tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-55713132024-03-20T01:56:05.015-07:00Morbid ReflectionsMy thoughts shaped into words for all to read. Some articles may offend you, some might inspire you nevertheless its written with a lot of Heart.Girish.Kumarhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18247088940591300987noreply@blogger.comBlogger85125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5571313.post-9791143939234638282014-02-19T14:21:00.000-08:002014-02-19T14:21:31.713-08:00<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLrmDDcG2ZbQtNrp9EAVrlYLyMRTNSRb17jz56hE5CO9yftdHG9OS1fYQuZZsN6t0pkIDToGbGEBVoCWXltiTFrOxT0ZIK56QxIGXqUCiZVNasd5EhhK1lorLGb5GI3skhu1Ld/s1600/inhibitions+4.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLrmDDcG2ZbQtNrp9EAVrlYLyMRTNSRb17jz56hE5CO9yftdHG9OS1fYQuZZsN6t0pkIDToGbGEBVoCWXltiTFrOxT0ZIK56QxIGXqUCiZVNasd5EhhK1lorLGb5GI3skhu1Ld/s1600/inhibitions+4.jpg" height="320" width="320" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Cambria, serif; line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="color: red;">THE HAPPENING</span><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Cambria, serif; line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Cambria, serif; line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-size: large;">Why
don’t you just come out and say what you want to. Ask your heart, is this what I
need and the answer will be variably yes, coz intelligence is the greatest
aphrodisiac. Let’s burn the world with the loins that could consume you and me
when not together. You are the ying to my yang. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Cambria, serif; line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-size: large;">This
conversation seems to be happening telepathically although involuntary and arbitrary
as it seems. The boundary seems to be too rigid as one tries to be a good guy. It is time to shed the masks that make
us want to be respectable, when it comes to this respect leads to inhibitions.
Inhibitions can be shackles that won’t let us enjoy the time that we have
together. This time can be extended to infinity if only you will open up your
heart and see. I’m not in this for instant gratification rather an enlightment
that would last a life time. </span><span style="font-size: small;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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Girish.Kumarhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18247088940591300987noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5571313.post-29263481481026962942013-10-31T09:28:00.003-07:002013-10-31T09:29:33.389-07:00<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiBBJbLKIQvPqUBsJHDfWf3upCGTBkSPaF44pPMg-gqPqBqikZF-ooRnb09miTYtDokMCJpLXBnDaiMMhYlC2-Zdow0ypnvPHHlkj04yVDF20Pgj5uEp0Ap19B9haYfHX-aDd53/s1600/yhst-50203225002866_2139_4536027.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiBBJbLKIQvPqUBsJHDfWf3upCGTBkSPaF44pPMg-gqPqBqikZF-ooRnb09miTYtDokMCJpLXBnDaiMMhYlC2-Zdow0ypnvPHHlkj04yVDF20Pgj5uEp0Ap19B9haYfHX-aDd53/s320/yhst-50203225002866_2139_4536027.jpg" width="240" /></a><b><span style="font-family: "Cambria","serif"; font-size: large; line-height: 115%;"><span style="color: red;">RAM”S
DILEMMA</span><o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<b><span style="font-family: "Cambria","serif"; line-height: 115%;"><span style="color: red; font-size: large;"><br /></span></span></b></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Cambria","serif"; font-size: large; line-height: 115%;">So
she is back. It’s been a week now, but I don’t feel Happy. She seems to be
different. She acts the same but still there is something very different about
her. Maybe it’s me who is different.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Cambria, serif;"><span style="line-height: 115%;">She
seems so open now. At times she has this look which makes me tremble, a look
that </span></span><span style="font-family: Cambria, serif;"><span style="line-height: 18px;">wasn't</span></span><span style="font-family: Cambria, serif;"><span style="line-height: 115%;"> there before. She has seen things and experienced things, she seems
to know a lot about intoxicants, and her perspective on life in general has
changed. She is more “philosophical” these days. Am I felling insecure? Maybe.
Did I like her when she was dumb? Is it my ego that has taken a beating? I’m
lost.<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Cambria","serif"; font-size: large; line-height: 115%;">When
she was here and when I loved her, I told her to travel the world and to be
open to new things and experiences. Now that she has, I don’t like it. I am a
glaring example of a hypocrite with his male ego bruised. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Cambria","serif"; font-size: large; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Cambria","serif"; font-size: large; line-height: 115%;">She
looks more beautiful than ever, but why am I having all these feelings? When
she left me I was destroyed, I felt like someone took a hammer to by soul and
shattered it into million pieces. I thought about her every waking moment while
insomnia crept in and made my mind his home. I wanted to see her, touch her,
smell his hair. Then slowly it changed. I got used to being alone and before
long I was enjoying my new found freedom. She never nagged but my new found
freedom was refreshing. I felt like I was a kid again, free to do anything. Now
she is back and I don’t feel any love for her.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Cambria","serif"; font-size: large; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Cambria","serif"; font-size: large; line-height: 115%;">If
I leave her now, everyone is going to raise their eyebrows. I have no reason
to. She looks so beautiful but I don’t feel anything, not even an ounce of
love. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
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<span style="font-family: "Cambria","serif"; line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-size: large;">I
can only see one way out of this and that is to question her purity. This is so
very wrong but being with someone who you don’t love is also wrong. To subject
her to a loveless marriage is worse. What if I give her mukti, painless death
and kill myself too? I could never bring myself to do that, her eyes, her
beautiful eyes. I could never see them lifeless. I should take the cowardly
road out. I will question her purity and shun her away like a leper. </span><span style="font-size: small;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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Girish.Kumarhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18247088940591300987noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5571313.post-11210068310340583522013-07-30T11:15:00.000-07:002013-07-30T11:17:41.864-07:00<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<span style="color: red; font-family: "Cambria","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;"><b>THE LADY OF THE LAKE AT
11:36</b></span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhhxlqY0y1Ul0mi0zD8lSXAB_VmNAsy4GOSBXkA0QdVTMj8WWU_9JPekf7VGUc6tmh9_f-Xq7L5fY_DNi2MaV643lSx3NN8-XXjfjWXmzweRQpAtfJSEg598D2avCQns6d-CEmG/s1600/Lady+of+the+Lake.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="136" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhhxlqY0y1Ul0mi0zD8lSXAB_VmNAsy4GOSBXkA0QdVTMj8WWU_9JPekf7VGUc6tmh9_f-Xq7L5fY_DNi2MaV643lSx3NN8-XXjfjWXmzweRQpAtfJSEg598D2avCQns6d-CEmG/s320/Lady+of+the+Lake.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Cambria, serif; font-size: 14pt;">The Internal<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Cambria, serif; font-size: 14pt;">Little did you know
the mind could mold. For it melts from within and a new form takes shape.
Disciplined, compartmentalized and fully in touch with your emotions. The surge
of energy that it pushes out through your veins takes grip of who you are. An
internal turmoil settles. The perspectives broaden out into the horizon,
touching the Sun as he shines brightly on all of us.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Cambria, serif; font-size: 14pt;">The External<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Cambria, serif; font-size: 14pt;">The Harmony of the
place astonishes you, while peace is the air you breathe. Every little drop
striking the earth scares you, while knowledge feeds your soul. Every step
taken reassures you, while every turn throws up a doubt. Little by little you
can feel your feet growing roots to nourish the weak inside. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<u1:p></u1:p>
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Girish.Kumarhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18247088940591300987noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5571313.post-4147949011577333142012-12-19T11:56:00.000-08:002012-12-19T11:59:40.681-08:00<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiRJM1dLV1E4fODVGmdILml8gHPLcv0xJ9FzRcbQVF4bjBZY3NI6AABWyiVshaTbUSmlqzk_jmO-vvygJskOHycBdOWalNfz_Wg2sNzux0tm2Myt5JVhzc8x_6mJZZOK9oyusxp/s1600/hesiod_listening_to_the_inspiration_of_the_muse.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiRJM1dLV1E4fODVGmdILml8gHPLcv0xJ9FzRcbQVF4bjBZY3NI6AABWyiVshaTbUSmlqzk_jmO-vvygJskOHycBdOWalNfz_Wg2sNzux0tm2Myt5JVhzc8x_6mJZZOK9oyusxp/s320/hesiod_listening_to_the_inspiration_of_the_muse.jpg" width="233" /></a><br />
<span style="color: red; font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: large; line-height: 20px;"><b>THE MUSE</b></span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="color: red; font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="line-height: 20px;"><b><br /></b></span></span>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="line-height: 20px;"><br /></span></span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="line-height: 20px;"><br /></span></span></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="line-height: 20px;">Art comes from everything. Every experience, every memory, everything tangible, everything intangible, everything can be Art. The muse is hidden everywhere around us, we need to tear away our self imposed blindfold and find her.</span></span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="line-height: 20px;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="line-height: 20px;">PART ONE</span></span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="line-height: 20px;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="line-height: 20px;">When I was younger, I had a lot of angst. I wrote. Every thought I penned down was caustic, yet shrouded in poetic beauty. I vented through words. It was my drug and I got addicted. I thought I couldn't write if I wasn't angry, if I wasn't miserable and I pushed myself down the stairs of Hell to get my high. I was delusional, naive and too young. I was consumed by the thought that misery alone can inspire great pieces. People loved it. The clichéd troubled manic depressive writer who hates his life seems to sell better than anything else. I lost a lot of friends and made some bad choices. I was getting deeper into my own ill conceived trap. Then it happened, I was consumed by my own despair and needed to get out.</span></span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="line-height: 20px;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="line-height: 20px;">PART TWO</span></span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="line-height: 20px;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="line-height: 20px;">Everything you are looking for is within you. I went looking for answers. A million questions kept multiplying in my head until my head couldn't make out the answers from the questions. I thought that was a mistake. I thought I was never meant to part misery. Then it happened, my mind started settling into its new home. A beautiful place where there was just peace and nothing else. Nothing bothered me. I was in control. I made things happen with just a thought. Align universes. Let myself soar.</span></span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="line-height: 20px;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="line-height: 20px;">Then it happened. Everything turned into inspiration. My mistress; misery gave up and fled while my old lady muse decided to stay. Writing about the universe that I stumbled upon within me put a smile on my face and on the others. Every experience became an inspiration for a piece and everyone around me started contributing to my growth.</span></span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="line-height: 20px;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="line-height: 20px;">Tear that blindfold and burn it. See the world for what it truly is. Heaven. </span></span></span></div>
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Girish.Kumarhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18247088940591300987noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5571313.post-72901079383648274012011-12-26T21:58:00.000-08:002011-12-26T21:59:49.482-08:00<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJBoB97W5iVxPMXiVxD_AuE6qgXQSNJkvDiMqeW3aR-tovN6UIF66Unngu0R1eGKY4oWsHBYrqKaW7Cvow23W3bMp4uERa3QZ-Y0v7B1RSoOGNpeL2Xt3xT8U7_9U3Eges70K6/s1600/Indian+Cricket+Fans.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJBoB97W5iVxPMXiVxD_AuE6qgXQSNJkvDiMqeW3aR-tovN6UIF66Unngu0R1eGKY4oWsHBYrqKaW7Cvow23W3bMp4uERa3QZ-Y0v7B1RSoOGNpeL2Xt3xT8U7_9U3Eges70K6/s400/Indian+Cricket+Fans.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b><span style="font-family: Cambria, serif; line-height: 115%;"><span style="color: red;">BEING
A CRICKET FAN IN INDIA</span></span></b><span style="font-family: Cambria, serif; line-height: 115%;">:<b> </b>It
is not easy to find a cricket fan in India. In a country obsessed with cricket
this statement feels rather contradictory but the bitter truth is - India is
obsessed with Indian cricket not cricket in general. In Comparison a football
fan in India would watch any form of football. You may argue that it is because
Indian football team is ranked 162<sup>nd</sup> in the world and what little
they play doesn’t make for compelling viewing experience either.<b><o:p></o:p></b></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Cambria, serif; line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-size: large;">Agreed the argument does pale
in comparison with the hysteria associated with cricket in India but are they
true fans of the game? Are they willing to travel miles together and watch a
Ranji Trophy match? Given the overall population of fanatic Indian Cricket
fans, the ones who take the effort to do this are miniscule when compared to
the “Fans” who flock to see an IPL match.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Cambria, serif; line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-size: large;">The biggest concern for a true
cricket fan is not whether the so called God can get his 100<sup>th</sup> 100
but our performance in the Test Arena or should I say the future survival
strategies that we need to adopt to avoid embarrassments. With the Big Three
about to retire from the longer format of the game coupled with the slow death of
enthusiastic fan following for it, the true fans of cricket in India will face
a drought of quality cricket for a few years to come. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Cambria, serif; line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-size: large;">The “Indian Cricket fans”
however, do not have to worry about such silly predicaments, as India will
still win at home even in Test matches thanks to the tracks that will help even
a part-time spinner pick up enough wickets to make him delusional enough to
call himself an all rounder. The Big Carnival called IPL is only going get
bigger; I suspect they will add a few landmines to make things more
interesting. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Cambria, serif; line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-size: large;">So the question is why do
people in India act the way they do if they don’t truly respect the game for
what it is? The Answer is much simpler than one suspects. Indians like math,
this is one of the reasons why we watch cricket. We are obsessed with batting
averages, strike rates, and of course the much talked about 100<sup>th</sup>
hundred, because that makes 10000 runs in centuries. The guy who is about to achieve
this magnanimous feat is an Indian and this does play into it a little bit. If
an Aussie or a Brit was to achieve this it would make little impact in the Indian
Cricket obsessed media. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Cambria, serif; line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-size: large;">One thing that puts a smile on
the faces of true cricket fans is the revival of good cricket in the past few
years. The overall standard of the game has risen after the lull that was
created in the international circuit after the retirements of great cricketers,
especially the ones from the Australian team. This revival is very promising. The
questions that loom large over the younger generation of Indian Players will be
answered very soon and we will know whether they can stand the test of time
like the current senior players.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Cambria, serif; line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-size: large;">However, it doesn’t take an
expert to gauge the temperament of the real cricket fans in India, who even
after the thumping victory by the Indian Cricket team in the biggest stage of
them all had a melancholy smile as they knew the road ahead was laden with
thorns. And this indeed was proven right, ever so succinctly by the same team
in the England series. With the Australia tour coming up one can hope that this
entire article will be rubbished by a thumping victory by the young Indian team
in turn transforming the real cricket fans into becoming Indian Cricket fans.</span><span style="font-size: small;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<br /></div>Girish.Kumarhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18247088940591300987noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5571313.post-1415313586993570722011-11-22T22:55:00.000-08:002011-11-22T23:06:28.225-08:00<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjdKCsWrIFzL3Jmai0_oPAYK5SSvV2am7pTdl5JCAfEjZB5LtOfmSAdZxfggEZLFyA8CwpeoXDVNLMyk849I7iaazgNCCGtYFBeqjrLIRLMWhD0WzVll1V1YQGvU0OPRL4AtYAt/s1600/guy-fawkes-mask.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="288" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjdKCsWrIFzL3Jmai0_oPAYK5SSvV2am7pTdl5JCAfEjZB5LtOfmSAdZxfggEZLFyA8CwpeoXDVNLMyk849I7iaazgNCCGtYFBeqjrLIRLMWhD0WzVll1V1YQGvU0OPRL4AtYAt/s400/guy-fawkes-mask.jpg" width="259" /></a><b><span style="font-family: "Cambria","serif"; font-size: 15.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: red;">GUY FAWKES</span></span></b><span style="font-family: "Cambria","serif"; font-size: 15.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;">: The Mask of Guy Fawkes has become the symbol
of revolution across the world. Anybody who has seen “V for Vendetta” knows
that Wachowski brothers are the ones responsible for this phenomenon. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Cambria","serif"; font-size: 15.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Cambria","serif"; font-size: 15.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;">The funny thing is that even people who are
gathering at Zuccotti Park protesting against wall street in the now famous “Occupy
Wall Street” are also using this as a symbol. Do they know what this
symbolizes? If they knew they wouldn’t use it. Let me explain this to the poor
souls who haven’t Googled “Guy Fawkes” yet. Guy Fawkes was associated with the
biggest failed plot against authority. So, if you are fighting against
authority why would you use this as a symbol? <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Cambria","serif"; font-size: 15.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Cambria","serif"; font-size: 15.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;">Not just this when tortured he spilled the
beans and gave up the names of all his co-conspirators. This showcases the
blunders of revolution in the civilized world where we are brain washed by the
media so much that a revolution is close to impossible. The protestors at Zuccotti
park for instance are going for a horizontal decision making committee for they
believe a vertical structure will create a hierarchy amongst themselves which
would reflect the system that they are fighting. Sounds good as a theory like
how communism makes sense on paper. The end result of such a weird decision
making system has been the fact that they cannot come to a consensus and haven’t
even decided on the terms for which they are fighting for.</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Cambria, serif; font-size: 15.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Cambria, serif; font-size: 15.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Revolution can always be sparked off easily
when you know your enemy. When you can put a face to him and organize people to
take up arms or a peaceful protest against him. Everyone has been excited since
2010 as a result of numerous revolutions in countries like Egypt, Libya, Syria,
Morocco and Yemen. Can this be replicated in countries like the USA or India?
Highly unlikely. The reason being we don’t know our enemy. There is no face to
our enemy as we are fighting a system. While people are trying to Occupy Wall
Street rather unsuccessfully the policy makers who are responsible for the
economic debacle are sitting pretty in Washington. Without a proper decision
making committee there are just hoardes of people gathering at Zuccotti Park
and chanting slogans and picketing. Is this really a revolution? And the Guy
Fawkes’ mask makes the whole thing rather humorous to watch.</span></div>
</div>Girish.Kumarhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18247088940591300987noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5571313.post-30595604006364552262011-10-14T02:38:00.000-07:002011-10-14T02:38:52.880-07:00<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgkeGseM0TQGQFAGIph9mOtTYS4Be2Ye4EO5gnWpw_acZNRKbEjzpZJwt2jkXFL1nfq3y0X3gRsfdgFLVfvjpSxK-CM_zxUmnzRjeBTuIItdSDcbhiXEEfYXcAdiTv0W_t0hGL2/s1600/fight-club-still-300x207.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgkeGseM0TQGQFAGIph9mOtTYS4Be2Ye4EO5gnWpw_acZNRKbEjzpZJwt2jkXFL1nfq3y0X3gRsfdgFLVfvjpSxK-CM_zxUmnzRjeBTuIItdSDcbhiXEEfYXcAdiTv0W_t0hGL2/s1600/fight-club-still-300x207.jpg" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Cambria","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: red;">THE CONTEST</span></b>: CNN IBN was running a contest, asking the
contestants to write a piece about their favorite movie and why it is their
favorite, in 200 words or less. These are my 200 words.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Cambria","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Every night I take the DVD out of the shiny cover and dump
it in the drive. Dust brothers’ soundtrack takes you to a place where even insomnia
seems like a blessing. Tyler says, this is the best book to movie adaptation.
Chuck Palahniuk is a genius, he says. I feel threatened by chuck, I disagree. I
tell him LOTR was better. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Cambria","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Tyler says, reading books have never made anyone famous only
writing them has. If nobody reads them then how do they become best-sellers? Advertising
has us chasing cars, clothes, working jobs we hate so we can buy shit we don’t
need. Pretentious people buying books to decorate their drawing rooms. Faking
intelligence in a world filled with idiots. That’s why books sell. It started
to make sense in a Tyler sort of way.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Cambria","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><span> </span>Why this movie?
Because after watching it, everything in the world gets the volume turned down.
Nothing can piss you off. Your word is law, if other’s break that law, even
that doesn’t piss you off. Tyler’s words coming out of my mouth.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Cambria","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">People are always asking me, do I know Tyler? People are
always asking me, which is my favorite movie? Isn’t it obvious?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Cambria","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">PS: I didn’t win.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
</div>Girish.Kumarhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18247088940591300987noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5571313.post-58239006220025702342011-10-06T21:31:00.000-07:002011-10-06T21:31:29.981-07:00<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4Sw3d9rOqyAZFqZOffbpmlTeuPOu1vzCBh95uu_XUdC5SqUUDZAcl_0yl9Og_sTK2O_OqPET8iTT6enphMD_Gxp8MQaEl5Gihcaiu1R1NyoVp41Hj-SMJ-lh-B5G2-vFL9V6A/s1600/Content+Development.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="background-color: black; margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;"><img border="0" height="265" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4Sw3d9rOqyAZFqZOffbpmlTeuPOu1vzCBh95uu_XUdC5SqUUDZAcl_0yl9Og_sTK2O_OqPET8iTT6enphMD_Gxp8MQaEl5Gihcaiu1R1NyoVp41Hj-SMJ-lh-B5G2-vFL9V6A/s400/Content+Development.jpg" width="400" /></span></a></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Cambria, serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 21px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: red;"><b>RESUME</b></span>: This is a resume I had written a while ago when I was applying for the position of Content Developer in Ad firms.</span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Cambria, serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 21px;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Cambria, serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 21px;">Ever since I was a kid I always thought about the future. My future.</span></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Cambria, serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 21px;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Cambria, serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 21px;">The first thought I can remember is me wanting to be a Rock. A boulder, a stone. I would stand for hours in the hot sun wanting to be the perfect rock but the competition in that world is unparallel, even the little rocks were doing a better job than me being completely Immobile. That's when I decided I should be a turtle.</span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Cambria, serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 21px;">My Dad on hearing this smacked me on my head and said I should pick something that human beings do, that way I might be more successful.</span></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Cambria, serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 21px;">I thought, I thought for an entire day and it came to me. I wanted to be a detective. Some one cool and suave. Someone who would put all the superheroes to shame. Then I saw James Bond. I knew my spot was already taken.</span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Cambria, serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 21px;">Meanwhile, like any other kid growing up in the 90's India, I discovered Cricket. I was good, so good that I knew I would give Tendulkar a run for his money but my Dad told me that he is an Avatar of God and God's should not be challenged. Sachin thanks me even to this day for letting him be who he is.</span></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Cambria, serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 21px;">I started drawing all the things I wanted to be. The walls of my room were covered with my hand drawn images of Rockstars, to Politicians to Bikini Inspectors.</span></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Cambria, serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 21px;">I was lost in my thoughts again. Future was looking bleak. To vent my frustration I started to write. My teacher thought I should be the editor of the school magazine. So I did and wrote some more.</span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Cambria, serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 21px;">The teacher who inspired me was a Software Engineering Graduate and he was always good with the ladies. I had hit puberty and that made me want to be a Software Engineer. Now when I look back, I was so naive to think that Software Engineers can get ladies, I mean get laid.</span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Cambria, serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 21px;">I ventured on, for my Dad had his Smith and Wesson cocked and at my temple. I joined B.E Computer Science at Acharya Institute of Technology in 2003. Soon enough I realized my mistake, instead of attractive beautiful women, I knew was going to Repel them for the rest of my life. I lost interest in Engineering.</span></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Cambria, serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 21px;">One rainy evening, I went looking for myself, instead I discovered Football. To my surprise my body already knew how to play without my mind realizing it. My Malluness was kicking in. I wanted to go pro, then the darkest dawn of my life Dawned on me. I broke my back in a tournament.</span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Cambria, serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 21px;">I had also tried my stint at Bike Racing and broke my shoulder. Tried being a Professional Gamer and almost lost my eyes. Tried being a Beer drinking Champion and almost lost my liver.</span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Cambria, serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 21px;">Between all these my college days got extended to seven years instead of four. I was ecstatic my parents were furious. It gave me joy to meet new people, kids younger than me my juniors. I was the father figure of my college.</span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Cambria, serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 21px;">I wanted to quit several times. My Dad wouldn't let me. He asked me to stay in school and not to do drugs. I fulfilled one of those promises and finished my Engineering with 55% marks in 2010.</span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Cambria, serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 21px;">I continued drawing and continued writing. My Blog (http://phatcougar.blogspot.com/) became popular. At one point I had 170 followers from across the Globe. I was happy but broke.</span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Cambria, serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 21px;">My Best friend suggested we hunt down our dreams and start a Design firm where we can put all our talents into play. I was to become an entrepreneur. We started a Design Studio with no money. I felt like a chicken with his head cut off. I didn't know head or tails about the industry. It took me almost two years to understand the Industry unfortunately by then we had to shut it down.</span></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Cambria, serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 21px;">I always had happiness, now I was looking for money. So like any other Engineer who doesn't want to be an Engineer. I joined HP on 12 of January 2011 as a Service Desk Analyst. That's a fancy way of saying I am a 20 something Call Center Technical Support Engineer.</span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Cambria, serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 21px;">I'm still Confident I will script my own Future. I'm also good at photography, I shot and directed one episode of a web based show called “Under the Sun”, using my compact digital camera. Unfortunately it lasted only two episodes. But now I know, I got Mad Skills. All I need is an Opportunity. - Girish Kumar Atuvalaipil Madhavan.</span></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Cambria, serif;"><br /></span></div>
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Girish.Kumarhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18247088940591300987noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5571313.post-7967788107013114542011-09-29T23:44:00.000-07:002011-09-29T23:44:16.423-07:00<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi9PtLC7cqalXmIRiBUZ3Fb3_sPyE1PIDjEbzCAhI2cQajOFdypRbFMRLEhi74eRp_XEzSABMBRlL4Mau-rh-u0QNtIkJSV9AIwi-wB-jhu2goUeCeit_MTwq0OzZk0-i9pth3H/s1600/pink-floyd-the-wall.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="275" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi9PtLC7cqalXmIRiBUZ3Fb3_sPyE1PIDjEbzCAhI2cQajOFdypRbFMRLEhi74eRp_XEzSABMBRlL4Mau-rh-u0QNtIkJSV9AIwi-wB-jhu2goUeCeit_MTwq0OzZk0-i9pth3H/s400/pink-floyd-the-wall.jpg" width="400" /></a><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><b><span style="color: red; font-family: Cambria, serif; line-height: 115%;">ANOTHER
BRICK IN THE WALL</span></b><span style="font-family: Cambria, serif; line-height: 115%;">: How would you feel if your entire life was mapped out?
Everything to the T. The time you wake up in the real life, which is the time
when you start understanding your own conscience till your death. Everything. My
parents wanted something like that for me. They had planned everything out. I hit
10<sup>th</sup> standard and get good marks. They make a plan. I was given one
option. I knew only one option. Take science. I like Science, but why did I take
it? I don’t know. My parents said, smart people take science. How did they know
that I was smart? Is it because of my marks? In that case, even a blind donkey
with dementia can secure good marks in the Indian Education System. So I may or
may not be smart or might even be a donkey.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Cambria, serif; line-height: 115%;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">I’m in 12<sup>th</sup> standard and everyone
says my options are limited to Engineering and Medicine. Why? Smart people are
doing it. By now I don’t want to be smart. It seemed like dumb people have more
options in life. They are even allowed to draw and paint. Since I’m allegedly smart
I’m supposed to memorize a lot of theorems and equations and crack exams. What about
all the things I like doing? All the small things that bring you enormous joy
like playing football in the rain or cricket on a hot summer’s day. I don’t
want to be smart. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Cambria, serif; line-height: 115%;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">This was the moment where I was at the brink
of losing it and what pushed me over was the chat I had with my parents. Their plan
was set in stone. They had already chosen engineering. They told me “Son you
are doing Computer Science Engineering”. What? “Yeah and get good marks”. Then
What? “Get into a software company”. Then What? “You should get married”. Then
What? “You should have kids”. Then What? “Don’t be stupid you will be leading a
good life”. I guess then I die. That’s when I realized ever since my birth
everything was planned out. I lost my mind. I wanted to cut short the arduous
journey to death by a single GSW to the temple. I decided to do a complete
U-turn instead. I screwed my life up. My life became a 2 million piece jig saw
puzzle that has been scattered around the cosmos. Now I’m in the fun part of
putting it all back piece by piece the way I want it. There are no more rules. I
intent to stack them together vertically with super glue and call it’s done. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Cambria, serif; line-height: 115%;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">My life has started its metamorphosis into a
beautiful art work. As they say, there is nothing called a bad art work as long
as it invokes some emotional response from someone. I can proudly say I have
lived a very fascinating life.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Cambria, serif; line-height: 115%;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">Don’t plan everything. Enjoy Life’s surprises
they have a way of spicing up things. </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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Girish.Kumarhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18247088940591300987noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5571313.post-10638078943012506942011-09-22T21:03:00.000-07:002011-09-23T04:14:07.727-07:00<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjfhAoUzsXlRBWuEpA5sYe6JG2AiTYp55gmYSo_1nwT-bhaH6MoAOZ1sktX-Ag0sih5Zumakrf96axRxFNHPa8IhrYNagTc8ZX9CtatEPfO6HsjmOWT2r_96V4XNVPG1JRmYOSa/s1600/Evil011.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="391" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjfhAoUzsXlRBWuEpA5sYe6JG2AiTYp55gmYSo_1nwT-bhaH6MoAOZ1sktX-Ag0sih5Zumakrf96axRxFNHPa8IhrYNagTc8ZX9CtatEPfO6HsjmOWT2r_96V4XNVPG1JRmYOSa/s400/Evil011.jpg" width="400" /></a><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><b><span style="font-family: Cambria, serif; line-height: 115%;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: red;">SADIST</span></span></b><span style="font-family: Cambria, serif; line-height: 115%;">: I hate
being evil. My mind starts rushing, comes up with the most complex plans to
hurt someone both physically and mentally. I can feel my pulse racing; it’s
like a shot of Adrenaline. I have stayed away from that feeling for a while. I
don’t want to be that person. Then some Idiot comes along and challenges me to
a dual. You know he deserves it and my conscious which is on a tight rope
decides to take a plunge into the dark side. As I bombard him with my ice cold
strategies to reduce him to dust, my mind is caught up again warning me to
stop. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Cambria, serif; line-height: 115%;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">I want to stop but I’m feeling good. It’s
like when you are doing something illegal and that second before you get
caught. That feeling, the feeling of knowing imminent danger but you still
continue to wile away in your sadism. I love that part. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Cambria, serif; line-height: 115%;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">This wasn’t the worst thing I have done. I
have done far more things that I am still guilty about to this day. I was
feeling bad coz I don’t want to go back to being that person again. Once I lose
all control, I start enjoying pain both others and mine. It’s far more
addictive than any other drug. The worst part being you will purposely screw
things up to enjoy pain. Self destruction becomes an enjoyable activity and the
rush is more addictive than cocaine. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Cambria, serif; line-height: 115%;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">I have trained my mind to be nice. I know
that, it’s like trying to tame a wild beast but I have to, for my sake and for
the sake of people around me. When I slipped, my mind started giving me
justifications for it. He deserved it. People might see the funny side of it. At
one point it started quoting the “Bhagawat Geeta”, you know the conversation
between Arjun and Krishna. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Cambria, serif; line-height: 115%;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">I’m going to focus harder. Think positive
thoughts, read more Vivekananda and maybe cleansing the soul will help tame my
mind.</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
</div>
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<meta itemprop="image" content="http://phatcougar.blogspot.com/2011/09/sadist-i-hatebeing-evil.html#links">Girish.Kumarhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18247088940591300987noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5571313.post-39466573892502339052011-09-08T22:03:00.000-07:002011-09-08T22:13:20.452-07:00<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgse6bm44f9TLKttONOMmYqtK0pqEpkZ7yQfg1zbtdnRlzMIEDUXXxboKEdFLjNTZJvrVaU-S8W1JpqzUvdrEuEdfQr8hty2gBQYO8obHFJlWgSRyYu0sSwJKYG7ZXPlWYQ3j4w/s1600/Baby.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgse6bm44f9TLKttONOMmYqtK0pqEpkZ7yQfg1zbtdnRlzMIEDUXXxboKEdFLjNTZJvrVaU-S8W1JpqzUvdrEuEdfQr8hty2gBQYO8obHFJlWgSRyYu0sSwJKYG7ZXPlWYQ3j4w/s400/Baby.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5650221179251672946" /></a><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align:justify"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 18px;"><b></b></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-margin-top-alt:auto;mso-margin-bottom-alt:auto; text-align:justify;line-height:normal"><span class="Apple-style-span" ><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: 800;"></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-margin-top-alt:auto;mso-margin-bottom-alt:auto; text-align:justify;line-height:normal"><span class="Apple-style-span" ><b><span style="font-size:13.5pt; font-family:"Georgia","serif";mso-fareast-font-family:"Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-family:"Times New Roman";color:red">THE QUEST</span></b><span style="font-size:13.5pt;font-family:"Georgia","serif";mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";mso-bidi-font-family:"Times New Roman";color:black">: </span><span style="font-size:13.5pt;font-family:"Georgia","serif";mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";mso-bidi-font-family:"Times New Roman";color:white; mso-themecolor:background1">It’s a dark evening, and then it starts to rain. We can feel Evil in the air. We throw caution to the wind and get on our ride. She is a supped up two stroke machine built it Hell. Her power is Legendary. If you don’t know how to ride her, the fear alone is enough to kill you. If the fear doesn’t get you, the massive burst of Adrenaline will. Shaolin – that’s her name. I have had my share of love quarrels with her. She has tossed me up in the air, threw me across the tarmac, crashed into other vehicles but we survived, we love each other. I like it rough and she knows it.</span><span style="font-size:12.0pt;font-family:"Times New Roman","serif";mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";color:white;mso-themecolor:background1"><o:p></o:p></span></span></p><span class="Apple-style-span" > <p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-margin-top-alt:auto;mso-margin-bottom-alt:auto; text-align:justify;line-height:normal"><span style="font-size:13.5pt; font-family:"Georgia","serif";mso-fareast-font-family:"Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-family:"Times New Roman";color:white;mso-themecolor:background1">Today I was going to push her. She doesn’t like the rain but I had no choice but get her drenched. She gets intoxicated by rain, loses control over her power and her Balance. I know I’m pushing my luck, but I have no other choice.</span><span style="font-size:12.0pt;font-family:"Times New Roman","serif";mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";color:white;mso-themecolor:background1"><o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-margin-top-alt:auto;mso-margin-bottom-alt:auto; text-align:justify;line-height:normal"><span style="font-size:13.5pt; font-family:"Georgia","serif";mso-fareast-font-family:"Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-family:"Times New Roman";color:white;mso-themecolor:background1">We begin our journey; my pillion is my friend, the great warrior from Punjab. He had seen enough battles in his lifetime to know how important this one was for our kind. He had missed the last great battle which to this day he regrets. When I wanted him by my side he wasn’t there, he knows I’m disappointed. He wants to make amends. Dressed in his tradition turban and his warrior “kada” he is ready to take on the rain.</span><span style="font-size:12.0pt;font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";mso-fareast-font-family:"Times New Roman";color:white; mso-themecolor:background1"><o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-margin-top-alt:auto;mso-margin-bottom-alt:auto; text-align:justify;line-height:normal"><span style="font-size:13.5pt; font-family:"Georgia","serif";mso-fareast-font-family:"Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-family:"Times New Roman";color:white;mso-themecolor:background1">The strategy was to meet up with one of our allies. The Big man. He was getting an Oracle along to foresee our future. We were to meet them at the intersection of four big roads – “The Empire”, where helpless birds were devoured. We sent signals before we left so that they can reach the rendezvous point on time. En route we decided to empty the treasury, for in a situation like we are in now, we don’t know what lies ahead. With our pockets full and a single minded focus to achieve our goal, we forge ahead. The rain intensifies, Shaolin doesn’t like it. She starts kicked and swerving. I keep my mouth shut and try to control her. The great warrior from Punjab is at his best when he is calm. I didn’t want to worry him. The Oracle starts speaking to the warrior telepathically. We need to reach “The Empire” quickly. Time has decided to sabotage the whole operation.</span><span style="font-size:12.0pt;font-family:"Times New Roman","serif"; mso-fareast-font-family:"Times New Roman";color:white;mso-themecolor:background1"><o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-margin-top-alt:auto;mso-margin-bottom-alt:auto; text-align:justify;line-height:normal"><span style="font-size:13.5pt; font-family:"Georgia","serif";mso-fareast-font-family:"Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-family:"Times New Roman";color:white;mso-themecolor:background1">I didn’t confess to my friend about something. I have a disease, I can’t understand direction. I’m moving ahead with Blind faith that I will reach the destination. The warrior sits behind me, not knowing the internal turmoil that is burning my soul. Stay calm my friend, I need you for this one.</span><span style="font-size:12.0pt;font-family:"Times New Roman","serif";mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";color:white;mso-themecolor:background1"><o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-margin-top-alt:auto;mso-margin-bottom-alt:auto; text-align:justify;line-height:normal"><span style="font-size:13.5pt; font-family:"Georgia","serif";mso-fareast-font-family:"Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-family:"Times New Roman";color:white;mso-themecolor:background1">We reach “The Empire”. I see the Big man and the Oracle, they seem to be in love. I could see the darkness engulfing the skies to the East, I signal to the Big man to get his ride and follow me. I ride towards the west full speed ahead. Time wants a win real bad, so he has allied up with his nemesis the Rain. My visibility has reduced, my heart is pounding. I can see bright lights coming towards me. I don’t slow down, I throttle up. I want this, I need this. The Big man and the Oracle are behind us. I throttle up further as Rain feels like a flood from above. I can’t see the tarmac. I see a green light. I instinctively know I have to turn right. I bank my baby and she slides. I’m rolling on the tarmac as Shaolin comes to a grinding halt 3 feet from me. I see the warrior on his back. I can feel the Adrenaline. We are so close,our destination is not even 50 meters away.</span><span style="font-size:12.0pt;font-family:"Times New Roman","serif"; mso-fareast-font-family:"Times New Roman";color:white;mso-themecolor:background1"><o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-margin-top-alt:auto;mso-margin-bottom-alt:auto; text-align:justify;line-height:normal"><span style="font-size:13.5pt; font-family:"Georgia","serif";mso-fareast-font-family:"Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-family:"Times New Roman";color:white;mso-themecolor:background1">I pick my baby up, she says she is okay and starts apologizing. That doesn’t suit her, she is my girl, and arrogance is what suits her. The Big Man and the Oracle are concerned. They have this look which suggests abandoning the voyage. My eyes disagree. One kick and Shaolin is ready to go, but where is the warrior? I look around to see him limping near “Kaya”. I ask him to cross the great divide and attack. I can’t move as the lights in the sky are red. I wait till they turn Green and twist my wrist. I’m there in a flash but the warrior, he isn’t there. I need him before I go in. The Oracle seems to be worried about the warrior. I run to him to see him covered in Blood. He says, “This is just Blood go get them for me”. So I did. The Big man, Oracle and I we walked into Planet M and bought our Metallica Concert tickets.</span><span style="font-size:12.0pt;font-family:"Times New Roman","serif";mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";color:white;mso-themecolor:background1"><o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align:justify"><span style="font-size:12.0pt; line-height:115%;font-family:"Cambria","serif";mso-ascii-theme-font:major-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font:major-latin"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align:justify"><span style="font-size:12.0pt; line-height:115%;font-family:"Cambria","serif";mso-ascii-theme-font:major-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font:major-latin"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align:justify"><span style="font-size:12.0pt; line-height:115%;font-family:"Cambria","serif";mso-ascii-theme-font:major-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font:major-latin"><o:p> </o:p></span></p></span><p></p><b> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align:justify"><span style="font-size:12.0pt; line-height:115%;font-family:"Cambria","serif";mso-ascii-theme-font:major-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font:major-latin"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align:justify"><span style="font-size:12.0pt; line-height:115%;font-family:"Cambria","serif";mso-ascii-theme-font:major-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font:major-latin"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align:justify"><span style="font-size:12.0pt; line-height:115%;font-family:"Cambria","serif";mso-ascii-theme-font:major-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font:major-latin"><o:p> </o:p></span></p></b><p></p>Girish.Kumarhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18247088940591300987noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5571313.post-51563608565667100892011-08-09T23:42:00.000-07:002011-08-10T00:44:47.390-07:00<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihsmJx9_3Pp7opWw_uxICKNiE-75cIBWsfstturMRWmm7xoG0U7emw3M7Qlq7cQs2RGtQqZ16IEs94DLTsDEKj4HunW8tp6KOTXv7wBvE0bK6cFyPtP-OVChoYBSXN0TjaBnMG/s1600/shallow+girl.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 291px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihsmJx9_3Pp7opWw_uxICKNiE-75cIBWsfstturMRWmm7xoG0U7emw3M7Qlq7cQs2RGtQqZ16IEs94DLTsDEKj4HunW8tp6KOTXv7wBvE0bK6cFyPtP-OVChoYBSXN0TjaBnMG/s400/shallow+girl.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5639121808256418978" /></a><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align:justify"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 19px; line-height: 21px;"></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; "><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: Georgia, serif; color: red; " ><b>SHALLOW GIRL</b><o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; "><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: Georgia, serif; " >There has been a lot of talk about how men can be really shallow and insensitive well it goes both ways. I met a girl who is so shallow that she repulsed me as much as her beauty attracted me. The moment I saw her I felt like I was struck with lightning and there was a clap of thunder in my heart but soon enough all that got drenched by the sadness of her prejudice. <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; "><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: Georgia, serif; " >My intention was not to bed her. Some women you just want to rip their clothes off and make love like rapid dogs that have a day to live. This was different. I wanted to spend time with her, get lost in her eyes and together make sense of what Bryan Adams keeps singing in his songs. I knew I was getting sappy; I went along for the ride. Wanting a meaningful relationship I drew boundaries in mind of things that I don’t want to speak about and highlighted the ones I wanted to emphasize on without coming off like a douche bag. My strategy was let the girl talk and listen intently. <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; "><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: Georgia, serif; " >Whenever I would talk she would give me this look as if everything that’s coming out of my mouth is inconsequential. I was amazed at the level of lucidity that she displayed for a 20 year old. She would tease me if I told her about my ambitions, she wouldn’t believe my achievements. She wouldn’t even consider me smart.<span> </span>I was finding it hard to hold a conversation as she was drifting completely off as if none of these worldly things mattered to her. I thought she was destined to be a saint. Then I made a mistake I let her talk.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; "><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: Georgia, serif; " >Several hours of dating, rather her talking had me exhausted. All she could talk about was her dad and how she has a boyfriend with whom she has a long distance relationship. That would have scared any decent guy away but being me, I decided to pursue thinking that if I am better than that guy I can give her more happiness. I was being selfish and thinking about her happiness also. Tight rope I know. This reminds me of my ex who had given me a T-shirt which read “Morally Impaired”. I wouldn’t completely agree with her, I would say I have subjective morality. <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; "><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: Georgia, serif; " >So she would go on and on about her dad and boyfriend while I sit there thinking about Michelangelo’s Sistine chapel and existentialism. I started drifting away so I stopped and asked her to speak about something else. To my complete and utter disbelief she starts talking about shopping and how she hasn’t shopped for a week. She goes on to say she doesn’t really wear all the clothes she buys but still likes buying them. I can hear Tyler Durden in my head screaming “Advertising has us chasing cars and clothes, working jobs we hate so we can buy shit we don't need.” She says she stands in front of a store if she likes something and wouldn’t budge until her stupid boyfriend or her rich Dad doesn’t buy what she likes from there. I’m thinking “if she weren’t so pretty would she be able to get away with it”.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; "><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: Georgia, serif; " >By now I’m pretty sure that all that lucidity was camouflaged stupidity. I ask her whether she knows anything about the world she lives in. Her – “I’m way smarter than you think, ask me anything”. Somebody gives you a loaded gun and bets you a million bucks that you are a bad shot, what would you do? I was caught between existentialism and Michelangelo, I go with Michelangelo. I realize my mistake as I pray that she doesn’t say green color tortoise looking creature who knows martial arts. She has no clue, she doesn’t even know about Teenage mutant ninja turtles. All I can see is stupidity personified in her eyes. Lucidity, I had to be on ecstasy to mistake stupidity for lucidity. <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; "><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: Georgia, serif; " ><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; "><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: Georgia, serif; " >The Last Nail in the Coffin<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; "><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: Georgia, serif; "><span class="Apple-style-span" >By now I kind of know that I’m a jackass to have seen only what I wanted to and unknowingly she got the better of me. So final questionnaire of the day, “Do you mingle with people who are below you in the social cadre?” Hell no why would I, was the answer. Lights off.</span><span class="Apple-style-span" ><o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; "><span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%; font-family: Cambria, serif; "><o:p> </o:p></span></p><p></p><div><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align:justify"><span style="font-size:14.0pt; line-height:115%;font-family:"Cambria","serif";mso-ascii-theme-font:major-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font:major-latin"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align:justify"><span style="font-family:"Cambria","serif"; mso-ascii-theme-font:major-latin;mso-hansi-theme-font:major-latin"><o:p> </o:p></span></p><p></p><p></p></div>Girish.Kumarhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18247088940591300987noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5571313.post-14112398333137080572011-05-03T23:39:00.000-07:002011-05-03T23:43:16.269-07:00<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhNa1ltv_MiDV1iUovGI7hzqy4ANDcolxuKksZECGEly1AXtqlZYAmOTUUuEpJ27ygffwMZWpdDo3Fo_pP_LK53GSTT-oPUqjI2yMp8WqN-1woZ4OIHKrHnEKUWgypt4_Hbc1-6/s1600/roy06.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5602747029490952594" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 227px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 320px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhNa1ltv_MiDV1iUovGI7hzqy4ANDcolxuKksZECGEly1AXtqlZYAmOTUUuEpJ27ygffwMZWpdDo3Fo_pP_LK53GSTT-oPUqjI2yMp8WqN-1woZ4OIHKrHnEKUWgypt4_Hbc1-6/s320/roy06.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><div><span style="font-family:georgia;"><span style="font-size:130%;"><strong><span style="color:#ff0000;">BEAUTY AND THE BEAST</span></strong>: I guess I understand why a man needs a woman. Men are supposed to be strong. Men like me never cry we stay strong for everyone around us. When a tragedy strikes you try to calm people around you. You speak to them and give them support and the strength they need at that vulnerable time. It’s our primitive genes kicking in, like a Puff Adder puffs itself to look bigger in times of crisis, like a Cobra splaying its hood out and standing erect, like a cheetah flaying its front legs to drive away predators, we puff our chest up and make ourselves look big. In spite of the agony that strikes our heart we don’t lose face. We don’t budge instead we stand tall and carry all the burden without any lapse in judgment wearing a mask of superhuman strength so that we don’t reveal the many emotions and turmoil that begets our heart.<br />I guess we need our women to show that we are human. I guess we need someone whom we can cry with in private. I guess we need that special lady who would believe you are strong even in your weakest hour.</span></span></div>Girish.Kumarhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18247088940591300987noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5571313.post-1713702319995906342011-04-22T07:46:00.000-07:002011-04-22T08:06:02.521-07:00<div align="justify"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhwXQVaAFPHN9c5lBoUckpns2ucWOI8noXvv7USSAUPuF8vUGfM12da1L888UGEBGmULtJ8Qf8TZnW4uBVmvAKsIgjcAfS9Z4dXzEaedsURo_41buBhSCT6ZNy0k9O79qKr1SZT/s1600/Evil%252520Clown.jpg"><span style="font-family:georgia;font-size:130%;"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5598423334262280914" style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhwXQVaAFPHN9c5lBoUckpns2ucWOI8noXvv7USSAUPuF8vUGfM12da1L888UGEBGmULtJ8Qf8TZnW4uBVmvAKsIgjcAfS9Z4dXzEaedsURo_41buBhSCT6ZNy0k9O79qKr1SZT/s320/Evil%252520Clown.jpg" border="0" /></span></a><span style="font-size:130%;"><span style="font-family:georgia;"> <span style="color:#ff0000;">ALTER EGO</span></span>: <span style="font-family:georgia;">I have never let my alter ego loose for the fear of it taking over me. The dark side has always been fascinating maybe thats what keeps me sane. If you disect the situation you would realise that you need to have a dark side to know what is wrong and what is right. It acts as a moral needle pointing towards the right and smacking you over the head asking you to tow the line. Ever so often I wonder what would happen if you give into that dark side. The tabooed being might take over and run amock. </span></span></div><br /><div align="justify"><span style="font-family:georgia;font-size:130%;">After a long and complicated debate with myself I have decided to give it a spot on the net to go wild. I'm about to create a very destructive blog that just spurts out all the anger, the filth and all the psychotic tendencies onto a single page. Maybe if Freud was alive he would have seeked me out and made me his personal lab rat.Or maybe he would have buried me alive and destroyed all the forsenic evidence that I ever existed.Nevertheless an interesting experiment is going to commence soon. See you on the other side.</span></div>Girish.Kumarhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18247088940591300987noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5571313.post-29363003860679644552010-11-28T13:09:00.000-08:002010-11-28T13:21:11.925-08:00<div style="text-align: justify;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihZbIIf9U59s6wSVCUcpy6AwdlQpspAI3SmNqVBKdmPsX1yc-5y0aub8yZnGpQO59k2EO4xQ6IIDPZqnROekQoMyPkX9UV9hF4ugsztH0H7ZClXuHuIy_2ZHxm7lfwXh9wFs_l/s1600/quill-pen.jpg"><img style="float: left; margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 238px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihZbIIf9U59s6wSVCUcpy6AwdlQpspAI3SmNqVBKdmPsX1yc-5y0aub8yZnGpQO59k2EO4xQ6IIDPZqnROekQoMyPkX9UV9hF4ugsztH0H7ZClXuHuIy_2ZHxm7lfwXh9wFs_l/s320/quill-pen.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5544711943977863074" border="0" /></a><span style="color: rgb(255, 0, 0); font-weight: bold;font-family:georgia;font-size:100%;" >RELAPSE</span><meta equiv="CONTENT-TYPE" content="text/html; charset=utf-8"><span style="font-size:100%;"> </span><title></title> <meta name="GENERATOR" content="OpenOffice.org 3.2 (Linux)"> <style type="text/css"> <!-- @page { margin: 0.79in } P { margin-bottom: 0.08in } --></style><span style="font-family:georgia;font-size:120%;">: I started writing again. It feels good. It feels like coming back home after being in battle for a while. All my scars heal quicker when I'm writing. Its magic. But I need to do something more than just ramble. Empty ramblings which make people sit up and take notice. My perspective looks good on paper but I'm learning the hard way how much you have to toil to make them real. Sometimes it doesn't even make any sense.</span><span style="font-size:120%;">
<br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify; font-family: georgia;"><span style="font-size:120%;"> Some people aim for something really close to them. Sights set on something that they can achieve even if they trip and fall. Others choose something barely visible but the path has been laid out by others and which hand full of people they know have been able to achieve. I'm shooting in the dark hoping it hits the big bad grizzly, clearing my path for the elusive dream that my once twisted mind keeps telling me is real. I don't even see the grizzly so there is no point talking about what I'm heading to. Rest assured I'm going for it. There is no point in mediocrity. There is no point is rules, career, relationships or anything else. Its you and everything you dreamed of. So for everyone who reads this from time to time. I'm finally going to write a book.
<br /></span></div>
<br />Girish.Kumarhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18247088940591300987noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5571313.post-25662296814703160812010-05-12T11:01:00.000-07:002010-05-12T11:11:24.308-07:00<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhC-Co8wl-jauDamTIfBSPR7VSYg65gACQz9xyxTEp_lcabEeux5oL1SRDpO1-eN-TgTMYesA9i_Q0Egbc6RhQUQabCc6gHV0ET7udN-FX5KYKa2db0gamuByH-LEYMZ1b3Edpg/s1600/kurbaan-2009-movie.jpg"><img style="float: right; margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 157px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhC-Co8wl-jauDamTIfBSPR7VSYg65gACQz9xyxTEp_lcabEeux5oL1SRDpO1-eN-TgTMYesA9i_Q0Egbc6RhQUQabCc6gHV0ET7udN-FX5KYKa2db0gamuByH-LEYMZ1b3Edpg/s200/kurbaan-2009-movie.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5470447551378915522" border="0" /></a>
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mso-fareast-theme-font:minor-fareast; mso-hansi-font-family:Calibri; mso-hansi-theme-font:minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family:"Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-theme-font:minor-bidi;} </style> <![endif]--> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;font-family:georgia;"><span style="font-size:100%;"><span style="font-weight: bold; color: rgb(255, 0, 0);">BOLLYWOOD</span>: It was a very peaceful fight. Nobody was bruised but they were battered beyond recognition. The Hero wanted the Villain to kill him but the Villain wanted to die at the hands of the Hero. The leading lady was a tramp. Which lead to the conflict at the first place and the fact that the Hero and the Villain weren’t brothers didn’t really help anyone. </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;font-family:georgia;"><span style="font-size:100%;"><span style=""> </span>This was very similar to a lot of fights between non siblings. The siblings were all murdered in the beginning of the book so that everyone automatically became a single child to their parents. The parents had the ill fate of choosing who lives and who dies.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;font-family:georgia;"><span style="font-size:100%;"><span style=""> </span>This brought tears to the movie goers’ eyes. The crowed relished every second of drama unleashed before their tear filled eyes. Were they tears of pain or tears of joy were the topic of research for a renowned psychiatrist from a lesser known far away land. The sibling who was intended to die fought till he died, if he hadn’t fought he would be dead anyways. But the one who was victorious was not victorious over death because death always knows where you live.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;font-family:georgia;"><span style="font-size:100%;"><span style=""> </span>Coming back to the story that hangs in the balance. The balance of life and death. The Hero and the Villain both born to different parents, fate has put them in the position of siblings. One has to die. They want blood, but their own.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;font-family:georgia;"><span style="font-size:100%;"><span style=""> </span>Both have very low self esteem, both are in love with a tramp. The Hero shot the Villain with a knife. The Villain lived to tell the tale. The telling of the tale killed the Hero of embarrassment. He finally got what he wanted but did he deserve it?</span></p>
<br />Girish.Kumarhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18247088940591300987noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5571313.post-46563243660388936152010-04-22T12:39:00.000-07:002010-04-22T12:52:11.605-07:00<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4R_obNw1Uur6EA0lNsLLXMmr0lIUAnBKzxylWlPeMgFqG2FRmtX0pc7WhFrh-41nGKhaESrxbz5ChdHfINFiZfxUVlRuz8ooXrXVCVI4CKdaw2ZZAJQi6CnHqXLeNx5lUv6fy/s1600/dictionary.jpg"><img style="float: left; margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4R_obNw1Uur6EA0lNsLLXMmr0lIUAnBKzxylWlPeMgFqG2FRmtX0pc7WhFrh-41nGKhaESrxbz5ChdHfINFiZfxUVlRuz8ooXrXVCVI4CKdaw2ZZAJQi6CnHqXLeNx5lUv6fy/s200/dictionary.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5463050702266713106" border="0" /></a><meta equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html; charset=utf-8"><meta name="ProgId" content="Word.Document"><meta name="Generator" content="Microsoft Word 11"><meta name="Originator" content="Microsoft Word 11"><link rel="File-List" href="file:///E:%5CDOCUME%7E1%5CPHATCO%7E1%5CLOCALS%7E1%5CTemp%5Cmsohtml1%5C01%5Cclip_filelist.xml"><!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:worddocument> <w:view>Normal</w:View> <w:zoom>0</w:Zoom> <w:punctuationkerning/> <w:validateagainstschemas/> <w:saveifxmlinvalid>false</w:SaveIfXMLInvalid> <w:ignoremixedcontent>false</w:IgnoreMixedContent> <w:alwaysshowplaceholdertext>false</w:AlwaysShowPlaceholderText> <w:compatibility> <w:breakwrappedtables/> <w:snaptogridincell/> <w:wraptextwithpunct/> <w:useasianbreakrules/> <w:dontgrowautofit/> </w:Compatibility> <w:browserlevel>MicrosoftInternetExplorer4</w:BrowserLevel> </w:WordDocument> </xml><![endif]--><!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:latentstyles deflockedstate="false" latentstylecount="156"> </w:LatentStyles> </xml><![endif]--><style> <!-- /* Style Definitions */ p.MsoNormal, li.MsoNormal, div.MsoNormal {mso-style-parent:""; margin:0in; margin-bottom:.0001pt; mso-pagination:widow-orphan; font-size:12.0pt; font-family:"Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family:"Times New Roman";} @page Section1 {size:8.5in 11.0in; margin:1.0in 1.25in 1.0in 1.25in; mso-header-margin:.5in; mso-footer-margin:.5in; mso-paper-source:0;} div.Section1 {page:Section1;} --> </style><!--[if gte mso 10]> <style> /* Style Definitions */ table.MsoNormalTable {mso-style-name:"Table Normal"; mso-tstyle-rowband-size:0; mso-tstyle-colband-size:0; mso-style-noshow:yes; mso-style-parent:""; mso-padding-alt:0in 5.4pt 0in 5.4pt; mso-para-margin:0in; mso-para-margin-bottom:.0001pt; mso-pagination:widow-orphan; font-size:10.0pt; font-family:"Times New Roman"; mso-ansi-language:#0400; mso-fareast-language:#0400; mso-bidi-language:#0400;} </style> <![endif]--><span style="font-family: georgia;font-size:120%;" ><span style="color: rgb(255, 0, 0); font-weight: bold;">WORD ASSOCIATION</span><span style="font-weight: bold;">: </span>What comes to your mind when you hear the word beauty? What comes to your mind when you hear the word violence? What comes to mind when you hear the word peace? We associate an image with every word in our head. When you hear your best friends name called out. You have his image in your mind. If you are afraid of a snake, the word snake will automatically bring terror in front of your eyes.
<br />What if that can be changed? What if every word in your head can be given a whole new image to be associated with. Its like this, you have an image of a beautiful girl in your head. When you think about beauty that’s what pops up in your head. Then one day you see someone more beautiful walk past you. That older image is automatically substituted by the new one. Now think of beauty and you will think of the second girl.
<br /> Similarly what if the bad things are disassociated too. You think of violence and you have an image of people being killed brutally with their hands and torso torn out with blood smears all over the place. Now you train your mind to dissociate it completely. So much so that the next time you hear the word violence there is nothing but a blank sheet with “bad” written on it.
<br /> Like wise I’m trying one more thing consciously these days. I want to remove all the negatives from my conversation or at least my thought process as much as possible. I always have a list of people in my mind whom I hate and now I would rather say, I not fond of them. Every instance you say the word hate, somewhere in the subconscious you know you are not supposed to use that. This is going to be an on going experience. I will let you know about the results too.</span>Girish.Kumarhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18247088940591300987noreply@blogger.com14tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5571313.post-53159771648112523402010-04-12T12:33:00.000-07:002010-04-12T12:37:38.022-07:00<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQpSJqhYF8TUNqtPI7ZCoU2unaozjQ0TheHkrXfF4v5UA0e1b7JtrBSuw54dfL7iQJGCSxV5ab5heR1bONtlJZPedj2wCnBa-HPZt3x5Z93lyTWi5AmhjdylFrHm6J6FWu5dcu/s1600/fatima_bhutto_c.jpg"><img style="float: right; margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; cursor: pointer; width: 162px; height: 200px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQpSJqhYF8TUNqtPI7ZCoU2unaozjQ0TheHkrXfF4v5UA0e1b7JtrBSuw54dfL7iQJGCSxV5ab5heR1bONtlJZPedj2wCnBa-HPZt3x5Z93lyTWi5AmhjdylFrHm6J6FWu5dcu/s200/fatima_bhutto_c.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5459336733105848466" border="0" /></a><br /><span style=";font-family:georgia;font-size:120%;" ><span style="font-weight: bold; color: rgb(255, 0, 0);">FATIMA BHUTTO</span>: Little Birdie came from across the border. Where things aren’t so green. She looked like she deserved better. She sings a sad song of betrayal and misfortune on her and her kind. Is she looking for shelter? Or is she looking for a shoulder to cry on? Maybe she wants someone to lend an ear.</span><span style="font-size:120%;"><br /></span> <span style=";font-family:georgia;font-size:120%;" >Little birdie is smart as she is beautiful. She looked to her neighbors who are rivals for ages. She sings the songs of blood and sword: betrayal is at its core. She loves the freedom of thought but is imprisoned in her own.</span> <span style=";font-family:georgia;font-size:120%;" ><br /> Her eyes have seen a lot of pain. Her tears want to bring about a change. She loves her little country and the countrymen alike; even after so much violence she thinks there is room for change. She wants to clip her own wings just to stay back and help.</span> <span style=";font-family:georgia;font-size:120%;" ><br /> The people in our land are skeptical for we have seen bloodshed galore. Do we trust the little Birdie? Do we believe in her songs? She tells us it’s not the people, people from both the countries are kind, it’s the kings and the king’s men who control the game. Setting bounty on the good ones, until there are no more. One of the Noble men says, her beauty might be an illusion meant to confuse us all. Her beautiful voice meant to hypnotize our souls. But I believe in the little Birdie, hope she doesn’t fall.</span>Girish.Kumarhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18247088940591300987noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5571313.post-65804218714370875212010-04-01T06:10:00.000-07:002010-04-01T06:17:22.709-07:00<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgb4O-noS17U-dpQ6Dsj0FYEuVd2rPnfyKShyiZKN5FDcTsCANxfsXtkvX_bAo9OZcrVEI0iHWKlvqezNNLMGMkNPJyTVVYb0glNqYUgvqOjeZQ8v3devBHMFHc2kBRy-nwaCMZ/s1600/growth.jpg"><img style="float: left; margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 137px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgb4O-noS17U-dpQ6Dsj0FYEuVd2rPnfyKShyiZKN5FDcTsCANxfsXtkvX_bAo9OZcrVEI0iHWKlvqezNNLMGMkNPJyTVVYb0glNqYUgvqOjeZQ8v3devBHMFHc2kBRy-nwaCMZ/s200/growth.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5455156608052287266" border="0" /></a><br /><div class="im" style="font-family:georgia;"><span style="color: rgb(255, 0, 0); font-weight: bold;font-size:120%;" >Growth</span><span style="font-size:120%;">: Everyone talks about growth in life. True growth occurs when you shed your negatives and embrace only your positives. Let the light shine and the darkness fade away. The other day I was having a conversation about this with one of my friends and he said that if at all this is done then the real person is lost. When we meet someone and become friends we appreciate the good in him and acknowledge the bad. This makes him what he is and this is the person whose friendship we cherish. I don’t agree with this. When I’m friends with someone I make sure I tell them what they are doing wrong. Some people don’t realize when they are doing something wrong since the wrong that they commit<br /></span></div><span style=";font-family:georgia;font-size:120%;" >has somehow been justified in their mind and has become a part of them. If they can change that and move towards being a great person from a good one, that’s something I would love to see.</span><span style="font-size:120%;"><br /></span><span style=";font-family:georgia;font-size:120%;" >I have had a lot of people tell me it’s not easy to do the right thing all the time. I’m not asking everyone to be a saint. The major obstacle people find in their lives ahead of greed is laziness. When you are just lazing around ask yourself, “Can I be doing something else that will enrich my life instead of what I’m doing now?”. Invariably the answer will be, “Yes”. Just go for it. It’s quite simple. The best part of doing something or the other all the time is that you don’t get time to dwell in your own misery. Every day will get brighter and brighter. To this if you can add shedding your negatives, every day will seem like a dream.</span>Girish.Kumarhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18247088940591300987noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5571313.post-18512511362005820592010-03-19T09:54:00.000-07:002010-03-19T10:19:46.798-07:00<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgqoFab3TxRvYf1UZ9yEmdVefcHhlMtrYQvtJ2dzC3ZDyZI2yql08x3e-BPhCRrrPCEFR8NT5q8iJMoiC5LFyXptjVTghNtmOxc7ud2h7Jt10uPPR620q8duV3DabUDFa8JDxqR/s1600-h/TanLines_Fullpic_1.gif"><img style="float: right; margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 160px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgqoFab3TxRvYf1UZ9yEmdVefcHhlMtrYQvtJ2dzC3ZDyZI2yql08x3e-BPhCRrrPCEFR8NT5q8iJMoiC5LFyXptjVTghNtmOxc7ud2h7Jt10uPPR620q8duV3DabUDFa8JDxqR/s200/TanLines_Fullpic_1.gif" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5450393491126929266" border="0" /></a><span style="color: rgb(255, 0, 0); font-weight: bold;font-family:georgia;font-size:120%;" >SAYINGS</span><span style=";font-family:georgia;font-size:120%;" >: I’m the kind of guy who likes to read billboards and things written on the walls even if it asks me to go home and try to have an intercourse with myself. This rant is for all the women out there who wear these smart t shirts and think I’m staring at their boobs. Well,I’m not. I’m trying to read the so called smart quotes on your t-shirt. If you really know me then you would also know that I’m a butt man, unless you have boobs like Sophia Vergara (to all the guys, google it). If you do then they have to be fake and I don’t like fake ones and trust me, guys can make out the real ones from the fake ones so</span><span style="font-size:120%;"><br /></span><span style=";font-family:georgia;font-size:120%;" >don’t even try. Now coming to all the crap on your t-shirt. We expect to read</span><span style="font-size:120%;"><br /></span><span style="font-family:georgia;"><span style="font-size:120%;"><span style="font-family:georgia;">something smart not stupid. No “Fish fuck in water so don’t drink water”. That’s just disappointing and it exposes the kind of humor that you like. Besides it’s not even worth getting a slap for reading that from a hot chick no matter how kinky you are. If you really want to make my life hard get something on your butt. I wouldn’t know whether to read or to look. It might send me into an epileptic fit. But again you wouldn’t know whether I’m looking or reading. If I have a smile on my face then I’m probably looking given that you have a good butt, else I’m disappointed at your butt or I’m disappointed at the saying. This is quite complicated. So next time you are wearing pants with sayings on them google “Keyra Augustina”.(Guys, If you haven’t seen it, you guys are idiots and need to google it right now). I'd give her a hundred out of ten. If you still think you want to wear those pants then you deserve to wear them. The whole t-shirt thing can backfire if you really want to attract some good looking guys. I will explain how. There is this friend of mine who gets a panic attack whenever he enters a bookstore. His face turns red and we drag him outside so that a stray dog can perform CPR on him. If all girls start wearing t-shirts with sayings he might turn gay or kill himself and ninety percent of all men I know are allergic to books. Actually this whole thing can work in my favor. With ninety percent of all men gone my odds look much better. So to all the women who read this, forget about it as a bad dream.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:georgia;">Contibutions by Jagadish Puttaraju</span></span><br /></span>Girish.Kumarhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18247088940591300987noreply@blogger.com13tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5571313.post-43842308979197957722010-03-07T10:23:00.000-08:002010-03-07T10:27:13.958-08:00<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgbTidNSn54UP_PnRIv3pT6qmLV6_QHu7cwgOsy1ZS_lQTel0QkawH7AHmcDoQbcfJFV9yEu0Kqk6MmWwPcJRD97KKQgF8xqlhDNptzv1w6dOyjMQ_a7eOzcWsBDKjf2y_48G-g/s1600-h/6a00d8341c613853ef00e5547475628834-800wi.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 150px; height: 200px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgbTidNSn54UP_PnRIv3pT6qmLV6_QHu7cwgOsy1ZS_lQTel0QkawH7AHmcDoQbcfJFV9yEu0Kqk6MmWwPcJRD97KKQgF8xqlhDNptzv1w6dOyjMQ_a7eOzcWsBDKjf2y_48G-g/s200/6a00d8341c613853ef00e5547475628834-800wi.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5445959472494731042" border="0" /></a><span style=";font-family:georgia;font-size:120%;" ><span style="font-weight: bold; color: rgb(255, 0, 0);">CHANGE</span> : I can feel enormous change in me. I look inside for all of my answers now. I’m understanding all my limitations and trying to push them to accommodate more of me. I feel the need to grow and spread my wings. When you realize where you stand as an individual as compared to where you want to be the next day or a month after that or a decade after that you start unraveling the path on which you need to proceed. This also tells you the amount of work one needs to put in to walk that road let alone reach a goal. This is the point where people turn back and settle for something lesser and more comfortable. The mountain looks too torrid to be able to chisel into a beautiful sculpture even though you know it’s hidden in there. If you think I’m talking about success you have mistaken. I’m not talking about achieving a desired goal but the path in which you need to proceed and the joy that brings you regardless of the end result. The end result is for people to see but what really counts is the experience. Experiencing a beautiful sunset on a beautiful beach is more important than taking a picture and showing it to your friend. As you sweat it out to create something beautiful you aren’t thinking about anything but what you are working on. Once completed people might hate it or love it, they are getting a glimpse into your psyche when you created it, but they can never experience what you felt when you created it. Don’t settle for comfort; settle for what your heart really desires.</span><span style="font-size:120%;"><br /></span><span style=";font-family:georgia;font-size:120%;" > One more thing has changed in me in the recent times. I still don’t know whether it is for the better or for the worse. Before when I used to see people who have potential I would be hell bent on making them realize this. I would talk to them and try and get them to see it. Lately I’ve realized that everyone has potential and everyone has something unique to offer to the world. There are lots of reasons that differentiate the ones who are doing something about it and the ones who don’t. </span><span style="font-size:120%;"><br /></span><span style=";font-family:georgia;font-size:120%;" > The first reason - some people are just too lazy to do anything. They would sit and criticize a guy who is doing awfully in the area of their expertise. They know they can do better than the other person but won’t. The reason being they are just too lazy to get off their asses and do anything about it. The worst kinds are the ones who are proud of the fact that they can do better, not do anything, yet think the rest of the world is beneath them. </span><span style="font-size:120%;"><br /></span><span style=";font-family:georgia;font-size:120%;" > The second reason – some people do not like risk. They would do anything to reduce risk. I believe in taking at least one shot at something that you are passionate about. I would hate to get old and think I should have taken that shot when I could. Even if doesn’t work out you know you tried. That would be your personal screen saver in your head in troubled times. Sometimes life kicks you so hard in the groin that you would not want to take anymore risk. I understand these people and what they are going through but I don’t necessarily agree with them. When you are down and out that’s when the real you emerges, if he is strong you will soar to heights beyond imagination and limits. The best part is everyone one of us is strong.</span><span style="font-size:120%;"><br /></span><span style=";font-family:georgia;font-size:120%;" > Coming back to what has changed in recent times. I no longer spend my time and energy in making people realize their potential. I know that they haven’t achieved that stage of awareness to realize all the beautiful things hidden inside them. I just hope someday they wake up and look inwards before it’s too late for them and the world.</span>Girish.Kumarhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18247088940591300987noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5571313.post-15550031823628436032010-02-27T22:12:00.000-08:002010-02-27T22:17:03.792-08:00<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEitSs6kyIF1Qeaclh58624CvZkp-WuSDRODkbFlZb1BDKYOde6G0jKHRdj9EmG_AELJjj9OLxgqdQRRE7CMlzmgLkKqgWK-hYZgYprn9PZdZO9-M3JHRHmV0s4YH4x0fb1XZ635/s1600-h/sweeney-todd.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEitSs6kyIF1Qeaclh58624CvZkp-WuSDRODkbFlZb1BDKYOde6G0jKHRdj9EmG_AELJjj9OLxgqdQRRE7CMlzmgLkKqgWK-hYZgYprn9PZdZO9-M3JHRHmV0s4YH4x0fb1XZ635/s200/sweeney-todd.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5443173755245243506" border="0" /></a><meta equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html; charset=utf-8"><meta name="ProgId" content="Word.Document"><meta name="Generator" content="Microsoft Word 11"><meta name="Originator" content="Microsoft Word 11"><link rel="File-List" href="file:///E:%5CDOCUME%7E1%5CPHATCO%7E1%5CLOCALS%7E1%5CTemp%5Cmsohtml1%5C01%5Cclip_filelist.xml"><!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:worddocument> <w:view>Normal</w:View> <w:zoom>0</w:Zoom> <w:punctuationkerning/> <w:validateagainstschemas/> <w:saveifxmlinvalid>false</w:SaveIfXMLInvalid> <w:ignoremixedcontent>false</w:IgnoreMixedContent> <w:alwaysshowplaceholdertext>false</w:AlwaysShowPlaceholderText> <w:compatibility> <w:breakwrappedtables/> <w:snaptogridincell/> <w:wraptextwithpunct/> <w:useasianbreakrules/> <w:dontgrowautofit/> </w:Compatibility> <w:browserlevel>MicrosoftInternetExplorer4</w:BrowserLevel> </w:WordDocument> </xml><![endif]--><!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:latentstyles deflockedstate="false" latentstylecount="156"> </w:LatentStyles> </xml><![endif]--><style> <!-- /* Font Definitions */ @font-face {font-family:Georgia; panose-1:2 4 5 2 5 4 5 2 3 3; mso-font-charset:0; mso-generic-font-family:roman; mso-font-pitch:variable; mso-font-signature:647 0 0 0 159 0;} /* Style Definitions */ p.MsoNormal, li.MsoNormal, div.MsoNormal {mso-style-parent:""; margin:0in; margin-bottom:.0001pt; mso-pagination:widow-orphan; font-size:12.0pt; font-family:"Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family:"Times New Roman";} @page Section1 {size:8.5in 11.0in; margin:1.0in 1.25in 1.0in 1.25in; mso-header-margin:.5in; mso-footer-margin:.5in; mso-paper-source:0;} div.Section1 {page:Section1;} --> </style><!--[if gte mso 10]> <style> /* Style Definitions */ table.MsoNormalTable {mso-style-name:"Table Normal"; mso-tstyle-rowband-size:0; mso-tstyle-colband-size:0; mso-style-noshow:yes; mso-style-parent:""; mso-padding-alt:0in 5.4pt 0in 5.4pt; mso-para-margin:0in; mso-para-margin-bottom:.0001pt; mso-pagination:widow-orphan; font-size:10.0pt; font-family:"Times New Roman"; mso-ansi-language:#0400; mso-fareast-language:#0400; mso-bidi-language:#0400;} </style> <![endif]--> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Georgia;"><span style="font-weight: bold; color: rgb(255, 0, 0);">SWEENEY TODD</span> :Life is like a hair cut you never know what you are going to get. I had a bad hair cut today and being an optimist up until the last moment I kept thinking it’s going to get better. It’s like watching a bad movie, you wait for the twist in the tale and hoping it’s not the twists that you have in mind. The result – “A twisted Hair cut”.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: Georgia;">There are different kinds of hair cut blunders; one of them is falling asleep when getting a hair cut. The rhythmic sound of the blades sliding across each other can be quite sleep inducing, especially with all the crappy music playing in the background. This would be less painful if you stick to sleeping on the chair and not dreaming. Imagine this, you are dreaming about yourself getting a haircut and dozing off, while you are sleeping in the chair and dozing off. You dream about the barber cutting off your ears, wake up screaming to find a piece of your ear hanging off the metal blades. <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: Georgia;">If you thought demon barbers only exist in movies and novels think again for they are dime a dozen where I live. The first kind, are the ones who think they are masters of chiropractic treatments and spine adjustment. They pretend to be cutting your hair and when you least expect it they wrap their hands around your neck and twist it like the ninjas do in the old martial arts movie. If it resulted in death it could have been appreciated. Instead, what you are left with is your spine yanked out of your body and readjusted to fit into your wallet. If you sit down and explain how that hurts and doesn’t really work, he starts blaming you for not sitting still. He also claims to have treated Stephan Hawkings who walked out of his shop on his own two feet. He also goes on to tell me that Christopher Reeves was supposed to be his next customer but he ended up going to his rival and we all know what happened next. <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: Georgia;">The next kind, are the ones who don’t believe in personal hygiene. Sometimes you don’t doze off at the chair but you fall unconscious due to the foul odor coming from the barber’s arm pits when he raises his arms to cut your hair. You somehow gain consciousness to keep your vanity in check and to keep your beloved ones from being massacred beyond the point of growth. All this, to be beaten back to submission by bad breath. <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: Georgia;">Finding the right barber is like finding your soul mate. She makes you feel good and look good too. Until then every relationships ends with you having to pay for it some way or the other.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Georgia;"><span style=""> </span><o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Georgia;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Georgia;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Georgia;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Georgia;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Georgia;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Georgia;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Georgia;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Georgia;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> Girish.Kumarhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18247088940591300987noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5571313.post-66148963452640313052010-02-09T12:23:00.000-08:002010-02-09T12:34:52.278-08:00<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDggp1RPQZhqN8jTQRtJQVLpx2mGHpCuAkR7U6EKd1UIzWiCkgfSEWg3KmnM8aq2rFTdTmB_h5juuvvGnljUoPKa85lf03oFUER-sRv1SwKp58whWqALyTdNVCqAlaZLjZeuYE/s1600-h/the-secret.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 144px; height: 200px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDggp1RPQZhqN8jTQRtJQVLpx2mGHpCuAkR7U6EKd1UIzWiCkgfSEWg3KmnM8aq2rFTdTmB_h5juuvvGnljUoPKa85lf03oFUER-sRv1SwKp58whWqALyTdNVCqAlaZLjZeuYE/s200/the-secret.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5436342249256430338" border="0" /></a><br /><span style=";font-family:georgia;font-size:120%;" ><span style="font-weight: bold; color: rgb(255, 0, 0);">POTS AND PANS</span>: Life changing experiences doesn’t have to be a near death experience. Life changing experience is just the moment where you wake up in life. You realize your stupidity but we are like cauldrons filled with boiling negativity and bad choices. Its when this spills over that we really feel the burn. Our aim is simple, cool all the emotions inside and start emptying the cauldron. Once it’s clean we can reuse the same to fill in the good things in life</span><span style=";font-family:georgia;font-size:120%;" ><br /></span><span style=";font-family:georgia;font-size:120%;" > I have seen people work till they become machines. The only difference being machines don’t complain. They negate all the good work they do by complaining so much. When things aren’t going your way only then will the true you emerge. Stop complaining and focus on the good things, is what all the great saints will tell you but this is hard to practice. The easiest thing to do when things get tough is not to think at all. Its almost poetic, hum a song. Be blank. This I learnt from a life changing experience that I had about two years ago when I was at my miserable best. It helped that I went away from it all but again I was still in my body and my body was a mess.</span><span style=";font-family:georgia;font-size:120%;" ><br /></span><span style=";font-family:georgia;font-size:120%;" > Recently I had another one. I have always done things my way, never did anything to please anyone. Took my own road, the less crowded one that life offers. Even with whatever I do, be it writing or drawing, I never waited for any kind of validation from people. My motto has always been, I will do something in life which gives me satisfaction, and the world can burn in hell.</span><span style=";font-family:georgia;font-size:120%;" ><br /></span><span style=";font-family:georgia;font-size:120%;" > This has worked for me till now for I can find at least a few souls who agree with me, sometimes sympathize with me or find me curious enough to look at what I have to offer. Few weeks ago one of my close friends decided to get into business and more specifically into the food industry. I asked him whether he was in it for the money. He said no. I asked him whether he was in it because of his love for fine cuisine. He said no. I kept at it till nothing seemed to justify why he was getting into it. So my narrow mind was stuck at all these little materialistic and sometimes ego centric landscapes. Finally I gave up and asked him to spill it out. This is what he told me, “I want to do something that gives joy and satisfaction to people, and provides me enough to keep my passions alive".</span><span style=";font-family:georgia;font-size:120%;" ><br /></span><span style=";font-family:georgia;font-size:120%;" > My cauldron is a little less filled because of my friend Prashant.</span>Girish.Kumarhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18247088940591300987noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5571313.post-42265183281430365442009-12-10T05:48:00.000-08:002009-12-10T05:53:50.600-08:00<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdN38gm-n_MiEqEeHF7Sm8IruJ-llVxEsDc_xre1jWcWo0OJTSHdlWJrbbsdjkYei9pKeRagArWisaw6KUgj_NTpso5xdh2X6TLLEAzIqeyCOoNvIP7-dHl6BimM6WrczZuAyG/s1600-h/quit-smoking-burning-money.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 148px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdN38gm-n_MiEqEeHF7Sm8IruJ-llVxEsDc_xre1jWcWo0OJTSHdlWJrbbsdjkYei9pKeRagArWisaw6KUgj_NTpso5xdh2X6TLLEAzIqeyCOoNvIP7-dHl6BimM6WrczZuAyG/s200/quit-smoking-burning-money.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5413604753186704306" border="0" /></a><meta equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html; charset=utf-8"><meta name="ProgId" content="Word.Document"><meta name="Generator" content="Microsoft Word 11"><meta name="Originator" content="Microsoft Word 11"><link rel="File-List" href="file:///E:%5CDOCUME%7E1%5CPHATCO%7E1%5CLOCALS%7E1%5CTemp%5Cmsohtml1%5C01%5Cclip_filelist.xml"><!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:worddocument> <w:view>Normal</w:View> <w:zoom>0</w:Zoom> <w:punctuationkerning/> <w:validateagainstschemas/> <w:saveifxmlinvalid>false</w:SaveIfXMLInvalid> <w:ignoremixedcontent>false</w:IgnoreMixedContent> <w:alwaysshowplaceholdertext>false</w:AlwaysShowPlaceholderText> <w:compatibility> <w:breakwrappedtables/> <w:snaptogridincell/> <w:wraptextwithpunct/> <w:useasianbreakrules/> <w:dontgrowautofit/> </w:Compatibility> <w:browserlevel>MicrosoftInternetExplorer4</w:BrowserLevel> </w:WordDocument> </xml><![endif]--><!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:latentstyles deflockedstate="false" latentstylecount="156"> </w:LatentStyles> </xml><![endif]--><style> <!-- /* Style Definitions */ p.MsoNormal, li.MsoNormal, div.MsoNormal {mso-style-parent:""; margin:0in; margin-bottom:.0001pt; mso-pagination:widow-orphan; font-size:12.0pt; font-family:"Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family:"Times New Roman";} @page Section1 {size:8.5in 11.0in; margin:1.0in 1.25in 1.0in 1.25in; mso-header-margin:.5in; mso-footer-margin:.5in; mso-paper-source:0;} div.Section1 {page:Section1;} --> </style><!--[if gte mso 10]> <style> /* Style Definitions */ table.MsoNormalTable {mso-style-name:"Table Normal"; mso-tstyle-rowband-size:0; mso-tstyle-colband-size:0; mso-style-noshow:yes; mso-style-parent:""; mso-padding-alt:0in 5.4pt 0in 5.4pt; mso-para-margin:0in; mso-para-margin-bottom:.0001pt; mso-pagination:widow-orphan; font-size:10.0pt; font-family:"Times New Roman"; mso-ansi-language:#0400; mso-fareast-language:#0400; mso-bidi-language:#0400;} </style> <![endif]--> <p style="font-family: georgia;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-weight: bold; color: rgb(255, 0, 0);">MONEY</span>: What if you can give someone everything that they ever wanted? If someone likes life, give them immortality. If someone likes freedom, give them wings to soar away from limitations. At this point in time I don’t have the ability to bestow people with neither immortality nor do I posses the knowledge to free people from their earthly bounds. </p> <p style="font-family: georgia;" class="MsoNormal"><span style=""> </span>There are these people in this world that I can help, at least to gain momentary happiness. These are people who love money, not your average miser who calculates everything. I’m talking about a guy who weighs everything in terms of profit and loss. This is a guy who thinks if he talks too much he spends these many calories in turn he has to eat more food, which would lead to spending money on food so, as a logical solution keeps his mouth shut at all times. </p> <p style="font-family: georgia;" class="MsoNormal"><span style=""> </span>For these people money is everything, they rank it higher than relationships, sometimes higher than freedom. </p> <p style="font-family: georgia;" class="MsoNormal"><span style=""> </span>Do not confuse these people with the impoverished. The poor need money to survive; these people on the other hand want money so that they can be happy. They might even have more money than you but that doesn’t really matter since they need more. So why not give it to them. Even if you have only ten rupees, give them five. You can see true joy in their eyes. It’s the same joy you find in people’s eyes when they meet their long lost love after years of separation. It’s the same joy you see in a mother’s eye when their first kid is born. All this joy cost you was five rupees. </p> Girish.Kumarhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18247088940591300987noreply@blogger.com16tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5571313.post-14435228906694533692009-11-21T10:47:00.000-08:002009-11-21T11:10:51.995-08:00<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLOErog30GjckBXIFSguz7hglhWoSFnTXk0vatUW-oZ0D1WqY8mkAzYstE-mNPExLwYRRC9B_mOor7jkkNNhXdOl7344mjpQ12WFnzTy8TQcU2Hf2ntP6CNuTh24kLuI_MW2wa/s1600/toyknife.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 133px; height: 200px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLOErog30GjckBXIFSguz7hglhWoSFnTXk0vatUW-oZ0D1WqY8mkAzYstE-mNPExLwYRRC9B_mOor7jkkNNhXdOl7344mjpQ12WFnzTy8TQcU2Hf2ntP6CNuTh24kLuI_MW2wa/s200/toyknife.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5406635883463084738" border="0" /></a><meta equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html; charset=utf-8"><meta name="ProgId" content="Word.Document"><meta name="Generator" content="Microsoft Word 11"><meta name="Originator" content="Microsoft Word 11"><link style="font-weight: bold; color: rgb(255, 0, 0);" rel="File-List" href="file:///E:%5CDOCUME%7E1%5CPHATCO%7E1%5CLOCALS%7E1%5CTemp%5Cmsohtml1%5C01%5Cclip_filelist.xml"><!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:worddocument> <w:view>Normal</w:View> <w:zoom>0</w:Zoom> <w:punctuationkerning/> <w:validateagainstschemas/> <w:saveifxmlinvalid>false</w:SaveIfXMLInvalid> <w:ignoremixedcontent>false</w:IgnoreMixedContent> <w:alwaysshowplaceholdertext>false</w:AlwaysShowPlaceholderText> <w:compatibility> <w:breakwrappedtables/> <w:snaptogridincell/> <w:wraptextwithpunct/> <w:useasianbreakrules/> <w:dontgrowautofit/> </w:Compatibility> <w:browserlevel>MicrosoftInternetExplorer4</w:BrowserLevel> </w:WordDocument> </xml><![endif]--><!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:latentstyles deflockedstate="false" latentstylecount="156"> </w:LatentStyles> </xml><![endif]--><style> <!-- /* Style Definitions */ p.MsoNormal, li.MsoNormal, div.MsoNormal {mso-style-parent:""; margin:0in; margin-bottom:.0001pt; mso-pagination:widow-orphan; font-size:12.0pt; font-family:"Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family:"Times New Roman";} @page Section1 {size:8.5in 11.0in; margin:1.0in 1.25in 1.0in 1.25in; mso-header-margin:.5in; mso-footer-margin:.5in; mso-paper-source:0;} div.Section1 {page:Section1;} --> </style><!--[if gte mso 10]> <style> /* Style Definitions */ table.MsoNormalTable {mso-style-name:"Table Normal"; mso-tstyle-rowband-size:0; mso-tstyle-colband-size:0; mso-style-noshow:yes; mso-style-parent:""; mso-padding-alt:0in 5.4pt 0in 5.4pt; mso-para-margin:0in; mso-para-margin-bottom:.0001pt; mso-pagination:widow-orphan; font-size:10.0pt; font-family:"Times New Roman"; mso-ansi-language:#0400; mso-fareast-language:#0400; mso-bidi-language:#0400;} </style> <![endif]--><meta equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html; charset=utf-8"><meta name="ProgId" content="Word.Document"><meta name="Generator" content="Microsoft Word 11"><meta name="Originator" content="Microsoft Word 11"><link rel="File-List" href="file:///E:%5CDOCUME%7E1%5CPHATCO%7E1%5CLOCALS%7E1%5CTemp%5Cmsohtml1%5C03%5Cclip_filelist.xml"><!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:worddocument> <w:view>Normal</w:View> <w:zoom>0</w:Zoom> <w:punctuationkerning/> <w:validateagainstschemas/> <w:saveifxmlinvalid>false</w:SaveIfXMLInvalid> <w:ignoremixedcontent>false</w:IgnoreMixedContent> <w:alwaysshowplaceholdertext>false</w:AlwaysShowPlaceholderText> <w:compatibility> <w:breakwrappedtables/> <w:snaptogridincell/> <w:wraptextwithpunct/> <w:useasianbreakrules/> <w:dontgrowautofit/> </w:Compatibility> <w:browserlevel>MicrosoftInternetExplorer4</w:BrowserLevel> </w:WordDocument> </xml><![endif]--><!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:latentstyles deflockedstate="false" latentstylecount="156"> </w:LatentStyles> </xml><![endif]--><style> <!-- /* Font Definitions */ @font-face {font-family:Georgia; panose-1:2 4 5 2 5 4 5 2 3 3; mso-font-charset:0; mso-generic-font-family:roman; mso-font-pitch:variable; mso-font-signature:647 0 0 0 159 0;} /* Style Definitions */ p.MsoNormal, li.MsoNormal, div.MsoNormal {mso-style-parent:""; margin:0in; margin-bottom:.0001pt; mso-pagination:widow-orphan; font-size:12.0pt; font-family:"Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family:"Times New Roman";} @page Section1 {size:8.5in 11.0in; margin:1.0in 1.25in 1.0in 1.25in; mso-header-margin:.5in; mso-footer-margin:.5in; mso-paper-source:0;} div.Section1 {page:Section1;} --> </style><!--[if gte mso 10]> <style> /* Style Definitions */ table.MsoNormalTable {mso-style-name:"Table Normal"; mso-tstyle-rowband-size:0; mso-tstyle-colband-size:0; mso-style-noshow:yes; mso-style-parent:""; mso-padding-alt:0in 5.4pt 0in 5.4pt; mso-para-margin:0in; mso-para-margin-bottom:.0001pt; mso-pagination:widow-orphan; font-size:10.0pt; font-family:"Times New Roman"; mso-ansi-language:#0400; mso-fareast-language:#0400; mso-bidi-language:#0400;} </style> <![endif]--> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Georgia;"><span style="font-weight: bold; color: rgb(255, 0, 0);">FICTION</span>:<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Georgia;">Guy1: Dude the letter you asked me to give her totally bombed, she started crying, called me a pervert and said if I ever get near her she will call the cops on me. The worst part was, she said, she hates me.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Georgia;">Me: So, it worked.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Georgia;">Guy1: What?<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Georgia;">Me: Precisely. She has to hate you passionately. Then we can convert that passion into love. Remember passion cannot be created nor destroyed but…<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Georgia;">Guy1: So. What do I do next?<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Georgia;">Me: Do you know who Shah Rukh Khan is?<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Georgia;">Guy1: Yes.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Georgia;">Me: Crap. Do you know who Joy Mukherjee is?<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Georgia;">Guy1: No.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Georgia;">Me: Excellent. He was like Shah Rukh Khan, but with less epilepsy. In an old movie he goes to this girl who hates her, whips out a knife and says, I will stab this knife into my arm if you don’t stop me and say you love me. If you don’t, I will rip out my heart and throw it at your feet.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Georgia;">Guy1: What happened next?<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Georgia;">Me: What do you think? The girl stopped him. They fell in love and got married. Add in about 8 songs and that’s what happened.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Georgia;">Guy1: Cool man. So get a fake knife?<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Georgia;">Me: Hell no. This is what makes you an idiot. Fake knife will never bring out the fear and passion in you. She takes one good look at that trembling hand and she is all yours.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Georgia;">Guy1: Thanks bro, you are a life saver.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Georgia;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Georgia;">Guy2: Dude, did you hear what happened to Guy1?<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Georgia;">Me: He stabbed himself in the arm?<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Georgia;">Guy2: How did you know?<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Georgia;">Me: Have you heard of premonition?<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Georgia;">Guy2: Is that the girl in Bio-tech first year?<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Georgia;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Georgia;">At the hospital.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Georgia;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Georgia;">Me: Did you use a fake knife?<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Georgia;">Guy1: Does this wound look fake to you?<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Georgia;">Me: Well, Debatable. Anyways, I guess she turned out to be a psycho. How could she stand there and not do anything.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Georgia;">Guy1: She did, she called the cops.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Georgia;">Me: What does that tell you about her?<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Georgia;">Guy1: She has the cops’ number on speed dial?<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Georgia;">Me: No you idiot. She is not the one for you. There are plenty of fish in the sea and lots of girls on the beach. <o:p></o:p></span></p> Girish.Kumarhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18247088940591300987noreply@blogger.com5