<?xml version='1.0' encoding='UTF-8'?><?xml-stylesheet href="http://www.blogger.com/styles/atom.css" type="text/css"?><feed xmlns='http://www.w3.org/2005/Atom' xmlns:openSearch='http://a9.com/-/spec/opensearchrss/1.0/' xmlns:georss='http://www.georss.org/georss' xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-24313596</id><updated>2011-11-04T09:14:54.533-07:00</updated><title type='text'>A Fresh Start</title><subtitle type='html'></subtitle><link rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#feed' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://bmayur.blogspot.com/feeds/posts/default'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/24313596/posts/default?max-results=100'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://bmayur.blogspot.com/'/><link rel='hub' href='http://pubsubhubbub.appspot.com/'/><author><name>mayur</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/16512914377140705150</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_K7Baxcmx7aE/TCs7W7xHYnI/AAAAAAAAAOE/2k-x1xkkF6s/S220/IMG_1687.JPG'/></author><generator version='7.00' uri='http://www.blogger.com'>Blogger</generator><openSearch:totalResults>24</openSearch:totalResults><openSearch:startIndex>1</openSearch:startIndex><openSearch:itemsPerPage>100</openSearch:itemsPerPage><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-24313596.post-5523232529567083273</id><published>2011-02-06T10:11:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2011-02-06T12:21:58.835-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Confessions of an Idiot</title><content type='html'>&lt;div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"&gt;&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a href="http://farm4.static.flickr.com/3620/3628341011_4e9fa2748e.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"&gt;&lt;img border="0" height="225" src="http://farm4.static.flickr.com/3620/3628341011_4e9fa2748e.jpg" width="320" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"&gt;image courtesy&amp;nbsp;&lt;a href="http://www.flickr.com/groups/lonelyplanetpublications/"&gt;http://www.flickr.com/groups/lonelyplanetpublications/&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;I walked alone a fairy trail,&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;of green and brown, all kind it hail;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;of joys and tears of many years,&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;succumb today, to my only fears.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;I walked alone so proud and tall,&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;no matter then, how bad I fall;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;A ray of light was there to guide,&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;that shown my home in shiny bright.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;I walked alone through eerie plains,&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;and tread along through woods n mains;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;though sure I was of curves and straights,&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;it lacked the thrill of unknown pains.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;I stepped into the woods unknown,&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;wary of what each step would hold;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;but glad I am for once being bold,&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;to feel the breeze from planet earth.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;I walked alone through starry nights,&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;and&amp;nbsp;dream t&amp;nbsp;of dreams on sunny days;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;though shattered few and lovely few,&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;I walk along, knowing well, I burnt every sinew.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;I Keep Walking!!!....&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/24313596-5523232529567083273?l=bmayur.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://bmayur.blogspot.com/feeds/5523232529567083273/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://bmayur.blogspot.com/2011/02/confessions-of-idiot.html#comment-form' title='26 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/24313596/posts/default/5523232529567083273'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/24313596/posts/default/5523232529567083273'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://bmayur.blogspot.com/2011/02/confessions-of-idiot.html' title='Confessions of an Idiot'/><author><name>mayur</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/16512914377140705150</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_K7Baxcmx7aE/TCs7W7xHYnI/AAAAAAAAAOE/2k-x1xkkF6s/S220/IMG_1687.JPG'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://farm4.static.flickr.com/3620/3628341011_4e9fa2748e_t.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>26</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-24313596.post-6222340012040460614</id><published>2010-11-07T10:13:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2010-11-07T10:51:21.922-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Celebrations</title><content type='html'>&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;&lt;blockquote&gt;This post has been published by me as a part of the &lt;b&gt;Blog-a-Ton 16&lt;/b&gt;; the sixteenth edition of the online marathon of Bloggers; where we decide and we write. To be part of the next edition, visit and start following &lt;a href="http://blogaton.in/"&gt;&lt;b&gt;Blog-a-Ton&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/a&gt;.&lt;/blockquote&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Some time in 1996:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I was in the second round of the district Chess championship and playing against a 3rd std kid in the 2nd round. I almost took it as an offence, for being asked to play this kid. As expected, I beat him in 15 mins, only to see him cry for as long as I was there. His elder brother, who must be in 5th std then, challenged me for a match, which I politely refused. On my way back home with my Chess Mentor, Mr. Majumdar, I asked him, why was that kid crying so much. He told me, you just beat the junior Chess champion of Gujarat. His name was Neville. Next year, I happened to meet his elder brother Kevin, in the quarters. That turned out to be a marathon of a match, lasting 14 hours spanned across 2 days and finally decided via a 30 mins timer. His entire family had gathered around us that day. With the timer ON, I lost from an almost winning position. Kevin was ecstatic and told Neville that he finally beat me. It was a sweet revenge for him, but I too felt at peace, seeing those 2 kids happy and smiling.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Some time in 1997:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I was standing at the gates of my school and watching my friends and their parents with bright happy faces. A couple of them walked up to me, seeing me arrive. They were so ecstatic telling me their marks especially what they scored in computers. I felt as though they were looking for some kind of an acknowledgement from me, about how good they were at computers (you can think all kinds of weird things as kids ;)). &amp;nbsp;I was the undisputed master of computers in my class over the last 2 years, having topped all its tests and exams. But the boards turned out to be a different ball game, and almost everyone scored more than what I did in that subject. Surprisingly, I didn't feel bad about it, but was instead rather at peace. I remember being so very upset once in 9th std when I didn't score the highest in computers, in one of the unit tests. All that was gone now.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Some time in 1998:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I was in the finals of an Annual Badminton tournament, and playing against my partner and best pal, Ritesh. I had also reached the finals of the Chess competition. Since I was already going to get 2 prizes, I unilaterally decided to let my friend win without even putting up a decent fight. He completely slaughtered me in the first set and it was over in less than 10 mins. After the first set got over, he walked up to me during the changeover and said that if I continued to play the way I am playing right now, he would forfeit the match. Either I give him the fight of his life or he will just quit. I was dumbstruck! What would someone want to blow up a final like this? The rest of the story goes like.....The next 2 sets lasted more than an hour, and even though I lost at the end, I was much happier now :) and we embraced each other after the match.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Some time in 2002:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I was barely out of hospital, having spent a month there due to a bout of Dengue. I was hardly able to walk any distance, and used to watch my friends play badminton, from the sidelines. I would sit there during the evenings watching them play my favorite sport, wondering, when would I get the chance to play again. I tried my hand once, but almost fainted after playing for 5 mins, due to extreme exhaustion. That's what a month in hospital does to you. Nevertheless, I participated in a badminton tournament that was one month from then. I reached the finals and was playing against a friend who learnt to play badminton barely a month ago. But goodness gracious, that kid was super talented. Our match lasted for almost 2 hrs and I might have fainted on more than one&amp;nbsp;occasion, during the match. Finally I lost, but not before we earned each other's respect.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Those were a string of disconnected moments in my life which might have left you wondering, what do I want to convey. Observing closely, you might realize that I lost on all those occasions. But, perhaps, me as an adult has a lot to learn from the kid in Me. In today's world of cut throat competition, we live by the phrase "Winning is not everything....its the only thing!" or people at the opposite end of the spectrum say that "Participation is more important than winning"....just as feel good factor.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;However, as a kid I&amp;nbsp;didn't&amp;nbsp;think that way. Back then, what mattered to me the most was that, I give my best shot, and if I loose, I would surely be&amp;nbsp;disappointed, but if I loose to a worthy victor, I would acknowledge his feat. And it is only the stature of the one who stands defeated, determines how sweet the victory tastes to the winner.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So lets celebrate not just our own achievements but even of those who vanquished us and put a better foot forward...because its only in acknowledging them that we learn and take a step forward.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;&lt;blockquote&gt;The &lt;b&gt;fellow Blog-a-Tonics&lt;/b&gt; who took part in this Blog-a-Ton and links to their respective &lt;b&gt;posts&lt;/b&gt; can be checked &lt;a href="http://blogaton.in/2010/11/rules-and-reminder-for-blog-ton-16.html#comments"&gt;&lt;b&gt;here&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/a&gt;. To be part of the next edition, visit and start following &lt;b&gt;&lt;a href="http://blogaton.in/"&gt;Blog-a-Ton&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/b&gt;.&lt;/blockquote&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/24313596-6222340012040460614?l=bmayur.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://bmayur.blogspot.com/feeds/6222340012040460614/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://bmayur.blogspot.com/2010/11/celebrations.html#comment-form' title='12 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/24313596/posts/default/6222340012040460614'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/24313596/posts/default/6222340012040460614'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://bmayur.blogspot.com/2010/11/celebrations.html' title='Celebrations'/><author><name>mayur</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/16512914377140705150</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_K7Baxcmx7aE/TCs7W7xHYnI/AAAAAAAAAOE/2k-x1xkkF6s/S220/IMG_1687.JPG'/></author><thr:total>12</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-24313596.post-8718976354909387507</id><published>2010-09-04T11:27:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2010-09-07T21:25:22.357-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Return - No Way ;)</title><content type='html'>&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: small;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 13px;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: small;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 13px;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: small;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 13px;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: small;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 13px;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: small;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 13px;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;tbody&gt;&lt;tr&gt;&lt;td style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_IWjCaPJQa2E/SJJ_SdKEPOI/AAAAAAAAAF0/X63nQVHeaYU/s1600/School%2520Days.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"&gt;&lt;img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_IWjCaPJQa2E/SJJ_SdKEPOI/AAAAAAAAAF0/X63nQVHeaYU/s320/School%2520Days.jpg" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;/tr&gt;&lt;tr&gt;&lt;td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"&gt;Image courtesy&amp;nbsp;http://2.bp.blogspot.com/&lt;/td&gt;&lt;/tr&gt;&lt;/tbody&gt;&lt;/table&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: small;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 13px;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"&gt;It was the summer of 97. We had just completed our 10 std board exams and awaiting results. Not that I really cared for them as I could never fathom the fuss around these exams. I can attribute this mindset to growing up in small towns like Sibsagar (in Assam), Bharuch and Ankleshwar (both in Gujarat) where competition was just another word in the dictionary and wasn’t to be taken seriously. We could get admitted to any school of our choice, at any time of the year, unlike what we see in bigger cities, and the situation further deteriorates in metros, where there is a mad rush for marks to get into the best schools and colleges. So, for me, the culmination of exams was nothing but the beginning of summer vacations, sign of good times to come, when we could play Badminton and Cricket all day long :). And 10th was no different. Perhaps I was too naive to not make a distinction between the boards and other exams.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: small;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 13px;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: small;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 13px;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"&gt;Well, the results were soon out and it was time for us to hunt for schools to get admission into 11th std. Although my school had 11th std, but it had started just a year ago and my parents didn't want to take a chance. As for me, since none of my friends were staying back, even i wanted to go where everyone was going. But all my friends were going in different directions. I was confused about where to go. Anyways, I applied to all the schools and got shortlisted in a few of them. The odds were heavily stacked against me, as I was coming from I.C.S.E board, for which there were hardly any seats in any of the schools. A few schools would even refuse to give me application forms as they hadn't even heard of I.C.S.E. board.&amp;nbsp;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: small;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 13px;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: small;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 13px;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"&gt;Swami Vivekanand was one of those schools that realized the potential in me and so I was among the shortlisted candidates there. My name was 11th on the list and there were only 13 or so seats up for grabs in the open category. I was now scheduled to appear for my very first interview ever. I had absolutely no idea what to expect, and so did my parents. The other worrying part was, since my name was higher up on the list than my friends, there was no way I could get any tips.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: small;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 13px;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: small;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 13px;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"&gt;We reached the school on time, courtesy my Dad. I was lazing around all morning before I was pulled up by my Dad, to get serious about the interview and life in general. It was around 2.30 in the afternoon when the peon called us in and escorted us into the Principal's room. It was rather dark inside resembling a dungeon. The Principal was a middle aged woman with a stoic visage. Due to some odd reason, I didn't particularly like her at first glance. I was used to seeing Sisters in Principal's office. This was the first time in last 5 years, I was looking at a Principal in a Sari. I would have rather addressed her as "Aunty" instead of Miss/Sister/Teacher (had never used the term Madam/Ma'm till then) which got me ever so confused. The Princy's strict demeanor was a bit unnerving which added to the dislike I held towards her.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: small;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 13px;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: small;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 13px;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"&gt;There were only 2 chairs in the room, facing the Princy. So, where was I supposed to sit? I stealthily looked around the room to find some place to sit. &amp;nbsp;Standing in the middle of the room for this long felt like i was being punished for some felony I committed without my knowledge.&amp;nbsp;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: small;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 13px;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"&gt;Since, I was busy looking around the room, I didn't pay much attention to the discussion underway between my parents and the Princy. All I noticed was, she waving her arm around a couple of times and suggesting me to come and stand beside her (or so I thought). Suddenly I gazed upon a stool kept right next to the Princy's chair. The stool looked very similar to those kept in clinics where patients are made to sit for examination. I was always thrilled to sit on those stools, as I considered them as the most important pieces of furniture in the clinic, where Mr./Ms Important Patient would sit and thereon would be the center of attention. However, in this cell of hers, she had kept her purse on it which defied the whole purpose of having that stool there.&amp;nbsp;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: small;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 13px;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"&gt;After she waved her arm a third time, I was almost convinced that, she wanted me to come and sit on that stool. I couldn't help but oblige. I picked up her purse, kept it on the table and sat on the stool. For a moment, I was grateful to her to let me sit. There was a brief moment of gratitude that I held for her, suspended in abeyance, just like a plastic ball held mid air by a strong current of air.&amp;nbsp;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: small;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 13px;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: small;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 13px;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"&gt;No sooner did I sit on that stool, I heard her yell out at me. I was dumbstruck by her reaction. It was beyond my comprehension, why would someone get so agitated by my mere sitting on a stool. She immediately ordered me to stand up and keep standing. According to her, this was an extreme case of indiscipline that a student would dare to sit in a Principal's office. I was coming from a different planet it seemed, where our Sisters would make us feel comfortable. What mattered then was the purpose that brought us to their office, not the protocol. Here, instead of comforting, I was severely reprimanded in front of my parents, that too in the most acerbic tone. I sprang up to the feet, said sorry, and then didn’t utter a word for the next few minutes. I felt as though, moving one step in any direction would tantamount to committing another felony.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: small;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 13px;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: small;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 13px;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"&gt;The Princy, then started questioning me about my academics and how I had managed to put up such a show, without revealing whether my performance was good or bad. Although I hardly studied all year, I had to sound studious. After much deliberation, I blurted out "15-20 minutes every day". I was immediately overwhelmed with a sense of guilt for having lied (I don’t feel that way anymore ;)). Those were the days of pure innocence :) The Princy looked startled, and then turned to my parents for confirmation. Dad shook his head and said in a low voice, "Yes, he never studied much!". But, to my utter surprise, she said, "Then, how did he manage to get such good marks". My Dad's face lit up like never before. However, I was still suspicious of her and this sudden bout of niceties that she showered on us. The rest of the discussion went on positive lines, but I was still wounded by those harsh words. She, however, had some tough words for me till the very end, and her plans to reform me and make me study 10 hours a day in 11th and 12th. I was now staring down a dark abyss in which all I could see is the Princy's face with a stick in her hand&amp;nbsp;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: small;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 13px;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: small;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 13px;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"&gt;After a week, we got a call from the school, that I had been selected for admission. But, by this time, I had collected enough information about the Principal and how strict she was. The kids in that school weren’t even allowed to step outside the class between periods. To add to my misery, I was already in her bad books.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: small;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 13px;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: small;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 13px;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"&gt;Dad was ecstatic to have received the good news and he was eager to see me admitted there. But I had almost made up my mind to not go to that school. I was so scared of the Principal that even if all hell broke loose, I would not join that school. I conveyed my decision to my dad and he reluctantly delivered the verdict to the Principal. She tried a couple of times to allay my fears, but like a typical Scorpion, I wouldn't step back.&amp;nbsp;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: small;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 13px;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: small;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 13px;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"&gt;Today, whenever I look back, I laugh about my stupidity and naivety back then.&amp;nbsp;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: small;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 13px;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: small;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 13px;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"&gt;Back then, I would I would brag about it to my friends, "How on earth does she expect me to RETURN after having fired those volley of abuses at me?" But underneath all that braggadocio, I was shit scared to go to the school.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: small;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 13px;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/24313596-8718976354909387507?l=bmayur.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://bmayur.blogspot.com/feeds/8718976354909387507/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://bmayur.blogspot.com/2010/09/return.html#comment-form' title='10 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/24313596/posts/default/8718976354909387507'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/24313596/posts/default/8718976354909387507'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://bmayur.blogspot.com/2010/09/return.html' title='Return - No Way ;)'/><author><name>mayur</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/16512914377140705150</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_K7Baxcmx7aE/TCs7W7xHYnI/AAAAAAAAAOE/2k-x1xkkF6s/S220/IMG_1687.JPG'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_IWjCaPJQa2E/SJJ_SdKEPOI/AAAAAAAAAF0/X63nQVHeaYU/s72-c/School%2520Days.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>10</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-24313596.post-5461465829829464162</id><published>2010-08-07T11:23:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2010-08-07T13:24:49.389-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Goodbye</title><content type='html'>&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;&lt;blockquote&gt;This post has been published by me as a part of the &lt;b&gt;Blog-a-Ton 13&lt;/b&gt;; the thirteenth edition of the online marathon of Bloggers; where we decide and we write. To be part of the next edition, visit and start following &lt;a href="http://blog-a-ton.blogspot.com/"&gt;&lt;b&gt;Blog-a-Ton&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/a&gt;.&lt;/blockquote&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I boarded the train &amp;nbsp;to Nasik with heavy baggage and a heavy heart. I was getting goosebumps going back to Nasik to attend a family function after such a long time. I had almost decided that I will never go there again to attend any get together.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;My Sister and my Aunt were accompanying me on this train journey. They too had some apprehensions about going there, but they seemed much more relaxed,&amp;nbsp;at least&amp;nbsp;that's what their countenance suggested.&amp;nbsp;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;So here I was, sitting in one of the worst kept trains, completely annoyed with my surroundings, which further aggravated my misery. I&amp;nbsp;wasn't&amp;nbsp;able to discern, what was bothering me more; the train or my apprehensions about this journey or rather the destination. Meanwhile, me, my sister and my Aunt had some rather long conversations, as it was time to catch up with the happenings in our lives. During all that talk, my mind would invariably keep going back to the original question; "Why the hell did I embark upon this journey?"&amp;nbsp;I couldn't find any answers.&amp;nbsp;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;The ghosts of our collective past have been haunting me for almost 5 years now, which is why I have turned down the request to travel to Nasik ever since, unless something really urgent needed my attention. That would strictly be a one day trip. Nothing more.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;We reached Nasik at 4 o clock at night or morning. Uncle had come to receive us at the station. My heart started pounding as we approached our house. I didn't want to stay there. I just could not come to terms with the divided house. A House, not divided by physical structures, but the hearts and minds of its inmates were now poles part. Both my uncles wouldn't see each other eye to eye. This was in complete contrast to my childhood days when all of us grew up together; Children and Adults alike. It used to be one big joint family during my summer vacations. No one could tell, who is whose child. Everyone was loved and respected equally.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I had not spoken to my cousin brother, son of my estranged uncle, for almost a year now. Everyone said, we were inseparable as kids, even though we used to fight like crazy. We were brothers more than cousins. And now, things had reached a nadir; I had to take permission to attend his wedding. Almost unfathomable not too long ago.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;The festivities began the next morning with a lot of fanfare and everyone seemed to be in a jovial mood. However, I was still stuck in a time warp where the divisions&amp;nbsp;didn't&amp;nbsp;exist. I was craving for that elusive wish to come true. That morning, I happened to cross paths with my other uncle and Aunt. Spoke to them at length, as to how they were doing. They were and are still the same for me, regardless of whatever had transpired in the meantime.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;However I was pulled up by others for this brazenly defiant act of mine of talking to the other side. But, everyone was back to their usual self soon as though nothing unholy had happened, just a moment ago. Seemed like, I only had to be reprimanded enough to&amp;nbsp;realize&amp;nbsp;the ground realities.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;That evening I happened to go the temple near our house. Place, which we so often visited, as kids, during our summer vacations. Although I am no more a believer, but that temple was more than a temple for me. It was one place where I could sit and reminisce the moments of yesteryear's. &amp;nbsp;It was a storehouse of memories treasured over two long decades.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;After spending close to an hour at the temple, alone, during that rainy evening, &amp;nbsp;I realised, perhaps I was the only one who had not yet come to terms with the present day. Everyone else had moved on with life. I needed to be a little more brave to accept the facts as they are and not yearn for how they ought to be according to me. That was surely an exercise in futility.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;That moment I decided to wave Goodbye to the&amp;nbsp;disquiet I&amp;nbsp;harbored&amp;nbsp;towards&amp;nbsp;my tumultuous past and accept things as they are. Things now seem much more easier to handle.&amp;nbsp;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;&lt;blockquote&gt;The &lt;b&gt;fellow Blog-a-Tonics&lt;/b&gt; who took part in this Blog-a-Ton and links to their respective &lt;b&gt;posts&lt;/b&gt; can be checked &lt;a href="http://blog-a-ton.blogspot.com/2010/08/rules-and-reminder-for-blog-ton-13.html#comments"&gt;&lt;b&gt;here&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/a&gt;. To be part of the next edition, visit and start following &lt;b&gt;&lt;a href="http://blog-a-ton.blogspot.com/"&gt;Blog-a-Ton&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/b&gt;.&lt;/blockquote&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/24313596-5461465829829464162?l=bmayur.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://bmayur.blogspot.com/feeds/5461465829829464162/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://bmayur.blogspot.com/2010/08/goodbye.html#comment-form' title='44 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/24313596/posts/default/5461465829829464162'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/24313596/posts/default/5461465829829464162'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://bmayur.blogspot.com/2010/08/goodbye.html' title='Goodbye'/><author><name>mayur</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/16512914377140705150</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_K7Baxcmx7aE/TCs7W7xHYnI/AAAAAAAAAOE/2k-x1xkkF6s/S220/IMG_1687.JPG'/></author><thr:total>44</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-24313596.post-7688336496676611940</id><published>2010-07-29T17:46:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2010-07-30T01:49:56.773-07:00</updated><title type='text'>The Bird</title><content type='html'>&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;tbody&gt;&lt;tr&gt;&lt;td style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a href="http://pad2.whstatic.com/images/thumb/5/5c/2paper35_434.JPG/250px-2paper35_434.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"&gt;&lt;img border="0" src="http://pad2.whstatic.com/images/thumb/5/5c/2paper35_434.JPG/250px-2paper35_434.JPG" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;/tr&gt;&lt;tr&gt;&lt;td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"&gt;image courtesy&amp;nbsp;www.wikihow.com&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 13px;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;/tr&gt;&lt;/tbody&gt;&lt;/table&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Today, a very old friend of mine (Tabrej) landed at my place...and was I happy...You bet!&amp;nbsp;Its always funny, meeting old friends (especially school friends from 4th std :) ) can suddenly turn you into a kid. You don't just sit around and chit chat with them, but you relive the good old school days. He reminded me of the paper stuff I was so good at during those days. I think I even taught my teacher a couple of things back then :)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Before we could think any further, off came the newspaper, a knife (we couldn't find scissors :P) and then we sat down to make a bird out of a newspaper. I was quickly rewinding my entire life right up to 4th std, when I use to teach making paper birds to so many of my friends. I could see the finished bird on the canvas of my mind. But the tricky part was to de-construct it. That's how we begin, don't we!&amp;nbsp;But deconstructing the bird was proving to be more difficult than debugging some complex piece of code. Or should I say, I used to do lot more complex things back then ;) Education and later Work killed the genius in me :( While, I was still lost in the past, trying to dust off those pages of my life wherein lay the answer to my earnest pursuit, I could actually sense that childlike enthusiasm in me again, so reminiscent of those days, to recall the exact steps. I went over it again and again in my mind, to unfold the bird, one step at a time.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;While I was pondering over the structure of the bird, I was transported back to those days and I could&amp;nbsp; recall the program on Doordarshan&amp;nbsp;from where I learnt to make the bird in the first place. I think it was way back in 1990-91, when I was probably in 2nd std. I remember how frustrated I was, at not being able to make the bird on the first attempt. I thought I had missed it for ever. While trying to vent my anger in desperation, I had kicked and broken the glass of our center table in the drawing room. My leg was bleeding badly, but that was the least of my concerns. I wanted to make a bird and make it right then. It was like that nagging pain which would give you sleepless nights.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The bird still wouldn't unravel itself in the present day. I could go back only two steps, starting backwards from the finished bird, but had no clue how to proceed thereon. I was unable to figure out the steps leading up to that state. Just then, Tabrej opened YouTube and started checking for videos of making this paper bird. He started making his bird by following one of those videos. Its only while searching the videos that we came to know that this is a Japanese art called Origami, which involves folding a flat sheet of paper and turning it into something beautiful and meaningful. Meanwhile, I was still hell bent on doing it the way I always did it in my school days. I remember having this weird attitude towards problems. My whole life would be stuck on a problem until I found the answer. I would go over and over it, while sleeping, eating, taking bath and also while doing other important things ;). I so very miss that spark today :(.....or I can blame google for having taken the fun out of my life ;)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I had this square piece of newspaper placed in front of me. I tried to fold it in so many different ways, but could never bring it to the point from where I knew how to proceed further. Almost an hour had gone by, and I was still thinking. This was nothing, compared to the days I used to spend pondering over difficult problems. These would vary from mathematical problems to interpreting&amp;nbsp;Shakespearean&amp;nbsp;verses during the later part of my schooling. I always had the good fortune of having at least one friend who would be ready to take up the cause along with me :) Back then, we used to say..."If you can both prove and refute an idea at the same time, meant that you have really really understood the subject well". This was our way of playing tricks with ideas :)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Well, solving the bird problem was proving to be an almost insurmountable task. I was now probably experiencing the same kind of frustration which subconsciously challenged me all those years ago to give more than my best. However, I could now see the half made bird in front of Tabrej. I thought I could never get that far on my own. A sudden feeling of despair overwhelmed me and I realized, I was no more a kid and that spark to uncover the&amp;nbsp;myriad&amp;nbsp;mysteries had dosed off long ago. It was a pursuit in futility.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I turned my laptop around and went through the entire video. However, as I was making my bird (looking at the video), I realized, I had done it slightly differently back then. I started telling Tabrej, how it can be done in a much more elegant way. The clock started ticking backwards again :) and this time, it wasn't just ticking, it zoomed backwards!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I was able to improvise on a couple of steps shown in the video that would make the process of making the bird much more precise. I was thrilled at this discovery :) My memory, quite often the object of ridicule wasn't all that bad after all :) It was already 2.30 at night by the time we finished our first bird. And then to emboss it on our minds, we made one more without the aid of the video, while simultaneously trying to improve upon the process.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My friends have now gone back to bed, but I still sit back and&amp;nbsp;reminisce&amp;nbsp;about those days :)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Next on my agenda is the Frog......remember making it????&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And I am surely going to teach my 30 odd kids this weekend, how to make a bird :) I am so very looking forward to it :))&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;tc and goodnight :)&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/24313596-7688336496676611940?l=bmayur.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://bmayur.blogspot.com/feeds/7688336496676611940/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://bmayur.blogspot.com/2010/07/bird.html#comment-form' title='13 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/24313596/posts/default/7688336496676611940'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/24313596/posts/default/7688336496676611940'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://bmayur.blogspot.com/2010/07/bird.html' title='The Bird'/><author><name>mayur</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/16512914377140705150</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_K7Baxcmx7aE/TCs7W7xHYnI/AAAAAAAAAOE/2k-x1xkkF6s/S220/IMG_1687.JPG'/></author><thr:total>13</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-24313596.post-3353865056471642091</id><published>2010-07-21T07:33:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2010-07-21T07:45:55.593-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Money..Rich and Poor</title><content type='html'>It was a Monday morning, and I woke up as lazily as ever; got ready and left home by 7.30. I was going to miss my office bus by a mere 30 mins. Sometimes I wish if I could shed all that laziness, that's so deeply entrenched in me, I could potentially save on so much money that I spend commuting to office daily.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;As I stepped out of the building I found it was still pretty dark for this time of the day. I looked up to the skies ...it was overcast....seemed like it may rain anytime...but being true to itself...Bangalore rains pay a visit only during the evenings. However, after I took a few steps, I could sense an unusual calm ...almost foreboding, even though I was used to these surroundings. J.P.Nagar 7th Phase (place where I stay in Bangalore) is bereft of all the hustle and bustle, typically associated with Bangalore. I had barely walked for five minutes and I was already lost deep into my thoughts. The route was customary and I just had to pay enough attention on the road so that I don't bump into anything. So apart from the sense of sight, all other senses of mine were now facing inwards attending to my day dream.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And then I heard someone call me from far away (or I thought so)...I didn't pay much attention (thinking it wasn't meant for me). Then, another call. This time I had a feeling ...maybe I am the person being addressed here. When I looked around, I found a young girl standing barely 5 feet away, asking me something. All this while I was only hearing some sounds, but couldn't make much sense out of them. I had to return to reality. I looked at her with a sense of apology, having mistakenly ignored her words. She then spoke in a very tender voice "Can you give me 5 rupees?" I was a little taken aback...this wasn't normal. I looked at the girl carefully; she was neatly dressed in her brown school uniform, carrying a big school bag on her back. I again asked in a startled tone..."What???" the reply didn't change. I was now sure, I didn't hear anything wrong. She said she wanted 5 rupees to buy a pen; a red pen. I told her, red pens are only used by Teachers; Why does she need one? She came up with a reason (reason I cant recall now) which I found to be good enough then. But instead of handing over the 5 rupees, I offered to buy her the pen myself. When went to a bakery nearby ( that was the only shop I could see open at 7.30 in the morning), hoping he stocked some Red Pens. But he had only blue ones :( .....the other shop I knew was off the main road, and she had her school bus to catch. So I handed over a 5 rupee coin, but only after I got an assurance from her that she will only spend it on buying a Red Pen and nothing else. There is no way I can verify that she kept her promise, but I believed in her and I do trust kids in general to not lie. I hope she did keep her promise and did not spend it on some frivolous stuff.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We bid adieu and she started walking towards her bus stop and I took an auto to go to my stop, from where I would get my bus to Whitefield. However, my thoughts suddenly went back to the kid, and why I handed over the 5 rupee coin. I am generally averse to giving out any free money, especially to strangers, unless I see a pressing need to do so. I don't even give out a single penny to beggars, no matter how wretched a condition they are in. Did I relent because of her innocent face or her spotless appearance suggested me that she wouldn't have any other motives. I am sure I would not have shelled out a penny to a beggar kid even though it was apparent that he would need it much more than this kid did. So its definitely not because she was a kid that I helped her. The larger question here is, do we trust people who are well off (materially), more than those who are children of a lesser God? Take a second to think over this! Will you entrust your house (for a day) to a relatively affluent friend, who has a questionable history, over your maid who had been working at your place for quite some time and has been absolutely honest? The answers might differ, depending on your comfort level, and so I wont take any sides. But a third person would definitely advise you to trust your friend over the maid...well, on most occasions! The underlying assumption is that, people who have a plenty would not do ugly things as opposed to those who are not as blessed. That is the voice of reason.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Is this the reason why money (and material) chases people who already have them in plenty. Or should I say, it gets pushed to those people. Which explains why rich get richer and poor remain poor. Nobody is ready to finance them. However, as they climb up the social ladder, we invariably doubt their means and frown at the new money that's brought in. Maybe, deep down there is this basic instinct (rather animal instinct) within all of us that wants to see 'status quo' being maintained, that is if you are not among the deprived lot.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I guess I have digressed enough....but these are just some random thoughts that disturbed me after the incident.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/24313596-3353865056471642091?l=bmayur.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://bmayur.blogspot.com/feeds/3353865056471642091/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://bmayur.blogspot.com/2010/07/moneyrich-and-poor.html#comment-form' title='8 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/24313596/posts/default/3353865056471642091'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/24313596/posts/default/3353865056471642091'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://bmayur.blogspot.com/2010/07/moneyrich-and-poor.html' title='Money..Rich and Poor'/><author><name>mayur</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/16512914377140705150</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_K7Baxcmx7aE/TCs7W7xHYnI/AAAAAAAAAOE/2k-x1xkkF6s/S220/IMG_1687.JPG'/></author><thr:total>8</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-24313596.post-8234353144909710418</id><published>2010-07-05T12:35:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2010-07-10T15:25:44.523-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Wish</title><content type='html'>&lt;div style="TEXT-ALIGN: justify"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;blockquote&gt;&lt;br /&gt;This post has been published by me as a part of the &lt;b&gt;Blog-a-Ton 12&lt;/b&gt;; the twelfth edition of the online marathon of Bloggers; where we decide and we write. To be part of the next edition, visit and start following &lt;a href="http://blog-a-ton.blogspot.com/"&gt;&lt;b&gt;Blog-a-Ton&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/a&gt;.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/blockquote&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I was deep asleep, probably dreaming, when my Mom suddenly nudged me and breathed life into my motionless body. I was too fast asleep to respond to her. Finally half asleep, I asked her, what was the time? It was 4.30 in the morning. I shouted at her for waking me up in the middle of the night for no reason. But she was persistent and determined to wake me up. I finally got up after half an hour and tried to figure out in my mind, why am I being asked to get up so early? Everything my Mom had said that morning had fallen on deaf ears. Finally after much deliberation, I figured out, I had a class to attend at Dadar at 7 in the morning. Today was my first day. And guess what, I was already running late :( I again started shouting at Mom for waking me up so late. Didn't she know, I would be late for my classes? It takes more than an hour for me to get ready, and then another hour or so to go from Kharghar to Dadar, that too, if you get a Dadar ST on time and with a Schumacher like driver in command. I guess it was my Mom's turn now to ignore my words. She silently went about her morning errands; kept a cup of warm milk, for me, on the dinning table, took out an ironed Shirt and a Trouser from the Almira and neatly placed them on my bed followed by a handkerchief and then my belt. Such a thankless job, considering I was her elder son.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I got ready within no time (45 mins approximately) and left for my classes though still shouting at my Mom for getting me late. 10 mins passed by and still no sign of a bus. As usual, you ask yourself, "Why Me?" and "Why today?". I must have cursed every single person associated with waking me up early today and getting me late; right from the professor who had scheduled a class at midnight (7 AM is not too far from midnight, at least for me), when half the world is asleep, to the State Transport Dept, who schedule their buses at such random intervals and then my friends who encouraged me to join these coaching classes. I was seething with anger; anger which was as much directed towards others as it was towards myself. I guess someone feared Armageddon and sent out a Lal Dabba (Maharashtra State Transport buses are painted Red). As the bus neared, I prayed to someone (definitely not God, as I am a Non Believer), that this should not turn out to be a Thane or a Belapur ST. To my relief, it was indeed a Dadar ST. However, now the problem was, will the driver even stop the bus at the bus stop as I could see people precariously hanging off the last pieces of metal protruding out of the body of the bus. The bus did slow down as someone had to get down at my stop. However, it stopped a good 100 meters from the designated point. There was no time for any further driver bashing or cribbing about the state of public transport. I ran after the bus as it crossed me and finally latched on to a window rod until I could find enough space to rest my one foot on the last step of the staircase. My left hand holding on to the window rod and my right hand performing the dual job of holding my notebook and latching on to the bar on the side of the stairway. That's how I managed to keep myself alive and on time for my class. However, my most sincere thanks went out to the person who got down at Kharghar on a pilgrimage, courtesy whom I could now be less late.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;No sooner did that noble thought, of thanking someone, crossed my mind, I started feeling the pain in my arms and legs which was the result of hanging off the bus in an attempt to keep myself alive. I was back to my old self of cursing (only in my mind) the person hanging next to me for trying to dislodge me, so that he would have the luxury of keeping both his feet on the stairs and increase his chances of survival by 25%. His two hands and the other leg which was previously merrily resting on the last stair accounted for the balance 75%. As I was fighting my battle for survival of my species (species named Mayur, of which I was the first born), the conductor shouted at the top of his voice "TICKET!!!". How on earth does he expect my left leg to curl backwards, take out the wallet from my back pocket, and then reach further upwards to hand him (actually leg him) the fare through the window (from outside). I was again burning with anger. As the bus stopped at the next stop, I tried to jostle my way up the stairs. It was tough, but I no longer cared who got hurt. I handed over the fare to the conductor and gave him a few words of advise to not jeopardise any ones life while he is holding on by a thin margin. Seemed like, he was used to a daily dose of verbal abuse and so disregarded my golden words. This got me even more angry. Anyways, I diverted my mind into thinking about how late I am going to get for my class and what all 'gaalis' I will be getting from my so called friends. Huh!...I gave out a sigh of despair.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The crowd started thinning as the bus approached Anushakti Nagar (B.A.R.C). Almost 45 mins had passed by since I boarded the bus. By now I had been pushed and pushed till I reached the first seat behind the driver. I was still standing, and looking straight out of the front windscreen. My mind was completely blank or I just wasn't able to recall anything that I had been thinking about for the past three quarters of an hour. This was so typical of me;absent-minded me at my best. Suddenly someone nudged me from behind and said "Anushakti?". I replied back saying "Yes" (thought he was confirming what the next stop is). As the bus stopped, he asked me to get down. I was dumbstruck for a moment; why would someone tell me where to get down? I let him get past me and disembark, but not before we exchanged a few niceties. In the meanwhile, I grabbed his seat behind the driver and I was now facing every single person sitting in the bus. Made me feel slightly uncomfortable. I wanted to be alone and in my own world. Looking at those pale and sickly faces at 6.30 in the morning wasn't the most enjoyable experiences one would like to have at the dawn of the day.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;However, there was this little kid (maybe in 3rd-4th std) sitting right opposite to me, peeping out of the window. She seemed completely oblivious to the happenings inside the bus, and into a world of her own. I kept looking at her every now and then, but she was so completely at ease with herself that she didn't mind my occasional glance. She was in her school uniform, probably going to a govt. school, judging by the Blue and White dress. She had a cute chubby face, her hair weaved into twin short braids with red ribbons intertwined and two little golden earrings as her only ornament. She also had a tiny 'bindi' on her forehead which further accentuated her simplicity. She would follow each passing vehicle overtaking us and then the next. And then she would look around saying to herself, "Why on earth are people so pissed off with life?" Just looking at her would bring a smile on your face :) (it still does, thinking about her). Suddenly, Asha Miss's (my Chemistry teacher in 7th std) words echoed in my ears "School Days are the Golden days of your life, where you get sad about petty things but remain happy most of the time". I reflected upon the happenings in my life in the last few days and realized how stupid I was to crib over some silly issues, almost non issues.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And then suddenly, as to wake me up from my day dream, she got up and got down from the bus. It was a sudden shock to see her go. How I wished she had stayed back just a little longer. But I was more glad to see her in the first place than to rue her going away. She was an Unlikely Angel who made my day. She helped me salvage my day and not ruin it any further. Although we didn't speak a word, but I guess we acknowledged each other's presence. Too much to expect of a kid..huh!&lt;br /&gt;I hoped against hope that I get to see her every morning that I travel on this route at 6 in the morning. And guess what, someone fulfilled my wish and there she was on my next bus journey, one week from then.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But that was the day "W(hen) I S(aw) H(er)" for the first time!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div style="TEXT-ALIGN: justify"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;blockquote&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The &lt;b&gt;fellow Blog-a-Tonics&lt;/b&gt; who took part in this Blog-a-Ton and links to their respective &lt;b&gt;posts&lt;/b&gt; can be checked &lt;a href="http://blog-a-ton.blogspot.com/2010/07/rules-and-reminder-for-blog-ton-12.html#comments"&gt;&lt;b&gt;here&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/a&gt;. To be part of the next edition, visit and start following &lt;b&gt;&lt;a href="http://blog-a-ton.blogspot.com/"&gt;Blog-a-Ton&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/b&gt;.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/blockquote&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/24313596-8234353144909710418?l=bmayur.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://bmayur.blogspot.com/feeds/8234353144909710418/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://bmayur.blogspot.com/2010/07/wish.html#comment-form' title='24 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/24313596/posts/default/8234353144909710418'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/24313596/posts/default/8234353144909710418'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://bmayur.blogspot.com/2010/07/wish.html' title='Wish'/><author><name>mayur</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/16512914377140705150</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_K7Baxcmx7aE/TCs7W7xHYnI/AAAAAAAAAOE/2k-x1xkkF6s/S220/IMG_1687.JPG'/></author><thr:total>24</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-24313596.post-1885027205764491095</id><published>2010-06-30T05:34:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2010-06-30T05:34:40.838-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Reclaiming Myself</title><content type='html'>&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; border-collapse: collapse; "&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif; "&gt;As the rumblings of a journey gone by,&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span&gt;&lt;div style="margin-top: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; "&gt;&lt;span&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial, helvetica, sans-serif;"&gt;fade away into the sands of time;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="margin-top: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; "&gt;&lt;span&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial, helvetica, sans-serif;"&gt;I realise the pain of her and my,&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="margin-top: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; "&gt;&lt;span&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial, helvetica, sans-serif;"&gt;I brought about in a fit of angst of mine.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="margin-top: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; "&gt;&lt;span&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial, helvetica, sans-serif;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="margin-top: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; "&gt;&lt;span&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial, helvetica, sans-serif;"&gt;Now as I wander among the debris,&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="margin-top: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; "&gt;&lt;span&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial, helvetica, sans-serif;"&gt;which are the exploits of a lost victory;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="margin-top: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; "&gt;&lt;span&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial, helvetica, sans-serif;"&gt;I see the designs of an impervious mind,&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="margin-top: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; "&gt;&lt;span&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial, helvetica, sans-serif;"&gt;which deluded myself into a conceited history.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="margin-top: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; "&gt;&lt;span&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial, helvetica, sans-serif;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="margin-top: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; "&gt;&lt;span&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial, helvetica, sans-serif;"&gt;I am afraid to embark on a new voyage,&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="margin-top: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; "&gt;&lt;span&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial, helvetica, sans-serif;"&gt;coz breaking another heart would be sacrilege;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="margin-top: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; "&gt;&lt;span&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial, helvetica, sans-serif;"&gt;as were the deeds of a bygone era, gone sour,&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="margin-top: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; "&gt;&lt;span&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial, helvetica, sans-serif;"&gt;so I wish not for me, but all joys for her and much more.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="margin-top: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; "&gt;&lt;span&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial, helvetica, sans-serif;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="margin-top: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; "&gt;&lt;span&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial, helvetica, sans-serif;"&gt;Being a reluctant traveller of life that I am,&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="margin-top: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; "&gt;&lt;span&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial, helvetica, sans-serif;"&gt;I fear to set on a new journey or play blind;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial, helvetica, sans-serif;"&gt;yet, to stay rooted looks like a crime,&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div style="margin-top: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; "&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial, helvetica, sans-serif;"&gt;and to act, feels like committing an even greater crime.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="margin-top: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; "&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial, helvetica, sans-serif;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="margin-top: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; "&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial, helvetica, sans-serif;"&gt;I think, I seek forgiveness from all n sundry,&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="margin-top: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; "&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial, helvetica, sans-serif;"&gt;on whom I heaped the pains in such a hurry, and me;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="margin-top: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; "&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial, helvetica, sans-serif;"&gt;though deserving I may never be,&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="margin-top: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; "&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial, helvetica, sans-serif;"&gt;yet I want to relieve me of the burden of pain,&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="margin-top: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; "&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif; "&gt;But I know I am not worthy of being forgiven!&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/24313596-1885027205764491095?l=bmayur.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://bmayur.blogspot.com/feeds/1885027205764491095/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://bmayur.blogspot.com/2010/06/reclaiming-myself.html#comment-form' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/24313596/posts/default/1885027205764491095'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/24313596/posts/default/1885027205764491095'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://bmayur.blogspot.com/2010/06/reclaiming-myself.html' title='Reclaiming Myself'/><author><name>mayur</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/16512914377140705150</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_K7Baxcmx7aE/TCs7W7xHYnI/AAAAAAAAAOE/2k-x1xkkF6s/S220/IMG_1687.JPG'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-24313596.post-7860778234228933002</id><published>2010-06-19T14:28:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2010-06-19T16:12:11.674-07:00</updated><title type='text'>18 june '10 the day gone by...</title><content type='html'>it was just another day..but too much crammed into a day.....&lt;div&gt;Last night ended with 3 or 4 pegs of whisky....at somewhere around 3 o clock at night at a friends place...went to sleep knowing pretty well that I had to go to school and teach at 9.30 in the morning. I was tensed as I was going to be the lead teacher for today as my co tutor Tulsi had planned to abstain. But to my surprise, received a wake up call from her at 8 in the morning..telling me that she is coming over to teach....the day couldn't have begun on a better note :) However, the moment i tried to get up from my bed, the realization soon set in that I had a bad hangover....maybe due to lack of sleep.There is no way I could go to school in such a state...that wouldn't be the right thing to do either...not just for me....but for others in particular. Something had to be done in an hours time, in addition to getting ready....seemed like a herculean task. As, I had stayed put at my friend's place overnight I checked with my friend for the recipe for spot hangover eradication drug ;) pop came the answer....lemon water ...with no sugar no salt. That was perhaps the worst juice i have ever had... nothing short of gulping in a bottle of chloroquine (anybody remembers the malaria drug). But no complaints any further. It did the trick. My head was now back on my shoulders, both figuratively and in a literal sense :) &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Abhishek was suppose to join us today, which i had completely forgotten about until i received a call from him at 9 in the morning. Told him the way to school....hoping that I would reach there before he does....but never did i know that i was running a bit too late for my comfort......half an hour late :(.....called up Tulsi to take care of my friend...how many times does she have to come to my rescue ....thanks Madam :).&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Finally, my friend Punesh dropped me near the school, and i hurried up to the school building. Caught with Abhishek, as it was his first day at school, and all other volunteers gathered outside, as the classes hadn't begun yet. Was especially glad to see Tulsi back having recovered from her illness and congratulating Srivardhan for his CEO award. Not to mention Krithika with whom I had planned today's classes. But all that planning went for a toss when we realised they had reshuffled all the classes. I was now suppose to take class 2 and 3 combined with Srivardhan and Sukanya (her first day of teaching at school :)).....the class began with us conducting a small quiz followed by dance by some kids and then teaching simple Q&amp;amp;A. It all went well with the naughty kids. However, I soon found out that my Kannada was still too lacking for my comfort...but then you learn as you teach which is what I have been doing for the past several months. Earlier Tulsi had to bear the brunt of my stupid questions..today it was the turn of Srivardhan and Sukanya....thanks guys :)  After our classses got over, Abhishek dropped me home. He was very thrilled to be a  part of this teaching endeavor. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;It was already 12.30. As planned I started with cleaning the car with help from Dilip (our watchman), followed by washing two bucket full of clothes. Although I have a washing machine to help me out, it doesn't take away the entire effort :P.....As the clothes were being washed....cleaned up the bathrooms which was a back breaking task. It was 2 by the time i was done with the cleaning and the clothes. Was hungry and tired at the same time...haven't had anything all day....except for that lemon water :( my body overruled my appetite and i dosed off to catch up with my scant sleep at night. No sooner did the clock touch 2.30, my maid Lakshmi arrived. We had planned to clean up the mess in the kitchen which was the result of one month of neglect. What followed was a 2 and half hrs of clean up activity..killing cockroaches ;)...throwing away stale food...cleaning the fridge...and getting rid of all unnecessary items from the kitchen. i wanted my kitchen to be a lean manufacturing plant, with only things necessary for my survival :) Result was...4 bags full of trash :) meanwhile I kept up with my daily kannada lessons from Lakshmi.....but i was turning out to be a very poor student :( Our kitchen work ended by 5....and then I prepared 2 cups of tea for me and Lakshmi. It wouldn't have been possible without Lakshmi taking the lead in cleaning my kitchen :) All I could give back in return was a cup of tea and a reluctant promise to teach her kids when I am free...I hope I live up to my promise.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;After she left, got busy with another round of washing ...this time a bed sheet and a blanket...and setting the kitchen right. It was already 5.30 and Punesh was suppose to pick me up by 6. Got ready and we left for the movie Raavan. Although the show was at 9, we had to have our lunch cum dinner .....and to this end we treated ourselves at McDonalds :) we stuffed ourselves to the brink and headed to the movie hall at whitefield which is more than an hours drive :( On the way picked up Divyesh and Swati. and there I was in the car surrounded by all HR folks....the lone victim of HR atrocities ;)... i couldn't emphasise more on to them that how little the HR meant to all the technical folks :P&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;The movie that followed..Raavan....was nothing short of a rubberband stretched to the limit which even defied Hooke's Law (for the scientifically inclined) :)....took a power nap during the movie and saw the movie ending with Ravan getting killed, although under questionable circumstances per the storyline.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;While on our way home, I got pulled into another HR brainstorming exercise....me being the loner on the other side of the fence ;)....However, this did trigger in me a curiosity to understand HR a little more. After I reached home, I borrowed a book from Punesh (Employee Engagement post recession) to check out the latest HR trends and how they intend to understand us (or subvert our freedom :P) Read half the book till 3.30 at night until I realised that I had started feeling sleepy :)...by then I had figured out from the exercises in the book that I was at least 8-10 months away from quitting my current job..strangely, it made me feel more worried than happy :).. during these exercises I repeatedly called up Punesh (at 2.30 at night) to voice my disagreements with the HR practices mentioned in the book, which he calmly replied to :)&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;All in all....when I looked back at my day...I saw some myriad experiences intertwined in my day which I wanted to segregate. Hence this exercise of penning down my thoughts.....&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Its 4.40 AM now and I dont want to see the light of the day before i go to sleep.....so goodnight and take care&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Disclaimer: All you guys offended by my thoughts....please don't take me seriously :)&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/24313596-7860778234228933002?l=bmayur.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://bmayur.blogspot.com/feeds/7860778234228933002/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://bmayur.blogspot.com/2010/06/18-june-10-day-gone-by.html#comment-form' title='10 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/24313596/posts/default/7860778234228933002'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/24313596/posts/default/7860778234228933002'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://bmayur.blogspot.com/2010/06/18-june-10-day-gone-by.html' title='18 june &apos;10 the day gone by...'/><author><name>mayur</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/16512914377140705150</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_K7Baxcmx7aE/TCs7W7xHYnI/AAAAAAAAAOE/2k-x1xkkF6s/S220/IMG_1687.JPG'/></author><thr:total>10</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-24313596.post-1530303636199160523</id><published>2010-02-27T13:23:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2010-02-27T14:12:15.554-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Broken thoughts :)</title><content type='html'>Seems like a weird and sad sort of a title..isnt it? But I am no heart broken ;)....just having a string of disconnected thoughts which I prefer calling broken thoughts. Has it ever occured to any of you when there is so much happening in your life, yet it all seems so stagnant, so boring :)...well boring can also be fun....you then get ample time to reflect back, within and look around and see things in perpective. You then see meaning in the most stupid things....the most trivial issues seem like carring a message...a learning....and a drop added to your ocean of wisdom ;)&lt;br /&gt;Well, here I am in bangalore...2 months over....why I am here.....even I dont quite know :).... is it necessary to have a reason for every action? well...all sane people in this world do think that its necessary....so for all those people....I come up with a new excuse everytime I meet one of their kind :)  sometimes I say...I am fed up with all the marriage talk at home so I escaped to bangalore...other times I say....I wanted to experience life as a real bachelor...coz I am 28 and dont have much time left to be alone ;).....but truly speaking ....I just wanted to do everything that I never did before :) but had always wanted to do...&lt;br /&gt;For all these years I had always wanted to teach .....now I teach young children....and I learn from them as well......it is perhaps a greater joy, learning from kids than teaching them...learning can be so much fun...when there are kids to teach you...coz they realy want to make you learn something new....and not just do their job :) I am learning kannada from my kids :) and my co tutor Tulasi has also been a great help in this regard.....she has a 28 year old kid to manage besides her other 1st std students :)&lt;br /&gt;I have always wanted to setup my own house.... my way, to clean it (and make it dirty) myself, to cook my own food..and eat it no matter how bad it turns out ;) I will learn! I will soon be moving into my new house. Looking forward to that moment :)&lt;br /&gt;I also came here to renew old friendships....we had drifted apart...some of us due to very nasty reasons..others just lost touch...I am glad, I ve been able to mend some of those relationships....others I am still working on.....sometimes I give up on them...but then I try again the next day :) walking away completely always seems an enticing option....it will be effortless... but then I have decided not to let my Ego take over me....&lt;br /&gt;Meanwhile, I am also working in Bangalore......been enjoying my bench life for over 2 months...just got into a project. Frankly, I didnt quite come here to work....but to sustain myself I must work. I had left behind a well earned position in my last organization ...result of 4 years of hard work put in there.....left all that behind for no reason.....but I have no regrets :) coz I am looking for something more than a promotion or a pay hike....something which I have not yet figured out as yet :)...... I am but looking for a purpose to live and not just to exist....&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/24313596-1530303636199160523?l=bmayur.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://bmayur.blogspot.com/feeds/1530303636199160523/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://bmayur.blogspot.com/2010/02/broken-thoughts.html#comment-form' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/24313596/posts/default/1530303636199160523'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/24313596/posts/default/1530303636199160523'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://bmayur.blogspot.com/2010/02/broken-thoughts.html' title='Broken thoughts :)'/><author><name>mayur</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/16512914377140705150</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_K7Baxcmx7aE/TCs7W7xHYnI/AAAAAAAAAOE/2k-x1xkkF6s/S220/IMG_1687.JPG'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-24313596.post-4829452585805649861</id><published>2007-11-09T09:59:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2007-11-10T13:30:26.109-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Enigma</title><content type='html'>Along came an angel, bespectacled,&lt;br /&gt;brimming with life and joys galore.&lt;br /&gt;To mark her presence, in no uncertain terms,&lt;br /&gt;she hit the cord, and we all took note.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;She kept afar from all thus far,&lt;br /&gt;and into a world so obscure and debarred.&lt;br /&gt;She spoke of none, and to few of us,&lt;br /&gt;a darling yet she was, now for the laughing lot.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The tempo tempered as the words reached her,&lt;br /&gt;and engulfed her into a deeper unknown.&lt;br /&gt;The tides had ebbed, the steam yet fresh,&lt;br /&gt;enchained beneath, those eloquent black eyes.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Mysterious girl, is what I think of her;&lt;br /&gt;A moment she cries, the next she feigns a smile.&lt;br /&gt;So benign, I wish I could nurture the child,&lt;br /&gt;long before she fell prey to the wild.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Now as her world dawns on a new day,&lt;br /&gt;to heal the wounds, of a forgettable day,&lt;br /&gt;As the Carcass, limps towards a life, I hope,&lt;br /&gt;she gets her due and all that's just right!!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And yet I ponder, to believe the spectacle ... or not...&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/24313596-4829452585805649861?l=bmayur.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://bmayur.blogspot.com/feeds/4829452585805649861/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://bmayur.blogspot.com/2007/11/enigma.html#comment-form' title='4 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/24313596/posts/default/4829452585805649861'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/24313596/posts/default/4829452585805649861'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://bmayur.blogspot.com/2007/11/enigma.html' title='Enigma'/><author><name>mayur</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/16512914377140705150</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_K7Baxcmx7aE/TCs7W7xHYnI/AAAAAAAAAOE/2k-x1xkkF6s/S220/IMG_1687.JPG'/></author><thr:total>4</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-24313596.post-6570469422052052447</id><published>2007-08-28T14:39:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-06-12T10:33:34.583-07:00</updated><title type='text'>In search of "Direction" (incomplete)</title><content type='html'>&lt;div&gt;There's a question that has stayed with me for the last few years, and I am yet to find an answer to it. What is it that I want to be or want to do in my life is perhaps a crude portrayal of the same? I have pondered over it for the last few years, since I came out of college and an answer to it is almost over due.&lt;br /&gt;The question would appear rather simplistic and more so cliched, especially in the context of the youth of my era, where thoughts like these would be an anachronism. Today we (barring me) know all too well where we are heading. Today the winds of opportunity blow so hard that it carries all those who wish to be in its path. But I know not if my destiny and my resting place lies in the rarefied strata, so revered by the bourgeois.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;In short, i am in search of Direction and Destination. I don't seek "The Right Direction" as most people would guess about my state of mind. Rather i feel, "The Right Direction" carries a lot of redundancy with itself. The Right Direction means the direction to your right hand side, and it can mean nothing else. Technically speaking, direction is a vector quantity which has a value (of purpose) and a (not the) direction (in its elementary form). The latent value of purpose is transformed into tangible results through Direct Action (Direct + Action = Direction).&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;By direction, i don't imply that I be told what i ought to do or what to make of myself. But to see for myself, my road, leading beyond the horizon before it drowns its self into the sands of time. To make one direction of my own, which is distinct from those of the others and not in conflict with anybody's. &lt;/div&gt;.&lt;br /&gt;.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;As Richard Feynman quit aptly called it.... to know the meaning of it all, about me and my life. I am significantly (and purposely) restricting Dr. Feynman's vision, because to know the meaning of it all, one has to begin with himself, and it is on this journey that I embark upon.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/24313596-6570469422052052447?l=bmayur.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://bmayur.blogspot.com/feeds/6570469422052052447/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://bmayur.blogspot.com/2007/08/in-search-of-direction-incomplete.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/24313596/posts/default/6570469422052052447'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/24313596/posts/default/6570469422052052447'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://bmayur.blogspot.com/2007/08/in-search-of-direction-incomplete.html' title='In search of &quot;Direction&quot; (incomplete)'/><author><name>mayur</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/16512914377140705150</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_K7Baxcmx7aE/TCs7W7xHYnI/AAAAAAAAAOE/2k-x1xkkF6s/S220/IMG_1687.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-24313596.post-7180852695038292032</id><published>2007-08-28T14:22:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-11-09T10:11:46.601-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Faith! Should I trust you? (Incomplete...)</title><content type='html'>As the journeys begin to a beautiful unknown,&lt;br /&gt;I search through the pages of times bygone;&lt;br /&gt;the trails of believers of the yesteryears,&lt;br /&gt;that guide us through trials forever.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I tried to size into many a different feet,&lt;br /&gt;and continued to belabor in this excruciating heat;&lt;br /&gt;until I traversed the entire trodden path,&lt;br /&gt;to find, not a step, befitting in the vast expanse.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Today, I shook my head in vain and despair,&lt;br /&gt;searching in sparkles of brine for hope somewhere;&lt;br /&gt;Moments of triumph linger down the memory lane,&lt;br /&gt;to remind me of days sans much pain.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/24313596-7180852695038292032?l=bmayur.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://bmayur.blogspot.com/feeds/7180852695038292032/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://bmayur.blogspot.com/2007/08/faith-should-i-trust-you-incomplete.html#comment-form' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/24313596/posts/default/7180852695038292032'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/24313596/posts/default/7180852695038292032'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://bmayur.blogspot.com/2007/08/faith-should-i-trust-you-incomplete.html' title='Faith! Should I trust you? (Incomplete...)'/><author><name>mayur</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/16512914377140705150</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_K7Baxcmx7aE/TCs7W7xHYnI/AAAAAAAAAOE/2k-x1xkkF6s/S220/IMG_1687.JPG'/></author><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-24313596.post-661429937118552001</id><published>2007-08-19T09:55:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-08-19T10:11:58.141-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Wonder Years - Part 2 (2001)</title><content type='html'>The nights quite long, days rather short,                         &lt;br /&gt;educes the question, to live or abort;&lt;br /&gt;The dams are open and waters flow,&lt;br /&gt;sometimes they rush else so slow.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The silent tides, they ebb and crest;&lt;br /&gt;never they die, but they do rest;&lt;br /&gt;Tireless they roam,  over rocky terrain,&lt;br /&gt;marking the way, forever to remain.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The thoughts exist, but so obscure,&lt;br /&gt;images are blurred, like waters they wore;&lt;br /&gt;The tides rise in a quite crescendo,&lt;br /&gt;before each siesta, to trail and go.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;As they lay, back to the earth,&lt;br /&gt;times rolled back, with no dearth;&lt;br /&gt;Anticipation grew by each moment,&lt;br /&gt;awaiting the warm glance with distinct accent.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;As returns arrive, with galloping speed,&lt;br /&gt;the entire gamut of frames, flash beneath the eyelid;&lt;br /&gt;The epilogue nears, as shadows seek the horizon,&lt;br /&gt;and the wait resumes for the dams to reopen.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;..........b'coz this is one thing I valued most after all.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/24313596-661429937118552001?l=bmayur.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://bmayur.blogspot.com/feeds/661429937118552001/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://bmayur.blogspot.com/2007/08/wonder-years-part-2.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/24313596/posts/default/661429937118552001'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/24313596/posts/default/661429937118552001'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://bmayur.blogspot.com/2007/08/wonder-years-part-2.html' title='Wonder Years - Part 2 (2001)'/><author><name>mayur</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/16512914377140705150</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_K7Baxcmx7aE/TCs7W7xHYnI/AAAAAAAAAOE/2k-x1xkkF6s/S220/IMG_1687.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-24313596.post-690696607051833420</id><published>2007-08-19T09:45:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-08-19T10:11:14.542-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Wonder Years -  Part 1 (2000)</title><content type='html'>A night had passed, one set to arrive,&lt;br /&gt;the days blow, but on nights I thrive;&lt;br /&gt;The thoughts flow, but the dams remain,&lt;br /&gt;over the smooth and rocky terrain.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Deep down the way there it was,&lt;br /&gt;the something I had always dreamt of;&lt;br /&gt;A sail amidst the isles of adversity,&lt;br /&gt;full of laughter and great variety.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;A slender figure , yet imposing,&lt;br /&gt;a bit confused, still convincing;&lt;br /&gt;The days show, a touch of aura,&lt;br /&gt;while nights cast a bed of flora.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The heart cried, with gates wide open,&lt;br /&gt;and eyes glittered as dams reopened;&lt;br /&gt;As air narrowed into a warm valley,&lt;br /&gt;the words flowed in a huge rally.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Alas! it had a halt,&lt;br /&gt;sorry if I was at fault;&lt;br /&gt;I pray it shouldn't stop at all,&lt;br /&gt;b'coz this is something, I valued most after all.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The nights have returned, so dark,&lt;br /&gt;A lonely figure, beneath the starless park;&lt;br /&gt;The thoughts flow but the dams remain,&lt;br /&gt;As I wait for them to open once again.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/24313596-690696607051833420?l=bmayur.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://bmayur.blogspot.com/feeds/690696607051833420/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://bmayur.blogspot.com/2007/08/wonder-years-part-1.html#comment-form' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/24313596/posts/default/690696607051833420'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/24313596/posts/default/690696607051833420'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://bmayur.blogspot.com/2007/08/wonder-years-part-1.html' title='Wonder Years -  Part 1 (2000)'/><author><name>mayur</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/16512914377140705150</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_K7Baxcmx7aE/TCs7W7xHYnI/AAAAAAAAAOE/2k-x1xkkF6s/S220/IMG_1687.JPG'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-24313596.post-1287800750856099022</id><published>2007-08-19T00:11:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2007-08-19T00:36:57.250-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Living Angels (A tribute to the nurses of Jaslok hospital, Mumbai) 2001</title><content type='html'>&lt;p style="text-align: left;"&gt;The lights recede, as shadows arrive,&lt;br /&gt;the flame shivers, as storms drive;&lt;br /&gt;The will wobbles, as waters overflow,&lt;br /&gt;as the oblivious foe shows its face.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;As the pages of times unfold,&lt;br /&gt;a glimmer of hope they behold;&lt;br /&gt;The paradise is here, with gates wide open,&lt;br /&gt;I felt a hug there, and my will firmed up.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The angels drowned in spotless white,&lt;br /&gt;with smiles ON they looked so very bright;&lt;br /&gt;The milky crown, showed the aura,&lt;br /&gt;while the silent speech, cast a bed of flora.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;They come with sweet imagination,&lt;br /&gt;and toil with undented dedication;&lt;br /&gt;They infuse zeal and enthusiasm,&lt;br /&gt;with a good bit of conviction.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The turbulent seas began to calm,&lt;br /&gt;as they kissed me with their warm palms;&lt;br /&gt;They bestowed upon me their blessings,&lt;br /&gt;which I can never repay by thanksgiving.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Now as the dawn nears,&lt;br /&gt;I am delivered from all fears;&lt;br /&gt;In retrospect as I look back at the crests and troughs of the terrain,&lt;br /&gt;let the pages crumble,&lt;br /&gt;but these memories will be there forever to remain.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/24313596-1287800750856099022?l=bmayur.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://bmayur.blogspot.com/feeds/1287800750856099022/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://bmayur.blogspot.com/2007/08/living-angels-tribute-to-nurses-of.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/24313596/posts/default/1287800750856099022'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/24313596/posts/default/1287800750856099022'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://bmayur.blogspot.com/2007/08/living-angels-tribute-to-nurses-of.html' title='Living Angels (A tribute to the nurses of Jaslok hospital, Mumbai) 2001'/><author><name>mayur</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/16512914377140705150</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_K7Baxcmx7aE/TCs7W7xHYnI/AAAAAAAAAOE/2k-x1xkkF6s/S220/IMG_1687.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-24313596.post-7389201791447299953</id><published>2007-07-26T13:03:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-07-29T22:59:51.291-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Extend a helping hand!!!</title><content type='html'>Before you read this, let us contemplate, how we treat our youngsters (not kids) or our juniors in general, especially in office space. This occurred to me, during the last few months of my ordeal in office. Although personally I didn't suffer much affliction, I was pained to see how some of the junior members of my team were treated.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Looking back, (if any of you had read my first post), I think of the timeless quote in hindi "jo bhi hota hai achhe ke liye hota hai". You may wonder why?&lt;br /&gt;Since I was here (in the IT industry) more by accident than by design, I was completely ill-prepared for any task entrusted to me. But I was fortunate to have Nirav bhai and Pravinbhai as my immediate seniors, who would help me make the transition rather smoothly. It all began with them ,literally, hand holding and teaching me some of the tricks of the trade. Like any fresh college graduate, me and sanket (my partner throughout my first job) would gobble up all the knowledge bestowed upon us. Although the macro scenario wasn't that encouraging, we constantly received proper encouragement and guidance from our seniors (in spite of numerous pitfalls), which went a long way to assuage some of our fears. So my first stint in the IT industry had its fair share of bright spots as well. I can say so with the advantage of hindsight.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Today I stand, right at the opposite end of the spectrum.&lt;br /&gt;Me now being a relatively senior (going by the time spent in the project) member of the team, had to collectively guide some of the new joiners. As with all newbies, they were all bubbling with energy and prepared to take up any task given to them. But to their misfortune, they had come into a project, which would soon be on fire.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Initially, it was all easy going (for most of them) but it was perhaps the lull before the storm. Slowly as things started going a bit awry, everybody started looking out for scapegoats. The freshers as expected were easy targets. They not only received verbal bashing behind closed doors, but some of them had to also put up with public humiliation. From some of those bright sparkling eyes, were now emanating tiny droplets of the approaching dusk. Their youthful optimism had slowly transformed into disillusionment, and now shaping into sheer frustration. All of this started having a deleterious effect on their health. Some took to bed, while others labored on with  worn out tools. It was a pitiful sight, to see them turn into objects of ridicule.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;In retrospect, when I look back, I wonder, if all that could have been avoided.&lt;br /&gt;Some argued, under the pretext, "Let them get a taste of the real world" others said "Every man for himself" and the rest (including me) watched the carnage unfold before them, as  mute spectators. So that implicates me too. By doing so, I am not trying to take a moral high ground, but its an admission of guilt. It could have so easily been a joyride, than the tumultuous journey it eventually turned into. I do not have all the answers, partly because, I am unaware of some of the games that are played out in the higher echelons. But answers need to be found at all levels of the hierarchy. It all should start with each one of us owning up to our share of the blame, which might be difficult, considering the "EGO" dynamics. But still, each one of us needs to introspect, and come up with solutions to heal those wounds and put our house back into order. Treat each individual as an independent mind and customize the solutions to meet their developmental needs.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Similar stories must have played out in the innumerable offices doting the Indian landscape, with different characters obviously. The big question is; are we a nation of hypocrites who so conveniently project our young workforce as the "Great Talent Pool", but treat them as nothing more than servants who do all our menial jobs. We treat them as our subordinates rather than as new partners. This organizational hierarchy is so deeply entrenched in the Indian psyche, that it will be hard to change. But shouldn't it change?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So, lets extend a helping hand and embrace our new generation.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/24313596-7389201791447299953?l=bmayur.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://bmayur.blogspot.com/feeds/7389201791447299953/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://bmayur.blogspot.com/2007/07/extend-helping-hand.html#comment-form' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/24313596/posts/default/7389201791447299953'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/24313596/posts/default/7389201791447299953'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://bmayur.blogspot.com/2007/07/extend-helping-hand.html' title='Extend a helping hand!!!'/><author><name>mayur</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/16512914377140705150</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_K7Baxcmx7aE/TCs7W7xHYnI/AAAAAAAAAOE/2k-x1xkkF6s/S220/IMG_1687.JPG'/></author><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-24313596.post-6527114658632009513</id><published>2007-06-12T08:34:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-06-12T08:36:47.848-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Eternal Silence</title><content type='html'>As the gallant is on an imminent decline,&lt;br /&gt;the angel , with sublime innocence resurges;&lt;br /&gt;with chirping melody , that inebriates a stoic&lt;br /&gt;and the smile so sweet I fell in love with.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The days sailed , and the times paused,&lt;br /&gt;as I admired the beauty that cascaded;&lt;br /&gt;Just as the grandiose world was none to see,&lt;br /&gt;before a promenade beside the sea.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Alas! I stalled her way to the destined fame,&lt;br /&gt;and the spirits within went into complete mayhem;&lt;br /&gt;The times rolled back in moments of reflection,&lt;br /&gt;as I sank into an epoch of self-contemplation.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Now as the world rejoices in your name,&lt;br /&gt;I feel like a man possessed, sans shame;&lt;br /&gt;May your wins know no bounds,&lt;br /&gt;and make me feel like never before proud.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/24313596-6527114658632009513?l=bmayur.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://bmayur.blogspot.com/feeds/6527114658632009513/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://bmayur.blogspot.com/2007/06/eternal-silence.html#comment-form' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/24313596/posts/default/6527114658632009513'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/24313596/posts/default/6527114658632009513'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://bmayur.blogspot.com/2007/06/eternal-silence.html' title='Eternal Silence'/><author><name>mayur</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/16512914377140705150</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_K7Baxcmx7aE/TCs7W7xHYnI/AAAAAAAAAOE/2k-x1xkkF6s/S220/IMG_1687.JPG'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-24313596.post-6263169972102039048</id><published>2007-06-11T05:07:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-06-11T05:09:06.504-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Silent Eloquence</title><content type='html'>Inhibitions flew on the wings of times,&lt;br /&gt;                       as the nascent buds of love sprouted within;&lt;br /&gt;                       Emotions inundated my heart in holy shrines,&lt;br /&gt;                       and we sailed into those exalted precincts.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;                       Those eloquent eyes, that serene smile,&lt;br /&gt;                       your inebriating voice, and the charm sans guile,&lt;br /&gt;                       engulfs me into the heights untouched,&lt;br /&gt;                       and I bask in light of thy love, long searched.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;                       Those cozy evenings, and the speechless moments,&lt;br /&gt;                       is a prelude to the times, so soothing and clement;&lt;br /&gt;                       The little mischief, and the puny arguments,&lt;br /&gt;                       leave indelible impressions, of tacit agreements.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;                       Today I metamorphose into an eternal optimist,&lt;br /&gt;                       as the dream, with you in my life seem so lucid;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;script&gt;&lt;!-- D(["mb","                        The prevailing winds accentuates the belief,\u003cbr /\&gt;                       yet I reaffirm to fulfill the promises....implicit.\u003cbr /\&gt;\u003cbr /\&gt;ab sambhal ke rakhna.... coz i dont spare people whom fail to live up\u003cbr /\&gt;to their duties twice... samjhi.\u003cbr /\&gt;chalo madam..... abhi bahut bhook lagi hai...... apne boss se bhi\u003cbr /\&gt;bahut gali padi aaj .. lamba dose mila mujhe ..... aur main uski taraf\u003cbr /\&gt;besharamo ki tarah dekh ke hasta raha..... frustrate ho gaya end mein\u003cbr /\&gt;woh.... but first priority ... kuch khane ka bandobast karta hoon...\u003cbr /\&gt;bye\u003cbr /\&gt;mayur\u003cbr /\&gt;\u003c/div\&gt;",1] );  //--&gt;&lt;/script&gt;                        The prevailing winds accentuates the belief,&lt;br /&gt;                      yet I reaffirm to fulfill the promises....implicit.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/24313596-6263169972102039048?l=bmayur.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://bmayur.blogspot.com/feeds/6263169972102039048/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://bmayur.blogspot.com/2007/06/silent-eloquence.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/24313596/posts/default/6263169972102039048'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/24313596/posts/default/6263169972102039048'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://bmayur.blogspot.com/2007/06/silent-eloquence.html' title='Silent Eloquence'/><author><name>mayur</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/16512914377140705150</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_K7Baxcmx7aE/TCs7W7xHYnI/AAAAAAAAAOE/2k-x1xkkF6s/S220/IMG_1687.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-24313596.post-27385234687190825</id><published>2007-06-08T07:57:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2007-06-08T08:13:29.176-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Naive Arguments (from 9th grade)</title><content type='html'>In the midst of city, there there lives a lad,&lt;br /&gt;full of ambition but still sad;&lt;br /&gt;with no trust in everybody,&lt;br /&gt;neither envious against anybody.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Then from somewhere around a corner,&lt;br /&gt;came a sweet girl by nature's order;&lt;br /&gt;Full of belief and brimming devotion,&lt;br /&gt;she tried to change the boy's imagination.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;She tried to induce hope and trust,&lt;br /&gt;and to 'live' which she called is a must,&lt;br /&gt;But he paid no attention to her noble advice,&lt;br /&gt;and thought his lifestyle, safe and more wise.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;She tried many a more hundred times,&lt;br /&gt;until at last she committed her last crime;&lt;br /&gt;Finally she shook her head in despair,&lt;br /&gt;the gallant still searched for bliss somewhere.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/24313596-27385234687190825?l=bmayur.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://bmayur.blogspot.com/feeds/27385234687190825/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://bmayur.blogspot.com/2007/06/naive-arguments-from-9th-grade.html#comment-form' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/24313596/posts/default/27385234687190825'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/24313596/posts/default/27385234687190825'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://bmayur.blogspot.com/2007/06/naive-arguments-from-9th-grade.html' title='Naive Arguments (from 9th grade)'/><author><name>mayur</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/16512914377140705150</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_K7Baxcmx7aE/TCs7W7xHYnI/AAAAAAAAAOE/2k-x1xkkF6s/S220/IMG_1687.JPG'/></author><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-24313596.post-6028005859637302246</id><published>2007-06-04T22:49:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-06-05T00:06:06.477-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Madamji (in Hindi)</title><content type='html'>Ek waqt beeta, chand lamho jaisa,&lt;br /&gt;aayi sandhya, fir bhor ka intezaar kaisa;&lt;br /&gt;Do pal ki mulaqat thi, fir yeh gham kyu,&lt;br /&gt;guzarta jhoka hi to hai, fir yeh aalam kyu.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Kuch is tarah aye who mere jahan mein,&lt;br /&gt;navjivan wani liye zaban mein,&lt;br /&gt;Maddham hui zindagi, shor-e-halaal se,&lt;br /&gt;pariyon ka saya ho jaise kapal pe.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Har mushkil mein unki yaad aati hai&lt;br /&gt;yakeen hai , uchit marg dikhlati hai,&lt;br /&gt;Man mein guru ka sthan deta hoon ,&lt;br /&gt;aapke satkaar mein shish jhukata hoon.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Ab udasi si chayi hai is man me,&lt;br /&gt;jo gham ki syahi se likhi is kagaz mein,&lt;br /&gt;Kya kahe zindagi kuch aise hi fisalati ja rahi hai,&lt;br /&gt;par aisa kyu hai ki kuch apno ko jane bina hi ,&lt;br /&gt;…………. wo hamse ruksat ho leti hai.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/24313596-6028005859637302246?l=bmayur.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://bmayur.blogspot.com/feeds/6028005859637302246/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://bmayur.blogspot.com/2007/06/madamji-in-hindi.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/24313596/posts/default/6028005859637302246'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/24313596/posts/default/6028005859637302246'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://bmayur.blogspot.com/2007/06/madamji-in-hindi.html' title='Madamji (in Hindi)'/><author><name>mayur</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/16512914377140705150</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_K7Baxcmx7aE/TCs7W7xHYnI/AAAAAAAAAOE/2k-x1xkkF6s/S220/IMG_1687.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-24313596.post-8516275762153139718</id><published>2007-05-24T03:46:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-05-24T03:48:33.242-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Mutthi bhar yadein (in Hindi)</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-size: 11pt; font-family: Arial;"&gt;Ek lamha gira, zindagi thi meri,&lt;br /&gt;panchhiyon si udi, khwahishein thi meri;&lt;br /&gt;tinnka tinnka mila, ghosalaa ban &lt;st1:place st="on"&gt;&lt;st1:city st="on"&gt;gaya&lt;/st1:City&gt;&lt;/st1:place&gt;,&lt;br /&gt;ek jhonka hua, bas yaadein reh gayi.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;woh dost the mile, ya naye gul khile,&lt;br /&gt;karwaan tha naya aur naye silsile;&lt;br /&gt;saadagi se bhare, naram woh piyale,&lt;br /&gt;kilkilati hansi ke jude kaafile.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;ek ehsaas tha, ek vishwaas tha,&lt;br /&gt;ankahe labzo ka ek andaaz tha.&lt;br /&gt;ek pal jo lade, fir naya pal jiye,&lt;br /&gt;mitti ke teelon sa apna sansaar tha.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;fir mude chal diye apni raahein liye,&lt;br /&gt;main bhi tha badh chala, laakho sapne liye;&lt;br /&gt;adchanein thi kayei, the magar humsafar,&lt;br /&gt;aur irshya bhari woh anjaan nazar.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;har ghadi dekhu main, is andherein tale,&lt;br /&gt;khwabon ka janazaa, roop sehra liye.&lt;br /&gt;kaash ji loo agar, fir woh maasoom pal,&lt;br /&gt;karwatein thi meri, aainaa ban gayi.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/24313596-8516275762153139718?l=bmayur.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://bmayur.blogspot.com/feeds/8516275762153139718/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://bmayur.blogspot.com/2007/05/mutthi-bhar-yadein-in-hindi.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/24313596/posts/default/8516275762153139718'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/24313596/posts/default/8516275762153139718'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://bmayur.blogspot.com/2007/05/mutthi-bhar-yadein-in-hindi.html' title='Mutthi bhar yadein (in Hindi)'/><author><name>mayur</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/16512914377140705150</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_K7Baxcmx7aE/TCs7W7xHYnI/AAAAAAAAAOE/2k-x1xkkF6s/S220/IMG_1687.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-24313596.post-8995490292341515933</id><published>2007-05-08T13:11:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-02-24T04:05:59.698-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Confessions of an "Eligible" Bachelor</title><content type='html'>As my caravan arrived at the critical juncture,&lt;br /&gt;I prepare myself to face the moment of truth;&lt;br /&gt;A moment that comes but once, in life,&lt;br /&gt;to change it forever, by design or disaster.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;All past anxieties now seems like a speck,&lt;br /&gt;against a deluge of uncertainties I walk into;&lt;br /&gt;The fleeting moments of grief n joy, of past,&lt;br /&gt;I recall, appear too tiny to rely upon.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I pace between the gates of heart and mind,&lt;br /&gt;to discern a way through the clogged drains&lt;br /&gt;...of my other whole.&lt;br /&gt;The cradle of heart sang many a gentle hymn,&lt;br /&gt;until the legacy of the mind shredded it all into pieces.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The dilemma gets murkier at the doorstep of dawn,&lt;br /&gt;or whether I'd recede into a deeper darkness;&lt;br /&gt;The choice is mine, but not entirely mine,&lt;br /&gt;whatever be the turn of the coin;&lt;br /&gt;when I look back from the shores above,&lt;br /&gt;I wish I could make one life worth living.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/24313596-8995490292341515933?l=bmayur.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://bmayur.blogspot.com/feeds/8995490292341515933/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://bmayur.blogspot.com/2007/05/confessions-of-eligible-bachelor.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/24313596/posts/default/8995490292341515933'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/24313596/posts/default/8995490292341515933'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://bmayur.blogspot.com/2007/05/confessions-of-eligible-bachelor.html' title='Confessions of an &quot;Eligible&quot; Bachelor'/><author><name>mayur</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/16512914377140705150</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_K7Baxcmx7aE/TCs7W7xHYnI/AAAAAAAAAOE/2k-x1xkkF6s/S220/IMG_1687.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-24313596.post-114271141933466526</id><published>2006-03-18T11:46:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2007-08-11T03:34:29.550-07:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>Well this is my first attempt at writing a blog.... so quite unsure of what to put in it&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;As the name suggests, today is a new beginning in my life. I just resigned from my current job yesterday. After harping over this question for 2 years, yesterday was that fateful day when i finally put in my papers. And what a relief it is. Lifes been hell for these 2 long years. And as expected, this is the story of a software engineer.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I can still remember the day when i had got the call from this company and how ecstatic I was that day. It was a dream come true. All through my college days I had never dreamt of getting a job so soon after the college. I then had to give two or three treats to my friends for getting this job, as getting a job was a scarce commodity during those days. And poor little me, I was totally oblivious of what was to follow. It was nothing short of a journey through hell.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I was initially put under a project manager who was the most insecure person you would ever meet. He was so damn sure of his weakness and was so overwhelmed with it that he just wanted to stick to whatever he had. And still put on a smart face, which would make him look even more foolish. There was absolutely no work on that project which he could offer me, but still he didn’t release me and left me there to Rotttttt….. he would scare us (me and my friend) with dangerous consequences if we leak this out. After some time we got used to him and his ways and were no more intimidated. We then took our chances and approached our project director many time ….. he too was another “Dhakkan”…. Although an IIT+IIM pass out he virtually had no life in him….. one of the most lazy and sloppy fellows on earth. Finally the day came when approached our Vice President to look into our matter. For that moment it felt good to see my project manager and my project director get some verbal bashing….. deservingly. What followed was straight out of the old adage “From the frying pan into the fire”. Next year passed with just doing documentation and IISRESET. At the end of those wasted 2 years I was technically ZERO, although I had picked up some bits and pieces of knowledge along the way.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Now I found myself worthy of nothing and had no other option but to stick to my company coz I felt that nobody would want to hire a fresher with 2 years work experience. I was very frustrated with myself for having suffered for this long and still haven’t taken any drastic steps to stem the rot. My workplace felt like nothing short of a dump of toxic energy.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Now my top priority was to get some descent work to do and I was sure I was not going to get this in my current, but I didn’t have the guts to face an interview with such meager knowledge (eventually it turned out that, it is only me who considered it meager). I started studying with some purpose to land a better job. I also happened to read the book “The Alchemist” during this period, and it was indeed a marvelous work of art. Some of it too imbibed some craziness into me. Mind you, sometimes to drastically changes your life you got to be a bit crazy and take some bold steps………… I then appeared for my first interview ….. and cleared it….. got a descent job offer but as all my comates said it was monetarily not up to the mark and most importantly the work being offered was not to my liking. Then came the next offer from India’s largest software firm…… the salary bargain round was a shocker…… I never ever thought in my life that some one would ask me…. “Tera final kitna hai bol”….. it was as though I was being auctioned. I decided then and there that I m not going to join this firm. And then a month later a dream offer came to me and I decided to give it a fair chance. As you might have guessed, I cleared this too.&lt;br /&gt;Yesterday I put in my papers and what followed was a 4 hours session with my Project director, my project manager and my project leader to understand my reasons for leaving. Meanwhile they also tried to lure me back with many tempting offer like … they would recommend my name for H1 visa, immediately put me into another project of my liking, increase my salary…. and a host of other goodies. But I ask, why didn’t they do all this good stuff when I was very much among. Why is this just a part of a damage control exercise. During the session, I blurted out all the mistreatment that was showered on me during the 2 years. I don’t know whether that was the wisest thing to do, I just spoke my heart out.&lt;br /&gt;Now I don’t have any regrets. I m just looking forward to my job with an open mind. If one of you happen to be in a similar sort of dilemma, then don’t wait for a very long (like I did) to act. Just do it now.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I now have a bunch of new ideas to work on and an open and free mind to pursue them.&lt;br /&gt;And I would advise you all, from a personal experience, that …… it is never never never never tooo late to make &lt;strong&gt;A Fresh Start&lt;/strong&gt;.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/24313596-114271141933466526?l=bmayur.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://bmayur.blogspot.com/feeds/114271141933466526/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://bmayur.blogspot.com/2006/03/well-this-is-my-first-attempt-at.html#comment-form' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/24313596/posts/default/114271141933466526'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/24313596/posts/default/114271141933466526'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://bmayur.blogspot.com/2006/03/well-this-is-my-first-attempt-at.html' title=''/><author><name>mayur</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/16512914377140705150</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_K7Baxcmx7aE/TCs7W7xHYnI/AAAAAAAAAOE/2k-x1xkkF6s/S220/IMG_1687.JPG'/></author><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry></feed>
