tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19691458025510781742024-02-21T05:55:26.190+06:00Specs of Time...Time is a fibre woven into life. Life creates moments to cherish. Those moments are frozen with the help of words!Dhuenmarrhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14560247180382555725noreply@blogger.comBlogger8125truetag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1969145802551078174.post-43951910242272183482012-09-18T22:38:00.000+06:002012-09-18T22:47:50.662+06:00Smart not Hard<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;">Once below a time, a man had a hard time meeting his daily
amenities. He was industrious. So industrious that he had little or no time for
rest. Rest was waste to him. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;">His hard work didn’t pay him the successes and wealth he
deserved.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;">He landed himself dead tired on his bed at home. Sleepless
night would ensue, his thoughts lost in thoughts. After an infinite blinks, he
would have a nap or two.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;">His penury perplexed him. He wasn’t as successful as he had
envisaged. All through his life, he led a melancholic and poor life, just fit
for rats and the like. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;">He resigned to himself believing in his karma and , ‘some
are born great, some achieve greatness and some have greatness thrust upon
them’, echoed resiliently on his semi-deaf ears. A tear drop on the floor would
usually break his trance.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;">He was sure that a bad karma was at work. He felt increasingly
tired and loathed his life. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;">And at 65, he signed his last looking like a nonagenarian.<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; line-height: 115%;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">On a funeral pyre, his face told
everything: he died of exhaustion and much sorrow. His face wasn’t peaceful.
There, on the funeral pyre laid a man defeated by life. His body was reduced to
ashes. He was history now, gone into oblivion without knowing one simple truth
(and secret) of life: </span><i><span style="font-size: large;">It’s not how hard
you work; it’s how smart you work.</span><o:p></o:p></i></div>
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<br />Dhuenmarrhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14560247180382555725noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1969145802551078174.post-31253468008624865902012-02-07T01:26:00.000+06:002012-07-22T22:27:09.554+06:00My Beautiful Ordeal<div style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; text-align: justify;">
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<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-LgCjS3QiYIU/Tz0mfLUm4DI/AAAAAAAAAKM/5r3Lkupcus8/s1600/journey0.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-LgCjS3QiYIU/Tz0mfLUm4DI/AAAAAAAAAKM/5r3Lkupcus8/s320/journey0.jpg" width="226" /></a></div>
<span style="font-size: large;">The place is beautiful. The people here are beautiful. The stray dogs
that visit our campus are beautiful. ‘Beautiful’ is the only word I can
think of. It is a preternatural setting, like an artist’s stroke of
brush creating world beyond this. I occasionally single myself, all
alone, sitting on the porch overlooking my school. The children play
games; some of them invented by their fragile mind. The games they play
with their flip-flops seems too complicated to comprehend. I try to
construct the meaning but I fail. I don’t know who wins or how the game
is won. <br /><br />Children are beautiful. And I am here for them. To be their guardian. Their role model. Idol. <br /><br />I
am some 400 kilometers away from home and 5 days ‘official’ walk away
from the nearest motorable road. I feel I am far away from civilization.
I long for home and my cute little sister. It is her bubbly face that I
miss the most. </span><span style="font-size: large;">I came here on my own accord. I trotted along
the dusty path with my new-found colleagues, hiked passes and mountains,
almost half dead with heavy backpack, almost doubling its weigh every
second. </span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: large;">I regret choosing that school time and again. I curse
myself in silent anguish. My colleagues comfort me and I think it is
just transitory. Everything will pass… like a dream. But no! I think of
my best friend placed in a higher secondary school near a road point.
What a lucky human, I murmur. I try to comfort myself silently. I
smile and crack silly jokes with my traveling companions. </span><br />
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</div>
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span><span style="font-size: large;"> I
tell myself: it’s good for your health, your heart: walking and getting
tired is a healthy exercise… sweating is good. Drink more water and I
drink gallons. I try to recall lessons from my college days about
fitness and exercise. This kind of rigorous walk is going to make you
fit. At the back of my mind, I fear my heart may be strained as I can
hear its beating till my neck and ear. ‘Dhoo-wak dhoo-wak’, it goes with
uncompromising gusto. I need more oxygen, the air seems too less.</span></div>
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<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-MIjz3AO0fks/Tz0mf_8onSI/AAAAAAAAAKU/MC6azFMNHBo/s1600/journey1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="282" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-MIjz3AO0fks/Tz0mf_8onSI/AAAAAAAAAKU/MC6azFMNHBo/s400/journey1.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
</div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large; text-align: justify;">I
scold myself woefully, ‘You dolt, you tried to be spunky that placement
time, now look at you.’ That self scolding felt too pestilential to be
true. I trot ahead a phantasmagoric path foreboding a bear or a branch
or a rolling stone. But the sanctified mule track gives me solace
concomitantly.</span></div>
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</div>
<div style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: large;">I can see my colleagues’ brow raised at my
waylaying. They understand my plight and console me. I curse my backpack
and my heavy trekking boot. I am the slowest. I am not aware of my
fitness. I doubt my fitness.<br /><br />The sweats marathon down my face
palpably. My legs ache a million needles; pleading for not-so-well
deserved rest. I allude my companions for rest by limping and rapid
breathing. A mountain pass that usually take three hours to ascend the
summit takes about four and a half due to my dawdling. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
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</div>
<span style="font-size: large;">We reach
one village. The hostess is so kind and her hospitality too commendable.
I get my well deserved rest. I slumber down as soon as my head touches
the husk-made pillow. I wake up a dreamless sleep and I am jolted back
to my reality by the interior design of the house. I am no more at home.
Or in the concrete building. We pay our gratitude to our hostess in the form of money. I silently feel that our audacity for barging in her house too
late at night and making her cook food can never be appeased by our
small <i>soelra</i> of insignificant amount of money. I hesitate to take out
Nu. 150 from my wallet construing the minuteness a substitute for her
generosity. <br /><br />I plod along up and down a snaking footpath
halfheartedly. I think countless thoughts. It makes me doubly tired.
What stands out strikingly among my thoughts is an empathetic thought of
how our servants of the government keep up with the hardships of daily
rural ‘civil’ life. The way they accept their life and serve the rural
hamlets is beyond my brain could picture. I empathize the pains and
sweats. I don’t want to think that I have to stay ‘there’ for some
years. I may not be able to move my legs. I won’t reach my school
otherwise. I can’t imagine how I am supposed to stay there. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">And
then I reach ‘there’. I reach here. Now, it’s ‘here’. I am standing in
front of the entrance gate. I can see the school. Then I say, ‘It’s so beautiful’. I think of Switzerland but it’s not. I go in. The leafless
trees seem to bow before me for my great accomplishment and sacrifice.
The roofs rattle against the winter breeze. I take that sound for
applause. The sky is chillingly clear. It’s almost 6 pm. I nearly
collapse.</span></div>
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</div>
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<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-jt1xBl_phcI/Tz0mhc53FKI/AAAAAAAAAKc/2GasBNXKE3o/s1600/journey2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-jt1xBl_phcI/Tz0mhc53FKI/AAAAAAAAAKc/2GasBNXKE3o/s320/journey2.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span><span style="font-size: large;">I use my last packet of energy to reach at one of my
colleague’s home to rest and to revamp my energy. All seems so harsh and
hard to get. Everything is precious here. Nothing is wasted. <br /><br />I
give a deep sigh of relief. I am where I should belong for some years.
It’s evanescence. I was right there in my cemented room watching a movie
and I am here now, sitting near an hearth in a smoke-stained
kitchen trying to put in some firewood. And strangely enough, I find this
a piece of heaven. I forget all the hardships encountered during the
journey.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span><br />
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: large;">As night sets in by seconds, my ordeal goes packed with yesterday. Tomorrow is new, I say this to myself.</span></div>
</div>Dhuenmarrhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14560247180382555725noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1969145802551078174.post-74714480694578563472012-02-04T23:10:00.003+06:002012-02-16T21:52:57.399+06:00My Own Hallucination<div>
<span style="font-size: large;">Students from various schools in Thimphu congregated at Changlimithang stadium by seven o’clock in the morning to celebrate an occasion. I was one amongst thousands at the stadium, and weather was just perfect with cool morning breeze gently touting my sleepy face. It was a historic occasion and I was eager to participate.</span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-size: large;">After a while, I don’t recall the exact time; the chief guest started delivering his speech. We stood still on our feet; head slightly bent, with hands behind our back in a respectful posture- listening to the speech. Little did we know how hot that particular day would become; it was unbearably hot by fore-noon.</span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
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<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-fGHLx1Jm1Zw/Tz0l8bA3GWI/AAAAAAAAAKE/XYQy5mX_ZgY/s1600/dizzy2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="175" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-fGHLx1Jm1Zw/Tz0l8bA3GWI/AAAAAAAAAKE/XYQy5mX_ZgY/s200/dizzy2.jpg" width="200" /></a></div>
<br />
<div>
<span style="font-size: large;">My poor legs were in agony and I desperately wanted to sit down, but as I could clearly see the chief guest standing on his feet and delivering the speech; I was determined to endure my pain out of sheer respect. It took two hours or more for the speech to end and we’re ordered to sit down on the ground by our principal. I was delighted with that, but our heads were still exposed to the unforgiving heat of the sun. The celebration itself took another few hours more, and in the scorching sun most of us were quite dizzy and exhausted. Sunburn came much later that day.</span></div>
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<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-eoqfmjBQAZQ/Tz0l73fnt_I/AAAAAAAAAJ8/ngZesk5Mid4/s1600/dizzy1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-eoqfmjBQAZQ/Tz0l73fnt_I/AAAAAAAAAJ8/ngZesk5Mid4/s200/dizzy1.jpg" width="150" /></a></div>
<span style="font-size: large;">Then after what seems like eternity to me; the celebration ended and students dispersed lethargically from the stadium. I was very giddy and extremely thirsty, and wanted to do nothing more than to have some sip of icy-cold water. As I peered towards the main gate, to my delight, holding a bottle of cold water was my maid-servant Yanki and she seems to be looking for me in the crowd of student that was passing by the gate. I sprinted towards her joyfully shouting her name as fast as my aching legs could allow—for a nice soothing drink.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">I dashed happily toward her and yelled out her name loudly again, and when I was just about to get near the main gate her sight fell on me at once and she gave me her usual lazy smile. Without saying another word I grabbed the bottle and gently pulled towards me, but to my utter shock and dismay- she didn’t let it go, in fact she was tightening her grip on the bottle.</span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-size: large;">Annoyed beyond measure, I glared at her face panting. By then I didn’t have any energy to yell at her, so I said nothing. A moment ago Yangki was standing in front of me and now as I looked closely at her for a second time, I was staring at a complete stranger’s face, and she had a puzzled expression on her face. Oh my god, I couldn’t believe my eyes; it was just a hallucination but very vivid one, and Yangki was never there. I was equally shocked and puzzled as she, and I let go off her bottle at once. I was mortified and I quickly apologized, and speed-walked away from the gate.</span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-size: large;">And then, as I looked outside from the gate, I saw my family except Yanki - she went back to her village a few months ago. I was very happy to see them and I demanded a chilled Frooty which I devoured it empty in a few gulps.</span></div>
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<br /></div>Dhuenmarrhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14560247180382555725noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1969145802551078174.post-20447229406681488522012-02-03T23:17:00.000+06:002012-02-16T21:50:10.991+06:00A Noble Job of Criticism<div>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large;">The world simply cannot stand without criticism. The world would be
dark and grey without it. Strong men need it to nurture them. The weak ones
need it to attack others.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Despite its barbaric nature and the emotional trauma it bring
along, criticisms have a vital role. If you observe carefully, criticisms have
positive impact in our life.</span><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Criticisms, be it positive or negative, has a great bearing in our
life.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Ever wondered why Japan’s automobile industry is so successful?
Thanks to criticism. Japanese took it positively and turned Japanese cars (Junk
cars as it were called then) into one of the finest cars in the world. There
are many examples of criticisms bearing positive results.</span><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span style="color: blue; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; text-decoration: none;"></span></span><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Well, it
all boils down to one’s own take on it. It depends on one’s attitude and how
well one can handle it. Criticisms can kill people. So, take it positively. You
have just one life to live. </span><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">It is also true that it hurts. It pricks and pains. What good
things don’t? A medicine meant to save life comes with a needle. And it pricks
and pains. But be grateful that it saves life. It is also true with criticisms.
It can be medicine if you know how to take it.</span><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">When I was in my high school, people used to call me names which I
am sure some people would still remember me solely by those names. I admit that
I was hyperactive and never bothered to act in a ‘normal’ way. Society here
loves people with reserved nature who don’t do much not-so-expected things. A
few would say it on my face while others, behind my back. I was looked down
clearly as a bird of a feather that would not flock together. People diagnosed
my eccentric behavior as stemming from my deranged mind. I was a mental patient
to them. And you know the names that would ensue.</span><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I didn’t give much thought to it initially. As time went by, many
people including my close ones started saying those things about me. It hit me
like a bit of a shocker. They were my well wishers. And it forced me to think
it over. And I gave a good thought to it.</span><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Nothing seemed wrong with me. I admit I was bit impulsive and a
happy-go-lucky kind of guy. I loved fun and friends. But for my friends and
others that was not it. I was mentally unstable to them. It shook me and I
started being unhappy with myself. My self-esteem and my self-confidence
started hitting rock bottom. I even went to visit a psychiatrist.</span><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="color: blue; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; text-decoration: none;"></span><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">And there, people visiting psychiatric chamber are mildly
stigmatized. I went in and spelled my woes and possible mental diseases. The
doctor in the chamber asked me a few questions, nodding and saying ‘oh! I see’,
‘ah’, ‘yes’ and ‘go on’. And he ruled me out that I am … not a mental patient!
I wasn’t confident in his diagnosis. I argued with him and told him that my
friends and most people find me a way weird. I asked him to do more tests. I
was sure I had some mental problem. What they told me seemed so real and true.
But the doctor told me something which is etched in my brain; ‘People will tell
you one hundred and one things. Don’t believe every word they say. And you are
fine young boy. Take pride in that.’ I finally believed in him.</span><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I took it positively and mended my way. I made criticisms my
friend. I was hurt no more. I am ‘normal’ now.</span><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">In some ways, I think they were right in saying those things. But
what matters more is how you tackle those criticisms. Heed to it and be a
better person! </span><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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</div>Dhuenmarrhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14560247180382555725noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1969145802551078174.post-2321652768430193662012-02-02T00:21:00.000+06:002012-02-16T22:02:31.042+06:00Love’s labour Almost Lost<br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">Stories like mine
should never be called a love story. But it can qualify for a deception of an
innocent soul. I am an innocent soul here. Or, at least I claim to be. You be
the judge. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">Just like any
boy-meet-girl kind of story; I met her in my college days. We were in the same
college. I developed an instant liking for her. Yes, I took some time to win
her winsome heart. That was done rather fairly well.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">She became my world,
my sole reason to live or die. It happened sooner than I realized it. She was
reason enough to make my day a heaven or a ravishing hell. I became too devoted
to her. I nearly became her guardian angel. I was too faithful to her that I
willingly ignored all the girls in my college. I almost worshipped her.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-cFXgCEw7_mA/TyrT3zlgC7I/AAAAAAAAAEI/hUXeK2FdmYc/s1600/Don't+Fall+In+Love.gif" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"></span></a></div>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">I found her too
innocent. Her face was too pale and cherubic that I almost believed that she
was an angel dropped from heaven just for me. Her cherubic face was the last
thing I could forget. Her cuddly gesture and a childlike expression were
something I saw for the first time in my life. I was, needless to say, so
mesmerized by her.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-hfVjS4AlFsI/Tz0i8ij2gnI/AAAAAAAAAJk/5LeCpXZZy4E/s1600/lovelost.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="133" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-hfVjS4AlFsI/Tz0i8ij2gnI/AAAAAAAAAJk/5LeCpXZZy4E/s200/lovelost.jpg" width="200" /></a></div>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">It is dangerous to
fall in love. That is what people say. It is dangerous if you don't know how to
love. It is dangerous if you are so naive. It is dangerous if you are governed
by your emotions. It is dangerous if you are a fool. I was naive and an
emotional fool too.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">Her past was as pure
as it can be: no boy in her life, no kisses and no intimacy. It was all first
time with me or so she used to tell me. I believed her. I believed every word
her luscious lips spoke. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">Her phone would beep
countless times with unknown numbers. She would be engaged on call for
countless minutes. She would go home on leave. She would be out with her
friends. Even when I got her on the other line, she would say, she’s busy with
assignments. In fact, she had very little time for me. But it was all okay with
me. I am an understanding and empathizing type. I didn't suspect anything or
never wanted to. I feared it would ignite irrational thoughts and break her
heart. I didn't want doubts, suspicion and callous talks, as it is known to
burn beautiful relationships to ground. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">My truly well-wishing
friends, as I realize now, would try to tell me rumours they heard about my
angel. They would easily dismiss it after seeing disdain on my face. They
really wanted to tell the truth but never dared to break my poor (and paranoid)
heart. I never listened to them anyway. It was like me and her against the
world. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-56LXZ_df-1c/Tz0ofTZTvYI/AAAAAAAAAKs/oBIhJqplK3A/s1600/Don't+Fall+In+Love.gif" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-56LXZ_df-1c/Tz0ofTZTvYI/AAAAAAAAAKs/oBIhJqplK3A/s320/Don't+Fall+In+Love.gif" width="280" /></a></div>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">I found out, much
later, that people pitied me; something I never wanted. My gala of ignorance
was too tempting and was on all lips. It was the talk of the college while I
was lost in her charisma, braving the worldly criticism and irrationalizing
their ‘biased’ opinions. I defended my stand vehemently. I was definitely under
her spell of some mysterious kind. She would tell me not to listen to or
believe in third person. And all I could do was nod in total agreement, like a
faithful dog. Just that I didn’t lick her shoes.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">Time flew under her
spell like Odysseus under Circe’s.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">And it was time that
taught me many things about life and love. And slowly time taught me to look
beyond what I saw in her and in my paranoid heart. And I saw many truths. Well, this can be another story, altogether. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
</div>
<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"><br clear="all" style="mso-break-type: section-break; page-break-before: always;" /></span>Dhuenmarrhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14560247180382555725noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1969145802551078174.post-77199342334497484842012-01-12T17:45:00.000+06:002012-02-16T21:33:09.375+06:00Irrationalism<br />
<div style="text-align: right;">
</div>
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<div style="text-align: justify;">
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-QcxuQseLJ8o/Tz0hS5C3EDI/AAAAAAAAAJc/_rCNcu9tYh8/s1600/irrational2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="159" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-QcxuQseLJ8o/Tz0hS5C3EDI/AAAAAAAAAJc/_rCNcu9tYh8/s200/irrational2.jpg" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Irrational Number</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large;">I never thought of writing anything,
not even a bit. It's an eyesore to see people doing what they hate doing. It
will leave a bad taste in my mouth after I finish writing this. I never thought
of writing anything, not even a note.</span></div>
</div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large;"></span><br />
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"></span><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">
The letters and words and sentences you see are just the blatant mental juice
flowing through an irrational mind. It is quite interesting to note that humans
are the only creature gifted with irrational thoughts. I wonder if it's a gift
after all. The irrational thoughts spring out of rational mind. </span></span></div>
</div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large;"></span><br />
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"></span><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">
What is so rational about irrationalism? </span></span></div>
</div>
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<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
</div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large;"></span><br />
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-_j8O2jqdsCY/Tz0hSO2-GSI/AAAAAAAAAJU/TBXWvsG_Ey0/s1600/irrational1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-_j8O2jqdsCY/Tz0hSO2-GSI/AAAAAAAAAJU/TBXWvsG_Ey0/s200/irrational1.jpg" width="200" /></a></div>
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"></span><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">
May be irrationalism is god's gift to avoid the burden of the rational mind.
Have you seen clouds dancing? Or even thought about it? If it's for real then
it would just break all the gamut of science. Thinking of it is irrational
thinking. But doesn't it give you solace? Fantasizing about an unattainable
goals, imagining about it, makes us feel good about it. It gives us split
second attainment feel of it.</span></span></div>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<span style="font-size: large; line-height: normal;"></span><br />
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: large; line-height: normal;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Wishing the clock to turn backwards, wanting to be child again, wishing to
change the past, and desiring to be a bit taller than you are, wanting to score
'90 degrees' goal, to be great and disease free all springs out of irrational
mind. At least, I rationally think it is so. I can't trust my rational mind; a
breeding ground of irrationalism.</span></span></div>
<span style="font-size: large; line-height: normal;">
</span></div>
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<br />
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<span style="font-size: large; line-height: normal;"></span><br />
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: large; line-height: normal;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I have written this. Have I written it irrationally? Am I rationally irrational
or irrationally rational? How irrational are you?</span></span></div>
<span style="font-size: large; line-height: normal;">
</span></div>
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<br />
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<span style="font-size: large; line-height: normal;"></span><br />
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: large; line-height: normal;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Never think of flying and instantaneously being with your partner. </span></span></div>
<span style="font-size: large; line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><div style="text-align: justify;">
Now, can this be rational?</div>
</span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>Dhuenmarrhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14560247180382555725noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1969145802551078174.post-78814278533409957292011-11-02T17:10:00.000+06:002012-02-16T22:03:14.769+06:00Some Memories are Forgotten<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large;">Some memories are never meant to be remembered. They just
pass into oblivion without knowing. And there is no way of knowing what we
forgot. Nature designed thus, so that we don’t have the pain of remembering
what we forgot. Paradox? Is it not?</span></div>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large;">We remember, mostly, the things which are quite close to our
heart and soul. We don’t forget sad moments either.</span></div>
</div>
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<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-tPwTBf6lASE/TxL5SbO44mI/AAAAAAAAADM/ueo4Jc76_AA/s1600/memories1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: justify;"><span style="clear: left; float: left; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"></span></a></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-8ZjnV06nOSQ/Tz0g8Tuz6-I/AAAAAAAAAJM/sqBMRoCJO9k/s1600/memories1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="192" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-8ZjnV06nOSQ/Tz0g8Tuz6-I/AAAAAAAAAJM/sqBMRoCJO9k/s320/memories1.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large;">It is time that heals every wound and makes us forget most
of the things. The things that don’t deserve to remain in our mind, arguably.
But some memories keep bugging us. How we wish to forget it. It still remains
there. If some memories are so adamant, refusing to forget then there maybe
some beautiful memories too sublime to forget. </span></div>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large;">Those beautiful memories are wasted. We don’t remember what we forgot. Why miss
it? It is like missing someone you never met. </span></div>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large;">That’s plain absurdity. </span></div>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large;">Still, our confusing mind has its own reason. Did I forget
something important? What is it? What was it like? When did it happen? When did
I forget? Why did I forget? Ouch! Enough questions to get oneself a migraine. </span></div>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large;">We remember some in fragments, not able to make a whole
picture. That means we forget some parts of a whole memory. Why is that? What
was in it that was so unimportant? Or why was it so eager to be forgotten?
Another source of migraine. </span></div>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large;">Science would say it otherwise. I am not into it. Science
didn’t conquer our brain. It would be unwise to say science has answers to my
questions. I maybe bluffing or at least I am a frog in a pond. The universe is
as big as I think it to be. Nothing more. Nothing less.</span></div>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large;">Only time will tell. But still, why? Why do I forget some
and remember some?</span></div>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large;">What did you forget? What do you remember? The things that
you remember are likely the ones you wished to forget.</span></div>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large;">It is also possible that we forget so that we remember. Some
memories are meant to be forgotten. Just as plain as it is. </span></div>
</div>
</div>Dhuenmarrhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14560247180382555725noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1969145802551078174.post-58794115424105525472011-10-24T11:05:00.000+06:002012-02-16T21:28:17.808+06:00End of the beginning...<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-gnjaK85LyuY/Tz0ghOCRrhI/AAAAAAAAAJE/6kFrN3VjeHk/s1600/endofbegin.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="125" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-gnjaK85LyuY/Tz0ghOCRrhI/AAAAAAAAAJE/6kFrN3VjeHk/s200/endofbegin.jpg" width="200" /></a></div>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large;">I had this blog for myself since the beginning of 2008. I didn't post anything. This post is the end of my dormancy (I hope). I began a long time ago and it's today that I end my beginning. I'm going to try to post articles, however little sense it will make. I'll try to post something. I'm not worried about readers. I just want to post it.</span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large;">So, this is my first post. Here it goes! God be with me in my journey</span>.</div>
<br />
<br /></div>Dhuenmarrhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14560247180382555725noreply@blogger.com2