tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-89492983035059640272024-03-21T21:18:52.267-07:00The Window, The Sky and Beyond...Incognitohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05908323507902429046noreply@blogger.comBlogger12125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8949298303505964027.post-75187407004511670312012-01-12T08:28:00.000-08:002012-01-12T08:41:06.905-08:00Wish I knew..I had given up writing entirely. I did not want to write just for the sake of writing. The last few months have been a whirlwind. Let's just say, that I have actually matured a couple of years in the last few months. Even now, as I am writing, errr.. typing, I do not feel the urge to write any spectacular piece. But sudden realizations often jerk us out of our dormancy. Revelations and chance meetings, full length conversations and casual snippets are enough to make us sit up and take notice all over again. <br /><br />We just wish we had known this and that before. But the fact is, that had we known, it wouldn't have happened in the first place. And then at the end of it all, we realize that we had been holding on to a thread, however thin, however much brittle. And when that's gone, probably for good, we realize that we had only been pacifying our poor selves by saying, "I don't give a damn". I did the same. And I hope no one else ever does. But indeed we all do.Incognitohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05908323507902429046noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8949298303505964027.post-41484725423099160052010-06-05T22:25:00.000-07:002011-07-02T08:35:15.414-07:00<div align="justify"><span class="Apple-style-span" >He was looking at me for quite sometime now. I didn’t know what to do. Did he want to ask me </span><strong><span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: normal; "><span class="Apple-style-span" >something? Did he want to talk to me? After all, this was not the first time that he was looking at me. Should I go up to him and ask if he wants something or not? He was new so maybe he needed something.<br /><br />He smiled.<br /><br />Did he really? I thought he did.<br /><br />He smiled again.<br /><br />I smiled back.<br /><br />He got up from his seat and started walking towards me. He is surely going to ask me my name. Or does he already know?<br /><br />“Hi”.<br /><br />“Hi”.<br /><br />“May I sit here?”<br /><br />“Yes”<br /><br />“Didn’t you bring your tiffin?”<br /><br />“I did. And it’s finished.”<br /><br />“Belated Happy Birthday”.<br /><br />I was taken aback.<br /><br />“Thanks. But that was last week.”<br /><br />“Yes, I know. I saw you in your new frock. I am new in class and I don’t know you well. I couldn’t say anything that day.”<br /><br />“Thank you very much.”<br /><br />“Here.”<br /><br />He pulled out a package from his pocket. I opened it. Inside were seven candles.<br /><br />“You are seven years old now, aren’t you? I heard your mom telling our painting ma’am that day. Mom had put eleven candles on my cake two months back. But I didn’t have enough pocket money to buy the cake. Will you be my friend? I’ll give you candles every year.”<br /><br />Yesterday, he gave me seventy-six candles.</span></span><br /></span></strong></div>Incognitohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05908323507902429046noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8949298303505964027.post-72249913603999016892010-05-25T07:52:00.000-07:002011-06-30T10:31:36.478-07:00<div align="justify"><span style="color:#339999;">Another year gone and another year added to my monotonous and perhaps meaningless existence. Wished by everyone to have a great and exciting year ahead, I would perhaps sit down to reflect how to make it happen. It is never too easy to let go, especially when you have been thinking in terms of a lifetime. You need to have a certain amount of disdain to disassociate yourself from the object. Or else cultivate it to be able to free yourself from the cobwebs. So this is what I am reduced to now – teaching myself to hate. And hating myself for it. Looking ahead to another year with trepidation and hoping against hope that it would be somehow different. After all, things can’t get any worse than they already are.<br /><br />( Dunno why do I have to make my posts so personal. I might as well have kept a diary. But my blogs don’t have much of a readership, so I guess its okay. Next time, I’ll write something sweet and mushy, something that I would want to happen to me. Till then, Ciao!! )</span></div>Incognitohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05908323507902429046noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8949298303505964027.post-89780858564467730582010-04-05T05:01:00.000-07:002011-06-30T10:31:36.479-07:00<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj2EaLlr_qgs9szVtd0cS7xvgXkew8Y6OcMDVaOdQ7MIKDJX7jyXFocGiCxSigv3M6LS5r3OTK78XN_R3QBdI3FYRUusc3PV_F1UvBv8t7tyUzANOIB11FYXcMAInbkjr5ea8J350pfNxI/s1600/NightSky.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5456630120969395346" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj2EaLlr_qgs9szVtd0cS7xvgXkew8Y6OcMDVaOdQ7MIKDJX7jyXFocGiCxSigv3M6LS5r3OTK78XN_R3QBdI3FYRUusc3PV_F1UvBv8t7tyUzANOIB11FYXcMAInbkjr5ea8J350pfNxI/s320/NightSky.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><div align="center"><span style="color:#339999;">Cloudy morning, a cold sun.<br />Sound of murky water swiveling down the ducts.<br />Cry of a stray waking the straggler. Paper cups<br />Trodden and a cracked glass trying to<br />Make its presence known through<br />The vapor from a kettle.<br />My Dawn.<br /><br /><br />Silent walls hidden in the shadows<br />of street lamps. The chip under my slipper<br />on the dark terrace floor. The tangled strands<br />I pull from the comb. The wait for a<br />Beep on my cell phone.<br />My Night.</span></div>Incognitohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05908323507902429046noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8949298303505964027.post-36104897830888857392009-10-12T21:27:00.000-07:002011-06-30T10:31:36.479-07:00<div align="center"><span style="color:#66cccc;"><span style="color:#339999;">From atop a crest of distress,<br />I gaze down into the dale of love.<br />Yearning to take the plunge<br />Yet uncertain so that I may drown, or worse,<br />Be carried headlong by the cataracts<br />Towards a sea of death,<br />Of my mind and soul.<br />Will there be hands to pull me back?<br />I know not, and yet I leap,<br />As End is better than an infinite wait</span>.</span></div>Incognitohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05908323507902429046noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8949298303505964027.post-85697060791561147942009-07-21T02:49:00.000-07:002011-07-02T08:46:22.097-07:00<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4q5hBlGKFLno8F2N7EO0qv65PU9VUqTPal8LsBXyUUgqn3mEXe42kXO3DChNrNOePCNb3A4ghl-3seC84mBDOy9e1p7oBY1Xz_rAgt5V9_n_7XZbM8rwJbKeJQvKya4v9Q6JcwAhlra8/s1600-h/confused.bmp"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 300px; height: 377px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4q5hBlGKFLno8F2N7EO0qv65PU9VUqTPal8LsBXyUUgqn3mEXe42kXO3DChNrNOePCNb3A4ghl-3seC84mBDOy9e1p7oBY1Xz_rAgt5V9_n_7XZbM8rwJbKeJQvKya4v9Q6JcwAhlra8/s400/confused.bmp" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5361586092497244114" /></a><br /><div align="justify"><span style="color: rgb(51, 153, 153); ">Since my examinations got over, I was faced with a small, seemingly harmless question, “NOW WHAT?” But the question was nothing less than a tiny bullet ripping through my mind and body, with every intention of shattering them. I am now expected to take confident, bold strides into the world, well-equipped as I am with a bunch of papers proclaiming my intelligence and capability of being of some service to society (and also if I can somehow manage to keep myself up on my own two feet, of being served in future as well). They are supposed to be my armour in times of need. It seems that apart from me everybody else is a lot more interested in knowing that what exactly am I going to do with my life – in other words – what exactly will I be doing to make my contribution to the annual GDP, and of course, how much will I be contributing. But shouldn’t that be my concern alone? I can very well manage for myself with an odd job here and an odd job there, or I may suddenly feel very idealistic and start working for free in an NGO, or better still what if I choose to do nothing at all? It’s true that life on earth is not to be wasted. But who decides what “waste” is? I do want to be able to do something for my folks, something to make them proud of me. But will it be a criminal offence if I do not feel that way? Can’t I live just for myself? Or just because a lot has been invested on me, can’t I work just that much so that I repay everything, and detach myself from everyone and everything. I am supposed to be a rational, independent human being. So that I can be free to live life on my own terms. And yet, why am I faced with a question in every turn of my life? After all, which duty is greater - the duty to others or the duty to oneself? And if I consider Myself more rightful of gaining my affections, then will I be tagged “selfish”? What’s wrong in living for oneself? It isn’t easy living a life of contradictions, and here I am constantly in search of that one element which I hope will add a wee bit of meaning to my existence. Questions haunt me, but one of these days I hope to find the proper answers. And until I don’t, I wish myself luck, and dream on…</span><strong><span style="color:#339999;"> </span></strong></div>Incognitohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05908323507902429046noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8949298303505964027.post-73468622075336881992009-05-25T08:41:00.000-07:002011-07-02T08:47:51.246-07:00<a href="http://fc09.deviantart.com/fs21/i/2007/233/6/d/amaranth_by_Princess_of_Shadows.jpg"><img style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 428px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://fc09.deviantart.com/fs21/i/2007/233/6/d/amaranth_by_Princess_of_Shadows.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><div align="center"><span style="color:#339999;">Today is my rising day.<br />The red lips of Doom have kissed my forehead.<br />I’ll carry his mark wherever I’ll go,<br />And bask in the glare of envious eyes.<br />For they do not know,<br />Whether they’re dead or alive.<br />They pant and strive,<br />Contending their past misgivings.<br />And here I know that I can smile<br />As I commit the sins<br />Shorn of deceit and guile,<br />Blissful, and contently living. </span></div>Incognitohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05908323507902429046noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8949298303505964027.post-25737364333582860322009-05-17T10:20:00.000-07:002011-07-02T08:48:28.086-07:00LOST...<p align="center"><a href="http://www.beachhunter.net/images/sunsets/sanibel_sunset_7347_web.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5319469281158664674" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 522px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 360px" alt="" src="http://www.beachhunter.net/images/sunsets/sanibel_sunset_7347_web.jpg" border="0" /></a></p><p align="justify"><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /></p><p align="center"> <span style="color: rgb(51, 153, 153); ">I stood by the window, overlooking the sea,<br /><br />I looked at the setting sun, as it called out to me.<br /><br />My passions spread across the sky,<br /><br />Me a little bird, with no one nearby.<br /><br />I looked down, my eyes dazzled and watering,<br /><br />And already my traces had started disappearing.<br /><br />I wondered, will I ever be able to pay back a visit?<br /><br />I never knew, ‘cause as I stood there watching,<br /><br />It went, and took myself with it… </span><br /><br /></p>Incognitohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05908323507902429046noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8949298303505964027.post-11705950645538068312009-05-17T08:20:00.000-07:002011-07-02T08:49:05.702-07:00PENDING...<p align="center"><a href="http://www.sacredspace.ie/images/latestspace/latestspace4_god_at_his_computer.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5319469281158664674" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 522px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 360px" alt="" src="http://www.sacredspace.ie/images/latestspace/latestspace4_god_at_his_computer.jpg" border="0" /></a></p><p align="justify"><br /><br /><br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(51, 153, 153); ">Hey there God! Wassup?<br /><br /><br /><br />A couple of a thousand years ago, a guy by the name of St. Francis had sent up a plea to you saying, “God, grant me strength to accept those things I cannot change.” ( I came across this ridiculous thing during a mass at my college. As I shifted the gravitational pull of the earth from the left hemisphere of my body to the right and back, and strained my ears through the notes of the organ desperately trying to announce your heavenly presence in the tube lit room, I yawned as I heard the bespectacled, robe-clad oldie read out from a hard-bound, bulky book….. mmmm… now what the hell do they call it… I keep forgetting… it was there in some chapter, some verse… if you are too much interested, then go through it yourself, ok? )<br /><br /><br /><br />Yeah, so what I was saying is, that looking around I think that you still haven’t paid the least bit of attention to that guy, you’ve still kept that poor man’s plea pending. Not that I give a dime. But wherever I and whenever I let my peepers rest, I end up seeing people cursing you for their wretched lives. God, I pity you and you have my heartfelt sympathies. What the hell do they think? That you have to rattle that cage over your shoulders just for them? You don’t have anything else to do or what? Of course, you do. You control the tsunamis, you check the waves, you need to see if the avalanches slide according to your set routine, you see that not even a single drop of rain falls on the ground where it shouldn’t be falling. And you also need to scrutinize the steady growth of grey matters in the highly blessed brains of your chosen ones endowed with the unique responsibility of adding to the number of nuclear weapons. All these things takes time yaaa….. They should understand! And moreover, you are getting old too, you should be taking good care of yourself rather then poring into the truckloads of pleas that kept emptying over Heaven’s doorsteps everyday. All that paperwork… it gets so damn tiring. (Good you took my advise and got an internet connection, it saves you all that paperwork now…)<br /><br /><br /><br />Now being the good Samaritan that I am, I thought why not lighten your burden a bit? You know what? You really don’t need to give us that much of strength (you can’t part with much of it anyway, you keep having protein bars yourselves ). Well, just that little bit of it to get that urchin to shut up when his daily wager father returns home empty-handed in the evening because some factory somewhere has shut down as your modern day replica in our state has decided to shower their benevolence on the coal plants of the neighboring states, or just that much of strength to the lady to endure her pain of cancer as her retired father’s PF money given to her for treatment was whisked away by the cabby, or to the bride told by her groom on the wedding night that he wouldn’t touch her coz he loved another, to the gays and lesbians hiding inside closets all over the world for fear of verbal crucifixion, to the man who lost his girl coz he couldn’t name his father, to the lady who can’t get her child in a decent school as they say she’s a whore, to the mother who waits beside the phone as her son gets ripped by bullets from across the border, to the 12 year old maid who gets raped by the master while the mistress is away, and who keeps her mouth shut coz her 5 year old brother has just started school, to the eighty year old who casts a longing look back at home as he’s being evacuated from an earthquake prone area, to the marine biologist who sees a baby dolphin dying before his eyes, to the wife who waits at home while her husband’s out at sea.<br /><br /><br /><br />Just that wee bit of strength so that all of them can turn a blind eye to whatever’s happening around them. Just a few years, and they know they’d be joining you. And if they are good and intelligent enough to keep their big mouths shut on this earth, they should know that you’ll keep them up there with you. They’ll wake up from their afternoon siesta with bikini-clad angels serving them iced-coffee and later they can enjoy a T20 match amidst live cheerleaders. After all, that’s the idea of a perfect heaven to the frustrated lot down here. And as for those who keep bothering you, you can always send them to rot in hell….<br /><br /> <br /><br />So, wasn’t that a very good idea. Trust me, it is. Its going to take a lot off your back…<br /><br /><br /><br />So, good bye for now. Take care. BBye.<br /><br /><br /><br />P.S. By the way, I had a request. Nothing much though… Well, its like this… </span><br /><br /></p>Incognitohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05908323507902429046noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8949298303505964027.post-88166903033030031262009-04-04T11:40:00.000-07:002011-07-02T09:00:10.424-07:00GROWING UP...<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5wZcdYaVbujq-twTxWe7GcrdxT7rNly6kuBRIlKlovgxO8p2uPaG2l4uxnR4nmJ9Ntt93-S1fFl1YEjXk6_srLGdygzaemLsyowa9hhnu13lgIqxqdR4DSM2VzZSbOFVhj_2hLjKHJ4I/s1600/6a00e553c01b4b8833010535d5c517970c.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 319px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5wZcdYaVbujq-twTxWe7GcrdxT7rNly6kuBRIlKlovgxO8p2uPaG2l4uxnR4nmJ9Ntt93-S1fFl1YEjXk6_srLGdygzaemLsyowa9hhnu13lgIqxqdR4DSM2VzZSbOFVhj_2hLjKHJ4I/s320/6a00e553c01b4b8833010535d5c517970c.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5624785189315544898" /></a><br /><p align="center"></p><p align="justify"><span style="color: rgb(51, 153, 153); ">"I’m grown up. I can take care of myself. Why does he always have to see to everything I’m doing?” – the cups and saucers of our breakfast table rattled in disagreement as my angry voice filled the sunlit room of our fourth floor apartment. The occasion - Arjun - my elder brother had dared to open my cupboard without asking my permission, as he needed a couple of paperclips. That, I was convinced, was an excuse. He was, as usual, sneaking into my personal belongings, trying to keep a track on what I am up to, I shouted out to Maa. Baba, never said a word these days on occasions like this – since I rudely told the man to shut up who taught me how to speak.<br /><br /><br /><br /></span><span style="color: rgb(51, 153, 153); ">And Dada was the worst thing that could have ever happened to me. He was either peeping into my cupboards, or arriving at my college without notice to pick me up – as I would be abducted on a busy street – either checking my phone bills or my Orkut friends and scraps. “Why the hell can’t he leave me alone?” “Its for you own good”, Maa said, “haven’t you read the newspapers? You don’t see what happens to young girls nowadays?” “It won’t happen to me, you get that?” Dada, himself was strangely passive during my outbursts. He never retorted, never tried justifying his actions. Even on the worst of days, he never failed to bring me my glass of bournvita at night, a habit of his which he never intends to give up – only to return the next morning to what he does best – checking on me.<br /><br /><br /><br />This morning, my agitation reached its peak, as I was apprehensive of his finding a couple of DVD’s which I had hidden behind my college books. These, if found out, would invite a plethora of questions and advises on the inappropriateness of such viewings, as if I still believed that God wrapped us up in blue and pink ribbons and brought us to our parents, and this was all that happened in the creation process. I turned away from my half-finished breakfast, picked up my bag and raced down the stairs. The last thing I saw was Dada getting my sneakers to be cleaned with his own.<br /><br /><br /><br />College, tuitions and Tantra kept me busy all day. I returned home exhausted, refused Maa’s fervent pleas for having my dinner and dozed off. Didn’t know how long it was I slept, I woke up with jerk to Maa’s muffled sobs. Dada had been taken to the hospital.<br /><br /><br /><br />The next few hours were a nightmare. Baba called up uncles and aunts and within an hour the hospital’s lobby was buzzing with the members of my extended family. Someone came forward to console me. Dada had suffered multiple fractures in shoulder and hands, as his cab was rammed into by a bus from the opposite direction. Someone was saying that if that was the only thing he suffered he would be alright in a few months, when the doctor informed us that immediate blood transfusion was needed and that he had to be shifted to another hospital for complex surgical procedures. The last thing I remember was seeing Dada, covered with a white cloth, head bandaged being carried into the ambulance, and the last lingering notes were of the siren, ominously spreading out into the night.<br /><br /><br /><br />“Hey, you’ll get late for college. Are you deaf even to the alarm these days?” I opened my eyes and saw Dada smiling down at me, pulling at my covers. “Or will you say that now I am interfering with your dreams”, he chuckled. Then he grew concerned, “hey, what happened?” I nodded, looked down and went into his sheltering, outstretched, blessed arms.<br /><br /></span></p><p align="justify"><span style="font-family: georgia; "><span style="color: rgb(51, 153, 153); "></span></span></p><p align="justify"><span style="font-family: georgia; "><span style="color: rgb(51, 153, 153); ">You stood by me in every way<br /><br />Sharing my smiles and tears,<br /><br />You remembered me in my absence<br /><br />And kissed away my fears,<br /><br />And all the time that I’ve unseen you<br /><br />I know not what I did.<br /><br /><br /><br />When you go away on a holiday<br /><br />And leave my things to me,<br /><br />When you sleep with a "Do not Disturb"<br /><br />And close your eyes on me,<br /><br />Till I wait for you to wake up,<br /><br />I know not what to do.<br /></span></span></p><a href="http://www.markchesterphotography.com/Images/SectionOpeners/MennoniteBrotherSister.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5319469281158664674" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 522px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 325px" alt="" src="http://www.markchesterphotography.com/Images/SectionOpeners/MennoniteBrotherSister.jpg" border="0" /></a><p></p><p align="justify"><br /><br /><br /><span class="Apple-style-span" ><br /></span></p>Incognitohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05908323507902429046noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8949298303505964027.post-15058906074639862062008-02-09T03:12:00.000-08:002011-07-02T09:00:59.392-07:00MY SUNDAY<p align="center"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhVCrknm2WIt9gS2-c46VZYD7K26Pw1Y_3mcm5YVIZ1mOxda2KuzJ_wKJCobVIJIuMu3SXnIMyJcdvDD9gdCaSnWa0n8mGRK0L-pcbDup4n1LtDyrJxQ-8Hou1Wf5GNXQxe3xG1XhknPwQ/s1600-h/Camping.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5319469281158664674" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 522px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 243px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhVCrknm2WIt9gS2-c46VZYD7K26Pw1Y_3mcm5YVIZ1mOxda2KuzJ_wKJCobVIJIuMu3SXnIMyJcdvDD9gdCaSnWa0n8mGRK0L-pcbDup4n1LtDyrJxQ-8Hou1Wf5GNXQxe3xG1XhknPwQ/s320/Camping.jpg" border="0" /></a></p><p align="justify"><br /><br /><strong><span style="color:#339999;"></span></strong><br /><strong><span style="color:#339999;"></span></strong><br /><strong><span style="color:#339999;"></span></strong><br /><strong><span style="color:#339999;"></span></strong><br /><strong><span style="color:#339999;"></span></strong><br /><strong><span style="color:#339999;"></span></strong><br /><strong><span style="color:#339999;"></span></strong><br /><strong><span style="color:#339999;"></span></strong><br /><span style="color: rgb(51, 153, 153); "><br /><br /><br /> It has been months since I got to spend a lazy Sunday. Well, Sundays are meant to be lazy, right? And I am not the CEO of a multinational who eats drinks and sleeps with his laptop. I am an ordinary human being, who is just timidly stepping out into the BIG BAD WORLD. (well, it’s not SO bad after all, but then that’s a different story).<br /><br /> So why don’t I get to spend a lazy holiday? And I don’t think I am alone. There are many who do not even get to enjoy on Sundays. I thought and I thought and finally came up with an answer. That’s because, we start preparing for the coming week from Sunday itself. We wash our clothes, dust our rooms and God knows what other pending tasks we have that we attend to on Sundays. And all that is left to do for the coming week is prepare beforehand whether the groceries are in stores, whether the monthly bills have been paid or not etc etc. However small they might be, but they are sure to keep us busy for the greater part of the day.<br /><br /> This of course does not apply to everybody. Because of their hectic schedule for the whole week, some people are literally spoon fed on Sundays. However, I am not among those lucky ones. Sometimes I envy my kid neighbor for whom Sundays are the days of no homework, cartoon network and endless fun and frolic. Wish I could go back to my good old school days when Mummy used to fend for everything. Sundays then meant drawing classes and getting up late in the mornings. Now we are “grown-up” individuals who are meant to build a career for ourselves. And the idea of a Sunday will soon become something that we may have to cherish in our memories.<br /><br />Hope that day never comes!</span><br /><br /><br /></p><strong><span style="color:#339999;"></span></strong>Incognitohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05908323507902429046noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8949298303505964027.post-16173824086259869602008-01-21T03:41:00.000-08:002011-07-02T09:02:00.364-07:00DREAMS<div style="color: rgb(0, 153, 0);" align="justify"> <span style="color: rgb(255, 204, 255);font-size:100%;"><span style="color: rgb(51, 153, 153); ">Dreams- is it not a strange phenomenon? For personalities like Sigmund Freud, dreams are a complicated matter. So complicated that he wrote down an entire book on it, "The Interpretation of Dreams". But what about the layman? What about the child who wakes up in the dead of night clutching on to his mother, and crying all over because he saw a witch putting him in a sack and flying off to deserted cliff? Who makes him understand that what he saw was a nightmare? Or when he wakes up in the morning with a radiant smile, swearing that a Fairy God Mother told him that he was indeed, a prince! Many of us do not even remember what we saw in our dreams the previous night. In today’s world we are so preoccupied with ourselves that we don’t even have the time to dream, literally!</span><br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(51, 153, 153); "> For some, dreams are mere illusions of a better life that we aspire to achieve, but never quite attain. We “dream” of going abroad, we “dream” of earning lots of money, we “dream” of being on Top-of-the-World. I am not saying that none of us achieve our targets. We do. But as soon as our one “dream” is accomplished, we are lining up several other dreams to be fulfilled. We are the perpetual chasers of our own destiny!</span><br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(51, 153, 153); ">And it is this relentless hankering that is finally taking Man towards his downfall. It was the “noble” dream of the Honorable President Mr. George.W.Bush to rid Mother Earth of someone by the name of Osama bin Laden. So he wasted no time in bombarding Afghanistan, Iraq, Iran one after another. So what if thousands of innocent muslims were butchered in the process? Who cares? Wasn’t he doing a noble deed so that his name might enter the history books to be remembered by the future generations? Similarly, it is the “dream” of every mother to see her child towering above everybody else, and she being recognized as the mother of so and so. So what if the “dreams” of the child are crushed under the heavy books. One has to make sacrifices. That’s not a big deal!!!</span><br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(51, 153, 153); ">But should Man stop dreaming? Never. It was someone’s dream to fly with the birds, and we are flying today. It was someone’s dream to land on the moon and we have done it. It was someone’s dream to capture fleeting moments, and today we have more than enough ways of doing that. We should keep dreaming BIG, but should remain SMALL in our hearts like the child woken by the nightmare; so that if ever our mind wanders towards the thought of fulfilling an evil dream, we can be brought back to rational thinking by our conscience</span><span style="color: rgb(51, 153, 153); ">.</span> </span></div><span style="color: rgb(0, 153, 0);font-size:100%;"><strong></strong><strong></strong><strong></strong></span>Incognitohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05908323507902429046noreply@blogger.com2