165355_1632942126_n.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I met a timekeeper. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">As I climbed up the steep steps of the clock tower and
entered the top chamber, he welcomed me with a smile.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">The pride in his eyes preceded his age. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">The stories he had were far in number than the wrinkles on
his face.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">The job he was proud of even 40 years later. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Below him lay a market brimming with people from around the
world, and he sat separated from the cacophony in his chamber, manning and
winding a 105-year-old clock. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Yet, the smile did not leave his face. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Yet, the solitary job did not dull his warmth. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Yet, the years gone by did not leave him bitter.</span><o:p></o:p></div>
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Kayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10570244118911302415noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1390049957894121885.post-52460828795487255462016-01-19T00:43:00.000+05:302016-01-19T00:43:32.831+05:30A Wall of Fog<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<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="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-34z4fGqjaxs/Vp0493pcUvI/AAAAAAAAQpw/S6fNuXPleHs/s1600/man-in-fog-hd-wallpapers.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-34z4fGqjaxs/Vp0493pcUvI/AAAAAAAAQpw/S6fNuXPleHs/s400/man-in-fog-hd-wallpapers.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://hdwallpapersd.com/wp-content/uploads/2015/06/man-in-fog-hd-wallpapers.jpg" target="_blank"><i><span style="color: #666666; font-size: xx-small;">Image source</span></i></a></td></tr>
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He opened his eyes as he felt something solid under his feet and tried to gain balance. It was like someone had picked him up, and plopped him gently on the ground. Now eyes wide open, it did not seem like a normal ground. It didn't seem like anywhere he'd been before. There was an eerie silence, and yet his ears were ringing. The ringing that he felt after listening to loud music constantly. In front of him was a wall of thick fog, the kind that he experienced every winter; but this time he did not feel cold. </div>
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Gingerly, he took a step further, hoping to see what lay on the other side of the fog. But it continued with him, it was like a tunnel, not dark, yet not lit up. He kept walking. With no recollection of time. With no memory of how long he had been walking. "Is it a dream?", he wondered, looking at his hands. And a shiver ran down his spine. His hands looked the same, yet weren't like his. The jagged lines had smoothed out. The calloused edges had eased. The ugly scar, just below his right thumb had faded. Instinctively, his hand moved to his forehead, fingers searching for the stitches, which he presumed would still be raw. But all he could feel was smooth skin. No pain. No stitches. Flustered, he shook his head to break away from the dream, closed his eyes and turned around.</div>
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"Take a deep breath."</div>
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"Count to five."</div>
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"It always works." </div>
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He willed himself, opening his eyes. But, he was still there. Amidst deep fog. He continued walking, knowing that the dream would eventually end. Until he heard his name.</div>
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He blinked and the fog had disappeared. And in front of him, stood an old gentle man. Gentle, the first thing he thought of looking at the man. His kind eyes. His warm smile. His soft voice. Calling out his name. He responded, "Where am I?"</div>
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"In transition."</div>
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"Before I get to choose between heaven or hell?" He chuckled.</div>
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The old man smiled. "You don't get to choose, because there is no hell or heaven."</div>
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"Then why am I here?"</div>
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"To answer one question."</div>
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He sighed. Eyes expectant.</div>
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"Who would you be?", the old man continued. </div>
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"If they wipe away your work?</div>
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If they strip you off your talents?</div>
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If they seize all your possessions?</div>
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If they take away all your money?</div>
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If they un-changed what you have changed?</div>
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If they take away what you have brought?</div>
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If they destroy what you have created?</div>
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If they forget who you are?</div>
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Would you still be you?"</div>
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The old man's kind eyes were piercing him now. Probing for an answer. He held out a glimmering shard of glass to him. "Look into this mirror. You will know the answer."</div>
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He took the mirror in his hands. The razor-sharp edges not hurting his fingers. Taking a deep breath, he held up the mirror in front of his face. The mirror reflected a thick wall of fog, instead of his reflection. In the mirror, in his own reflection, he did not exist. He had ceased.</div>
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Kayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10570244118911302415noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1390049957894121885.post-28800847987021556472015-12-21T12:20:00.002+05:302015-12-21T12:23:45.328+05:30There's a story.<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-UvCxhGsm2Wg/VnehOnRbYVI/AAAAAAAAQnc/STnCvTucCC8/s1600/lavender2.gif" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="225" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-UvCxhGsm2Wg/VnehOnRbYVI/AAAAAAAAQnc/STnCvTucCC8/s400/lavender2.gif" width="400" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://dreamcreate.files.wordpress.com/2014/09/lavender2.gif" style="text-align: left;" target="_blank"><span style="color: #999999; font-size: xx-small;"><i>Cinemagraph source</i></span></a></div>
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There's a story. Look around. <o:p></o:p></div>
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It's hiding in the corner. It's perching on the window sill.
It's snoozing on your bedside table. <o:p></o:p></div>
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There's a story. Think back. <o:p></o:p></div>
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In the deep recesses of your mind. In that summer from long
ago. In that fight which made you burst into angry hot tears. <o:p></o:p></div>
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There's a story. Listen up. <o:p></o:p></div>
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In the giggles of the girls crossing the street. In the
sniffle of the old man smoking a pipe. In the sound of glass shattering and
echoing across the house. <o:p></o:p></div>
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There's a story. In our solitude. In our union. <o:p></o:p></div>
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In our memories. In our future. <o:p></o:p></div>
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There's a story. Within you. <o:p></o:p></div>
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One or maybe a dozen. You could be the hero in a few. A
villain in some. And just a stranger in the rest. <o:p></o:p></div>
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You and me. Each of us. We all have a story. <o:p></o:p></div>
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So... <o:p></o:p></div>
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Dust off your notebook. <o:p></o:p></div>
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Dial up the number. <o:p></o:p></div>
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Knock on the long forgotten door. <o:p></o:p></div>
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Open up. <o:p></o:p></div>
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Share your story. <o:p></o:p></div>
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Someone is listening.<o:p></o:p><br />
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<a href="https://dreamcreate.files.wordpress.com/2014/09/lavender2.gif" target="_blank"><br /></a>
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Kayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10570244118911302415noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1390049957894121885.post-4410564350181384852015-12-08T11:19:00.000+05:302015-12-08T11:19:30.728+05:30Why I Write.<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
How sometimes words resonate with you, tug your heart and make you feel as if the writer wrote them especially for you.<div>
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<i>"I write because I don't know what I think until I read what I say."</i></div>
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<span style="background-color: white; line-height: 18.2px;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: xx-small;">- Flannery O'Connor </span></span></div>
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Word. </div>
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Kayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10570244118911302415noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1390049957894121885.post-17178035831657894882015-11-08T19:23:00.000+05:302015-11-08T19:34:04.196+05:30That strange thing called LOVE<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Z6wGqcaJv6o/Vj9WBwA9LzI/AAAAAAAAQl0/bzXaSdfzK10/s1600/3ff8d314d0ab7027e360c553a1d984b6.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Z6wGqcaJv6o/Vj9WBwA9LzI/AAAAAAAAQl0/bzXaSdfzK10/s400/3ff8d314d0ab7027e360c553a1d984b6.jpg" width="231" /></a></div>
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<i style="font-size: x-small;">Source: <a href="http://laynieloves.tumblr.com/post/339267734/via-mudgeroonie" target="_blank">Tumblr</a></i></div>
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When I was a kid, the first definition of love came from the movies (read SRK movies). Even if he was the bad guy, I believed his love was the right kind of love. And then came the books, the Danielle Steels, the Nora Roberts, the Eric Segals, the Nicholas Sparks, the Cecilia Aherns, it goes on. And then when I began grasping English movies, it was more of Nicholas Sparks, Disneys, Pixars, and it goes on.</div>
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Every movie, every book, dripping with love, soaked in mush, drizzled with tears, twisted, construed and shaped the definition of love in a new way. There was everything. Young love. Old love. Long distance love. Disastrous love. Comic love, Emotional love. Mismatched love. Rich love. Poor love.</div>
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When did we start referring to books to talk about true love?</div>
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It's made up, isn't it? It's the writer's definition of love. It's a play of words.</div>
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And with the zillion definitions of love, came a zillion conditions.</div>
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It's not love if he can't call you every morning.</div>
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It's not love if she can't cook for you every day.</div>
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It's not love if he goes out with his friends.</div>
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It's not love if she doesn't give up eggs for you.</div>
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It's not love if he doesn't say I love you every day.</div>
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It's not love if she stopped dressing up for you.</div>
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When did we start talking of "unconditional" love as something unique, something elusive?</div>
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I've never heard of conditional love. I doubt if anyone has.</div>
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What led me to this speculation was a recent conversation I had with a friend. She was a little miffed with how movies showcase over-the-top, too-good-to-be-true, too-illogical-to-be-real kind of love stories. All I could say to calm her down was, "It's fiction. It's a fictional love. Don't let some movie or book define what love means to you. Find your own definition. Create your own definition."</div>
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P.S. I am still all for sappy movies. Will continue to be.</div>
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Kayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10570244118911302415noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1390049957894121885.post-70376280774694822212015-07-19T23:13:00.000+05:302015-07-19T23:13:19.054+05:30Bring back the memes (Or what they were called in 185 BC)<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<b>Do you sleep with your closet doors open or closed? </b></div>
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Preferably closed.</div>
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<b>Do you take the shampoos and conditioner bottles from
hotel? </b></div>
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Only when I really like them.</div>
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<b>Do you sleep with your sheets tucked in or out? </b></div>
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Tucked in. </div>
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<b>Do you like to use post-it notes? </b></div>
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Not so much. But I'd like to own post-its in a 100 colours (*hoarder alert*)</div>
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<o:p></o:p></div>
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<b>Would you rather be attacked by a big bear or a swarm of a
bees? </b></div>
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Bear. </div>
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<o:p></o:p></div>
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<b>Do you always smile for pictures? </b></div>
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Always, unless I'm making a face.</div>
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<o:p></o:p></div>
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<b>What is your biggest pet peeve?</b><o:p></o:p></div>
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Grammar. Mouth odour. Grammar. </div>
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<b>Do you ever count your steps when you walk? <o:p></o:p></b></div>
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Jeez, they have apps for those kind of things!</div>
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<b>Have you ever peed in the woods? </b></div>
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Yep. As a kid.</div>
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<b>What about pooped in the woods? </b></div>
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Ditto.</div>
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<b>Do you ever dance even if there's no music playing? </b></div>
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Yes. But the music IS playing, in my head.</div>
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<b>Do you chew your pens and pencils? </b></div>
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Not anymore.</div>
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<b>What is your Song of the week? </b></div>
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<a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=VkJlv0m6els" target="_blank">Pehli baar</a> (Dil Dhadakne Do) </div>
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<b>Is it okay for guys to wear pink? </b><o:p></o:p></div>
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It sure is!</div>
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<b>What is your favorite food? </b></div>
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That will be a separate blog post. Thanks for the idea!</div>
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<b>What movies could you watch over and over and still
love? </b></div>
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ZNMD, Rock On, The Notebook.</div>
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<b>Were you ever a boy/girl scout? </b></div>
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Yes.</div>
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<o:p></o:p></div>
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<b>When was the last time you wrote a letter to someone on
paper? </b></div>
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Would writing a letter on a card count?</div>
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<b>What is your usual bedtime? </b></div>
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I'm a nocturnal animal.</div>
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<b>Are you lazy? </b><o:p></o:p></div>
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On weekends, yes. On weekdays, sometimes.</div>
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<a href="https://www.pinterest.com/pin/482588916292084363/" target="_blank">Photo </a>only for <strike>dream </strike>visual reference. </div>
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Kayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10570244118911302415noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1390049957894121885.post-4623317556467520282015-07-19T22:46:00.001+05:302015-07-19T22:46:57.089+05:30R.E.F.R.E.S.H.<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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Just what this blog needs. A refresh!</div>
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Probably a zillion things have changed since the last time I posted something here. A few things still remain. My love for writing. My love for books. </div>
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Who do I blame for my absence? *cough* My job.</div>
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A job that I love. A job that gives me new experiences quite regularly. A job where I get to indulge in my love for writing. </div>
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So how ironic is it, that the same job leaves me with no time for "personal" writing?</div>
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So, this is an attempt to revive my blog, to take out time for personal writing, to fall in love again with blogging!</div>
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Amen.</div>
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<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-I85YlnuCFrg/VavbRgEcS2I/AAAAAAAAQeE/0PFIkJ3FxQc/s1600/Bless-this-post-gif.gif" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-I85YlnuCFrg/VavbRgEcS2I/AAAAAAAAQeE/0PFIkJ3FxQc/s1600/Bless-this-post-gif.gif" /></a></div>
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Kayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10570244118911302415noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1390049957894121885.post-10436616533296145992013-12-16T00:17:00.002+05:302013-12-16T00:29:29.654+05:30The Ocean at the End of the Lane - A Review<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
Though it's been a while since I finished the book. The feeling that you get after having just read the book has faded, but before it gets completely wiped out, I want to put down what I felt about the book.<br />
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<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-x_AQJYXSOrM/Uq329HprZMI/AAAAAAAAOu0/PilqHG6hHZ8/s1600/ocean+at+the+end+of+the+lane.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="210" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-x_AQJYXSOrM/Uq329HprZMI/AAAAAAAAOu0/PilqHG6hHZ8/s400/ocean+at+the+end+of+the+lane.JPG" width="400" /></a></div>
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You know as a kid, the secrets that you shared just with yourself, the stories that were just for your mind, the dreams that only you could see, this book reminds you of that. The feeling of safety and security, that your dreams give you, that the voices in your head give you, how it is sometimes greater than that given by the people around you.</div>
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Simply written, this book gets over before you know it. You know, when you like a book so much, that you find it ending sooner than you wanted it to. The book gifts you illusions. You swim in fantasy. You live with the boy. You run along with the boy, away from the demons, towards that safety. You wish that darkness would end. You shiver in the rain, shudder with the thunder. And then you wake up. The world's bright and clean again. You are safe. You are content. You know you are being looked after.<br />
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Neil Gaiman has this wonderful flair. A way with words that makes them utterly beautiful to read. And then ponder. One of my favourites by him:<br /><br />
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<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-NGGXDgRAxhA/Uq37AirXvbI/AAAAAAAAOvA/3VVZ5ZsF-Qk/s1600/4f167594d3a23e6390ba1a46f1a2d105.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-NGGXDgRAxhA/Uq37AirXvbI/AAAAAAAAOvA/3VVZ5ZsF-Qk/s320/4f167594d3a23e6390ba1a46f1a2d105.jpg" width="285" /></a></div>
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Kayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10570244118911302415noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1390049957894121885.post-16761892284121211442013-11-17T22:46:00.001+05:302013-11-17T22:54:56.700+05:30Things I can't do anymore*<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<span style="text-align: left;">1. Listen to cassettes</span></div>
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2. Fit into school uniform</div>
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<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-rckegVoXGxc/UcCIqtiS1vI/AAAAAAAAOPk/ou3F78wgkKQ/s1600/school.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-rckegVoXGxc/UcCIqtiS1vI/AAAAAAAAOPk/ou3F78wgkKQ/s1600/school.jpg" /></a></div>
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3. Give a written exam</div>
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4. Carry snacks from outside into theaters</div>
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<img height="212" src="http://www.stepbystep.com/wp-content/uploads/2013/01/How-to-Sneak-Candy-and-Food-into-a-Movie-Theatre.jpg" width="320" /></div>
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5. Take naps on weekdays<br />
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<a href="http://media-cache-ec0.pinimg.com/236x/61/8f/d2/618fd204b17fbb7b05b0947fd06f0ac1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://media-cache-ec0.pinimg.com/236x/61/8f/d2/618fd204b17fbb7b05b0947fd06f0ac1.jpg" width="212" /></a></div>
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Images from pinterest.</div>
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Kayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10570244118911302415noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1390049957894121885.post-73093159669565352662013-09-22T02:15:00.001+05:302016-01-23T17:32:20.922+05:30What I have learnt in my 20s<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-C8_8qCw3oYc/Uj4HVGR-MjI/AAAAAAAAOoA/er5fFkFfJXg/s1600/8edbb78d807ca8ea311acf4301b31852.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-C8_8qCw3oYc/Uj4HVGR-MjI/AAAAAAAAOoA/er5fFkFfJXg/s400/8edbb78d807ca8ea311acf4301b31852.jpg" width="293" /></a></div>
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The title says it all. Someday my kids (and their kids) will read this. Get inspired. And have the best 20s ever.</div>
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Oh well, scratch that. I'd be happy if they survive <strike>happily enough</strike>.</div>
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What inspired me to write this, <strike>apart from the fact that I am in my 20s</strike> were the sad, depressing lists of "what to do in your 20s", "what not to do in your 20s", blah blah blog posts that have been making the rounds on the internet. Okay, I get it, you made mistakes. You were dissatisfied about how your 20s turned out to be. But dolling out advice like meet 4 good people, change 2 jobs, have 3 mentors, THAT is just sad.</div>
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Here I share a list of what I have learnt/am still learning in my 20s. You are free to learn from it. Free to disregard. Free to disregard and come back later and say, you were so right! And you are free to help me extend it.</div>
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<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-A6InVDOvi2E/Uj3yng0ibRI/AAAAAAAAOmU/bW1WuIiOXGI/s1600/1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-A6InVDOvi2E/Uj3yng0ibRI/AAAAAAAAOmU/bW1WuIiOXGI/s320/1.jpg" width="215" /></a></div>
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1. Travel. Travel often. Don't wait for college to get over. Don't wait for holidays. Don't wait to get your entire group of friends together. Travel wherever possible. Near. Far. With two friends or ten. </div>
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<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-oJ-e-yG_Q0U/Uj311pCTPxI/AAAAAAAAOmk/0Mj26SgLnb0/s1600/64460eac99af5557d4f2c5cd22545406.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-oJ-e-yG_Q0U/Uj311pCTPxI/AAAAAAAAOmk/0Mj26SgLnb0/s320/64460eac99af5557d4f2c5cd22545406.jpg" width="263" /></a></div>
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2. Enjoy college. Really enjoy. Fall in love. Make friends. Be good to your friends. They'll be with you for life. Ensure that they have good stories to share with your children.</div>
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<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-UwHciQDeTVc/Uj33goaE_UI/AAAAAAAAOmw/FFiM00YBxGU/s1600/a90916ee4b6d898d52804a9510bf5630.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-UwHciQDeTVc/Uj33goaE_UI/AAAAAAAAOmw/FFiM00YBxGU/s320/a90916ee4b6d898d52804a9510bf5630.jpg" width="274" /></a></div>
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3. Don't regret choosing whatever course you end up doing. In the long run, it's the experience and education that matters. Not the qualification.</div>
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<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-GowkuEpdNh8/Uj34pzS2osI/AAAAAAAAOm8/8Z8SAwo0Hvg/s1600/76f72ead554deb6468d58138b0c7b3bf.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-GowkuEpdNh8/Uj34pzS2osI/AAAAAAAAOm8/8Z8SAwo0Hvg/s320/76f72ead554deb6468d58138b0c7b3bf.jpg" width="213" /></a></div>
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4. Begin saving up early. It's a habit that takes ages to develop. The sooner you start off, the richer you'll be.</div>
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<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-aptmZs3sV6g/Uj35NEdnQgI/AAAAAAAAOnE/BFG6772hL_U/s1600/0c42752d23e295deb9159b8b43535ba2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-aptmZs3sV6g/Uj35NEdnQgI/AAAAAAAAOnE/BFG6772hL_U/s1600/0c42752d23e295deb9159b8b43535ba2.jpg" /></a></div>
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5. Learn when to say no and when to say yes. If it's an adventure, say YES. If its something, you'll have to take to your grave without sharing, say NO.</div>
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<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-L2hEaWALG8s/Uj3_JqLc5UI/AAAAAAAAOnQ/tvAKTEIxRdo/s1600/3d235a26bec6e58b34efeaacc4ebea41.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="185" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-L2hEaWALG8s/Uj3_JqLc5UI/AAAAAAAAOnQ/tvAKTEIxRdo/s200/3d235a26bec6e58b34efeaacc4ebea41.jpg" width="200" /></a></div>
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6. Be good to your parents. Talk to them often. Call them up often. Share what you feel. They might not always understand. But they'll be glad that you shared.</div>
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<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-QSt4i2kxjFA/Uj3_rxH3TaI/AAAAAAAAOnY/OpzWXhRUOXs/s1600/4c7eff8d701b19c65b6435b7ab720fa6.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-QSt4i2kxjFA/Uj3_rxH3TaI/AAAAAAAAOnY/OpzWXhRUOXs/s320/4c7eff8d701b19c65b6435b7ab720fa6.jpg" width="213" /></a></div>
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7. Don't get a tattoo too early. Wait out the urge. Wait until you have the perfect design. Believe me, it will take time.</div>
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<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-vzTREDVCvRs/Uj4DIeXwNNI/AAAAAAAAOnk/CS3Q7kXZRCs/s1600/1ea45311d9ced5a1c34a8ad1c097557c.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-vzTREDVCvRs/Uj4DIeXwNNI/AAAAAAAAOnk/CS3Q7kXZRCs/s320/1ea45311d9ced5a1c34a8ad1c097557c.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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8. Live in a hostel. Live with roommates. Live away from home. It teaches you a lot. You learn to appreciate your home and your family. You learn from the new people you live with. You learn to adjust. You learn to change. You learn to try new things. </div>
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<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-VnzMByjLphA/Uj_XH2YlYhI/AAAAAAAAOoY/krQWCf_L5qE/s1600/63000570e94e18f6321f9f753da31054.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-VnzMByjLphA/Uj_XH2YlYhI/AAAAAAAAOoY/krQWCf_L5qE/s1600/63000570e94e18f6321f9f753da31054.jpg" /></a></div>
9. Don't give up on someone if they don't agree to your reasoning/philosophy/outlook. Even your closest of friends will have opinions that differ from yours. Differences don't make people wrong, they just make them different. </div>
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<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-9_DYO1lvClg/Uj_X222kalI/AAAAAAAAOog/hY7JY-CkibU/s1600/1ac3647fae130f5cf22b134230b3eb61.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-9_DYO1lvClg/Uj_X222kalI/AAAAAAAAOog/hY7JY-CkibU/s320/1ac3647fae130f5cf22b134230b3eb61.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
10. Avoid judging people at every step. They all have had a different upbringing. They all have had a different battle to fight. Behind every behavior is a reason. Try to find that reason.</div>
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<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-7f-LIImQNPk/Uj4D6nBGPlI/AAAAAAAAOns/tB3uNtqxsHA/s1600/17535_398019570354_3896879_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-7f-LIImQNPk/Uj4D6nBGPlI/AAAAAAAAOns/tB3uNtqxsHA/s1600/17535_398019570354_3896879_n.jpg" /></a></div>
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11. Don't be embarrassed about your parents. Or grandparents. Add them on facebook if they send you a request. Appreciate if they comment/like your photos. Little things about you make them proud. It may not be a big deal for you. But it is for them. </div>
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<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-NXGFxQyw2qw/Uj4EWZ0UFAI/AAAAAAAAOn0/hBeEtE5B4Do/s1600/d5a82a29f64aeb6621fd06d09d39f8b0.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-NXGFxQyw2qw/Uj4EWZ0UFAI/AAAAAAAAOn0/hBeEtE5B4Do/s320/d5a82a29f64aeb6621fd06d09d39f8b0.jpg" width="213" /></a></div>
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12. Read. Read often. Experiment with all kinds of genres. Start working on your personal library. Avoid ebooks. They don't smell good enough. </div>
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<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-M5neR3GnSu0/Uj_WI98hgQI/AAAAAAAAOoQ/sPeQo-QVfc8/s1600/af2d836be00bce818b0347945235f1c8.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-M5neR3GnSu0/Uj_WI98hgQI/AAAAAAAAOoQ/sPeQo-QVfc8/s320/af2d836be00bce818b0347945235f1c8.jpg" width="213" /></a></div>
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13. Learn to enjoy your own company. Head out alone. Go shopping. Go for movies. Go for coffee. You have no idea, how handy this practice can be.<br />
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14. When something looks/seems too good to be true, more often than not, it is actually too good to be true.<br />
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15. Age is never ever proportional to maturity. You can find a mature soul in a 15 year old. You can also find a juvenile in a 35 year old.<br />
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">Note: All pictures are from pinterest.com and do NOT belong to me.</span></div>
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Kayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10570244118911302415noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1390049957894121885.post-39338759740726967412013-08-22T21:34:00.003+05:302013-08-22T21:34:59.646+05:30When?<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
When do you stop giggling?<br />
When do you stop dozing off with a smile?<br />
When do you stop acting like a child?<br />
When do you stop being elated?<br />
When do you stop loving surprises?<br />
When do you stop hoping?<br />
When do you stop dreaming?<br />
When do you stop living in the moment?<br />
When do you stop trusting?<br />
<br />
When do you start complaining?<br />
When do you start being paranoid?<br />
When do you start dreading the morning after?<br />
When do you start loathing?<br />
When do you start tolerating?<br />
When do you start surrendering?<br />
When do you start giving in?<br />
When do you start giving up?<br />
<br />
There is a thin line. A very thin line between when we start and when we stop.<br />
<br /></div>
Kayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10570244118911302415noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1390049957894121885.post-63117437360207458442013-07-08T22:34:00.001+05:302013-07-08T22:40:33.571+05:30GROWING UP.<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-MkPiPQJuIP4/Udrw73xQsoI/AAAAAAAAOfw/g36oeZ8-f00/s1600/c01cabaec86dce152b0f639d5ccfc6a0.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-MkPiPQJuIP4/Udrw73xQsoI/AAAAAAAAOfw/g36oeZ8-f00/s320/c01cabaec86dce152b0f639d5ccfc6a0.jpg" width="213" /></a></div>
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It will be big and scary.<o:p></o:p></div>
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It will be real and thrilling.<o:p></o:p></div>
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It will cut old ties.<o:p></o:p></div>
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It will build new connections.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
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It will give bruises and scrapes.<o:p></o:p></div>
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It will heal old wounds.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
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It will fade old memories.</div>
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It will create new stories.<o:p></o:p></div>
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Images from: <a href="http://weheartit.com/entry/66900900/via/xo_twod">here</a></div>
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Kayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10570244118911302415noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1390049957894121885.post-16741261891820480432013-06-15T13:12:00.000+05:302013-06-15T13:12:07.655+05:30And the Mountains Echoed<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<img height="400" src="http://www.earlyword.com/wp-content/uploads/2013/01/9781594631764-1.jpg" width="263" /></div>
<br />
<br />
<br />
Something was amiss. Like one of the characters in the book, Pari who feels something was missing in life... I felt something was amiss in the story.<br />
<br />
Khaled Housseini is a brilliant writer. He has a way of describing relationships, depicting people so vividly... with all their varied nuances. It makes you feel like you know the characters personally, it makes you feel what the characters feel. I had picked up the book, "And the Mountains Echoed" with as much conviction.<br />
<br />
It had a lovely beginning, but somewhere along the middle, it got all got disarrayed. At times it made me feel like I was watching a poorly edited film, where it gets confusing to know which is the past and which is the present. In the book, there were certain characters who were not talked about in detail, while certain characters who weren't a actual part of the story were discussed at length, making me wonder why. But then again it's just my perspective that I share here.<br />
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<img height="256" src="http://9hdwallpapers.com/wp-content/uploads/2012/02/feather-hd-wallpaper_06.jpg" width="320" /></div>
As I finish this book, I miss that feeling of warmth, friendship and family that had enveloped me after his last two books. I was waiting for an echo, but even after the turning the last page, there was a lull.<br />
<br />
<br />
Images from <a href="http://www.earlyword.com/wp-content/uploads/2013/01/9781594631764-1.jpg">here</a> and <a href="http://9hdwallpapers.com/wp-content/uploads/2012/02/feather-hd-wallpaper_06.jpg">here</a>.</div>
Kayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10570244118911302415noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1390049957894121885.post-86515604897195473552013-06-10T21:19:00.000+05:302013-06-10T21:20:43.538+05:30A little something...<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-bSrExB8RaGo/UbX0h1t5s8I/AAAAAAAAONI/BdDiQ5-HfKs/s1600/a0e0c89abb0645e8491d747b3ee9bc68.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-bSrExB8RaGo/UbX0h1t5s8I/AAAAAAAAONI/BdDiQ5-HfKs/s320/a0e0c89abb0645e8491d747b3ee9bc68.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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They say you're in love when you can't fall asleep
because reality is finally better than your dreams. I say, reality is better than your dreams when you finally figure out what you love to do. And if at times work gives you sleepless nights, its worth the effort. </div>
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<br /></div>
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As a kid I dreamt a thousand dreams. I wanted to be a hair stylist, a fashion designer, a dancer, a software programmer and what not. Today I am glad I am not any of one them. Life hasn't turned out the way I dreamt it would. And I couldn't be more glad.</div>
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p.s. A post after months. Phew. *dusts away the cobwebs* </div>
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Image from <a href="http://pinterest.com/pin/327285097890357304/">here</a>.</div>
Kayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10570244118911302415noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1390049957894121885.post-78679264615866414242013-01-22T11:42:00.001+05:302013-01-22T16:13:33.079+05:30The Plan (A Story)<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-9agYvonLbsY/UP5szl2ABgI/AAAAAAAANC0/FHqs38ztbVg/s1600/planner.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="266" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-9agYvonLbsY/UP5szl2ABgI/AAAAAAAANC0/FHqs38ztbVg/s400/planner.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif; font-size: large;"><i> “I have planned it for the 21st of next month; I think
that’ll be enough time for you to prepare.</i>” Imran said, ticking a few points in
his planner.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif; font-size: large;"><i>“Okay, I am sure, I’ll be done with the arrangements and
booking by then”</i>, Aman nodded.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif; font-size: large;"><i>“All the best then”</i>, Imran smiled, <i>“I’ll be looking forward
to see your work”</i>.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif; font-size: large;"><i>“Thanks, it is going to be a wonderful experience working on
this.”</i></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif; font-size: large;"><i>“Thank you for your time.”</i></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif; font-size: large;">They stand up and shake hands. Aman takes a leave.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif; font-size: large;"><span style="color: black;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-im-7J4yHsmY/UP4qGVzHg8I/AAAAAAAANBs/_A3lXm9WN5M/s1600/1.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="56" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-im-7J4yHsmY/UP4qGVzHg8I/AAAAAAAANBs/_A3lXm9WN5M/s200/1.png" width="200" /></a></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif; font-size: large;">A few tables away, two ladies are sitting and talking:</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif; font-size: large;"><i>“He assured me, he can arrange everything by 21st November.”</i></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif; font-size: large;"><i>“That’s perfect, you’ll have enough time.”</i></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif; font-size: large;"><i>“I hope so.”</i></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif; font-size: large;"><i>“Don’t worry dear, it’s going to turn out perfect”,</i> Ramya assured
Zara.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif; font-size: large;"><i>“I hope it does”</i>. She smiles nervously.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif; font-size: large;">Ramya’s phone starts buzzing.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif; font-size: large;"><i>“Hey, I need to take this call. You order for me, I’ll be
back in a few minutes.”</i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif; font-size: large;"><i>“Alright.”</i></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif; font-size: large;"><span style="color: black;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-im-7J4yHsmY/UP4qGVzHg8I/AAAAAAAANBs/_A3lXm9WN5M/s1600/1.png" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="56" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-im-7J4yHsmY/UP4qGVzHg8I/AAAAAAAANBs/_A3lXm9WN5M/s200/1.png" width="200" /></a></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif; font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;">Imran</span> was nervous. For the first time in his life. He’d never
planned something this big for someone so close to his heart. He just wanted it
to work out. He took out his tab to check the next appointment, relieved to
know that there was only one left for the day, he put it down and looked around
the café. It appeared to be busier than usual. And then his eyes fell upon her.
He could make out the eagerness in her eyes. It had always been easy for him to
read people’s faces. But this face seemed a little different. It wasn’t that of
a stranger. He knew how those eyes would look when angry. He knew how the lines
would form on the forehead when she would think something serious. His eyes
moved to her hands. There wasn’t any
ring on her finger. He felt he knew how those fingers would tap the table when
anxious, and then…</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif; font-size: large;"><span style="color: black;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-im-7J4yHsmY/UP4qGVzHg8I/AAAAAAAANBs/_A3lXm9WN5M/s1600/1.png" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="56" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-im-7J4yHsmY/UP4qGVzHg8I/AAAAAAAANBs/_A3lXm9WN5M/s200/1.png" width="200" /></a></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif; font-size: large;">She tapped her fingers on the table and scrolled through her
cell with the other hand. Why had she started feeling uncomfortable all of a
sudden? She looked up to glanced around. As her eyes fell on the table at the
right, she met with two eyes staring right back at her. They each held the gaze
for the same time and then looked away.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif; font-size: large;"><i>“Hey did you order
for us?”</i>, Ramya asked, hurrying up to the table.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif; font-size: large;"><i>“Oh, I’m so sorry, I got lost in my thoughts and forgot.”</i></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif; font-size: large;"><i>“Okay, that’s fine. I’ll have to leave. Ash <u>i</u>s
caught up with work, so I will have to pick up Rehaan from school. I’m so sorry
to cut it short”</i></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif; font-size: large;"><i>“Hey, it’s okay, you don’t have to apologise.” </i></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif; font-size: large;"><i>“Do you want me to drop you somewhere?”</i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif; font-size: large;"><i>"No, I think I’ll stay here and have a coffee before heading
home.”</i></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif; font-size: large;"><i>“Okay, I’ll call you tomorrow then.”</i></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif; font-size: large;"><i>“Yea, Bbye,”</i></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif; font-size: large;"><i>“Bye.</i>”</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif; font-size: large;"><span style="color: black;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-im-7J4yHsmY/UP4qGVzHg8I/AAAAAAAANBs/_A3lXm9WN5M/s1600/1.png" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="56" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-im-7J4yHsmY/UP4qGVzHg8I/AAAAAAAANBs/_A3lXm9WN5M/s200/1.png" width="200" /></a></span></span></div>
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<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-_vjzG7Or88k/UP5s0IV8heI/AAAAAAAANC8/aVNqsngbZsY/s1600/coffee.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-_vjzG7Or88k/UP5s0IV8heI/AAAAAAAANC8/aVNqsngbZsY/s320/coffee.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
<span style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif; font-size: large;">He went up to the counter and ordered himself a coffee.
While waiting for the change, suddenly he smelled a familiar fragrance. It made
him turn and look at the side. And there she was again. Talking away cheerfully
with the cashier. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif; font-size: large;">Without planning, he blurted out, <i>“Can I join you?”</i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif; font-size: large;">She is a bit taken aback,<i> “I think so”.</i></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif; font-size: large;">They find a table and sit down.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif; font-size: large;">After a few minutes of silence and coffee sips, he asks her,<i>
“I didn’t know you’d be here.”</i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif; font-size: large;"><i>“Neither did I”</i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif; font-size: large;"><i>“So what are your plans for the rest of the day?”</i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif; font-size: large;"><i>“I’m going to meet mom in the evening, and you?”</i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif; font-size: large;"><i>“Oh, I have a meeting in an hour”, </i>he looks at his watch<i>
“and I better be leaving now”.</i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif; font-size: large;"><i>“Okay, I’ll see you tonight.”</i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif; font-size: large;">Smiles, hugs and kisses. They leave. Separately.</span></div>
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif; font-size: large;"><span style="color: black;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-im-7J4yHsmY/UP4qGVzHg8I/AAAAAAAANBs/_A3lXm9WN5M/s1600/1.png" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="56" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-im-7J4yHsmY/UP4qGVzHg8I/AAAAAAAANBs/_A3lXm9WN5M/s200/1.png" width="200" /></a></span></span></div>
</div>
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<span style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif; font-size: large;">Making sure he’s not in her sight anymore, he takes out his
cell and dials a number. She hails a cab, open the door and gets inside. Takes out
her cell and dials a number. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif; font-size: large;"><span style="color: black;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-im-7J4yHsmY/UP4qGVzHg8I/AAAAAAAANBs/_A3lXm9WN5M/s1600/1.png" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="56" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-im-7J4yHsmY/UP4qGVzHg8I/AAAAAAAANBs/_A3lXm9WN5M/s200/1.png" width="200" /></a> </span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif; font-size: large;"><i>“Guess what dude, I’m going to propose her!”</i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif; font-size: large;"><i>“Mom, I found you a son in law!”</i></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif; font-size: large;"><span style="color: black;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-mEXYWZPLonw/UP4rQwHAMAI/AAAAAAAANCQ/54zU7T7IQUY/s1600/love.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="140" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-mEXYWZPLonw/UP4rQwHAMAI/AAAAAAAANCQ/54zU7T7IQUY/s400/love.jpg" width="400" /></a></span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif; font-size: large;">Imag<span style="font-size: large;">es are from <a href="http://www.terrystarbucker.com/2012/03/25/9-awesome-things-you-can-learn-from-drinking-coffee-with-entrepreneurs/">here</a><span style="font-size: large;"> </span>and <a href="http://www.casagreer.com/2011/07/its-most-wonderful-time-of-year-erin.html">here</a></span>.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
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Kayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10570244118911302415noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1390049957894121885.post-43205402686958821252013-01-20T11:56:00.000+05:302013-01-22T15:01:18.615+05:30Meme musings<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;"> <span style="font-size: small;">When bo<span style="font-size: small;">red<span style="font-size: small;">, what better way to while time than answer random questions! :D</span></span></span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;">1. What do you think about your handwriting?</span></span></div>
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</ul>
<ul style="text-align: left;">
<li><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;">Looks good on sunny afternoons</span></span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;">Is as grave and gray as the rain clouds</span></span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;">Is seemingly fluid like music</span></span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;">Looks like it just came out of the grave<span style="font-size: small;"> </span></span></span></li>
</ul>
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<li>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"></span></span></span></span><br />
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<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-C2D_bJcA4T4/UPkYg7eDAbI/AAAAAAAAM_U/Plm7IgkiRGE/s1600/tumblr_mbuqn5TEBE1rigws9o1_500_large.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-C2D_bJcA4T4/UPkYg7eDAbI/AAAAAAAAM_U/Plm7IgkiRGE/s320/tumblr_mbuqn5TEBE1rigws9o1_500_large.jpg" width="203" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"> </span></span></span></span><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;">Looks good on sunny afternoons<span style="font-size: small;">!</span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;"> </span></span></span></span> </span></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-pzzDgu5glJ0/UPkZJ75JsBI/AAAAAAAAM_c/G-2hzFrYgN8/s1600/822c84788aa1a1a6e6bc974fd3fa-post_large.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"></a></div>
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</ul>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;">2. Will you ever try bungee jumping from any of these places?</span></span></div>
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</ul>
<ul style="text-align: left;">
<li><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;">The Eiffel Tower</span></span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;">The Leaning tower of Pisa</span></span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;">Mount Everest</span></span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;">Burj Khalifa</span></span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;">Grand Canyons</span></span></li>
</ul>
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<li>
</li>
</ul>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;"> </span></span><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-pzzDgu5glJ0/UPkZJ75JsBI/AAAAAAAAM_c/G-2hzFrYgN8/s1600/822c84788aa1a1a6e6bc974fd3fa-post_large.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-pzzDgu5glJ0/UPkZJ75JsBI/AAAAAAAAM_c/G-2hzFrYgN8/s320/822c84788aa1a1a6e6bc974fd3fa-post_large.jpg" width="240" /></a></div>
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<div style="text-align: left;">
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;">I'd fancy <span style="font-size: small;">the Eiffel Tower.</span></span></span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"> </span></span> </span></span></div>
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</ul>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;">3. Which of the following animals do you want to be in your next life?</span></span></div>
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</ul>
<ul>
<li><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;">Shark</span></span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;">Alligator</span></span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;">Saber Tooth tiger</span></span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;">T-Rex</span></span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;">Elephant</span></span></li>
</ul>
</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-kpp0LndvVqc/UPkaHe3KntI/AAAAAAAAM_o/axj5M_0SWRo/s1600/tumblr_mfawg2Lhu11rooh1yo1_250_large.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-kpp0LndvVqc/UPkaHe3KntI/AAAAAAAAM_o/axj5M_0SWRo/s320/tumblr_mfawg2Lhu11rooh1yo1_250_large.jpg" width="212" /></a> </span></span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;">An elephant!</span></span></span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"></span></span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;">4</span>. Which of the following professions attract you the most?</span></span></div>
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</ul>
<ul style="text-align: left;">
<li><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;">Bartender</span></span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;">Cruise ship commander</span></span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;">Navy Seal</span></span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;">NYPD forensic detective</span></span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;">Chef</span></span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;">Advertising Media professional</span></span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;">IRS executive</span></span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;">Lawyer</span></span></li>
</ul>
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<li>
</li>
</ul>
</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-jRGRakfkekw/UPkh5CA9sgI/AAAAAAAANAk/Z72VuCpIyvo/s1600/bartender.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-jRGRakfkekw/UPkh5CA9sgI/AAAAAAAANAk/Z72VuCpIyvo/s320/bartender.jpg" width="320" /></a><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"> </span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;">For all the stor<span style="font-size: small;">ies they get to hear.</span></span></span></span></div>
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</ul>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;">5</span>. Do you believe in life after death?</span></span></div>
<ul style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; line-height: 18px; list-style-type: none; margin-left: 20px; orphans: 2; padding: 0px; text-align: left; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px;">
</ul>
<ul style="text-align: left;">
<li><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;">Yes</span></span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;">No</span></span></li>
</ul>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-VEfJz444pr0/UPkiyo_aFoI/AAAAAAAANAw/m3HFfNRX5fc/s1600/tumblr_me7592SNwR1rv23x9o1_500_large.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-VEfJz444pr0/UPkiyo_aFoI/AAAAAAAANAw/m3HFfNRX5fc/s320/tumblr_me7592SNwR1rv23x9o1_500_large.jpg" width="320" /></a><span style="color: #0000ee;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> </span></span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Well it does sound fascinating!</span></span> </div>
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</ul>
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<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Questions are taken from <a href="http://www.samplequestionnaire.com/fun-questionnaire-questions.html">here.</a></span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Images are from </span><a href="http://weheartit.com/entry/40019790/via/urgban">here,</a><span id="goog_1235176395"> </span><a href="http://weheartit.com/entry/49523387"><span style="font-family: "inherit","serif";">here</span></a>, <a href="http://weheartit.com/entry/49250090/via/leoniemariee">here</a>, <a href="http://nationalpostlife.files.wordpress.com/2010/08/bartender.jpg?w=620">here</a><span style="font-family: "inherit","serif";"> and </span><a href="http://weheartit.com/entry/44731843/via/vulnavia_fangbangs">here</a>.
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Kayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10570244118911302415noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1390049957894121885.post-73776629063725364932013-01-10T13:02:00.000+05:302013-01-10T13:02:00.994+05:30The clock ticks.. the water drips.. the Earth rotates..<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-MclDjgfY6UI/UO5t87g2ejI/AAAAAAAAM-s/3koIKM_FSwU/s1600/collage2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-MclDjgfY6UI/UO5t87g2ejI/AAAAAAAAM-s/3koIKM_FSwU/s320/collage2.jpg" width="320" /></a> </div>
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Ever wondered what would it be like if we never had to worry about the time of the hour? No clock or watch to measure the time. No fixed working hours. No one hurrying to reach on time. No one counting days. No one praying for more time. No one begging for time to pass. Everyone living in the moment, instead of planning the next. </div>
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<br />
There was indeed one such time... When the Earth was still a wonder and not one of the 8 planets. When the movement of the Sun and the Moon was a wonder and not Science. When people didn't have to take out time for their loved ones, because time didn't exist. </div>
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Only people did. Life did. </div>
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<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-qCPfxOo3flY/UO5t2QQtV1I/AAAAAAAAM-k/ifUgA0uwrqs/s1600/11.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="172" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-qCPfxOo3flY/UO5t2QQtV1I/AAAAAAAAM-k/ifUgA0uwrqs/s400/11.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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The Time Keeper is a revelation about how man started measuring time. It's a story of a sick man who wants more time. It's a story of a lovesick girl who wishes time would pass quickly. It's a story that teaches us that there is more to life than glancing at the clock every hour. There is more to life than counting days and counting age. There is more to learn, give, receive, accept, do and teach than we think there is.</div>
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The Time Keeper by Mitch Albom is no less than his other books. It's a warm hug. It's a cool breeze. It makes you think. It makes you pause and experience life... Life which is beyond time. The life which was created even before the concept of time was established. </div>
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<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-DwK4tuCYXOA/UO5uDg4X9cI/AAAAAAAAM-0/-LXUmJS4QAY/s1600/00.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-DwK4tuCYXOA/UO5uDg4X9cI/AAAAAAAAM-0/-LXUmJS4QAY/s320/00.jpg" width="240" /></a></div>
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Images taken from:<a href="http://www.polyvore.com/cgi/thing.outbound?.svc=copypaste&embedder=0&id=70823580.jpg"> here</a>,
<a href="http://www.orvis.com/store/product.aspx?pf_id=7r7c">here</a>, <a href="http://www.phosphorwatches.com/PhotoGallery.asp?ProductCode=857136003043">here</a>,
<a href="http://trouvais.com/">here</a>, <a href="http://antiques.lovetoknow.com/Antique_Clocks_Values">here</a>, <a href="http://www.giftwrappedandgorgeous.co.uk/product-Sundial-7318.htm">here</a>,
<a href="http://www.parishotelboutique.com/store/product3499.html?__utma=1.282488677.1340850022.1344891660.1344954049.139&__utmb=1.48.10.1344954049&__utmc=1&__utmx=-&__utmz=1.1343338676.75.3.utmcsr=pinterest.com%7Cutmccn=(referral)%7Cutmcmd=referral%7Cutmcct=/parishotel/pins/&__utmv=-&__utmk=63219759">here</a>,
<a href="http://crushculdesac.tumblr.com/post/16389358099">here</a>, <a href="http://www.worldmarket.com/category/home-decorating/decorative-accessories/clocks.do">here</a>
and <a href="http://www.bucketlistpublications.com/wp-content/uploads/2012/12/IMG_20121217_201509-692x300.jpg">here</a>.</div>
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Kayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10570244118911302415noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1390049957894121885.post-35987872429582963222012-06-18T09:17:00.001+05:302013-01-22T15:03:11.836+05:30The Story Behind Our Song (Part 2 of 2)<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Continued from <a href="http://jinxipedia.blogspot.in/2012/06/story-behind-our-song-part-1-of-2.html">here</a>.</span><br />
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<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-v4BP59mFbc0/T9OHUcbE5QI/AAAAAAAAMJQ/NGeRwRFHI6M/s1600/70016969176916165_T7rEFzGJ_c.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="297" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-v4BP59mFbc0/T9OHUcbE5QI/AAAAAAAAMJQ/NGeRwRFHI6M/s400/70016969176916165_T7rEFzGJ_c.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Bradley Hand ITC'; font-size: 14pt;">Dear Dishy,</span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: 'Bradley Hand ITC'; font-size: 14pt;">I am writing this
letter sitting in Jenny Auntie’s café. I know you don’t like summers but I wish
you were with me right now, enjoying this beautiful May afternoon with me.
There is this huge Jacaranda tree opposite to the café. I can see it through
the window next to place I am sitting. It seems as if someone has sprayed a
deep mauve color into the sky. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: 'Bradley Hand ITC'; font-size: 14pt;">Dish I can see
our future, as I sit here. I imagine us getting old together. I imagine
retiring with you on a farmhouse. I imagine talking walks with you under the
warmth of the sun in winter afternoons and under brightly lit sky in the summer
nights. I imagine looking at our grandchildren as they play in the rains. I
imagine barbeque parties in our garden. I imagine a house full of photographs.
Photographs that tell our story. The story which began long before we met. The
story which won’t end with us. The story which will continue with our children
and their children and then their children. And the story, which the whole
world will read one day.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: 'Bradley Hand ITC'; font-size: 14pt;">There was no
rhyme or reason behind this letter. Just one of those moments when I wanted you
near, when I wished I hadn’t waited for so long. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: 'Bradley Hand ITC'; font-size: 14pt;">I am sending
you few photographs I took near the café, to let you feel the beauty of the
Jacaranda tree in full bloom. And I am sending you a few smiles to make the
coming few months easier.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: 'Bradley Hand ITC'; font-size: 14pt;">Love always,<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: 'Bradley Hand ITC'; font-size: 14pt;">Harit<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US">That was the first letter he had written to her. The edges were now
frayed and deep creases were marked where she had unfolded and folded the
letter a hundred times. The only thing that was touched by just the two of
them, she would read the letter whenever she miss Harit. Though they had shared
more than twenty letters over the past six years, for some reason his first
letter would always remain precious to her. </span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US">The captain’s announcement broke her thoughts.</span></div>
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<span class="apple-style-span"><i><span lang="EN-US">"Ladies and gentlemen, we have just been cleared to
land at the Indira Gandhi International Airport. Please make sure your seat
belt is securely fastened. The flight attendants are currently passing around
the cabin to make a final compliance check and pick up any remaining cups and
glasses. Thank you."<o:p></o:p></span></i></span></div>
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<span class="apple-style-span"><span lang="EN-US">This was not how
she was supposed to come back to <st1:country-region w:st="on"><st1:place w:st="on">India</st1:place></st1:country-region>. She sighed and put the
letter in her pocket. She was supposed to be feeling edgy with butterflies
fluttering nineteen to a dozen, instead she felt queasy and jittery as every
moment passed.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span class="apple-style-span"><span lang="EN-US">The phone call had
come at 5’o clock in the morning. Groggily she glanced at the number. She
pressed the receive button quickly and muttered, <i>“Harit?”<o:p></o:p></i></span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US">It wasn’t Harit on the phone. She couldn’t recall half of what the
caller had said. All she knew that he needed her, that she had to leave for <st1:country-region w:st="on"><st1:place w:st="on">India</st1:place></st1:country-region> today. He
didn’t have much time they had said.</span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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The ride from
the airport to the hospital seemed longer than her 9 hours flight. Disha
enquired about him at the reception.</div>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-US">Harit Shah. Room
no. 402.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-US">He turned his
head towards the door as he heard it open and smiled wide. Too weak to sit up,
he stretched his hand towards her. She smiled back and walked towards him. Her
throat was tight, but Disha didn’t want to cry. She would remain strong for
him. There would be plenty of time to cry when… she couldn’t think further. She
knelt near his bed, holding his hand in her palms. They gazed at each other,
making up for the lost time, for all those years spent far away. She wanted to
take in as much as she could, she wanted to create a memory that would stay
forever within her heart and not on some paper or mails or photographs. The way his left cheek dimpled when he
smiled, the cut on his forehead, the way he blinked before looking back into
her eyes, the way his nose crinkled as he smiled. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-US">It wasn’t how
either of them had imagined it to be. It was supposed to be a scene right out
of a movie and not in a hospital room. But it still seemed perfect. The way
their hands fit together. The way her smooth palms warmed his cold hands. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-US">After a while,
he motioned her to pick a notebook lying on the side table. She flipped it
open, and read the five words written in his hand, “The story behind our
song..”</span><br />
<span lang="EN-US"><br /></span>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-XzTfTGKiETo/T9OVN8e5nsI/AAAAAAAAMJ0/123CUxdR0KY/s1600/book1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-XzTfTGKiETo/T9OVN8e5nsI/AAAAAAAAMJ0/123CUxdR0KY/s320/book1.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<span lang="EN-US"><br /></span></div>
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<a href="http://bluesixcreative.com/torontoweddingprofessionals/wp-content/uploads/2010/11/1-a-TWP-BOTTOM-post-divider-branch.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="96" src="http://bluesixcreative.com/torontoweddingprofessionals/wp-content/uploads/2010/11/1-a-TWP-BOTTOM-post-divider-branch.png" width="320" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="border: none; mso-border-bottom-alt: solid windowtext .75pt; mso-padding-alt: 0cm 0cm 1.0pt 0cm; padding: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
10<sup>th</sup>
May, 2009</div>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-US">Disha smiled as
she got of the phone with the editor. He had loved the book. Harit was right,
summers are beautiful, she thought, looking up towards the bright summer sky.
She got up from the bench and plucked a flower from a low lying branch of the
huge Jacaranda tree. And placed it next to their photograph inside his
notebook. Their only photograph
together. As she looked into his smiling eyes, she whispered, <i>“Our story will continue Harit.”</i> </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-US"><i><br /></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-US"><i><br /></i></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-3pKCa8HkvNA/T9OIFHLkf4I/AAAAAAAAMJg/4sEy2LAaiEk/s1600/248683210644244023_2e5pg9R3_c.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="248" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-3pKCa8HkvNA/T9OIFHLkf4I/AAAAAAAAMJg/4sEy2LAaiEk/s320/248683210644244023_2e5pg9R3_c.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<span lang="EN-US"><i><br /></i></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US"><i><br /></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Pictures from <a href="http://pinterest.com/pin/70016969176916165/">here</a>, <a href="http://pinterest.com/pin/284008320221107208/">here</a>, <a href="http://pinterest.com/pin/248683210644244023/">here</a> and <a href="http://pinterest.com/pin/126734176983450470/">here</a></span></div>
</div>
Kayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10570244118911302415noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1390049957894121885.post-33255626285760364502012-06-09T22:53:00.001+05:302013-01-22T15:08:35.582+05:30The Story Behind Our Song (Part 1 of 2)<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-E-1eiRKXG_w/T9OEpP_0PDI/AAAAAAAAMJE/MTiFtTN0_QI/s1600/60024607503855369_hEgRQ7yj_c.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-E-1eiRKXG_w/T9OEpP_0PDI/AAAAAAAAMJE/MTiFtTN0_QI/s400/60024607503855369_hEgRQ7yj_c.jpg" width="300" /></a></div>
<br />
<span style="text-align: justify;">31</span><sup style="text-align: justify;">st</sup><span style="text-align: justify;">
March, 2009</span><br />
<div class="Section1">
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-US">The bells on the
door tinkled as Disha entered the café. The place was exactly like he had
described it to her, and exactly like she had imagined it would be. He would
sketch an image in her mind, just by his words and make her feel the ambience
even through all the distance. Everything that surrounded her was new and still
very familiar. The sunlight streaming through the skylight onto the bookshelf.
The maroon armchair, from where he had spend countless afternoons, talking to
her, laughing with her, fighting with her, listening to her, crying with her. The
huge windows on the south. The big Jacaranda tree opposite to the café. She even
knew how the tree would look in full bloom during the summers. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US">The aroma of freshly brewed coffee made her yearn for one. She
ordered a latte and smiled at the owner, Jenny Auntie, as if she was a regular
there. She moved to the bookshelf, while waiting for her coffee. She found a
few of the titles familiar. He had made her read every book he liked. When Jenny
Auntie called her name, she collected her coffee from the counter and settled into
the maroon armchair. For a moment, it felt like he was holding her in his arms.
She smirked at herself for the thought. After all he hadn’t ever hugged her. She
set her mug on the table nearby and turned on her laptop. She was meeting his
(and now her) editor today. She wanted to be sure that he would be interested
in their manuscript. It wasn’t just a manuscript to her, it was her story.
Their story.</span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US"> </span>November 10<sup>th</sup>,
2006</div>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">Dishi10</span></b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">: Where have you been? I’ve
been waiting since an hour and a half!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">Harits: </span></b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">I had to meet these pesky
clients and they weren’t leaving me. I even told them I have to go to the
hospital for some tests.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">Dishi10: </span></b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">What tests?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">Harits: </span></b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">And finally when I started
holding my breath so that my face could turn red, and they would believe I am
actually sick.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">Dishi10: </span></b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">WHAT TESTS??<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">Harits: </span></b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">That’s when they let me go.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">Dishi10: </span></b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">What tests you idiot?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">Harits: </span></b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">No no, no tests honey, I
just made an excuse. So that I could talk to you for a while.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">Dishi10: </span></b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">The while’s going to end in
15 minutes now. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">Harits: </span></b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">I know I am sorry, next
time if I am going to get late, I will text and inform you.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">Dishi10: </span></b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">Did you check for the
tickets?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">Harits: </span></b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">Oh..<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">Dishi10: </span></b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">You haven’t yet?? Only two
weeks left!! What if you don’t get any?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">Harits: </span></b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">Then I’ll charter a plane.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">Dishi10: </span></b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">Aww.. my hero, you don’t
need to do that. You can come here when I am old and haggard, living in some
retirement home<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">Harits: </span></b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">Okay okay, I’ll book the
tickets right now. Please show up when the flight lands.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">Dishi10: </span></b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">:)<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">Harits: </span></b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">What?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">Dishi10: </span></b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">Two weeks!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">Harits: </span></b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">Yes, two weeks baby! I love
you.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">Dishi10: </span></b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">I love you more. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">Harits: </span></b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">Hey, Jenny Auntie sends her
love. And now she wants to meet you.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">Dishi10: </span></b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">Tell her that Harit is a
coward and doesn’t want to meet me in <st1:place w:st="on"><st1:country-region w:st="on">India</st1:country-region></st1:place>.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">Harits: </span></b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">She says she’ll kick his
ass for you.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">Dishi10: </span></b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">Thank you Jenny Auntie.
Harit, I am leaving for a meeting now. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">Harits: </span></b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">See you love..<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">Dishi10: </span></b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">in two weeks.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">Harits: </span></b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">:)<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://bluesixcreative.com/torontoweddingprofessionals/wp-content/uploads/2010/11/1-a-TWP-BOTTOM-post-divider-branch.png" imageanchor="1" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="96" src="http://bluesixcreative.com/torontoweddingprofessionals/wp-content/uploads/2010/11/1-a-TWP-BOTTOM-post-divider-branch.png" width="320" /></a></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">
</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Centaur, serif;">Hey luv, 27
Nov ’m coming 2 u.</span></div>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Centaur, serif;">Will u
recognize me?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Centaur, serif;">U’ll b d 1 wearing
d biggest smile ;)<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Centaur, serif;">U bet, I will!
<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Centaur, serif;"><br /></span>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-zI76PJXEuxI/T9OJYtxpmyI/AAAAAAAAMJo/FXJCkEyKKPE/s1600/95490454568568366_HepjBXMT_c.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-zI76PJXEuxI/T9OJYtxpmyI/AAAAAAAAMJo/FXJCkEyKKPE/s320/95490454568568366_HepjBXMT_c.jpg" width="317" /></a></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Centaur, serif;">
</span></div>
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26<sup>th</sup>
November, 2006</div>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-US">11:37 am</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-US">The number you
are trying to reach is presently out of coverage area. If you are an airtel
subscriber…</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-US">Disha cursed
him, <i>“Darn it Harit, where are you?”</i>,
fed up with hearing the audio message again and again.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-US">12:10 pm</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Centaur, serif;">Trying to call
you. Your cell number is unreachable. No one is answering your home number.
Cold feet??!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-US">Message sent.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-US">5:00 pm</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Centaur, serif;">Your flight
leaves in two hours. I will kill you if you don’t board it.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-US">Message sent.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
</div>
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt;"><br clear="all" style="mso-break-type: section-break; page-break-before: always;" />
</span>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-US">7:00 pm</span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US">The number you
are trying to reach is presently out of coverage area. If you…</span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US">More than angry,
Disha was anxious. This was not something Harit would do. He won’t back out
like this. Even if he wanted to, he would tell her first. No, something
definitely must’ve gone wrong. She called up the airlines asking whether there
had been any cancellations. <i>“I’m sorry
Ma’am, there has been no cancellation under the name of Mr. Harit Shah.”<o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
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<i><span lang="EN-US">“Can you tell me if he boarded the plane?”<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
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<i><span lang="EN-US">“I am sorry Ma’am, I am not supposed to give out any
information. It is against our company rules.”<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
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<i><span lang="EN-US">“Well thank you very much.”
</span></i><span lang="EN-US">And she slammed the phone down.</span></div>
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30<sup>th</sup>
November, 2006</div>
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<span lang="EN-US">The number you
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<span lang="EN-US">Three days had
passed since she heard from Harit. She had even gone to the airport, hoping he
would surprise her. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 19px;">To be continued...</span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14pt;">Note: Pictures from <a href="http://pinterest.com/pin/60024607503855369/">here</a>, <a href="http://pinterest.com/pin/95490454568568366/">here</a></span></div>
</div>
Kayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10570244118911302415noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1390049957894121885.post-69033774408991613272012-05-24T22:00:00.000+05:302012-05-25T15:52:37.798+05:30Eat to live!<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-T5f3CfE8rMg/T79awg2_zaI/AAAAAAAAMAw/3tiul4MtYfk/s1600/07_large.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-T5f3CfE8rMg/T79awg2_zaI/AAAAAAAAMAw/3tiul4MtYfk/s320/07_large.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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“When I’m PMSing, the only thing that can cheer me up is a
big bar of chocolate!”</div>
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“I can only enjoy a movie, when I have a big bowl of butter
popcorn for company”</div>
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“It’s been long, we need to catch up! Why don’t you come
over for lunch?”</div>
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“I’ve got a huge craving for mom’s food.”</div>
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“We have to celebrate this dude, let’s go out!”</div>
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What is one thing that’s common in all the above statements?
You got it, Food!</div>
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<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-sHuuFymWvqY/T79affhfspI/AAAAAAAAMAo/P1foozNY1X0/s1600/Food1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="225" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-sHuuFymWvqY/T79affhfspI/AAAAAAAAMAo/P1foozNY1X0/s400/Food1.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-8HzH1iwGlTM/T79W_MwHL7I/AAAAAAAAMAc/Vzom8K9mkLA/s1600/90142430011984973_AU0yaKe7_c.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"></a></div>
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The old idiom was, “Eat to live, but don’t live to eat.” I
don’t agree with it. Food isn’t a chore; it’s not something like <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">brushing your teeth </i>or <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">doing laundry</i>, something that just needs
to be <u>done</u>. Food is a huge part of our lives, we eat when we celebrate,
we eat when we are sad, we eat when we are happy, and we eat to while away
time. We enjoy eating with family on the dining table. We enjoy eating straight
from the bowl sitting in front of the TV, we enjoy eating roadside food, we
enjoy eating sitting in a swanky restaurant, we enjoy eating at weddings, and
we enjoy eating home cooked meals. So then do we just eat to live? No, we eat
to celebrate life, I’d say!</div>
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<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-8HzH1iwGlTM/T79W_MwHL7I/AAAAAAAAMAc/Vzom8K9mkLA/s1600/90142430011984973_AU0yaKe7_c.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="284" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-8HzH1iwGlTM/T79W_MwHL7I/AAAAAAAAMAc/Vzom8K9mkLA/s320/90142430011984973_AU0yaKe7_c.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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Pictures taken from <a href="http://weheartit.com/entry/29232916">here</a>, <a href="http://weheartit.com/entry/29231331">here</a>, <a href="http://weheartit.com/entry/29230106">here</a>, <a href="http://weheartit.com/entry/29213241">here</a>, <a href="http://weheartit.com/entry/29212179">here</a>, <a href="http://pinterest.com/pin/90142430011984973/">here</a>, <a href="http://pinterest.com/pin/169025792235020683/">here</a>, <a href="http://pinterest.com/pin/68117013084327948/">here</a>, <a href="http://pinterest.com/pin/142004194470571785/">here</a>, <a href="http://pinterest.com/pin/150518812515500486/">here,</a> <a href="http://pinterest.com/pin/233061349436745834/">here</a> and <a href="http://pinterest.com/pin/115193702939184241/">here</a>.</div>
</div>Kayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10570244118911302415noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1390049957894121885.post-69947522475070084752012-04-21T22:04:00.005+05:302012-05-05T20:05:03.281+05:30Of book fairs and book reviews<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-y44xTzn0aIk/T6U59QM1KGI/AAAAAAAAKDw/85uE3LliyHw/s1600/04032012(002).jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-y44xTzn0aIk/T6U59QM1KGI/AAAAAAAAKDw/85uE3LliyHw/s400/04032012(002).jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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The Delhi Book Fair was almost two months ago and I didn't think I'd actually blog about it. Until now. When I'm done with all the books I'd bought there. Well they weren't many actually. <i>Just </i>four. I went with a friend who's equally <strike>or more</strike> mad about books, so I had the best company as I browsed the stalls, the books and the knick-knacks. From book marks to book mugs to book bags to book badges. It had everything to cheer up a book lover. A second friend met us there and who seeing me bursting from excitement quoted, ''<i>You look as happy as a kid in a candy shop!</i>''<br />
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And I was :)<br />
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<span style="color: #6aa84f; font-size: large;"><b>Picture Perfect by Jodi Picoult</b></span></div>
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<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_6walRG7Nvv8/S_6HJxtareI/AAAAAAAAACo/obEO-NFO1lc/s1600/Picture_Perfect.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_6walRG7Nvv8/S_6HJxtareI/AAAAAAAAACo/obEO-NFO1lc/s320/Picture_Perfect.jpg" width="208" /></a></div>
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I love Jodi Picoult. The story lines. The characters. The plots. The research behind every book. The emotions depicted. The relationships portrayed. Her way of putting it all into words is absolutely beautiful. <a href="http://www.jodipicoult.com/picture-perfect.html">Picture Perfect</a> was no exception.<br />
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It starts off smoothly and it is difficult not to fall in love when the two characters fall for each other. There is a third guy actually. But no it is not a stereotypical love triangle. It is not a stereotypical love story. No overflow of mush. Like the girl, you won't be able to stop loving even in the end. The story travels through two worlds. The glamour of Hollywood and the humbleness of the Indian reservations. It'll tug your heart, it'll make you keep reading, it'll make you dream a picture perfect dream. And in the end, it'll wake you up.<br />
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<b><span style="color: #6aa84f; font-size: large;">The Way We Were by Elizabeth Noble</span></b></div>
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<a href="http://www.goodreads.com/book/show/11069831-the-way-we-were"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://www.penguin.com.au/jpg-large/9780141043111.jpg" width="211" /></a></div>
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The review on the cover says, <i>Impossible to finish without tears running down your face.</i></div>
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Ahem. Well yes, it <u>was</u> impossible to finish. About the tears, they would've eventually come if the book hadn't ended when it did. And thank God it ended when it did.</div>
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This one was a big disappointment. Biggest I have experienced in months. The story is so jumbled up. It's like the author couldn't decide what to keep and what to delete and in the end keeps everything. Even if it's not in a flow. The story revolves around the life of Susannah who if I may put it frankly, was a loser at forty. She has a good job. A loving family. The perfect best friend. But an unsteady life, an unsteady mind and an unsteady love life. She's weak, confused, <strike>pathetic</strike> and at times unbearable. It's like keep things going wrong her entire life but she doesn't take heed. It's not just the miserable plot it is more so the way the story rolls. Weird and abrupt sentences. Makes me wonder if the book was actually writer by a ghost writer suffering from attention deficiency syndrome. </div>
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P. S. Here's the <a href="http://www.goodreads.com/book/show/11069831-the-way-we-were">goodreads link </a>to the book.</div>
</div>Kayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10570244118911302415noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1390049957894121885.post-82942408375207484182012-04-21T19:55:00.001+05:302012-04-21T20:07:15.586+05:30Sigh!<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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Source: <a href="http://www.blogger.com/blogger.g?blogID=1390049957894121885" style="color: #76838b; font-size: 10px; text-decoration: underline;">Uploaded by user</a> via <a href="http://pinterest.com/sarahmaycock/" style="color: #76838b; font-size: 10px; text-decoration: underline;" target="_blank">Sarah</a> on <a href="http://pinterest.com/" style="color: #76838b; text-decoration: underline;" target="_blank">Pinterest</a></div>
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #3d85c6; font-family: inherit; font-size: large; text-align: center;"> I want to. So. Very much.</span></div>
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</div>Kayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10570244118911302415noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1390049957894121885.post-74475577169716969982012-04-15T20:16:00.003+05:302012-04-15T20:16:59.975+05:30The Other Side Of The Story<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<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="http://www.penguin.com.au/jpg-large/9780140295993.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://www.penguin.com.au/jpg-large/9780140295993.jpg" width="208" /></a></td></tr>
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We all have a story. A story that is interlinked to many other stories, stories of our friends, our family, our teachers, our colleagues, our neighbors or even strangers. And we all have a different way of narrating our story, don't we?</div>
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That is what this book is about. About three girls, about how their life is linked to each other, yet separate. The reviews that are on the book are indeed true. It makes you laugh. Out loud. I used to read it on my daily commute to work and some parts would just make me giggle out loud. (No, I did not pay attention to how the fellow commuters reacted to that). Another thing that made me love the book was the way it talks about writers, authors, publishers and their world. Not that I am any one of them <strike>yet</strike>, the book kept me glued till the last word. When I did reach the last word, I turned the last couple of pages to confirm whether it has actually ended or not. It was that good. </div>
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The book is quite a fat one though, (528 pages) which I recently discovered could be a deciding factor for readers when buying a new book. As for me, the fatter the better!</div>
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P.S. <a href="http://www.mariankeyes.com/Books/The-Other-Side-of-the-Story">Click here</a> to head to the book's page on the author's website.</div>
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<br /></div>Kayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10570244118911302415noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1390049957894121885.post-75375366201731444842012-03-24T20:05:00.000+05:302012-03-24T20:05:53.651+05:30It's that time of the year!<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
Yea... It is. That time of the year when you feel proud of surviving the winters, when you shove away the memories of <strike>gluttonous</strike> weak moments in some untraceable imaginary trunk, when the temperature's a little higher and the days are a little longer. When on a weekend, you finally gather up courage to store the warm garb for another winter. When you shed away jackets and boots and mufflers and warmers. When you put on t-shirts and cotton pants and spaghetti tops and shorts and flip flops and sun-tan lotion. THAT is when you realize that you turned into a PIG in those cold harsh months.<br />
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When those summer clothes don't fit you. When you realize you are out of decent clothes to wear at work. When you feel you need to shop every week. When you stand on the scale and miss a heart beat out of shock. When you look at the pics from a year back and yearn for that younger and slimmer you. THAT time of the year is here. Unfortunately for me.<br />
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<b><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: x-large;">SO LISTEN UP</span></b></div>
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<br /></div>Kayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10570244118911302415noreply@blogger.com2