<?xml version='1.0' encoding='UTF-8'?><?xml-stylesheet href="http://www.blogger.com/styles/atom.css" type="text/css"?><feed xmlns='http://www.w3.org/2005/Atom' xmlns:openSearch='http://a9.com/-/spec/opensearchrss/1.0/' xmlns:georss='http://www.georss.org/georss' xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6317749460558556871</id><updated>2012-02-13T21:21:32.089+05:30</updated><category term='cookin'/><category term='Wishes'/><category term='Performance'/><category term='New Year'/><category term='I see around me'/><category term='Creative me'/><category term='Entertainment'/><category term='DailyStuff'/><category term='Memories'/><category term='My thoughtpad'/><category term='Searching'/><category term='Cribbing'/><category term='marital bliss'/><category term='I muse upon'/><category term='WomenFolk'/><category term='people'/><category term='Weighty Issues'/><category term='The Stuti Series'/><category term='Shopping'/><category term='Work'/><category term='gettogether'/><category term='Fiction'/><category term='India'/><category term='past'/><category term='Accidents'/><category term='friends'/><title type='text'>Ramblings ....</title><subtitle type='html'></subtitle><link rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#feed' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://mythsramblings.blogspot.com/feeds/posts/default'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6317749460558556871/posts/default?max-results=100'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mythsramblings.blogspot.com/'/><link rel='hub' href='http://pubsubhubbub.appspot.com/'/><link rel='next' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6317749460558556871/posts/default?start-index=101&amp;max-results=100'/><author><name>myths</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11319999108251458321</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><generator version='7.00' uri='http://www.blogger.com'>Blogger</generator><openSearch:totalResults>167</openSearch:totalResults><openSearch:startIndex>1</openSearch:startIndex><openSearch:itemsPerPage>100</openSearch:itemsPerPage><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6317749460558556871.post-5118508674294278577</id><published>2011-04-09T15:26:00.000+05:30</published><updated>2011-04-09T15:33:23.431+05:30</updated><title type='text'>Ugadi Shubhakaankshalu</title><content type='html'>&lt;p class="mobile-photo"&gt;&lt;a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-HTNhR3owr9k/TaAu7I5RiWI/AAAAAAAAGH0/FlZ1xE3xn2w/s1600/photo-703432.JPG"&gt;&lt;img src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-HTNhR3owr9k/TaAu7I5RiWI/AAAAAAAAGH0/FlZ1xE3xn2w/s400/photo-703432.JPG"  border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5593522330729023842" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6317749460558556871-5118508674294278577?l=mythsramblings.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://mythsramblings.blogspot.com/feeds/5118508674294278577/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6317749460558556871&amp;postID=5118508674294278577&amp;isPopup=true' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6317749460558556871/posts/default/5118508674294278577'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6317749460558556871/posts/default/5118508674294278577'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mythsramblings.blogspot.com/2011/04/ugadi-shubhakaankshalu.html' title='Ugadi Shubhakaankshalu'/><author><name>myths</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11319999108251458321</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-HTNhR3owr9k/TaAu7I5RiWI/AAAAAAAAGH0/FlZ1xE3xn2w/s72-c/photo-703432.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6317749460558556871.post-3232141180405177695</id><published>2011-04-05T09:48:00.000+05:30</published><updated>2011-04-05T09:48:04.161+05:30</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='marital bliss'/><title type='text'>MasterCard Ad</title><content type='html'>&lt;div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"&gt;Number of books in Vc's library &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp;&lt;b&gt;300&lt;/b&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Number of fantasy fiction books &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp;&lt;b&gt;150&lt;/b&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Number of other fiction books &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &lt;b&gt;150&lt;/b&gt;&lt;br /&gt;ChickLit &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &lt;b&gt;0&lt;/b&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Cost of &amp;nbsp;1 Mills and Boons book &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &lt;b&gt;100&lt;/b&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Look on Vc's face when he realised that it would get added to his library &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp;&lt;b&gt;&lt;i&gt;Priceless&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/b&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6317749460558556871-3232141180405177695?l=mythsramblings.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://mythsramblings.blogspot.com/feeds/3232141180405177695/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6317749460558556871&amp;postID=3232141180405177695&amp;isPopup=true' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6317749460558556871/posts/default/3232141180405177695'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6317749460558556871/posts/default/3232141180405177695'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mythsramblings.blogspot.com/2011/04/mastercard-ad.html' title='MasterCard Ad'/><author><name>myths</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11319999108251458321</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6317749460558556871.post-5620864806737630950</id><published>2011-03-16T22:09:00.001+05:30</published><updated>2011-03-16T22:09:47.774+05:30</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Fiction'/><title type='text'>Trisha's side of it</title><content type='html'>&lt;div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;u&gt;&lt;i&gt;&lt;b&gt;Vc writes for Trisha in response to &lt;a href="http://mythsramblings.blogspot.com/2011/03/match-making-jitu.html"&gt;Jitu&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/u&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;July 11 2007 -7. That’s the count for today. I don’t know if I should be frustrated or amused. Well, the girl was nice-ish, good family and all that blah. But, she just isn’t HER. I think even mom is beginning to tire. She’s going back home tomorrow, finding a Mallu match in Bangalore is harder than I thought. No match seems to work. If we agree, the girl’s side doesn’t. &amp;nbsp;And only for ones we aren’t too interested in, we get a “Yes”.&lt;br /&gt;It is tiring to put myself out there each day. Each time I step over the threshold into a house, I wonder if the girl of my dreams is about to greet me. The strain is telling on me. I don’t want to wonder if something is wrong in me or if I will be forced to settle for someone lesser than what I want. I think I should stop this search for a while and just let life play itself out. After all, if and when it’s meant to be, it will, right?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;i&gt;Jul 11 2007,&lt;/i&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;i&gt;I love dogs! I knew I would be doing something for them when I was 7. &amp;nbsp;Hi my name is Trsiha , my father Pinarai Vijayan Kutty, took one look at me when I was 10 minutes old and said I was Nobel, hence the name Trish . I always wanted to join the College of Veterinary and Animal Sciences and become a Veterianian Doctor , Thrissur which is stone’s throw away from grandpa’s farm house. It’s been a year since I started my own clinic, here in Bangalore and I love my job.&lt;/i&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;July 13 2007Mom’s gone home, so it’s back to food at the mess 3 times a day. I already miss her cooking. I wonder why she goes back as soon as she can. I would love for her to stay here with me. Even if dad were still with us, I would find a way for all of us to be here. Probably, that’s the biggest tug she has to go back home. &amp;nbsp;Maybe I should move back too. There’s nothing to keep me here, just a job. I should be able to find one closer home. It would be fun to go to work from there. Same home, all the memories of dad, all my friends and of course Mom. Sigh. An IT &amp;nbsp;job in my village. Only in my wildest fantasies.&lt;br /&gt;Well, that’s it for now. Chiggy has a party tomorrow, will have to find a way to wriggle my way out of it. Ever since he’s gotten married, he’s been on my case. How am I to help it if he married the first girl he saw. Listening to his “Abhi tak nahi mili kya be” 10 times a day at office is bad enough, I don’t want to go to his house and have him do it in front of bhabhi. &amp;nbsp;Maybe I’ll just say I have some extra work to finish and can’t come.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;i&gt;July 13 2007&lt;/i&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;i&gt;Savithri Pillai is throwing a party. Her husband Chittaranjan Dasgupta works for a software firm and he is full of life. I am wondering if I should go ? What will Pa say ? His words of wisdom are still echoing in my ears. Sigh!. I’ll tell her I had an important client, haha &amp;nbsp;a bulldog with a piece of bone stuck to his teeth.&amp;nbsp;&lt;/i&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;i&gt;Damn ! Savithri never gives up , &amp;nbsp;so here I am trying to select a suitable attire for the party. Thank God I went shopping last week. I wonder where I kept my bangles.&lt;/i&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;July 14 2007Thank God I know Chiggy. Thank God he forced me to attend his party.&lt;br /&gt;I saw my angel today, all thanks to him. I walked in wondering how to plan my escape and there she was. She noticed bhabhi looking at the door and turned &amp;nbsp;to see who it was. As those big eyes looked at me and that strand of hair fell across her face, I was a goner. She had me with that look. She looked away. I kept looking at her and would have all night if Chiggy didn’t elbow me right in the rib cage.”Aise mat dekh be, thoda to sharm kar”. I looked back and she had a small smile on her face, she had heard that. *^@#*%^ Chiggy and his boom box voice.&lt;br /&gt;I didn’t see who else was in the house. No one was visible to me but my angel in blue. Each time she lifted her hand to move that strand of hair off her face, her bangles would make this beautiful sound. Mr. Boombox leaned in and said “Intro chahiye?Teri bhabhi ki dost hai. ” I managed to nod a yes while I was trying to gather my wits. Was I being that transparent, what would she think?&lt;br /&gt;She and bhabhi were getting off the sofa. I panicked. Was she leaving? I couldn’t let her go. I literally ran across the hall and when I reached her, I had no idea what to say or what to do. I just stood there looking at her. She raised her eyebrows, looked at bhabhi and managed a smile. In that eternity, I was frozen to the spot. I could have walked on by. I could have spoken to Bhabhi. I didn’t have to cross the hall. The earth could have opened up and swallowed me. But no. I just stood there. Bhabhi must have figured it out. “This is Jitu”, she introduced me to her. She nodded and said hi. I wanted to smile, I wanted to say hi. But no. I just stood there. “I am Trisha” she said. And gave me her hand. I could have shook her hand. The hand with the bangles. They made their jingling sound when she thrust her hand out. My mind was screaming “You are wondering whether it is a jingling or a tinkling sound. Jackass, shake her hand. She thinks you are a weirdo. Her face is changing . Dude, do something.” &amp;nbsp;I manage to put out my hand and immediately took them back, they were clammy. &amp;nbsp;“Dude, do something.” So , I do a namaste. Then she gives me “What kind of a whacko are you” look and smiles again.&lt;br /&gt;She turned to leave and I blurted out “Are you leaving, don’t go”. She burst out laughing. That did it. I had decided.&lt;br /&gt;When I finally decided that I wouldn’t think of marriage, she popped into my life. Perfect timing I must say.&lt;br /&gt;We spent most of the evening together, even though bhabhi kept acting as a chaperone, all the while winking at Chiggy across the room.&lt;br /&gt;I took her number. I think mom will need to come back here again.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;i&gt;July 14 2007&lt;/i&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;i&gt;I am the first of the guests to arrive for the Party. I try to help Savithri set up the Garlic Shrimps, I take a bite, yummy. Chittaranjan Bhaiya is fiddling with the new Bose System,I hope they play that new track from Dr Dre “ I need a doctor” I need a doctor, doctor To bring me back to life . &amp;nbsp;Why is that guy staring at me? Sigh* I think I overheard Chittaranjan Bhaiya talking to that stranger,haha so he thinks I am attractive.Guys! &amp;nbsp;Savithri comes over and tells me that there are 4 people checking me out. I smile, I should have work something not so eyecatching. J I think I like the attention. It’s getting late I have to be going now, where is my bag. Oh ! wait Bhaiya is introducing me to one of his weird friends. Sigh, lets get on with it, Jitu his parents must be a fan of Jumping Jack Jeetendra ,”&amp;nbsp;&lt;/i&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;i&gt;ek banjaara gaaye jeevan ke geet sunaaye hum sab jeene waalon ko jeene ki raah bataaye ek banjaara gaaye Ho Ho! ..( smile) I put my hand out. Who is this guy, he is so funny ! haha.Let me grab some more of those shrimp entrée’s. Wow he actually can speak J. This evening is going to be interesting.&lt;/i&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;i&gt;I didn’t know anyone could be so interesting. Jeetu works for a software firm along with Chirraranjan Bhaiya and hails from a small town near Kottayyam. He looks like a honest and decent chap. Everytime he talks, I just look into his eyes. Sigh.I think he works out everyday ;)&amp;nbsp;&lt;/i&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;i&gt;Why is Savithri winking at Bhaiya ? Maybe their personal joke. They make a nice couple.I wonder if I will meet Jeetu again. I would like to&lt;/i&gt;.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;August 3 2007After that first meeting, I got as much info as I could. She is a Mallu(mom was so happy about that). She has a few relatives in Kerala and has lived in Bangalore all her life. She works as a veterinarian. I managed to gather the nerves to call her and have a little bit of conversation I love that all our conversations seem to pick off as if there was no break. I love that she laughs at all my jokes. I love that she talks with so much honesty. Nothing romantic really, but I guess we have all our lives for that. I am sure she knows what I feel. She doesn’t give away much.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;i&gt;August 3 2007&lt;/i&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;i&gt;Today I received an interesting call. Jeetu . I wonder how he got Savithri to give my number.He is funny and I don’t think I have every laughed so much. The patients waiting in the next room would have been scandalized thank God they don’t understand Malayalam. :) I think I will meet him over the weekend.&lt;/i&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;September 6 2007It was really funny when she came out with a tea tray. Her parents think it is an arranged marriage setting. I didn’t let them know that I made sure her uncle found out that I was an available groom and would be a good match for her. It took me a long time to make sure he found me via his friend’s brother’s &amp;nbsp;son’s office mate who was in my team. Ha ha ha , someday, I will tell her about this.&lt;br /&gt;She knew I was coming of course, my photo and bio data got sent. We didn’t speak about it. When she gave me the tea, she smiled. We were conspirators together in this.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;i&gt;September 6 2007&lt;/i&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;i&gt;I am scared. I don’t know what will happen if Pa finds out that I already know Jeetu. I wonder how Uncle Kunjumon got this alliance. When I told Jeetu that my parents were looking for alliances, he smiled and told that he would be the first and last groom she would see. Hah ! &amp;nbsp;I was so surprised and almost dropped the phone when amma told me that Jeetu was coming .&lt;/i&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;i&gt;Now I have to go serve him tea, hah, I’ll add a couple of spoons of salt. Serves him right for keeping me in the dark :)&amp;nbsp;&lt;/i&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;July 14 2010It’s been 3 years since I first met Trisha. I didn’t know that. Being bad with dates does that for you. She told me today. Mrs. Trisha Jitu. &amp;nbsp;I couldn’t be more thankful for anything else. That includes of course, our week old little bundle of joy. I think I will call him Chiggy at home. J&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6317749460558556871-5620864806737630950?l=mythsramblings.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://mythsramblings.blogspot.com/feeds/5620864806737630950/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6317749460558556871&amp;postID=5620864806737630950&amp;isPopup=true' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6317749460558556871/posts/default/5620864806737630950'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6317749460558556871/posts/default/5620864806737630950'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mythsramblings.blogspot.com/2011/03/trishas-side-of-it.html' title='Trisha&apos;s side of it'/><author><name>myths</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11319999108251458321</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6317749460558556871.post-5103661863512314947</id><published>2011-03-16T18:26:00.000+05:30</published><updated>2011-03-16T18:26:18.882+05:30</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Fiction'/><title type='text'>P2E2RAD</title><content type='html'>&lt;div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: Calibri;"&gt;Everyone is  waiting with their confirmation letters in their hands. Most of them look  worried, I don’t think I do.I wonder if I should be nervous. I finally made it  here.18 years of studying every single day and I finally landed a job. While  college was a hoot and I will miss my family and friends back in Jaipur like  crazy, I am looking forward to this. My working life begins today. I traded my  jeans and T-shirt for a nice formal outfit. I think I’ll need to get some more  though, I can’t go on rotating the 4 shirts that I got for the interviews. And  maybe change my backpack. Everyone else is carrying them too, we still look like  college kids. Lots of shopping to do. I think I need my first salary right away  &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: Wingdings;"&gt;&lt;span&gt;J&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: Calibri;"&gt; &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: Calibri;"&gt;I checked out  the competition as soon as I got into the lobby. It’s almost like having walked  into my class on the first day – the usual mix of nerds, backbencher types, some  locals and some non-locals. I am not sure how many friends I will make. I wonder  who among these guys, I will work with. I also checked out the girls. Delhi  certainly has prettier girls than back home. I didn’t want to stare too much and  seem shady. A few casual glances show me that there are roughly less than half  the number of girls as guys. Competition again &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: Wingdings;"&gt;&lt;span&gt;J&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: Calibri;"&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: Calibri;"&gt;The HR walked  in and started calling out names and people started getting up one by one. Anuj,  &lt;span&gt;&amp;nbsp;&lt;/span&gt;……, Neil, Pankaj, Prachi, … This Prachi was definitely the  prettiest of the lot. I had noticed her already, she was sitting silently  looking at her file. I wish I get to be in the same batch as her. “Pratap&lt;span&gt;&amp;nbsp;  &lt;/span&gt;are you here?” the HR lady’s voice broke the spell. I looked around for  the person she was calling out for and then it hit me. “Yes ma’am, I’m here”. I  was so busy staring at Prachi that I didn’t realize she had called out my name.  :D I walked over , trying to look as stylish as possible and stood next to  Prachi. She turned to me and gave me a small smile. Haiiiiiiiii . &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: Calibri;"&gt;As luck would  have it, we were in the same batch – Freshers016. And for the first time ever I  was really really happy that my parents named me Pratap. That put me right next  to Prachi in the list. Which meant we were lab partners. Yahoooooo.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: Calibri;"&gt;We settled  into a routine of classes in the morning and labs in the afternoon, most of it  was a refresher of all that we did in college. But I was thankful for it, the 5  months gap caused more memory loss of Coding concepts than I had realized. I got  used to living in a PG, using trains to commute, talking to my parents every  other day. I think I could also get used to being around Prachi. It’s been only  a week since we started talking. I got to know a little bit about her. She’s a  Punjabi but settled in Varanasi and now in Delhi for work. She finished her  degree in Varanasi, so Delhi is new for her too. Her brother is in the US  working for a big MNC. She doesn’t seem to like coding too much and I don’t mind  helping her out. She’s from an Electronics background and is learning all this  for the first time. I think she is catching up fast.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: Calibri;"&gt;All the girls  have lunch together. So, in a day, the only time I am not really with her is  during lunch. I think I am picking up a new habit here. Taking tea/coffee breaks  other than lunch, once at 11 in the morning and again at 4 in the evening. I do  love my tea in the mornings but there’s no one to make it here. So, office tea  at 11 will have to do. The other guys seem to be pretty nice. There are few guys  from Rajasthan as well, but most of them are from Delhi itself. I envy them.  They get nice home cooked meals for lunch whereas I have to suffer canteen food.  All through college, I refused to take a box from home, even though mom kept  trying to force me. Now, I wish she were here to do it. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: Calibri;"&gt;At the end of  1 month, I went home. And my mom immediately started off with “You have become  sooo thin. Is there no food there? What are you doing there?” I tell her that I  miss her too &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: Wingdings;"&gt;&lt;span&gt;J&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: Calibri;"&gt;) She has  so many questions for me. “How is Delhi? I hear the people are very rude. That  it is very hot. That there is too much traffic. Did you make any friends?  Anybody from Jaipur?Did you see Qutub Minar? What all did you see?” I had to  answer all of them patiently while she served me my first home made meal in  ages. I could have hugged her then and there. But I didn’t, she would have  thought I learnt new things in Delhi . Ha ha ha .&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: Calibri;"&gt;Back in  Delhi, we started to learn bigger things like process, QE, lifecycles and  started working on real projects. The training period was to last 3 months. And  most of us became good friends. Then someone suggested a trip to Taj Mahal for  the weekend. Everyone agreed and preparations were on in full swing. Transport,  Overnight stay at Agra, food and what nots. Luckily enough, we chose a date when  there would be a full moon. So, we would get a night viewing of the magnificient  Taj. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: Calibri;"&gt;Akash that people have no sense of time and now  we might get caught in traffic. And of course we’ll be late and the sun will be  worse. We had booked the non-AC traveler, because we planned to leave early.  Prachi got out, with her red coloured pallu over her head. She saw me notice it  and pulled it back. I wish she hadn’t, she looked even prettier with the red  color adorning her face. I nod a hi and she seems to have something to say. I  move away from Akash and say “What’s up? Girls are always late. Putting on make  up is it :-P” and said, in a way that only she can, “Well, if the way you looked  at me when I got out of the auto is any indication, then I think being late did  the trick.” she laughed her infectious Punjabi laughter. I am sure I would have  turned red to the roots of my hair if she hadn’t winked. I just had to join her  in laughter. And that was that. I knew that this day would be  special.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: Calibri;"&gt;She then told  me that it was her birthday the next day and since she might not be able to go  to a temple tomorrow, she had gone in the morning. Which she said explains why  she was late and the pallu on her head. And I felt like a prize ass for not  having found that out. She was my closest friend here and I didn’t know her  birthday. I had to do something and I didn’t know what. I didn’t even have a  bike. I missed my Yamaha Rx 150.I asked everyone who had one - Manu, Sridhar and  even Sweety for her girly pink Scooty. No one had come in their&lt;span&gt;&amp;nbsp;  &lt;/span&gt;bikes. Everyone had taken a drop. So, I had to take an auto. And I went  in search for a bakery that would be open at 8.15 in the morning. I knew what I  would do, I would have her cut the cake at midnight today in front of the Taj  under the full moon. By the time I found one and got back, everyone had arrived  and I got some real dirty looks from guys who had come after me. Ha ha ha. We  started off. The journey was fun. Singing, dancing, dumb charades, the whole  works. I think we all were still in college mode. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: Calibri;"&gt;Evening  arrived, we were all ready after having rested in the noon in the hotel. Resting  mostly involved all the guys goofing off. Talking about life, work, the future.  That’s when I realized, Prachi was my partner now but if she got placed in a  different project, everything would change. The thought did something to my  insides. I didn’t understand it. I didn’t want her to go anywhere else but be  with me. Always. There were only 30 days left in training. 2 months had gone by.  I spend so much time with her that I take her for granted. Her laughter, how  pretty she is, the way she talks to herself while solving some problem, that way  she can make u feel happy by just talking with you. My insides were really  squirming badly by now. I always knew I thought she was pretty, I even accepted  that I might have had a crush on her. But now, she’s just my buddy, isn’t she?  Then why do I feel so bad and torn when I consider the fact that she might be  placed elsewhere. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: Calibri;"&gt;And suddenly,  it seemed so simple that I was surprised I hadn’t realized before. I had more  feelings for her than just a crush. The weight of that realization should have  crushed me, but I felt happier than I had for quite some time. I felt so alive,  so light, so wonderful and started smiling to myself. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: Calibri;"&gt;“Prachi na  dude. Kya smile kar raha hai dekh” I looked at Ankur, he was smiling at me and I  realized I must be looking like some sort of idiot smiling to myself.  “Cake-shake, smiling to yourself… Sab dikhta hai”. I didn’t even have the heart  to deny it and they all pounced upon me.”You proposed?” “Does she like you too?”  In my newly attained happiness, I had forgotten the minor fact of “What did she  feel”. Another sort of panic took hold of me. But still, the feeling of “I am in  love” had such a wonderful effect on me, that I didn’t want to worry too much  about my feelings being reciprocated.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: Calibri;"&gt;I had always  wondered how poetry was written. How love worked. How you could be affected by  another person. And I had just realized all that. I wanted to tell her all that  I felt. Suddenly, emotions and feelings that I had no idea existed within me  seemed to bubble up. I wanted to talk to her immediately. I could have called  her, but I knew I wouldn’t know what to say and would fumble. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: Calibri;"&gt;So, a few  hours later, in time for the viewing of the Taj, here we are outside the hotel.  I search for her. The girls are late as usual. She walked down the stairs  laughing at someone’s joke. She was wearing a pretty white dress, with silvery  patterns on it. She had never looked prettier ever. My heart was beating so fast  and I was wishing that she would look at me, that I was there right in front of  her. She turned suddenly and looked at me, as if I had called her. She had a  look of mild surprise on her face for a split second and it was gone as she  flashed her huge smile at me. I managed to sheepishly smile back. I didn’t have  the guts to walk upto her. And it definitely didn’t help that Ankur was elbowing  me in the back. She walked up to me. And said “So, looks like this make up is  better than mornings” giggled and walked away in such an enticing sway that my  throat went dry, I couldn’t think of a witty response. I just stood there  wordless. How could I have been so blind. She was flirting with me. Did that  mean she liked me ? Or was that just the way she is? Oh God, I need to talk to  her.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: Calibri;"&gt;But there was  no time. We all got bundled into separate buses, thankfully, I wouldn’t have  known what to say if we sat together.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: Calibri;"&gt;A few minutes  before midnight, we all had her cut the cake. She was really surprised and  really happy. She seemed so filled with energy. I am glad I got the cake.  &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: Calibri;"&gt;After a  while, I was walking around with my SLR trying to get some good shots for my  photography club. I tend to work alone that way. No distractions, looking for  that one unique elusive shot. And suddenly, a hand slipped into mine. It was  her. She looked at me, probably partly apprehensive about what I would do. She  whispered “Thank you. For the cake.” I smiled. I didn’t know what to do with the  hand, should I hold on, what would she think. Should I move away, nope,  definitely don’t want to do that. So, I just squeezed her hand a tiny bit and  went back to being blank faced. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: Calibri;"&gt;“I love you”.  She had stopped walking with me, she was 2 steps behind me. She had said it. I  couldn’t believe it. I didn’t trust myself enough to turn around and behave  normally. I looked back at her, she was standing there looking shy and a small  smile on her face. I walked back to her, took both her hands in mine and said “I  love you”. And we kissed. I don’t know if it was the full moon, the Taj, her  pretty face, the romantic mood or just the feeling of being in love. Whatever it  was, at that moment, I did not think about anything other than how soft her lips  were.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: Calibri;"&gt;We walked  back to the group holding hands. We didn’t say anything. Everybody noticed but  nobody reacted as if it were something new. I guess the whole world knew about  it before we did.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: Calibri;"&gt;The last  month of training went by as if someone had put time on fastforward. There  seemed to be more assignments, tests, internal interviews. Alongside work and  more importantly, our relationship began to blossom.We savored every waking  moment with each other. Love is such a wondrous thing. The world does seem  nicer. Everyone looks happier. All sorts of poetry starts to make sense. Tea  breaks, lunch, dinner, phone calls when we were apart – didn’t seem enough. I  got to know more about her. Of all the things I had discovered, what pleased me  most was that she loved bikes almost as much as I did. I should thank her  brother for introducing her to bikes. I had my dad send over my Yamaha, we would  go for long drives. And she would drive half way. I couldn’t have asked for  more. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: Calibri;"&gt;And finally  the dreaded day came. When they would call out the project placements. It was  the same HR lady who had first put me next to Prachi. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: Calibri;"&gt;Delhi – ……….,  &lt;span&gt;&amp;nbsp;&lt;/span&gt;Ankur, Rajender, Dhriti, Pratap, Tara., …… .&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: Calibri;"&gt;That was me.  I had to stay here. And they didn’t read Prachi’s name for Delhi or Pune or  Bangalore. Where would she be put.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: Calibri;"&gt;Chennai.  That’s where she went finally. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: Calibri;"&gt;My world  ended. Chennai. Where was that? Somewhere in South India, I had never ventured  South. And they were going to put her there. I looked at her across&lt;span&gt;&amp;nbsp;  &lt;/span&gt;the room and she just nodded. We knew there was a chance that something  like this would happen. As much as we hoped against it. She got into the group  of her Chennai-going mates and&lt;span&gt;&amp;nbsp; &lt;/span&gt;began to discuss something. I  couldn’t believe she wasn’t reacting to this at all. I hated all those people  standing around. She had forgotten about me, about us? How could she be there  looking so unaffected. I was gripped with anguish. I wanted to scream. She was  going away from me. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: Calibri;"&gt;She spoke to  me at the first instance we could find to be alone. “It will be ok. It will be  tough, but we can take flights occasionally. Phones are always there.” She kept  talking and kept pleading with me, but I was not appeased. It took me a few  hours before I realized she was right and there was nothing that I could do. She  took it more calmly than I did. But it did affect her as much as it did me. I  found some solace in that fact.It was Friday and we would have to report to our  respective projects on Monday. She made arrangements to leave on Sunday morning.  That gave us just 1 day to be with each other. I accompanied her for shopping,  helped her pack, we went around to our favourite haunts – the golgappa wallah,  the icecream parlor and finally dinner at the fancy restaurant we always dreamt  of going to. This was an occasion as good as any.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: Calibri;"&gt;I dropped her  at the airport the next. I didn’t want to let go. I could see the tears filling  her eyes. I held her in my arms and told her I would be there with her soon. It  was a gut wrenching moment for me to see her turn away, push the trolley and  walk away behind the security check point. I sat at the airport lobby for some  time. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: Calibri;"&gt;It was Sunday  morning. What was I going to do? I would normally have picked her up and headed  for a movie at the mall. But that wasn’t an option any more was it. There was  this hole in my life suddenly. And the piece that fit into it was currently  being carried away from me in a big metal bird, carried far away to the other  end of the country.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: Calibri;"&gt;Time allows  you to accept anything. Life too it seems conspires with time. I fell into a  project where slavery was endorsed wholeheartedly. I worked like I had no  personal life. Late nights were spent on the phone with my love. 5 hours of  sleep and 17 hours of work. This became my life for a year. My mom’s shock at  the way I look increased each time she saw me(measurable by how loud her gasp  sounds as soon as she sets sight on me. Also, measurable by the amount of time  the laments go on for)&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: Calibri;"&gt;My project  doesn’t give me enough time to pick up and leave for a vacation, so it has to be  her travelling north.We met twice over the year. When she went home, she would  choose a flight via Delhi and I could spend some time with her. She hasn’t  changed at all. Except for some of the lingo she has picked up. She seems to  like Chennai and tells me which movies to watch. Not that Tamil movies play here  a lot. And she ordered coffee for the first time ever when we went to get some  tea. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: Calibri;"&gt;While I was  wondering how to continue like this, some amazing news came in. Another team was  going to be added to my project but they were to work out of Bangalore. They  needed someone to help them come onboard fast. My manager asked me. Being  unmarried has it’s advantages it seems. I jumped at the chance. I am not sure  how far Chennai is from Bangalore but both are in South India and that is good  enough for me. Prachi asks me if the project can move to Chennai instead of  Bangalore. And before I can fume, she bursts out in laughter, she knows how to  infuriate me.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: Calibri;"&gt;My parents  worried that I would be going away so far. I had to convince them that it would  not be so bad.&lt;span&gt;&amp;nbsp; &lt;/span&gt;I would still visit them once in 2-3 months.  Whether it was Delhi-Jaipur or Bangalore-Jaipur, it would be just one  flight.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: Calibri;"&gt;Bangalore  seems nice. They don’t have a Metro here. It’s all autos or buses. Life seems  slower here than Delhi. I have my own house on rent here. No more PGs for me.  Food here is pretty insipid. Everything has daal in it. I think carrying green  chillies with me is the best way to deal with food. Work seems better here since  I am in training mode, people seem nice too. But best of all, I get to see her  every weekend. As great as phones are, nothing beats looking into her eyes and  talking. Holding her hand and walking. Riding the bike while she holds me. And  on my birthday this year, she gave me a huge surprise, she booked a 350cc  “Yamaha” for me which I had wanted for some time now. Unfortunately it has a 8  month waiting period. So, she’ll be in time for my next birthday. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: Calibri;"&gt;It’ll soon be  2 years and she can quit the company and find something in Bangalore. I think we  like the place. We might settle here.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6317749460558556871-5103661863512314947?l=mythsramblings.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://mythsramblings.blogspot.com/feeds/5103661863512314947/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6317749460558556871&amp;postID=5103661863512314947&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6317749460558556871/posts/default/5103661863512314947'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6317749460558556871/posts/default/5103661863512314947'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mythsramblings.blogspot.com/2011/03/p2e2rad.html' title='P2E2RAD'/><author><name>myths</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11319999108251458321</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6317749460558556871.post-7923360860200277816</id><published>2011-03-15T21:50:00.001+05:30</published><updated>2011-03-15T21:50:54.699+05:30</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Fiction'/><title type='text'>IT Exception throw Frustration</title><content type='html'>&lt;div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: Calibri;"&gt;I hate the  software industry. I hate the people who make it what it is. I thought I didn’t  like college with all the lecturers and their weird power wielding tactics. They  seem like amateurs when compared to people who call themselves managers. The  frustration in me has been building up for so long and today was the last straw.  Day in and day out having to scrape and bow to people who I don’t respect.  People who don’t care about what they are doing. People working just to make a  living, and not make something happen. People who don’t understand being  creative, don’t understand thinking out of the&lt;span&gt;&amp;nbsp; &lt;/span&gt;box, don’t  understand that every fresher has unlimited potential. I thought I hated  college, but at least they let me grow, they taught me how to streamline my  efforts, how to achieve all that I wanted. I couldn’t wait to get out of college  and start earning. I couldn’t wait to show the world all that I was capable of.  And I got stuck in a IT services company that has thousands of faceless people  like me slaving away on useless junk. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: Calibri;"&gt;I don’t know  what to do with all this pent up frustration and anger. It’s rising inside of me  like some sort of beast taunting me about my failures. “What of your dreams,  what of all your boasts, is this all you will be? Tut tut”. I can’t stand this.  &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: Calibri;"&gt;My parents  didn’t understand me when I told them I wanted to study computers. They thought  I was too artistically oriented to do something geeky. But they were happy  because it would ensure that I would not become a starving artist but a  respected engineer. Maybe go onsite and meet some goras. Make a lot of money.  Little did I know that this would be the cost. My soul dying from the  inside.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: Calibri;"&gt;My lecturers  didn’t understand me when I said I could do more than the local authors text  book. I didn’t want to code for “Array Multiplication” or “Calculators”. It  wasn’t challenging enough. Turns out I wasn’t the “Oiled hair, thick spectacles,  first bencher” kinda guy. I loved goofing off, I loved long bike rides, I  enjoyed the occasional cigarette. This meant the lecturers couldn’t treat me as  a pet. They didn’t know what to do with someone who topped class without working  hard and was a last bencher; I got labeled as the show off. It got to me bit by  bit. I set out to prove a point. You can have fun and study. But the whole world  thinks that isn’t normal.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: Calibri;"&gt;I stopped  caring.&lt;span&gt;&amp;nbsp; &lt;/span&gt;I would choose a bike drive over a B grade Java lecture.  Attendance suffered. Grades slipped. I became the long haired, leather jacket  wearing, bike ganger who everyone loved to hate. I didn’t care.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: Calibri;"&gt;I think I  made some good choices and then some bad ones. I understood myself and learnt  what I wanted from life. Over time, some of that attitude became more subdued  and I went back to being my normal self. I had realized that this was my life, I  needed to do things the right way to get settled. So, I decided to pour myself  all into books and computers. Nobody would be as good as me. Nobody would  deliver a better final project than mine. I proved that to the world. I became  the guy who wrote a compiler. I loved the feeling. I knew I could do so much  more. And then, I landed here.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: Calibri;"&gt;The  job&lt;span&gt;&amp;nbsp; &lt;/span&gt;that I should have loved. But one that I started loathing. Not  just the people, but the mediocrity of it all. How do you survive in an environ  where nothing is expected of you! Where no one pushes you to be better! Where no  one ever appreciates anything you have done!&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: Calibri;"&gt;I should do  something about it. What do I do?&amp;nbsp;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6317749460558556871-7923360860200277816?l=mythsramblings.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://mythsramblings.blogspot.com/feeds/7923360860200277816/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6317749460558556871&amp;postID=7923360860200277816&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6317749460558556871/posts/default/7923360860200277816'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6317749460558556871/posts/default/7923360860200277816'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mythsramblings.blogspot.com/2011/03/it-exception-throw-frustration.html' title='IT Exception throw Frustration'/><author><name>myths</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11319999108251458321</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6317749460558556871.post-8463741785835617497</id><published>2011-03-15T21:49:00.002+05:30</published><updated>2011-03-15T21:49:51.137+05:30</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Fiction'/><title type='text'>Match Making Jitu</title><content type='html'>&lt;div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div dir="ltr"&gt;&lt;span style="color: black; font-family: Tahoma; font-size: x-small;"&gt; &lt;div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"&gt;&lt;b&gt;&lt;i&gt;&lt;span style="font-size: small;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: Calibri;"&gt;July 11 2007 &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: small;"&gt;7.  That’s the count for today. I don’t know if I should be frustrated or amused.  Well, the girl was nice-ish, good family and all that blah. But, she just isn’t  HER. I think even mom is beginning to tire. She’s going back home tomorrow,  finding a Mallu match in Bangalore is harder than I thought. No match seems to  work. If we agree, the girl’s side doesn’t. &lt;span&gt;&amp;nbsp;&lt;/span&gt;And only for ones we  aren’t too interested in, we get a “Yes”.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: small;"&gt;It is  tiring to put myself out there each day. Each time I step over the threshold  into a house, I wonder if the girl of my dreams is about to greet me. The strain  is telling on me. I don’t want to wonder if something is wrong in me or if I  will be forced to settle for someone lesser than what I want. I think I should  stop this search for a while and just let life play itself out. After all, if  and when it’s meant to be, it will, right? &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"&gt;&lt;b&gt;&lt;i&gt;&lt;span style="font-size: small;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: Calibri;"&gt;July 13 2007&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: small;"&gt;Mom’s  gone home, so it’s back to food at the mess 3 times a day. I already miss her  cooking. I wonder why she goes back as soon as she can. I would love for her to  stay here with me. Even if dad were still with us, I would find a way for all of  us to be here. Probably, that’s the biggest tug she has to go back home.&lt;span&gt;&amp;nbsp;  &lt;/span&gt;Maybe I should move back too. There’s nothing to keep me here, just a  job. I should be able to find one closer home. It would be fun to go to work  from there. Same home, all the memories of dad, all my friends and of course  Mom. Sigh. An IT &lt;span&gt;&amp;nbsp;&lt;/span&gt;job in my village. Only in my wildest  fantasies.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: small;"&gt;Well,  that’s it for now. Chiggy has a party tomorrow, will have to find a way to  wriggle my way out of it. Ever since he’s gotten married, he’s been on my case.  How am I to help it if he married the first girl he saw. Listening to his “Abhi  tak nahi mili kya be” 10 times a day at office is bad enough, I don’t want to go  to his house and have him do it in front of bhabhi. &lt;span&gt;&amp;nbsp;&lt;/span&gt;Maybe I’ll  just say I have some extra work to finish and can’t come.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"&gt;&lt;b&gt;&lt;i&gt;&lt;span style="font-size: small;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: Calibri;"&gt;July 14 2007&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: small;"&gt;Thank  God I know Chiggy. Thank God he forced me to attend his party.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: small;"&gt;I saw  my angel today, all thanks to him. I walked in wondering how to plan my escape  and there she was. She noticed bhabhi looking at the door and turned  &lt;span&gt;&amp;nbsp;&lt;/span&gt;to see who it was. As those big eyes looked at me and that strand  of hair fell across her face, I was a goner. She had me with that look. She  looked away. I kept looking at her and would have all night if Chiggy didn’t  elbow me right in the rib cage.”Aise mat dekh be, thoda to sharm kar”. I looked  back and she had a small smile on her face, she had heard that. *^@#*%^ Chiggy  and his boom box voice. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: small;"&gt;I  didn’t see who else was in the house. No one was visible to me but my angel in  blue. Each time she lifted her hand to move that strand of hair off her face,  her bangles would make this beautiful sound. Mr. Boombox leaned in and said  “Intro chahiye?Teri bhabhi ki dost hai. ” I managed to nod a yes while I was  trying to gather my wits. Was I being that transparent, what would she  think?&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: small;"&gt;She  and bhabhi were getting off the sofa. I panicked. Was she leaving? I couldn’t  let her go. I literally ran across the hall and when I reached her, I had no  idea what to say or what to do. I just stood there looking at her. She raised  her eyebrows, looked at bhabhi and managed a smile. In that eternity, I was  frozen to the spot. I could have walked on by. I could have spoken to Bhabhi. I  didn’t have to cross the hall. The earth could have opened up and swallowed me.  But no. I just stood there. Bhabhi must have figured it out. “This is Jitu”, she  introduced me to her. She nodded and said hi. I wanted to smile, I wanted to say  hi. But no. I just stood there. “I am Trisha” she said. And gave me her hand. I  could have shook her hand. The hand with the bangles. They made their jingling  sound when she thrust her hand out. My mind was screaming “&lt;i&gt;You are wondering  whether it is a jingling or a tinkling sound. Jackass, shake her hand. She  thinks you are a weirdo. Her face is changing . Dude, do something.&lt;/i&gt;”&lt;span&gt;&amp;nbsp;  &lt;/span&gt;I manage to put out my hand and immediately took them back, they were  clammy.&lt;span&gt;&amp;nbsp; &lt;/span&gt;“&lt;i&gt;Dude, do something.&lt;/i&gt;” So , I do a namaste. Then she  gives me “What kind of a whacko are you” look and smiles again. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: small;"&gt;She  turned to leave and I blurted out “Are you leaving, don’t go”. She burst out  laughing. That did it. I had decided.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: small;"&gt;When I  finally decided that I wouldn’t think of marriage, she popped into my life.  Perfect timing I must say. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: small;"&gt;We  spent most of the evening together, even though bhabhi kept acting as a  chaperone, all the while winking at Chiggy across the room.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: small;"&gt;I took  her number. I think mom will need to come back here again. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: small;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"&gt;&lt;b&gt;&lt;span style="font-size: small;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: Calibri;"&gt;August 3 2007&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: small;"&gt;After  that first meeting, I got as much info as I could. She is a Mallu(mom was so  happy about that). She has a few relatives in Kerala and has lived in Bangalore  all her life. She works as a veterinarian. I managed to gather the nerves to  call her and have a little bit of conversation I love that all our conversations  seem to pick off as if there was no break. I love that she laughs at all my  jokes. I love that she talks with so much honesty. Nothing romantic really, but  I guess we have all our lives for that. I am sure she knows what I feel. She  doesn’t give away much.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"&gt;&lt;b&gt;&lt;span style="font-size: small;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: Calibri;"&gt;September 6 2007&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: small;"&gt;It was  really funny when she came out with a tea tray. Her parents think it is an  arranged marriage setting. I didn’t let them know that I made sure her uncle  found out that I was an available groom and would be a good match for her. It  took me a long time to make sure he found me via his friend’s brother’s&lt;span&gt;&amp;nbsp;  &lt;/span&gt;son’s office mate who was in my team. Ha ha ha , someday, I will tell her  about this.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: small;"&gt;She  knew I was coming of course, my photo and bio data got sent. We didn’t speak  about it. When she gave me the tea, she smiled. We were conspirators together in  this.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"&gt;&lt;b&gt;&lt;i&gt;&lt;span style="font-size: small;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: Calibri;"&gt;July 14 2010&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size: small;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: Calibri;"&gt;It’s been 3 years since I first met Trisha. I didn’t know that.  Being bad with dates does that for you. She told me today. Mrs. Trisha Jitu.  &lt;span&gt;&amp;nbsp;&lt;/span&gt;I couldn’t be more thankful for anything else. That includes of  course, our week old little bundle of joy. I think I will call him Chiggy at  home. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: Wingdings;"&gt;&lt;span&gt;J&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6317749460558556871-8463741785835617497?l=mythsramblings.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://mythsramblings.blogspot.com/feeds/8463741785835617497/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6317749460558556871&amp;postID=8463741785835617497&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6317749460558556871/posts/default/8463741785835617497'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6317749460558556871/posts/default/8463741785835617497'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mythsramblings.blogspot.com/2011/03/match-making-jitu.html' title='Match Making Jitu'/><author><name>myths</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11319999108251458321</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6317749460558556871.post-8714862673330729550</id><published>2011-03-14T20:28:00.000+05:30</published><updated>2011-03-14T20:28:22.438+05:30</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Fiction'/><title type='text'>Lina</title><content type='html'>&lt;div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"&gt;It’s been 8 years now and up until this moment, I have never wondered about this. I have been trying for most of the night but for the life of me, I can’t remember when I first saw her. I can’t remember when I first realized that we belonged together, that we were in love. I feel like I have always known her, that I have always been in love. There was no jolt of electricity, no lightning in the skies, there was just us. We always knew. No one had to proclaim love, nor propose. We just were.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It’s rather ironic that I am trying to figure out the beginning now, when the end is near. Or is it already here and I am stubbornly refusing to take it like a man? I’m not sure. I haven’t been sure of anything since the last 4 days, except for the voice in my head telling me that life isn’t possible without her in it. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;A thousand messages a day and a hundred phone calls each day to tide me over until I could see her each evening for an hour after work. It begins with her “Morning sleepy head” and ends with her “U better go now, I need to sleep!!!” Weekends full of long drives, long lunches, long sweet nothings. I know no other way to spend a day. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It took us 8 years to fall into the routine of a married couple before we broached the subject with each other. We always knew we were going to get married. For all intents and purposes, we already were. Of course, our parents didn’t know that. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Her parents didn’t know that I loved her more than anything else in the world, that I would keep her happier than anyone else could ever imagine, that I would do anything for her no matter what, that she loved me as much as I her. They knew just one thing.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Mine didn’t know that she was the prettiest girl in the world, that she had the nicest heart anyone could possibly have, that she always topped her class, that she sang like an angel, that she loved me, that she was my life. They knew just one thing. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;They knew just one thing. She prays in a temple. I pray in a church.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It had always amused me that she would want to wear a saree every fortnight to visit the temple. My “Who wears a salwar kameez, jeans are so much cooler” sweetheart, would wear beautiful sarees, put a string of jasmine flowers in her hair, put a pretty bindi on her forehead, line her eyes with kajal, put a dozen bangles(that have to match the color of her saree). She would pray to her heart’s content while I would try to have a polite albeit awkward conversation with her God. She would add a line of sandalwood paste above the bindi and look the part of the perfect woman. “God I love her” was always my way of ending my prayers. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And when we went to the church together, once in a month, she would worry about her footwear, about standing together, about how she was to pray to my God.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We hadn’t realized they were differences. We just treated that like it was just another habit that each other had and accommodated it into our lives. I mean, we live in the same city, we follow the same culture, we speak the same language, we studied the same subjects, we work in the same company, we eat the same food, we watch the same movies. And we started praying in the same places too.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We went to our parents’ home on Saturday to tell them we wanted to get married. Our prayers must have fallen short somewhere or we probably never bothered to pray about our parents agreeing for our marriage. All heavens and parts of hell broke loose upon us. My parents were displeased with me, but I will make sure things turn around. At the other end, the second her parents heard my name, they point blank refused to entertain any more conversation. They didn’t let her come back even to work. They aren’t talking to her. She’s all alone even at her own home. And I am so far away unable to do anything. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We talk occasionally but they are conversations I have never had before. The worry is eating away at her. I don’t know what to say. I don’t know how to console her. I don’t know how to console myself. I look at myself in the mirror, all I see is despair. The sadness I feel on the inside shows in my eyes. And here I am wondering how things got so bad so fast. And I wonder how long it has been that I haven’t set eyes on her. I wonder when I saw her for the first time.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;This cannot be an ending. I can’t let it be. I won’t let it be. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6317749460558556871-8714862673330729550?l=mythsramblings.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://mythsramblings.blogspot.com/feeds/8714862673330729550/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6317749460558556871&amp;postID=8714862673330729550&amp;isPopup=true' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6317749460558556871/posts/default/8714862673330729550'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6317749460558556871/posts/default/8714862673330729550'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mythsramblings.blogspot.com/2011/03/lina.html' title='Lina'/><author><name>myths</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11319999108251458321</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6317749460558556871.post-2475615662260592296</id><published>2011-02-09T16:41:00.000+05:30</published><updated>2011-02-17T18:37:53.160+05:30</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='cookin'/><title type='text'>Day 3 - Chocolate Mousse</title><content type='html'>&lt;p class="mobile-photo"&gt;&lt;a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_3LQk-nB49GU/TVJ3hTXNDkI/AAAAAAAAGD8/VASfHC2fu-k/s1600/photo-780833.JPG"&gt;&lt;img src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_3LQk-nB49GU/TVJ3hTXNDkI/AAAAAAAAGD8/VASfHC2fu-k/s400/photo-780833.JPG"  border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5571647103027711554" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6317749460558556871-2475615662260592296?l=mythsramblings.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://mythsramblings.blogspot.com/feeds/2475615662260592296/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6317749460558556871&amp;postID=2475615662260592296&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6317749460558556871/posts/default/2475615662260592296'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6317749460558556871/posts/default/2475615662260592296'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mythsramblings.blogspot.com/2011/02/day-3-chocolate-mousse.html' title='Day 3 - Chocolate Mousse'/><author><name>myths</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11319999108251458321</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_3LQk-nB49GU/TVJ3hTXNDkI/AAAAAAAAGD8/VASfHC2fu-k/s72-c/photo-780833.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6317749460558556871.post-3780822165000019688</id><published>2011-02-09T16:30:00.000+05:30</published><updated>2011-02-17T18:37:53.160+05:30</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='cookin'/><title type='text'>Day 3 - Mango Cheese Cake</title><content type='html'>&lt;p class="mobile-photo"&gt;&lt;a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_3LQk-nB49GU/TVJ1EjWO42I/AAAAAAAAGD0/kRTCDtpNszA/s1600/photo-753572.JPG"&gt;&lt;img src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_3LQk-nB49GU/TVJ1EjWO42I/AAAAAAAAGD0/kRTCDtpNszA/s400/photo-753572.JPG"  border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5571644410079142754" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6317749460558556871-3780822165000019688?l=mythsramblings.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://mythsramblings.blogspot.com/feeds/3780822165000019688/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6317749460558556871&amp;postID=3780822165000019688&amp;isPopup=true' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6317749460558556871/posts/default/3780822165000019688'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6317749460558556871/posts/default/3780822165000019688'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mythsramblings.blogspot.com/2011/02/day-3-mango-cheese-cake.html' title='Day 3 - Mango Cheese Cake'/><author><name>myths</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11319999108251458321</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_3LQk-nB49GU/TVJ1EjWO42I/AAAAAAAAGD0/kRTCDtpNszA/s72-c/photo-753572.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6317749460558556871.post-7041772405434074014</id><published>2011-02-09T16:29:00.000+05:30</published><updated>2011-02-17T18:37:53.161+05:30</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='cookin'/><title type='text'>Day 3 - Fruit Cookies</title><content type='html'>&lt;p class="mobile-photo"&gt;&lt;a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_3LQk-nB49GU/TVJ00-LIcyI/AAAAAAAAGDs/UmymczcPW7k/s1600/photo-790509.JPG"&gt;&lt;img src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_3LQk-nB49GU/TVJ00-LIcyI/AAAAAAAAGDs/UmymczcPW7k/s400/photo-790509.JPG"  border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5571644142402433826" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6317749460558556871-7041772405434074014?l=mythsramblings.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://mythsramblings.blogspot.com/feeds/7041772405434074014/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6317749460558556871&amp;postID=7041772405434074014&amp;isPopup=true' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6317749460558556871/posts/default/7041772405434074014'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6317749460558556871/posts/default/7041772405434074014'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mythsramblings.blogspot.com/2011/02/day-3-fruit-cookies.html' title='Day 3 - Fruit Cookies'/><author><name>myths</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11319999108251458321</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_3LQk-nB49GU/TVJ00-LIcyI/AAAAAAAAGDs/UmymczcPW7k/s72-c/photo-790509.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6317749460558556871.post-1635133708820346344</id><published>2011-02-09T16:28:00.000+05:30</published><updated>2011-02-17T18:37:53.162+05:30</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='cookin'/><title type='text'>Day 3 - Black Forest Cake</title><content type='html'>&lt;p class="mobile-photo"&gt;&lt;a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_3LQk-nB49GU/TVJ0gL_guFI/AAAAAAAAGDk/Egjm4HQrqWs/s1600/photo-707225.JPG"&gt;&lt;img src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_3LQk-nB49GU/TVJ0gL_guFI/AAAAAAAAGDk/Egjm4HQrqWs/s400/photo-707225.JPG"  border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5571643785334536274" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6317749460558556871-1635133708820346344?l=mythsramblings.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://mythsramblings.blogspot.com/feeds/1635133708820346344/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6317749460558556871&amp;postID=1635133708820346344&amp;isPopup=true' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6317749460558556871/posts/default/1635133708820346344'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6317749460558556871/posts/default/1635133708820346344'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mythsramblings.blogspot.com/2011/02/day-3-black-forest-cake.html' title='Day 3 - Black Forest Cake'/><author><name>myths</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11319999108251458321</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_3LQk-nB49GU/TVJ0gL_guFI/AAAAAAAAGDk/Egjm4HQrqWs/s72-c/photo-707225.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6317749460558556871.post-8002688999379295445</id><published>2011-02-09T16:27:00.000+05:30</published><updated>2011-02-17T18:37:53.162+05:30</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='cookin'/><title type='text'>Day 3 - Pineapple Pastry</title><content type='html'>&lt;p class="mobile-photo"&gt;&lt;a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_3LQk-nB49GU/TVJ0MJIWwbI/AAAAAAAAGDc/PIOJksir-es/s1600/photo-727521.JPG"&gt;&lt;img src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_3LQk-nB49GU/TVJ0MJIWwbI/AAAAAAAAGDc/PIOJksir-es/s400/photo-727521.JPG"  border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5571643440968942002" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6317749460558556871-8002688999379295445?l=mythsramblings.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://mythsramblings.blogspot.com/feeds/8002688999379295445/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6317749460558556871&amp;postID=8002688999379295445&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6317749460558556871/posts/default/8002688999379295445'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6317749460558556871/posts/default/8002688999379295445'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mythsramblings.blogspot.com/2011/02/day-3-pineapple-pastry.html' title='Day 3 - Pineapple Pastry'/><author><name>myths</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11319999108251458321</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_3LQk-nB49GU/TVJ0MJIWwbI/AAAAAAAAGDc/PIOJksir-es/s72-c/photo-727521.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6317749460558556871.post-714842831822969304</id><published>2011-02-08T16:25:00.001+05:30</published><updated>2011-02-08T16:45:04.615+05:30</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='cookin'/><title type='text'>Day 2 at Baking Class</title><content type='html'>Khara(for tea time), Chocolate Chip Cookies, Viennese Finger Cookies, Butter Biscuits, Muffins with ChocoChips, Strawberry Muffins and Apple Pie ! &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;p class="mobile-photo"&gt;&lt;a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_3LQk-nB49GU/TVEih6sBMVI/AAAAAAAAGDI/Xb-agUrbTTk/s1600/photo-786014.JPG"&gt;&lt;img src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_3LQk-nB49GU/TVEih6sBMVI/AAAAAAAAGDI/Xb-agUrbTTk/s400/photo-786014.JPG"  border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5571272180118925650" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6317749460558556871-714842831822969304?l=mythsramblings.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://mythsramblings.blogspot.com/feeds/714842831822969304/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6317749460558556871&amp;postID=714842831822969304&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6317749460558556871/posts/default/714842831822969304'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6317749460558556871/posts/default/714842831822969304'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mythsramblings.blogspot.com/2011/02/day-2-at-baking-class.html' title='Day 2 at Baking Class'/><author><name>myths</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11319999108251458321</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_3LQk-nB49GU/TVEih6sBMVI/AAAAAAAAGDI/Xb-agUrbTTk/s72-c/photo-786014.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6317749460558556871.post-2700932769241001885</id><published>2011-02-07T16:36:00.001+05:30</published><updated>2011-02-08T16:41:52.061+05:30</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='cookin'/><title type='text'>Day 1 at Baking Class</title><content type='html'>White Bread, Broken Wheat Bread, Bread Roll, Egg&amp;Veggie Puffs, BreadSticks and Chocolate Glazed Donuts !&lt;br /&gt;&lt;p class="mobile-photo"&gt;&lt;a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_3LQk-nB49GU/TU_TeZDv5iI/AAAAAAAAGDA/1bltokA3NbU/s1600/photo-712490.JPG"&gt;&lt;img src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_3LQk-nB49GU/TU_TeZDv5iI/AAAAAAAAGDA/1bltokA3NbU/s400/photo-712490.JPG"  border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5570903783156737570" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6317749460558556871-2700932769241001885?l=mythsramblings.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://mythsramblings.blogspot.com/feeds/2700932769241001885/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6317749460558556871&amp;postID=2700932769241001885&amp;isPopup=true' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6317749460558556871/posts/default/2700932769241001885'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6317749460558556871/posts/default/2700932769241001885'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mythsramblings.blogspot.com/2011/02/day-1-at-baking-class.html' title='Day 1 at Baking Class'/><author><name>myths</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11319999108251458321</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_3LQk-nB49GU/TU_TeZDv5iI/AAAAAAAAGDA/1bltokA3NbU/s72-c/photo-712490.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6317749460558556871.post-5888379088169361801</id><published>2011-02-05T18:30:00.000+05:30</published><updated>2011-02-05T18:34:37.611+05:30</updated><title type='text'>Dinner @ Rajdhani</title><content type='html'>&lt;p class="mobile-photo"&gt;&lt;a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_3LQk-nB49GU/TU1K5ngsGjI/AAAAAAAAGCs/CbRPWpSO7Ig/s1600/photo-777612.JPG"&gt;&lt;img src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_3LQk-nB49GU/TU1K5ngsGjI/AAAAAAAAGCs/CbRPWpSO7Ig/s400/photo-777612.JPG"  border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5570190667846261298" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6317749460558556871-5888379088169361801?l=mythsramblings.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://mythsramblings.blogspot.com/feeds/5888379088169361801/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6317749460558556871&amp;postID=5888379088169361801&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6317749460558556871/posts/default/5888379088169361801'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6317749460558556871/posts/default/5888379088169361801'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mythsramblings.blogspot.com/2011/02/dinner-rajdhani.html' title='Dinner @ Rajdhani'/><author><name>myths</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11319999108251458321</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_3LQk-nB49GU/TU1K5ngsGjI/AAAAAAAAGCs/CbRPWpSO7Ig/s72-c/photo-777612.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6317749460558556871.post-5183708952480179552</id><published>2011-01-27T12:10:00.000+05:30</published><updated>2011-01-27T12:10:36.948+05:30</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='WomenFolk'/><title type='text'>The Other Side</title><content type='html'>Is it just in my head? &lt;br /&gt;It always seems to me that when I talk to a guy(stranger), my work magically gets done. Whereas if it's the fairer sex, they don't seem too willing to help. &lt;br /&gt;If you know me, you would know that I am not the flirting sorts, nor the hair tossing-big smile flashing(to strangers) sorts, nor one for small talk. So I can rule out all that generally goes against a girl.&lt;br /&gt;Yeah, guys, I know you all hold the longest grudge against us for that. I know when you talk of externals giving us more marks in viva. Or that lecturers tend to correct our papers more leniently. That we get to leave office even if there's work. That we get to take more leaves. &lt;br /&gt;Something's got to go our way isn't it?&lt;br /&gt;Anyhooo, back to topic at hand. Be it in a government office, in a supermarket, some store, a doctor - almost anywhere - it helps to be a girl :) &lt;br /&gt;Couple of weeks ago, I had an appointment with an Orthopedic  Doctor , a very serious man. In an entire consult(with the guy before me), he wouldn't have spoken more than 10 words. Which was fine with me. &lt;br /&gt;He came out and gruffly said "Next". I went in, gave all my MRI's, XRays , blah blahs. I don't really know what he asked or what I said, he was all smiles and even laughed twice. (Made my day , hey, I made a grouchy looking dude laugh)&lt;br /&gt;Then, yesterday, I met another doctor, a lady this time. The consult lasted all of 45 seconds after 30 minutes of waiting. Monosyllable answers, not a single smile(I think I joked a couple of times, she probably didn't get them). Not a an experience of customer delight.&lt;br /&gt;And that's when I realised, its easier to deal with guys. They probably have a soft spot for girls. That aside, they are genuinely willing to help and appreciate a conversation. While most women seem too. .. hmm , don't know the word for it.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6317749460558556871-5183708952480179552?l=mythsramblings.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://mythsramblings.blogspot.com/feeds/5183708952480179552/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6317749460558556871&amp;postID=5183708952480179552&amp;isPopup=true' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6317749460558556871/posts/default/5183708952480179552'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6317749460558556871/posts/default/5183708952480179552'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mythsramblings.blogspot.com/2011/01/other-side.html' title='The Other Side'/><author><name>myths</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11319999108251458321</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6317749460558556871.post-1351966819429903988</id><published>2011-01-27T11:04:00.000+05:30</published><updated>2011-01-27T11:04:51.452+05:30</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Weighty Issues'/><title type='text'>Wooohoooooooo</title><content type='html'>Currently at my lowest weight of the last 2 years! I don't look too different, still your average behenji/auntyji if I pass you be, but guess what !! I am loving it !! &lt;br /&gt;P.S. Knocked off 7kgs in a month. Isn't that just plain awesome :)&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6317749460558556871-1351966819429903988?l=mythsramblings.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://mythsramblings.blogspot.com/feeds/1351966819429903988/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6317749460558556871&amp;postID=1351966819429903988&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6317749460558556871/posts/default/1351966819429903988'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6317749460558556871/posts/default/1351966819429903988'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mythsramblings.blogspot.com/2011/01/wooohoooooooo.html' title='Wooohoooooooo'/><author><name>myths</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11319999108251458321</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6317749460558556871.post-213184015071151666</id><published>2011-01-23T19:08:00.003+05:30</published><updated>2011-01-23T19:19:01.997+05:30</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='DailyStuff'/><title type='text'>Fluke coincidence</title><content type='html'>Was watching "&lt;a href="http://www.imdb.com/title/tt1385751/"&gt;Piers Morgan on Hollywood&lt;/a&gt;", in one of the frames, there was a hoarding of Richard Gere and some title that looked like "Nights in Romance". Before I could go hmm hmm, I changed the channel and found a Richard Gere movie on HBO . And guess what, it was "&lt;a href="http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0956038/"&gt;Nights on Rodanthe&lt;/a&gt;"&lt;br /&gt;The stuff on IMDB says its a less than so-so movie, but such a freaky coincidence is awesome!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6317749460558556871-213184015071151666?l=mythsramblings.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://mythsramblings.blogspot.com/feeds/213184015071151666/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6317749460558556871&amp;postID=213184015071151666&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6317749460558556871/posts/default/213184015071151666'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6317749460558556871/posts/default/213184015071151666'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mythsramblings.blogspot.com/2011/01/fluke-coincidence.html' title='Fluke coincidence'/><author><name>myths</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11319999108251458321</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6317749460558556871.post-2757512454970695042</id><published>2011-01-18T08:37:00.002+05:30</published><updated>2011-01-23T19:21:22.456+05:30</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='DailyStuff'/><title type='text'>Initiation into Crime</title><content type='html'>I saw something yesterday that really saddened me. I was at the local veggies store and 3 kids walked in, 2 of them all sure about the world and 1 all shifty eyed and worried.&lt;br /&gt;While one of them was paying for tomatoes while the other kid swiped a carrot and started chomping away on it. The younger kid, now, trying to be all cool put his hand in the basket and fumbled to take out a carrot. &lt;br /&gt;And to his horror, he turned and saw me looking at him. That look on his face. The fright. The shame. &lt;br /&gt;I hated looking at it. &lt;br /&gt;And I couldn't / didn't do a thing.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I dont know if this was his initiation into some sorry crime-filled life.And I still don't know what to do.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6317749460558556871-2757512454970695042?l=mythsramblings.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://mythsramblings.blogspot.com/feeds/2757512454970695042/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6317749460558556871&amp;postID=2757512454970695042&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6317749460558556871/posts/default/2757512454970695042'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6317749460558556871/posts/default/2757512454970695042'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mythsramblings.blogspot.com/2011/01/initiation-into-crime.html' title='Initiation into Crime'/><author><name>myths</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11319999108251458321</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6317749460558556871.post-4618736984839551204</id><published>2011-01-15T17:13:00.000+05:30</published><updated>2011-01-15T17:17:33.601+05:30</updated><title type='text'>Happy Sankranthi</title><content type='html'>&lt;p class="mobile-photo"&gt;&lt;a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_3LQk-nB49GU/TTGJVtm3rFI/AAAAAAAAF88/qOWffbquzZU/s1600/photo-753602.JPG"&gt;&lt;img src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_3LQk-nB49GU/TTGJVtm3rFI/AAAAAAAAF88/qOWffbquzZU/s400/photo-753602.JPG"  border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5562378020892159058" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6317749460558556871-4618736984839551204?l=mythsramblings.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://mythsramblings.blogspot.com/feeds/4618736984839551204/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6317749460558556871&amp;postID=4618736984839551204&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6317749460558556871/posts/default/4618736984839551204'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6317749460558556871/posts/default/4618736984839551204'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mythsramblings.blogspot.com/2011/01/happy-sankranthi.html' title='Happy Sankranthi'/><author><name>myths</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11319999108251458321</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_3LQk-nB49GU/TTGJVtm3rFI/AAAAAAAAF88/qOWffbquzZU/s72-c/photo-753602.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6317749460558556871.post-7990639025670648764</id><published>2011-01-15T17:12:00.000+05:30</published><updated>2011-01-15T17:16:37.097+05:30</updated><title type='text'>Happy Sankranti</title><content type='html'>&lt;p class="mobile-photo"&gt;&lt;a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_3LQk-nB49GU/TTGJHQOfGoI/AAAAAAAAF80/QO8UmhakPVc/s1600/photo-797098.JPG"&gt;&lt;img src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_3LQk-nB49GU/TTGJHQOfGoI/AAAAAAAAF80/QO8UmhakPVc/s400/photo-797098.JPG"  border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5562377772487088770" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6317749460558556871-7990639025670648764?l=mythsramblings.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://mythsramblings.blogspot.com/feeds/7990639025670648764/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6317749460558556871&amp;postID=7990639025670648764&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6317749460558556871/posts/default/7990639025670648764'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6317749460558556871/posts/default/7990639025670648764'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mythsramblings.blogspot.com/2011/01/happy-sankranti.html' title='Happy Sankranti'/><author><name>myths</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11319999108251458321</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_3LQk-nB49GU/TTGJHQOfGoI/AAAAAAAAF80/QO8UmhakPVc/s72-c/photo-797098.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6317749460558556871.post-9104024570460870920</id><published>2011-01-03T09:25:00.001+05:30</published><updated>2011-01-03T09:27:45.193+05:30</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='I see around me'/><title type='text'>Abhi kuch dino se, lag raha hai Badle badle se hum hai</title><content type='html'>Abhi kuch dino se, lag raha hai Badle badle se hum hai&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;and I am loving it :)&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6317749460558556871-9104024570460870920?l=mythsramblings.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://mythsramblings.blogspot.com/feeds/9104024570460870920/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6317749460558556871&amp;postID=9104024570460870920&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6317749460558556871/posts/default/9104024570460870920'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6317749460558556871/posts/default/9104024570460870920'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mythsramblings.blogspot.com/2011/01/abhi-kuch-dino-se-lag-raha-hai-badle.html' title='Abhi kuch dino se, lag raha hai Badle badle se hum hai'/><author><name>myths</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11319999108251458321</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6317749460558556871.post-1305172395864465649</id><published>2011-01-02T14:38:00.001+05:30</published><updated>2011-01-02T14:44:19.799+05:30</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Creative me'/><title type='text'>Primary colours</title><content type='html'>&lt;p class="mobile-photo"&gt;&lt;a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_3LQk-nB49GU/TSBBR4aa7RI/AAAAAAAAF8s/bkxcigXkMHs/s1600/photo-794775.JPG"&gt;&lt;img src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_3LQk-nB49GU/TSBBR4aa7RI/AAAAAAAAF8s/bkxcigXkMHs/s400/photo-794775.JPG"  border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5557513715631975698" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Paper pompoms :)&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6317749460558556871-1305172395864465649?l=mythsramblings.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://mythsramblings.blogspot.com/feeds/1305172395864465649/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6317749460558556871&amp;postID=1305172395864465649&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6317749460558556871/posts/default/1305172395864465649'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6317749460558556871/posts/default/1305172395864465649'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mythsramblings.blogspot.com/2011/01/primary-colours.html' title='Primary colours'/><author><name>myths</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11319999108251458321</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_3LQk-nB49GU/TSBBR4aa7RI/AAAAAAAAF8s/bkxcigXkMHs/s72-c/photo-794775.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6317749460558556871.post-358876479258923985</id><published>2011-01-01T23:45:00.002+05:30</published><updated>2011-01-01T23:48:40.881+05:30</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Creative me'/><title type='text'>Happy 2011!!!</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_3LQk-nB49GU/TR9v7HulJSI/AAAAAAAAF8Y/0nF9b8SrS2A/s1600/photo.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 299px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_3LQk-nB49GU/TR9v7HulJSI/AAAAAAAAF8Y/0nF9b8SrS2A/s400/photo.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5557283526675866914" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Homemade cards :) Wishing everyone a very very Happy New Year!!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6317749460558556871-358876479258923985?l=mythsramblings.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://mythsramblings.blogspot.com/feeds/358876479258923985/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6317749460558556871&amp;postID=358876479258923985&amp;isPopup=true' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6317749460558556871/posts/default/358876479258923985'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6317749460558556871/posts/default/358876479258923985'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mythsramblings.blogspot.com/2011/01/happy-2011.html' title='Happy 2011!!!'/><author><name>myths</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11319999108251458321</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_3LQk-nB49GU/TR9v7HulJSI/AAAAAAAAF8Y/0nF9b8SrS2A/s72-c/photo.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6317749460558556871.post-8564446568685560078</id><published>2010-12-09T11:27:00.002+05:30</published><updated>2010-12-09T11:29:50.774+05:30</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Cribbing'/><title type='text'>Wat was that again?</title><content type='html'>A new acquaintance's idea of a compliment - &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"When you were young, you must have been really pretty na! " &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;uahahahhahahahahhaaa&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6317749460558556871-8564446568685560078?l=mythsramblings.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://mythsramblings.blogspot.com/feeds/8564446568685560078/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6317749460558556871&amp;postID=8564446568685560078&amp;isPopup=true' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6317749460558556871/posts/default/8564446568685560078'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6317749460558556871/posts/default/8564446568685560078'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mythsramblings.blogspot.com/2010/12/wat-was-that-again.html' title='Wat was that again?'/><author><name>myths</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11319999108251458321</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6317749460558556871.post-4323744911525723209</id><published>2010-12-07T20:00:00.002+05:30</published><updated>2010-12-09T11:31:38.418+05:30</updated><title type='text'>Its been 5 years now</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://vinodc.blogspot.com/2005/06/my-book.html"&gt;http://vinodc.blogspot.com/2005/06/my-book.html&lt;/a&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6317749460558556871-4323744911525723209?l=mythsramblings.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://mythsramblings.blogspot.com/feeds/4323744911525723209/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6317749460558556871&amp;postID=4323744911525723209&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6317749460558556871/posts/default/4323744911525723209'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6317749460558556871/posts/default/4323744911525723209'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mythsramblings.blogspot.com/2010/12/its-been-5-years-now.html' title='Its been 5 years now'/><author><name>myths</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11319999108251458321</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6317749460558556871.post-7965561954384361197</id><published>2010-12-07T19:56:00.001+05:30</published><updated>2010-12-07T19:58:35.823+05:30</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='marital bliss'/><title type='text'>31!!</title><content type='html'>Not age duh!! &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Happy Mini-Anniversary hubby dear :)&lt;br /&gt;Little Italy , here we come :)&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6317749460558556871-7965561954384361197?l=mythsramblings.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://mythsramblings.blogspot.com/feeds/7965561954384361197/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6317749460558556871&amp;postID=7965561954384361197&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6317749460558556871/posts/default/7965561954384361197'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6317749460558556871/posts/default/7965561954384361197'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mythsramblings.blogspot.com/2010/12/31.html' title='31!!'/><author><name>myths</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11319999108251458321</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6317749460558556871.post-1394243307932330793</id><published>2010-12-06T22:23:00.003+05:30</published><updated>2010-12-06T22:27:34.178+05:30</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='I see around me'/><title type='text'>Temperatures dropping</title><content type='html'>Why is Bangalore THIS cold ? &lt;br /&gt;On the one hand I am glad that the winter isnt as bad as last year, where there was sweltering heat in December. But this cold is a little extreme.&lt;br /&gt;Brrrrr &lt;br /&gt;Everyone is in sweaters and shawls. My tea time in the canteen is cut short coz my hands are freezing !!! &lt;br /&gt;Grrrrr &lt;br /&gt;P.S. I'll take a cold day over a hot one anyday :)&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6317749460558556871-1394243307932330793?l=mythsramblings.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://mythsramblings.blogspot.com/feeds/1394243307932330793/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6317749460558556871&amp;postID=1394243307932330793&amp;isPopup=true' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6317749460558556871/posts/default/1394243307932330793'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6317749460558556871/posts/default/1394243307932330793'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mythsramblings.blogspot.com/2010/12/temperatures-dropping.html' title='Temperatures dropping'/><author><name>myths</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11319999108251458321</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6317749460558556871.post-1538142736294968662</id><published>2010-12-06T22:17:00.002+05:30</published><updated>2010-12-06T22:23:24.326+05:30</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Entertainment'/><title type='text'>A lazy Sunday well spent</title><content type='html'>She knew as soon as she crossed over that she had stepped into some new territory. It wasn’t the way it smelled, the way it looked, the people in it or any of the myriad senses humans posses. It was the way it made her feel. Her feet felt the forgotten emotion of treading on soft earth. Her eyes understood the explosion of colors around her. Her soul sensed the beauty that was so many trees swaying in the cool breeze, the melody in the hundreds of voices around her, the happiness in the children that were running around her. A combined assault on the senses of seeing, hearing, smelling, touching and feeling- is this how it feels she wondered. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And the beauty of all that was it happened when she crossed over that imaginary line that was called a gate. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Jewellery in various shades, shapes and styles. Ceramic was that was colored with Maati. Absolutely beautiful handiworks of craftsmen from all the country. Each as varied as the language, the location or the peoples in themselves. Toys, jewellery, paintings, vases, flowers, metal art, clothes, pottery, cutlery, tribal art, bamboo work, leather puppets and food :)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;She was at a Handicrafts Exhibition in Chitra Kala Parishath. Boy, was it funnnnnnn.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;P.S. it is so worth it, my house will be filled with knick-knacks from all over the country soon … tra la lalalaaa&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6317749460558556871-1538142736294968662?l=mythsramblings.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://mythsramblings.blogspot.com/feeds/1538142736294968662/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6317749460558556871&amp;postID=1538142736294968662&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6317749460558556871/posts/default/1538142736294968662'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6317749460558556871/posts/default/1538142736294968662'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mythsramblings.blogspot.com/2010/12/lazy-sunday-well-spent.html' title='A lazy Sunday well spent'/><author><name>myths</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11319999108251458321</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6317749460558556871.post-5299411739204072556</id><published>2010-12-05T23:29:00.002+05:30</published><updated>2010-12-05T23:45:07.125+05:30</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='I muse upon'/><title type='text'>Orange</title><content type='html'>I saw this interesting movie this weekend. While there was a huge load of nonsense. and some un-intentional comedy, there were a couple of points that came up during it that I liked.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;When in a relationship, the hero realises that he has to lie to his girl about 'Having quit smoking', 'Being friends with other women', 'Thinking about only her 24/7'. He has to lie to make her feel happy that he is shaping out to be exactly what she wants. While it is killing him that he has to lie more and more each day, he wonders if he will have to spend his entire life losing what he is bit by bit and becoming someone he should be.&lt;br /&gt;Its a very fascinating observation. Worrying about the "I" while trying to be in a working 'love story'. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Well, in the movie he gives up on that relationship and later gets into another , where he says that when pushed into a corner about "adjusting" for the sake of his lady, he will try to give up his sense of self and pour in more love to be "us" over "I".&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6317749460558556871-5299411739204072556?l=mythsramblings.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://mythsramblings.blogspot.com/feeds/5299411739204072556/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6317749460558556871&amp;postID=5299411739204072556&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6317749460558556871/posts/default/5299411739204072556'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6317749460558556871/posts/default/5299411739204072556'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mythsramblings.blogspot.com/2010/12/orange.html' title='Orange'/><author><name>myths</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11319999108251458321</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6317749460558556871.post-6249919001918063641</id><published>2010-12-05T23:14:00.002+05:30</published><updated>2010-12-05T23:28:45.567+05:30</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Weighty Issues'/><title type='text'>Gastronomic Delights!!</title><content type='html'>This weekend passed by as a blur of &lt;br /&gt;Chocolate&lt;br /&gt;Crispy Fried Veg Starters&lt;br /&gt;American Chopsuey&lt;br /&gt;One full Minute Maid Pulpy Orange&lt;br /&gt;Mango Ice Cream&lt;br /&gt;Kulfi&lt;br /&gt;A full Nimbooz bottle&lt;br /&gt;Gobi Manchuri&lt;br /&gt;Dahi Puri&lt;br /&gt;WhiteChocolate &amp; Raspberry Cookie&lt;br /&gt;2 orders of French Fries&lt;br /&gt;Bun with Butter and Gulkhand&lt;br /&gt;Rice with Gheeeeeee&lt;br /&gt;Mazaaa&lt;br /&gt;More icecream.&lt;br /&gt;In short (or long), all the things I had to stop eating.&lt;br /&gt;Life is so much better off when you are not worrying about eating right/ eating wholesome / eating consciously / just plain dieting :)I am dead tired of worrying about weight, what I eat and all the nonsense that goes with it. So, here's goodbye to guilt :) &lt;br /&gt;I mean whats the point of feeling guilty when all the supposed dieting just results in weight gain.&lt;br /&gt;What a relief this weekend has been ! Traalalalalalllaaa ... &lt;br /&gt;P.S. I read the list and while it does seem I have gone a tad bit overboard, aw well, what the heck :)&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6317749460558556871-6249919001918063641?l=mythsramblings.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://mythsramblings.blogspot.com/feeds/6249919001918063641/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6317749460558556871&amp;postID=6249919001918063641&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6317749460558556871/posts/default/6249919001918063641'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6317749460558556871/posts/default/6249919001918063641'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mythsramblings.blogspot.com/2010/12/gastronomic-delights.html' title='Gastronomic Delights!!'/><author><name>myths</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11319999108251458321</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6317749460558556871.post-5471845705507744462</id><published>2010-11-15T21:46:00.002+05:30</published><updated>2010-11-15T21:46:56.819+05:30</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Creative me'/><title type='text'>Some more light ...</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_3LQk-nB49GU/TOFc7WvRTaI/AAAAAAAAF6k/l4DRKgtU9No/s1600/diyas.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 399px; height: 400px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_3LQk-nB49GU/TOFc7WvRTaI/AAAAAAAAF6k/l4DRKgtU9No/s400/diyas.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5539811191428304290" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6317749460558556871-5471845705507744462?l=mythsramblings.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://mythsramblings.blogspot.com/feeds/5471845705507744462/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6317749460558556871&amp;postID=5471845705507744462&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6317749460558556871/posts/default/5471845705507744462'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6317749460558556871/posts/default/5471845705507744462'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mythsramblings.blogspot.com/2010/11/some-more-light_15.html' title='Some more light ...'/><author><name>myths</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11319999108251458321</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_3LQk-nB49GU/TOFc7WvRTaI/AAAAAAAAF6k/l4DRKgtU9No/s72-c/diyas.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6317749460558556871.post-1503474742410913316</id><published>2010-10-18T22:50:00.001+05:30</published><updated>2010-10-18T23:12:56.382+05:30</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='marital bliss'/><title type='text'>My big blue sash</title><content type='html'>&lt;p class="mobile-photo"&gt;&lt;a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_3LQk-nB49GU/TLyC32BE_NI/AAAAAAAAF5w/_FNbr2JMNUc/s1600/photo-787101.JPG"&gt;&lt;img src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_3LQk-nB49GU/TLyC32BE_NI/AAAAAAAAF5w/_FNbr2JMNUc/s400/photo-787101.JPG"  border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5529438338408578258" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Yayyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyy &lt;br /&gt;Hubby dearest totally made my day!!! 18 Oct marks the completion of 6 long years in the IT industry and hubby made it even more special by having this HUGE bouquet delivered to my office!! Yayyyyyyyyyyyyyyyy &lt;br /&gt;I am so happy , my mile wide grin has plastered itself on my face …. Tralllalalalalallalallaaaaaa &lt;br /&gt;Here’s to my awesome better half !&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6317749460558556871-1503474742410913316?l=mythsramblings.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://mythsramblings.blogspot.com/feeds/1503474742410913316/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6317749460558556871&amp;postID=1503474742410913316&amp;isPopup=true' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6317749460558556871/posts/default/1503474742410913316'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6317749460558556871/posts/default/1503474742410913316'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mythsramblings.blogspot.com/2010/10/my-big-blue-sash.html' title='My big blue sash'/><author><name>myths</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11319999108251458321</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_3LQk-nB49GU/TLyC32BE_NI/AAAAAAAAF5w/_FNbr2JMNUc/s72-c/photo-787101.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6317749460558556871.post-7927778223391052350</id><published>2010-10-18T21:49:00.001+05:30</published><updated>2010-10-18T21:54:30.097+05:30</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Creative me'/><title type='text'>In progress</title><content type='html'>&lt;p class="mobile-photo"&gt;&lt;a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_3LQk-nB49GU/TLx0eHFO9UI/AAAAAAAAF5o/gooQpMTnljY/s1600/photo-700147.JPG"&gt;&lt;img src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_3LQk-nB49GU/TLx0eHFO9UI/AAAAAAAAF5o/gooQpMTnljY/s400/photo-700147.JPG"  border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5529422503150024002" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6317749460558556871-7927778223391052350?l=mythsramblings.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://mythsramblings.blogspot.com/feeds/7927778223391052350/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6317749460558556871&amp;postID=7927778223391052350&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6317749460558556871/posts/default/7927778223391052350'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6317749460558556871/posts/default/7927778223391052350'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mythsramblings.blogspot.com/2010/10/in-progress.html' title='In progress'/><author><name>myths</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11319999108251458321</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_3LQk-nB49GU/TLx0eHFO9UI/AAAAAAAAF5o/gooQpMTnljY/s72-c/photo-700147.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6317749460558556871.post-6347792376454375849</id><published>2010-10-18T21:46:00.001+05:30</published><updated>2010-10-18T21:52:45.909+05:30</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Creative me'/><title type='text'>Blue blue blue</title><content type='html'>&lt;p class="mobile-photo"&gt;&lt;a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_3LQk-nB49GU/TLxzxu5VpjI/AAAAAAAAF5g/T30eov5-s34/s1600/photo-722307.JPG"&gt;&lt;img src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_3LQk-nB49GU/TLxzxu5VpjI/AAAAAAAAF5g/T30eov5-s34/s400/photo-722307.JPG"  border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5529421740743435826" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6317749460558556871-6347792376454375849?l=mythsramblings.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://mythsramblings.blogspot.com/feeds/6347792376454375849/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6317749460558556871&amp;postID=6347792376454375849&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6317749460558556871/posts/default/6347792376454375849'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6317749460558556871/posts/default/6347792376454375849'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mythsramblings.blogspot.com/2010/10/blue-blue-blue.html' title='Blue blue blue'/><author><name>myths</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11319999108251458321</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_3LQk-nB49GU/TLxzxu5VpjI/AAAAAAAAF5g/T30eov5-s34/s72-c/photo-722307.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6317749460558556871.post-4375325438337519849</id><published>2010-10-14T12:55:00.003+05:30</published><updated>2010-10-14T12:58:42.264+05:30</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Creative me'/><title type='text'>An evening well spent</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_3LQk-nB49GU/TLawr3UtjWI/AAAAAAAAF5Y/QPNVDTk9Rbo/s1600/diyas"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 299px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_3LQk-nB49GU/TLawr3UtjWI/AAAAAAAAF5Y/QPNVDTk9Rbo/s400/diyas" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5527799860275547490" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;A bad cold and a bored mind led to something nice :)&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6317749460558556871-4375325438337519849?l=mythsramblings.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://mythsramblings.blogspot.com/feeds/4375325438337519849/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6317749460558556871&amp;postID=4375325438337519849&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6317749460558556871/posts/default/4375325438337519849'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6317749460558556871/posts/default/4375325438337519849'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mythsramblings.blogspot.com/2010/10/evening-well-spent.html' title='An evening well spent'/><author><name>myths</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11319999108251458321</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_3LQk-nB49GU/TLawr3UtjWI/AAAAAAAAF5Y/QPNVDTk9Rbo/s72-c/diyas' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6317749460558556871.post-7838360680386830728</id><published>2010-10-04T08:19:00.001+05:30</published><updated>2010-10-04T08:21:41.269+05:30</updated><title type='text'>16days- week1</title><content type='html'>Early morning classes are always hard to drag yourself out of bed for, especially when the weather seems tailor made for snuggling up. More so, if the night before had you falling asleep at 1am. Surprisingly enough, I made it before hand to see there were chairs put out around the pool with new students like me waiting already. And I was so so so glad I didn’t buy the sessy swim suit with HUGE flowers right down to the ankles. People were dressed to walk into a movie set right away. We all waited for Nisha Millet to turn up but a guy walked in instead. So much for being taught by a star. ;) And the guy was on the heavier side and right out went any notions I had about losing weight by swimming. Sigh. So much for an easy weight loss plan.&lt;br /&gt;We started out by learning to breathe while swimming – breathe in through the mouth and out through the nose. I should have figured out right away all the happiness this procedure was going to bring to my life :D&lt;br /&gt;Next, you will float automatically if you let your body go limp. And cough cough, he looks over at the ladies and says, you guys will have it easy- women float very easily. It should have made it easy but as it happens, most people floated making a straight line but few(part of whom I was of course) tilted off to the side . uahhahahaa. Luckily, vision under water is a toughie and no one could see the embarrassment or others toppling off. &lt;br /&gt;The first day left me all excited. I realized I actually enjoyed being in the water and trying all the breathing stuff. Of course, when I went to office, the first question I was asked was if I had cried or not slept. Turns out chlorine water for the eyes – not a good thing. I zombie-fied around office with bloodshot drunkard eyes. Nope, no one felt sorry enough to take some work away. &lt;br /&gt; &lt;br /&gt;Day2&lt;br /&gt;Swimming wise, day 2 got us kicking water trying to propel ourselves ahead.  Looked like I was making decent progress, before I could congratulate my self on that, the trainer started with freestyle.&lt;br /&gt;That’s moving that hands like swimmers do. Piece of cake. Or so I thought. Just make sure your palms touch the water at 90 degrees,Your wrist upto elbow should be perpendicular while they enter the water. Push the water away right beyond your hips. Oh and while you are at it, make sure you breathe right and keep kicking those legs. &lt;br /&gt;Oh, wait did I miss a teensy-weensy detail. Looks like I did. On the count of 4 strokes, pull half your body out and take your next gulp of air. No more ‘swimming’ for as long as you can hold your breath only stuff. We had progressed to , if you run out of it, get some and continue.&lt;br /&gt;The day saw me get goggles from the instructor. Ah, must have forgotten to mention, I bought the cap also from him and he offered me a choice of blue or pink – I said it doesn’t matter. And for the goggles, he offered navy blue (which he dint have, but would get the next day), so I chose the fluorescent cyanish-blue. If you haven’t caught on to where I am leading , wait for it , I am that specimen in the pool with a fluorescent orange swimsuit, red shorts, bubblegum pink haircap and fluorescent cyan goggles J There, did I paint a pretty picture J No wonder the dude kept trying to get me to choose sober colors !!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Day3&lt;br /&gt;Day 3 was by far the toughest.  Having gotten goggles now and being able to look at the floor, I started counting the number of tiles I was able to cross with one breath while swimming (read as flailing arms and legs wildly) I made it across 2 tiles, the size of a Rubik’s cube side each. I could have cried. I furiously started coordinating the arms, the legs, the breathing and failed miserably. Turns out my hand-leg co-ordination aint that great. I should have played all those video games. They would have helped, I am sure. If I would use my hands, I would stop kicking. If I took the breath, it would be at the wrong count of by turning to the wrong side. There were times, when I would nail most of it – swim for the count of 4 , kick my legs, turn left and get back into water only to realize that I had taken the air at all. And then , tying to get the breathing right, I stopped kicking my legs and found that I was sinking. All my joy of having gotten a hang of swimming was going right out the pool. It is more distressing then one would think. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Rest is in Progress :)&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6317749460558556871-7838360680386830728?l=mythsramblings.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://mythsramblings.blogspot.com/feeds/7838360680386830728/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6317749460558556871&amp;postID=7838360680386830728&amp;isPopup=true' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6317749460558556871/posts/default/7838360680386830728'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6317749460558556871/posts/default/7838360680386830728'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mythsramblings.blogspot.com/2010/10/16days-week1.html' title='16days- week1'/><author><name>myths</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11319999108251458321</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6317749460558556871.post-3737046237269395141</id><published>2010-10-04T08:17:00.000+05:30</published><updated>2010-10-04T08:19:07.266+05:30</updated><title type='text'>16days-day0</title><content type='html'>Being Indian, brought up in the environment that we are and being of the more modest sex causes way more issues than anyone lets on especially when the subject at hand is the frantic search for swimwear.&lt;br /&gt;Swimming classes have rules – swimsuit and cap for hair. The search was frantic since I had no idea where the stuff is sourced from. The big sports brands make only small sized suits. The local gully type of shops have weirdly shaped and designed ‘swimsuits’ if we can defile their name in that fashion.&lt;br /&gt;Having successfully sourced one in fluorescent orange shade, I completely forgot about the cap. Nope, no snickering about fluorescent or about orange, try half a dozen shops and then you pounce on the thing that seems closest to what you want. And of course, I picked up football shorts too :)&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6317749460558556871-3737046237269395141?l=mythsramblings.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://mythsramblings.blogspot.com/feeds/3737046237269395141/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6317749460558556871&amp;postID=3737046237269395141&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6317749460558556871/posts/default/3737046237269395141'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6317749460558556871/posts/default/3737046237269395141'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mythsramblings.blogspot.com/2010/10/16days-day0.html' title='16days-day0'/><author><name>myths</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11319999108251458321</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6317749460558556871.post-5577179699201128040</id><published>2010-08-12T19:35:00.001+05:30</published><updated>2010-08-12T19:37:22.090+05:30</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='DailyStuff'/><title type='text'>Of wolves and vampires</title><content type='html'>I watched the latest Bella movie with colleagues from office. All of who had no idea what the series was about. It was fun explaining why a below-average-girl with no special powers has a Wolf and Vampire in love with her. How a Vampire is Vegetarian. Why are we watching this movie. Did the movie end, I was still waiting for it to finish. He he he he . We were roaring with laughter in the scene where Bella realizes (oh spoiler alert!) that she loves WolfBoy too. So, there’s VampyBoy that she loves and then there’s WolfBoy she just realized she loves. At that exact moment another wolfboy walks in , and someone says “Is she in love with him also?”&lt;br /&gt;Well, the movie was ok in the sense a Mills and Boon is ok. Ie, if you are in the mood for not using your mind and if you just want a teenage love story.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I had watched Inception 2 days before this one and there was definitely a contrast. I must confess I was worried if I would be in the pile of people who didn’t understand the movie at all. There was so much talk about it. So many people talking about mindblowing moments. So much praise for the the elaborate set ups and layers and hidden meanings. I did like the movie, but I wasn’t blown away by it. I think the entire concept of Inception (while it is fascinating and obviously was a labour of love&amp;effort) happens in daily life all the time. You don’t need three layers of dreams to plant an idea and not be caught doing it. A normal face to face conversation with a generous amount of twisting of words can easily help in planting doubts, creating new thoughts and nudging people where you require. It’s called Manipulation.&lt;br /&gt;If I remove that thought from my head, well then, Inception was a nice watch. I loved the scene where the guy figures out it is a dream based on how the carpet feel against his skin. I think the guy from “3rd Rock from the Sun” had some amazing fight sequences in no gravity. And trying to create a “I am falling backwards jolt” when there is no gravity was an interesting question. There is something very captivating about movies where the minutest details have been thought out and planned for. I still hear that there a lot of things that you don’t notice at the first viewing, so I may end up watching it again and try to peel the onion a little more.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6317749460558556871-5577179699201128040?l=mythsramblings.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://mythsramblings.blogspot.com/feeds/5577179699201128040/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6317749460558556871&amp;postID=5577179699201128040&amp;isPopup=true' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6317749460558556871/posts/default/5577179699201128040'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6317749460558556871/posts/default/5577179699201128040'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mythsramblings.blogspot.com/2010/08/of-wolves-and-vampires.html' title='Of wolves and vampires'/><author><name>myths</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11319999108251458321</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6317749460558556871.post-2369577008927914764</id><published>2010-08-12T19:31:00.001+05:30</published><updated>2010-08-12T19:34:55.747+05:30</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='I see around me'/><title type='text'>The nicest things happen on the way to work .</title><content type='html'>Couple of days back, I had just gotten the green and had crossed road when to the right I saw this guy on a bike who had combination of tan skin and light green eyes(has to be rare). And he was cute to boot. While I was just realized that , the actual cute thing happened. The girl behind him was talking to him and she must have said something interesting, because he blushed and she actually pinched both his cheeks and he broke into a sheepish smile. It was such an amazing moment. There is something about seeing someone happy that can put a spring into your step.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And today morning, I saw this old lady, the plump grandmotherly type, sitting at her doorstep, drying her hair in the sun. It’s a very normal sight, but she looked so peaceful and she had this smile on her face as she turned to talk to someone next to her. It made me realize that what you actually need in life is just happiness within. :)&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6317749460558556871-2369577008927914764?l=mythsramblings.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://mythsramblings.blogspot.com/feeds/2369577008927914764/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6317749460558556871&amp;postID=2369577008927914764&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6317749460558556871/posts/default/2369577008927914764'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6317749460558556871/posts/default/2369577008927914764'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mythsramblings.blogspot.com/2010/08/nicest-things-happen-on-way-to-work.html' title='The nicest things happen on the way to work .'/><author><name>myths</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11319999108251458321</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6317749460558556871.post-3234158785730352222</id><published>2010-05-28T04:40:00.002+05:30</published><updated>2010-05-28T04:56:44.276+05:30</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='I see around me'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='I muse upon'/><title type='text'>Rings of Droplets in Puddles</title><content type='html'>I am sitting on bed by the window, looking out on a forest - its greeeeeeeeeeen and its raining. I see the drops landing on the puddles already formed and creating lovely ripples in them.&lt;br /&gt;There's something amazingly calming and beautiful, fascinating and breath taking about rain. About water too generally. &lt;br /&gt;It reminds me of me long long ago, doing exactly this. Writing a blog post, with a cup of tea by my side while looking at snow fall slowly to the ground.&lt;br /&gt;I was in the US of A then and I am in the US of A now. But now, the world has shifted along the axis, an axis I don't recognise.&lt;br /&gt;I have come a long way. &lt;br /&gt;I am still finding my path around that, for now, orbiting around my little puddles.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6317749460558556871-3234158785730352222?l=mythsramblings.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://mythsramblings.blogspot.com/feeds/3234158785730352222/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6317749460558556871&amp;postID=3234158785730352222&amp;isPopup=true' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6317749460558556871/posts/default/3234158785730352222'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6317749460558556871/posts/default/3234158785730352222'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mythsramblings.blogspot.com/2010/05/rings-of-droplets-in-puddles.html' title='Rings of Droplets in Puddles'/><author><name>myths</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11319999108251458321</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6317749460558556871.post-2056493746515784431</id><published>2010-05-08T08:46:00.000+05:30</published><updated>2010-05-08T08:46:37.076+05:30</updated><title type='text'>2nd</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_3LQk-nB49GU/S-TXkyFd7mI/AAAAAAAAEvQ/occwG1aJIQo/s1600/2nd%2Banniversary.JPG'&gt;&lt;img src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_3LQk-nB49GU/S-TXkyFd7mI/AAAAAAAAEvQ/occwG1aJIQo/s400/2nd%2Banniversary.JPG' border='0' alt=''style='clear:both;float:left; margin:0px 10px 10px 0;' /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&amp;nbsp;&lt;div style='clear:both; text-align:LEFT'&gt;&lt;a href='http://picasa.google.com/blogger/' target='ext'&gt;&lt;img src='http://photos1.blogger.com/pbp.gif' alt='Posted by Picasa' style='border: 0px none ; padding: 0px; background: transparent none repeat scroll 0% 50%; -moz-background-clip: initial; -moz-background-origin: initial; -moz-background-inline-policy: initial;' align='middle' border='0' /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6317749460558556871-2056493746515784431?l=mythsramblings.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://mythsramblings.blogspot.com/feeds/2056493746515784431/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6317749460558556871&amp;postID=2056493746515784431&amp;isPopup=true' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6317749460558556871/posts/default/2056493746515784431'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6317749460558556871/posts/default/2056493746515784431'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mythsramblings.blogspot.com/2010/05/2nd.html' title='2nd'/><author><name>myths</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11319999108251458321</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_3LQk-nB49GU/S-TXkyFd7mI/AAAAAAAAEvQ/occwG1aJIQo/s72-c/2nd%2Banniversary.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6317749460558556871.post-7514658957234226693</id><published>2010-05-07T08:55:00.001+05:30</published><updated>2010-05-07T08:58:10.477+05:30</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='cookin'/><title type='text'>Cooking special !</title><content type='html'>&lt;div style='text-align:center;margin:0px auto 10px;'&gt;&lt;a href='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_3LQk-nB49GU/S-OIOjk4SuI/AAAAAAAAEuw/hW-aGH_OCnA/s1600/IMG_5765.JPG'&gt;&lt;img src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_3LQk-nB49GU/S-OIOjk4SuI/AAAAAAAAEuw/hW-aGH_OCnA/s400/IMG_5765.JPG' border='0' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&amp;nbsp;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style='clear:both; text-align:CENTER'&gt;&lt;a href='http://picasa.google.com/blogger/' target='ext'&gt;&lt;img src='http://photos1.blogger.com/pbp.gif' alt='Posted by Picasa' style='border: 0px none ; padding: 0px; background: transparent none repeat scroll 0% 50%; -moz-background-clip: initial; -moz-background-origin: initial; -moz-background-inline-policy: initial;' align='middle' border='0' /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;There's Pulao, Puliyogre, VangiBath, Pongal and yummmmmmmmmmmmmy Payasam!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6317749460558556871-7514658957234226693?l=mythsramblings.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://mythsramblings.blogspot.com/feeds/7514658957234226693/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6317749460558556871&amp;postID=7514658957234226693&amp;isPopup=true' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6317749460558556871/posts/default/7514658957234226693'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6317749460558556871/posts/default/7514658957234226693'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mythsramblings.blogspot.com/2010/05/cookin-g-special.html' title='Cooking special !'/><author><name>myths</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11319999108251458321</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_3LQk-nB49GU/S-OIOjk4SuI/AAAAAAAAEuw/hW-aGH_OCnA/s72-c/IMG_5765.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6317749460558556871.post-2507016325435846348</id><published>2010-04-26T05:45:00.002+05:30</published><updated>2010-04-26T05:48:06.333+05:30</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='marital bliss'/><title type='text'>It just hit me</title><content type='html'>Its going to be 2 years.Two full years. And I have NO idea where 24 months went, I can still remember my wedding preparation like it was yesterday. I cannot believe I have been married for all of 2 years. It is darned funny.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6317749460558556871-2507016325435846348?l=mythsramblings.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://mythsramblings.blogspot.com/feeds/2507016325435846348/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6317749460558556871&amp;postID=2507016325435846348&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6317749460558556871/posts/default/2507016325435846348'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6317749460558556871/posts/default/2507016325435846348'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mythsramblings.blogspot.com/2010/04/it-just-hit-me.html' title='It just hit me'/><author><name>myths</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11319999108251458321</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6317749460558556871.post-6699410007233534677</id><published>2010-02-20T23:38:00.003+05:30</published><updated>2010-02-20T23:43:09.763+05:30</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='marital bliss'/><title type='text'>Wedding countdown - congrats P</title><content type='html'>My friend got engaged yesterday, my besssssssstest wishes to him ... here's wishing you P - a love story that lasts forever. Cherish all the happiness, the little things, the big ones, keep the smile on and share it with would-be Mrs P and turn her into one pucca loos character like you ....&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6317749460558556871-6699410007233534677?l=mythsramblings.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://mythsramblings.blogspot.com/feeds/6699410007233534677/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6317749460558556871&amp;postID=6699410007233534677&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6317749460558556871/posts/default/6699410007233534677'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6317749460558556871/posts/default/6699410007233534677'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mythsramblings.blogspot.com/2010/02/wedding-countdown-congrats-p.html' title='Wedding countdown - congrats P'/><author><name>myths</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11319999108251458321</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6317749460558556871.post-1020873281169638630</id><published>2010-02-20T23:22:00.003+05:30</published><updated>2010-02-20T23:36:37.977+05:30</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='I see around me'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='I muse upon'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='India'/><title type='text'>My name is Khan</title><content type='html'>What's with this movie. What's the point. I went purely to see the magic of SRK and Kajal inspite of pathetic reviews. I didn't get to see the normal SRK, but Kajal was AMAZING. &lt;br /&gt;While looking at the movie, I realised something. Turns out, it is so obvious, since it's staring you right in the face, that you miss it. &lt;br /&gt;There's always support for being a Muslim, it's always Hindus who seem to be shown in the wrong light.&lt;br /&gt;Take Mr and Mrs Iyer, we get to see Hindu extremists murdering the old helpless Muslim couple.&lt;br /&gt;My name is Khan shows a young Khan hearing about crimes Hindus perpetrated crime against Muslims.&lt;br /&gt;Fiza again is about how a Muslim kid turned to terrorism due to Hindu-Muslim riots.&lt;br /&gt;The news is filled with images of crimes against Muslims during the Gujarat riots or even the Mumbai ones. &lt;br /&gt;There is a definite exposure to the world when it watches Indian media - be it the entertainment movies or the 24 hour news channels- I am not surprised if all they see is that Muslims suffer at the hand of Hindus in India because it is a predominantly Hindu country. But in each scenario, I am sure even other religions suffered. &lt;br /&gt;The media may not realise it, but doesn't the world need to know that too. If we do not represent all aspects of our society, won't the world too see us that ways.&lt;br /&gt;We are republic, secular and democratic and proud of it aren't we. We have had people from myriad religious backgrounds lead the country, lead our second religion[ cricket ], be the entertainment stars and what not. Why then the need for separation on basis of religion.There's no movie on India's democratic life is there&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6317749460558556871-1020873281169638630?l=mythsramblings.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://mythsramblings.blogspot.com/feeds/1020873281169638630/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6317749460558556871&amp;postID=1020873281169638630&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6317749460558556871/posts/default/1020873281169638630'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6317749460558556871/posts/default/1020873281169638630'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mythsramblings.blogspot.com/2010/02/my-name-is-khan.html' title='My name is Khan'/><author><name>myths</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11319999108251458321</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6317749460558556871.post-7732947847612738744</id><published>2010-02-20T22:25:00.004+05:30</published><updated>2010-02-20T23:19:50.511+05:30</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='I see around me'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Cribbing'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='India'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='people'/><title type='text'>Pass the port please</title><content type='html'>I applied for a marital status and address change in my passport on dec 17th 2009. I waited 45 days to hear from the police for the verification, then hubby made a trip to the 'round  the corner police station.&lt;br /&gt;He came back home to tell me, I need to go there too.&lt;br /&gt;I went. We got sent back for a phone bill from 2009. &lt;br /&gt;We returned. We got sent back for a phone bill from the previous address in 2008.&lt;br /&gt;We returned. We got sent back for .. you get it, we went to the police station, home and back 4 times. &lt;br /&gt;Then, turns out, since I had submitted all those documents at the time of passport application - we needn't have gone back and forth even once.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Finally, the writer guy sits to write down the information. In the meanwhile, I saw him insult a guy because he was from Tamil Nadu, being rude to a girl who didn't have any other address proof other than a rental agreement[true], try  to hit a guy with a paper weight when that guy did not understand where he was to sign. He made statements about if he doesn't finish an application in 15 days, the commissioner pulls them up - what about 45 days in my case I wonder.What about police needed to come to the house and verify on their own, what about them calling up people if they can't find them. It's their job, isn't it. When Vc said, I thought you would get in touch with us , he said 'will you pay for my personal calls to all the people who applied for passports'&lt;br /&gt;I used to believe that a police station is what wrong doers need to fear, but being there for 2 hours just waiting on people[police] to just sign a paper, a weird fear grew within me, I didn't want to be there, it was like my skin was crawling, like I had put my foot into crap, like I was in a stinking spot and the stench was attaching itself to me.I didn't want to look at that sick,slimy writer, it's was frustrating to keep a calm face and talk to him, anything so as to not displease him, just so my application passes.&lt;br /&gt;Then, he says, the SI isn't here , come back in the evening.&lt;br /&gt;I came home, took a bath to get the sick feeling off.You needed to be there to feel it.&lt;br /&gt;We went back in the evening, dreading even going there, turns out he wasn't there. We had to settle down for another hours wait. Slimeball people walking in and out, staring like 'beep beep beep's. And then, the worst moment of the day, I heard a scream come from inside, a real heart wrenching sound - why , why as a person who needed passport verification did I have to be subjected to hearing a person being tortured .WHY . WHY . WHY. I almost puked right there.&lt;br /&gt;Shouldn't they do it as defined by coming to my house. Shouldn't they learn to be polite to people who come to the police station. Shouldn't they know how to treat people who are not criminals. Shouldn't they know that they can't expect women to spend 4 hours in a police station. Shouldn't they know that they need to respect women, at least show respect.&lt;br /&gt;I never thought I would say it, but I find it hard to believe that people who are to protect us are the ones I am afraid of.&lt;br /&gt;It's feb 20 2010, more than 2 months since I applied and I still don't have my passport - just a marital status and address change.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6317749460558556871-7732947847612738744?l=mythsramblings.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://mythsramblings.blogspot.com/feeds/7732947847612738744/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6317749460558556871&amp;postID=7732947847612738744&amp;isPopup=true' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6317749460558556871/posts/default/7732947847612738744'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6317749460558556871/posts/default/7732947847612738744'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mythsramblings.blogspot.com/2010/02/pass-port-please.html' title='Pass the port please'/><author><name>myths</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11319999108251458321</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6317749460558556871.post-7494003538253539070</id><published>2010-02-14T23:12:00.003+05:30</published><updated>2010-02-14T23:15:09.927+05:30</updated><title type='text'>Happppppppy Valentine's day</title><content type='html'>YAYYYYYY ...&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6317749460558556871-7494003538253539070?l=mythsramblings.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://mythsramblings.blogspot.com/feeds/7494003538253539070/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6317749460558556871&amp;postID=7494003538253539070&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6317749460558556871/posts/default/7494003538253539070'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6317749460558556871/posts/default/7494003538253539070'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mythsramblings.blogspot.com/2010/02/happppppppy-valentines-day.html' title='Happppppppy Valentine&apos;s day'/><author><name>myths</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11319999108251458321</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6317749460558556871.post-2364009208151914935</id><published>2010-01-03T13:18:00.002+05:30</published><updated>2010-01-03T13:26:02.850+05:30</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Work'/><title type='text'>New Year, New Place</title><content type='html'>Started with my new company, it is indeed a strange feeling to be in a building full of people you have never seen, never met. &lt;br /&gt;Lots of waiting in the reception area later, I met the HR, my new Team Manager, team mates. Looks like a whole new beginning. It seems like every beginning is an opportunity for infinite possibilities, a fresh start where you can do things differently or the same way again ;0&lt;br /&gt;New cubicles, a lovely terrace pantry with a beautiful flower garden and a nice view, a library that actually stocks Rd, nice people - the manager asked me to join his group for lunch, the building looks awesome, well what else, oh yeah, I dont know any of the things that I am supposed to be working on- eowwwwwww - back to books and learning for me.&lt;br /&gt;Well, wish me a wonderful beginning and a wonderful time here .. &lt;br /&gt;And I wish the same for you for the new year ahead.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6317749460558556871-2364009208151914935?l=mythsramblings.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://mythsramblings.blogspot.com/feeds/2364009208151914935/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6317749460558556871&amp;postID=2364009208151914935&amp;isPopup=true' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6317749460558556871/posts/default/2364009208151914935'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6317749460558556871/posts/default/2364009208151914935'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mythsramblings.blogspot.com/2010/01/new-year-new-place.html' title='New Year, New Place'/><author><name>myths</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11319999108251458321</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6317749460558556871.post-2608133027482716116</id><published>2009-12-27T19:49:00.006+05:30</published><updated>2010-01-03T12:59:44.035+05:30</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='past'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Memories'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Work'/><title type='text'>TATA bye bye</title><content type='html'>My 5 years in my first company has drawn to an end. And as I look back, I know that it has been one heck of a roller-coaster ride. &lt;br /&gt;I learnt how to actually use a computer - 4 years of engineering and the internet age couldn't make me do it, but work did. &lt;br /&gt;I moved from calling IT and Computer Science engineering graduates as IT guys and included myself in that group of 'techies'.&lt;br /&gt;I was forced to learn computer languages ;0 Harder than that was learning 'People interaction skills'.&lt;br /&gt;Work is never really painful when you look back, but I remember complaining, cribbing that it was so hard and never finished.There were lots of late nights where friends would wait for each other to finish. Then there were the fights - cold war style with so many people who had made life mini-hell for me.Turns out every incident good-bad has actually taught me something, while there are still somethings that I continue to repeat for the heck of it, some are real lessons about what to stay away from.&lt;br /&gt;For the longest time, I hated the open politics or at least the un-acknowledged undercurrent that runs through every team, every office, every group of people. I hated,still do, it when I saw people 'butter' their way through life, though I had lots of people telling me to fit in , I think I took pride in stubbornly staying me. One of my achievements, 5 years in an IT company and I am still BLUNT. Guess thats why only my friends can stand me ;0&lt;br /&gt;I did get a chance to go abroad to the US of A. lots of &lt;a href="http://mythsramblings.blogspot.com/2008/01/tata-2007.html"&gt;new things&lt;/a&gt; that opened up.&lt;br /&gt;I have made friends for life - that's my favourite part of all the above lot.&lt;br /&gt;It really is funny that at the end of such a long 'journey', it's the smallest things that come to mind. &lt;br /&gt;When I was leaving, I remembered the first time I walked into a lobby and how awed I was at the receptionist talking smooth and juggling 10 calls a minute. I remembered being wow-ed by the entire wall in the ladies room being a mirror.My first look of a cubicle that I had heard so many jokes about.My first manager, the first late night stay, the first appraisal, the first friends, the first team outing, the first salary, the pride in buying something on your own, and so many more. And of course, I did get married while I was in this company. &lt;br /&gt;Sigh, no matter how prepared I was for leaving - 1 month notice is a lot of time - putting on the tag one last time, submitting it to the HR , it did tug at my heart when I saw the big name board on the building one last time, I felt so senti when I was taking my vehicle out the parking lot for the very last time, and the worst was when I was passing the gate for the last time as an employee - I knew it was over - no more turning back.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6317749460558556871-2608133027482716116?l=mythsramblings.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://mythsramblings.blogspot.com/feeds/2608133027482716116/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6317749460558556871&amp;postID=2608133027482716116&amp;isPopup=true' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6317749460558556871/posts/default/2608133027482716116'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6317749460558556871/posts/default/2608133027482716116'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mythsramblings.blogspot.com/2009/12/tata-bye-bye.html' title='TATA bye bye'/><author><name>myths</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11319999108251458321</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6317749460558556871.post-7385237857221428428</id><published>2009-12-16T09:46:00.001+05:30</published><updated>2009-12-16T09:46:28.874+05:30</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='cookin'/><title type='text'>An ode to the flame</title><content type='html'>Friday, January 2, 2009&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It happened !!! It finally did, the cooker stopped after just one whistle and then died on us. Vc walked in to find that the cooking gas cylinder had finally run out.&lt;br /&gt;It lasted 8 months almost. It gave us a scare a couple of times in its 5th month when the flame turned orange and all thought that it was finally time.&lt;br /&gt;It stood by us when lots of people, parents, friends, the gas agency guy too all ridiculed us that it lasted way longer at our home than any other home they knew.&lt;br /&gt;I will miss the first household appliance that Vc got.&lt;br /&gt;Here's to it's memory !!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6317749460558556871-7385237857221428428?l=mythsramblings.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://mythsramblings.blogspot.com/feeds/7385237857221428428/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6317749460558556871&amp;postID=7385237857221428428&amp;isPopup=true' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6317749460558556871/posts/default/7385237857221428428'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6317749460558556871/posts/default/7385237857221428428'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mythsramblings.blogspot.com/2009/12/ode-to-flame.html' title='An ode to the flame'/><author><name>myths</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11319999108251458321</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6317749460558556871.post-4846613182391418822</id><published>2009-12-16T09:45:00.001+05:30</published><updated>2009-12-16T09:45:48.854+05:30</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='cookin'/><title type='text'>Myu tata</title><content type='html'>Saturday, June 21, 2008&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Its about time isnt it ! I mean I am cooking every day and this blog doesnt get all the attention that it actually deserves. yeah yeah rub your hands in glee, coming up is my next 'mis'adventure with cooking :)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;What I used :&lt;br /&gt;Pillsbury vanilla cake mix.&lt;br /&gt;Oil&lt;br /&gt;Egg&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;What I did :&lt;br /&gt;followed instructions on the back of the Pillsbury cover ! duh !!!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And for laughs:&lt;br /&gt;Well, I didnt know that microwaveable bowls cant be used for cooking in the microwave!!&lt;br /&gt;After putting in the batter into the bowl, I realised that my microwave doesnt have a temperature setter, ah well, cant do anything after having come so far, now can I?I put it in anyways and set the timer for 25 mins. I settle down comfortably with a novel waiting for the ting ting ting 'Your food is ready!!!'&lt;br /&gt;I am not sure how much later but I get up to get a nibble since I was getting hungry, and I see smoke billowing out of the kitchen. There's no fire, thank God but the source is ,you guessed it, the hero of the story- my darling mirowave!&lt;br /&gt;I turned off the switch and pull open the door, the plastic bowl's half gone, melted onto the glass floor, bursting as it died onto to walls of its confines changing the palette of heaven to that of hell.The cake was still there, it dint vaporise!!! darn!!! but it had turned into stone(the mister checked)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;End Result :&lt;br /&gt;The smoke caused far too much of coughing and brought about a mini-breathing issue not to mention burning eyes!&lt;br /&gt;Its been 3 days and there's a faint burnt odour in my kitchen and not just when I open that darned door!&lt;br /&gt;The inside of my brand new microwave oven has turned from white to a dirty brown(not on the outside though, its mishaps are its to hide ;))&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Moral of the story: Dont get into cooking extra stuff just coz you got home early from work !!!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6317749460558556871-4846613182391418822?l=mythsramblings.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://mythsramblings.blogspot.com/feeds/4846613182391418822/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6317749460558556871&amp;postID=4846613182391418822&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6317749460558556871/posts/default/4846613182391418822'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6317749460558556871/posts/default/4846613182391418822'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mythsramblings.blogspot.com/2009/12/myu-tata.html' title='Myu tata'/><author><name>myths</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11319999108251458321</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6317749460558556871.post-2474008077314822295</id><published>2009-12-16T09:44:00.000+05:30</published><updated>2009-12-16T09:45:07.710+05:30</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='cookin'/><title type='text'>Peas Pulao</title><content type='html'>Wednesday, May 28, 2008&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;What I used:&lt;br /&gt;Rice(Cooked)&lt;br /&gt;Peas&lt;br /&gt;Onions&lt;br /&gt;Green Chillies&lt;br /&gt;Oil&lt;br /&gt;Salt&lt;br /&gt;Cardamom&lt;br /&gt;Cloves&lt;br /&gt;Ginger-Garlic paste&lt;br /&gt;Sugar&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;What I did:&lt;br /&gt;Started with the rice cooker, got to have the rice ready before we start.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Chop up the onions and green chillies.Heat some oil in the kadai(and definitely do no add ginger-garlic paste now!!!) Add the cardamom and cloves, followed by onions and chillies. And now the ginger garlic paste. Wait till all looks fairly cooked and add the pretty peas :D. Give them some time (and don't let them get squishy!) and add the rice, some salt and a dash of sugar. Mix it all up properly and tadaaaaaaa......&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;and for laughs:&lt;br /&gt;I got to move Vc away from the tv and come running into the kitchen ! All I had to do was heat the oil in the pan and add the ginger-garlic paste directly. It spewed it all out like there was no tomorrow, I had stand at the far end of the kitchen and watch all the oil spurt out all over the clean ledge and all the utensils kept around. We couldn't even reach the stove to turn it off, the brave knight tried to by shielding himself with a towel, but just as he reached out to turn the stove knob, a nice drop of boiling oil landed right on his wrist and he hopped back into the safe zone ! I ended up with a half burnt pan and it took me 15 mins to clean up the oil splattered all over the walls and the floor , not just the ledge ! and I did have an oil coated cucumber to contend with ;)&lt;br /&gt;and of course,Vc says "Tv isnt as interesting as the kitchen ;) "&lt;br /&gt;Made my day !!! uahahhahhahahaaaa ....&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;End Result:&lt;br /&gt;Not happy with the result :(&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6317749460558556871-2474008077314822295?l=mythsramblings.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://mythsramblings.blogspot.com/feeds/2474008077314822295/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6317749460558556871&amp;postID=2474008077314822295&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6317749460558556871/posts/default/2474008077314822295'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6317749460558556871/posts/default/2474008077314822295'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mythsramblings.blogspot.com/2009/12/peas-pulao.html' title='Peas Pulao'/><author><name>myths</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11319999108251458321</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6317749460558556871.post-4467948701077647369</id><published>2009-12-16T09:43:00.000+05:30</published><updated>2009-12-16T09:44:24.263+05:30</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='cookin'/><title type='text'>Good 'ol Indian Pizzzzzzzza ...</title><content type='html'>Saturday, March 8, 2008&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;What I used:&lt;br /&gt;Mozarella cheese&lt;br /&gt;Pizza base&lt;br /&gt;Veggies:-&lt;br /&gt;Beans&lt;br /&gt;Carrots&lt;br /&gt;Cabbage&lt;br /&gt;Capsicum(I know, Its not there in the snap)&lt;br /&gt;Onions&lt;br /&gt;Green Chillies&lt;br /&gt;Tomato sauce&lt;br /&gt;Garam Masala&lt;br /&gt;Oil&lt;br /&gt;Salt&lt;br /&gt;Microwave Oven&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;What I did:&lt;br /&gt;Chop up the vegetables.Heat some oil in the kadai, chillies go in first, followed by the onions until they are a light brown. The veggies go in next. Add salt as per taste and a sprinkling of garam masala. Toss it around for a while till properly cooked.&lt;br /&gt;Spread tomato sauce on the base, the vegetable fry goes on top of that. And grated cheese right on top, generously please.&lt;br /&gt;Set the microwave oven in convection mode at 190 deg C, pizza on a microwaveable plate for 4 minutes.&lt;br /&gt;and tat-ta-daaaaaa.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;and for laughs:&lt;br /&gt;Well me cooks and you don't get a laugh or I don't get scolded, nah, not possible!!&lt;br /&gt;I had put one in the microwave and was getting the second one ready and I smell smoke.I was worried the pizza was burning, but nah it wasn't that.There was smoke coming out of the electrical socket.The poor thing had fused.And yours truly decided to do it the old fashioned way. Put on the dosa tava on low heat and put pizza2 on that.And 5 minutes later the base had fried out, charred black.&lt;br /&gt;I had dad's lecture about not being patient enough to wait till he got another adapter.Mom saying she was trying to make it while waiting (scores a point).HeHeHe&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;End Result:&lt;br /&gt;All still standing and it was rather good, if I may so.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6317749460558556871-4467948701077647369?l=mythsramblings.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://mythsramblings.blogspot.com/feeds/4467948701077647369/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6317749460558556871&amp;postID=4467948701077647369&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6317749460558556871/posts/default/4467948701077647369'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6317749460558556871/posts/default/4467948701077647369'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mythsramblings.blogspot.com/2009/12/good-ol-indian-pizzzzzzzza.html' title='Good &apos;ol Indian Pizzzzzzzza ...'/><author><name>myths</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11319999108251458321</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6317749460558556871.post-1237440197685916545</id><published>2009-12-16T09:42:00.002+05:30</published><updated>2009-12-16T09:43:33.282+05:30</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='cookin'/><title type='text'>Desserts galore</title><content type='html'>Monday, August 11, 2008&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Will you believe it ?? I actually made Gulab Jamoons and Coconut burfi last week !&lt;br /&gt;I am so happy I could do a somersault :D not really no, all my 'colleagues' would be scandalised.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Gulab Jamoon was rather simple. Of course it always is when you have a ready mix packet in hand ;)&lt;br /&gt;I used 100gms of the GulabJamoon mix, a dash of water to make it into dough, Sugar and water to make a sugar syrup. It took me just half an hour to make it.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Mix sugar:water at 1:2 ,set it to boil. Mix the dough, it takes verrry little water . Keep aside for 5 minutes.&lt;br /&gt;Make small balls of the dough (the size of marbles is good enough) . I made them the size of the jamoons that are ready to be eaten. I was sort of heartbroken that 100gms of powder yields only 5 Jamoons. I mean, when my mom made them , I could eat 5 each day for a week and they would still be some left for others too ;)&lt;br /&gt;On a medium flame, 'fry' the batter-balls in oil till they get to a honey-ish brown colour.&lt;br /&gt;And then the fun part, dunk the roasted balls into the hot sugar syrup. They semi-sink with a hiss (I did jump back a bit not sure what woould happen, but other than the fizzing , nothing else did) .&lt;br /&gt;I left them in the syrup and by the time I was done cleaning up, I saw them becoming big, soaking in the sugar and looked like they were trying to escape from the vessel. Had to put them into two seperate vessels.&lt;br /&gt;We finally ended up with Gulab Jamoons the size of Ragi mudde uahahahahahahaa .....&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The coconut burfi was right out of a recipe on the net. Grate a coconut, fry it slightly.Add elaichi powder to it. Make sugar syrup , make sure its 'tight'/ and put the fried copra into the syrup.&lt;br /&gt;Voila ! Its done!&lt;br /&gt;But how can we leave at peace, what will happen to us adding a touch of individuality to it??&lt;br /&gt;Vc saunters in, adds badam powder (to change the color), he tilts his head left and then right,(he's not too happy about the color). He (hold your breath) peels badam and adds it on top.&lt;br /&gt;I was almost going to wait for it to harden so I could make squares and then cut it(like in the shops duh!) , but turns out the syrup was more than the coconut could handle.&lt;br /&gt;We had the sweet today morning . Sort of had to drink it like a soup ;)&lt;br /&gt;uahahahahahhaaaa&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6317749460558556871-1237440197685916545?l=mythsramblings.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://mythsramblings.blogspot.com/feeds/1237440197685916545/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6317749460558556871&amp;postID=1237440197685916545&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6317749460558556871/posts/default/1237440197685916545'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6317749460558556871/posts/default/1237440197685916545'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mythsramblings.blogspot.com/2009/12/desserts-galore.html' title='Desserts galore'/><author><name>myths</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11319999108251458321</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6317749460558556871.post-4225488346756679858</id><published>2009-12-10T18:10:00.003+05:30</published><updated>2009-12-10T18:16:29.276+05:30</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Entertainment'/><title type='text'>Hero</title><content type='html'>I saw one of the weirdest movies yesterday, weirdest EVER. The plot is about a supposed-psycho who does some really whacko things all through but in the end - he's the hero, he's the scarily-selfless sacrificer and that makes it a happy ending.&lt;br /&gt;His idea of making friends is - ask a guy if he knows how to swim and on learning that he can't swim, push him into the water, wait for him to struggle and call for help, save him - then say 'I helped you, we are friends now'. That people, is the opening scene.&lt;br /&gt;He acts like he's a PERFECT guy in office and has everyone literally bowled over, in walks the heroine, and he kisses her as soon as they are alone in a lift - their first conversation. And there were people laughing in the theatre at this.Imagine, in real life, a guy kissed a total-stranger-newcomer in a lift. I am sure there will be a dozen committees waiting to take that guy down. The heroine complains to the HR and the HR tells her she is hallucinating, because the hero is PERFECT and wont do that. And there people guffawing uncontrollably at that scene.&lt;br /&gt;Sigh, I was really worried what I had dragged myself into.&lt;br /&gt;While, as an actor, the hero really made me believe he was off the hinge, he did an amazing job at dancing, really outstanding. The script writing was probably different/unique while I am not a fan of the story, I can acknowledge the script writer and the art director for putting out something sort of intelligent on screen.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Oh - the movie is &lt;a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Arya_2"&gt;Arya-2&lt;/a&gt;.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It sort of got me to think, why I was uncomfortable with a weirdo for a hero. Why I was uncomfortable that he was uncouth with the heroine is definitely not being questioned ;) &lt;br /&gt;We are used to a hero being, well, a hero. Extremely well cultured, well mannered, perfect (really perfect, not fake perfect), can fight 2 dozen men gun-toting men single-handedly with bare hands, who absolutely adores the heroine,always does the right thing. &lt;br /&gt;Now, I think, we idolize heroes and expect them to be like that, because that is what sets them apart from being ordinary- that is why he is THE hero, duh!! If he breaks/doesn't conform to any of the above aspects of his definition, he is like us, so how can he be the hero.&lt;br /&gt;It doesn't matter if he doesn't get the girl, he sacrifices her for her happiness/for traditions/some other unwritten law that binds him and makes us realise his greatness in doing it.A hero has to be great, has to do what no one else can do, has to be amazingly God-like, otherwise, it'll be an ART FILM!!! &lt;br /&gt;he he he &lt;br /&gt;Well, I did adore the &lt;a href="http://worthtovisit.com/wp-content/uploads/2009/07/magadheera.jpg"&gt;hero&lt;/a&gt; in &lt;a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Magadheera"&gt;Magadheera&lt;/a&gt; - he could kill 100 men and still stand, he is reborn again to claim the woman he couldn't get in the past birth where he sacrifices his love for her since the king demands it against his honour.&lt;br /&gt;That's my hero - honour, valour, belief in the power of his word.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And the weird part is, by the time Arya-2 was ending, I sort of pitied the hero who was giving up the girl he loved because he loved his friend more (even if the friend hated him). I realised that since we can't get all the qualities of a legendary hero, we make do for a few and overlook all the scary-psycho-weird-freaking parts. &lt;br /&gt;Just like we accept other people in our life - s/he is like this and that, but s/he has these great qualities, so , I like him/her. No back and white anymore, we live with the greys, eh?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Would I recommend Magadheera, without even thinking once , forget thinking twice. But would I recommend Arya-2 .- hmmm, ummm , uhhhh , maybe you should check it out for yourself. Maybe you will have fun seeing a 'different' movie.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6317749460558556871-4225488346756679858?l=mythsramblings.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://mythsramblings.blogspot.com/feeds/4225488346756679858/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6317749460558556871&amp;postID=4225488346756679858&amp;isPopup=true' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6317749460558556871/posts/default/4225488346756679858'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6317749460558556871/posts/default/4225488346756679858'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mythsramblings.blogspot.com/2009/12/hero.html' title='Hero'/><author><name>myths</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11319999108251458321</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6317749460558556871.post-1639266573872464205</id><published>2009-12-10T08:25:00.002+05:30</published><updated>2009-12-10T08:31:28.060+05:30</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Weighty Issues'/><title type='text'>yayyyyaaaaayyyyayyy</title><content type='html'>I lost a kg ... and I am loving it. tralalllaalaalllaaaa ... &lt;br /&gt;oh and 10 new dresses actually might be a reason too.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6317749460558556871-1639266573872464205?l=mythsramblings.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://mythsramblings.blogspot.com/feeds/1639266573872464205/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6317749460558556871&amp;postID=1639266573872464205&amp;isPopup=true' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6317749460558556871/posts/default/1639266573872464205'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6317749460558556871/posts/default/1639266573872464205'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mythsramblings.blogspot.com/2009/12/yayyyyaaaaayyyyayyy.html' title='yayyyyaaaaayyyyayyy'/><author><name>myths</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11319999108251458321</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6317749460558556871.post-7190892321738898268</id><published>2009-12-09T21:51:00.001+05:30</published><updated>2009-12-09T21:55:22.177+05:30</updated><title type='text'>La la land</title><content type='html'>When people see me sitting with 600-700 page novels, 90% of the time, their response is varying levels of shock, wonder and partial pity on me that I am suffering through so many pages of the written word. &lt;br /&gt;And the very same people who don't know even as many authors as I do(all of 4 - Ayn Rand, Robert Ludlum, Robert Jordan and John Grisham) love to snicker when they see me reading a &lt;a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Mills_&amp;_Boon"&gt;Mills and Boon&lt;/a&gt;. &lt;br /&gt;I don't understand what the big deal is. There was a phase when I went through my share of MnB, way back when I was school. I remember it being totally unrealistic, hopelessly romantic and always with a happy ending. And then I went through a phase for the last 10 years or so where I looked down upon them. How I caught that view, I have no idea! But recently, when I wanted to read a light book, the first thing that caught my eye was an MnB.Predictable plot line, warped sense of feminism, exotic people and location, fairytale romance - it had it all - and surprisingly, I didn't mind it. &lt;br /&gt;I think I got tired of all the novels dealing with the reality of suffering, pain, death, honour, various kinds of subterfuge and the other set of novels set in pure fantasy of dragons, magic, kings and what nots. &lt;br /&gt;This book was such a refreshing change. I  tried reading other &lt;a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Chick_lit"&gt;chick-lit&lt;/a&gt; - &lt;a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Danielle_Steel"&gt;Danielle Steel&lt;/a&gt;-but she kills too many people in her plot - sad touch again. Whereas the dear MnBs restrict themselves purely to the 'tension' of 'does he like me, does he not' and since we know 'he does', we are happy for the heroine too :) &lt;br /&gt;Next time you look down on an MnB, just remember, it could just be your escape into light, reading and some amount of romanticism. Real life is all around you anyways, why go looking for it when you read for pleasure !!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6317749460558556871-7190892321738898268?l=mythsramblings.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://mythsramblings.blogspot.com/feeds/7190892321738898268/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6317749460558556871&amp;postID=7190892321738898268&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6317749460558556871/posts/default/7190892321738898268'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6317749460558556871/posts/default/7190892321738898268'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mythsramblings.blogspot.com/2009/12/la-la-land.html' title='La la land'/><author><name>myths</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11319999108251458321</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6317749460558556871.post-5815339944884346727</id><published>2009-11-02T23:41:00.002+05:30</published><updated>2009-11-02T23:45:25.662+05:30</updated><title type='text'>Software project</title><content type='html'>I am taking on a project which I hope will do some good to organisations that help the needy. A friend of mine was organising computer education for the masses with the help of engineering students and while discussing with him, I realised there was an opportunity for something mutually beneficial. &lt;br /&gt;Most NGOs dont get the recognition/ media mention inspite of all the work they do. A small thing like presence of a website on the internet will open up more support for them. Or maybe internal software for things like accounting, or keeping track of resources used, etc. More often than not, they cannot afford to pay someone to build software for them.&lt;br /&gt;All engineering students work on at least 2 projects in the 6th and 8th semester and most of the times, the projects are not reusable/ are just discarded having served their purpose. &lt;br /&gt;So, I propose this. What if the students worked on projects that can be given as a product to any NGO/group that needs it. The students can use freeware/open source tool and languages. Software professionals can be involved who will help them design and execute the projects or probably even the lecturers can mentor that. &lt;br /&gt;The students will get to work in a real world scenario of Requirement gathering, Analysis, Design, Development, Testing and Delivering and I am sure that will look great on a resume when a student can say - "I built this website and an organisation is using it"&lt;br /&gt;So, what do you think .. will it work,can we make it happen&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6317749460558556871-5815339944884346727?l=mythsramblings.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://mythsramblings.blogspot.com/feeds/5815339944884346727/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6317749460558556871&amp;postID=5815339944884346727&amp;isPopup=true' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6317749460558556871/posts/default/5815339944884346727'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6317749460558556871/posts/default/5815339944884346727'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mythsramblings.blogspot.com/2009/11/software-project_02.html' title='Software project'/><author><name>myths</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11319999108251458321</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6317749460558556871.post-4249417224656577634</id><published>2009-11-02T23:41:00.000+05:30</published><updated>2009-11-02T23:43:10.168+05:30</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='My thoughtpad'/><title type='text'>Software project</title><content type='html'>I am taking on a project which I hope will do some good to organisations that help the needy. A friend of mine was organising computer education for the masses with the help of engineering students and while discussing with him, I realised there was an opportunity for something mutually beneficial. &lt;br /&gt;Most NGOs dont get the recognition/ media mention inspite of all the work they do. A small thing like presence of a website on the internet will open up more support for them. Or maybe internal software for things like accounting, or keeping track of resources used, etc. More often than not, they cannot afford to pay someone to build software for them.&lt;br /&gt;All engineering students work on at least 2 projects in the 6th and 8th semester and most of the times, the projects are not reusable/ are just discarded having served their purpose. &lt;br /&gt;So, I propose this. What if the students worked on projects that can be given as a product to any NGO/group that needs it. The students can use freeware/open source tool and languages. I will provide involve software professionals who will help them design and execute the projects or probably even the lecturers can mentor that. &lt;br /&gt;The students will get to work in a real world scenario of Requirement gathering, Analysis, Design, Development, Testing and Delivering and I am sure that will look great on a resume when a student can say - "I built this website and an organisation is using it"&lt;br /&gt;So, what do you think&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6317749460558556871-4249417224656577634?l=mythsramblings.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://mythsramblings.blogspot.com/feeds/4249417224656577634/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6317749460558556871&amp;postID=4249417224656577634&amp;isPopup=true' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6317749460558556871/posts/default/4249417224656577634'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6317749460558556871/posts/default/4249417224656577634'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mythsramblings.blogspot.com/2009/11/software-project.html' title='Software project'/><author><name>myths</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11319999108251458321</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6317749460558556871.post-4283997427556333133</id><published>2009-10-11T19:29:00.003+05:30</published><updated>2009-10-11T22:54:21.661+05:30</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='My thoughtpad'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Weighty Issues'/><title type='text'>The other side of 70</title><content type='html'>I finally gathered the courage to actually check my weight - I've crossed 70 kgs. It's not a big deal or that's what I had thought. But, now, I have been putting together a lot of small details that happen in daily life and I realise that being 10kgs more than normal really does affect me.&lt;br /&gt;I put off buying clothes so I could wait till I lose weight and now, I have a daily crisis situation to dress up for work. There was a time when I wouldn't repeat a dress in 6 weeks or so , but now, I wear the same clothes next Monday which I did this Monday. I have to buy clothes in the 'L' section and they are all so misshapen and ballonish. I have stopped wearing jeans coz no one sells wearable T-shirts above S and M.&lt;br /&gt;People who are just meeting me assume that I am this real old 'aunty' who wears sarees all the time, oh yeah, I went through a saree phase coz they fit faithfully no matter how many shapes you change.&lt;br /&gt;I keep worrying about eating less. I always start on diets only to be scolded by everyone around me about the side[read - bad] effects of dieting. I joined yoga classes and in just 1 session, the knee pain kicked up and I had to quit the classes to ensure my knee doesn't worsen.Its so frustrating to feel helpless about not being able to go for a walk without wondering how much harm a measly walk can cause.&lt;br /&gt;I just checked my Picasa albums, turns out last year there were 42 albulms, and this year, hold your breath - 1. I have gotten rather agreeable about not going on any trips and that sometimes feels downright bad.&lt;br /&gt;On the surface, when I think of it as a third person, it feels downright silly. Its just vanity. I can accept myself for the way I am, that in time, I will get back to being my own self and I really do that, but sometimes it gets hard.&lt;br /&gt;The thing is, in the last month, I have found that there is this immense energy/will power/josh in a person just waiting to be called upon. I have set forth with a new enthusiasm for life, I am beginning to work on multiple ideas simultaneously and literally giving the good old wheels in the brain a royal wake up call. &lt;br /&gt;I am just so glad to be out here and realise that I have so much potential to make a difference. &lt;br /&gt;I always had this huge thought in my mind - If everyone dies, no matter how much they have achieved/ what difference they have made to others/ how many people remember them, what's the big deal about living.- And I suddenly got the answer that, its not just about living, its about how you lived it. Like they say, its not only about reaching the destination, its about enjoying the journey.&lt;br /&gt;And the best part about this realisation is, I cannot allow myself to feel sorry for myself or let me take a backseat when my life is chugging along full speed. and that my dears is an A1 feeling.&lt;br /&gt;there was this scene in wake up Sid , where Sid is with his friend, the one who is worried about her weight and calls herself an elephant.It is a very touching moment and he says 'You are not an elephant,........ bhains maybe'. And that was really worth a smile. &lt;br /&gt;Who cares who you are, what you are or where you are, as long as you can really live the way you want to .&lt;br /&gt;For now, this is where the ramblings stop, but coming up will be lots of exciting stuff ... &lt;br /&gt;Coming soooooooon&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6317749460558556871-4283997427556333133?l=mythsramblings.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://mythsramblings.blogspot.com/feeds/4283997427556333133/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6317749460558556871&amp;postID=4283997427556333133&amp;isPopup=true' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6317749460558556871/posts/default/4283997427556333133'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6317749460558556871/posts/default/4283997427556333133'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mythsramblings.blogspot.com/2009/10/other-side-of-70.html' title='The other side of 70'/><author><name>myths</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11319999108251458321</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6317749460558556871.post-2905768503685440998</id><published>2009-09-25T18:19:00.000+05:30</published><updated>2009-09-25T18:20:39.553+05:30</updated><title type='text'>Yappy budday</title><content type='html'>Happppppppppppppppppppppppy Birthdayyyyyyyyyy hubby dearest&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6317749460558556871-2905768503685440998?l=mythsramblings.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://mythsramblings.blogspot.com/feeds/2905768503685440998/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6317749460558556871&amp;postID=2905768503685440998&amp;isPopup=true' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6317749460558556871/posts/default/2905768503685440998'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6317749460558556871/posts/default/2905768503685440998'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mythsramblings.blogspot.com/2009/09/yappy-budday.html' title='Yappy budday'/><author><name>myths</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11319999108251458321</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6317749460558556871.post-7322984890313642336</id><published>2009-09-03T15:17:00.002+05:30</published><updated>2009-09-14T12:44:07.380+05:30</updated><title type='text'>Just to write</title><content type='html'>Been a zamana since I have written. Not sure why I didn't write and not really sure what I have sat down to write now.&lt;br /&gt;Since this is a weblog, let me start off by updating my 'diary' about what's the latest that's happening.&lt;br /&gt;I am finally going back to work, though currently just to talk to managers in hope of finding a nice project - Work status is  ' bench '.&lt;br /&gt;Other than that, everything's looking great ...  till next time ... toodalooooo&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6317749460558556871-7322984890313642336?l=mythsramblings.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://mythsramblings.blogspot.com/feeds/7322984890313642336/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6317749460558556871&amp;postID=7322984890313642336&amp;isPopup=true' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6317749460558556871/posts/default/7322984890313642336'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6317749460558556871/posts/default/7322984890313642336'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mythsramblings.blogspot.com/2009/09/just-to-write.html' title='Just to write'/><author><name>myths</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11319999108251458321</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6317749460558556871.post-1551893550138679967</id><published>2009-07-08T12:15:00.006+05:30</published><updated>2009-07-09T19:45:49.495+05:30</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='I muse upon'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Memories'/><title type='text'>My daddy strongest</title><content type='html'>I just saw an episode of 'The Wonder Years', the one in which Kevin goes to his dad's office and learns a lot about him - his dreams, the work he does, how he handles stuff, etc. He sees his dad as a man with power, just in the way he punches the numbers on the telephone/ the way he handles people and he feels proud for his dad and thinks that he is the best man ever and one who is too good for this place.&lt;br /&gt;And just then a superior walks in and blasts his dad and the whole dreamy world of 'My daddy strongest' is swept away in the blink of an eye.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Aren't we all just like that? For the longest time, I believed[and a part of me still does] that my dad was the best man in the world, that he was the strongest - he could beat anybody up, he could make all my bad dreams go away and I would never be afraid if he was around, that he was the smartest, that he talks so well and can get any work done, he's just so dependable and of course - I do take it for granted that it is so, especially since he is MY dad and he is the best in the whole wide world.&lt;br /&gt;Fathers are mostly made out to be the distant parent, just the providers for the family and bad at communicating their feelings/showing them. But I think I never found my dad not-approachable or was ever really afraid of him.&lt;br /&gt;My aunt loves telling this story about when I was around 6-7 years old and had done something really dumb and totally freaked out my dad.It seems he took a belt in his hand and was walking towards me. It seems everyone in the room was horrified[because my parents never hit their children and never have until now], but me, I was the only one who was completely calm, without a trace of fear, for I was sure that I wasn't going to be beaten. My aunt still recalls it with awe, that I just stood there so casually. &lt;br /&gt;As the years pass by, you do realise he's not the most powerful man on earth, that he too is human just like me. That, I feel, makes it all the more special. The special bond of the father-child, where you feel safe, secure, loved, happy and look forward to being with your dad. I have learnt a lot from him, still am learning and I know, there are so many things that he is good at, that I may never even learn them. He's still my idol on so many levels, it's surprising. &lt;br /&gt;And as I think of it, I realise that I still am that child at some level. &lt;br /&gt;I just read that and it seems like I forgot about my mum in all this, but I know what an angel she is[and that's for another time]. The pillars in my life- my parents, they rock.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6317749460558556871-1551893550138679967?l=mythsramblings.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://mythsramblings.blogspot.com/feeds/1551893550138679967/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6317749460558556871&amp;postID=1551893550138679967&amp;isPopup=true' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6317749460558556871/posts/default/1551893550138679967'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6317749460558556871/posts/default/1551893550138679967'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mythsramblings.blogspot.com/2009/07/my-daddy-strongest.html' title='My daddy strongest'/><author><name>myths</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11319999108251458321</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6317749460558556871.post-1007910793196122857</id><published>2009-06-26T11:30:00.003+05:30</published><updated>2009-06-26T12:22:37.608+05:30</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Accidents'/><title type='text'>Update</title><content type='html'>Turned out physiotherapy caused me more pain and had my knee sport a swelling the size of a lemon. Alright, that was gross, I know ;d&lt;br /&gt;And this time the doctor told me to go in for an arthroscope where the surgeon will remove the part of the cartilage that is torn and also do a 'Lateral Release'. I was convinced that this was the only option left. An operation and finally release from my knee pain, even though it meant at least 6 weeks of physiotherapy and maybe 6 months for complete recovery.&lt;br /&gt;That night, calls went out to all the doctors that all my family members know, with the result that surgery is the last option/worst case scenario and that I should not do it unless the doctor was THE best and after I had exhausted all other options.&lt;br /&gt;A family friend came up with the idea of going in for ayurveda/nature cure d try the &lt;a href="http://www.hinduonnet.com/folio/fo0010/00100420.htm"&gt;Puttur Bone Setters&lt;/a&gt;.&lt;br /&gt;While I was initially against the idea, I did go ahead with it. Anything that may help, has to be tried, right.&lt;br /&gt;I never knew that it would get this bad. While I am not wallowing in self-pity, I do wonder if I should be handling this better, I do get the feeling that I crib and complain more than necessary.The pain is bearable 60percent of the time, I AM tired of struggling with almost every task but when I see people telling me that they have ligament tears over years and haven't gone in for surgery, I know it is wrong on their part to delay the inevitable surgery and hence the healing process, but they are taking it and still doing lots of athletic stuff- it makes me wonder.&lt;br /&gt;Maybe I am more susceptible to pain, maybe I am afraid of letting things be and getting up one day to realise that there is irreversible damage.Maybe I just want my normal life back. And fast.&lt;br /&gt;I do wonder if I still remember what is normal. &lt;br /&gt;Recently, I saw this scene where a woman sank to the floor, knees first, to talk to another person sitting on the floor. The feeling that 'I may never be able to do that ever again, for all my life' suddenly hit me. Not a good place to be in, most definitely not.&lt;br /&gt;Well, I know, its not a big deal for anyone other than me and my family, but us, it's a real problem, dealing with it on a daily basis is daunting. I am beginning to feel like some invalid.&lt;br /&gt;Just last night we got tickets for all to see the Preview of Terminator Salvation and my mom chose not to go because I would have to be home alone if all went to the theater.&lt;br /&gt;WHOW, that was morose. &lt;br /&gt;Well, there still are options out there. I will heal. That is a fact. And therein lies hope too.&lt;br /&gt;In the meanwhile, I am spending all day lying down with my leg straight [ did you know when you have to keep it straight, all you want to do is to bend it], an occasional hour or so at the laptop, some on tv[catching up on all the ads on tv, having no cable for a year can do that to you, but that's a story for another time, reading 2 novels simultaneously[The Sword of Shannara somehow reminds me of Lord of the Rings and Jeffrey Archer's twists have stopped feeling 'out of the world' to me].&lt;br /&gt;That's it for the update and finally sitting up long enough to write something.&lt;br /&gt;Maybe its time for me to put my time and energy into something constructive. Any ideas?&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6317749460558556871-1007910793196122857?l=mythsramblings.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://mythsramblings.blogspot.com/feeds/1007910793196122857/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6317749460558556871&amp;postID=1007910793196122857&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6317749460558556871/posts/default/1007910793196122857'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6317749460558556871/posts/default/1007910793196122857'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mythsramblings.blogspot.com/2009/06/update.html' title='Update'/><author><name>myths</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11319999108251458321</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6317749460558556871.post-2313119360046439612</id><published>2009-06-11T14:50:00.004+05:30</published><updated>2009-06-11T15:12:35.798+05:30</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Work'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Accidents'/><title type='text'>One measly month</title><content type='html'>This is a continuation of "&lt;a href="http://mythsramblings.blogspot.com/2009/06/discoid-meniscus.html"&gt;Discoid Meniscus&lt;/a&gt;"&lt;br /&gt;I applied for a month off, so I could give my leg complete rest and give it a 100% chance of recovery so I could avoid surgery.&lt;br /&gt;The person who is 2 levels above me got the news on Monday noon. I was to have a discussion with her on Tuesday for which I waited the whole day and it never happened. Wednesday, I was asked to call her. I did at 1pm, when she was busy. At 3pm, when she was busy again and asked me to call at 5.30pm. At 5.30pm where she didn't even consider it necessary to pick up and waste her breath to tell me to call back again, so the call was cut.&lt;br /&gt;Thursday afternoon, my manager says "She's available, call now". I call and she says &lt;br /&gt;"I have wanted to talk to you about the leave, you haven't given enough notice." &lt;br /&gt;"I got to know on Friday evening and informed my manager on Monday. And this is a health thing, not something I could plan in advance."&lt;br /&gt;"It's not like you are having heart surgery today afternoon, then we can consider"&lt;br /&gt;(If I have a heart surgery today afternoon, she will consider, I suppose I should thank the Gods for it)&lt;br /&gt;and some other nonsense later, she continues&lt;br /&gt;"Anyway, the client will want 2 weeks notice"&lt;br /&gt;"But this is medical. Also, the onsite co-ordinator has already said that the client will be ok with it since it is health related".&lt;br /&gt;"Why is there this miscommunication, the client has to always be informed 2 weeks in advance"&lt;br /&gt;(Probably even if I am clutching my heart and dying right now, I will have to wait 2 weeks to get a doc)&lt;br /&gt;"We have been very considerate towards you, we already let you have almost 3 weeks off in December. You have to show some responsibility towards your project"&lt;br /&gt;"I remember our conversation in December, you accused me of lying and faking a problem"&lt;br /&gt;She laughs (she has the bloody audacity to do that)&lt;br /&gt;"That is what I thought then, but this is different"&lt;br /&gt;(How so, I beg you, enlighten me)&lt;br /&gt;"I will finish any KT in a few days, the client won't have a problem. Please think about it from my point of view, I don't want to risk it any more"&lt;br /&gt;"You are being so stubborn, thinking only about yourself"&lt;br /&gt;(Like she's going to do anything for me if I HAVE to get a surgery done. And at least she's supposed to consider what I need)&lt;br /&gt;"But it is my health. How can I take another chance. Do think from my point of view"&lt;br /&gt;"I am thinking from your side. I have offered you two weeks"&lt;br /&gt;(And this is where any semblance of polite talk disappeared)&lt;br /&gt;"But that is what you started off with, you haven't offered me anything!!"&lt;br /&gt;"If this is how you want to do it, my answer is no, you won't get leave, I need to think about it. Two weeks definitely. I consider this discussion completed."&lt;br /&gt;"This is necessary for me." (a pathetic, grovelling, embarassing, last ditch effort from me)&lt;br /&gt;"My final answer is NO".&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;One measly month off at a project I have worked 1.5 years on, in a company I have worked 4.8 years in.&lt;br /&gt;What do you think I should do now?&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6317749460558556871-2313119360046439612?l=mythsramblings.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://mythsramblings.blogspot.com/feeds/2313119360046439612/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6317749460558556871&amp;postID=2313119360046439612&amp;isPopup=true' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6317749460558556871/posts/default/2313119360046439612'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6317749460558556871/posts/default/2313119360046439612'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mythsramblings.blogspot.com/2009/06/one-measly-month.html' title='One measly month'/><author><name>myths</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11319999108251458321</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6317749460558556871.post-1207014717981455849</id><published>2009-06-11T14:46:00.002+05:30</published><updated>2009-06-11T14:49:53.825+05:30</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Accidents'/><title type='text'>Discoid Meniscus</title><content type='html'>This is a continuation of &lt;a href="http://mythsramblings.blogspot.com/2008/12/housemaids-knee.html"&gt;Housemaid's Knee.&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The 6th doc I consulted told me to go in for an arthroscopy where they will put 2 pins between the knee cap and the bone, so your pain can be avoided.&lt;br /&gt;The 7th doc to whom I went for a second opinion told me not to be hasty and asked me to get an MRI done. &lt;br /&gt;That in itself is an experience, I was given a gown that reminded me of Silas from The DaVinci Code, it was a full length, full sleeved roomy robe in a deep hue. I had seen the MRI machine in many episodes of 'House' and thought that its absolutely no big deal and best thing, it's painless! &lt;br /&gt;It's like this huge tunnel looking thing with a sleeper-cot at the center, I was asked to lie down, the technician put two pad-type objects above and below the knee and put on earphones around my head(For a second, I did that this was reallllly cool !!!) and then he said, "The machine can be really noisy, this will reduce it for you. This may take around 15 minutes". Sigh ;)&lt;br /&gt;The machine had a steady hum, like an extended heart beat with musical noise in between. I was rather getting used to it when the machine started up like a a car/generator powering up. And that, ladies and gentlemen, was , I admit, scary. For no reason at all. The noise reminded me of the start of the song "Pyar karke pachtaya" from Pyar ke Side Effects, there's a weird noise in it like a stuck record.&lt;br /&gt;I couldn't lift my head to look into the tunnel, I had been warned to make absolutely no movements. And just when I realised that I make sure that I don't move and forced my concentration on that , my leg twitched !! uahahahhahahahahahaaa .. I did worry that they would ask me to do it again since the image might have gotten distorted !! And then stopped, so I made myself concentrate on the left leg, it didn't twitch but just shook like I was about to start on a dance move! This concentrating this is a real pain, I put my mind onto seeing the pattern on the ceiling and then there was no sign of twitches, but I did notice 2 cracks in the ceiling , that the MRI machine was made by Philips, that the lights were pretty, and I think I would have gone on like that, till the sounds stopped and it was the steady hum again.Had it been 15 mins? I didn't think so, and the whole ordeal happened again for the 4 times that the machine stopped and started - changing angles I imagine. &lt;br /&gt;Well, I went back to the doc and he said, Nope, definitely not Bursitis(which he had told me the previous day too). Turns out my knee joint was jolted out of place when I fell and the ligament got stretched(thankfully, not torn). He said, "I want you to undergo physiotherapy for a month and then we can see if there is improvement and decide if there is need for surgery. We can release the ligament from under the bone with surgery then"&lt;br /&gt;Yippppppppppeeeeee ! I am relieved that I know what the problem is. &lt;br /&gt;Try being in constant pain for 10 months plus. &lt;br /&gt;Try having to shift out of your beautiful home since you can't climb stairs.&lt;br /&gt;Try having a conversation with everyone where the first statement is invariably "Hows your knee now?"&lt;br /&gt;Try not being able to stand long enough to cook a simple meal.&lt;br /&gt;Try not being able drive for more than 20 mins without immense pain.&lt;br /&gt;Try going to places that have only the Indian style restrooms.&lt;br /&gt;Try having put on 15kgs in a few months because you can't walk/jog/join a gym to lose weight.&lt;br /&gt;Try having only a measly fruit bowl for lunch every single weekday.(and still not losing any weight)&lt;br /&gt;Try having to keep away a dozen new dresses since you can't fit into them anymore.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Well, it does help having a husband who does all the work without complaining (while I lie on the sofa) and tells me I don't look fat at all (even when I weigh 70kgs).&lt;br /&gt;and that is why I am relieved that I know what the &lt;a href="http://orthopedics.about.com/od/meniscuscartilageinjury/g/discoid.htm"&gt;problem &lt;/a&gt; is, finally! &lt;br /&gt;At least, I can get my physiotherapy and fix it. Or worst case scenario, get a surgery done (and that is something, I most definitely don't want to do)&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6317749460558556871-1207014717981455849?l=mythsramblings.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://mythsramblings.blogspot.com/feeds/1207014717981455849/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6317749460558556871&amp;postID=1207014717981455849&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6317749460558556871/posts/default/1207014717981455849'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6317749460558556871/posts/default/1207014717981455849'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mythsramblings.blogspot.com/2009/06/discoid-meniscus.html' title='Discoid Meniscus'/><author><name>myths</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11319999108251458321</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6317749460558556871.post-1468212341464814133</id><published>2009-06-09T17:53:00.000+05:30</published><updated>2009-06-09T17:54:21.654+05:30</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Searching'/><title type='text'>Home sweet home</title><content type='html'>We've been looking for a house to shift for some time now, another rental. The search in itself is tedious but humour finds its way in sometimes.&lt;br /&gt;There's a Real Estate agency that calls itself L.J.Hooker and always advertises on the net by the name of Rekha. I have called them multiple times but its always a guy who picks up and redirects me to another guy who is the 'area manager'.&lt;br /&gt;There was this guy who picked up the phone and said "Hello" with an accent that showed that he was more comfortable in the vernacular(yes, my assumption, but it sounded very very south Indian), so I spoke in the vernacular and he turned around with a "Yes, ma'am if you tell me what you are looking for ... ", so I changed tracks and said "We are looking for a house in the X range with Y amount of bedrooms and a car park, it should be a residential area ...... " it took me close to a minute to say all this and he says "Eh, yenu?" and I had to repeat all that in Kannada.&lt;br /&gt;One of my faves was this guy who I spoke to only over the phone, the conversation went thus :&lt;br /&gt;"Hello, I am calling about this house advertised in XYZ .. "&lt;br /&gt;Sorry please, the amount is not correct please.(It showed 5k lesser than what the owner was expecting)&lt;br /&gt;That's ok, is it on the ground floor?&lt;br /&gt;No, please. It is on 3rd floor please.&lt;br /&gt;Does the building have lift?&lt;br /&gt;No, please how can 3rd floor have lift please. No please no please.(and he put the phone down)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I seriously didn't know how to find the info amongst all those pleases!! &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;There was this guy on a TVS 50 who was showing us a couple of houses that were available. He would keep zooming on the main road on the wrong side and find his route through the shadiest looking gullies and finally come out in front of some wonderful houses, but the journey was scary enough to wonder whether we could make it in on our own! He tried convincing me that there is barely any need to climb stairs to get to the first floor!! &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We went searching in the by lanes for a house once and stopped to ask directions and the guy turned out to be a real estate agent who wanted to show us other houses.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Then, there are the shady types :&lt;br /&gt;I call up this guy and say "I am calling about this house, which you have advertised as being close to the X landmark, is it still available" &lt;br /&gt;"Yes, it is"&lt;br /&gt;"Exactly where near X does it come?" &lt;br /&gt;"Exactly near X ma'am"&lt;br /&gt;"Near the bank in the front of X or the restaurant behind X?"&lt;br /&gt;"Near X ma'am" &lt;br /&gt;Now that was getting nowhere, so I ask, "Is the house on the ground floor"&lt;br /&gt;"Yes"&lt;br /&gt;"Does it have a car park" &lt;br /&gt;"Yes. When will you come to see it"&lt;br /&gt;"Is Saturday ok?" &lt;br /&gt;"Ok. What is your budget."&lt;br /&gt;"X"&lt;br /&gt;"For X, you wont get car parking ma'am"&lt;br /&gt;"But you just told me that the house I called up about has car parking and it says that the rent amount is X"&lt;br /&gt;"No, that was for a Y+1 number of bedrooms, you want only Y"&lt;br /&gt;"But you just told me ... " &lt;br /&gt;"Yes"&lt;br /&gt;"So is it available or not"&lt;br /&gt;"You come and see ma'am"&lt;br /&gt;"Don't ask me to come if you don't have anything that suits my requirement"&lt;br /&gt;"Ok Ok"&lt;br /&gt;and the phone gets cut !! (was I fuming then !! )&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;There are probably many other stories but sigh, I just want to find a pretty little house.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6317749460558556871-1468212341464814133?l=mythsramblings.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://mythsramblings.blogspot.com/feeds/1468212341464814133/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6317749460558556871&amp;postID=1468212341464814133&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6317749460558556871/posts/default/1468212341464814133'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6317749460558556871/posts/default/1468212341464814133'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mythsramblings.blogspot.com/2009/06/home-sweet-home.html' title='Home sweet home'/><author><name>myths</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11319999108251458321</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6317749460558556871.post-3212266977877092739</id><published>2009-05-25T08:18:00.004+05:30</published><updated>2009-05-25T08:27:03.136+05:30</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='past'/><title type='text'>There's no place like home</title><content type='html'>This was written while waiting for my connecting flight to Bangalore at the Mumbai airport, in the wee hours of the morning , having just landed back from foreign shores. I was so excited and so unable to sit still that I needed something to occupy myself and I took out the laptop and started writing what I was feeling, it is incomplete of course, since I was more interested in hearing the call that 'The Bangalore flight is ready for boarding'.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;blockquote&gt;&lt;span style="font-style:italic;"&gt;The first thing that I see as soon as I land in India is the dis-obeyal of rules. Made me smile.Then there was the queue to get through migration and we had the usual jostling and 'breaking of queue', people slipping in left and right and the concept of personal space totally violated.There was this lady who seemed to think that shoving her bag into my back was a way to move faster.and hence my first irritated expression which I haven't felt in the last 10 months, at least not for the same reason.Then there was the airport security check, they had just one row for a few hundred passengers and having said that I must mention that it moved very fast.security did seem lax for there was a water bottle in my bag which almost always resulted in a personal human baggage check and me having to lose 15 mins extra coz of that, but here, the bag was just kept aside and I could just pick it up and go my way.The staff was helpful though, turns out the metal detectors that are used for the ladies, seem to pick up the back pocket buttons also! that was a little weird , the lady kept trying to check what made the beep and it was quite some time before I realised that the pockets had buttons on them.&lt;br /&gt;and finally !! most importantly, the first thing  I thought of when I landed was "Yeh jo desh hai mera , swades hai mera" and that put on the biggest smile on my face.There seemed to be not as much excitement as I expected considering that I spent the last 7 months waiting to get back home, but honestly , being in a flight full of Indians(I just typed desis and had to erase it and make it Indian, coz of obvious reasons). There is something that totally tugs at the heart strings, the feeling of being back in India, of being back home, seeing all ladies in sarees.. It doesn't seem anything like people warned, I was told there'll be a 2 month withdrawal period before you get back to accepting what I spent 23 years of my life in.Well, maybe early to say so considering all that I have seen is the airport only so far.&lt;br /&gt;But baby, It feels great to be back home! I am loving it ! No more McD's , no more SUbways , plain old masala dosas and vadas and sambars and chutneys ... Yummmmmmmmy !! &lt;br /&gt;Friends, family , familiar surroundings... sigh, what I have been pining for for the last 10 months, almost since the day that I left .... I am home . I keep saying that to myself as I sit here in this airport lounge and wait for the last flight that I want to take in a journey that started exactly on October 25 last year.I think outside of home and office, if there was a place that I spent time in , it was in airports.&lt;br /&gt;I really do wonder if I achieved what I set out to do, a part of me wanted to explore more than the limited pond that I seemed to grow up in , another part of me wanted adventure and something new and exciting... a part that wanted something new ... I wonder if I found all that in the last couple of months, I know for sure that when I got my tickets in hand to return to Blore , the first thought that ran through my head was "Is it 10 months already, what have I done in all of these months, I am going to go back home and everything is going to be exactly the same, nothing has changed , nothing will, I am probably the same that I was 11 months ago, just feels like the page of a year of my life has gone by without much having happened" but then I also know that I have grown up, learnt to be a little more self-dependant, learnt to be my own person and have sort of formed an identity of my own, I have had to face all my shortcomings in the face, I had to face my worst fears, I had to learn to depend on myself, in the same breath, I also learnt that the actual independance that I was seeking is impossible,man is a social being, nothing can get done in the best possible way if you don't have the support or advice of someone who's been there before or done it.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/blockquote&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6317749460558556871-3212266977877092739?l=mythsramblings.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://mythsramblings.blogspot.com/feeds/3212266977877092739/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6317749460558556871&amp;postID=3212266977877092739&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6317749460558556871/posts/default/3212266977877092739'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6317749460558556871/posts/default/3212266977877092739'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mythsramblings.blogspot.com/2009/05/theres-no-place-like-home.html' title='There&apos;s no place like home'/><author><name>myths</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11319999108251458321</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6317749460558556871.post-9143816449640464366</id><published>2009-05-18T15:46:00.002+05:30</published><updated>2009-05-18T15:48:33.989+05:30</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='DailyStuff'/><title type='text'>A dime a dozen</title><content type='html'>I have been reading this past week and how.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The Da Vinci Code&lt;br /&gt;Deception Point&lt;br /&gt;The Prodigal Daughter &lt;br /&gt;A Matter of Honour.&lt;br /&gt;Dhammara&lt;br /&gt;Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's stone &lt;br /&gt;and currently &lt;br /&gt;Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I couldn't finish Dhammara though, it was really boring. I didn't know I had THAT much free time at hand.&lt;br /&gt;(whoa, that's almost a book a day !!!)&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6317749460558556871-9143816449640464366?l=mythsramblings.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://mythsramblings.blogspot.com/feeds/9143816449640464366/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6317749460558556871&amp;postID=9143816449640464366&amp;isPopup=true' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6317749460558556871/posts/default/9143816449640464366'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6317749460558556871/posts/default/9143816449640464366'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mythsramblings.blogspot.com/2009/05/dime-dozen.html' title='A dime a dozen'/><author><name>myths</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11319999108251458321</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6317749460558556871.post-7363462946548429629</id><published>2009-05-18T15:28:00.000+05:30</published><updated>2009-05-18T15:29:54.208+05:30</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Memories'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='friends'/><title type='text'>Cleaning out my cupboard</title><content type='html'>I did the darndest thing yesterday.&lt;br /&gt;It started with me rolling up my sleeves(literally) to clean out my old lot of 'gifts/greeting cards'. I had three big bags of them to clear and started sifting through them and as was inevitable got into the flashback mode for many of them.&lt;br /&gt;The oldest I had was from when I was in the 5th std. A friend had given me a 3D card of a sailor and a small boy waving to a ship at sea, move the card and the ship moves. This girl now has her own 2 year old daughter!&lt;br /&gt;There were lots of birthday cards, best of luck for exam cards, festival greetings, a bunch of letters from a penpal, pocket sized telephone directories and birthday remindes. &lt;br /&gt;I found a piece of paper that was torn off from a Hindi text book, the corner part, where I had written down the birthdays of 5 of my 12th std friends in about 1.5 inches of space.&lt;br /&gt;I found a packed which had around 10-15 friendship bands from the 12th std, some from my college, some from my tuitions, and best of all, I still remembered who had given me which one.&lt;br /&gt;There were of course many cards which had "All of us" signed at the bottom and no year, so I wasnt sure which gang this was nor which year I had gotten it on.&lt;br /&gt;Another card that a couple had given to me saying that "This is the first time we are doing anything as a couple". It felt so good to see that.&lt;br /&gt;Then there were a few lines of Shayari written on foolscap sheet by a friend, a budding poet 10 years ago, not sure if he still keeps at it. I wish he does though.&lt;br /&gt;It was a nice walk down memory lane, one that brought back memories I hadnt raked up in years. Its nice to know that I havent forgotten so many of those incidents. But I do wonder how many I have indeed forgotten.&lt;br /&gt;All these were the gifts of my school and then +2, I wonder what happened to all the gifts I got during my graduation and working period. I guess, they turned to be gifts that are in the showcase at home, at school, I guess a card is the most affordable, the older you get , the more you can spend, right.&lt;br /&gt;Yup, coming right to the darndest thing point. I think I mentioned a phone directory stowed away in the midst of those cards, I was going through the name (I actually couldnt recall some of the people's faces even with their names and numbers in front of me).I saw a name , A, a friend from 12th, actually, my friend K's friend. K was a really good friend to me in those two years, we'd spent a lot of time in labs, lunch and after school hours, we'd end up in her house pretty often talking for hours. Probably my closest confidante of that time. We finished 12th, I moved to another college while she continued on in the same one for her graduation and somehow we never met after that. It is pretty surprising, now when I think of it. I lost of a close friend out of sheer negligence of keeping up a friendship.&lt;br /&gt;Like my mom says, life always puts new people in your path, most of the old ones drop off with time and the new ones sort of fill up that gap till the next new one comes along. The few that stay with you are the ones for keeping.It isnt that they changed or like you lesser or any logical reason, things just happen. You live with it.&lt;br /&gt;Sometime after I got onto Orkut, I tried searching for her , lots of times, but for the life of me , I couldnt remember her last name, I still sifted through hundreds of records with the first name and gave up thinking that she probably isnt on that website.&lt;br /&gt;On a whim, I took the phone and dialed A's number, this being a landline, I hoped her parents would be able to tell me her current number and I could get to K through her at least.It really didnt register on my mind, that the number I had was 10 years old, that her parents might not live there anymore, that she could be married/working/studying somewhere continents away, that she may not be in touch with K. I guess I need to do things like that more often, just do it before I can think of all the reasons it will fail.&lt;br /&gt;As luck would have it, she was there, (I am sure her father wondered why I called up on a landline and asked if a Ms A lives there and then introduced myself as a 12th standard classmate to him) but of course she had absolutely no idea who I was. &lt;br /&gt;I tried giving some 'clues' about me, "I was on the college throwball team", "We used to sit in the cycle stand after classes and discuss Mrs. G's latest funny statements", "I used to hang out with K in labs". Absolutely no go, I rattled off a few other names from their group and she at least was convinced that I am not a total nut case and there's probably some authenticity.&lt;br /&gt;But, bless her for this, she told me that K was on Orkut and gave me the mail ID. &lt;br /&gt;I have shot off a friend request and have my fingers crossed that she at least remembers me :)&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6317749460558556871-7363462946548429629?l=mythsramblings.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://mythsramblings.blogspot.com/feeds/7363462946548429629/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6317749460558556871&amp;postID=7363462946548429629&amp;isPopup=true' title='4 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6317749460558556871/posts/default/7363462946548429629'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6317749460558556871/posts/default/7363462946548429629'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mythsramblings.blogspot.com/2009/05/cleaning-out-my-cupboard.html' title='Cleaning out my cupboard'/><author><name>myths</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11319999108251458321</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>4</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6317749460558556871.post-5958114626970760925</id><published>2009-05-14T16:29:00.004+05:30</published><updated>2009-05-14T16:50:42.237+05:30</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='I muse upon'/><title type='text'>Writer ?</title><content type='html'>This is going to be true ramblings, I have been meaning to write something for over a week now and havent been able to think of a single thing to write about.If I were indeed a writer, I guess it would be a wonderful example of writer's block.&lt;br /&gt;I wonder if I will ever be a writer, as in write something that I can think of as a piece of readable, interesting, well-put, well thought out litereary piece. &lt;br /&gt;Maybe not. But then who knows, the future may need 'would-be-authors' like me.&lt;br /&gt;There was this movie I forced myself to watch, just so I could get to the ending, where this writer has writer's block, she is trying to figure out how to kill the main character of her novel and ends up going to bizarre places and doing even more bizarre things just to get inspired.&lt;br /&gt;She goes to a hospital emergency ward and realises that people are getting healed here inspite of the urgency and severity of the problems, so she asks one of the staff "Where are the people who are dying, who will die, where do you keep them?" and gets this weird look in return which could be interpreted to mean, "May be you want the psychiatry ward for yourself".&lt;br /&gt;Then she rolls off her car into a lake in winter just to see how the dying person would feel and realises that she wouldn't like it either when she's shivering sodden wet and smoking her trademark cigarette.&lt;br /&gt;Wow, it is so much easier to describe something that you have seen or read rather than to try and come up with something original isn't it? &lt;br /&gt;For instance, lets say you can beautifully report something but you just don't have the creativity to invent characters and situations, does that make you less of a writer or does that just make you someone with limited creativity.&lt;br /&gt;Hahahhhaaa, I like that word limited, it is such a wonderful way of saying almost none.&lt;br /&gt;One wonders at all the words and phrases that are in use just to sugarcoat the actual essence - take for instance- vertically challenged, would you honestly be able to say that a person being called vertically challenged will take that description better than being called short? Won't s/he know the difference, rather, the lack of a difference?&lt;br /&gt;We shouldn't call a spade a spade.&lt;br /&gt;Isn't that a big part of writing, the more accomplished writer you are, the directly proportional the size and obscurity of words that you use.For a long time, I assumed that someone with a good command over the language and a vast collection of big words undoubtedly assured your position as a good writer.&lt;br /&gt;Turns out, its not true. When I read something, I believe I need to feel the emotion being spelt out, understand the story and have fun while doing it.&lt;br /&gt;It can be looked at from another angle where, if the reader is as educated as the author, then maybe he enjoys the finer nuances and higher intellect more. So, if I was an author, I would want all to read my stuff, so that would mean, the max length of words I use wouldn't probably cross 8 letters.&lt;br /&gt;There was one occassion in Hindi class at School that I remember, where the teacher, after admonishing the class for lousy Hindi skills, called out my name, asked me to come to the front of the room and read out the answers I had written. I barely had time to wonder if mine really was the worst of the lot, when she said "Her answers are so well written, the simplest words possible but she gets the point across and thats all I need". &lt;br /&gt;I know there was a compliment in there somewhere but at the 14 years of age - frame of mind - walking to the front of the class - mix, I wasn't sure.&lt;br /&gt;But I take that as a compliment now. The point is to get the point across.&lt;br /&gt;Hope you got the point.&lt;br /&gt;Uahahahahhaaaa, if only she were here to see the mess I have made.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6317749460558556871-5958114626970760925?l=mythsramblings.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://mythsramblings.blogspot.com/feeds/5958114626970760925/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6317749460558556871&amp;postID=5958114626970760925&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6317749460558556871/posts/default/5958114626970760925'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6317749460558556871/posts/default/5958114626970760925'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mythsramblings.blogspot.com/2009/05/writer.html' title='Writer ?'/><author><name>myths</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11319999108251458321</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6317749460558556871.post-6283671048788846830</id><published>2009-04-27T09:50:00.001+05:30</published><updated>2009-04-27T09:50:58.376+05:30</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Fiction'/><title type='text'>An incomplete attempt</title><content type='html'>She looked at the clock. The hour hand hadnt moved.Why did'nt it? She had patiently waited for a year, but this last one hour was taking forever. She looked at the clock again. Did it move ? or were her eyes just playing tricks on her? She looked around her. There was almost no one else in the station, just the porters lying around. She got up, went and got herself a coffee. It did nothing to soothe her nerves. She walked up and down, sat on the bench, the beautiful sunrise went un-noticed. She paced up and down the platform more than a hundred times and yet that darned clock hand wouldnt move.&lt;br /&gt;"I will be back on the 17th". There was no hi-hello, she picked up the phone at the first ring and she heard the hoop of joy and "I will be back on the 17th". It was the 17th today, all of 5.30 am. Then she heard the whistle of the train as it chugged into the station. Her eyes looked searchingly at every door, into every window, where was he?&lt;br /&gt;He found her before she did him. She was knotting and unknotting the edge of her dupatta. She always did that when she got nervous around him and it always made him smile. Everytime he had heard her voice over the phone, he had imagined her doing that or throwing her long plait over her shoulder like she would when playfully teasing him. Sigh, he had missed her so much the last few months. As he looked at her now he felt it more than he had in all his moments of loneliness, than all those moments when he spent hours looking at her photo and cursing himself for having gone away from her.&lt;br /&gt;She saw him, he was half-hanging out from the train. He was here. The guy with the cutest smile she had ever seen, the guy she had her first crush on, her best friend, the love of her life, her husband was here. He had his broadest smile on, head half tilted, that unruly mop of hair falling over his forehead. She broke into a smile and then into laughter, the whole year melted into nothingness. The train screeched to a halt.He got off the train and walked towards her. Time stilled around them. She was laughing, her happy laugh- oh how he had missed the sight of that.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;She stretched out her hand and touched his face. She let her palm linger over his cheek, she felt the slight stubble.As her fingers curled backwards, he held her hands to his face.Her soft fingers against his skin felt like pure magic. He sensed her moving her fingers away maybe because of the place they were in, but he dint really care. He pressed her fingers against his face and close his eyes, letting the sensation sink into him. He opened his eyes and saw the expression on her face had changed. She was trying her best not to break down.&lt;br /&gt;The tears were welling up within her. She dint want to make a scene. It hurt to be so close and have to be away.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6317749460558556871-6283671048788846830?l=mythsramblings.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://mythsramblings.blogspot.com/feeds/6283671048788846830/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6317749460558556871&amp;postID=6283671048788846830&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6317749460558556871/posts/default/6283671048788846830'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6317749460558556871/posts/default/6283671048788846830'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mythsramblings.blogspot.com/2009/04/incomplete-attempt.html' title='An incomplete attempt'/><author><name>myths</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11319999108251458321</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6317749460558556871.post-5815177724282550922</id><published>2009-04-27T09:45:00.001+05:30</published><updated>2009-04-27T09:50:05.878+05:30</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Fiction'/><title type='text'>An evening at Ananya's</title><content type='html'>She walked in to find Shreya crying, no, she corrected herself, Shreya had just finished crying and was trying to calm herself.Her face was streaked with tears. She wasn't sobbing, so it wasn't the hysterical sort of thing, something she remembered perhaps, there was nothing about her that she could connect to un-happiness of any sort.She went upto her and put an arm around her, the poor kid hadn't noticed there was anyone else in the room.She looked into Ananya's face to find a warm comforting look but also the famous raised eyebrow which was the unspoken question. She knew that she didn't really have to tell her, but it was Ananya. Anyone could pour their heart out to her, she would listen patiently, not once interrupt till you get everything off your chest.Then she would tell you how to handle it if that was what you wanted or she would convince you that you had done only what you could or something else, but you would always walk away feeling lighter and maybe with a smile too.&lt;br /&gt;Ananya saw the hesitation on her face and knew that she would tell her what was wrong. She had come in to look for Shreya, no doubt, her presence was being missed. As it was. they were running short of hands to help and she herself was away.The hostess. The crowd was piling up and Jeevan wasn't that good at handling big numbers as Shreya.Ananya had just walked in after parking her car and noticed the huge crowd waiting outside her restaurant.A couple of minutes later, she realised the cause and thats where we comeback to the beginning of this story.&lt;br /&gt;There was no point in reprimanding her for being away from her post when she obviously was in some form of discomfort.She got her to take a chair while she took the stool next to it and asked her "What happened?What upset you?" The story came out in bits and pieces and as the girl started to replay the events, she seemed to lose her control again and started sobbing. Trying to soothe her and understand her garbled words, Ananya finally made sense of what had happened.&lt;br /&gt;Today was a very busy day for the eatery, people thronged and generally did not mind waiting an hour to be seated. Turned out that one of the patrons wasn't happy with the seat that he had been shown to.He was a regular too.He had been outraged that after waiting for close to 45 mins and being a regular customer too, the staff hadn't shown him enough courtesy.He had been given a table in the smoking section.That for some reason he had taken as a personal insult. He had come back and told her that he did not want the seat he was given, she not knowing why, tried to convince him. With his temper raising, he had told her that he did not want to be in the smoking section, she had the line of customers in front of her to tend to and this guy was talking to her in raised tones. So, she told him , "Very politely Ma'am" , to wait a few minutes and Jeevan would attend to him.Less than a minute later, he came back to her and started shouting at the top of his voice about courtesy, common sense . So, she told him to give her a couple of minutes and that she would find him a table in the seating area of his choice as soon as one became free.Nothing seemed to pacify the man and he kept screaming at her.Nothing abusive thankfully, but very rude.When she could not take it anymore , she had just walked away just in case she lost her temper and would say something to him that she couldn't take back.&lt;br /&gt;"I'll go back now ma'am, I guess he would have gone away by now. I don't know if the hotel has lost a regular and I am sorry about this Ma'am, I should have handled it better."&lt;br /&gt;,"Its not your fault, I know you well enough to say that you have handled the toughest of customers.This guy must have been something totally out of this world to have affected you.Not to worry. Now smile a little, go freshen up and come back when you feel up to it. I'll handle it till then"and she gave her a big smile.&lt;br /&gt;She hoped Shreya felt better as she walked back to meet the crowd. She took a deep breath and told herself it was ok, you can handle this.Taking care of the details, the behind the scene work was her forte.She liked staying in the background and observing what people wanted.Studying people, their reactions, expressions, animated voices , all that was what she enjoyed doing.She always tried to shirk away from facing people.And now, it had to be done. As she walked back, she wondered who this guy was who had created such a huge ruckus that had actually ruffled one of her best.Must be an old geezer probably uptight about smoking.Old world grandpa with deeply set notions of how senior citizens are to be treated.She conjured up and image of a retired military guy, bald with snow white moustache which is generally treated as a symbol of pride, walking stiffly and upright like he was marching under orders.And laughed. She could imagine him towering over Shreya while she helplessly tried to convince him to wait for a couple of minutes.&lt;br /&gt;15 minutes later, she was too lost in checking in on the service, finding the right seat, keeping track of which tables were getting freed-up, which were in the dessert stage , so she could add them to the next openings, at least now people were contained into the seating area and not overflowing onto the street.It would show the Banerjee's on the other side how good her business was but she had always thought it was demeaning to have to stand on the street in a queue just to eat food. And in the same tone, she tried not to let it happen at her hotel.She would have to open another branch soon , she knew it but had been postponing it. The brand was in the making,it had good wishes of quite a few regulars, people came from halfway across town too on special occasions, there was a lot of good will that she could cash in on.There was the investment for that, she had to get the right building , she had to start scouting for locations, then there was the ....No, she firmly told herself, not now, think of all that later leisurely.Not now.Almost waiting to break her chain of thought, if she hadn't done so herself, up next was a man whose face was a weird pink. She smiled at him and she made the usual statement "Good evening sir, welcome to Ananya's.Will it be just you or will someone be joining you?"&lt;br /&gt;"Ah, you are a different one.Let me start from the very beginning. It will be just me.I want to be seated in the non-smoking section." Pause."Is that clear enough or do I have to repeat myself?"AHA ! so, this was he. She stood silent for a second before replying to him. She was about to open her mouth when Shreya opened the door to come in, one look at the guy and she stepped right back out in that very instant.She laughed.She couldnt help herself, the poor girl had to choose that exact moment to come back, didn't she.&lt;br /&gt;"Something you find amusing?"&lt;br /&gt;She looked back at him, the ring of laughter still in her tone, and said,"Yes, you seemed to have scared Shreya, the hostess for the evening. I had no idea that someone who seems as congenial as you do would have that effect on people. As for your seating request, I am flattered that you like our place enough to have come back after that mini-show you had put on.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6317749460558556871-5815177724282550922?l=mythsramblings.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://mythsramblings.blogspot.com/feeds/5815177724282550922/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6317749460558556871&amp;postID=5815177724282550922&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6317749460558556871/posts/default/5815177724282550922'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6317749460558556871/posts/default/5815177724282550922'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mythsramblings.blogspot.com/2009/04/evening-at-ananyas.html' title='An evening at Ananya&apos;s'/><author><name>myths</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11319999108251458321</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6317749460558556871.post-110972659107700818</id><published>2009-04-27T09:44:00.001+05:30</published><updated>2009-04-27T09:44:49.315+05:30</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Fiction'/><title type='text'>More reports ?</title><content type='html'>She walked away as fast as she could. She could still feel his stare.It made her want to jump right out that window, anything so she would never have to face him again. As she reached her desk, she was fuming,what in the name of the heavens did he think he was! Muttering to herself, she sat down to re-work her last 5 hours effort. That would mean another late night at office, more answering to her parents who would start off with the usual, "Being a girl, working so late, cant u tell your manager to let you go before 6". She could never give a straight answer. Damn the equality business, wouldn't it be great if you could cash in on being a girl. And what's the point being a girl if you cant make any profit out of it!!&lt;br /&gt;Even as she thought it, she knew that, she wouldn't really try to back out of work using that as a trump card. She actually liked what she was doing, she always had fun,she had a great group of friends, and all seemed to be going good.&lt;br /&gt;In fact, all was going good until that stupid manager came out of the blue, just to make life miserable for her. Why couldn't he have remained onsite? A weekly status report and he would keep out of her hair, and he didn't seem half as bad on the phone as he did now."Monster" the word escaped her lips before she realised.&lt;br /&gt;And he materialized at that very instant.&lt;br /&gt;And wouldn't he, its like he knew exactly where to be at the exact wrong time when she slipped. like today, when one wrong entry in that darned report needed for all the others to be re-worked. She didn't really have time for all that flashback, he was standing right in front of her, hand casually placed over the cubicle wall with a bemused smile.&lt;br /&gt;He did have a nice smile,she grudgingly gave him that and then he opened his mouth to speak.And that was it, all thoughts of his stupid smile being cute went out the window.&lt;br /&gt;"I am sorry sir, I was talking to myself" she cut him off. His smile became wider and she felt like kicking herself, why did you have to go and apologize for something that he probably didn't even connect to himself." Was there something else to be added sir? I have just started on the rework".He said something and she wasn't sure what it was, he was probably talking to himself. Well, why doesn't he go to his oversized desk and talk to himself, why bother me. But since she couldn't say that to him, she just put on her prettiest fake smile and hoped he would not hear her teeth gnashing behind.&lt;br /&gt;"Do you want me to help you out with that? I know you spent a lot of time on it, its pretty unfortunate that you have to do it again"&lt;br /&gt;Her mouth literally fell open, he! His Holy Majesty was offering to help !Did she hear him right? Was he mocking her and telling her that he doesn't believe she can get it right again? No, don't jump to weird meaningless conclusions, he's just offering to help. Maybe he realised he was harsher with her earlier that required.&lt;br /&gt;"From next time on though, make sure you have the numbers right, it will save us the double effort when you could be doing something else"&lt;br /&gt;How could you even think that he would help you with no sarcastic reprimands! Just a second back, she was almost going to say "Yes", she could go home early she had thought eagerly. Now, there was no way,stupid over-egoistic show-off, I don't need any of your help.&lt;br /&gt;"No sir, its ok, thank you, I'll manage it myself. I'll mail it to you before I leave".&lt;br /&gt;Another of those maddening all-knowing mocking smile and he was gone."Good riddance" and she immediately bit her lip, in case he was still hanging around. Thankfully, he wasn't.&lt;br /&gt;She started on the task. Almost every entry she made, she had a curse ready for him.&lt;br /&gt;Why did he have to come back here?&lt;br /&gt;Why was I the only one who has to report to him?&lt;br /&gt;Why couldn't it have been Ananya(she had gone home 2 hours ago!) or Saahil(he was around somewhere doing God knows what)?&lt;br /&gt;Why me!!&lt;br /&gt;Why couldn't I have confirmed the stupid number with him before having started off?&lt;br /&gt;Who would have thought that he had a 'latest' report! He doesn't expect me to hallucinate it does he?He probably would.2 cups of coffee, a visit from the security guard checking and 4 phone calls from home later she was finally done.&lt;br /&gt;Now to mail it to him and be off with it.He was probably in bed snoring away to glory. The choicest of abuses came to her, but she stopped herself, it was her mistake after all,and she was the only one who could do those reports and he did offer to help, she had been too egoistic to accept.&lt;br /&gt;She stretched to relax her body, she had been in the cooped position for too long. She couldn't feel her legs. She rubbed her eyes wearily, the dark circles from today would take a week to go away. Another bout of curses for him came up.&lt;br /&gt;"How are u planning to go home?"&lt;br /&gt;"What the ... You scared me sir"? Scared would be a gross understatement, he had scared the living daylights out of her. She almost nearly fell off her chair,she told herself, not that she would,but she felt she could have.&lt;br /&gt;"I am sorry about that, I got your mail, I thought you might be ready to leave now, do you have a ride back home?"and that smile of his again,Stop staring at him and answer to what he's asking.&lt;br /&gt;"I .. uh ... no.. I don't have a ride. I mean, I ... uh .. I will book a cab now sir".&lt;br /&gt;Stop stammering stop stammering stop stammering.&lt;br /&gt;"I can drop you if you want"&lt;br /&gt;hmm, he actually stayed back. To drop me? hmmm.&lt;br /&gt;"Well, I stay in XYZ, its probably out of the way for you sir, I'll book a cab"&lt;br /&gt;"Not really, I don't mind at all, in fact, I would appreciate the company."&lt;br /&gt;No you wouldn't, not my company. She had heard that he was an absolute terror to people even onsite. No one could manage one proper conversation with him. People would go out of their way to avoid him.I would definitely not enjoy your company.and he was walking away, he turned over to say "Give me 5 minutes, I have to finish up something"&lt;br /&gt;Oh, so, he was working.&lt;br /&gt;She went to freshen up and one look at the mirror, she looked like she had been toiling in the hot sun without respite for a few weeks, how in the name of the heavens did he manage to look like he had just gotten up after 10 hours of sleep, all fresh and grinning from ear to ear like a donkey. Damn him.&lt;br /&gt;She washed her face, set her hair, sort of satisfied with the end result, she walked out.A sudden thought popped into her head, and why did you have to make sure you weren't looking too bad.Before she could answer her own question, she saw him.&lt;br /&gt;He was good looking in a good sort of way. She had never really noticed him like she would a guy before, he was always Akash, Akash the monster. He was just the boss, not a guy. He wasn't that bad looking at all, she thought as she tried to read in his features without seeming obvious.He was on the phone. She remembered, he stayed with his parents in ABC, that was way out of the way from XYZ. He was probably telling them, he'd be late.&lt;br /&gt;When she came close enough to hear what he was saying, she realised he was on the phone with the client, at 2 in the night for heaven's sake. Doesn't he have a life of his own? Then she also realised, he was one of those untiring, unrelentingly hardworking people for whom work was life. She knew that all the people who were wary of his company or the people who were scared of him,anyone for that matter, would, without blinking say that he was probably the only reason the whole team was on this project. He was good at what he did, all respected him , just that no one saw him get pally with anyone. He was always barking orders. And all seemed to be on the receiving end of it, that definitely doesn't earn friends now does it.&lt;br /&gt;With a start, she wondered, if he felt lonely around all the people he was surrounded by. suddenly, she was almost pitying him, he always went alone everywhere, he didn't really have a fixed lunch group, he probably missed lunch more often that he had it. But he never seemed a loner, he was always something or the other to all.It was like she was seeing him in a new light, he wasn't really a monster, now, was he. He's just doing his job, maybe a tad more roughly than one would want him to.&lt;br /&gt;He was winding up the conversation, and did a "Shall we leave?"gesture. She nodded and they went towards the parking lot.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6317749460558556871-110972659107700818?l=mythsramblings.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://mythsramblings.blogspot.com/feeds/110972659107700818/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6317749460558556871&amp;postID=110972659107700818&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6317749460558556871/posts/default/110972659107700818'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6317749460558556871/posts/default/110972659107700818'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mythsramblings.blogspot.com/2009/04/more-reports.html' title='More reports ?'/><author><name>myths</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11319999108251458321</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6317749460558556871.post-5697789536520321665</id><published>2009-04-27T09:42:00.000+05:30</published><updated>2009-04-27T09:43:24.335+05:30</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='The Stuti Series'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Fiction'/><title type='text'>I am me</title><content type='html'>It’s been over 2 years now. The same office. The same route to work everyday. The same people. The same faces. The same meaningless conversations. The same canteen. The very same dreaded canteen food. The same old work under the guise of new.&lt;br /&gt;She never really liked what she was doing. So, she bore whatever work fell into her plate and did it with the required amount of involvement and a pinch more than that of indifference. She had long since come to understand that it was just means to an end. She did not look forward to feeling elated or like shouting “Eureka!! “ every time she made some amazing breakthrough. She was good at it, didn’t mean she had to like it. And it paid more than she could earn elsewhere, if she even knew what work she could do elsewhere. Seemed like years of training and repeated-constant exposure to her environs had turned her into what she sometimes despised in others – a modern day slave who harbored illusions of being different, being something more than all the other sheep, who was pure brain and had great potential just waiting to be recognized. And of course, one given 8*8 sq feet area, walling the slave in as much as they believed they used it to wall out the others.&lt;br /&gt;That is the problem with knowing so much theory, being able to think out something, rationalize it, think of your situation as if you were seeing yourself through the third person’s eyes. You just lose track of what you want to do, what you are, what you can be, what you truly like and what defines you. You become another wallflower. And she was at the brink of falling over that line.&lt;br /&gt;She looked at each place and identified it with the people that made it as it is. It gave her more pleasure than most other things to be surrounded by people who were waiting to be read and understood without them knowing it.&lt;br /&gt;There were people she used to like to work with, people she liked talking with, people she would meet up over weekends for a cup of coffee and fun. But it all seemed so long ago. Sometimes, she felt like the survivor of some war, one who could only search for people who were part of her surroundings once but are no more. She looked around and felt like strangers had occupied the place that belonged to her friends. Like the table they always sat at in the canteen, many a time, was occupied by people she had never seen before. And she always felt that twinge of regret of have not gone away herself.&lt;br /&gt;Moving to a new place seems to be less taxing on emotions than to live on in the same place with space and memories to fill in the gaps.&lt;br /&gt;She moved forward suddenly as the bus stopped with a jerk. She had reached her slave factory.&lt;br /&gt;As she got off the bus, she smiled wistfully at the thoughts that had filled her head through the journey and she shook her head. Another day, another beginning. There’s always hope, you just need to want something badly enough.&lt;br /&gt;She saw a friend waving to her and moved towards her with a big smile and said hi. And she heard in return.&lt;br /&gt;“Hi Stuti”.&lt;br /&gt;That is me. Remember it. I am not Employee Number 213456. I am Stuti. I am my own person. I have hopes, desires, wishes and a life to live all by my own rules. Remember that and today too will pass by without you wondering why you feel like a part of you dies everyday just by being here.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6317749460558556871-5697789536520321665?l=mythsramblings.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://mythsramblings.blogspot.com/feeds/5697789536520321665/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6317749460558556871&amp;postID=5697789536520321665&amp;isPopup=true' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6317749460558556871/posts/default/5697789536520321665'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6317749460558556871/posts/default/5697789536520321665'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mythsramblings.blogspot.com/2009/04/i-am-me.html' title='I am me'/><author><name>myths</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11319999108251458321</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6317749460558556871.post-2006593645351208485</id><published>2009-04-27T09:41:00.000+05:30</published><updated>2009-04-27T09:42:29.468+05:30</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='The Stuti Series'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Fiction'/><title type='text'>The Silver Lining</title><content type='html'>It was a day like any other. The habit of having coffee at 11 now ingrained deeply into her, she set off with some of the other wilful slaves of routine. There were the usual jokes, the camaraderie, the rounds of laughter, discussions that were meaningless but being spoken of as if they would shake the earth's very foundations. She almost smiled at the futility of it all.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Sometimes, she wondered at herself. She was very capable of being in the midst of a throng and feeling very alone. It wasn't visible to the others, she would be saying the right things and responding at the required pauses but she felt like she was looking at the life of another, through another's eyes while being aware that there were no two people, it was just her.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;She would be talking and simultaneously processing how the people around her would perceive the sentence, who would respond and in which way. And more often than not, her brain would foretell what would be said next and for that it would have prepared a response too.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;These were two clearly seperate processes, both intimately aware of the other. The talking-process sometimes wondered what this is, if it is normal to have the voice in your head pondering about the clouds in the sky when you are talking of that model walking down the ramp on tv.&lt;br /&gt;She was walking towards the coffee dispensing machine in the cafeteria quite lost in her own thoughts when she saw him. The first thought that ran through her mind was "Now, that's what good looking is". She was gawking at him and felt absolutely no need to feel ashamed about it or avert her eyes in case any one was watching her.&lt;br /&gt;Just looking at him refreshed her, it was the weirdest of emotions, that voice inside her was telling her , trying to reason out what it was that she was doing, but the very same voice also grudgingly agreed that she was right. There he was minding his own business, unaware of her, just waiting for his cup of coffee and she felt like she had reached some special point, that something had changed all in that one second.&lt;br /&gt;He turned around and left , oblivious to her and she moved along with her crowd and got her own cup but she didn't dare look for him.She didn't scan the cafeteria for that cute guy dressed all decently to look like he was one of that crowd, but he wasn't . She just knew.&lt;br /&gt;Nobody realised that she wasn't in the conversation, but she really didn't care, the turmoil she was in mentally right now astounded her.&lt;br /&gt;She had seen so many guys before, probably better looking than him, she had been in love too but this emotion that she was feeling based on one look was new to her. It made her feel wondrous, almost giddy with that feeling filling her up.&lt;br /&gt;She leaned back on her chair and savored the moment. It was her ray of hope, it was that silver lining, she was still alive. She had feelings within her, they just needed that catalyst to bring it out.&lt;br /&gt;She stood up with a smile and turned around to walk towards the door. He got up at the very same moment and as he did, he looked up at her. At that moment, not for the last 15 mins when she was agonising, questioning, understanding, accepting and finally enjoying that feeling that was coursing through her, he chose this minute to see her.&lt;br /&gt;A thought popped into her head, what would he think if he knew I was smiling because of him.&lt;br /&gt;He was still looking at her, time seemed to slow down to see exactly what effect this guy was having on Stuti.&lt;br /&gt;She was surprised at the calm she felt, if she ever noticed some guy 'checking her out', she would immediately escape from the situation, either with a scowl on the face or swearing under her breath. Not now, now, she wanted him to see her, she wanted to know if she would affect him the same way.&lt;br /&gt;As she passed by him, she knew that she wouldn't even have to look back.&lt;br /&gt;He had felt it too.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6317749460558556871-2006593645351208485?l=mythsramblings.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://mythsramblings.blogspot.com/feeds/2006593645351208485/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6317749460558556871&amp;postID=2006593645351208485&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6317749460558556871/posts/default/2006593645351208485'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6317749460558556871/posts/default/2006593645351208485'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mythsramblings.blogspot.com/2009/04/silver-lining.html' title='The Silver Lining'/><author><name>myths</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11319999108251458321</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6317749460558556871.post-9138960268664937882</id><published>2009-04-22T07:23:00.003+05:30</published><updated>2009-04-22T07:27:59.282+05:30</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='cookin'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='marital bliss'/><title type='text'>gimme more</title><content type='html'>I come home last night tired from another monotonous day and surprise myself by whipping up rice, rasam and a curry in less than 40 mins. And while I was washing up to set the table for dinner, Vc goes 'You didn't make chapathis? I thought I saw the belan in your hands.' &lt;br /&gt;Grrrrrrrrrrrr . &lt;br /&gt;P.S. Luckily I didn't have it then, otherwise it would have caused a nice bump on his head.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6317749460558556871-9138960268664937882?l=mythsramblings.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://mythsramblings.blogspot.com/feeds/9138960268664937882/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6317749460558556871&amp;postID=9138960268664937882&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6317749460558556871/posts/default/9138960268664937882'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6317749460558556871/posts/default/9138960268664937882'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mythsramblings.blogspot.com/2009/04/gimme-more.html' title='gimme more'/><author><name>myths</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11319999108251458321</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6317749460558556871.post-8025158201512881572</id><published>2009-04-21T10:06:00.005+05:30</published><updated>2009-04-21T18:07:05.014+05:30</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='India'/><title type='text'>Aren't the rains always to bring good times?</title><content type='html'>My maid didn't turn up for work yesterday without informing me in advance and I didn't give it much thought, even though I know she has never done that before.&lt;br /&gt;She came in today and spoke half in tears.&lt;br /&gt;She told me that her sister had a baby on Sunday night. That the baby seemed ok in the beginning but developed some sort of respiratory issues and the doctors said "We can't fix this, take the baby to another hospital".&lt;br /&gt;And these people went out in the rain with a new born babe to another hospital where they said "We don't have a bed, we can't take the baby in"&lt;br /&gt;The rain caused a fever and the baby died.&lt;br /&gt;Where is the sense in this? How pathetic can a medical organisation get that they turn out a babe saying there's no space! How much space do they need after all, the size of half a hand ?? &lt;br /&gt;Do they not realise that a life that was nurtured for 9 months, something that was awaited eagerly all lost because they went to a hospital that couldn't fix something and then were forced to go to another heartless place.&lt;br /&gt;What is the world coming to if life is not the most important thing there is ??&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6317749460558556871-8025158201512881572?l=mythsramblings.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://mythsramblings.blogspot.com/feeds/8025158201512881572/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6317749460558556871&amp;postID=8025158201512881572&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6317749460558556871/posts/default/8025158201512881572'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6317749460558556871/posts/default/8025158201512881572'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mythsramblings.blogspot.com/2009/04/arent-rains-always-to-bring-good-times.html' title='Aren&apos;t the rains always to bring good times?'/><author><name>myths</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11319999108251458321</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6317749460558556871.post-5058459639650906307</id><published>2009-04-09T17:49:00.003+05:30</published><updated>2009-04-09T17:52:56.004+05:30</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='I muse upon'/><title type='text'>Tired</title><content type='html'>Have you ever felt tired after having done absolutely nothing?&lt;br /&gt;I have fallen into that evil trip, for since the last 2 weeks, I have had absolutely no work to do but I reach home dead tired.&lt;br /&gt;It's mental boredom that is translating into physical tiredness.&lt;br /&gt;Its like my brain is decaying out for I am forced to stay at work for a min. X amount of hours whether or not I have any work.&lt;br /&gt;Who came up with that rule anyways? And what does it achieve? Chaining a person to his/her desk for 9.5 hours when they don't have any work. What good can you possibly foresee coming from that !! &lt;br /&gt;Ask me, and I'll say NOTHING!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6317749460558556871-5058459639650906307?l=mythsramblings.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://mythsramblings.blogspot.com/feeds/5058459639650906307/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6317749460558556871&amp;postID=5058459639650906307&amp;isPopup=true' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6317749460558556871/posts/default/5058459639650906307'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6317749460558556871/posts/default/5058459639650906307'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mythsramblings.blogspot.com/2009/04/tired.html' title='Tired'/><author><name>myths</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11319999108251458321</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6317749460558556871.post-1649342195389375648</id><published>2009-04-08T19:34:00.002+05:30</published><updated>2009-04-08T19:44:57.977+05:30</updated><title type='text'>Vous parlez Francais?</title><content type='html'>Remember that feeling on the last day of exams when you would study enough to get through and plan more for the celebration of having survived another year and another bout of never-ending exams.&lt;br /&gt;Remember knowing that tomorrow you will be free, you wont have to study with droopy eyes tonight, you are free of that tension.&lt;br /&gt;Remember knowing that you will be awake at 4am or 5am tomorrow even if the alarm doesnt ring because you have spent the last 2 weeks getting up at that time to cram in the last 2 chapters just before leaving for the exam hall.&lt;br /&gt;Remember feeling relieved that its all over and looking forward to having some fun over the holidays but also feeling sort of wistful since you know you wont be able to catch up with your friends everyday now, you can't play in the recess time, you can't share food from 10 boxes and so many other small things that we take for granted.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I have this weird feeling today, the type you get when you know something is over, something that has gotten to be a routine part of your life that is now going to change.&lt;br /&gt;I dont have to get up before 6am tomorrow. I wont be able to drive down empty streets and watch the sunrise over SankeyTank. I wont be seeing the people in my French class whom I have been seeing everyday from 6.45am to 8.15am. EVERYDAY.I wont have to try thinking in a different language.I wont be laughing first thing in the morning when I hear everyone trying tongue twisting french.I wont be able to learn something and find it fun at the same time(thats coz of the teacher Ms.V, she's plain amazing!)&lt;br /&gt;I think I will miss it. The people. The place. The language. &lt;br /&gt;But worst of all I dont like that my course has ended, since it changes my routine.One that I liked.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Until the next time I find something that I liked so much, I am going to 'bali-fy' anyone who crosses my path &lt;br /&gt;Vous parlez francais?&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6317749460558556871-1649342195389375648?l=mythsramblings.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://mythsramblings.blogspot.com/feeds/1649342195389375648/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6317749460558556871&amp;postID=1649342195389375648&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6317749460558556871/posts/default/1649342195389375648'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6317749460558556871/posts/default/1649342195389375648'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mythsramblings.blogspot.com/2009/04/vous-parlez-francais.html' title='Vous parlez Francais?'/><author><name>myths</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11319999108251458321</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6317749460558556871.post-573624807027745920</id><published>2009-04-03T17:15:00.001+05:30</published><updated>2009-04-03T17:17:11.400+05:30</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='I see around me'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='I muse upon'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='WomenFolk'/><title type='text'>Its always the little things ..  Always</title><content type='html'>Do you think God conspired with men to make life difficult for women ? You'd think , there's got to be a reason !!!! &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;No, I am not talking about the general safety on the roads, age old customs and rituals where women have to be content being the lesser beings, not even harassment at workplaces or anywhere outside home(or sometimes even at home). Those are the big grievances. I am talking of the smaller daily ones.&lt;br /&gt;A few examples might help you in understanding why I am cribbing.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I was planning to indulge in myself with a massage at the parlor, when the lady says "If you are planning something, you should let us know, we cant do it in all conditions" &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;If you didn't get the meaning, don't worry, I was in your shoes a couple of months ago. It means if you are carrying(for the really duh ! people, it means, if you are pregnant), you wont get a back massage. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Duh ! Thanks for YOUR precautions, but I just want a massage and I have a brain !! &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Another one was about a couple of month ago, we were at Vc's boss's(Mr. P) place for dinner along with a dozen other colleagues and their families.&lt;br /&gt;The start itself stunned me. There were a few couple already in the sitting room, around 6 couples (us included) walked in together (by coincidence) . All the ladies (ALL) just got up from the sofas, joined the other ladies who arrived and moved into the children's room. Just like a herd.&lt;br /&gt;And yours truly was caught in no-man's land .I didn't know whether to stay with menfolk or retreat behind the purdahs like women of 10 centuries ago(if then)&lt;br /&gt;The consternation on Mr. P's face showed only when I turned around and asked him "Why did the women leave?" (Oh come on, how am I to know that you are not supposed to ask questions like that!!! I know I know, I should think before I talk, its not like I am in the college canteen... :D)&lt;br /&gt;He gracefully handled the latest addition to the group saying "I don't know, you can sit here. That should bring them out. " I smiled my fakest smile and turned to find a place where Vc and I could sit together, when Mrs P came with the drinks tray. &lt;br /&gt;Now, me thinks, maybe that's the reason the ladies left, they know its "Drinks time" and dint want to be around , but hey, if you know your hubby drinks, whats the big deal in being around , anyways.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Take a look around carefully when you are on the road, you will always see people veering clear of cars with women drivers.&lt;br /&gt;But of course, God forbid, if there’s one out there who manages to overtake a guy, he will use all his prowess to to overtake her again, and then he will stick to her like fevicol irritating her like there is no tomorrow.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The house owner had come visiting once, and he was shocked when Vc went in to get refreshments, the look saying in all. ‘YOU’ are sitting here and THE husband has to do the lowly kitchen work. It was hilarious. I think I liked seeing that look on his face, but I had to put him out of his misery, I went in and sent Vc back, but by the time I returned with the tray of loaded goodies, he had escaped.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And of course, there are those old fashioned people, who get scandalized if I sit on the sofa where they are – a 3 seater mind you. All grandpas, a girl’s place is 10 paces away.&lt;br /&gt;Then, there was this lady who’s husband had gone out when my dad and me had gone over to give the guy something and , you wont believe it, she stood behind the kitchen door and spoke to my dad. I was literally dumbstruck. I mean, in this day and age, she still followed the “Don’t talk to a ‘Paraya Man’ , stay indoors’ , where’s the removal of the purdah system!! &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Then, there’s a family friend of ours, where, the ladies have to sit on the floor next to the sofa if the men are around, even if the sofa is empty. Beat that.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And of course , the fun stuff of being a woman. &lt;br /&gt;You have to struggle no end to wear six yards of misery around you, with 2 dozen pins stuck in to keep you safe, a constant worry of what’s slipping from where always on your mind and of course, you cant jump around or sit cross legged or do anything normal !!! &lt;br /&gt;The end result is good, I grant you that, but I just need to meet that human who invented the saree, just once.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Have you ever seen a girl with real hairy legs wearing a miniskirt ?? Its almost like impossible ???&lt;br /&gt;Why then do we have to suffer gorilla-style hairy-legged guys in shorts !!! why , why why !! &lt;br /&gt;Why do only women have ‘hair’ problems, ever thought of how painful it is to remove one strand of hair from the root! Try that all over your hands and legs and of course the eyebrows! Scary huh?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I’ll probably add the rest later, but for now, I rest.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6317749460558556871-573624807027745920?l=mythsramblings.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://mythsramblings.blogspot.com/feeds/573624807027745920/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6317749460558556871&amp;postID=573624807027745920&amp;isPopup=true' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6317749460558556871/posts/default/573624807027745920'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6317749460558556871/posts/default/573624807027745920'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mythsramblings.blogspot.com/2009/04/its-always-little-things-always.html' title='Its always the little things ..  Always'/><author><name>myths</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11319999108251458321</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6317749460558556871.post-2528122830625756627</id><published>2009-04-03T09:16:00.004+05:30</published><updated>2009-04-03T09:30:54.500+05:30</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='DailyStuff'/><title type='text'>Its a matter of time</title><content type='html'>I came home on Wednesday(day before yesterday) at noon and it was so hot and stifling that a fan working at max speed was to be the only solution.Having switched it on, I was just about to sit and I hear this loud thud, and I see that this new clock - a pretty one with a wooden frame - that Vc got and kept gloating over had fallen down from its resting perch, face down onto the floor.&lt;br /&gt;I was literally scared to turn it over and see that the cracks in the glass face.Surprisingly, there was not a scratch!! &lt;br /&gt;Yesterday, my sister and I went out and I put my mobile phone into her handbag, she left with it and now my only phone connection to the world is my BSNL landline.&lt;br /&gt;Today morning, I got up without hearing "Minchagi neenu ... "(my alarm tone on my mobile), checked the clock on the wall and it was showing 2am.&lt;br /&gt;The clock stopped working, I don't have my mobile, I never use a handwatch unless I have to (which means, I spend 10 mins searching for it every time I am required to wear one).&lt;br /&gt;I didn't know what the time was.So, I checked it on Vc's mobile.I come back home from class and Vc's gone to work, and I don't know what time it is. &lt;br /&gt;P.S. I am using my laptop now as a clock :)&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6317749460558556871-2528122830625756627?l=mythsramblings.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://mythsramblings.blogspot.com/feeds/2528122830625756627/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6317749460558556871&amp;postID=2528122830625756627&amp;isPopup=true' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6317749460558556871/posts/default/2528122830625756627'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6317749460558556871/posts/default/2528122830625756627'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mythsramblings.blogspot.com/2009/04/its-matter-of-time.html' title='Its a matter of time'/><author><name>myths</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11319999108251458321</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6317749460558556871.post-2999072595461278637</id><published>2009-03-25T17:44:00.004+05:30</published><updated>2009-03-25T17:56:53.325+05:30</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Wishes'/><title type='text'>Say a little prayer for me.</title><content type='html'>Today was an important day for someone very close to me. A test of sorts.Something that the person has worked hard for. I pray for you that you pass it and get what you want and worked for.&lt;br /&gt;Good luck D!&lt;br /&gt;P.S. anyone who reads this, please send up a prayer from your end too.Maybe it'll reach the ears of the right One. :)&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6317749460558556871-2999072595461278637?l=mythsramblings.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://mythsramblings.blogspot.com/feeds/2999072595461278637/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6317749460558556871&amp;postID=2999072595461278637&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6317749460558556871/posts/default/2999072595461278637'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6317749460558556871/posts/default/2999072595461278637'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mythsramblings.blogspot.com/2009/03/say-little-prayer-for-me.html' title='Say a little prayer for me.'/><author><name>myths</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11319999108251458321</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6317749460558556871.post-4316609754385090248</id><published>2009-03-18T12:44:00.003+05:30</published><updated>2009-04-03T09:32:55.854+05:30</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Cribbing'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='DailyStuff'/><title type='text'>et tu?</title><content type='html'>Ever get that feeling "Why am I here again?" I am currently buried under the weight of that emotion.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6317749460558556871-4316609754385090248?l=mythsramblings.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://mythsramblings.blogspot.com/feeds/4316609754385090248/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6317749460558556871&amp;postID=4316609754385090248&amp;isPopup=true' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6317749460558556871/posts/default/4316609754385090248'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6317749460558556871/posts/default/4316609754385090248'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mythsramblings.blogspot.com/2009/03/et-tu.html' title='et tu?'/><author><name>myths</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11319999108251458321</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6317749460558556871.post-6748833446541662990</id><published>2009-03-16T21:25:00.004+05:30</published><updated>2009-03-16T21:38:19.858+05:30</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='I muse upon'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Accidents'/><title type='text'>Pain .. pane... payne... paen ..</title><content type='html'>Have you ever really given thought to the concept of pain? Not why it is caused or how, but the feeling of pain. I have, in some detail quite recently and I realised a couple of things:-&lt;br /&gt;-&gt; You always live through it. No matter how bad it is, even if you faint since your body cant take it, you always have to get up and pick up the pieces.&lt;br /&gt;-&gt; The memory of pain puts fear into you and also a hope that since you have already borne it, if it ever happens again, you can face it better.That doesnt happen.A memory turns out to be a pale recollection of the actual pain. Always.&lt;br /&gt;-&gt; You never get used to it.It is always there at the back of your mind waiting for you to get out of your safe cocoon, even a little slip.&lt;br /&gt;-&gt; Cribbing does no good, it doesn't lessen the pain, sharing doesn't reduce it for you(nor does it help the poor soul you offloaded on).It is your part of suffering, you have to carry it not matter how many helpful/sympathetic shoulders you find along the way.&lt;br /&gt;-&gt; It teaches you some lessons to remember.It steels you against making the same mistakes again.It fills you with a fear that it dares you to conquer.And it always is that one fear that you overcome makes it easier to overcome others.It shows you a glimpse of life outside your safe haven, life isn't a bed of roses, never was- you appreciate what normalcy more.&lt;br /&gt;Whew, that was a morbid, morose what not piece of writing.&lt;br /&gt;what brought about that was having Hydrogen Peroxide(I think) put on your 10 inch long skin wound and seeing froth build up on that while you feel like the thing is going to burn its way right into you!&lt;br /&gt;This is my 3rd dressing for the wound, the first one on the night of the &lt;a href="http://mythsramblings.blogspot.com/2009/03/to-fly-or-not-to-fly_16.html"&gt;great fall&lt;/a&gt;, and I had thought betadene(I think) burns like mad.Dressing 2 saw the nurse pull out the first dressing that the new skin was trying to grow over and hence reopening the wound(and to think doctors would know this in advance!!!)Dressing 3 with the peroxide stuff that hurt so bad I had tears streaming down my face.Dressing 4 was the least painful of all. And now finally I can stop using a bandana/scarf/shawl/long sleeved outfits/dupattas to cover my war wounds, it still freaks out some people when they see my hand reaching for the 2nd floor button in the lift , they look at my face with a weird look of half pity and half fright, takes me a second to understand why and by then, I am out the lift! &lt;br /&gt;It'll be as good as old in 2 months, until then, all sport under hold :)&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6317749460558556871-6748833446541662990?l=mythsramblings.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://mythsramblings.blogspot.com/feeds/6748833446541662990/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6317749460558556871&amp;postID=6748833446541662990&amp;isPopup=true' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6317749460558556871/posts/default/6748833446541662990'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6317749460558556871/posts/default/6748833446541662990'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mythsramblings.blogspot.com/2009/03/pain-pane-payne-paen.html' title='Pain .. pane... payne... paen ..'/><author><name>myths</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11319999108251458321</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6317749460558556871.post-6596330765075732326</id><published>2009-03-16T16:42:00.003+05:30</published><updated>2009-03-16T21:35:17.262+05:30</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='I muse upon'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Accidents'/><title type='text'>To fly . . or not to fly...</title><content type='html'>Sunday was supposed to be the hottest day in the last 35 years in Bangalore.I spent the whole day in an open ground frying/baking/boiling and mostly just waiting for my turn at paragliding.&lt;br /&gt;We reached at 10.30am, waited till 6.30 pm when the light was going down.And then realised that we wont be able to do it. And my whole Sunday was wasted.&lt;br /&gt;Got me all grr and I gave a teeny-tiny piece of my mind to one of the organisers , about organising for all the participants and caring for our time.&lt;br /&gt;And I wish I had left it at that. &lt;br /&gt;He came back a few minutes later and said, we can accomodate just one person now, inspite of the fact that there were 4 of us who had paid up and equally wanted to experience the thrill of flying with the birds above.&lt;br /&gt;The process looks simple but is rather complicated. You get into this set of straps which is attached to a 'wing' (the parachute-type thing) and there is another guy - the pilot behind you also strapped in.There is a rope hooked into the strap and the other end goes a km away to a vehicle that winds in the rope.Both the people run for 2-20 steps, the parachute balloons up with the wind and suddenly you are off into the skies, climbing steadily. .After you reach upto 100ft, the rope is removed and then you, you fly with the birds, making lazy turns steering wherever you want&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://www.vinodc.blogspot.com/"&gt;Here are some of the pics.&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I got all strapped in, ran a bit and just when I thought I was taking off, I fell, face down, the guy behind on top of me. The vehicle that was pulling the rope did not stop.I was doing a "SuperMan" along the ground for 4-5 seconds. There was a calmness in my mind that I find hard to believe now.It was like being in a void, I could hear nothing, feel very little.I was conscious and awake to what was happening but it did not register.I did not feel pain, I knew my skin was being scraped off, I wondered why I pushed for taking the last ride, I was confident that nothing would be really wrong, I felt bad for my family who were watching this.And then I stopped moving.&lt;br /&gt;Someone tried to pull me up but couldnt since the whole contraption had collapsed on me.I finally got to my feet and was trying to convince all that I am ok.My right hand was a bright red with few remnants of skin hanging on.My knee was ok, luckily no complications there.I was a little dazed, yes, but totally aware.&lt;br /&gt;And luckily that was it.My brother's face was a dark cloud.He could not believe it.My sis was trying to apply some salve to it.Vc's face was unreadable.And I found a reason to smile. This was to be my birthday gift - flying in the air.&lt;br /&gt;So much for wings of wax.&lt;br /&gt;Thats the bad stuff.My birthday of course was wonderful, couple of cakes, couple of temples and I got to spend time with the most important people in my life and I turn another year older, wiser and hey , I have the scars to prove it now !&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6317749460558556871-6596330765075732326?l=mythsramblings.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://mythsramblings.blogspot.com/feeds/6596330765075732326/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6317749460558556871&amp;postID=6596330765075732326&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6317749460558556871/posts/default/6596330765075732326'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6317749460558556871/posts/default/6596330765075732326'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mythsramblings.blogspot.com/2009/03/to-fly-or-not-to-fly_16.html' title='To fly . . or not to fly...'/><author><name>myths</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11319999108251458321</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6317749460558556871.post-1151887068602675677</id><published>2009-03-07T06:35:00.002+05:30</published><updated>2009-03-25T18:01:41.781+05:30</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Work'/><title type='text'>RULES OF WORK - from a forward, had to put it up !!</title><content type='html'>1.  Never give me work in the morning.   Always wait until 4:00 and then bring it to me.  The challenge of a deadline is refreshing.&lt;br /&gt;2.  If it's really a rush job, run in and interrupt me every 10 minutes to inquire how it's going.  That helps.  Or even better, hover behind me, advising me at every keystroke.&lt;br /&gt;3.  Always leave without telling anyone where you're going.  It gives me a chance to be creative when someone asks where you are.&lt;br /&gt;4..  If my arms are full of papers, boxes, books, or supplies, don't open the door for me.  I need to learn how to function as a paraplegic and opening doors with no arms is good training in case I should ever be injured and lose all use of my limbs.&lt;br /&gt;5.  If you give me more than one job to do, don't tell me which is priority.  I am psychic.&lt;br /&gt;6.  Do your best to keep me late.  I adore this office and really have nowhere to go or anything to do.  I have no life beyond work.&lt;br /&gt;7.  If a job I do pleases you, keep it a secret.  If that gets out, it could mean a promotion.&lt;br /&gt;8.  If you don't like my work, tell everyone.  I like my name to be popular in conversations.  I was born to be whipped.&lt;br /&gt;9.  If you have special instructions for a job, don't write them down. In fact, save them until the job is almost done.  No use confusing me with useful information.&lt;br /&gt;10.  Never introduce me to the people you're with.  I have no right to know anything.  In the corporate food chain, I am plankton.  When you refer to them later, my shrewd deductions will identify them.&lt;br /&gt;11.  Be nice to me only when the job I'm doing for you could really change your life and send you straight to managers' hell.&lt;br /&gt;12.  Tell me all your little problems.   No one else has any and it's nice to know someone is less fortunate.  I especially like the story about having to pay so much tax on the bonus check you received for being such a good manager.&lt;br /&gt;13.  Wait until my yearly review and THEN tell me what my goals SHOULD have been. Give me a mediocre performance rating   with a cost of living increase.. I'm not here for the money anyway.&lt;br /&gt;Tell me you did not nod your head for at least one of those of them !! This totally made my day , starting my day early in the morning laughing out loud totally works for me :)&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6317749460558556871-1151887068602675677?l=mythsramblings.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://mythsramblings.blogspot.com/feeds/1151887068602675677/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6317749460558556871&amp;postID=1151887068602675677&amp;isPopup=true' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6317749460558556871/posts/default/1151887068602675677'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6317749460558556871/posts/default/1151887068602675677'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mythsramblings.blogspot.com/2009/03/rules-of-work-from-forward-had-to-put.html' title='RULES OF WORK - from a forward, had to put it up !!'/><author><name>myths</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11319999108251458321</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6317749460558556871.post-6876858601345767860</id><published>2009-02-17T14:45:00.004+05:30</published><updated>2009-04-03T09:33:24.684+05:30</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Work'/><title type='text'>Taking a day off ?</title><content type='html'>I applied for a leave of 3 days in April to attend an out-of-town wedding.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;In response we(the whole team) just got this mail from authority one level higher up who got it from one more level higher up. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;Approval can be done only for 5 leaves max per month for offshore team.Depending on how many leaves have been taken by an associate in the project till date, leave approval will be done.&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;This is for my team which has 9 members. Do the math. In case you didn't, it says one person can take 6-7 leaves per year at max. &lt;br /&gt;Oh, and the 2nd statement was put into effect purely because of yours truly, what with me having taken off most of a month already, how dare she think she can ask for leave again.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;What can I say, not much since I am trying very hard to stop laughing. ;)&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6317749460558556871-6876858601345767860?l=mythsramblings.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://mythsramblings.blogspot.com/feeds/6876858601345767860/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6317749460558556871&amp;postID=6876858601345767860&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6317749460558556871/posts/default/6876858601345767860'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6317749460558556871/posts/default/6876858601345767860'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mythsramblings.blogspot.com/2009/02/taking-day-off.html' title='Taking a day off ?'/><author><name>myths</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11319999108251458321</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6317749460558556871.post-684391135672581002</id><published>2009-02-05T14:39:00.002+05:30</published><updated>2009-04-03T09:32:04.840+05:30</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Entertainment'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Performance'/><title type='text'>The art of story telling</title><content type='html'>When was the last time you heard someone transport you to another place with mere words, I am not talking of a visual like a movie where a character says something, nor am I talking of a book which has similar powers, I am talking of listening to a person standing in front of you narrating to you a story. We listen to anecdotes from friends all the time, "You know what happened today, I was at this place where. .... " and you can imagine the expression on your friends face or imagine the place he is talking about. But what of a story that is just that , a story, like the one your grandma used to tell you when putting you to sleep on her lap way back when you were still in pigtails. I remember my mom and grandmom do that, cousins all around them, on the terrace on summer nights listening with rapt attention to some sort of a Jataka tale or occasionally a true story with a dash of humour added or even some made up tale of fruits and vegetables(don't ask) &lt;br /&gt;The words help you conjure up images in your head driving your imagination crazy. My aunt could put images into my head of a "Potlakai antha Police Officer in a Jampandu antha Jail" - which roughly translated would mean a "Gourd sized Police Officer in a Guava sized jail" (don't ask again). It's an art, modulating your voice to make a ghost-sound or a high-pitched scream, knowing when to put in that knowing smile or wink, the body language that showed you how a brave prince jumped in front of a sword to defend the princess, and most importantly, letting the narration be controlled by the audience's response. &lt;br /&gt;Those were the days, those were the times, I wonder if story telling is a dying art. It is probably alive still somewhere, maybe everywhere, almost every mother shows her children the moon and tells them tall (but believable) tales about it just to get them to eat dinner.I hope it never goes out of style. I know there is more power in it than I could imagine.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We went to an IFA associated-Motley Production of "Ismat Aapa Ke Naam" yesterday at the Chowdiah Memorial Hall. Three short stories written by &lt;a href="http://www.lehigh.edu/~amsp/2006/07/ismat-chughtais-short-stories.html"&gt;Ismat Chugtai&lt;/a&gt; were narrated by Naseeruddin Shah, Rathna Pathak-Shah and Heeba Shah. The stories that were chosen were almost tragic, they made us cringe in places, smile in some, wonder in amazement about how the human mind works, worry about ourselves as a society that reacts stupidly(for want of a better word) for some scenarios, how hard we try to fit into a place and then try harder to convince ourselves that we are better than the rest. &lt;br /&gt;Heeba's narration was nice especially her rendering of a 'curse-mouthing' begum, but it didn't have something that I was looking for.&lt;br /&gt;RPS's narration was a treat to watch, I could literally see Kale Miyan saying "Ghungat uthao" And I must confess, I half hoped she would find a way to put in "That's soo middle class" somewhere ;) (for the uninitiated, that's something she keeps saying in &lt;a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Sarabhai_vs_Sarabhai"&gt;Sarabhai vs Sarabhai&lt;/a&gt;) . She did get some of the biggest laughs.&lt;br /&gt;The performance of NS took the cake, his voice, the energy, the expressions, the pauses at the right places, transforming himself by means of body language to a man, a woman, an old man with a paan filled mouth, a village busybody. He had a presence on stage, it seemed more interactive. &lt;br /&gt;As much as I rack my brain(and I am half ashamed to say this) I can't think of any of his onscreen performances other than Wednesday and Masoom.&lt;br /&gt;As I saw the progression of the stories and the different people rendering it alive, I realised, a story teller needs to be an actor too, he needs to make you feel it.&lt;br /&gt;And I must mention, the simple props made a huge difference with each setting, the music score in the background and the lights were amazing, they added a lot to the whole thing.&lt;br /&gt;The show got a standing ovation.&lt;br /&gt;I would recommend it for a dekko, but I wasn't completely satisfied. It was a different experience, an appreciable one, but maybe I have been exposed to movies for too long to give this a 10 on 10.&lt;br /&gt;At least, this is my first step backwards to when I was in my pigtails, anyone going to tell me a story, I am all ears :)&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6317749460558556871-684391135672581002?l=mythsramblings.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://mythsramblings.blogspot.com/feeds/684391135672581002/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6317749460558556871&amp;postID=684391135672581002&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6317749460558556871/posts/default/684391135672581002'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6317749460558556871/posts/default/684391135672581002'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mythsramblings.blogspot.com/2009/02/art-of-story-telling.html' title='The art of story telling'/><author><name>myths</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11319999108251458321</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6317749460558556871.post-6716149846220170637</id><published>2009-01-26T16:51:00.001+05:30</published><updated>2009-04-03T09:32:29.871+05:30</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Fiction'/><title type='text'>And he smiled !</title><content type='html'>It was that part of a moment when one moves out of the sleep zone and right before when one is awake. Like the dawn of the waking day. She was there. As she waited for the fuzziness to clear out from her mind, she knew something was different about today.She couldn't put her finger on what that was, but there it was, that feeling. She turned around to snuggle into her pillow, but she couldn't move. Something held her in place. She awoke with a start then.&lt;br /&gt;Her eyes found comfort in the fact that it was still dark around her, there was a lamp in the room, the only source of light. Before she could take solace in the fact that it wasn't time yet for her to get up and leave for work, she realised that she didn't have a lamp in her bedroom.And then, she looked at herself and realised why she couldn't move, her hands and legs were bound. She let out a gasp involuntarily and when she heard herself, it was a muffled sound that seemed to shatter the silence around her. And that scared her. It was like she had disturbed the pattern. There was shelter in the silence, a peace to it, she had disturbed it. Maybe if she just huddled back silently, closed her eyes and wished this gone away, she would wake up and put this nightmare behind her.&lt;br /&gt;She closed her eyes and wished with all her might to get back to reality. And she gave it a one minute's pause as a good measure.And slowly, hesitantly , she opened her eyes to her reality.&lt;br /&gt;She screamed. Tranquility be damned, peace be damned, silence be damned. She screamed herself hoarse, until she no longer had a voice. Then the door opened. It surprised her, because she hadn't known there was a door.There was a little bit of fear seeping back until she heard a voice, a gruff voice say something she couldn't understand. But she did shut up then and the voice disappeared with fading footsteps that she hadn't heard approaching earlier.&lt;br /&gt;She wouldn't give into hysteria or to tears. She steeled herself to accepting this present situation. She tried recalling what she last remembered as normal.Going to work in the morning was the last coherent thought she could recall. She had pulled over for coffee or had she? It was too much of a fuzzy memory. &lt;br /&gt;She twisted her arms, her hands were bound tight and the rope didn't budge. There wasn't even wriggling area. She knew what the knot was, she had learnt it from her father. She couldn't remember the name but she knew exactly how it was made.She mentally kicked herself for not learning how to undo it. She looked around the room, looking for something that would let her loose.She was on a bed. The lamp in the corner. She hopped over to the lamp feeling like a kangaroo. It was an old kerosene lamp. There was glass and the flame to use. She pushed the lamp, watched the glass break with a tinkle and the kerosene make a wet patch on the floor.She looked at the door, wondering if the sound had been loud enough for the owner of the gruff voice to walk in again, but he didn't come back. She picked up one of the bigger pieces and tried to rub them against the rope holding her wrists together.She cut herself a couple of times and finally succeeded in wearing the rope down enough to give some wriggling space. A triumphant feeling had start to spread over her, but she ground her teeth and kept at it not wanting to break the spell.&lt;br /&gt;The door opened. More of the gruff voice, definitely yelling now. He went out again, returned in a minute with a bucket of water and threw it over the former lamp and it's mess. She shrank back wondering what would happen to her, furiously trying still to cut open the ropes which probably in hindsight she would think wasn't as smart as trying to have hidden that piece of glass somewhere.&lt;br /&gt;Satisfied that the potential fire was put out, he walked over to her, took the glass piece from her and retied her with another rope that managed to appear out of nowhere. Then, he walked out.&lt;br /&gt;She wasn't sure how many hours had passed since that first waking moment of hers. She had kept trying to find some way to get out of there.She had racked her brains as to why she would be here, true she was rich, but rich enough to get kidnapped? She wondered if someone was paying her ransom at this moment. She wondered if her boss missed her at work and tried contacting her.She wondered if it was evening already and the friends she was supposed to meet up for coffee had missed her. &lt;br /&gt;And then she laughed to herself at the futility of it all. How did all that matter? All that did matter now is that she was at the mercy of her 'kidnappers'. Having resigned herself to that fact she waited for that man to show up again, so she could at least understand what was happening. They had to give her food at least.&lt;br /&gt;Waiting in the silence, in the darkness tore a part of her. For some reason, she could not fathom , all her personal devils reared their head to torment her at this moment. It spurred her into action.She twisted her hands again straining her neck to look for something that she might have missed earlier. She heard the footsteps come close this time. As the door creaked on its hinges, she sat back apprehensively. It was food. He put the plate on the floor and had walked away when she realised he wasn't going to talk to her and maybe that he didn't even realise that she couldn't eat with her hands bound. She just couldn't believe it. She had just about started bemoaning her fate when another guy came in and untied her hands, gestured that she should take off the gag and eat.&lt;br /&gt;She couldn't try anything dumb, especially not with the mammoth sized creature standing with his hands crossed in front of her. She ate, almost with gratitude, when she realised how hungry she was.&lt;br /&gt;3 days later, which she deduced by counting the number of meals she had, she didn't know where she was, why she was there and a couple of escape attempts later she was still where she had started off. They wouldn't talk to her, they wouldn't bother her.&lt;br /&gt;Today, she had another plan. When she heard the doorsteps, she stood behind the door, yesterday's plate in hand. As the door swung open, she swung with all her might right across the face.The man was stunned, she jumped over him and hopped till the edge of the corridor where she could see a window. It was daytime, sunlight was filtering in. There was hope. She fell face forward and was waiting for her face to break, waiting for that crunching sound, when someone held her and broke the fall. He turned her around, so she was on her back. The same man, who had thwarted her thrice already, but had never reacted was now red in the face notwithstanding the bruise that was forming. He muttered something that was unintelligible. She waited for him to fume and she almost readied herself for a blow. She had tried so hard last three days, using all that she could find. All she had thought of was escape, the insanity of the whole situation was driving her insane.Now, it looked like she was stuck in this hell. Something inside her was breaking, the constriction in her throat seemed to be tightening, tears were welling up in her eyes. Her eyes had been downcast, she looked at his face to see if she could interpret the signs of her future in that mask. &lt;br /&gt;And he smiled! &lt;br /&gt;As he did, she realised that the smile actually lauded her spirit. It looked like a father consoling and doting simultaneously a daughter who had tried something and not succeeded. He seemed human in that light.&lt;br /&gt;The tears disappeared. She knew that she would get out of here. The smile gave her the strength.She would not stop trying.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6317749460558556871-6716149846220170637?l=mythsramblings.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://mythsramblings.blogspot.com/feeds/6716149846220170637/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6317749460558556871&amp;postID=6716149846220170637&amp;isPopup=true' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6317749460558556871/posts/default/6716149846220170637'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6317749460558556871/posts/default/6716149846220170637'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mythsramblings.blogspot.com/2009/01/and-he-smiled.html' title='And he smiled !'/><author><name>myths</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11319999108251458321</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6317749460558556871.post-1805530822808967828</id><published>2009-01-20T20:32:00.004+05:30</published><updated>2009-04-03T09:33:49.410+05:30</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='I muse upon'/><title type='text'>How much are you worth, really?</title><content type='html'>I feel free. I feel relieved. &lt;br /&gt;Remember the feeling when we believed that our test results in 5th std were the most important thing in our lives, that there was no tomorrow after that. &lt;br /&gt;Remember when that was followed by 10th std results. &lt;br /&gt;And that by +2 results. &lt;br /&gt;And that by Engg. results. &lt;br /&gt;And that by placements. &lt;br /&gt;And that by appraisals at the end of every year. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I am beginning to realise that we seem to spend life measuring ourselves against periodical tests which in the big scheme of things mean zilch. &lt;br /&gt;Oh, I know, they do matter at some level. &lt;br /&gt;My 10th results helped me get into a decent college for +2, where my not so good results put me into engineering where my not so bad results helped me get into a software company, where my yearly appraisals have thus far given me a 50% increment in salary from the time I joined, lots of anger, frustration, disappointment in so called managers, disregard for the whole appraisal system, some tears and finally today, freedom. &lt;br /&gt;I seem to have put myself in a position where I worry about what my appraisal is going to be. I seem to get worried when I cannot speak my mind for fear that a manager might use it against me.It almost makes me feel I care about their opinion(and from that tone, I do hope one realises that I don't) &lt;br /&gt;And, I don't take it lightly that I am so affected.To realise why it affects me so, you probably need a little insight to my past appraisals. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight:bold;"&gt;Year 1 :&lt;/span&gt; &lt;br /&gt;I got a 3+/5 along with 7 other good friends in the same team (and in the manager's words) because "It won't be nice if we gave one more than the other since you all are such good friends." &lt;br /&gt;Oh and I wasn't thinking of me getting a better rating.One of the guys had slogged so much that he should have gotten a 4 at least and he didn't. &lt;br /&gt;I guess the disillusionment started then. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight:bold;"&gt;Year 2's first half:&lt;/span&gt; &lt;br /&gt;I got a 3+ again, surprisingly. The manager developed a strong dislike for me since I wanted to look for other projects, preferably onsite, because I was to be released from the team.Notwithstanding the fact that I worked 3 weeks for that team after my official release date. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight:bold;"&gt;Year 2's second half: &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I had heard at the starting of this period, that, in this team, the manager decides who gets what rating and tells his deputy who then has to assign weightage to the person's achievements so they somehow fall into what was predecided. &lt;br /&gt;Inspite of that scare, Year 2's second half saw me get a 4 , my highest thus far, but I ended up at 3 for the year end average. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight:bold;"&gt;Year 3's first half :&lt;/span&gt; Now this takes the cake. &lt;br /&gt;While year 2 gave me a problem because I wanted to go onsite, year 3 gave me a problem because I wanted to come back.I was onsite for a period of 6, max 8months and that was the deal. After 2 months of torture or continuous haggling and pleading, I came back home after 10.5 months and worked in the offshore branch of the same team. &lt;br /&gt;At the end of which I got a 2.Now I can get a 2 even if I play hooky from office every single day. &lt;br /&gt;The discussion with the manager was enlightening : "Anybody can work. What is more important is that you did not stay even though we asked you to" &lt;br /&gt;And there I was, thinking that you are appraised on the quality of work you do. &lt;br /&gt;And of course, that was a clear cut case of "You didn't toe my line, I can sc**w you, and I will." &lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight:bold;"&gt;Year 3's second half :&lt;/span&gt; A new team. This is where the average of the 2 halves decides my pay hike.So, I worked a little hard.And got a rating on 3.5 for the 2nd half. Turns out, the average of 2&amp;3.5 is 2. &lt;br /&gt;Another amazing discussion resulted in my understanding, that managers have been taught not to say yes or no but to give ambiguous answers. &lt;br /&gt;I mean, I asked "Even if we don't consider the average of 2 halves, since the 2nd half is always given more weightage.Given the fact that out of 12 individuals at the same level of experience, you yourself chose me to be a team lead. You know that the previous 2 was against my track record, you do appreciate the the fact that I can work.Don't you think I deserve at least a 3?" &lt;br /&gt;And he said "What can we tell the HR, why didn't we know that you were a 4 earlier, how did we come to know now.We have to give them a valid reasoning." &lt;br /&gt;And I think I would have laughed at the whole sham if I wasn't fuming. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight:bold;"&gt;Year 4's first half&lt;/span&gt; gave me a 3.9. &lt;br /&gt;And going on &lt;span style="font-weight:bold;"&gt;Year 4's second half&lt;/span&gt;, for which I decided to really slog and get that elusive 4. &lt;br /&gt;I HAVE been slogging, late hours, 10 min lunches, no coffee breaks for days at an end.Project deliveries on date, venturing into new areas of procuring business, preparing for certifications. Oh, if I wasn't always such a showoff, you would know that those words are true! ;)&lt;br /&gt;And today something happened, without going into details, I can say something silly got blown out of proportions, it got escalated and one level-up honchos wanted to have a meeting.&lt;br /&gt;My first feeling and I ashamed to say this, but since I am pouring out so much already I'll go ahead, was fear.&lt;br /&gt;Fear that this will become the one black dot against all the other good things I notched up so far.I was readying my defense if I can call it that.I was waiting to be summoned to the meeting like I would for a death knoll.&lt;br /&gt;And finally it hit me.What in the blazing heavens was I working myself to bits for?&lt;br /&gt;For a set of people whose workings I have not been able to respect? For a set of people whose decisions have never been fair? For a set of people who I don't care about, I was wasting my time and energy and in the process giving myself a couple of ulcers.&lt;br /&gt;And then I realised, I don't really like the work I do. I get by it. The money's ok, I am in a comfort zone, I haven't seen growth in my personality in ages, if anything I am getting more retarded(if you know what I mean)&lt;br /&gt;My life is more than a series of performance marks. If I ever get philosophical and judge my worth against that, then please take the closest belan you find and beat that thought out of me.&lt;br /&gt;I am tired of marking my worth on some process I don't believe in.I am tired of putting in futile effort which is not leading me to where I need to be in life's journey.&lt;br /&gt;I am looking for that path now, the one where I can be myself, not be judged and find my peace.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6317749460558556871-1805530822808967828?l=mythsramblings.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://mythsramblings.blogspot.com/feeds/1805530822808967828/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6317749460558556871&amp;postID=1805530822808967828&amp;isPopup=true' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6317749460558556871/posts/default/1805530822808967828'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6317749460558556871/posts/default/1805530822808967828'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mythsramblings.blogspot.com/2009/01/how-much-are-you-worth-really.html' title='How much are you worth, really?'/><author><name>myths</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11319999108251458321</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6317749460558556871.post-3471200772833420300</id><published>2009-01-18T11:55:00.004+05:30</published><updated>2009-04-03T09:34:12.087+05:30</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='I muse upon'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='India'/><title type='text'>Circus</title><content type='html'>That's the movie I went to watch last night, most of what the movie was about is really a blur to me already, the only thing I remember, rather only thought I came back with was something I saw on the screen before the movie, just after all the Vicco Vajradanti ads.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;They played the Indian National Anthem. A habit probably long lost. And I am proud to say every single person stood up straight, people walking in late stopped on the stairs and moved only after it was over.&lt;br /&gt;There is so much pride in us, the sense of belonging, the visual of the tricolour that bonds us together.&lt;br /&gt;The song they played moved me,not just the music which is really beautiful, but also the smiles on the faces of the people who were showing us where they have to survive so we can be safe in our homes.&lt;br /&gt;Here's the link from Youtube : &lt;a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=S8HS2qExgLQ"&gt;Indian army in Siachen(with national anthem)&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Youtube threw up these other links when I searched for the previous one: &lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7sn40JvmglE&amp;NR=1"&gt;Award winning Indian ad ,Respect the National Anthem&lt;/a&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6317749460558556871-3471200772833420300?l=mythsramblings.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://mythsramblings.blogspot.com/feeds/3471200772833420300/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6317749460558556871&amp;postID=3471200772833420300&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6317749460558556871/posts/default/3471200772833420300'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6317749460558556871/posts/default/3471200772833420300'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mythsramblings.blogspot.com/2009/01/circus.html' title='Circus'/><author><name>myths</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11319999108251458321</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6317749460558556871.post-3172512312176841895</id><published>2009-01-04T22:16:00.004+05:30</published><updated>2009-04-03T09:34:41.443+05:30</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='past'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='New Year'/><title type='text'>HaPpY nEW yEaR !!!</title><content type='html'>Time again to round up the year ... I think I should make this a habit starting with &lt;a href="http://mythsramblings.blogspot.com/2008/01/tata-2007.html"&gt;last year&lt;/a&gt;, i know I know, Jan 1st is just a date, like any other... but whats life if you you don't find a reason to make everyday special (wah wah ;)) &lt;br /&gt;hmm, so what did happen this year. oh wait I got a good one,&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight:bold;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-style:italic;"&gt;I got MARRIED !!!! &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;that overshadows anything else :) (smiles coyly) &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;and with becoming a Mrs, other changes trickled in.&lt;br /&gt;I have my own home now. I have my own kitchen, I cook and clean and do all that home stuff that we generally leave upto our mothers to do. And you know what, it actually feels good to be in charge. I got to play hostess to friends, cook and run from the kitchen to the hall and act all fussy just like my mom.&lt;br /&gt;I get to decorate my home with all sorts of knick-knacks (that Vc doesn't have the heart to throw away :)) )&lt;br /&gt;I visited a couple of new places .. &lt;br /&gt;Top of the list is &lt;a href="http://vinodc.blogspot.com/2008_05_01_archive.html"&gt;Leh, Ladakh (Kashmir)&lt;/a&gt; &lt;br /&gt;Then there was a lots of local trips, Mangalore-Udupi, Skandagiri, &lt;a href="http://vinodc.blogspot.com/2008/09/whole-object-of-travel-is-not-to-set.html"&gt;Sakleshpura &lt;/a&gt;and of course &lt;a href="http://mythsramblings.blogspot.com/2007/02/my-hometown.html"&gt;Bhadrachalam&lt;/a&gt;, which I visited twice in 2008 (that's a big deal coz I haven't visited in the last 10 years before that)&lt;br /&gt;and of course it was the Skandagiri trek where I took a tumble and put a stop burning a hole in Vc's pocket( read no more trips to pretty locales, no more shopping, no movies/outings, heck, I stopped getting out of bed too) &lt;br /&gt;Oh an update on &lt;a href="http://mythsramblings.blogspot.com/2008/12/housemaids-knee.html"&gt;my housemaid's knee&lt;/a&gt; , I am feeling a lot better now, another month or so and I should be all back to normal and I so need to get there and shed the 15kgs weight that I have put on. It really hurts, I have taken to wearing sarees and all the oversized clothes I used to crinkle up my nose at coz none of my daily salwar-kameezes fit me anymore. sigh. Well, few more months and I can get back to being an M, get back to going on more trips, (I so want to lay my hands on an SLR and click away some exotic nature stuff this year) , and shopping a ton to make up for the 5 months I spent without new stuff and of course most importantly, be able to walk like a normal person.&lt;br /&gt;Which brings me to having fallen terribly sick &lt;a href="http://mythsramblings.blogspot.com/2008/10/pocketful-of-sunshine.html"&gt;twice&lt;/a&gt;.&lt;br /&gt;Right after 2 awesome throwball tournaments, one where I was actually approached by the referee who asked me to come for the Indian national team selections.&lt;br /&gt;not bad for a year huh ? &lt;br /&gt;and for this year, what I ask for is good health and a reason to smile everyday and spread it. For me and for everyone else!! &lt;br /&gt;Happy New Year 2009 !!!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6317749460558556871-3172512312176841895?l=mythsramblings.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://mythsramblings.blogspot.com/feeds/3172512312176841895/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6317749460558556871&amp;postID=3172512312176841895&amp;isPopup=true' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6317749460558556871/posts/default/3172512312176841895'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6317749460558556871/posts/default/3172512312176841895'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mythsramblings.blogspot.com/2009/01/happy-new-year.html' title='HaPpY nEW yEaR !!!'/><author><name>myths</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11319999108251458321</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6317749460558556871.post-737039953109502240</id><published>2008-12-15T15:49:00.005+05:30</published><updated>2009-04-03T09:35:08.619+05:30</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='I see around me'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='I muse upon'/><title type='text'>Some day ...</title><content type='html'>The door to our home opens out to an Amla tree with abundant greenery to soothe the eyes, the neighbouring apartments with the watchman/car cleaner/errand-runner ALWAYS available, melodious religious songs playing so softly in the background (from some other neighbour's home), that you almost miss it when there are too many vehicles on the road.&lt;br /&gt;Last evening, I stepped out out with a cuppa chai and was soaking in the sights and sounds when I saw that aunty from the apartments. Now, our house entrance opens to the North and what we see of these apartments is the balcony(probably a replacement of the back door of an independent house), the protective iron-railing which can't block the view of the kitchen, the grey fridge with small magnets on it and of course the apron-clad aunty always puttering about between the dining room and the kitchen. &lt;br /&gt;I have ALWAYS seen her in an apron and at times felt wistful that she probably is an awesome cook and yours truly can never even get the salt right in ghar-ka-Dal.&lt;br /&gt;We don't probably realise until we stop and give it a thought that we form opinions of people based on what we see (there's not much else to go on, I know !! :-P).&lt;br /&gt;Now, my opinion of her is that of a cooking-cleaning-don't really care about how I look-apron wearing-housewife. And I sort of have the feeling that she's pretty good at it.&lt;br /&gt;Now, why yesterday was different was because aunty wasn't wearing an apron. And that's why I stopped to think over my perception of her. And oh, there was nothing else different about her, she was wearing some non-decrepit salwar kameez, her oiled-hair was pulled into a tight low pony tail.She walked down to the ground floor, out the corridor leading the gate and I found myself thinking, "Nice, she's going out" and I was sort of disappointed to see her come right back with a circular dish-thing in her hand filled with sand. She had just gone out to get something she could probably use for some kitchen work and immediately, I felt guilty.&lt;br /&gt;I have always sort of known that every person in himself is an achiever. Each one has varied skills/tendencies that make his life special and him even more special.When a aam-aadmi passes by me, he may not catch my eye, but he could be a teacher who liberates young minds daily, he probably has a great imagination and words to transport his students in a land of no-impossibilities. But to my eyes, he's just a old guy on a cycle with faded clothes. The point is, everyone can't show all that they are to everybody all the time. Which gives us a lesser right to form opinions.(Personal opinion :)) &lt;br /&gt;Any hooooooo , back to aunty. &lt;br /&gt;Amidst all the guilt I felt in classifying her into one group and feeling sorry that her life seems so limited, I realised something.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight:bold;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-style:italic;"&gt;I am not going to end up like her 20 years down the line.&lt;/span&gt; &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I dont know what it means. I don't know why I dont want to be like her.&lt;br /&gt;I know that if someone judges me and I fall short of some expectations, I won't hear it, just like that lady won't hear a word from me.&lt;br /&gt;I know that my life will also probably have a lot of cooking and cleaning, its part of life, nothing to shirk from or dislike.&lt;br /&gt;So why did I think "I am not going to end up like her 20 years down the line."&lt;br /&gt;Life is mundane however much we deny it. Daily life is a normal phenomena.Expecting each day to be an epic adventure in itself will leave most people dissatisfied.&lt;br /&gt;I think, I saw in her a resigned attitude towards life, each day passing by meaninglessly until its all over.And that I do not like.&lt;br /&gt;Someday, I hope I will be able to look back and say, "Yup, I got to be what I wanted 20 years ago"&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6317749460558556871-737039953109502240?l=mythsramblings.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://mythsramblings.blogspot.com/feeds/737039953109502240/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6317749460558556871&amp;postID=737039953109502240&amp;isPopup=true' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6317749460558556871/posts/default/737039953109502240'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6317749460558556871/posts/default/737039953109502240'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mythsramblings.blogspot.com/2008/12/some-day.html' title='Some day ...'/><author><name>myths</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11319999108251458321</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6317749460558556871.post-7077050916585978359</id><published>2008-12-12T15:45:00.004+05:30</published><updated>2009-04-03T09:35:26.976+05:30</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Accidents'/><title type='text'>Housemaid's knee</title><content type='html'>Its official. I have Housemaid's knee(Bursitis) . Which in turn translates to me not being able to climb stairs / walk / stand / even sit without pain :( &lt;br /&gt;Am 'resting' the poor knee now having taken a week off from work . Today's my last day off. And I don't miss work. I have actually studied the last couple of days, caught up with some stuff and got myself something that I have wanted since 1998 but never could do it.&lt;br /&gt;Have been living at my mom's, enjoying the comforts of being a child again. I enjoy the conversations with my parents and siblings, its not the same when you talk over the phone or even when you drop in on weekends and spend a couple of hours together.&lt;br /&gt;This is my family, my whole life was literally lived in these 4 walls, all my happy and sad memories, all the laughter, the dreams, the area .. this is what made me me. &lt;br /&gt;I know that this is temporary, I enjoyed re-living something I missed. But it has also made me realise that I have moved on. I am not just a child anymore. I don't know if I really like that.&lt;br /&gt;Sigh.&lt;br /&gt;And my knee, I've consulted 5 allopathy(ic?) doctors and one from Ayurveda. It still hurts like crazy. The only painless period is early morning when I wake up and for almost 4-5 mins I don't realise that I have a right leg. I don't realise that it has to be treated special. I don't remember that I can't put any weight on it, that I have to keep it straight, that if I bend it (it allows me start the day with 'not-so-nice' words ) and worst of all that I can't afford to stub my toe on the bedpost like I usually do ;) &lt;br /&gt;I love those 5 minutes :) &lt;br /&gt;Well, 1-3 months time to heal I believe, say a little prayer for me people. Koi sunlega shayad :) &lt;br /&gt;Pretty please with a cherry on top :)&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6317749460558556871-7077050916585978359?l=mythsramblings.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://mythsramblings.blogspot.com/feeds/7077050916585978359/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6317749460558556871&amp;postID=7077050916585978359&amp;isPopup=true' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6317749460558556871/posts/default/7077050916585978359'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6317749460558556871/posts/default/7077050916585978359'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mythsramblings.blogspot.com/2008/12/housemaids-knee.html' title='Housemaid&apos;s knee'/><author><name>myths</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11319999108251458321</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6317749460558556871.post-8491532419556161031</id><published>2008-12-05T15:10:00.003+05:30</published><updated>2009-04-03T09:35:43.821+05:30</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Work'/><title type='text'>Gems anyone?</title><content type='html'>3.10 pm Boring Friday afternoon. &lt;br /&gt;I am going to get an achievement award at 3.30 for having stayed in this company through thick and thin, mostly thin.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;3.25pm Get up to leave in the middle of a team discussion.Get to know that people who got the award last year were taken out to Grand Ashoka for lunch and given gift vouchers. But people were wondering, with all the recession issues, what would happen this year.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;3.40 pm They got people to collect at the ODC, not even the Cafeteria and no mike on top of all else.&lt;br /&gt;Maybe we were going to just get gems (that's a joke for insiders only :)) &lt;br /&gt;One by one, people collected their certificates and cards where teammates had wished them.&lt;br /&gt;A couple of seniors spoke about how my company is the place where you can be what you want to be. &lt;br /&gt;Which was appreciated. &lt;br /&gt;Until another lady said "This is not a place where people tell you your role and give you deadlines and say you HAVE to do this" &lt;br /&gt;Right! which s/w company would fall under that umbrella.&lt;br /&gt; &lt;br /&gt;7pm I got home and realised, I have 4 years experience and they gave me a certificate for 3 years !!!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6317749460558556871-8491532419556161031?l=mythsramblings.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://mythsramblings.blogspot.com/feeds/8491532419556161031/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6317749460558556871&amp;postID=8491532419556161031&amp;isPopup=true' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6317749460558556871/posts/default/8491532419556161031'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6317749460558556871/posts/default/8491532419556161031'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mythsramblings.blogspot.com/2008/12/gems-anyone.html' title='Gems anyone?'/><author><name>myths</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11319999108251458321</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6317749460558556871.post-3477381976299656535</id><published>2008-12-04T19:57:00.003+05:30</published><updated>2009-04-03T09:36:05.735+05:30</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Shopping'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='DailyStuff'/><title type='text'>Weighty Issues</title><content type='html'>A colleague came back from a 6month onsite stint and says "You've gotten fat. I didn't realise at first glance, but now, yup , definitely" &lt;br /&gt;I go "hmm hmm"&lt;br /&gt;and she says "So how much weight DID you put on? 8-10kgs ?" &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Sigh . &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Last week, that salesgirl who kept giving me clothes in the "L" size, and when I finally got tired and said "Show me the stuff in "M" , she actually said "M wont do for you".&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaargh . &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I know I know, I have realised it, not like I am totally blind. But the funny thing is, when I want to actually control my diet, I seem to crave food more. &lt;br /&gt;Uahahahahahaha . Vicious cycle its getting to be for me.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6317749460558556871-3477381976299656535?l=mythsramblings.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://mythsramblings.blogspot.com/feeds/3477381976299656535/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6317749460558556871&amp;postID=3477381976299656535&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6317749460558556871/posts/default/3477381976299656535'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6317749460558556871/posts/default/3477381976299656535'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mythsramblings.blogspot.com/2008/12/weighty-issues.html' title='Weighty Issues'/><author><name>myths</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11319999108251458321</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6317749460558556871.post-2674724668351656557</id><published>2008-12-03T15:42:00.002+05:30</published><updated>2009-04-03T09:37:07.605+05:30</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Fiction'/><title type='text'>With great power comes .....  a need for solitude</title><content type='html'>The road was poorly lit.There were a couple of street lights but none in working condition.There was a stillness to everything, like it was a picture and not a frame out of real life.An occasional wind was the only change in status.&lt;br /&gt;He looked out the car window. He liked it like that.Once the dust that his wheels kicked up would die down, the place would look like it always had.People were terrified to walk that road in the day leave alone the night.That served him well. He wanted time alone.He didn't need the thousands of voices around him telling him what to do.He came here to listen to his voice, his only way of safekeeping it from being lost in the overcrowded mass that was around him.&lt;br /&gt;No one would be able to single him out from the crowd.They felt he was one of them.He sniggered in contempt.He, one of them, that would be day. Even before the thought faded, he remembered the days when he tried with all his might to be one of them, to fit into them, ever worried that someone might stumble over his secret. Forever safeguarding it.He had never been able to shut it out.That he accepted defeat to.He learnt to use it to his advantage, he learnt to use it such that no one ever caught a whiff of it. &lt;br /&gt;He could hear people's thoughts.&lt;br /&gt;Not much, one could think. Imagine when every moment of your life was crowded with voices. You would try to see who spoke, but there would be no one whose lips were moving, but you could hear it.Imagine walking down a road, a million thoughts crisscrossing the air and all of them telling your brain that it was a sound.He couldn't shut it out.He hadn't found a way to do that.Yet.&lt;br /&gt;So,once in every while, he would come to this run-down supposedly haunted place just to appreciate silence.To look at life like it should have been in his head.&lt;br /&gt;Feeling like a misfit all his life, until the day he realised he was gifted in this special way.His contempt for would never let anyone know of this. The Power was all his to wield.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6317749460558556871-2674724668351656557?l=mythsramblings.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://mythsramblings.blogspot.com/feeds/2674724668351656557/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6317749460558556871&amp;postID=2674724668351656557&amp;isPopup=true' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6317749460558556871/posts/default/2674724668351656557'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6317749460558556871/posts/default/2674724668351656557'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mythsramblings.blogspot.com/2008/12/with-great-power-comes-need-for.html' title='With great power comes .....  a need for solitude'/><author><name>myths</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11319999108251458321</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6317749460558556871.post-5084694290019479539</id><published>2008-12-03T14:34:00.004+05:30</published><updated>2009-04-03T09:37:40.514+05:30</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='I muse upon'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='India'/><title type='text'>Does the mind go that way at all ?</title><content type='html'>I was reading something in the newspaper today , the gist of which was :&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Pakistan needs India to take offense on an(y) issue and threaten it &lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;which in turn will&lt;/em&gt; &lt;br /&gt;justify Pakistan's need to mobilise their armed forces towards the India-Pak border&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;which in turn&lt;/em&gt; &lt;br /&gt;can be used to convince the US that they don't have enough manpower/arms available to control the Taliban/Al-Qaeda/what not &lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;which in turn will &lt;/em&gt; &lt;br /&gt;mean US will provide military assitance to Pakistan &lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;which in turn &lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;means India bloody well be scared of Pakistan now. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;WHY !!! &lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Why for the love of God aren't things simpler?&lt;br /&gt;Why is India still on the defensive????&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6317749460558556871-5084694290019479539?l=mythsramblings.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://mythsramblings.blogspot.com/feeds/5084694290019479539/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6317749460558556871&amp;postID=5084694290019479539&amp;isPopup=true' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6317749460558556871/posts/default/5084694290019479539'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6317749460558556871/posts/default/5084694290019479539'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mythsramblings.blogspot.com/2008/12/does-mind-go-that-way-at-all.html' title='Does the mind go that way at all ?'/><author><name>myths</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11319999108251458321</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry></feed>
