tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-89710278438509308262024-03-13T17:27:07.310+05:30Courtyard ChroniclesWonderwallhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14603171759226440554noreply@blogger.comBlogger45125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8971027843850930826.post-20338644366192248762010-03-11T11:46:00.002+05:302010-03-11T11:53:33.481+05:30Generations<div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; border-collapse: collapse; ">The other day I met a lady who is very much part of the 'clan' but it was probably the first time I had spoken to her as a 'grown-up'. We had a long conversation about dogs and how they are so special to us- and losing them can be more traumatic than losing a relative, sometimes.I liked her instantly and hoped when I got to her age- I might be as gracious and beautiful as she was. </span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; border-collapse: collapse; ">I had no idea that she is a writer and was surprised to get this in an email from my mother. I have to say it is a bit of an honour to be compared to the women of the family- if I am an ounce of what they are- I am pretty much sorted.</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; border-collapse: collapse; "><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; border-collapse: collapse; "><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; border-collapse: collapse; ">THREE GENERATIONS OF THE GENTLER SEX. </span></div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; border-collapse: collapse; "><div style="text-align: center;">Joyshri Lobo. </div><br />Sometimes, merely being in the company of ones peers energises us. We meet, interact, discuss and catch up on the years that have gone by, and often pick up strings from the moment where we had left off. None of us appear anything like we were three decades ago, but within the frame work of wrinkles, weight gains or losses, broken bones and arthritic knees, missing or broken teeth, we do find our selves and are joyous in the re-discovery of each other. At one such gathering, we caught up with three generations of remarkable women, who do not require an appointed day or a chronicled page to point out their achievements. </span><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; border-collapse: collapse; "><br />As Jewell looked out of the window, I recollected the beautiful, gentle English woman who made India her home. She sang and played the piano, creating music and pure joy amongst many children who passed through the portals of the school she had pioneered. They remember her still, those young men and women. She never raised her voice nor spoke a harsh word to a colleague or pupil and was kind to a fault. Her very life can be likened to the gem she was named after. </span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; border-collapse: collapse; "><br />Bonnie, the eldest daughter, wears her mother’s mantle well. Gracious and soft spoken, she has nurtured her children, grand-children and students with care and selflessness. Still lovely and the perfect hostess, she accepts compliments with humility and grace. The care she extends towards her household spills over into extensive social work around the city. Age seems to pass her by, as it does her sister Amrita. </span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; border-collapse: collapse; "><br />The tomboy of the family, Amrita has a wild sense of humour and the courage to take up challenges like car rallying and teaching, the skill inherited from Jewel. She looks ridiculously youthful and probably feels even younger. Where do these women get their exuberance from? We need to learn their secret family formula.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; border-collapse: collapse; "><br />Amrita’s daughter Kismet is as lovely and willowy as her mother. Photography is her forte’ and she is happiest working on assignments, anywhere in the country. In a few years the world might be her oyster. Who knows? She is the image of unfettered, confident, involved, educated Indian womanhood. </span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; border-collapse: collapse; "><br />These are three generations of erudite, progressive women who, every day of their lives. are breaking new grounds and courageously facing challenges. </span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; border-collapse: collapse; "><br />Fourteen years after its inception, the Womens Reservation Bill has started its marathon run from the Rajya Sabha. It is a historic moment at a time when some women are reaching great heights and others are victims of gender bias, khaps, murder, rape and inequality. To some extent, the bill will allow leaders to come forth as role models and fighters for justice. But will the marathon path widen to encompass more or will it narrow down due to hurdles and hiccups fom men and women totally resistent to change in what they consider inherited comfort zones? A lot of my fraternity are opposed to the liberality this bill points towards. Should we be ashamed of ourselves? I think, the four women mentioned above, have raised the bar on their own steam, based on deep rooted convictions. They required no bills or laws to guide them. Education and explanation will help us understand the paradigms offered to us. I do hope the Government will offer a little of both.</span></div>Wonderwallhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14603171759226440554noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8971027843850930826.post-16035623917663449052009-11-27T14:43:00.003+05:302010-02-12T11:08:45.085+05:30The Simple Life<div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div>[As told to me by my Dad]<div><br /></div><div>Back then-</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div>Everyone wore shirts that said 'Make love,not war.' [as cliched as it may sound]</div><div>You didn't say 'HI', you said 'PEACE'. '</div><div>You rode your bikes slow, so the girls could che</div><div>ck you out.</div><div>There were only about eight bikes and five scooters in Chandigarh.</div><div>They called themselves the 'Dooks' and the 'Yanks' .</div><div>A movie cost one rupee fifty, the chinese cost two rupees and a cola was fifty paise, so your date cost you about Rs.5.</div><div>The movies changed every day, with one English movie showing on Wednesday.</div><div>You could hear your friends bike from a mil</div><div>e away (literally).</div><div>Bell bottoms were cool.</div><div>Every one had a nickname- Fly, Flatty, Squeaky, Gooey.</div><div>You got your jeans from Jean Junction.</div><div>Walking was the way you got everywhere- to college and back, to sector seventeen and home.</div><div>Yelling across the park for cold coffee was normal.</div><div>So was the cow that lived in your friend-across-the-parks-house.</div><div>Morni was exciting.</div><div>Sitting on the round-abouts drinking rum for two rupees was the way to spend your evenings.</div><div>It was all so simple.</div><div><img src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_659O2kpwXQA/Sw_daFL9P_I/AAAAAAAAUCw/VObErkm0UCM/s320/mapa.jpg" style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 130px; height: 97px;" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5408785117633921010" /></div><div>This is how it could've been.</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>{ An addition to this post by a good friend of my parents who grew up with them.Collective memories are important.}</div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; border-collapse: collapse; "><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 13px; border-collapse: collapse; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><i>I remember for Rs 10, you could fill your scooter. I usually filled up about Rs 5 worth at one go, or even Rs 3. But one time, when we were all in college, all I had was Rs 1, so that's how much gas I got filled in. It was really funny. </i></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 13px; border-collapse: collapse; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><i><br />We lived in Sector 27-A, diagonally across from Sector 7, where some family friends lived. We went to their home almost every evening, and went for a walk. Walking was what one did for fun. On occasion, we walked from college (GCW) to your mum's home in Sector 8-A; Usha Hooda lived around the corner, and Candy didn't live too far either--we lived on cold coffee in the summertime. It was also a good way to lose weight if that's all you consumed. </i></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 13px; border-collapse: collapse; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><i><br />And Morni was a lot of fun. Ask your dad and mum to show you photos of one of our trips there on scooters. </i></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 13px; border-collapse: collapse; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><i><br />Love, Vinty</i></span></span></div><div><br /></div>Wonderwallhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14603171759226440554noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8971027843850930826.post-28506168601679682262009-11-15T22:05:00.003+05:302009-11-15T22:13:38.488+05:30Not what you thinkUnspoken truths : I know but I won't say.<div> I see but I look away.</div><div><br /></div><div>Faux bonds : I comply yet I block.</div><div> I won't scratch anyones back.</div><div><br /></div><div>Emotionless : My smile isn't real.</div><div> Really? *yawns* *looks away*</div><div><br /></div><div>Senseless & beaten , you aren't as smart as you think.</div><div>You are just routine.</div><div><br /></div>Wonderwallhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14603171759226440554noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8971027843850930826.post-1538946968451714242009-09-07T23:30:00.002+05:302009-09-07T23:48:23.439+05:30Time to ChangeWhat is a 500 rupees note nowadays? Nothing , really. Three coffees and you are left with maybe a hundred rupees, or even less. Sometimes Rs.500 isn't enough for three coffees. This is what the value of a 500 rupees note has reached. So, you'd think the I000 rupees note should be slightly more valuable but not so valuable at the same time? Throw away money? Money to burn? Maybe in your world.<div><br /></div><div>In mine, it's a bloody pain to have a 500 rupees note, so let's not even talk about I000.</div><div>My days and thoughts have begun to be consumed on how to procure some change. Every auto valla wants change- I mean really, THEY are the ones who take people around all day and are probably asking each one for change , right? Or is it that when its my turn to pay, the auto valas have given away all their change to customers before me? Am I just so unlucky? </div><div><br /></div><div>What about Barista? Surely, they should have some change.It only makes the most sense. They are a chain of very famous and well known coffee stores run across the entire country. What excuse do they have? Oh, I know- the banks haven't opened yet. So when I hand them a I000 rupees note (that the ATM has happily spat out at me) , they apologise and ask (read- DEMAND) for change. We can give you two 500's, if you give us a I00. Would I be having this innane conversation if I had a I00 to give you? My battle with barista is lost too. </div><div><br /></div><div>No one has change. I have no money to get into a rickshaw (two notes of a I000 and I'm as broke as the beggar tugging at my shirt). I have twenty minutes to get to my shoot. </div><div><br /></div><div>All is lost. Except, if I go grocery shopping -which is so unecessary ,yet the only answer. Ten minutes later, with a few bags of dal and MDH Dhania powder to my name, and ofcourse the much needed CHANGE- I jump into an auto and head towards my appointment.</div><div><br /></div><div>I can't help but think someone is plotting against me. What do you think, dal-ing?</div>Wonderwallhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14603171759226440554noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8971027843850930826.post-78988489956584596162009-07-08T15:19:00.003+05:302009-07-08T15:23:36.550+05:30Generation Gap<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_659O2kpwXQA/SlRr-hjfTBI/AAAAAAAATm8/BXFDv2JDRLE/s1600-h/yo.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 266px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_659O2kpwXQA/SlRr-hjfTBI/AAAAAAAATm8/BXFDv2JDRLE/s400/yo.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5356024578753645586" /></a> <div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;">Who's Michael Jackson?</span></i></span></div>Wonderwallhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14603171759226440554noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8971027843850930826.post-9332900892953534172009-06-24T00:48:00.005+05:302009-06-24T01:11:29.893+05:30Six Minutes<div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">"He (my brother Lewis ) was told he had <i>six </i><i>minutes </i>to get out and he would survive,</div><div style="text-align: justify;">but he didn't manage and he was killed."</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div><div style="text-align: justify;">"They said they would give me dinner in <i>six </i><i>minutes</i>.</div><div style="text-align: justify;">It's been six minutes and it hasn't come yet. (Is there any jelly?)"</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">"I've been having the strangest dreams lately." <b>*pause*</b></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><b><br /></b></div><div style="text-align: justify;">"I was told that when you die it happens in six minutes.</div><div style="text-align: justify;">You lie down and in<i> six minutes </i>you die.</div><div style="text-align: justify;">I lay down and in five minutes, I was gone.Just like that."</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic; ">Who told you this?</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;">"Aunt Dora."</div></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_659O2kpwXQA/SkEufoIyMeI/AAAAAAAATjw/rS_5_kAtcM4/s1600-h/gran+3.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 267px; height: 400px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_659O2kpwXQA/SkEufoIyMeI/AAAAAAAATjw/rS_5_kAtcM4/s400/gran+3.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5350608953177944546" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_659O2kpwXQA/SkEufp3aNbI/AAAAAAAATjo/IYLJPGbgmFE/s1600-h/gran+2.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 267px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_659O2kpwXQA/SkEufp3aNbI/AAAAAAAATjo/IYLJPGbgmFE/s400/gran+2.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5350608953641940402" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_659O2kpwXQA/SkEufUQS0-I/AAAAAAAATjg/qCmch0Ip_jY/s1600-h/gran1.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 267px; height: 400px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_659O2kpwXQA/SkEufUQS0-I/AAAAAAAATjg/qCmch0Ip_jY/s400/gran1.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5350608947840734178" /></a><br /><br /><div><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">"Take me home, I must go now."</div><div><br /></div>Wonderwallhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14603171759226440554noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8971027843850930826.post-53614671497866309822009-06-09T23:32:00.006+05:302009-10-01T01:00:19.869+05:30AgeingCha has had a healthy baby boy- last night at 3:40 am.,a couple hours after his own birthday. He is a father. HE IS A FATHER!!!<div>Number three () is engaged. </div><div>She is divorced.</div><div>Racoon thinks he is twenty three years old when he is actually twenty six going on twenty seven! Boy, was he shocked to be three years older in less than a minute! </div><div><br /></div><div>Do we all think we are younger than what we are? Or are we older than we are?</div><div>Maybe, we are just old. Still living a child's life. That is the real joke.</div><div><br /></div><div>Its been nearly a month since I have been home and I am ready to go back to Bombay and the uncertainity of it all. I love home but not being home is something I have begun to love as well.</div><div>Where and when will we find our middle path?</div><div>Glimpses of me </div><div>is what worries me.</div><div>Is that who I am now?</div><div>Circled eyes? and a constant frown?</div><div>Is the only way from here , down?</div><div><br /></div><div>It's been a good six months.</div>Wonderwallhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14603171759226440554noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8971027843850930826.post-5836379429652800252009-05-04T00:09:00.002+05:302009-05-04T00:13:52.769+05:30The Eigth year.I am just a mere speck in the universe.<div>As are you.</div><div>And you.</div><div>And YOU.</div><div><br /></div><div>But here we are, pouring rain and red earth. Maximum City to Santa's Land. 2001 to 2009. Then to now. </div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div>Wonderwallhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14603171759226440554noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8971027843850930826.post-31285424452685484022009-05-01T16:10:00.002+05:302009-05-01T16:19:16.847+05:30FlashflashFlashThings keep happening. We keep moving. We keep needing. and we keep doing.<div><br /><div>Goafest.Campaign.Photographs.Cameras.Lenses.FlashflashFlash. Soundpad.Music.Flash.movies.</div><div><br /></div><div>It's not stupid.It's me.</div><div><br /></div><div>Oh, and don't forget to stabilise it from the <span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;">bottom.</span></div></div>Wonderwallhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14603171759226440554noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8971027843850930826.post-21790946932940476982009-03-28T15:52:00.003+05:302009-03-28T16:02:42.074+05:30Defined.<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'courier new';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'courier new';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">Random:</span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 17px; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'courier new';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">Having no specific pattern, purpose, or objective.</span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'courier new';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'courier new';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'courier new';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">Chance:</span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 17px; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'courier new';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">A force assumed to cause events that cannot be foreseen or controlled.</span></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 17px; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'courier new';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 17px; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'courier new';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;">Serendipity</span></span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 17px; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'courier new';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">:The faculty of making fortunate discoveries by accident.</span></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 17px; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'courier new';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 17px; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'courier new';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">Illusion:</span></span>An erroneous perception of reality.</span></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 17px; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'courier new';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 17px; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(51, 51, 255);">Random chances give the illusion of serendipity</span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(51, 51, 255);">.</span></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 17px; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'courier new';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: 12px; line-height: 17px;"><br /></span></div>Wonderwallhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14603171759226440554noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8971027843850930826.post-44133631688857828992009-03-02T00:34:00.003+05:302009-03-02T00:56:31.136+05:30Love-lessThere is a wedding everyday, these days. It is all about how much money you spent, which wedding was longer, who wore what, who was invited, where they went for their honeymoon- comparisons of the materialistic things. People are getting married fast and all together just in case it goes out of fashion or potential companions run out. Yes, we get these invites all the time- and we think, "How am I going to get out of this one?"<div><br /></div><div>There is a divorce everyday, these days. Cover ups, forced smiles, playing pretend. Just to hide a split up. Our school principals and teachers thought we came up with brilliant reasons for coming late to school. They never knew of the lies we were capable of! Then again, society didn't tear you apart for coming to school fifteen minutes late, but a potential divorce? a broken marriage? Gossip and mean-ness reaches new levels. That isn't my point- not for this post, anyway.</div><div><br /></div><div>Weddings-divorces-weddings-divorces..... What I want to ask is, <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=MJpyskHMwRs">where is the love</a>? Or is this a trend? Has it become cool to divorce by the second year of being married? I don't think so. I think, it's okay not to know love - not to love love anymore.</div><div><br /></div><div>Where are all these thoughts coming from, you wonder? From watching a movie where love transcends everything, from the relationship, from the self- yet it is there right till the end. From a MOVIE! That is the only place love really exists anymore. It is the only place it remains as it was years ago. In real life, people say they are in love, do things you do in love, but tomorrow *poof* it's gone. That is NOT love. </div><div><br /></div><div>I can't believe I am rambling on about "love"- my most hated topic of yesteryear, but also most debated. Cha: you called me a romantic and I fought it, but I guess I am. </div><div><br /></div><div>I have been defeated: by love. And I am just trying to stand up for it.</div>Wonderwallhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14603171759226440554noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8971027843850930826.post-41095770736856877642009-03-01T13:20:00.001+05:302009-03-01T13:23:18.136+05:30Unbelievably scary<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_659O2kpwXQA/Sao-gtamR9I/AAAAAAAASws/n66Cywi76mA/s1600-h/poster.jpeg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 226px; height: 320px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_659O2kpwXQA/Sao-gtamR9I/AAAAAAAASws/n66Cywi76mA/s320/poster.jpeg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5308123842477443026" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_659O2kpwXQA/Sao-gn8EglI/AAAAAAAASwk/_1liUmpPXwM/s1600-h/intervene_poster3.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 226px; height: 320px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_659O2kpwXQA/Sao-gn8EglI/AAAAAAAASwk/_1liUmpPXwM/s320/intervene_poster3.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5308123841007223378" /></a><br /><div><br /></div><div>This has become a war almost- an eye for an eye. You beat up women at a pub, we send you pink chaddis, you find women on the road and berate them, beat them. </div><div>Shame! What a confused world we live in.</div>Wonderwallhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14603171759226440554noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8971027843850930826.post-18627672004146607972009-02-22T20:35:00.000+05:302009-02-22T20:36:44.950+05:30Amsterrr-dam!!<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 49, 69); font-family: Verdana; font-size: 10px; line-height: 14px; "><object classid="clsid:D27CDB6E-AE6D-11cf-96B8-444553540000" codebase="http://download.macromedia.com/pub/shockwave/cabs/flash/swflash.cab#version=9,0,28,0" width="200" height="350"> <param name="movie" value="http://img354.imageshack.us/img354/4272/shellrz9.swf?site=in_en&uid=CC80B9CB5B99A8B064CF8CBCB8AE6C44"> <param name="quality" value="high"> <param name="wmode" value="transparent"> <embed src="http://img354.imageshack.us/img354/4272/shellrz9.swf?site=in_en&uid=CC80B9CB5B99A8B064CF8CBCB8AE6C44" width="200" height="350" quality="high" pluginspage="http://www.adobe.com/shockwave/download/download.cgi?P1_Prod_Version=ShockwaveFlash" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" wmode="transparent"></embed> </object></span>Wonderwallhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14603171759226440554noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8971027843850930826.post-79671343218680791072009-02-14T17:54:00.003+05:302009-02-25T14:13:02.081+05:30Silence<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;">Things you want to say to your friends, but can't/shouldn't/don't want to/scared to:</span></span><div><br /></div><div>Your boyfriend is a creep. Leave him/ I 'm gad you left him. Someone else will make you happy.</div><div><br /><div>Do you like girls more than you like boys? Boys more than girls?</div><div><br /></div><div>You need help, your thoughts , actions and feelings are so disjointed.You are bordering schizophrenia.</div><div><br /></div><div>You are depressed.</div><div><br /></div><div>Smile, it's been forever since I saw you happy.</div><div><br /></div><div>You have problems, talk about them but ermm, I have something to say too.</div><div><br /></div><div>Is the friendship we had when we were kids all we have left? I don't see you caring anymore. </div><div><br /></div><div>Wow! you sure know how to lie!</div><div><br /></div><div>Oh! Shut up!!!</div><div><br /></div><div>I don't like you.You disappoint me.</div><div><br /></div><div>*sigh* Maybe I am the disappointment and hypocrite for not saying it as it is. </div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div></div>Wonderwallhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14603171759226440554noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8971027843850930826.post-37866886746265594982009-02-14T14:25:00.000+05:302009-02-14T14:25:23.268+05:30Love-ly!<div style="MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; TEXT-ALIGN: center"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_659O2kpwXQA/SZaG-meZTxI/AAAAAAAASt4/fCVTndWYNNg/s1600-h/Dragonfly_for_web.jpg"><img alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_659O2kpwXQA/SZaG-meZTxI/AAAAAAAASt4/fCVTndWYNNg/s320/Dragonfly_for_web.jpg" border="0" /></a> </div><div style='clear:both; text-align:CENTER'><a href='http://picasa.google.com/blogger/' target='ext'><img src='http://photos1.blogger.com/pbp.gif' alt='Posted by Picasa' style='border: 0px none ; padding: 0px; background: transparent none repeat scroll 0% 50%; -moz-background-clip: initial; -moz-background-origin: initial; -moz-background-inline-policy: initial;' align='middle' border='0' /></a></div>Wonderwallhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14603171759226440554noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8971027843850930826.post-7312101433440872732009-02-09T22:00:00.004+05:302009-02-09T22:05:40.202+05:30Pink Chaddi Campaign<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_659O2kpwXQA/SZBa9AZIuOI/AAAAAAAAStY/UaIsQfizi9Y/s1600-h/pink+chaddi.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 214px; height: 320px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_659O2kpwXQA/SZBa9AZIuOI/AAAAAAAAStY/UaIsQfizi9Y/s320/pink+chaddi.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5300836765539023074" /></a><br />Cos I like to go to "pubs".<div><br /><div><div style="text-align: center;">http://thepinkchaddicampaign.blogspot.com<br /></div><div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div></div></div></div>Wonderwallhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14603171759226440554noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8971027843850930826.post-28240952242787208362009-02-08T16:41:00.003+05:302009-02-08T17:02:13.302+05:30I'm IT!<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(99, 67, 32); font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 14px; "><br /><br />1. What does your user name mean?<br />Courtyard Chronicles- I would like to imagine myself sitting in a courtyard, drinking coffee reading the chronicles.?!!? I mean, what does Firozi Fish mean? heh.<br /><br />2. Elaborate on your user photo.<br />Barcelona, walking from Parc Guell- saw this lovely doorway.Loved the colours.<br /><br />3. How many comments do you have?<br />Not many.<br /><br />4. What's your current relationship status?<br />Dating.<br /><br />5. What exactly are you wearing right now?<br />Black harem pants. Brothers oversized t shirt. Sunday- who bathes?<br /><br />6. What is your current problem?<br />Unemployment. <br /><br />7. What do you love the most?<br />Not knowing and just doing,mostly. These days though, I am not loving it.<br /><br /><br />8. What makes you most happy?<br />Reconnecting, food and these days, cooking-even if i suck at it. oh and cleanliness and order. haha<br /><br />9. Are you musically inclined?<br />Unfortunately, no.<br /><br /><br />10. What would you do if you woke up one morning and found out you were on cocaine?<br />Get help. Highly unlikely since if given a chance- I would rehabilitate the entire town of Chandi. I despise drugs.<br /><br /><br />11. If you could go back in time and change something, what would it be?<br />Probably, not take so much time off and procrastinate.<br /><br /><br />12. If you MUST be an animal for ONE day, what would you be?<br />Kangaroo<br /><br />13. Ever had a near-death experience?<br />No.<br /><br /><br />14. Name an obvious quality you have.<br />Stubborn<br /><br />15. What's the name of the song that's stuck in your head right now?<br />Sunday morning- Maroon 5<br /><br />16. Are you happy today?<br />Neither here nor there.<br /><br />17. Who will cut and paste this first?<br />No-one<br /><br />18. Name someone with the same birthday as you<br />Ishneet or someone- some random boy from a random school.Why this remains in my memory is beyond me.</span><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(99, 67, 32); font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 14px; "><br />19. Do you have a secret crush on someone?<br />Nope.<br /><br />20. Do you have a garbage disposal in your kitchen sink?<br />Rephrase:DO I have a kitchen sink?<br /><br />21. Have you ever been in a fight?<br />Sure.Never thrown a punch or a jujitsu kick. I dream of it. HAYYYYE_YA!<br /><br />22. Have you ever sung in front of a large audience?<br />haha. Yes. Wild World in front of Sector 17 plaza<br /><br />23. What's the first thing you notice about the OPPOSITE sex?<br />Hand shake<br /><br />24. What's your biggest mistake?<br />Just sittin.<br /><br />25. Say something totally random about you.<br />I can't swim..<br /><br />26. Has anyone ever said you looked like a celebrity?<br />Yeah,Zeenat Amaan. !!</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(99, 67, 32); font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 14px; "><br />27. Are you comfortable with your height?<br />LOVE IT<br /><br />28. What is the most romantic thing someone has ever done for you?<br />Pizza candle-lit dinner.<br /><br />29. What are your favourite smells?<br />Rain on dry earth, bread baking, CK Be, the way my Grandmom smells <br /><br />30. What's something that really annoys you?<br />Unhappy people.<br /><br /><br />31. What's something you really like?</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(99, 67, 32); font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 14px; ">Connecting with old friends.Remembering.<br /><br />32. Do you give random hugs and kisses?<br />I would love to walk around with a 'Free Hugs' placard<br /><br />33. What's the latest you have ever stayed up?<br />maybe 36 hours?<br /><br />34. Have you ever been rushed to the emergency room?<br />Once maybe.Put on the drip and all that.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(99, 67, 32); font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 14px;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(99, 67, 32); font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 14px;">I tag anyone who wished to be tagged.Not many people come through here, but if you do- you've been TAGGED!</span></div>Wonderwallhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14603171759226440554noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8971027843850930826.post-22447957435864284012009-02-08T16:02:00.003+05:302009-02-08T16:09:03.525+05:30DazedLost opportunities.<div>Failed trials.</div><div>Running.</div><div>Where am I? </div><div><br /></div><div>Baz Luhrman, I think of you often these days.</div><div><br /></div>Wonderwallhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14603171759226440554noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8971027843850930826.post-73790115783416159482009-02-02T10:57:00.003+05:302009-02-02T11:16:29.847+05:30Into the wild<div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"> </span><a href="http://www.advaitakala.com/ak/?page_id=3">"Are you single?"</a><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"> </span>"Almost." came my reply.</span> </div><div><br /></div><div>"When are you getting married?"<div>My favourite question!! My first question of the day, that too. Not a nosey aunty, or a concerned parent or an annoying friend ,or a cheap pick up line but a potential employer.</div><div>"No plans.", was my reply. <span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;">When are you having children, getting a divorce, dying -stupid cow!</span></div><div><br /></div><div>That I have commitment issues (work wise) is pretty evident from my resume. This was the interviewers main reason for concern. "We need a year's commitment." "Of course, no problem." <span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;">Oh,man! A year? Commit?Same job? NOOOOOOOO!</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;"><br /></span></div><div>"The management will discuss it and get back to you in the next few days."</div><div>Hold on! How much money? What are the hours? Do you like me? Are you rejecting me? (Leiden I hate you! You make me fear rejection as much as I fear mattar and gheeya.)</div><div><br /></div><div>"Thanks for coming and good luck with your life." Now, I may not be an expert in human psychology but I have done my fair share of reading and this to me seems like a typical Freudian slip. Good luck with life? Are you kidding me? That's as good as saying- uhmmm- yeah , not really but thanks for coming!</div><div><br /></div><div>While I sat there, watching a session- I couldn't help but think-is this what I want? Is my heart and soul in this? And I know, that it isn't completely in it but there is something. That little feeling, desire to be part of the sped world. But, there is a part of me that just wants nothing to do with it. It brings me back to the ever prevelant , doomed question of my life- what do I want to do? </div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;"><br /></span></div><div><br /></div></div>Wonderwallhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14603171759226440554noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8971027843850930826.post-65120972652908386702009-01-27T17:21:00.004+05:302009-01-27T17:28:43.328+05:30Currently..<div align="center"><strong>குறிஞ்சி - தலைவன் கூற்று</strong></div><div align="center"><br />யாயும் ஞாயும் யாரா கியரோ</div><div align="center">எந்தையும் நுந்தையும் எம்முறைக் கேளிர்</div><div align="center">யானும் நீயும் எவ்வழி யறிதும்</div><div align="center">செம்புலப் பெயனீர் போல</div><div align="center">அன்புடை நெஞ்சம் தாங்கலந் தனவே.</div><div align="center"><br />-செம்புலப் பெயனீரார்.</div><div align="center"></div><div align="center"></div><div align="center"><br /><strong>Red earth and pouring rain</strong></div><div align="center"><strong></strong></div><div align="center">What could my mother be to yours? </div><div align="center">What kin is my father to yours anyway?</div><div align="center">And how Did you and I meet ever?</div><div align="center">But in love our hearts have mingled</div><div align="center">as red earth and pouring rain</div><div align="center"> </div><div align="center"></div><div align="center">Translated by <a class="external text" title="http://www.hinduonnet.com/2001/07/01/stories/1301067d.htm" href="http://www.hinduonnet.com/2001/07/01/stories/1301067d.htm" rel="nofollow">AK Ramanujan</a> (<a class="mw-redirect" title="Kuruntokai" href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Kuruntokai">Kuruntokai</a> - 40)<br />A poem from the <a class="mw-redirect" title="Ettuthokai" href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Ettuthokai">Eight Anthologies</a> collection.</div>Wonderwallhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14603171759226440554noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8971027843850930826.post-88917076618182020952009-01-26T20:40:00.002+05:302009-01-26T20:54:14.080+05:30Susegad!Reasons why Goa is my second home-<div>1) The sun, the sand, the sea. (obviously)</div><div>2) The colour my skin becomes as opposed to the likeliness to spoilt lassi.</div><div>3) Stella, Sunny.</div><div>4) Masky and Carol.</div><div>5) Inexpensive.</div><div>6) The scooters.</div><div>7) Lazing- pure laziness that creeps in your bones, under your skin.</div><div>8) Memories.</div><div>9) The ink. </div><div>10) Nine bar.</div><div>11) Sunsets.</div><div>12) Jumping into the sea, running on the hot sand and laying in the sun. Repitition of #1 I know, but so important.</div><div>13) The dolphins.</div><div>14) The new discoveries each time.</div><div>15) Bom bom and Ella-norrr-aaaaa!! Ciao bella!</div><div>16) Bash-eee-r!</div><div>17) The italians getting only three month visas. Bu ha ha ha!</div><div>18) The food.</div><div>19) The feeling of being home.</div><div>20) Bharats.</div><div><br /></div><div>There isn't any other part of the world that makes me feel the way Goa does.</div><div><br /></div><div>Uff! The smell of the air so sweet!</div><div>So lazy , I can't budge from my seat.</div><div>In the distance is the River Princess</div><div>An eye sore I must confess.</div><div>Sitting together at the shack</div><div>People think we are whack</div><div>Cos for the parties we don't care</div><div>For the peace is why we are there.</div><div>Goa makes me rhyme</div><div>With that sprite give me some lime!!</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div>Wonderwallhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14603171759226440554noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8971027843850930826.post-87451450801106604042009-01-09T00:07:00.004+05:302009-01-09T00:56:17.080+05:30Kya dekh rahe ho?The one thing that I learnt whilst living/working in Delhi was that Defcol is a great place to live, Lodhi Gardens a gorgeous place to walk, qawalli night at the Dargah is my favorite thursday night outing with cousin S , Martina was a rockstar hair styist,Wills fashion week is a pain in the ass, nothing compared to chinese food with Dev and our brilliantly hectic pool visits to the farm . Did I say the "one thing"? I obviously meant the gazillion things I learnt and loved. AADI, B-5, talking trees, the roads, the weekend home visits, the Shatabadi, PG, Saroj.....and the autos.<div><br /></div><div>Autos. How many autos denied me a ride across town? Why? Because I wouldn't pay the insane amounts of money they asked for, because I was asking to go from one end of the city to the other, just because they didn't feel like it? How many hours did I spend in the sun BAKING waiting for an auto to take me to my destination even though I was standing opposite an auto stand? Hours (not to mention i had huge bags with me one particular horrendously hot day). They just didn't want to take me. Oh! The arguments over metres and fares and the waiting...I'd have rather walked most of the times.</div><div><br /></div><div>This I thought was a Delhi phenomena. Mumbai was so much nicer, they put the metre on without so much of a peep (peep peep , don't sleep), took you wherever you wanted, forever available. The dhik chik music, the funky colours, the little light in the autos- bliss! </div><div><br /></div><div>A year later and I am back in Mumbai eagerly awaiting my happy rides in the autos. It took me a day to get into one, now that there is a car (and brother) to ferry us around. Looking forward to my day in an auto, I walked/semi skipped out of the house- looked around and didnt see my three wheeled chariot anywhere in sight.Ten minutes later, we were off. Little did I know how the day would turn out. I was denied by two autos, told a metre wasnt working then waited on the side of the road for thirty minutes trying to catch a ride home. My half-skip eventually become a near crawl thanks to sticking my hand out for so long and asking the same question fifty times and hearing the same answer ,"Gas nahi hai, madam.". Finally, when we did get an auto, the chap didn't know where four bungalows was. So here we were, in Mumbai- my auto dream shattered, driving aimlessly into the horizon and wondering how we are going to get around tomorrow. </div><div>I know it is partially because of the strike but why!! why does it have to be like this?</div><div><br /></div><div>This post is like a Simpson's episode- it started somewhere and has ended nowhere. D'oh!</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div>Wonderwallhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14603171759226440554noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8971027843850930826.post-9242707523902690752008-12-31T01:10:00.004+05:302008-12-31T01:15:54.413+05:30Mirror mirror....Stretching skin, black streaks running down my cheeks, water dripping, hair awry- I look up.I see myself.I feel. I fear the feeling, the knowing of not wanting to know.<div>You can't hide forever- a mirror says it all.I wonder if this is the beginning, the middle or the end?</div><div>I'm floating in nothingness.</div><div>Blank.</div><div>Fear.</div><div><br /></div>Wonderwallhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14603171759226440554noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8971027843850930826.post-14058739826161818722008-12-27T12:12:00.002+05:302008-12-27T12:15:25.391+05:30Yuletide Spirit!<div style="MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; TEXT-ALIGN: center"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_659O2kpwXQA/SVXOaj07m8I/AAAAAAAASoA/6zrI3yxp_oQ/s1600-h/IMG_9687.JPG"><img alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_659O2kpwXQA/SVXOaj07m8I/AAAAAAAASoA/6zrI3yxp_oQ/s320/IMG_9687.JPG" border="0" /></a> </div><br /><div style="MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; TEXT-ALIGN: center"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_659O2kpwXQA/SVXOazF3QhI/AAAAAAAASoI/MYxXS2-uGJk/s1600-h/IMG_9666.JPG"><img alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_659O2kpwXQA/SVXOazF3QhI/AAAAAAAASoI/MYxXS2-uGJk/s320/IMG_9666.JPG" border="0" /></a> </div><div style="clear:both; text-align:CENTER"><a href="http://picasa.google.com/blogger/" target="ext"><img src="http://photos1.blogger.com/pbp.gif" alt="Posted by Picasa" style="border: 0px none ; padding: 0px; background: transparent none repeat scroll 0% 50%; -moz-background-clip: initial; -moz-background-origin: initial; -moz-background-inline-policy: initial;" align="middle" border="0" /></a></div><div style="clear:both; text-align:CENTER"><br /></div><div style="clear:both; text-align:CENTER">Christmas was everywhere! Where was my tree?</div>Wonderwallhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14603171759226440554noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8971027843850930826.post-77812860816903019152008-12-20T12:43:00.005+05:302008-12-21T09:41:41.578+05:30Secure the area!Outside the New Delhi railway station stands a lone army javan behind a six foot high enclosure of sandbags- fully equipped with gun and bullet proof vest and helmet. Look around to find his companions, and there are none. He is the lone ranger, quite literally. He is placed about twenty feet from the entrance and most of the times, he gets lost in the crowd. He will protect us from all evil.<div><br /></div><div>Indira Gandhi International airport. We drive in with a car full of little bags and big bags, wondering how it is going to be a pain to go through security. It's going to take forever! Drive through the main gate. A cop is hanging around- just peeking into the car (not even stopping us), looking to see if we are terrorist worthy or not. Apparently, we aren't. We flew through everything not stopping once for any kind of inspection. The car went to the parking and we went into the arrival lounge. Not so much of a metal detector. Our big bags (that have our whole lives in them) and us bought our enrty tickets, walked right into the arrival lounge. Going to the movies was more painful- I got body/bag searched like twice- my camera was taken away and all sorts of nonsense.</div><div><br /></div><div>But at the international airport- nothing. Ridiculous.</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div>Wonderwallhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14603171759226440554noreply@blogger.com0