tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-67353884154967938792024-03-21T15:51:54.983-07:00Untitled-1Poornimahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14488125122915339737noreply@blogger.comBlogger13125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6735388415496793879.post-11437162793305743782013-12-31T02:02:00.002-08:002014-01-12T20:50:02.396-08:008 hours, 90 kms. <div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgMw_0gj2rFT0NZDrbhrqimmDB8Q7upKRf0CSbdWYlzZC7cdLe4y5Jvc8t_UiT_ITg4YGjdLUaiOHXdRG1g9dEQWfu4X4mMJqpGiZR6fK0hAXlgdVPjjJZ7p7iB4FN3sO3Emp86GzezQyEr/s1600/738304_4844661750284_210447982_o.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgMw_0gj2rFT0NZDrbhrqimmDB8Q7upKRf0CSbdWYlzZC7cdLe4y5Jvc8t_UiT_ITg4YGjdLUaiOHXdRG1g9dEQWfu4X4mMJqpGiZR6fK0hAXlgdVPjjJZ7p7iB4FN3sO3Emp86GzezQyEr/s640/738304_4844661750284_210447982_o.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
<br />
Like a promised season's sale, I have yet another post for new year's eve.<br />
But instead of describing my non-existent crazy party plans for tonight, I have a little story to recount.<br />
A little something on how I started 2013.<br />
<br />
Very simply put, I cycled my way into 2013, which lead to an amazing night, an interesting year and an incredibly tiring 1st January.<br />
The idea of cycling when the clock strikes 12 came to us(read two of my jobless friends and me), in the week that led up to 31st Dec'12. Because we had to be different in how we welcomed 2013 and more so because we were too broke to really do anything else, we decided that we would cycle away. Destination, Khadakwasla dam which is 25kms from Pune. <br />
<br />
We started bang at midnight and by 3 A.M we were 20 kms down. But like every entertaining story there was a twist in ours as well.<br />
Cops. Two of them and really angry one's.<br />
They were barking mad at us, wondering how we thought of this as a safe idea.<br />
What was more, they sent us packing and all our plans went kaput.<br />
<br />
But the night was still young and we hadn't had our fill. A change of destination, from a scenic dam to widespread fields in the village of Manjari.<br />
Peddling away in the dead of the night, halting at Pizza Hut and way too many sidewalks for us to keep track off, we trudged along.<br />
For the final climax, we lost our way, courtesy the ever helpful GPS system.<br />
<br />
In spite of all that we made it, to a long stretch of tar road, with tall green grass fields on either sides, the sun of 2013 rising above us and the cool breeze refreshing our spent faces.<br />
Sitting in some unknown farmer's field, eating our way through chocolates and cakes and feeling the mellow heat of the January sun on our backs was a different celebration altogether.<br />
The journey back may have been excruciatingly tiring, we may have lost all feeling in our legs and the thought of touching a cycle again for month might have been revolting but the <br />
fact that it was worth it is undisputed.<br />
<br />
We may shudder now at the thought of cycling again for 8 hours and 90 kms but this little excursion left us with one very happy memory, a bunch of anecdotes and a playful smile for when someone mentions Manjari. <br />
<br />
To the yellow streetlights, to the lonely streets of Pune, to a queer celebration, to the company of friends, to adding a tale to the "craziest things I've done in my life" list and to a memorable new year's eve.<br />
<br />
Lets hope tonight has a new story in the making for me and for the two friends whose company I yearn for and are miles away. More importantly lets hope I don't take another year to recount a new year story!<br />
<br />
To the last of 2013 and the beginning of 2014, cheers!<br />
<br /></div>
Poornimahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14488125122915339737noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6735388415496793879.post-55098605107666455092013-09-04T15:28:00.002-07:002013-09-06T03:59:10.022-07:00Hit Pay Dirt<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
According to Google search results, hitting pay dirt is getting great riches or discovering something of value.<br />
More simply put its winning the jackpot.<br />
<br />
Well this piece of writing is a result of caffeine infused insomnia, tons of unfinished work, surprisingly fast hostel Wi-Fi (lets hope mentioning this here doesn't jinx it) and finally the realization of what "I've hit pay dirt" really feels like.<br />
<br />
You know those moments where you're leading up to a solution for a math problem, the sketchy outlook of an English essay, finally getting to understand some physics theory or more so in my context idea-ting for a design concept.<br />
<br />
If you ask me to describe it in a Hollywood screenshot, award winning cinematography kind of way then yes, I will paint a very exhilarating picture.<br />
But between you and me, that one moment does feel like a light bulb glowing around your head with the animated "ching". Its that moment where you know what exactly is going to make your project work. How unbelievably amazing or not the idea is takes the secondary position here. The feeling when you get that half baked, promising thought in your head, when you finally get that brainwave is more important.<br />
<br />
You don't always get that with every project you know. In my 3 years of design school, I've been there fairly few times. You'd think being a designer in her final year, this moment should come to me more often but you'd be surprised to know that it isn't very often for a designer to get there really.<br />
<br />
To me personally, its something to be cherished. It's a short-lived, barely countable in seconds feeling that suddenly makes you see things right.<br />
<br />
Which is why I like to describe it in the way Shakespeare describes the falling of an apple from a tree.<br />
<br />
It's like that gush of chocolate that flows into your mouth when you take the first bite of a warm chocolate donut.<br />
It's that breeze that refreshes you on a hot summer afternoon.<br />
It's the smell of coffee when you take the first sip.<br />
It's that second of eye contact with your crush.<br />
It's the sight of money in an old wallet you didn't know you had.<br />
That feeling when you cut the first slice of your birthday cake, that feeling when you see your mark sheet and realize you haven't failed, that feeling of sudden happiness when you see the piece of puzzle that solves the whole picture.<br />
<br />
It's a comet that you almost saw, the ceiling that you almost touched.<br />
The catch that you were almost going to miss or as my brother would call it, the shoot that almost didn't make it to the goalpost.<br />
<br />
Ask me why I make such a big deal out of this?<br />
Because even if you go on to spend nights and days on making the cleanest presentation, the best graphics and the smartest strategy, none of it would've come together if not for that one moment.<br />
<br />
And all I want is one of those moments everyday.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br /></div>
Poornimahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14488125122915339737noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6735388415496793879.post-50596333280135913242013-03-07T23:43:00.000-08:002013-03-07T23:43:15.439-08:00For Taishi<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 16px; line-height: 18px;">As a young
kid, you were one of the first friends I had. I have always remembered you as
my very first best friend even though the two of us couldn’t spend a lot of
time together owing to my dad’s transfer to Hyderabad.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 16px; line-height: 18px;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">I remember
you as a cute, chubby, boy cut haired girl who lived two storey’s above me. I
remember coming up to your place to play with building blocks or the kitchen
set. Our mothers would drop us to school every morning where we mostly sat
together and played together. The memories of busy bee’s play school, learning
in that hut like classroom and playing in the orchard are probably my best
times as a child. And your presence in those memories makes them even more
special. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Remember how all us kids would meet every evening to play in the
buildings garage. I remember marching in the most humorous manner to the tune
of “Sandese aate hain”. When I did leave Bangalore I wasn’t very sure about how
much I would be missing you. After all we were kids then and there wasn’t much
we could do about it except remembering each other.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">You had once
come down to my place in Hyderabad and I had been so excited to see you then.
In spite of meeting each other after about 6-7 years or so we both still shared that old camaraderie. We had seen Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets at
Abhinav bhaiya’s place. We discovered that we both loved Harry Potter and Enid
Blyton. Looking back now I wish we had stayed in contact because I am sure we
would have jelled well.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">I probably
never had a heart to heart with you the way I have with my friends now and that
somehow doesn’t matter. The age we knew each other in never needed heart to
hearts for two young minds to connect. I might not know you as well as your
other friends do but your sad demise leaves a hole in my heart.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">When mom
told me about you I had nothing to say. 18 is too tender a year and life seems
to have wronged you. Still, you’ve spread enough happiness and smiles in those
18 years.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">I hope to
meet you again in a new life as my first best friend and hope to remain as the
last one.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">You are
missed dear old girl.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Rest in
Peace.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
Poornimahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14488125122915339737noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6735388415496793879.post-66658061896189535792013-01-18T23:25:00.001-08:002013-01-19T03:03:42.184-08:00Escapades of a Pen Drive<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<span style="line-height: 18px;">I lay nice
and shiny in a plastic case resting on a rack at an electronic store along with
more of my clan.</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 115%;">We were up
for discounts, it was the festive season. Personally, I don’t see why we should
be given away at a discounted price. For our size, function and ease of use we
should be selling like hot cakes. But here we were waiting for a customer to
pick us. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 115%;">And that’s
where I was wrong, I expected all of us to be bought together and never foresaw
that there was a possibility of us being separated. Well as it was meant to be,
my family was packed off to some conference where they would be handed out in
bulk and sadly enough I did not make it in that group.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 115%;">All alone I
looked on waiting to be owned by someone, in search of a new family of other
kinds of electronics.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 115%;">And that’s
when she entered the store accompanied by her father. As she approached to
where I was, I heard her dad tick her off saying he </span><span style="line-height: 18px;">wouldn't</span><span style="line-height: 115%;"> buy her more pen
drives after this one. Said she’d lost enough number of them and he’d spent a
fortune replacing each lost one.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 115%;">That did not
sound like a very good omen to me but alas, she took a fancy to me and I found
a new owner, who seemed to be a rather forgetful one.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 115%;">Soon my
fears were realized as she happened to be quite a scatterbrain. The first few
days she was quite careful about not leaving me behind or loosing me somewhere.
But two weeks down and she became her forgetful self. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 115%;">The Xerox
shop, computer lab, cyber </span><span style="line-height: 18px;">cafe</span><span style="line-height: 115%;"> some friend’s laptop and there were also times
when I would lie buried in the depths of her bag out of reach and out of sight.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 115%;">In the many
of escapades of mine I made new friends, laptops, printers, mouse and
keyboards. There was also a fair share of my counterparts to flirt with.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 115%;">On all those
occasions when I was lost to her and she was in a frenzy trying to locate me, I
would be having the time of my life being the Casanova.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 115%;">And so my
adventures continued.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 115%;">One such
day, she was in a hurry to submit her assignments and so took a quick print out
and dumped me along with her some other belongings in a carry bag. I was a
little apprehensive and knowing her well she had all the chances of leaving the
bag behind.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 115%;">What was
more, she did exactly as I thought she would. And of all the places that she
could’ve left the bag in, she did so in an ATM.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 115%;">An ATM where
people come and go every few minutes and there was a good possibility of the
bag being dumped in the bin as something suspicious or being taken away by some
random passerby.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 115%;">Added to
that I could sense the presence of the ominous ATM machine, it stood there
majestic and intimidating its eyes boring into mine. Something told me that
sooner or later I would either be stolen by a stranger or be engulfed in the
huge machine. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 115%;">For the
first time in all my ramblings I wished my owner would find me. As air headed
as she was, she cared for me and would always come looking for me. I found
myself wishing to be reunited with her probably as much as she would when she
realized she had lost me again.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 115%;">And then I
saw a tiny ray of hope as one of her friend’s entered the ATM. If she noticed
the bag and recognized the contents as her friends then there could be a chance
of our reunion.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 115%;">I sat there
hoping against hope. And dramatically enough she did notice the bag and picked
it up to check the insides. The exasperated look on her face said that she knew
this was my owner’s bag.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 115%;">And so after
all the waiting I was reunited with my dear forgetful owner who was delighted
at the sight of me and so was I. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 115%;">But the
worst was yet to come. So flustered was her friend with my owner that she
decided to adorn me with a hideous pink ribbon so my mistress would not be able
to take her eyes of me. I looked on helplessly as I was dressed in the
atrocious flimsy piece of cloth.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 115%;">Gone were
the days when I could flirt around with pretty pen drives. All for a sense of
belonging and the hope to not be left behind one more time.</span><br />
<br />
<br />
P.S: Let's give you a little background about this particular piece. So I have this roomie who is a complete scatterbrain. She manages to forget every single thing under the earth.<br />
We all have these times when we walk into a room and forget what we went in for.<br />
In case of my roommate this is an everyday story.<br />
She is a forgetful, silly old girl, but a very darling one at that.<br />
And this is the story of her pen drive. Her pen drive that has faced the wrath of her unbinding memory.</div>
</div>
Poornimahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14488125122915339737noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6735388415496793879.post-68514870000388349152013-01-15T05:32:00.003-08:002013-01-15T22:25:41.053-08:00Encore<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 115%;">Friday, 11<sup><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">th</span></sup>
January 2013: <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 115%;">A not so
cold, breezy evening that saw the whole of SID, 1<sup><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">st</span></sup>, 2<sup><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">nd</span></sup>,
3<sup><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">rd</span></sup> and 4<sup><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">th</span></sup> years turn up as one and celebrate the
beginning of their annual cultural fest Fundamental.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 115%;"><br />The idea was
simple, an open mic night called ‘Encore’ where anyone could do anything that
they wanted to. Singer or dancer, actor or trickster, confident or nervous,
talented or not the stage had no limits- just a chance to make the crowd go
once more.<br /><br /><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 115%;">We started
with a classical dance performance by a meek first year followed by more dance
performances. There was salsa, hip hop, belly dancing and a little squish of
bollywood. So overwhelmed was our anchor with the performances that he couldn’t
resist joining in.<br /><br /><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 115%;">As the
evening progressed we saw one of the third years rap an Eminem with gripping
accuracy, saw a group of first years put up a flash mob cum dance performance,
heard a fair few melodious voices and were blown away by the performances of
bands like Same Shit Different Day and J.O.E.<br /><br /><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 115%;">Between the
strumming guitars and mic checks, there was some cheesy leg pulling by the
anchor with rather witty comebacks from the audience. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 115%;">Meanwhile,
we had also a couple of bikes burning their tires in the presence of a Harley
Davidson revving its engine as the crowd watched on with excitement.<br /><br /><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 115%;">We wrapped
up the night with the super seniors on the guitar singing their last in
college. An evening well spent, a stage
jam-packed, this is what Encore was all about.<br /><br /><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 115%;">But the fun
has just begun and to be a part of our crazier fest, tune in to Fundamental at SID
on 8<sup><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">th</span></sup>, 9<sup><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">th</span></sup> and 10<sup><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">th</span></sup> Feb’13.<br /><a href="http://www.facebook.com/FDMfest?ref=ts&fref=ts">http://www.facebook.com/FDMfest?ref=ts&fref=ts</a><br /><br /><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 115%;">Let the mental side take over you!<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 18pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></span></div>
</div>
Poornimahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14488125122915339737noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6735388415496793879.post-84762575943583026412012-12-16T18:59:00.004-08:002013-01-15T22:25:23.157-08:00Winters In South India<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
So here's my little something to the chilly months ahead of us.<br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 115%;">As I start talking about winter you might think that I
am one those fool proof Delhiites or a Kashmiri or perhaps a rich brat from a
cliff facing cottage in Shimla. It so happens that I am not any of the above
mentioned and nor do I fit the bill of a typical north Indian who has seen the
extremities of cold.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 115%;">But of course, if I am not a person
right out of the capital then how can I talk about the cold. For a person who
has never lived in the north, has spent her life in six different cities of
South India and is presently a hostelite in pune, winter should be something
alien right?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 115%;">Don’t our dear north Indian friends
keep bragging about their chilly winters, with freezing days and arctic nights?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 115%;">Often we hear them describing the
taste of “garam jalebis” or how we need to wear layers of clothes and how you
can’t see anything at the distance of five meters because of the fog.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 115%;">Jealous though I feel, I think winter
is not something you can enjoy only when you are bundled up under tons of wool
or when the water turns to ice in the tap. Having lived all my life in Southern
India I wouldn’t say that I missed out on the winter fun.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 115%;"> Hyderabad, with its cozy mornings and
unsettling coolness, the pleasant evenings with it’s by the by winds that I
spent on Necklace Road are something that I can never forget. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 115%;">As a young kid I remember going for
evening plays in the Cubbon park of Bangalore wearing a thin sweater and still
enjoying the longer evenings.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 115%;"> The wintry mornings that I spent on the
beaches of Chennai, inhaling the salty air and sipping the coconut water may
not be the usual winter routine but is a treat in itself.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 115%;">Mumbai may not be freezing as such but
the cold air that stings your face in train travel which makes the vada pav
even tastier is a different winter all together.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 115%;">Tell me, is it necessary for the
weather to be ice cold for us to relish the taste of hot momos, to enjoy a long
sweat less run, to feel lazy in your bed or get excited to wear a nice smart
jacket. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 115%;">Isn’t
winter just another mood of the weather? <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 115%;">Not depressing, nor exactly happy. Perhaps
that time of the year when the climate is lost in its own reverie. It’s the
time when the year looks back at its younger self and realizes it has to come
to an end. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 115%;">I think we can all enjoy snuggling up
in our own warm blankets and eat through the suddenly grown appetite without
the temperature boasting off a minus sign ahead of it. Sitting in my hostel
room with a stationary fan, wearing a warm hoodie, with the mercury levels
decreasing and enjoying whatever “thandi” South India has to offer I feel the
taste of garam chai or the aroma of hot coffee would be the same even if the
weather men don’t predict zero vision for the night. <span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 12pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></span></div>
</div>
Poornimahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14488125122915339737noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6735388415496793879.post-19289954533978816732012-07-25T20:46:00.002-07:002012-07-25T20:48:06.209-07:00Inconvenience Regretted<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<div>
Once I was walking down a heavily dug up road that had been like that for well over six months. The workers had dug up most of the road for some municipal work and showed no signs of patching it up anytime soon.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Ironically they had their usual 'Inconvenience Regretted' board placed on the pavement.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
The state of the road showed no regret and thats when the idea of this scribble came to me. It's not much just a little sketch of the road and that board with a slight change.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiIw4anbnuUG723l83D-Ib5n89qXwMEPaxW64f6zrVnUgOw2Eyea_nKu91eUpuyfOb35stlnCAFCImJPf2PUW212zfXC2CjpkSQOeWy-TVHZVaEdSQdKhd1AIgOV2kT4yEMTIOMRHIVCm2l/s1600/Inconvenience+regretted.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiIw4anbnuUG723l83D-Ib5n89qXwMEPaxW64f6zrVnUgOw2Eyea_nKu91eUpuyfOb35stlnCAFCImJPf2PUW212zfXC2CjpkSQOeWy-TVHZVaEdSQdKhd1AIgOV2kT4yEMTIOMRHIVCm2l/s640/Inconvenience+regretted.jpg" width="432" /></a></div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
The board somehow makes a lot more sense to me now.</div>
</div>Poornimahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14488125122915339737noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6735388415496793879.post-70773887003995774862012-07-25T10:12:00.000-07:002013-03-27T02:33:22.225-07:00Not your average assignment.<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 16px; line-height: 18px;">The place
smelt of burnt wood and ashes, there were trees everywhere and way too many
crows. The ground was damp with rain and
scattered with leaves and twigs. A never ending silence enveloped the place
broken only by the cry of a crow or human.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 16px; line-height: 18px;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">It was
peaceful yes, but with a certain unpleasantness that did not quite make it
peaceful.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">As we
approached the parking lot the first person we came across had an earthen pot
covered with a white cloth in his hand. You might take a guess at what was in
the pot. But once you know where we were standing you won’t need a guess.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">The pot had
ashes, ashes of a burnt human body, a dead body.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">And we were
standing in a Hindu Crematorium.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">And what
took us there, an assignment. To improve our observation skills two of our
teachers decided to divide the class in pairs of two and each team was sent to
different places for observation. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">My teammate
and I got the queerest one, a crematorium. A place where we had no reason to be
and where it could be considered rude to poke around just like that.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">But there we
were, confused and out of place and wondering how and why we got here. Where do
we look and what do we observe in a place where the dead are sent on their
final journey. As we went ahead we saw that unlike the Hindi movies where the
dead bodies are always cremated in an open ground and the mourners are always
in white, this place had neither the open space nor people clad in white.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">It was like a place specially built for this
purpose, the whole process of cremation itself was institutionalized</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 16px; line-height: 18px;">. There were long, high sheds that had chambers to place the dead in,
pile it up with wood and then burn it. The workers were busy preparing for a
funeral or cleaning up after one. Their duties were mundane, their job
saddening but the complete absence of emotion and their immunity towards it was
startling.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">And you
can’t even blame them for that attitude. For us as first time spectators there
was a lot to feel for but for them this is their income. Dead bodies, ashes,
shaved heads and swollen eyes they’ve seen enough to not feel anymore.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">Barely ten
minutes in the place and a procession of people walked in. Six people ahead
were carrying a dead body heavily laden with flowers. We could see the feet of
the body, it was a man. A troop of fifty or so people followed them. Only a
handful was in white. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">I looked at
my own clothes, too bright for a place like this.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">Death, I suppose,
numbs the heart and head to not be able rationalize for a while. In white or
not they had come their heads bowed and eyes uncertain.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">Surprisingly
enough there were not many tears or howls. The ones who performed the last
rites looked too shaken to show much emotion. I guess the idea of comprehending
with a death takes time to sink in.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">One of the
workers was busy preparing for the cremation. The pundit who had come with the
procession was reciting mantras. The flowers that had been all over the body
were thrown away unceremoniously and lay there discarded. The last rites were performed and the
flame grew higher. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">We watched
standing away from the crowd who had now lost interest in the funeral and were
giving us stealthy glances wondering if we were reporters or artists.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">I stood
looking mesmerized not by any beauty but by the fact of life. That person
might’ve meant so much to so many people. Hours before his death he had a name
to be called with but now he was only a dead body. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">The flames
grew higher and the crows were swarming in at the dead. We looked away and did
not say much on our way back to the parking lot.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">There were
some people who were feeding the crows with some kind of dish. It is said that
if the crow eats the dish then the dead person’s wishes have been fulfilled.
These people were all in white and teary eyed. It had sunk in.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">Death, the
word itself has so much certainty. It’s final, decided and inevitable. You
can’t run away from it and nothing can help you do that. When questioned in
class about what my experience was like, I had no way of describing it.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">It was
peaceful like death should be but it was eerie like the idea of death is.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
</div>
Poornimahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14488125122915339737noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6735388415496793879.post-58218781785602669422012-04-11T00:37:00.001-07:002012-08-09T22:43:13.308-07:00The Bucket List<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 16px; line-height: 18px;">When I grow up, when am older, when I am a big girl so on and so forth.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 115%;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small; line-height: normal;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 18px;">Bucket lists, consciously or not we've</span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small; line-height: normal;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 18px;"> all made them.</span></span></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 18px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 16px;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 18px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 16px;">The weather is hot, I am highly bored and have nothing else to do so I guess I’ll be jotting my bucket list down for my own record.</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 18px;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">I want to go to the Harry Potter Wizarding Park. I want to visit Hogsmeade and Diagon Alley, have Butter Beer and Bertie Bott’s every flavored bean, fly on a broom and walk in the forbidden forest.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">I want to go to Green Gables in Canada. For those who have read or seen Anne of Green Gables, this would make sense. I want to live on Prince Edward Island and walk in the woods.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">After reading ‘The Kite Runner’ and ‘The Colour Purple’, going and living in Kabul and Africa have been on my list. It may be because of the way the authors have described the places but ever since I’ve read them, the two places hold some level of fascination for me.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">When I was in my 8<sup>th</sup> standard I had been in NCC- Air Force and like any other starry eyed kid, I wanted to become a Pilot. I don’t know if I can ever become one but I would love to learn flying for sure. I want to do Sky Diving and Bungee Jumping. I want to take a dip in the Mediterranean Sea and come face to face with a shark. All of this under controlled circumstances of course, there is a lot more on list you see.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">Once in a plane, on my way to Bangalore I had been flipping through the magazine the airlines provide. I read about this little country called Andalucía, near Spain. The country so charmed me that I'd love to go and live there for a while.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 18px;">I've</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium; line-height: normal;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"> always wanted to travel the world. One of my most farfetched dreams is going to every single country on the map. Even if it is for just a day or even visiting the airport will do.</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">I want to be able cook good food and play some musical instrument. I’ve always wanted to play the guitar but never came around to learn how to do it. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">I want to have a house of my own and I’d want to design that myself.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">I want to open a spa of my own and design a whole new experience for people. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">I also want to start up a boarding school along with my father in a little town where my parents were born.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">I want to own a fancy car and a beach house, a little cottage on the cliff side and a cozy little summer house. I know for a fact that it might take me two lives to earn money of that sort to own all those things. Which is why I sometimes joke about catching some big fish and marrying him. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">I want to learn horse riding, go river rafting, adopt a little girl and do PhD in literature. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">I have no idea how many of these things I might be able to do but I guess the one thing that I want the most is what I’ll be writing next. I believe that of all the things that I want to do, this is something I can surely manage.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">I want to live in a house of my own where there are books stacked three deep in the shelves. Where country music is played all day long and Kishore Da sings through the night. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">Where the air smells of good food and the fridge is full of chocolate. The gardens are full of lilies and the path lined with Gulmohar trees. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">The mornings are spent in the verandah having coffee and reading the newspaper. The evenings on the porch sipping wine and talking of good old days. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">The place is full of squishy cushions and comfy armchairs.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">Where there are footsteps of friends and family and the walls are lined with framed sepia photographs. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">Where there is love and laughter, happiness and sorrow, confessions and celebrations, moments of retrospections. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">And that little house tops my ever growing bucket list. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
</div>Poornimahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14488125122915339737noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6735388415496793879.post-87515110347094667112012-01-29T00:18:00.001-08:002012-04-21T20:27:23.993-07:00To Being Young<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">We are young, we run free<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">Stay up late, we don’t sleep<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">Got our friends, got the night<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">We’ll be alright.</span></i><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"><br />
</span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">I have no idea why but I’ve been hooked to this song for the past two days now. One of the reasons could be my fast approaching birthday. Come Monday I will be celebrating my 19<sup>th</sup> and last teen birthday. With all my friends rushing into their twenties I am one of the few left behind in their teens. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"><br />
</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">One of my friends told me how our lives would have changed completely by the end of this decade. We’ll be earning, have a house of our own, some of us will be married and some might also have kids. But I suppose the decade that passed by has been equally life changing.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"><br />
</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">Teenage, what crazy years they have been!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"><br />
</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">From being silly at 13, bratty at 14, queer when 15 (not just by appearance), a little excited about 16, growing wild in 17 and 18 and finally a little grown up by 19. I am sure it might’ve been different for everyone but mostly by the time we reach the big twenty we all have some sense knocked into us.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"><br />
</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 18px;">We've</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium; line-height: normal;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"> all quite literally evolved in this decade from being little monkeys to young adults. It has changed us enough to look back at our old pictures and videos and feel nostalgic and highly embarrassed at times. All those old school pictures with friends and teachers, the annual and sports day videos that our parents took with great excitement, the certificates that brought so much pleasure and report cards of school that we laugh at now had been a source of continual terror back then, I realize we’ve all come a long way.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"><br />
</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">If anyone ever came and told me in my high school that I would one day laugh at the various tactics of telling my marks to mom or showing my dad a diary note then I would’ve thought that the person is simply pulling my leg or being very rude.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"><br />
</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">Though now when I recall certain incidents from school I do wonder why, had I been that stupid.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">At times we did something which made us feel how grown up we were and could never understand why our parents found that so funny. Well now I do know why they found it funny because coming home with a traffic policeman because the bus driver left you behind was hardly sensible, nor was adding salt to an extra sugary tea an example of quick thinking. But those were pre-teens when we did not take offence for being laughed at.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"><br />
</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">And as we moved into our teens it was sort of in vogue to argue with Mom and Dad on every single topic under the sun. Even if at the end of the argument we don’t get our way through we simply had to defy whatever they had to say. By the time we reached the last few years of high school we were convinced that our parents had a lot of catching up to do.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"><br />
</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">And suddenly when we made it to college as freshmen and had absolutely no idea about how things worked outside school, Mom and Dad gained back all the sense of superiority because well we were back to being the youngest. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"><br />
</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">I am a little excited, a little nervous, a tiny bit scared and every bit confused about the years ahead of me. I just hope that a decade later I will be able to laugh at the years gone by and say</span><br />
<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"> “What an idiot I’ve been”. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"><br />
</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">Because if I manage that I’d know I’ve had some memorable times.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
</div>Poornimahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14488125122915339737noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6735388415496793879.post-3408239704693421912012-01-06T11:19:00.001-08:002012-01-06T21:16:12.999-08:00The Shoe Rack<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 16px; line-height: 18px;">Happy New Year folks!</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"><br />
I haven’t got loads to tell today. I’ve just got this old piece of my writing which I’d like to share.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">This was written during the Video Film making module of my course. I wanted to make a short film based on this but I haven’t been able to as yet. I wish I could say that the video is coming soon but for now all I have is the script. <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: 'Myriad Pro Light', sans-serif; font-size: 18pt; line-height: 115%;">The Shoe Rack<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">It’s a regular college day, the regular crowd, regular classes and regular mess food. I am sitting by the stairs, staring out of the window. I am staring outside at nothing in particular. There is the playground, the busy street, the pavement full of cars and kids. As I carry on with my aimless staring my eyes focus on the kids playing on the pavement. They are all the kids from a nearby slum. Sitting up here all I can see is their shrunken heads and naked feet. Those naked feet have somehow caught my attention. I look back inside the college building and without meaning to my eyes stare at the shoes of every passerby. <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">Some walk by wearing sport shoes, some strut around in them. There are those who rush by wearing comfy floaters and there are those who walk around at leisure in them.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">There are some who seem to be dragging themselves in their slippers and there are some who have socks teamed with them. There are also fleeting glances of those who are running with time in their pointed shiny formals. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">Just as I am following a pair of <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Kolhapuris</i> tumbling down the stairs the tick-tock of a stiletto draws my attention. I look up at them cat-walking down the stairs accompanied by a pair of stocking and boot clad legs. There are then the glimpses of the trendy All Star Converse in the variations of blue, red or black.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">Two pairs of feet are huddled together, the feminine <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">mojdis</i> sitting a step above the Reebok sneakers. The occasional but in vogue <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">osho</i> slippers also make their way around.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">You then have those sudden striking experiments of footwear. A brightly coloured bally or a loud gladiator. You might also find shoes that don’t exactly look like shoes or a weird looking sandal. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">The old school <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">chappals </i>and leather <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">jootis </i>also have their fare share. I look down at my own feet snug in a pair of the rubber <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">jootis</i> you get these days. All of them feet are moving in front of my eyes.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">Slowly they all become a blur to me. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">And then a silent pattering of naked feet comes into focus and I stare at them hurrying down the stairs with some unknown purpose. I follow those feet trying to place their owner but before I can come down to any understanding they are gone.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">It is said that you judge a person by their shoes.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">What if they don’t have any?<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">My mind is drawn back to the street children playing down stairs. They all look the same to me, little shrunken heads and naked feet. <o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">Again, you judge a person by their shoes, What if they don’t have any?<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div></div>Poornimahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14488125122915339737noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6735388415496793879.post-34128376306631047512011-12-27T04:51:00.001-08:002011-12-27T06:14:10.053-08:00As the year grows old...<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">It is again that time of the year when the nights are long and days short, when sweaters are in fashion and when all we can do is eat and sleep. Another year is coming to an end and we now face a much discussed and anticipated 2012!<br />
Celebration is in the air. After a merry merry Christmas the world now is looking towards welcoming the new year in their own different ways.<br />
Some are heading home for family reunions.<br />
Some have been invited to the parties that happen all over the place and some are inviting people to their own parties.<br />
The freebies plan to hit some club and dance themselves into the wee hours of January the first.<br />
And there are also those who plan for a quiet evening with a select few.<br />
Meanwhile, 2011 looks back at its younger self realizing that it now has to come an end.<br />
It looks back at how it had been the star of the moment this very minute last year.<br />
It looks back at the chilly first month when people kept writing '10 at the end of the date by mistake.<br />
It looks back at the 28 breezy days.<br />
It looks back at the 3 months when the sun had been merciless and how the temperatures had broken a few more records.<br />
The showers of June, July and August that made everything look freshly bathed.<br />
September had been pleasant and the October heat a little hotter than usual.<br />
November had grown steadily cold and finally the winter of its life, December when it would soon become past.<br />
<br />
The year looks back at those 365 days which had brought a new touch to all our lives. It will soon only be written by mistake in the dates and 2012 will begin its journey.<br />
<br />
So this post is to every year that passes by without a word but considerably changing all of us. It could be a small change or a big one but at the end of every year I do look back at how I had been in the beginning and realize I have grown a little.<br />
And almost always I realize that I never kept my New year resolution. So once again lets start making resolutions only to break them later on.<br />
Hope you have a very happy new year!<br />
<br />
</div>Poornimahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14488125122915339737noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6735388415496793879.post-73837640707041165032011-12-21T17:29:00.001-08:002011-12-21T18:16:56.275-08:00Getting Started...<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">After having considered blogging for a while now, I've finally made it here.<br />
It all looks very new and fresh and I can feel the excitement building in me!<br />
Well now that I am here I really don't know how to start and what to write. Might as well start by telling you something about myself.<br />
An almost 19, 2nd year design student living in a hostel in Pune, I am to be frank not much of a writer.<br />
I may look shy or reserved at a glance which may be because of my tiny-ness but BEWARE, if I take a liking to you I will eat your ear off!<br />
Chatter, Chatter, Chatter! It comes naturally to me.<br />
When I am not talking to my hearts content, I read or maybe write.<br />
An avid reader who is married to her books, I can read any book that has a good story and good language.<br />
I almost always have an unfinished book in my bag and I think the picture in the background explains enough.<br />
As far as writing is concerned, well I am a moody person.I need the right mood to write something.<br />
Having said that, you can rest assured that you may not have to read my incessant talk on a regular basis.<br />
<br />
And this seems like enough babble for you to go through at the first go.<br />
And oh, before I finish, you may wonder why my blog is named as 'Untitled-1'.<br />
This hit me when my brain had gone for one of it's odd time wanderings. My writings here can be very random and so they can't be genre-ised for me to give the blog a common title.<br />
I think it's best if the title gives away nothing at all.<br />
Till next time then!<br />
<br />
<br />
</div>Poornimahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14488125122915339737noreply@blogger.com0