I would have been the last person to write on this topic. And people who know me personally - deep and close would be, i believe quite shocked to find me writing on it.
But I sometimes wonder into the topic too - more often than not when i am in a PMS or an incontrollably, biologically oriented depressed and senti mood (m not sure whether this level of confession is safe on a public display page - but given its limited readership that too, for quite different purposes, i feel quite safe)
However, it is important that these kinds of topic are discussed by us. Our parents and those " " kind of people take these questions up and i have seen them argue on it for hours. This is a cliche question already, that only 'thought to be happy' and non lovables ask each other. But what's the point? Consumer Behavior is the main thing. Each one of mortals on earth should be given special courses on it. Consumer behavior - that's the thing! Wots wrong with me today? By the way, what's the question?
But let's look into the matter more closely, Are marriages really made in heaven?
Get lost! get some sleep. Am i talking to myself, but zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz.....zzzzzzzzzzzzzz.
Friday, December 30, 2005
Thursday, December 29, 2005
in-complete II (contd...)
The other end went dead.
"Hello" Nisha hushed into the mouthpiece.
There was nobody there. And the sudden silence after the telephone ring made the night even quieter. She put down the receiver and waited for something to happen. These moments came rare, when she had nothing to do. No assignments. No engagements. No phone calls. No messages. No chats. No chores. No exams. All she had to do is go to bed, wait for tomorrow.
Tomorrow. She is not excited. She doesn't care. She doesn't want tomorrow. She wants today. Tomorrow could change her life. "One day," she thinks, "one moment, one sentence and one person. And a life time. How can a life time depend on one talk? one instance? one click? how can it be decided tomorrow?"
The silence of the night makes her shiver more. She decides on a bar of chocoalate to treat her hunger. She stealthes to the door, creak opens it. She thinks, she heard her dad get disturbed, and shuts it close. But she's hungry. She opens it again. And shuts it on second thought. She opens and shuts close.
She opens the monitor of her computer. "The person seems to be offline...". He could be back in an hour or two. Will she wait? Why would she wait? The hunger, the chill, the offline - the wait - all at once get on her nerves. And she is sad.
You don't need a saree exactly but it would suit the occassion. She remembers her mom in the room that morning. What difference does it make? A saree, a kurta, a suit? It's the wrong person afterall. Moments flashback and lost in thought, she puts off the tubelight and slips under the quilt. She is alone - she realizes again, and she needs a tight hug. Warm. Soft. Tight. She needs a smile. A hand she can hold. What else?
All she knows is tomorrow will be different. She needs today. She also knows that in this wait, alone, her eyelids will get heavy, she is tired and she will fall asleep. And she would wake up tomorrow. She also knows that even if she does not fall asleep and forces herself up. Even if she is on the computer for a few more hours, even when the milk goes cold, and the rain stops, even though it seems endless, like everyday, tomorrow - is inevitable. The night will pass. And the sun will shine. Like always. Like everyday.
(Please continue if you like)
"Hello" Nisha hushed into the mouthpiece.
There was nobody there. And the sudden silence after the telephone ring made the night even quieter. She put down the receiver and waited for something to happen. These moments came rare, when she had nothing to do. No assignments. No engagements. No phone calls. No messages. No chats. No chores. No exams. All she had to do is go to bed, wait for tomorrow.
Tomorrow. She is not excited. She doesn't care. She doesn't want tomorrow. She wants today. Tomorrow could change her life. "One day," she thinks, "one moment, one sentence and one person. And a life time. How can a life time depend on one talk? one instance? one click? how can it be decided tomorrow?"
The silence of the night makes her shiver more. She decides on a bar of chocoalate to treat her hunger. She stealthes to the door, creak opens it. She thinks, she heard her dad get disturbed, and shuts it close. But she's hungry. She opens it again. And shuts it on second thought. She opens and shuts close.
She opens the monitor of her computer. "The person seems to be offline...". He could be back in an hour or two. Will she wait? Why would she wait? The hunger, the chill, the offline - the wait - all at once get on her nerves. And she is sad.
You don't need a saree exactly but it would suit the occassion. She remembers her mom in the room that morning. What difference does it make? A saree, a kurta, a suit? It's the wrong person afterall. Moments flashback and lost in thought, she puts off the tubelight and slips under the quilt. She is alone - she realizes again, and she needs a tight hug. Warm. Soft. Tight. She needs a smile. A hand she can hold. What else?
All she knows is tomorrow will be different. She needs today. She also knows that in this wait, alone, her eyelids will get heavy, she is tired and she will fall asleep. And she would wake up tomorrow. She also knows that even if she does not fall asleep and forces herself up. Even if she is on the computer for a few more hours, even when the milk goes cold, and the rain stops, even though it seems endless, like everyday, tomorrow - is inevitable. The night will pass. And the sun will shine. Like always. Like everyday.
(Please continue if you like)
Wednesday, December 28, 2005
Tuesday, December 27, 2005
check it out
no time to post n e thing today. got to do a resubmission thing on a report. mean time, y don't u check out this article in The NewYorker... it's a nice read.
http://www.newyorker.com/critics/books/articles/051226crbo_books
http://www.newyorker.com/critics/books/articles/051226crbo_books
Monday, December 26, 2005
early morn ktm
so i got up pretty early looking for a cyber again... missed my own 9 to 7 dial up by cinches...
i peeped through the painted panes of my regular one and left it with a screwed face when i saw all the keyboards stacked up in a pile... "repair?? most probably."
n i bought some fresh potatoes just out of the brown dusty sack by my grocer...
thamel was fun yesterday i remembered as i walked back home in the biting chill... we sang funny floyd numbers in chorus all the way... n e ways, the whole melodrama after i got home was too refreshing yaar...
so, what 'appened is my tinnie twinnie mouse was not in his usual Meizan carton box.. n i was frantic and toppled my already disheaveled room upside down in the torch light aided search.
i sent an SOS to my two bros ... n all three of us were disheaveling our own rooms now... under the bed... behind the wardrobes... under the quilts n behind curtains were the normal place in the search operation...
n every shoe in the rack got toppled n every bk from the case.. n all my junk for once got my friendly dust-beating... my pen cup... the drawers... n basket n the bins.. n all the socks n the gloves... n all coat pockets - to no avail...
so i was almost in tears after a haf hr search...
n i was there .. on the floor.. beside tinnie twinnie's box... swearing this n dat... n my bro looking at me with his new sweater on... confused n lost...
n at the very moment of suspense n climax.... ... the mouse shivered....
and under those disheavelled blankets we found it!
alive...
i peeped through the painted panes of my regular one and left it with a screwed face when i saw all the keyboards stacked up in a pile... "repair?? most probably."
n i bought some fresh potatoes just out of the brown dusty sack by my grocer...
thamel was fun yesterday i remembered as i walked back home in the biting chill... we sang funny floyd numbers in chorus all the way... n e ways, the whole melodrama after i got home was too refreshing yaar...
so, what 'appened is my tinnie twinnie mouse was not in his usual Meizan carton box.. n i was frantic and toppled my already disheaveled room upside down in the torch light aided search.
i sent an SOS to my two bros ... n all three of us were disheaveling our own rooms now... under the bed... behind the wardrobes... under the quilts n behind curtains were the normal place in the search operation...
n every shoe in the rack got toppled n every bk from the case.. n all my junk for once got my friendly dust-beating... my pen cup... the drawers... n basket n the bins.. n all the socks n the gloves... n all coat pockets - to no avail...
so i was almost in tears after a haf hr search...
n i was there .. on the floor.. beside tinnie twinnie's box... swearing this n dat... n my bro looking at me with his new sweater on... confused n lost...
n at the very moment of suspense n climax.... ... the mouse shivered....
and under those disheavelled blankets we found it!
alive...
Sunday, December 25, 2005
passing by, i had this thought... where have you been all day?
walking down.. strolling around...
the evening crowd.. the push and the shouts...
brimming footpaths... dazzling lights...
houses, traffic, the people around...all in a disarray...
moods gone haywire... maths all crazy...
too much walk... the foot is heated... starts aching... can't sit down... finally i do.. and it's a cold seat... and i stand up.. to step in a puddle.
ciggi? can someone?no.
"... lighter..lighter..." the footpath vendor shouts in the semi-light of reflected flourescent tube under the Newroad gate, "..lighter with torch... twenty rupees, twenty rupees.."
no one gives a damn... why would they when 30 other vendors, big and small, men and women, children and child...all shout at the same decibel level... except some are little hoarser...some are high treble... some a little bass... cumulated... they are the loud evening noise around dharahara... with deep fried fish and boiled egg on the big black flat tawa of kanchhi to give the typical aroma around Mugling. Mugling reminds me of fish too... fresh fish and fried fish and fish on stick and ropes. Mugling reminds me of dal bhat in Thakali ko bhojanalaya.
the street under my window are all packed around this time too. As evening sets, the white glaring flourescent tubes at least 10 in each boutique light up one by one. As i snuggle in bed with some muse, evening prayer bells join the incessant traffic horns from different directions. Evening aarati reminds me of Dashain. It is the only time aarati is an in-house matter. Other days it is a friendly neighbourhood chime. The white light at ground level bring in scores of people out of their shell. Most of them come out bored of their wives and kids. Of their incessant talks, squabbles, complaints and demands. Or, else just to spend their evening as usual with a hot cup of tea and a circle of friends, and inconsequential discussions on politics, aishwarya rai and helpless nepalese.
The wives are different - they realize at six, dinner needs cooking. So they head towards bagmati ko evening bazaar for fresh red tomatoes straight from kalimati, and jyapu ko saag in a kharpan. The cucumbers are out of season, so are guavas... can't see them anywhere. The children are the ones in dire dilemma. Homeworks due tomorrow in one hand, and induplicable wrestling and cartoon on the other.. it's the toughest time to decide. So, most of them end with bad handwriting in front of the screaming TV screen. They are twice disturbed - one by the biting cold they pay for being in the drawing room or papa's room or the widely known TV room... and the other by the irritating punctuations of mom's scolding. He finds it a background score by now... like a commercial break. And like them, the little boy happily waits for it to end to get back to the cricket scores...
Merry Christmas!!
the evening crowd.. the push and the shouts...
brimming footpaths... dazzling lights...
houses, traffic, the people around...all in a disarray...
moods gone haywire... maths all crazy...
too much walk... the foot is heated... starts aching... can't sit down... finally i do.. and it's a cold seat... and i stand up.. to step in a puddle.
ciggi? can someone?no.
"... lighter..lighter..." the footpath vendor shouts in the semi-light of reflected flourescent tube under the Newroad gate, "..lighter with torch... twenty rupees, twenty rupees.."
no one gives a damn... why would they when 30 other vendors, big and small, men and women, children and child...all shout at the same decibel level... except some are little hoarser...some are high treble... some a little bass... cumulated... they are the loud evening noise around dharahara... with deep fried fish and boiled egg on the big black flat tawa of kanchhi to give the typical aroma around Mugling. Mugling reminds me of fish too... fresh fish and fried fish and fish on stick and ropes. Mugling reminds me of dal bhat in Thakali ko bhojanalaya.
the street under my window are all packed around this time too. As evening sets, the white glaring flourescent tubes at least 10 in each boutique light up one by one. As i snuggle in bed with some muse, evening prayer bells join the incessant traffic horns from different directions. Evening aarati reminds me of Dashain. It is the only time aarati is an in-house matter. Other days it is a friendly neighbourhood chime. The white light at ground level bring in scores of people out of their shell. Most of them come out bored of their wives and kids. Of their incessant talks, squabbles, complaints and demands. Or, else just to spend their evening as usual with a hot cup of tea and a circle of friends, and inconsequential discussions on politics, aishwarya rai and helpless nepalese.
The wives are different - they realize at six, dinner needs cooking. So they head towards bagmati ko evening bazaar for fresh red tomatoes straight from kalimati, and jyapu ko saag in a kharpan. The cucumbers are out of season, so are guavas... can't see them anywhere. The children are the ones in dire dilemma. Homeworks due tomorrow in one hand, and induplicable wrestling and cartoon on the other.. it's the toughest time to decide. So, most of them end with bad handwriting in front of the screaming TV screen. They are twice disturbed - one by the biting cold they pay for being in the drawing room or papa's room or the widely known TV room... and the other by the irritating punctuations of mom's scolding. He finds it a background score by now... like a commercial break. And like them, the little boy happily waits for it to end to get back to the cricket scores...
Merry Christmas!!
Friday, December 23, 2005
cyber space
am in a cyber at the moment. all stations occupied when i got here... waited 8 minutes for a gamer to log off. there are still 12 year old kids all around me playing quake with virtual machine-guns and bombs that go off at the strike of a letter.
inter station competition is quite enjoyable it seems....
a hindi song plays loud n clear behind my back...'u're the 1 for me...' it goes....
all other more than 20 surfers don't exist for me....
i am in one corner of the room, walls ahead and to the left of me... i feel claustrophobic already. can some one give me some space? room to breathe?
inter station competition is quite enjoyable it seems....
a hindi song plays loud n clear behind my back...'u're the 1 for me...' it goes....
all other more than 20 surfers don't exist for me....
i am in one corner of the room, walls ahead and to the left of me... i feel claustrophobic already. can some one give me some space? room to breathe?
Wednesday, December 21, 2005
in-complete
And she stared at the monitor for a long long time after the last bb. The screen read any message you send may not be received by the other end. The person seems to be offline. After a three hour long conversation on the screen, he had to leave suddenly after a call from home, and he leaves. All of a sudden this silence on the screen is strange to Nisha. She looks around her room, stunned to be back. The milk by the telephone has gone cold. There is a heavy downpour outside. The slanting rain drops have moistened her bed. The loud noise made by the constant battering of rain drops on tin roofs is deafening. The curtains are ruffled of the constant wind. A sharp cold gust blows through the open windows. She feels the pang of cold on her bare arms. She hasn’t got a jacket on. She is hungry. And she feels alone.
It’s 1 at night. Her parents have long ago gone to bed.
Nisha shuts off the monitor and walks away from the computer. She sips the milk, stung by its coldness. The phone rings and she picks it up on the first ring. “Hello” her voice is softened by the surrounding silence...
Pls continue if you feel like.
It’s 1 at night. Her parents have long ago gone to bed.
Nisha shuts off the monitor and walks away from the computer. She sips the milk, stung by its coldness. The phone rings and she picks it up on the first ring. “Hello” her voice is softened by the surrounding silence...
Pls continue if you feel like.
blank
"You have every right to be yourself" read one of the favorite quotes on my fren's list. How nice, I thought. How right.
Monday, December 19, 2005
Some, great idea
A few years ago, i landed on a book below the letter "C" - cleminshaw. The writer was Suzanne Cleminshaw. Every time i think, i am sure the name will not come to me again - it's so complicated. But some how it has been in my mind.
The bright orange colored book was titled - The Great Ideas.
1st thing, i read about the author - nominated for some prize - "not won any", hit my mind.
2nd, as i usually do - flip to the last page where the due date of library books are stamped. Too many dates? recent ones? renew Rs anywhere? crowded? all these show the popularity, the frequency, the rush on the book. I don't know if anyone else check these - i do it every time -though it isn't the major criteria. WOM is a superb way to pick out a book.
3rd, I read the first page. This is very important to me, at least. If not the first sentence, i need a few more pages to intrigue me - inform me - excite me or chuckle me.
Anyways, three days down, i was done with the book. All satisfied and beaming - i was ready to spread the WOM. Alas! there are a few bibliophiles around... ... this corner at least.
Years later, I was happy to get in the same mood again. Great Ideas is back. Thank god. BTW, when did it ever leave?
The bright orange colored book was titled - The Great Ideas.
1st thing, i read about the author - nominated for some prize - "not won any", hit my mind.
2nd, as i usually do - flip to the last page where the due date of library books are stamped. Too many dates? recent ones? renew Rs anywhere? crowded? all these show the popularity, the frequency, the rush on the book. I don't know if anyone else check these - i do it every time -though it isn't the major criteria. WOM is a superb way to pick out a book.
3rd, I read the first page. This is very important to me, at least. If not the first sentence, i need a few more pages to intrigue me - inform me - excite me or chuckle me.
Anyways, three days down, i was done with the book. All satisfied and beaming - i was ready to spread the WOM. Alas! there are a few bibliophiles around... ... this corner at least.
Years later, I was happy to get in the same mood again. Great Ideas is back. Thank god. BTW, when did it ever leave?
a year ago..
How come none of us heard the camera click? Where is all the courtesy of saying "cheeeeeeeeee..... these "eee"z look like teeth to me already...does it, to you too? or is it only me being visually disoriented from excessive junk food?
food! food. this reminds me, someone could be hungry today from a monday " ..... " .. fast converting to compulsive disorder?? until?
Well behaved women rarely make history
I came across this phrase in an issue of the Time magazine a few months back.
"Well behaved women rarely make history".
And I, then and there sat brooding of all the well behaved women who HAD made a history and of all the ill behaved women who had ALSO made a mark.
In fact i tried to remember ALL women who ever made history.
Whatever, the phrase seemed to stick with me for a long time especially since one of my friends needed unwanted inspiration on some indiscriminate topic.
Well Behaved MEN rarely make history - how does it sound?
Forget it! i don't believe in 'ist' theories.
"Well behaved women rarely make history".
And I, then and there sat brooding of all the well behaved women who HAD made a history and of all the ill behaved women who had ALSO made a mark.
In fact i tried to remember ALL women who ever made history.
Whatever, the phrase seemed to stick with me for a long time especially since one of my friends needed unwanted inspiration on some indiscriminate topic.
Well Behaved MEN rarely make history - how does it sound?
Forget it! i don't believe in 'ist' theories.
Saturday, December 17, 2005
Espresso
Since we having lot of these-these days, thought a little insight wudn't harm... got this from wikipedia btw... too lazy to churn out something for the day. Coffee. Kofi and more kafi...
Starts here:
(Caffè) espresso (Italian) is a strong, flavorful coffee beverage brewed by forcing hot water under high pressure through finely ground coffee beans.
Espresso appears dark brown with a red/brown-colored foam on top, and it is served in small portions.
Espresso differs from drip-brewed coffee with its thick, concentrated consistency and robust flavor. Due to its potency, straight espresso (served without sweetener or milk, analogous to black coffee) is considered by some to be an acquired taste, and it is served in small amounts called shots in the United States. Many coffee aficionados order their "single" or "double" (one or two shots in a ceramic cup) with a glass of cold water to clear the palate. Because espresso reacts quickly to oxygen, it should be consumed immediately after brewing.
This is interesting:
Espresso is considered the default coffee in Southern Europe, notably Italy, Portugal and France. Ordering a coffee (un caffè in Italian) means ordering an espresso; this confuses foreigners in Italy and Italians abroad alike. What is considered plain coffee in the United States is normally not brewed in Italy.
And this good:
A similar alternative, an espresso mixed with hot water, is known as caffè americano. The phrase 'American Coffee' (spoken in English) is widely understood. It is rarely ordered by Italians.
Espresso is also the foundation for other drinks, such as lattes, cappuccinos, macchiatos, and mochas.
A key component in the flavor of espresso is crema, a golden foam composed of emulsified oils, proteins, and sugars, which floats on the surface of the espresso itself.
Espresso is frequently mispronounced/mis-spelled as expresso in the UK and US.
Ha..Ha...
The term espresso refers to the brewing method and combines all 3 meanings of the word express.
1.a coffee made expressly for one person,
2.with the flavours expressed from coffee grounds under pressure and
3.a coffee made at express speed
Express Espresso huh?
Friday, December 16, 2005
Shootout
11 people were shot dead in a rampant fire by a psycho army man at Nagarkot. In refute to this, there is a Bandh in the valley today. How safe are we in our own country, our own city, our own neighbourhood? What if tomorrow the army standing below my house, in the street each night drinks one more shot of his daily vodka, and goes out of his mind? I could be history the next day. I would be the headlines. One more bandh in my name? Is that it? One more bandh? Am I worth one more bandh? One more protest in the street with tires ablaze?
I first heard of rampant shoots at US schools, killing tens of their fellow classmates. I still remember blaming English movies for them. Blaming them for showing violent actions on screen. Blaming the US system on easily accessible guns and arms. I was in school then, and the news half way around the world had only informative value. The affective component was too little for me to give more than an expression of surprise on my face for a few seconds. I forget it too soon.
More incidents came after that. More school shootouts. More CNN coverage on it. More songs dedicated to them. Annual memoirs on the day. That was it. Now, shoot outs hold special meaning to the Nepalese at least after the royal massacre. They bring about memories that are sad and bad. Memories that shock us, keep us yet bewildered after years. It is still hard for some us to digest it, to take in the fact that the whole royal family so prominent, so loved and so admired by the people was finished without any trace in the most unassuming way. The people were proud of this one family. This one royal thing that none other had. We were proud of the King, proud of the Queen, the Princess who was beautiful, the Prince who started taking things seriously. Like top actors and actresses in Bollywood and Hollywood, the stories of royalty was a social talk of the town. Businessmen, servicemen, college students, school children, housewives, among friends, among families, good or bad, we all talked of the royal family in reverence. Some just commented on them, some were proud of some kind of association with them, some related incidents of their encounter, some boldly revealed the interesting facts he had come about and others were just eager listeners. One night of shooting and they were all gone. Today, it is too sad a topic to be brought about in social gatherings. We have even stopped wondering of the probable culprit.
Today, this incident at Nagarkot reminds of this and more shootings. One crazy gunman and 11 lives lost. 11 families affected. 11 dead bodies to cremate. 11 times 13 days of full mourning. Mothers lost for some. Brothers never coming back home. Fathers. Sisters. Wives. Sons. It is so close to home, empathizing comes naturally. It could be me, you, my family and your family next day or the next hour. Craziness has no date, no time, no boundary, no mind – where do I shoot, when do I shoot, whom do I shoot, how many do I shoot? Psycho. Crazy. They have no brain. All they do is pull the trigger – for a long long time. And the next thing you realize is a sea of blood like you have never seen before. What is the solution? Who has the answers? Where do we go? Fight? Be scared? Tremble? Burn tires on the road? Whom do we turn to? Shout? Be frustrated? Laugh at it like it never happened? Ignore it? Carry on with my college assignment because it is not me and my family?
I first heard of rampant shoots at US schools, killing tens of their fellow classmates. I still remember blaming English movies for them. Blaming them for showing violent actions on screen. Blaming the US system on easily accessible guns and arms. I was in school then, and the news half way around the world had only informative value. The affective component was too little for me to give more than an expression of surprise on my face for a few seconds. I forget it too soon.
More incidents came after that. More school shootouts. More CNN coverage on it. More songs dedicated to them. Annual memoirs on the day. That was it. Now, shoot outs hold special meaning to the Nepalese at least after the royal massacre. They bring about memories that are sad and bad. Memories that shock us, keep us yet bewildered after years. It is still hard for some us to digest it, to take in the fact that the whole royal family so prominent, so loved and so admired by the people was finished without any trace in the most unassuming way. The people were proud of this one family. This one royal thing that none other had. We were proud of the King, proud of the Queen, the Princess who was beautiful, the Prince who started taking things seriously. Like top actors and actresses in Bollywood and Hollywood, the stories of royalty was a social talk of the town. Businessmen, servicemen, college students, school children, housewives, among friends, among families, good or bad, we all talked of the royal family in reverence. Some just commented on them, some were proud of some kind of association with them, some related incidents of their encounter, some boldly revealed the interesting facts he had come about and others were just eager listeners. One night of shooting and they were all gone. Today, it is too sad a topic to be brought about in social gatherings. We have even stopped wondering of the probable culprit.
Today, this incident at Nagarkot reminds of this and more shootings. One crazy gunman and 11 lives lost. 11 families affected. 11 dead bodies to cremate. 11 times 13 days of full mourning. Mothers lost for some. Brothers never coming back home. Fathers. Sisters. Wives. Sons. It is so close to home, empathizing comes naturally. It could be me, you, my family and your family next day or the next hour. Craziness has no date, no time, no boundary, no mind – where do I shoot, when do I shoot, whom do I shoot, how many do I shoot? Psycho. Crazy. They have no brain. All they do is pull the trigger – for a long long time. And the next thing you realize is a sea of blood like you have never seen before. What is the solution? Who has the answers? Where do we go? Fight? Be scared? Tremble? Burn tires on the road? Whom do we turn to? Shout? Be frustrated? Laugh at it like it never happened? Ignore it? Carry on with my college assignment because it is not me and my family?
Wednesday, December 14, 2005
You know it's exam time...when...
Exam time!
Music is sweeter. Sleep has never been more peaceful. You study the tiniest ant wandering around for philosophy. Browsing endlessly seems the new OCD you have developed. You want to call all your out-of-contact frens. I tend to like all short stories i found tedious before. Any movie is a good movie. Even sensational news items on Aaj Tak and Star News you hear while passing by seem utmost important. I forget to feed my mouse. Even kitchen chores don't seem dull. Irritating parent's squabbles are enjoyable. You send long inconsequential long e-mails. You have the sudden urge to clean your room - spic n span- to the last corner. You start anticipating for the days "after my exams are over... will do this... will do that".
When you remember all the important things you have been postponing... and they seem pretty urgernt...you know your final exams are tomorrow.
Music is sweeter. Sleep has never been more peaceful. You study the tiniest ant wandering around for philosophy. Browsing endlessly seems the new OCD you have developed. You want to call all your out-of-contact frens. I tend to like all short stories i found tedious before. Any movie is a good movie. Even sensational news items on Aaj Tak and Star News you hear while passing by seem utmost important. I forget to feed my mouse. Even kitchen chores don't seem dull. Irritating parent's squabbles are enjoyable. You send long inconsequential long e-mails. You have the sudden urge to clean your room - spic n span- to the last corner. You start anticipating for the days "after my exams are over... will do this... will do that".
When you remember all the important things you have been postponing... and they seem pretty urgernt...you know your final exams are tomorrow.
guest column- by genius brother
I have a guest tonight, Ladies n Gentlemen presenting my self proclaimed genius brother!! with a big hand please welcome...
PS. Don't take his word on anything... it's all a blabber he can't spit out any place else...
guest column- by genius brother
this is going to be the most valuable post in this entire series of blogs- in fact, this blog is a very silly idea - dont you think - you do?? yes! that is good! you don't?? you are very silly!! the reason is this- haha what did you expect a serious reason- haha you will get it- now the reason is that - hehe what a let down- oki oki- the reason is that - first calculate the time and money you spend on writing this desperate attempt at creativity- now- why dont you simply admit it that you are all a lot of silly uncreative people- uncreative i mean not bodily- dont mis-take it- i mean there are somethings you can do and some you cant why not accept it and move ahead you bunch of losers!! now yes- the time you spend typing- some people actually type offline and post it afterwards- which my sister doesnt which is plain waste of telephone service emergency time- what is that?? you didnt know?? very silly indeed!! you did?? haha nothing such as that exists!! so - yes why not spend that time which is more- creative? no- not the word i was looking for - but it will do- creative as in mentally- you got it? good - i mean you can be physically creative but not- you get it?? yes oki now my sister wants me to stop this gibberish and let her type - so this supremely unjust acts robs you - of the opportunity to read on the finest of mankind's exteriontology- what is that?? you dont know?? pathetic!! you do?? haha impossible- doesnt exist!! so just get lost you gullible bunch of boors - go and polish your shoes instead!!
--if the gunners were a soccer team they would be called Assnals --
PS. Don't take his word on anything... it's all a blabber he can't spit out any place else...
guest column- by genius brother
this is going to be the most valuable post in this entire series of blogs- in fact, this blog is a very silly idea - dont you think - you do?? yes! that is good! you don't?? you are very silly!! the reason is this- haha what did you expect a serious reason- haha you will get it- now the reason is that - hehe what a let down- oki oki- the reason is that - first calculate the time and money you spend on writing this desperate attempt at creativity- now- why dont you simply admit it that you are all a lot of silly uncreative people- uncreative i mean not bodily- dont mis-take it- i mean there are somethings you can do and some you cant why not accept it and move ahead you bunch of losers!! now yes- the time you spend typing- some people actually type offline and post it afterwards- which my sister doesnt which is plain waste of telephone service emergency time- what is that?? you didnt know?? very silly indeed!! you did?? haha nothing such as that exists!! so - yes why not spend that time which is more- creative? no- not the word i was looking for - but it will do- creative as in mentally- you got it? good - i mean you can be physically creative but not- you get it?? yes oki now my sister wants me to stop this gibberish and let her type - so this supremely unjust acts robs you - of the opportunity to read on the finest of mankind's exteriontology- what is that?? you dont know?? pathetic!! you do?? haha impossible- doesnt exist!! so just get lost you gullible bunch of boors - go and polish your shoes instead!!
--if the gunners were a soccer team they would be called Assnals --
Monday, December 12, 2005
quake
The geography specialists say that a strong earthquake could hit Kathmandu anytime now. They predicted it - within 6 yrs. and that's coming to an end i think.
They say, it's going to be so deadly - Kathmandu will liquidate - move like water. It's like something that was in Kashmir and Pakistan area, and Afganistan. And we have little hope for here as the houses are all weakly made and of concrete cement basically.
It would be quite unfortunate to lose so much of such a nice city. I shouldn't be mourning before anything actually happens. But I am amazed at the foresight scientist can have these days. The tsunami was forecasted i hear. And i am worried about the lack of alertness of the Nepalese government on this issue. When are they ever going to wake up to these realities that if god forbid such a quake does take place, what are they going to do about such a huge mess that is going to be created? And what about all the people?
Do we hate politicians because they take up humane issues so less often?
They say, it's going to be so deadly - Kathmandu will liquidate - move like water. It's like something that was in Kashmir and Pakistan area, and Afganistan. And we have little hope for here as the houses are all weakly made and of concrete cement basically.
It would be quite unfortunate to lose so much of such a nice city. I shouldn't be mourning before anything actually happens. But I am amazed at the foresight scientist can have these days. The tsunami was forecasted i hear. And i am worried about the lack of alertness of the Nepalese government on this issue. When are they ever going to wake up to these realities that if god forbid such a quake does take place, what are they going to do about such a huge mess that is going to be created? And what about all the people?
Do we hate politicians because they take up humane issues so less often?
3 hrs
Got final exam from the 14th. Can't believe I watched two movies today. As good as it gets. I watched it for the third time today. Jack Nicholsan and Helen Hunt. Seemed like I had forgotten the movie.
As I planned to finish up my case studies on the PC, there's my brother with Green Street Hooligans. Elijah Wood is so different from Lord of the Rings. But it's a nicely made movie. Gets pretty real.
Only about a week back I watched Crash. I loved the movie. It's like puzzles put together.
As I planned to finish up my case studies on the PC, there's my brother with Green Street Hooligans. Elijah Wood is so different from Lord of the Rings. But it's a nicely made movie. Gets pretty real.
Only about a week back I watched Crash. I loved the movie. It's like puzzles put together.
Sunday, December 11, 2005
warm words
viticulture - cultivation of grapes
vertigo. think.serendipity.ramble.pluck.twaak!...blog.slut.transcendental empiricism.orange.
40% of the body heat goes off from the top of one's head. A cap is that important in staying warm.
Warmth.
A warm hand. A warm heater by your side. Mother's touch. The warm tea cup. Lunch. Warmth of a sunbask. A warm overused TV set. A warm look?
Warm water on a cold day. Warm water on a hot day. Slipping into a warm quilt of someone else. A warm smile?
Warm colors: orange, brown... stuffy warm. AC warm. Warm blood. A warm Boot. A warm bath. A warm animal body. Mouse. Dog. A warm kiss?
A warm hug. Warm sensation after a drink. A warm headache. Nervous warmth. A warm evening sky. A warm bonfire. Warm bhaktapur milk. Warmth of your own room. A warm face.
A warm seat. A warm handshake. A warm pocket. Pair of warm shoes. Warmth under the pillow. Warm hair in the sun. Warm jacket. Snuggly warm. Crouched warm. Warm air from the mouth as you warm your hand. A warm electric bulb after you plug it off. A warm hand. A warm slap. Warm sensation after you get spanked. A warm hot water bag. Sick man's warm. Feverish warm. Sweaty warm. Indifferent warm? A warm hand on the back. A warm massage. Warm Vicks during cold. Warm ointments. A warm welcome. A warm goodbye.
vertigo. think.serendipity.ramble.pluck.twaak!...blog.slut.transcendental empiricism.orange.
40% of the body heat goes off from the top of one's head. A cap is that important in staying warm.
Warmth.
A warm hand. A warm heater by your side. Mother's touch. The warm tea cup. Lunch. Warmth of a sunbask. A warm overused TV set. A warm look?
Warm water on a cold day. Warm water on a hot day. Slipping into a warm quilt of someone else. A warm smile?
Warm colors: orange, brown... stuffy warm. AC warm. Warm blood. A warm Boot. A warm bath. A warm animal body. Mouse. Dog. A warm kiss?
A warm hug. Warm sensation after a drink. A warm headache. Nervous warmth. A warm evening sky. A warm bonfire. Warm bhaktapur milk. Warmth of your own room. A warm face.
A warm seat. A warm handshake. A warm pocket. Pair of warm shoes. Warmth under the pillow. Warm hair in the sun. Warm jacket. Snuggly warm. Crouched warm. Warm air from the mouth as you warm your hand. A warm electric bulb after you plug it off. A warm hand. A warm slap. Warm sensation after you get spanked. A warm hot water bag. Sick man's warm. Feverish warm. Sweaty warm. Indifferent warm? A warm hand on the back. A warm massage. Warm Vicks during cold. Warm ointments. A warm welcome. A warm goodbye.
Saturday, December 10, 2005
blue moon
Because of you
I forgot the smart ways to lie
Because of you
I'm running out of reasons to cry
- Shakira (Underneath your clothes)
How does it feel to be romantic?
Is it stupid? No, it isn't. It's healthy I suppose.
Is it tiring? I find it tiring. It draws out the energy.
How would Howard Roark react?
How would Raskolnikov feel romantic?
How about Yossarian?
Where and how do people find those words - all mushy - when they are romantic?
Is it just Hindi movies, Hollywood, love songs that fuel the romantic conversations that people have? What chances does a laymen have to be originally romantic without borrowing one of the dialogues or a song lyric?
"I once had a sweetheart, but now i have none. He's gone and he's left me to weep and to moan. He's gone and he's left me, but contented I'll be, for I'll get another one, better than he!"
My eyes fell on these words as the book slowly slipped off from my brother's hands as he went into a slumber . The cover read Alice Munro - The Progress of Love. The words are referred to as some song the mother sang to she and Beryl. Page 9.
I forgot the smart ways to lie
Because of you
I'm running out of reasons to cry
- Shakira (Underneath your clothes)
How does it feel to be romantic?
Is it stupid? No, it isn't. It's healthy I suppose.
Is it tiring? I find it tiring. It draws out the energy.
How would Howard Roark react?
How would Raskolnikov feel romantic?
How about Yossarian?
Where and how do people find those words - all mushy - when they are romantic?
Is it just Hindi movies, Hollywood, love songs that fuel the romantic conversations that people have? What chances does a laymen have to be originally romantic without borrowing one of the dialogues or a song lyric?
"I once had a sweetheart, but now i have none. He's gone and he's left me to weep and to moan. He's gone and he's left me, but contented I'll be, for I'll get another one, better than he!"
My eyes fell on these words as the book slowly slipped off from my brother's hands as he went into a slumber . The cover read Alice Munro - The Progress of Love. The words are referred to as some song the mother sang to she and Beryl. Page 9.
Wednesday, December 07, 2005
Remembering Sara
I remember reading "A Little Princess" when I was 12.
I re-read it a few months back.
I have always remembered the book since i first read it. It had completely caputured me.
I read it a second time a few months back, and it did the same.
In my opinion it is a Children's book, written for adults. Sara is one of the most beautiful characters i have come across. Her voice and innocence, and all that goodness intrigues me like anything.
(A Little Princess by Frances Hodgson Burnett, 1905. Less than 200 pages)
I re-read it a few months back.
I have always remembered the book since i first read it. It had completely caputured me.
I read it a second time a few months back, and it did the same.
In my opinion it is a Children's book, written for adults. Sara is one of the most beautiful characters i have come across. Her voice and innocence, and all that goodness intrigues me like anything.
(A Little Princess by Frances Hodgson Burnett, 1905. Less than 200 pages)
Tuesday, December 06, 2005
B.. Zzzz... as a Bee
All day: Had a few bites here and there. A few nimbles there and here.
11 am: "Yathartha"
12 am: "Karythemix"
12:30 pm: "Five"
1 pm: "11/11". Haku Patasi remixed was how we looked at the presentation. Three girls with black choloz with red borders. - "Bhaktapur in 17 mins", musical bhaktapur . Hope the others had fun watching it as much as we had fun showing it. First time, can't say how the movie was - good or bad - from the consumer's side. I kinda have a hint feeling how company overlook their simplest points on their brands.
2 pm: In prep of presentation.
4 pm: Two girls in the middle of NewRoad - without a care in the world, frantically in search of a warm cum warm-looking jacket for a 6 footer.
8 pm: Face to face with the other side of the world. Presentations.
11 pm: Trying desperately to stay awake with rum balls beside.
2 am: Fast asleep with sudden jolts of open eyes on thought of tomorrowz semi-prepared presentation.
4 am: Here I am...
Wish me luck! We need to atleast be at this presentation with something, if not wholly rock it.
11 am: "Yathartha"
12 am: "Karythemix"
12:30 pm: "Five"
1 pm: "11/11". Haku Patasi remixed was how we looked at the presentation. Three girls with black choloz with red borders. - "Bhaktapur in 17 mins", musical bhaktapur . Hope the others had fun watching it as much as we had fun showing it. First time, can't say how the movie was - good or bad - from the consumer's side. I kinda have a hint feeling how company overlook their simplest points on their brands.
2 pm: In prep of presentation.
4 pm: Two girls in the middle of NewRoad - without a care in the world, frantically in search of a warm cum warm-looking jacket for a 6 footer.
8 pm: Face to face with the other side of the world. Presentations.
11 pm: Trying desperately to stay awake with rum balls beside.
2 am: Fast asleep with sudden jolts of open eyes on thought of tomorrowz semi-prepared presentation.
4 am: Here I am...
Wish me luck! We need to atleast be at this presentation with something, if not wholly rock it.
Monday, December 05, 2005
I shall
All of us plan. Plan about today. The next hour. The next day. The next week, month... We all have plans for our future. We donot tell. We donot write. But it is just there in our mind... like a thin layer..plans. Some of us call it vision. Some the dreams. Some of us just want it... will it... or shall it.
I plan ... I plan to read James Joyce someday. But today i am busy.
I plan to visit my grandmom for a whole day and listen to her, be with her. But this week I can't make it. Nor the next.
I plan to surprise my long lost friends from school someday. But the time is not right today. It's too sunny or too cold.
I plan to buy my mom a nice, cute dog that she will love to feed each day. Today I don't just have enough money.
I dream of writing a book, making a documentary. I can't do it now.
I will buy the most khatara laptop in town. And listen to the most gorgeous music in a sophisticated system. Where? when? how?
I will lose my extra fabs and look beautiful like so many other girls. I don't want it just right now. I like the way I am.
I will buy my best friend the most beautiful gift for her wedding. I can't think of any, it's too overwhelming.
I want to travel. Travel so far and wide. I can't think how.
I shall read. And I will read all that I have always wanted to. Now, I just don't have the time. I am too busy.
I will do all these and I will still plan. Whatever i do, wherever i am, i will dream. Dream away for the next day, week and year. Maybe that is the only way to expect tomorrow, and live this day.
I plan ... I plan to read James Joyce someday. But today i am busy.
I plan to visit my grandmom for a whole day and listen to her, be with her. But this week I can't make it. Nor the next.
I plan to surprise my long lost friends from school someday. But the time is not right today. It's too sunny or too cold.
I plan to buy my mom a nice, cute dog that she will love to feed each day. Today I don't just have enough money.
I dream of writing a book, making a documentary. I can't do it now.
I will buy the most khatara laptop in town. And listen to the most gorgeous music in a sophisticated system. Where? when? how?
I will lose my extra fabs and look beautiful like so many other girls. I don't want it just right now. I like the way I am.
I will buy my best friend the most beautiful gift for her wedding. I can't think of any, it's too overwhelming.
I want to travel. Travel so far and wide. I can't think how.
I shall read. And I will read all that I have always wanted to. Now, I just don't have the time. I am too busy.
I will do all these and I will still plan. Whatever i do, wherever i am, i will dream. Dream away for the next day, week and year. Maybe that is the only way to expect tomorrow, and live this day.
Sunday, December 04, 2005
Veg matter
Meta perceptions: the ideas we have about other’s ideas about us. Some think about this. Some are haunted by it. And the rest don’t care I suppose.
Talking about vegetarianism is difficult for me because I am far from being a vegetarian. However, what leads me to write this are my friends who are. I have different kinds of “only veg” friends ranging from no tomatoes, no garlic to only fish and egg vegetarians. What is green about fish and egg, I wonder.
It is difficult to explain to my vegetarian friend what is so great about eating other animals, and taking other lives as she puts it. I counter by saying – it’s not animals dear, neither have we taken any lives. They are meat; one, and we rear them so that we eat them. It’s like planting green vegetables in your kitchen garden, only to pluck them later.
It’s odd talking to her about meat and fish. It rings in my head: She doesn’t know the taste of meat. You must find me odd; she says sometimes, that I don’t eat any of those stuff you really relish. I ask her: Can you imagine a person who thinks eating apple and bananas and potatoes is sin? I raise my eyebrows and give a smile, wondering what she thinks of me? Metaperceptions.
Being a vegetarian or a non-vegetarian boils down to issues like ethnicity, caste and creed, or religion. It’s more about that rather than ones own belief or an individualistic stand. The majority is “born” a vegetarian or a meat and fish kind.
However recent trends have seen shifts toward the vegetarian kind giving it the benefit of being healthier and pure. However, it is difficult living as a vegetarian in a society where every house you go to has either meat or egg to offer as the side dish. This is drawn from my one year of experience as a vesgetarian, which I should not deny I enjoyed except the too frequent squabbles at each family gathering in or outside my own home.
Non-vegetarians among their vegetarian kins are scorned in their extreme extent as untouchables and vegetarians are looked with awe among their meat and fish eating pals. I always wonder why?
It is still difficult in more meat-eating families like Newars, and vegetarian families like the Marwaris, to accept the other eating habit in their daily menus.
However, among friends it is always enjoyable having diverse culture and a mix of thoughts, opinions and culture. I have savored many meals of vegetarian diet, and happily been introduced to the other side of happy eating. It is a pretty delicious idea for those stuck to the hard and fast meat kind to try such palate pleasure once in while.
(article drawn from personal experience)
Talking about vegetarianism is difficult for me because I am far from being a vegetarian. However, what leads me to write this are my friends who are. I have different kinds of “only veg” friends ranging from no tomatoes, no garlic to only fish and egg vegetarians. What is green about fish and egg, I wonder.
It is difficult to explain to my vegetarian friend what is so great about eating other animals, and taking other lives as she puts it. I counter by saying – it’s not animals dear, neither have we taken any lives. They are meat; one, and we rear them so that we eat them. It’s like planting green vegetables in your kitchen garden, only to pluck them later.
It’s odd talking to her about meat and fish. It rings in my head: She doesn’t know the taste of meat. You must find me odd; she says sometimes, that I don’t eat any of those stuff you really relish. I ask her: Can you imagine a person who thinks eating apple and bananas and potatoes is sin? I raise my eyebrows and give a smile, wondering what she thinks of me? Metaperceptions.
Being a vegetarian or a non-vegetarian boils down to issues like ethnicity, caste and creed, or religion. It’s more about that rather than ones own belief or an individualistic stand. The majority is “born” a vegetarian or a meat and fish kind.
However recent trends have seen shifts toward the vegetarian kind giving it the benefit of being healthier and pure. However, it is difficult living as a vegetarian in a society where every house you go to has either meat or egg to offer as the side dish. This is drawn from my one year of experience as a vesgetarian, which I should not deny I enjoyed except the too frequent squabbles at each family gathering in or outside my own home.
Non-vegetarians among their vegetarian kins are scorned in their extreme extent as untouchables and vegetarians are looked with awe among their meat and fish eating pals. I always wonder why?
It is still difficult in more meat-eating families like Newars, and vegetarian families like the Marwaris, to accept the other eating habit in their daily menus.
However, among friends it is always enjoyable having diverse culture and a mix of thoughts, opinions and culture. I have savored many meals of vegetarian diet, and happily been introduced to the other side of happy eating. It is a pretty delicious idea for those stuck to the hard and fast meat kind to try such palate pleasure once in while.
(article drawn from personal experience)
Six girls and Two bikes
I had the title as "six girls and two scooters", when i heard two of them shouting at the same time "oye! scooter ho yo?!?"
Six girls ... three years back remind me of ...
six girls and two bikes.
bumps on the bagmati bridge.
Jaggu's pizza.
Janvi's grins.
Long lectures.
Internals. Internals and more internals.
Canteen.
Parties.
Dances. Wine.
Bhogate sadeko...
Momo at Snehacha's place.
Soni's purple lehenga...
B'day parties...
Bakery... Sumai... chaats and samosas
Uncuttable cakes ... at downtown...
gate bandh at 6:30..ha ha that was fun...
hetauda...sauraha... and alcoa...:)
Nagarkot - sunrise and the chill.
People wori pari - soni ko dai and jaggu ko bhai,
phone calls, phone calls and more phone calls.
stupid squabbles in the class, the punching sessions... wow!
Jaggu's punctuality... soni's otherwise...
Cold morning wait for Safa tempo! uff....chiiiso!
Movies and more movies.
Haku. Kale. Brownie and Kelly. what was the other? Angel!
Presentations, deadlines and scoldings.
Grades. Results and convocation!
What you say? That was fun eh!?
Six girls ... three years back remind me of ...
six girls and two bikes.
bumps on the bagmati bridge.
Jaggu's pizza.
Janvi's grins.
Long lectures.
Internals. Internals and more internals.
Canteen.
Parties.
Dances. Wine.
Bhogate sadeko...
Momo at Snehacha's place.
Soni's purple lehenga...
B'day parties...
Bakery... Sumai... chaats and samosas
Uncuttable cakes ... at downtown...
gate bandh at 6:30..ha ha that was fun...
hetauda...sauraha... and alcoa...:)
Nagarkot - sunrise and the chill.
People wori pari - soni ko dai and jaggu ko bhai,
phone calls, phone calls and more phone calls.
stupid squabbles in the class, the punching sessions... wow!
Jaggu's punctuality... soni's otherwise...
Cold morning wait for Safa tempo! uff....chiiiso!
Movies and more movies.
Haku. Kale. Brownie and Kelly. what was the other? Angel!
Presentations, deadlines and scoldings.
Grades. Results and convocation!
What you say? That was fun eh!?
Lost in paradise
Home. College. Friends.
Food. Jeans. Assignments.
Up. down. Stairs and more stairs.
Open eyes. Intact ears. Moving limbs.
Digestion's fine. Heartbeat normal.
Pulse 78. Temperature 98 degree F.
Normal. Everything's normal.
Yet lost.
Lost in Paradise?
Food. Jeans. Assignments.
Up. down. Stairs and more stairs.
Open eyes. Intact ears. Moving limbs.
Digestion's fine. Heartbeat normal.
Pulse 78. Temperature 98 degree F.
Normal. Everything's normal.
Yet lost.
Lost in Paradise?
Friday, December 02, 2005
emanon
I found out that my little mouse likes milk.
It's nice to know someone's favorite and to give it to them.
It so nice to see someone else happy. It's one of the best pleasures in life.
The other one is stand and stare, in the words of Robert Frost?
I have been trying to find his poem which goes - What is life if you don't have time to stand and stare...
It's nice to know someone's favorite and to give it to them.
It so nice to see someone else happy. It's one of the best pleasures in life.
The other one is stand and stare, in the words of Robert Frost?
I have been trying to find his poem which goes - What is life if you don't have time to stand and stare...
Thursday, December 01, 2005
Questions
Is it important to enjoy small moments in life - everyday. Or, is it more important to achieve greater results in a lifetime.
Is it important what others think of you and how they take you? Or, is it more important how you feel about yourself?
Is it true that people try to become what they are not, and what they seem they reallya are not?
Is it true that our sense organs are not to be depended on for realism and the only realistic thing we can be sure of is logic?
Is it true that too much familiarity breeds contempt?
Is it true that we avoid the ultimate truth of our lives - death- each day?
Is it true that liberalization of each state is vital for its economic development?
Is it true that blue reminds people of cold and red of hot?
Is it true that all young girls are scared of marriage, at least nervours about it?
Who knows the answers?
Where shall i look?
When is it due?
Whom shall i ask?
Is this important?
Any use?
Black cat in a dark room? Does it bring gingerbread?
What use it then, surely. How true.
Is it important what others think of you and how they take you? Or, is it more important how you feel about yourself?
Is it true that people try to become what they are not, and what they seem they reallya are not?
Is it true that our sense organs are not to be depended on for realism and the only realistic thing we can be sure of is logic?
Is it true that too much familiarity breeds contempt?
Is it true that we avoid the ultimate truth of our lives - death- each day?
Is it true that liberalization of each state is vital for its economic development?
Is it true that blue reminds people of cold and red of hot?
Is it true that all young girls are scared of marriage, at least nervours about it?
Who knows the answers?
Where shall i look?
When is it due?
Whom shall i ask?
Is this important?
Any use?
Black cat in a dark room? Does it bring gingerbread?
What use it then, surely. How true.
Wednesday, November 30, 2005
Whyte
White.
White marble stone. Stone paved courtyard. Tall white building. All white. White is clean. White is serene and peaceful. White is the color of spirits and ghosts. Lights are white. Pain is white. Pale is white. Milk, bananas, ice cream, tube lights, pages of a book, white quilt cover, snow, clouds, stars, white in the eye, white refrigerator, white daisies, white wash, snow white, a blank sheet is white. Space is white. Friendship is white. Truth is white. Teeth. Fingernails. The beach. Smiles are white.White word doc screen. White goods. White Styrofoam cups. White telephone set. White fever. White wash. White chalk stick. White. Milk. Beer foam. White whipped cream. White A4 size sheets. White house. Whiteness of a clean fresh shirt. White socks. White vests.White around eyeballs in your eye. White in the clock dials. White tubelight. And its white light. White electric switches. White microwave ovens. White people. Ying yang white. Pink and white. White strips in the middle of streets. White shoes laces. Black and white. Red and white: Coke.White Pepsi caps. White plastic. White sacks.White heeled shoes. White leather bags. White shoe polish. Mr. White detergent powder.White Rabbit the Chinese toffee. Dirty white keyboard that I type on.Dirty white socks that I wear. White semi-precious stones.White lies.White love.White tooth. White hair on old men’s head. White swan. White cranes. White pigeons.Black and white zebra.White polar bears.Little white mouse with pink eyes.Green and white stripped T-shirt in summer.Cool white cotton T-shirts.White Jeans.Doctor’s white coat.White tennis shoes.Black and white football.Germany’s white jersey.White body tight T-shirt.White Salwar Kameez.White bandage around the head.White plaster on broken hands and legs.White hair-ribbons on little girls.White uniform skirts of children.Albino white. Egg white. Napkin white. Candle stick white. Dictionary whites: white ant. Whitebait. White cell. White collar. White corpuscle. White elephant. White feather. White flag. White heat. White hope. White horses. White lead. White magic. White meat. White noise. White out. White paper. White pepper. White sauce. White spirit. White slave. White sugar. White tie. White wash. White wedding. White whale. Whitewood. Whitish white. Grayish white. Reddish white. Bluish white. Dull white. Vanilla white. Dazzling white. Boring white. Plastic white. Chalk white. Rough white. Scary white.This white background. Too much white? Where is white? What is white? Take a prism and see the white light? All reflected… all giving… that is white…unlike black…which takes in all. White. Only white.
White marble stone. Stone paved courtyard. Tall white building. All white. White is clean. White is serene and peaceful. White is the color of spirits and ghosts. Lights are white. Pain is white. Pale is white. Milk, bananas, ice cream, tube lights, pages of a book, white quilt cover, snow, clouds, stars, white in the eye, white refrigerator, white daisies, white wash, snow white, a blank sheet is white. Space is white. Friendship is white. Truth is white. Teeth. Fingernails. The beach. Smiles are white.White word doc screen. White goods. White Styrofoam cups. White telephone set. White fever. White wash. White chalk stick. White. Milk. Beer foam. White whipped cream. White A4 size sheets. White house. Whiteness of a clean fresh shirt. White socks. White vests.White around eyeballs in your eye. White in the clock dials. White tubelight. And its white light. White electric switches. White microwave ovens. White people. Ying yang white. Pink and white. White strips in the middle of streets. White shoes laces. Black and white. Red and white: Coke.White Pepsi caps. White plastic. White sacks.White heeled shoes. White leather bags. White shoe polish. Mr. White detergent powder.White Rabbit the Chinese toffee. Dirty white keyboard that I type on.Dirty white socks that I wear. White semi-precious stones.White lies.White love.White tooth. White hair on old men’s head. White swan. White cranes. White pigeons.Black and white zebra.White polar bears.Little white mouse with pink eyes.Green and white stripped T-shirt in summer.Cool white cotton T-shirts.White Jeans.Doctor’s white coat.White tennis shoes.Black and white football.Germany’s white jersey.White body tight T-shirt.White Salwar Kameez.White bandage around the head.White plaster on broken hands and legs.White hair-ribbons on little girls.White uniform skirts of children.Albino white. Egg white. Napkin white. Candle stick white. Dictionary whites: white ant. Whitebait. White cell. White collar. White corpuscle. White elephant. White feather. White flag. White heat. White hope. White horses. White lead. White magic. White meat. White noise. White out. White paper. White pepper. White sauce. White spirit. White slave. White sugar. White tie. White wash. White wedding. White whale. Whitewood. Whitish white. Grayish white. Reddish white. Bluish white. Dull white. Vanilla white. Dazzling white. Boring white. Plastic white. Chalk white. Rough white. Scary white.This white background. Too much white? Where is white? What is white? Take a prism and see the white light? All reflected… all giving… that is white…unlike black…which takes in all. White. Only white.
Sunday, November 27, 2005
sam-O-shaz
I have nothing to write today.
All i remember is hot masala tea, chatamari and hot tarkari, heavy lunch, stupid sa exam i didn't prepare for... stupid two cases i cudn't decipher... they were that simple? or was i too unprepared! Unsatisfied WOMs. Evening walks. Blank faces. Utterly bright Angan mithaiwala. 12 samosas. Laughters. Giggles. And the radiating friendship we share. Three girls passing time in leisure - books, music and bed -as if ... this is life! yaar! what else?
All i remember is hot masala tea, chatamari and hot tarkari, heavy lunch, stupid sa exam i didn't prepare for... stupid two cases i cudn't decipher... they were that simple? or was i too unprepared! Unsatisfied WOMs. Evening walks. Blank faces. Utterly bright Angan mithaiwala. 12 samosas. Laughters. Giggles. And the radiating friendship we share. Three girls passing time in leisure - books, music and bed -as if ... this is life! yaar! what else?
Saturday, November 26, 2005
tinnie and twiniee
I know a mouse, and he hasn't got a house.
I don't know why. I call him Gerald.
He's getting rather old, but he's a good mouse.
- Bike, Floyd
Mom got us two tiny mice yesterday. They are as white as talcum powder - more than those - as snow??
White
Fluffy
Tiny
So delicate
And cute
Long tails
pink eyes
They live in their Carton Box.
Arvind made a hole just the right size for them to enter and exit. And they use it pretty efficiently.
We were blank on what to treat to our new guests with - so we resorted to the packet of Cheese Balls that its previous owner had sent along as a parting gift.
Even mice can survive on junk food!! why not America?
Anyways I can't still think of names ... anyone good at nomenclature? They are two - can't say them apart - I thought maybe naming them would help! :O !
I don't know why. I call him Gerald.
He's getting rather old, but he's a good mouse.
- Bike, Floyd
Mom got us two tiny mice yesterday. They are as white as talcum powder - more than those - as snow??
White
Fluffy
Tiny
So delicate
And cute
Long tails
pink eyes
They live in their Carton Box.
Arvind made a hole just the right size for them to enter and exit. And they use it pretty efficiently.
We were blank on what to treat to our new guests with - so we resorted to the packet of Cheese Balls that its previous owner had sent along as a parting gift.
Even mice can survive on junk food!! why not America?
Anyways I can't still think of names ... anyone good at nomenclature? They are two - can't say them apart - I thought maybe naming them would help! :O !
Baji, Wo and Haku Musya
About a week ago we took a family trip to the World Heritage Site - Changu Narayan. Well, this is not my first time. I have been to this temple almost every year as far as I can remember except for a few exceptions. However, each year I feel different going to this age old temple. Every year around this time I realize how we have grown over the years - as a family and as individuals.
The same rituals seem a little more complicated, a little more easier. Why this and not that? I question more. Lets do it a shortcut way. I propose. I organize and I plan. There are a hundred and one things that needs to be taken care of.
There is the usual Samay Baji with a full fledged Bhwe that we prepare. It is basically a newari Bhwe cum a puja cum a picnic. Baji, Wo, Haku Musya (black soyabean), Bhuti (Bodi, Beans), Chwela (Buff meat), dried and fried fish, with some marinated ginger are the basic items in a Samay Jwalaa (set). I now forget what each thing represents but each item has its distinct significance in a Samay set. Can you believe this, each Haku Musya on your plate, the soyabeans, represent a live sacrificial Buffalo. Ever since I heard of this , I cudn't get it out of my mind. More so, due to the resemblance of a black musya to the black buffalo. How could they think of it man!
King Mandev II built the temple. It is still the same basically. People are surprized how it survived the big quake that hit Kathmandu. The surroundings have become a little more nosier, and little signs of the urbane world have cropped up in the vicinity with the interest of the young generation to attract tourists and visitors. Little eat outs, a bus stand, red & white Coke , small tourist shops selling curios seem a spillover from any other tourist destination around Kathmandu.
I panted less this time as I took the so familiar climb uphill. The temple courtyard is a steep climb uphill just about 15 minutes.
I stood in awe as I faced the temple's magnificient architecture. The carvings are very minute, and intricately done. There are beautiful wooden portrayals of gods and goddesses. The temple rests atop the hill as a lion rests under a tree. It is beautiful, it is powerful and it attracts people . It rests so softly and magnificiently. You get a swooping view of the cupped valley below.
Among the many interesting legends this temple holds, one of them is about a single rice grain. Myths and legends hold that long time back in Kathmandu, before people cooked rice (still the staple), all they needed was a single grain of rice. They put it in a pot as big as they wanted the quantity of rice. And when you put it to boil, the pot would be full. A single grain of rice when cooked would fill any pot you cooked it in.
The twist is here. An oversmart jerk got too curious and greedy. He broke a grain of rice into two halves and tried cooking it the same way to save an extra grain. The gods were angry at this miserly act and never showed bestowed the miracle again. We get as much cooked rice as we put to boil today. Wow. This is as much I can remember of the story. And Changu Narayan holds one of the legendary rice grains. It is hung up high on one of its main facade. You can see a white grain as big as a Rugby ball propped up behind a pillar.
There are many other stories, and incidents connected to the temple. Beside the main temple, in the same courtyard is a more flatter structure stretched lengthwise. This is the temple we go to each year. It was built by one of our ancestors. It holds 13 goddesses - they are different forms of the goddess Kali. The main deity among these is the Chhindamasta Devi. The word literally translated means the headless goddess. And it is true that all idols of the goddess found anywhere is without the head. She is a very powerful goddess it is believed. And she holds her head in one of her hands, the blood still dripping.
There are other smaller structure built around the courtyard.
Anyways, once again I have been to Changu. It is a small place to spend the day. There is nothing besides the mound on which the temple rests. But it is an ideal destination if you are into architectures and want to take a short trip around Kathmandu.
The same rituals seem a little more complicated, a little more easier. Why this and not that? I question more. Lets do it a shortcut way. I propose. I organize and I plan. There are a hundred and one things that needs to be taken care of.
There is the usual Samay Baji with a full fledged Bhwe that we prepare. It is basically a newari Bhwe cum a puja cum a picnic. Baji, Wo, Haku Musya (black soyabean), Bhuti (Bodi, Beans), Chwela (Buff meat), dried and fried fish, with some marinated ginger are the basic items in a Samay Jwalaa (set). I now forget what each thing represents but each item has its distinct significance in a Samay set. Can you believe this, each Haku Musya on your plate, the soyabeans, represent a live sacrificial Buffalo. Ever since I heard of this , I cudn't get it out of my mind. More so, due to the resemblance of a black musya to the black buffalo. How could they think of it man!
King Mandev II built the temple. It is still the same basically. People are surprized how it survived the big quake that hit Kathmandu. The surroundings have become a little more nosier, and little signs of the urbane world have cropped up in the vicinity with the interest of the young generation to attract tourists and visitors. Little eat outs, a bus stand, red & white Coke , small tourist shops selling curios seem a spillover from any other tourist destination around Kathmandu.
I panted less this time as I took the so familiar climb uphill. The temple courtyard is a steep climb uphill just about 15 minutes.
I stood in awe as I faced the temple's magnificient architecture. The carvings are very minute, and intricately done. There are beautiful wooden portrayals of gods and goddesses. The temple rests atop the hill as a lion rests under a tree. It is beautiful, it is powerful and it attracts people . It rests so softly and magnificiently. You get a swooping view of the cupped valley below.
Among the many interesting legends this temple holds, one of them is about a single rice grain. Myths and legends hold that long time back in Kathmandu, before people cooked rice (still the staple), all they needed was a single grain of rice. They put it in a pot as big as they wanted the quantity of rice. And when you put it to boil, the pot would be full. A single grain of rice when cooked would fill any pot you cooked it in.
The twist is here. An oversmart jerk got too curious and greedy. He broke a grain of rice into two halves and tried cooking it the same way to save an extra grain. The gods were angry at this miserly act and never showed bestowed the miracle again. We get as much cooked rice as we put to boil today. Wow. This is as much I can remember of the story. And Changu Narayan holds one of the legendary rice grains. It is hung up high on one of its main facade. You can see a white grain as big as a Rugby ball propped up behind a pillar.
There are many other stories, and incidents connected to the temple. Beside the main temple, in the same courtyard is a more flatter structure stretched lengthwise. This is the temple we go to each year. It was built by one of our ancestors. It holds 13 goddesses - they are different forms of the goddess Kali. The main deity among these is the Chhindamasta Devi. The word literally translated means the headless goddess. And it is true that all idols of the goddess found anywhere is without the head. She is a very powerful goddess it is believed. And she holds her head in one of her hands, the blood still dripping.
There are other smaller structure built around the courtyard.
Anyways, once again I have been to Changu. It is a small place to spend the day. There is nothing besides the mound on which the temple rests. But it is an ideal destination if you are into architectures and want to take a short trip around Kathmandu.
Thursday, November 24, 2005
Play Cold
how long before I get in
before it starts,
before I begin?
how long before you decide
before I know what it feels like ?
where to?
Where do I go?
if you've never tried
then you'll never know.
how long do I have to climb
up on the side of this mountain of mine?
- Speed of Sound, ColdPlay
What is today? What will be tomorrow?
did i care about these things yesterday? So, why do i care today?
Milan started something with "Please don't mind ........"
I replied " Who has a mind?"
Confused existence.
Magnetic poetry is good. It brings out that wackiness out-ov-u.
What would i really like to write about? I promised Vid today i would someday make a documentary, a movie out of the six of us. i also admitted that it would be heck of a job finding a character to suit her role. There are few loud people in the world with her level of literature, and a sense of humor with that whisp of innocence, level of romanticism apart.
Milan would be difficult to portray too. Without certain idiosyncracies he has, the character would loose its flavor. His hand movements, the facial expressions would be a pretty hefty task to work on apart from the heavy training i would impart on the character on politeness and vocab.
Creating a complex one like Shalin would be tiresome but easier as i can impose a lot of what i know on it. Contact lenses for the vuwu eyes, fashionable dresses, a casio on the rt wrist, and some more details would do for the physique i hope. Anyways, it's not as easy as i think it would be.
Diben and Nidhi are dan-ngai left. Let's C. For the moment Play Cold.
before it starts,
before I begin?
how long before you decide
before I know what it feels like ?
where to?
Where do I go?
if you've never tried
then you'll never know.
how long do I have to climb
up on the side of this mountain of mine?
- Speed of Sound, ColdPlay
What is today? What will be tomorrow?
did i care about these things yesterday? So, why do i care today?
Milan started something with "Please don't mind ........"
I replied " Who has a mind?"
Confused existence.
Magnetic poetry is good. It brings out that wackiness out-ov-u.
What would i really like to write about? I promised Vid today i would someday make a documentary, a movie out of the six of us. i also admitted that it would be heck of a job finding a character to suit her role. There are few loud people in the world with her level of literature, and a sense of humor with that whisp of innocence, level of romanticism apart.
Milan would be difficult to portray too. Without certain idiosyncracies he has, the character would loose its flavor. His hand movements, the facial expressions would be a pretty hefty task to work on apart from the heavy training i would impart on the character on politeness and vocab.
Creating a complex one like Shalin would be tiresome but easier as i can impose a lot of what i know on it. Contact lenses for the vuwu eyes, fashionable dresses, a casio on the rt wrist, and some more details would do for the physique i hope. Anyways, it's not as easy as i think it would be.
Diben and Nidhi are dan-ngai left. Let's C. For the moment Play Cold.
Thursday, November 17, 2005
my second ramble
What do i remember?
of this day?
i remember scrabble... the chocoalates... the "Valiant"
What will i remember tomorrow? maybe the traffic that made me late to the discussion?
the rare birds (frequent flyers) that chirped outside my window this morning?
Maybe the traffic outside...
Starts early morning with a few honks and tonks of the big runners, the trucks and the buses....
Whoozing bikes join in a little latter with the tweek and twanggg......
by office hour.... it is a background music to the ear with a constant hum hhmmmmm............... all day.
maybe i will remember the chill outside. The cold feet i had yesterday night in bed. maybe i will remember the lost pair of socks i cudn't find in the jumbled room.
maybe i will rember "five point someone" i just finished. may be i will remember chetan's portrayal of friendship made, lost and regained. maybe i will remember alok and hari and forget ryan.
maybe instead of them, i will remember my own friendships for a change. maybe i will concentrate just on me. maybe i will remember my own three pointers, frienships i gained and lost past few years.
maybe i will stare at the clock, and wonder how the hands seem to freeze as you watch them more intensely. and how hours skip by when you let them be. maybe i will remember more things with the clock. 6 am- the morining chill, 7 am - a hot cup of tea, 9 am - gettinig late, 11 am- nothing in particular, 2 pm - late for lunch, 4 pm- day's gone, what i did today?, 5 pm- mom will be home soon...
or, maybe i will not remember at all. maybe i will just be here, and remain blank - just space out. maybe i will be me and nothing more.
of this day?
i remember scrabble... the chocoalates... the "Valiant"
What will i remember tomorrow? maybe the traffic that made me late to the discussion?
the rare birds (frequent flyers) that chirped outside my window this morning?
Maybe the traffic outside...
Starts early morning with a few honks and tonks of the big runners, the trucks and the buses....
Whoozing bikes join in a little latter with the tweek and twanggg......
by office hour.... it is a background music to the ear with a constant hum hhmmmmm............... all day.
maybe i will remember the chill outside. The cold feet i had yesterday night in bed. maybe i will remember the lost pair of socks i cudn't find in the jumbled room.
maybe i will rember "five point someone" i just finished. may be i will remember chetan's portrayal of friendship made, lost and regained. maybe i will remember alok and hari and forget ryan.
maybe instead of them, i will remember my own friendships for a change. maybe i will concentrate just on me. maybe i will remember my own three pointers, frienships i gained and lost past few years.
maybe i will stare at the clock, and wonder how the hands seem to freeze as you watch them more intensely. and how hours skip by when you let them be. maybe i will remember more things with the clock. 6 am- the morining chill, 7 am - a hot cup of tea, 9 am - gettinig late, 11 am- nothing in particular, 2 pm - late for lunch, 4 pm- day's gone, what i did today?, 5 pm- mom will be home soon...
or, maybe i will not remember at all. maybe i will just be here, and remain blank - just space out. maybe i will be me and nothing more.
Monday, November 14, 2005
My first ramble
As is seems customary in every blog sites, let me first welcome my readers! Welcome che!
I deleted an old experimental blog to create this one. Regularity is important i guess, which i would try to maintain here.
Blogs:
colorful blogs...
uncolored blogs...
blue colored blogs...
bubbly blogs like mine..
too many pictured blogs...
all black blogs...
easily opened blogs...
multi linked blogs...
funny blogs...
personal blogs..
satirical blogs...
hobby-fied blogs... (talking of ones hobby)
too many spelling mistake blogs...
constantly updated blogs...
stale blogs...
fresh blogs...
steaming blogs...
topic specific blogs...
queer blogs...
weird blogs...
stupefying blogs...
interactive blogs...
commented blogs...
boring blogs...
jargoned blogs...
cute blogs...
crucified blogs...
businessmen blog...
social worker blog..
marketer's blog..
scientist's blog...
So many kinds, color and shape...and i don't know which exactly am i going to fall in. But surely i will try to create a niche of my own as a typical marketer in this over communicated world.
I deleted an old experimental blog to create this one. Regularity is important i guess, which i would try to maintain here.
Blogs:
colorful blogs...
uncolored blogs...
blue colored blogs...
bubbly blogs like mine..
too many pictured blogs...
all black blogs...
easily opened blogs...
multi linked blogs...
funny blogs...
personal blogs..
satirical blogs...
hobby-fied blogs... (talking of ones hobby)
too many spelling mistake blogs...
constantly updated blogs...
stale blogs...
fresh blogs...
steaming blogs...
topic specific blogs...
queer blogs...
weird blogs...
stupefying blogs...
interactive blogs...
commented blogs...
boring blogs...
jargoned blogs...
cute blogs...
crucified blogs...
businessmen blog...
social worker blog..
marketer's blog..
scientist's blog...
So many kinds, color and shape...and i don't know which exactly am i going to fall in. But surely i will try to create a niche of my own as a typical marketer in this over communicated world.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)