Traveling Sick!

In case I sum up the total distance I traveled last week, the longest train route shall be runners up in comparison! I started from Himachal on 10th, spend more than three hours on the following three days in DTC buses, and on 14th started from Delhi for Orissa; covering a major section on the axis of the seventh largest nation on the planet Earth. The first thing I did as soon as I entered my home was to apply a pain relief ointment on my already heavily swollen butts. They seem to be at rest while I am writing this post. At least they are not stiff any more!

A reprieve from my not so entertaining journey (well 30 hours continuous journey every six months takes a traveler out of even Edmund Hillary; and I am not Edmund Hillary!) were two beauties sitting 16 seats away and all I got as my neighbors were four military men who every five minutes had the habit of sparking an abuse from their mouth. My best moment was when one of the beauties came up to me and said, "excuse me".

Basically I was standing on the way to wash basin so she wanted me to give way.
I smiled and enthusiastically replied with a big smile on my face-“sure!”
Can you sit down with me and have a talk; and did some one ever tell you your nose is indeed very beautiful!

I wanted to stand and stare at her but thought of the scenario and the trouble I might end up in. Minutes later I saw her walking with a hefty body builder who would have rolled the lover/flirter out of me in a single smack! I took the clue and settled upon looking at person who was not injurious to my health. The four military men were at least not injurious till the night came in. They were drunk after that!

Thanks to chronicwriter I became a bathroom writer today(refer to his section on how to deal with competitons in love on post no 366). I wrote two phone numbers on the already wonderful beautiful walls of the Indian Railway bathrooms and added the name of X from my previous post in front of it. I seriously hope those two who at some stage gave me competition are enjoying attending calls from “avid readers”!

I reached home safe and sound. A special thanks to all the naxalites, terrorists, brothers and sisters of Headley, Kasab and alike for not knowing my train number.

First sign of maddness!

I had my final practical last week, and I was forced to believe Chetan Bhagat and Durjoy Datta had a tint of truth when they wrote their novels.

One of my practical final was of Microprocessor. We were group of four who were simultaneously called for viva-voce. I was sitting beside a 9.7 pointer who intermittently went into hysteria of definitions and explanations before the sitting. I was asked the first question,”what is microprocessor?” the question in itself was not difficult but I was expecting something better. I replied,’ err…microprocessor…is a processing unit which accepts input and gives us output. It can perform various logical and mathematical operations like addition, subtraction, multiplication etc…”

The invigilator asked X, the 9.7 pointer, “Would you like to add something?”

“Sure, sir” She took a long breath and fired away an answer similar to a volcano emanating from the mouth of Hungarian Horntail in Harry Potter. She fired in a single breath, “A microprocessor is a multipurpose, programmable, clock driven, register based electronic device that reads binary instructions from a storage device called memory accepts binary data as input and processes data according to those instructions and provides result as output.”

I was just on the verge of taking out my cell and calling the ambulance fearing she was going to have an attack of hypoxia.

My practical are finally over and I have my semesters coming from 2nd December, and I am planning to start the herculean task of studying as soon as I complete this blog. However, believe me it is pretty difficult to study especially when 1)you are surrounded by snow clad mountains who shriek whenever you pick up a course book-“dumb ass it is a crime not to sleep in this weather!”, and 2)when you are in love.

Unfortunately I have both these conditions applicable to me and my latest love is legendary. “Legendary” at its height! [Even Barny Stenson would have gasped after hearing it!] For one her name is Ananya Swaminathan (though I still have problems pronouncing her name properly. I am looking forward to Tamil classes these holidays) and two she is an imaginary girl who surfaced in the fourth book of Chetan Bhagat “two states”.

P.S. 1:-- I don’t need a psychologist or a psychiatrist; and ha in case you know the real person on whom Ananya is based please let me know! At least I can do something about my love problem!(I still have my fingers crossed for my papers and am open for help from the fellows going to sit around me in the semester papers.)

P.S. 2:-X is a real person of my class. I had kept in lieu of X her real name for a few hours, however tending to her objections i had to change it to X.[if you can read between the lines, i am afraid of litigation she might file against me. so better keep bay!]

The Third Hill ffair, or hill affair!!!

Boys are enslaves of two things (I am not talking of Rammuraari Dwivedi. He is an exception to this rule). Girls and the obvious things to be done with them! They earn to get a good girl, they show off to get a good girl, and they fool around to get a good girl. Good here never meant nature!

We had our Hill ‘ffair, our college’s cultural fest, the last week. As clearly the name suggests it is all about an-affair on the hill, or what the name wants to convey is “damn loser go and have an affair”. These three days belonged to two groups of people. The first group hunting someone to present a rose to, and the second group of which I was a part; I shall talk about the second elite group in the ending para.

The prime thing I have learnt this Hill 'ffair is-break your friendship with your friend who is planning to give a rose to a girl! In case he gets ditched he is going to get drunk and make your shoulders a wet handkerchief. One of my friends really did that! I had to abandon my sweater.

The three days of this ‘ffair are full of excitement, joy and being perky, for boys it goes pervy. We, here 'we' are the elite second group of gazers who find constellations and stars on the road rather than the sky. Given a chance with a telescope in an astronomical class, we shall be found focusing it on the girls’ hostel till the teacher bumps our head and makes us believe that spanking can lead to unequal butts! So ‘we’ find our stars on roads, and days and nights hardly make a difference. Gaurav, Davesh and I found a decent spot to star gaze on all the three Hill ‘ffair nights. Our fourth friend could be found sulking in one of the chairs. Thankfully, Davesh’s girl never saw him sitting with me. Bad for him; it was his once in a life time opportunity to be single again; and as far as Gaurav goes I hardly think he will ever manage to get a girl by himself. His godliness of saving water by not taking a bath makes him a special species which graces the earth rarely in centuries.

On a lighter note, our spoof sucked this time. I played the role of Hermoine in my last year Hill ffair, read the blog in which I am wearing a wig. People either were too dumb to catch the missing storyline, or we were too much imaginative while we made it. The only positive thing was we were spared from being hit with rotten tomatoes and eggs, though my friends, who gave me bumps for killing their time, made up for it! I made sure to pass them on to the directors of our spoof.

The fashion parade as usual sucked and it is no news. The dramatics came up with a few good events. They did not forget to joke the names of all the beauties that exist or ever existed in our college, and to come up with so many beauties really surprised me. How come I failed to observe them during my three years in this college! Believe me it is a scarce commodity. As economics puts it-”when supply is less demand is too high”. To put it without beating the bush dramatics just ended up a millimeter short of vulgarity!

One thing that surely catches the attention of all boys of our college is the otherwise not so good looking girls who appear as angels on these three nights. It feels like falling in love with all these girls only for these three nights. As soon as I saw a girl the first thing that crossed my mind was to present her a rose and as I went towards the rose desk, to spend my dad's hard toiled 25 rupees on a single rose, I saw another one worth presenting a flower to making me forget who the first girl was. Oscillating between the dilemma of whom to present a flower to, I used the 25 rupees on a lavishing burger! Though ruing it when I saw the guest colleges coming.

Manish Bhatt made history this hill ffair. He gave thirty different roses to thirty different girls. The flowers got over when he went for the 31st one!

√2 is -"GET OUT FROM THE CLASS"

Wednesday was a pretty happening day...happening in the sense a lot of things happened not as good as I would have wished it to be, yet certainly happenings worth mentioning.

I had a class to attend at morning 10:20. I woke up late and reached the class door at 10:40. The teacher politely ridiculed me by saying, "aren't you a bit too early for the next class?"

The teachers don't realize it is hard to be on time when you have movies to watch till morning wee hours. Moreover, the next class was of a teacher who is named as Vinod with a sobriquet 'Voltage' attached by the geniuses of my class; he is a genius in the field he teaches, and he teaches us moral education and how to build up self esteem in his allotted period of Linear Integrated Circuits. So there was no chance I would come up that eagerly to attend a moral education class, unless my attendance is short.

I passed the rest half an hour ogling at passer-by's, especially if they were girls. The readers please pity the engineering college boys, because IIT's and NIT's have males and non-males. We don't have females.

I entered the class room when the class finished. Took out the Manticore's Secret and continued reading it from the page I had left. Reading to find out what happens next in the book is better than listening to a moral education lecture from 'voltage'. My parents are better suited at this task!

The teacher entered and tuned his brain to the 'sanskar' TV frequency and started a 'mini muraari baapu' show. It was somewhere after a while he caught me not listening to him. By the time he pointed me out and made me stand I shoved the book to the next guy sitting to me. I had been waiting for the exact words to be uttered and he uttered after a few minutes. 'Get out from the class!'

I enthusiastically moved out of the class room. Attendance of the day had been taken, and I was marked present.

Next class was of Digital Image Processing. A hairless guy, hairless not brainless this time, takes our class. He was a 9.5 something pointer when he was in college, and is considered intelligent by a better part of the students community. He is a nerd from my point of view.

I like him as a teacher. At least he teaches what is there in the subject and spares us the agony of listening to moral education lectures. He continued from where he had left in the last lecture. He wrote 'f1(x)=∑√2*f0(x)'

Well, most of the class sits blank in his lecture. His most of the teaching are OTH(over the head). I stood up and asked him how the roots over 2 come into picture. He tried to explain it, however I wasn't able to understand. He said come to my room later on, I will make you understand.

He continued with his teaching and derived two more formulae from the previous formula, and this really irritated me. Nearly ninety percent of the class doesn't know what the equation is, and out of the rest ten percent hardly one boy knows why the root over 2 came, and he continued with deriving the next formula using the √2 equation!

I took out the subject book, and started reading the portion where √2 's explanation was given. He saw me reading it and said, "If you can really understand from the book, why are you attending my lecture? Please leave the room.”

So basically, I was turned out of class twice today. Once for reading a novel and once for reading the book I should have been reading.

In the line of duty!

Truth is stranger than fiction and the least we human can do, not to be surprised and tormented by it, is accept it. The relationship between India and Pakistan which used to be worth a masala film prior to 70's, is presently a fitting story to be a Balaji production. However, situation had had never been so- lets say not friendly, to be modest. There were days when Ashfaqullah Khan followed Gandhi with greater spirit than he ever followed Jinnah.

I, along with my grandfather, am sitting at the Wagah border. Thanks to my brother, who is in BSF we managed to get to the VIP seats. He is going to be a part of the retreat ceremony today, so indeed I am excited.The atmosphere and delivery of slogans at Wagah border is something you can only know by experience. The heat of the situation is palpable to be said the least.

My grandfather is an old man. He was a freedom fighter who lost his left leg in one of the fights against the Britishers. In our childhood days, we often asked him to tell us the stories of his and Mohammad Nabi's adventures. Mohammad Nabi was his fellow comrade who lost his life in Quit India Movement. My grandfather always speaks highly of him. He was a brave man born to parents of a Lahore based family. His family resides in Lahore now. Once after the freedom, my grandfather went to Lahore to meet his old friends and from there he brought a photo of Nabi's family. He was survived by two sons, about whom he learned later on the elder died of some contagious disease. The elder is survived by his only son, who would be of nearly my age.

Both the sides are shouting patriotic slogans to the most their parched throats can afford. Whenever any side bursts into forceful shouts, the other side replies with an even forceful-er shout. The stands are full up to the the brim on Indian side, or rather overflowing. People are standing on iron fences and railings surrounding the stands. The Pakistani stands are pretty full, however a fine number can still be spaced in. Both sides are playing patriotic songs making their respective people dance on the roads. Though girls are common to be seen dancing on Indian side, and reverse is true for across the gate. People are still pouring in on both sides, a good number of foreigners can be seen pouring in from Indian side. The other side lacks it, thanks to their military, militancy and religious idiosyncrasies.

The ceremony has begun, a comrade of my brother is shouting in the mike, held by the anchor of the evening, with a vigor and enthusiasm that seems unending. He said the first word 'squad', with what seemed to be an infinite stretching. The later words were incomprehensible.

Two of the Indian BSF men marched up to the gates. The marching with legs rising higher than their heads got an applauded spectators, however with time passing they became a common feat. The same events were occurring on the other side. A Pakistani Ranger came marching forward with a tantamount vigor, with anger and flared noses as if he is going to over run the gates. Both the soldiers turned coming in front of each other at the gate, and started forming a line at the edges of the their own roads. Similar feat was repeated by other two soldiers.

My brother was of the last two to march. My bristles were standing, and I was getting virtual jolts as he passed in front me and my grandfather. There was a glaze in my grandfather's eyes which we rarely used to see, and the rare moments were when he used to describe his fight against the Britishers. I could see that shine in my brother's eyes now! The glaze which could even send tremors through the Gods of War. Two bearded Pakistani Rangers marched towards the gate.

My brother was the one from India's side who was supposed to bring back the National Flag, and a bearded Ranger from the Pakistan's side was supposed to do the same. Both competed with full gusto to see who shall be the fastest with proper respect.

Both sides folded their respective flags and rolled back to their own buildings. The Retreat Ceremony was over.

I met my brother later, he was sweating and his glaze was fading yet it showed its existence. He came and touched my grandfathers feet and asked him, 'did you see the Pakistani Ranger who was removing the flag?'

My grandfather calmly replied,'was'nt he Nabi's grandson!.'

I was left aghast. My brother knew it the very moment he saw him approaching, yet his ferocity did not dampen at all, and my grandfather to whom he was alike his own grandson did not flinch at all. My grandfather would have done the same if he had been in my brother's place, and if in a fight my grandfather would'nt have a hesitated a bit to slaughter him.

That is what duty is, and that is what truth is!

I want my children to live in a developed India. Do you?

Just a few days back I received a mail subjected as- Kalam's Hyderabad speech. No Indian with a properly balanced head would directly delete it, anyone would at least give it a look(though in some cases, mostly his lectures tend to go OTH (over the head), no offence.Our mind statuses are at a bit different levels). If any one hasn't read contact me I will make it a point to mail it him. People like kalam, Bhagat Singh, Mahatma Gandhi, all had a vision, a common vision to take India to a level where we are no more looked to as the third world! They worked, and Kalam is indeed working till today, I might be surprised if he doesn't ask himself to be buried in DRDO or in ISRO campus.

And on another hand we have people like JE's of Delhi, I don't even consider him worthy enough to remember his name, who never in their life earned more than 40k per month staying in bungalows worth three to four crores. Recently, I was at my maternal uncles house, and he along with his family was invited to a party thrown by the JE of the area. The party was thrown on account that he had bought a new car, to add to his account of already two cars. My uncle is a contractor and I along with you can easily see through how they became acquaintances. Through out the event I was in a rebellious mood, in a mood to shout at all the people in the nation, go and sell your sisters as you have already sold your mother at the petty hands of nickel coins. Still, life teaches you many things, out of that one is to keep your mouth shut at such occasions.

Corruption is prevalent, there are no two views on that. Yet, what are we doing to curtail it? Whenever we go to the market to buy a kilo of potatoes costing us 8 rupees, and we give a ten rupee note to the vendor. Do any one of us leave two rupees and return back? Most probably, none of us. However, we do nothing to know why the road in front of our house is not repaired? Where has the money to be spent in its repairment gone? We simply bitch about the falling standards of the politicians, do we do any thing to put a chain in their necks? We do nothing of that sort. We simply wait for another Medha Patkar to reason our cause and fight for us.

The nation has given us a fundamental right- Right To Information. Please learn about it, and use it. It empowers you to ask the MP of your area how did you spend the money given to you for development. Indirectly you ask him, how did you spend the money I paid as tax. Does any one stop you from speaking in front of the media, or in the street during a street play? None, because Right To speech is known to every Tom, Dick and Harry. Take RTI to that stage. I pray to all the readers next time you don't get your driving license, pass port, No Objection Certificate, Domicile and you think you really deserve it, please don't bribe the bloody scoundrel sitting on the other side of the table. Go for RTI.


(special thanks to Raajev for the Kalam mail, and the MBA students of my college for the RTI workshop)

Happy Birthday !!!

Another day of the calender passed. Another day spent of my life. Another day with a fine blend of emotions and happiness passed. It was a day with nothing exceptional; just as I had thought, yet I am not happy- neither am I sad-well that's how reality is. You accept it without reservations, you don't cry. You don't, time be the savior!

Today was someone special's birthday. I had planned not to call her; well that is how revenge is taken. She hadn't called me on my birthday, I should neither. Yet, as the clock struck a new day, the phone was in my hands and the number was dialed. For two consecutive years I had been the first person to wish her birthday, but this time it was the third-third are usually different! Her phone was busy.

Ego is a wonderful thing. Wonderful in a sense, gives you a momentary satisfaction that I am right. Well as the so afore-defined 'right' wanted I didn't try the second time. She called after five minutes and the 'right' state again ruled- I didn't pick up the phone.

Well as I said the day had been a mix of emotions and happiness. Now coming to the happiness part- my youngest maternal uncle's wife gave birth to a fine daughter. It's a child born in their house after a time period of 27 years.

By the way in case you are wondering what happened next in the earlier incident- I called her after a five minutes gap. No personal chat. No olden days recalled. No personal talks done. Only birthday wishes!

The Furthest I Can Recall!

All kids are gifted; some just open their packages earlier than others and those who are helped to open do something which I did- they CRY! Seeing my sister running for a different school, faint pictures of my first day at school brought a true smile on my so otherwise face. With some help from my father, I am able to paint a proper picture along with the emotions that waved that day.

I was truly a kid, only four years old. If you look at me now you shall surely hang me for lying. Presently, four year oldies appear some sort of cherubs to me; at that age they were no less than devils that parade the hell. My mother woke me up, and after a proper brushing and bath she started dressing me. It was then that I started muttering-“nahi jaana.” Throughout the breakfast I kept on saying, sometimes in fainter inaudible voices and some times in pleading voices-“papa, please nahi jaana; mummy nahi jaana…”

It was a mixture of fear of staying away from home for the first time, and being surrounded by some one or rather so many that you did not know. Moreover, I was conned by rote not to do anything that troubled the teacher. In my dictionary of deeds everything I did troubled my mom, so everything I deed was bound to trouble the teacher. In other words, I had to do nothing. In short, you were being captivated without fetters, without cuffs, and you were being silenced without gags.

Taking in his arms (read as “making sure I don’t flee”), my father took me to the school. As soon as I saw the gates I started breaking the hell in my father’s arms. I was crying someone similar to a baby, who shall not stop unless given the exact thing needed; and I needed freedom from the approaching fear. My crying was so impressive that people in the streets halted to watch me. Brutus at his best- convincing Romans (here father). My crying became so furious that my father got agitated and carried me back home.

Seeing me being back at home, my mother and her neighbor friend asked what happened. On being answered, the neighbour had a good laugh. She calmly replied, “bhaiyaa…take him back. Everyone cry their first day. My son had to be forcefully seated in his class, with the teacher holding him back while my husband left.”

On seeing my father taking me back the same track, I again started having the same sinking feeling. I did not wish to go; my innards were being filled with the exposed fear of being surrounded by so many unknown people. The same scene returned. The school gate-my cries-the people halting. However this time my father took me inside. I cried till we reached the school grounds after that I stopped. Got down from my father’s arms. Carefully released myself from his grip and said, “papa…ab main khud chala jaaunga.”

My father gave me a sweet smile and pointed at the class where I had to go. I was in all probability reddening under the gazes of other children and parents staring at me, feeling a bit clumsy I started walking to my class. He remained standing there, till when I have no idea and I have not asked him till date and neither shall I ever do; marveling most probably at his son- “how soon they grow? Till yesterday, he used wasn’t able to walk two steps and today he is going to school for the first time.”

At noon, he was standing at the same spot. I ran and hugged him, as if I was seeing him after a lot many days. Even he hugged me, and we both started walking back home- hand in hand. However, I never asked him and most probably ever shall not- “did he stay there the whole morning? “

Another side of clouds...

The dimming Sun;
the covering clouds;
The running nun;
the hiding prouds.
They come. They come.

The approaching shack;
the threatening glare.
The unblemished black;
the ripping snare.
They come. They come.

The godly fight;
the titian clash.
The situation tight.
Smaller vanquish flash.
They come. They come.

The thunderous sound;
the erected hair.
The frightful pound.
the pissing mare.
They come. They come.

The harsh gale,
the creaking oaks.
The people pale,
the palpable shocks.
They come. They come.

The crying child.
The frightened mother.
The fever mild,
the sleeping father.
They come. They come.

The raining fast;
The pelting harsh.
The seeds cast
turn into marsh.
They come. They come.

The waiting farmers;
the bathing boy.
The God's dreamers
in dancing joy.
They come. They come.

The umbrellas over,
the raincoats on.
Life stops never-
dusk or dawn.
They come. They come.

The parched farm;
the drought land-
Moved by charm.
Rains outside band.

The people wait
for another day,
when opens gate
clouds rain may.
They came, they came.
Never water came.

I have an explanation...

#what if Rahul Gandhi becomes India's prime Minister?

Firstly, he will dissolve the passing systems of exams and make sure politicians children are given a lower pass percentage, and Gandhi's(not the real ones, the reel ones) don't need to appear in papers.Secondly, he wants to sue the examiners who corrected his higher secondary papers and failed him.

#why Mayawati wants to become India's prime minister?



firstly, it has been a long time since she did some scam; secondly, her locker is already filled with Gujrati diamonds, she wants to try a hand at South African ones.





#Why Mulayam Singh doesn't want to become India's Prime Minister?



He has been very well taught by his holiness Amar Singh, not to keep false hopes as they tend to cause heart attacks in case of failures.





#what if Mamta Banerjee becomes India's Prime minister?



A ban for Tata, in complete India.(You fu**ed my case in Singur, i will f**k ur case in India!)

# why is Dr. kalam still optimistic about 2020 vision?

well, he is India's missile man and whatever he speaks are at a height of 20,000 feet. Naturally, it takes time for truth to travel against gravity. It will surely reach him one day, i am still optimistic...

#Why was Aishwariya given a Padmashree?

In all probability, to shorten the journey of this award from entertainment to politics.

*the most beautiful reply of the century-"i got it because i deserved it"(Aishwarya Rai)*

Thank god Jenna Jameson never belonged to India!

#when is India going to win a football major tournament?

Only when a south-asian quota comes into existence, and lesser chance when the referee is bought.(Lesser chance with the second choice since football referee's are never Indian.)

#Why was Jagdish Tytler set free?

Simply, because he has a swiss bank account, and so does the cabinet ministers.



#Why none of the CPM's politicians are billionare?

Because, they have a huge family with not so small bank balances.

#Why did Prathibha Patil become India's president?

(please send me a reply..I seriously need one!!!)

The award known as- Oscar

Finally ,as usual as any other year, another movie was sent for National Academy awards, however unusual of any other year this time it won!The point is not whether it deserved or not, indeed it was a movie well made, well directed and well acted; however it has been the same case with a dozen earlier movies sent for this so-much coveted award.Even they were made and acted with equal excellency and in some cases they were better.

The reason i attribute to why Slumdog Millionare won is, forgive me to be so blatant,it showed the world the poverty of India; it showed the world we have a slum named Dharavi famous for being the greatest slum region in Asia- a living place for a million. Mumbai the financial capital of the Great India with a population of over 10 million has slum pockets which cover a mere 6% of the land in Mumbai, hold 60% of the population. This means that those tiny slum enclaves hold a staggering 6 million people. India which half an century ago was a despicable land worth sneering and mocked at- thanks to the Britishers, has started giving frowns to a major of economies, and how can the same economies stop making a mock of our nation when they have a chance.

The underbelly of India, Daharavi and all slum pockets have once again come into fore being and the purpose of Oscar which should have been appreciating the hard work and master work of our technicians and artists has appreciated the casteism, corruption, and poverty of our nation; and have proved that- India you are just a third world country, with pretensions of becoming a super power.If you want to win an Oscar go on one of these lines which actually breathe in every of its nook and corner; while the producers and directors of other countries can adopt a book and win Oscars.

My First Date...

Ironically, the date has taken the copy rite to write the blog;and she has asked for two years to pen it down...(a day, virtually, for each word); so i have to either coax her to write it faster, which in all probability is an impossibility, not that i cannot coax but herself getting coaxed is surely an; or have to wait for two years, which indeed requires a lot of patience and i am planning to harbor it, or when she fails to deliver her words i will have to write it down myself....

so, "my first date" to be written two years hence...

Fixing An Unwanted Outcome;

English language is not yet so developed so as to express emotions explicitly. As a matter of fact, no language is. The language of truth is flat and insipid; it fails to express fine touches of sensuality and delicate fibres of likings and caring which wake you up at midnights. I speak to you the same truth, but also want you to know that those de3licate fibres matrix my thoughts and deeds. Liking is the first step towards loving someone. Sometimes some people take decisions that are irrational, and as a consequence shed more tears than joy enjoyed. I am rational enough to smile more than tears shed, and i expect you to be rationaler than me and pay heed to everything listened, but filter them using your own wisdom. After all, we are as Nature made us, and nature never does anything for the hack of doing it. It is ultimate reason and rationality. The best teacher to learn anything from!

As far as Nature’s plans and decisions for me are concerned, I never wanted to hear them; though a person accessed to it surprises me. However it troubles me better than surprising me. So I prefer a safer distance. If someone superior has already written our destiny, I at least want to be under the impression that I wrote mine myself.

In link to yesterday, i would like to say- I am sorry! I was unable to decipher what you wanted to know and you were unable to make out what i wanted to say.

Apologies, if offended;
dated-4/02/2009.