tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10263779926000207432024-03-14T09:05:55.403+05:30Dreams On Paper Leaves...Samikhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16281378161659780583noreply@blogger.comBlogger24125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1026377992600020743.post-41597830326684055882014-03-28T12:32:00.000+05:302018-06-26T16:59:56.645+05:30Moving to Wordpress!<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<span style="font-size: x-large;">Hello Folks!</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">I have finally decided to move to Wordpress. So, if you are visiting this blog expecting new stuff, then I must let you know that all the future stories will be on my new apartment...</span><br />
<span style="font-size: x-large;">Just follow the link below...</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-large;"><br /></span>
</div>
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<a href="http://themoonstruckcolumns.co.in/" style="background-color: rgba(255,198,0,0.1); border-radius: 7px; border: 1px solid #ffd481; color: #006577; font-variant: small-caps; margin: 20px; padding: 24px; text-decoration: none;" target="_blank"><span style="font-size: x-large;">The Moonstruck Columns</span></a></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">See ya on the other side...</span><br />
<span style="font-size: x-large; margin-top: 40px;">Ciao!</span></div>
</div>
Samikhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16281378161659780583noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1026377992600020743.post-52130138126487994302013-08-22T03:25:00.002+05:302013-11-16T20:33:32.623+05:30In Some Parallel Universe...<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<span style="font-size: large;"> "Mom! He called me a cow!" she shouted at the top of her voice, over the railings of the staircase, to the kitchen below.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"> "No Mom! I didn't call her a cow! She is a fat cow!" I shouted imitating her. She became more furious and I swear anybody could have managed to fry an English omelet on the top of her head.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"> "YOU LITTLE PRICK! YOU ARE GETTING EXTERMINATED TODAY! AND I SO MEAN IT!" She shouted, lethally waving her hairbrush at me as if that was her lightsaber. I was upstairs and was furious at her. She had creased my favorite book, on its cover. She is ever so careless and I hated that!</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"> "Uff! How old are you two! One is twenty-three and the other is twenty-seven for god's sake! Are you ever gonna grow up or what! I spent thirty years doing this! I can't take it anymore." The two storied house rung with our voices. Mostly her and mine. Mom's was usually suppressed beneath ours.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"> "Mom! It's her fault! she can't even read a book without ripping it apart!"</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"> "What the hell! It was just a minor fold and I didn't mean to do it! You have lost me my nail polish remover bottles countless times! I never find them when I need them" she cried out.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"> "So, it's revenge, is it? Did you hear Mom, are you sure this is what you taught her?" I shouted down to Mom.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"> "Give me a break! Leave me out of it this time!" Mom sighed loudly from the kitchen.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"> I went back to my room when I heard quick silent steps, I knew it was her. She wanted to knock me flat on my back for calling her a fat cow, which by the way, she deserved. My room was never my choice of ring to fight and incidentally, her favorite. I anticipated her motives and dashed for the door to the adjacent corridor. Her room was just across it and I had to get there - to abduct a promising hostage, perhaps one of her favorite dress or lip-gloss - for letting me go! You know girls, they always have a lot of stuff they won't ever need but still treasure it like trinkets. When I reached my door I saw her at the top staircase at the other end of the corridor. She obviously thought I won't hear her tiptoeing.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"> "Oh you idiot! NOT MY ROOM YOU MONSTER!" she shouted at disbelief.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"> I smirked at her and broke into a run towards her room and she after me. This was my usual defence and she knew it. I got to her room, pulled open her wardrobe and grabbed one of her dresses. She froze at the door.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"> "Bhai please! Not that one! I will kill you if a single thread is tampered!" she threatened. Her voice quivered and I picked up the indication instantly. I smirked and began my negotiation.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"> "Leave me alone then. Say you are sorry you wrinkled my book." And I took a step forward towards the door where she was still standing frozen.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"> "Okay! Okay! I am sorry."</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"> "Say it will never happen again!"</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"> "Okay, I swear it won't happen again. Just give me my dress back."</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"> I picked my steps cautiously towards the door, holding the dress like a hostage being used as a human shield. She stood in rapt attention and didn't take her eyes off mine. I crossed her and after taking a few steps away, I threw the dress at her and ran for the stairs. She tried to chase me but tripped over her dress and - CRASH! She fell on her knees and moaned painfully. I dashed back to pick her up.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"> "Tell me nobody broke any bones!" Mom called from below. She was thoroughly familiar with this sort of occurrences.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"> "No mom, I am okay." she called back to her.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"> I put my arms around her gently and picked her up to sit on the floor. She rolled up her pajama she was wearing and rubbed her knee while I examined it.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"> "Didi, come I will take you to my room and will get some ice." I said gently with a smile. I melted on the way she didn't try to blame it on me.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"> "Naah, I will be fine, just fetch me that tube of pain relief creame from my wardrobe and it will do." She said messaging her knee.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"> I didn't know she kept medicine in her wardrobe but I did what she told me to do. I rummaged through her wardrobe and my fingers caught something hard. It didn't seem like a dress, nor the tube of creame she was talking about. I carefully took it out and my eyes went rolling and tumbling, probably out of the solar system. It was the Calvin & Hobbes hardbound collection - Rare edition.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"> "Tell me you like it! It was a difficult pursuit!" she grinned as she stood on the doorway, biting her hairbrush she was carrying. I ran and hugged her tightly. She giggled away furiously.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"> When I let her go I saw her eyes, sparkling like a little baby, caught on it's happiest moment.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"> "After all it's Raakhi, bhai!" she beamed.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"> I asked her to fetch my pen from my drawer. I always wrote didi's and my name on the books.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"> I watched her as she limped away towards my room, and a while later, it was my turn to treat my ears to a scream. An overjoyed one.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"> She had been goggling at a beautiful Prussian blue dress, which was on display in a shop, a few weeks ago, and when she had saved up enough and had gone to get it, it was gone.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"> Well, guess who bought it!</span></div>
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<i><span style="line-height: 130%;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">------------------------</span></span></i></div>
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<i><span style="line-height: 130%;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><br /></span></span></i></div>
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<span style="font-family: "LM Mono Prop 10"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 130%;"><span style="color: #444444;"><i>Dear Hypothetical Didi,<o:p></o:p></i></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "LM Mono Prop 10"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 130%;"><span style="color: #444444;"><i><br /></i></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "LM Mono Prop 10"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 130%;"><span style="color: #444444;"><i>If you were my Didi in this lifetime, I swear I
would take you for granted, but love you like a gem. I swear I would fight with
you every day, pull your hair, shout at you, but be there when you need me and (even
if like a pinprick on your neck) when you don't. World would have been such a
different place, wouldn't it? But I guess, I didn't deserve you enough. When I
think about the limitations, I blame it on God and comfort myself. But the most
perplexing irony lies in the fact that, at the same time, the limitations are
the exact things, for which, I don't wish to believe in God. I wish I knew
which side I was on. For now, I just wish you existed. I promise
I will meet you someday, in some parallel universe...<o:p></o:p></i></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "LM Mono Prop 10"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 130%;"><span style="color: #444444;"><i><br /></i></span></span></div>
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</div>
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<span style="font-family: "LM Mono Prop 10"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 130%;"><span style="color: #444444;"><i>Hypothetically yours,</i> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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Samikhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16281378161659780583noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1026377992600020743.post-50001404800464455712013-03-27T18:46:00.000+05:302013-03-27T18:46:56.845+05:30A very Special Thanks...<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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Anonymousnoreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1026377992600020743.post-35753324476008725432013-02-07T01:40:00.001+05:302013-02-07T01:40:14.051+05:30Crazy Dreams!<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<span style="font-size: large;"> T</span><span style="font-size: large; text-align: justify;">he things that I usually love to do, and which I eventually do, doesn’t
really make much sense to other people and its fair enough because the things
that other people usually do and love to do, doesn’t make much sense to me
either. I am quite used to it anyway.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"> I dream around a lot, even when I am awake and when I look around,
I see tiny people squeaking ferociously near my feet, commanding me to get back to earth,
right now! But that’s when I am dreaming at daytime with eyes wide open. The funniest
dreams however, come when I am asleep and you don’t usually remember those
dreams after you wake up, thanks to the daily chores or other worthless reasons. But
if you manage to remember those dreams from your nap-time, they are quite fun.</span></div>
<div class="Sam" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: large;"> The other day, I decided to take a stroll in Wimbeldon. I had
always loved that place because I had a curious attraction towards Tennis. My
friends said I didn’t have anything for Tennis but only for the women who
played Tennis. There isn’t much truth in that anyway, because they, the women
who play Tennis, look more attractive in the after parties.</span></div>
<div class="Sam" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: large;"> The sky was blue and if I remember correctly it was around
February. As I approached the stadium, suddenly I heard uproar coming from inside the stadium which I happened
to be passing. It aroused my curiosity. The tournament doesn’t start until June.
It encouraged me to sneak in and fortunately there wasn’t any security either, so I helped myself in casually. After a few steps, I found myself standing in one of the corners
of the main court. The match was about to begin and nobody stopped me as I walked
straight into the court.</span></div>
<div class="Sam" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: large;"> People aren’t allowed here! But wait, I had ball-boy uniform on! And
not only that, I also had a camera dangling from my neck. Sharapova and
Ivankovik walked in and picked their side and the match began. I got hit by a
few balls while I was busy looking around and by the end of first set, both of
them were furious at each other for some reason. They didn’t seem to quite care
about winning anymore. They approached the center net, apparently arguing about
a serious matter. I decided to take a closer look; curiosity is in my blood. I
crept up through the side where the referee was sitting on a raised chair and I
just stood underneath it. The issue was rather serious. It was about what the
tennis ball was made of. From a few words I caught, Sharapova thought it was
made of shredded cheese and Ivankovik said it was a live baby flamingo rolled
into a ball. I didn’t find any of them convincing, but silently, I wanted to
side with Sharapova because she was looking gorgeous at that moment.</span></div>
<div class="Sam" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: large;"> Meanwhile, the referee had vanished, and suddenly a glittering
beam caught my eye and I saw Queen Elizabeth II had decided to take a stroll on
the grass of the Wimbeldon stadium because the lawn grass of Buckingham Palace
had turned blue in protest that the soldiers guarding the Buckingham Palace
should be allowed to twitch every twenty minutes.</span></div>
<div class="Sam" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: large;"> It was all pandemonium. But the spectators had a different issue. It
appeared that, Fender, an insanely famous brand that makes insanely famous
guitars, had suddenly changed their Facebook profile picture to a Pokemon on
which, Eric Clapton had decided to dress in everything lime-green in protest
till it all went back to normal. But Fender was determined to have the Pokemon
in question as their brand ambassador as well.</span></div>
<div class="Sam" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: large;">Everything was chaos like it was apocalypse as predicted, and
there were also clear signs of a huge earthquake literally. The land beneath my
feet started to move and the Queen suddenly turned upside down and had started
walking on her hands to prevent the land from shaking beneath her feet which
apparently gave her diarrhea.</span></div>
<div class="Sam" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: large;"> Everything shook wildly and everything turned real bright like a
real bad photographer had taken an overexposed photograph and suddenly
everything was quiet and I woke up with a jerk only to find the sun on my eyes.</span></div>
<div class="Sam" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
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<div class="Sam" style="text-align: justify;">
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Anonymousnoreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1026377992600020743.post-56969775578919720922013-01-27T14:58:00.002+05:302013-01-27T14:59:29.246+05:30College Journals: The Adventures They Had... Part I<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<div class="Sam" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: large;"> Before I got acquainted with the fellows who defined the rest of
my life as I know it, they had already had many little adventures of their own.
The college started on July 29</span><sup>th</sup><span style="font-size: large;"> and luck was on their side because
all of them were in the same department and section. I remember that Orkut post
where we were supposed to share our experiences about our first interactions
with the seniors. The funniest of all, to me, was the one where Arka wrote
about his and Nirmalya’s, the time they had been caught red handed in the library.</span></div>
<div class="Sam" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: large;"> Before I proceed, I gotta tell you about the library because it’s important
to grasp. The library of our college is not like the traditional libraries you
come across, where you are required to maintain silence and you can hear a
beetle’s footsteps. Our Library is used ONLY to exchange books to a counter
that feels much like a Railway counter exchanging tickets! The counters are
barred with crosswire which I assumed was due to their fear of being robbed or
something. I personally never saw any reason to rob it because who would like
to rob Principles of Semi-conductor Devices, International Ed, a big fat boring
book by Sima Dimitrejev anyway. There were rows of long desks to sit and chairs
to put the feet on when you were sitting on desks (It was strictly prohibited
though). But there was no necessity for silence whatsoever, so it sounded like
a birdcage with thousands of different species of birds stuffed inside during
college hours.</span></div>
<div class="Sam" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: large;"> So, Arka and Nirmalya were caught red handed in the library. They
were asked to dance in the middle. As I have known them later, I know Nirmalya
was a good dancer but Arka was terrible one like me, so all I could picture was
a hilarious duet; one with the good moves and the ruining everything and
undoing all the effort put by the first. Every time I recall the story, I end
up wishing being there. But chances are that I would have been dragged into the
thing too and it wouldn’t seem fun now in any way.</span></div>
<div class="Sam" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: large;"> Once, the seniors barged into their classroom and started the ‘interactive
session’. Aditi and Nirmalya were the preys in the times to come and the senior’
favorite game was ‘proposing’. I don’t the story any further as to ‘how’ things
went but I did come to know that they were made to propose to each other in 15 different
occasions.</span></div>
<div class="Sam" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: large;"> But apart from the senior interactions, they had their own little
adventures too which I only heard from them and these little adventures along
with the ones including me are my fondest memories of college.</span></div>
<div class="Sam" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: large;"> In first year, they had no classes on Wednesday during 12 noon to
around 2. So, they usually skipped the previous class and had 2 and a half hour
of free time which they usually used to explore the wilderness around the college.</span></div>
<div class="Sam" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: large;"> Our college was located, you can say, a little away from the town.
So, we were privy of the natural side of the earth to a great extent. There
were goats and cows mowing the overgrown grass of unused fields, little naked
kids running around if you went deeper into the terrain and then there were
straw huts etc. In short, there was a lot to explore if you had the time and
the zeal for it and these people had excess of it.</span></div>
<div class="Sam" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: large;"> One Wednesday, during the first week of August, as they told had me
the story months later, Aditi, Arka, Nirmalya and Pratip set out aimlessly in
this terrain. They took the asphalt street and trotted along chatting and
laughing and as the road curved to the left and took them a few more paces,
they came across a vast space. The road seemed like a silk thread compared to
the watery fields on either side. It was monsoon, so the sun was busy hiding
behind the clouds and everything had traces of the rain from previous night. They
kept on walking the road towards the great yellow building. It was the Techno
Model School (a school funded by our college). They had heard of it, of course,
but had never seen it before. They weren’t as much interested in the school as
they were in the surroundings.</span></div>
<div class="Sam" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: large;"> The road hit on the school gates and bent right sharply, still
asphalt, so they continued trotting but the talk had changed from aimless chattering
to praises of the countryside. A little way ahead, the asphalt came to a permanent
halt, showing them the partly muddy path ahead. The trees were bushier and
larger ahead. Even though, the path wasn’t luxury, but it called out to them
and a little way ahead they could see it bend along a curve disappearing behind
a shadowy green tree.</span></div>
<div class="Sam" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: large;"> They all paused for a moment and looked at each other. It seemed
like an adventure alright.</span></div>
<div class="Sam" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: large;"> ‘Lets take it’ said Nirmalya and Pratip in excited chorus looking
at each other…</span></div>
<div class="Sam" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="Sam" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="color: #444444; font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><i style="background-color: white;">To Be Continued...</i></span></div>
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O T H E R P A R T S</div>
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----------------------------</div>
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<a href="http://dreams-on-paper-leaves.blogspot.in/2012/01/portugal-to-panchpota.html" target="_blank">Portugal To Panchpota!</a> | <a href="http://dreams-on-paper-leaves.blogspot.in/2012/08/college-journals-prologue.html" target="_blank">College Journals: Prologue</a></div>
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Anonymousnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1026377992600020743.post-65801415203764129312013-01-26T19:06:00.002+05:302013-01-26T19:06:17.722+05:30One Word Blog Post!<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: large;">Bleh!</span></div>
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Anonymousnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1026377992600020743.post-15389105428863605672012-12-27T21:29:00.000+05:302012-12-27T21:47:45.905+05:30'One Fine December' – My Entry To The GetPublished Contest<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<br />
<div class="Sam" style="text-align: justify;">
</div>
<div class="SAM" style="text-align: center;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Garamond","serif";"><span style="font-size: x-large;">O N E F I N E D E C E M B E R</span><span style="font-size: large;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="SAM" style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">My Entry For 'Get Published' Contest By</span><span style="font-family: Garamond, serif;"> HarperCollins</span></div>
<br />
<div class="Sam" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="Sam" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Synopsis:</b></span><b><o:p></o:p></b></div>
<div class="Sam" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"> The story is set in Lucknow, when Ronny and Akanksha return to
Lucknow during their respective semester breaks. They both have been best
friends since high school and they also had promised to stay in touch when he
moved to Calcutta and she moved to Manali for college. During their school
days, they had a large group of friends and they hung out together but she was
secretly in love with him and he was secretly in love with her. However, he was
too confused to confess his love for her and she was too insecure to reveal her
feelings for him. Six years they had spent hanging out with each other and
their friends and at the same time working hard to keep their feelings at bay. But
things were different now. New places and new friends can wear away promises.
Ronny had became close to a girl in the college he was enrolled to but on the
other side, the few months that Akanksha had spent away from him had made her
doubly insecure over the period and it was excruciating for her to carry on
being miles apart from him without knowing for sure if he loved her. But the
holidays were nearing an end and it. Maybe he didn’t love her anymore.</span></div>
<div class="Sam" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="Sam" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"> Not every love story might seem special to the readers, but they
are exceptionally dear to the persons concerned. And sometimes, a few people
might even write a story to keep a promise. But, every story, when its told honestly, can act as an inspiration </span><span style="font-size: large;">in one way or the other</span><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">. You never really know which story strikes a chord. This story is just my way of keeping a promise to a friend, proclaiming that their story will not go untold.</span></div>
<div class="Sam" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="Sam" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><b>Excerpt:</b></span></div>
<div class="Sam" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><i>"...<span style="text-align: left;">The chances of her
meeting him again during these holidays had narrowed down to none. But she wouldn’t
admit her love to him; he is supposed to do that. Hasn’t he known her long
enough to be able to tell?</span></i></span></div>
<div class="Sam" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><i> A girl’s heart is
filled with insurmountable mysteries and delicacies which she allows only the
boy she loves, to explore and she expects the boy to surprise and overwhelm her
in return, by his charm and passion. But a boy’s heart is too naïve and often too
uncertain of the venture it pursues. But at one concern, both the hearts
coincide to something beyond measure as both their hearts, being honest and innocent
as a kid, possess all the weakness in the world towards the person they truly
care for.<o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
<div class="Sam" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><i> Akanksha had been
constantly trying to shelf her feelings; to prepare for the worst. But what if
the worst did happen; she won’t be able to endure it and she knew it. She had
put too much of herself into this; she had crossed the point of no return by
miles. She just wouldn’t go away another six months without knowing for sure. Yet
not a single streak of light would produce itself which could ease her mind."</i></span></div>
<div class="Sam" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="Sam" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="Sam" style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><span style="background-color: white; line-height: 17.77777862548828px; text-align: left;">"This is my entry for the </span><a href="http://www.indiblogger.in/getpublished/" rel="nofollow" style="background-color: white; border: 0px; color: #ab3e3e; font: inherit; line-height: 17.77777862548828px; margin: 0px; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; text-align: left; text-decoration: initial; vertical-align: baseline;">HarperCollins–IndiBlogger <em style="border: 0px; font-style: oblique; font: inherit; margin: 0px; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">Get Published</em> contest</a><span style="background-color: white; line-height: 17.77777862548828px; text-align: left;">, which is run with inputs from </span><a href="http://www.yashodharalal.com/" rel="nofollow" style="background-color: white; border: 0px; color: #ab3e3e; font: inherit; line-height: 17.77777862548828px; margin: 0px; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; text-align: left; text-decoration: initial; vertical-align: baseline;">Yashodhara Lal</a><span style="background-color: white; line-height: 17.77777862548828px; text-align: left;"> and </span><a href="http://www.harpercollins.co.in/" rel="nofollow" style="background-color: white; border: 0px; color: #ab3e3e; font: inherit; line-height: 17.77777862548828px; margin: 0px; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; text-align: left; text-decoration: initial; vertical-align: baseline;">HarperCollins India</a><span style="background-color: white; line-height: 17.77777862548828px; text-align: left;">."</span></span></div>
<div class="Sam" style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="Sam" style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><span style="background-color: white; line-height: 17.77777862548828px; text-align: left;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<div class="Sam" style="text-align: center;">
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Anonymousnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1026377992600020743.post-30320416834708481692012-12-23T17:04:00.002+05:302012-12-23T17:23:39.012+05:30The Moonlight Riviera<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<br />
<div class="Sam" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"> She walked into the room to the voice of the piano. The warm deep
tone was vaguely familiar. Wasn’t that Jack playing? He played it often and you
could always tell it was him from the way every note trickled down his
fingertips as if Jack’s fingers were the piano itself. She tiptoed from behind
from where Jack was sitting on his Piano stool. She didn’t dare to walk towards
the sliding glass door and shut it close in case he sensed it and stopped
playing. In fact she didn’t even want to. The cool breeze was swaying to the
tune making it feel more heavenly than it would have felt without it. The
breeze blew her long black hair which blended well with the darkness around. The
silvery moonlight painted a silvery outline of her, of Jack and of the piano. The
Moonlight Riviera was blossoming through Jack’s fingers.</span></div>
<div class="Sam" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"> She couldn’t help it any longer. She stole her way and sat beside
him still scared that even a slight interlude in the air might wake him up.
After all, he wrote this music especially for her and she was there just like
she was now, when he had played it to her the first ever time.</span></div>
<div class="Sam" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"> The familiar mellow tones were playfully tossing between E-Major
and A-Major. She had wrapped her delicate arms around him and she was glad that
he had not stopped playing. She quietly laid down her head onto his shoulders
and the breeze tousled her hair over his shoulder and neck, the way Jack always loved.</span></div>
<div class="Sam" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"> She was smiling like she had never smiled before but a few chilly
teardrops also trickled down her cheeks and she had realized that the music had
turned painful. This wasn’t familiar at all. This wasn’t what Jack had written
for her. Did he change it? The change was so supple that she didn’t notice. </span></div>
<div class="Sam" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"> She jerked her head towards Jack who kept playing with his head
down. The silvery moonlight chalked Jack’s tears too and she stared with a
proportion of shock and inquest. But Jack didn’t look at her. He kept playing
making the music sink its teeth into her beautifully toned skin making it more
painful for her to survive. She too sank her grip to Jack’s arm but Jack kept
playing like he didn’t feel a thing. The music which seemed to have stopped
time was now hard to bear for the woman. She wanted him to stop but didn’t want
to leave either. She cried out aloud but Jack didn’t stop.</span></div>
<div class="Sam" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"> After what seemed like hours, when Jack had finally stopped
playing, her eyes were sore and her beautiful skin was shivering with cold when
Jack spoke for the first time, in a voice too excruciating to listen to –</span></div>
<div class="Sam" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"> “Why did you have to leave?” </span></div>
<div class="Sam" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: large;"> She raised her head to look up at Jack.</span><br />
<div class="Sam">
<span style="font-size: large;"> But she had never left! What was Jack talking about? Bewilderment
had suddenly engulfed her and her heart was pounding with the fear of losing him due to some silly misconception.</span></div>
</div>
<div class="Sam" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"> “Haven’t you wondered how I was all the year?”</span></div>
<div class="Sam" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">She kept staring at him with her lips trembling and she wrapping
herself all over him.</span></div>
<div class="Sam" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"> “Do you think heaven is a better place? Why didn’t you take me
too?”</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="Sam" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="Sam" style="text-align: justify;">
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Anonymousnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1026377992600020743.post-58681780816727184352012-12-17T18:51:00.002+05:302012-12-17T21:37:20.158+05:30Butterfly In The Subway<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br />
<div class="Sam">
</div>
<div class="Sam">
<span style="font-size: large;"> I saw a movie once. In that movie, the
lady there saw a butterfly in the subway. It got on at 42nd, and off at
59<sup>th</sup>. Ever since, I too wanted to see one myself, just for the feel
of it. </span></div>
<div class="Sam">
<span style="font-size: large;"> To tell me about myself, I am strongly possessed by fatal amounts of introversion
and which often keeps me at bay from all the colorful stuff the world has to
offer. Last evening, I was quietly waiting at the subway terminal at Dum Dum,
all by myself; when suddenly I sensed someone, a girl, go by brushing my
sleeve. I hurriedly turned my head in pursuit and the first thing I noticed was
the only thing I always dread whenever I see a beautiful girl – she wasn’t
alone – and to make matters worse, the ‘someone’ she was with, wasn’t a girl.</span></div>
<div class="Sam">
<span style="font-size: large;"> She wore a black sweat jacket and underneath that was a white
striped knitted jumper. She had long dark flowing hair; unfortunately, I didn't
get a chance to watch it flow; she had tied it to a ponytail that she had let
fall on her right shoulder. Her cute fair face had a couple of pimples on each
of her cheeks but it seemed that they were too shy to show themselves properly.
Other than that, any hint irregularity in the perfectly carved face was merely fictional.</span></div>
<div class="Sam">
<span style="font-size: large;"> I couldn’t help staring at her. But to prevent myself from staring
(Mom always told me it was rude to stare) I only stole quick glances at her.
The train arrived and she chattered away with different expressions lighting
her face. She settled down on a seat across the gates and I settled myself near
the gates so that we were face to face. As the train wheeled off and with every
station passed, my frequency of stealing glances kept increasing at an alarming
rate because I had realized that Mom was delusional. Even if it was rude to
stare, this was all the eyeful I was going to get of her and it could be all
over any moment.</span></div>
<div class="Sam">
<span style="font-size: large;"> After two stations had passed, my quick glances had become a
permanent stare and it seemed that she too had noticed that. She kept glancing
at me once in a while, still talking to her companion but with freshly added
enthusiasm. She kept stroking her hair, more than usual and at one point, she
took quite a long stare while playing with her hair, or perhaps it was my
illusion.</span></div>
<div class="Sam">
<span style="font-size: large;"> She got off after five stations on the Central Avenue taking away
my impracticable and only chance to even know her name. Perhaps that’s the way
it is supposed to be – after all butterflies don’t speak. But finally I did get to see a
butterfly in the subway.</span></div>
<div class="Sam">
<span style="font-size: large;"> After she got off, I tapped the left side of my chest to check if I
was missing anything, and for a moment I thought it wasn’t there; or perhaps I
was too dreamy to remember what exactly I was looking for. I finally found it
though, but she did steal it for a while...<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="Sam">
<br /></div>
<div class="Sam">
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<div class="Sam" style="text-align: right;">
<i><span style="font-family: "Garamond","serif";"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></span></i>
<i><span style="font-family: "Garamond","serif";"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></span></i>
<i><span style="font-family: "Garamond","serif";"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></span></i>
<i><span style="font-family: "Garamond","serif";"><span style="font-size: large;">P.S. – In case you were wondering the movie I mentioned in
the first line, its ‘You’ve Got Mail’…</span><o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
<br /></div>
</div>
Anonymousnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1026377992600020743.post-42021991271644875102012-11-06T00:03:00.000+05:302012-11-11T14:10:19.869+05:30Clothespins...<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: large;"> Now, I am the kind of guy who gets rid of the question paper as soon as he steps out of the examination center. But the world would have been more beautiful if only people were like that. The main problem with the planet today is not war or global warming, but people who take pleasure in discussing the question paper afterwards. They are those clothespins, clinging to the cloth, never willing to come off and making life miserable for the one who wishes to put on the handsome silk shirt.</span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: large;"> Being good at something is really bad. Nay, "Painful". But much of the disaster is naturally averted if the only person aware of the fact is you. The situation gets worse when other people too come to know that you are good at that 'something'. And in some cases it takes a cruel turn when your name is something too rare to be mistaken as any other person.</span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: large;"> In my Fall Semester last year, I wrote a computer program in the eleventh hour and showed it to my Professor. He just asked me one question - "Did you write this all by yourself?"</span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: large;"> I should have said "NO".</span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: large;"> I have been bearing the consequences ever since. A young innocent soul full of regret, paying the price of a momentary craving for recognition. </span><span style="font-size: large;">This semester, he picked me, against my wishes, to do a project whose mere title is an agonizing nightmare for me; even to pronounce, to start with.</span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: large;"> </span><span style="font-size: large;">So, there was kind of a test in college today which we were forced to sit in. I was pretty revolting of the idea, not only because it was completely useless, but also because I had a really bad headache and I had to take three pills to suppress my residue illness from the previous night. But life would have been simpler if this was the end of the story.</span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: large;"> After the test, I got away from a whole bunch of crowd, avoiding to talking to anyone to reach the bus stop as fast as I could. I got on the bus, settled myself in a seat near the back and took a deep breath of relief, picturing myself patting my own back for a clean escape, when suddenly...</span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: large;"> "Dude!" the guy in the back of my seat claps his hand on my back.</span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: large;"> "Oh No!" my first reaction, that too - shamelessly aloud.</span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: large;"> "Did you see question No. 2?" the clothespin said.</span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: large;"> Perhaps he had missed my reaction.</span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: large;"> "I haven't even very much SEEN the questions man!" I said.</span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: large;"> "But you are good at C (a programming language) right?" he said excitedly.</span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: large;"> "No man, I am not good at anything!"</span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: large;"> "I know you are! Try this..."</span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: large;"> At this point, I would like to mention that my name is quite infrequent to come across, thanks to my grandparents. So it was fruitless telling him that he had mistaken me for someone else.</span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: large;"> "Aaargh!" I shouted out in agony. I threw five bucks for my ticket to a bewildered conductor and broke into a run in pursuit of the bus door.</span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: large;"> "Hey! But I thought you lived near the 7th Avenue! Its 30 minutes from here!"</span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: large;"> "I have changed my address recently. Now its 'The Footpath!'. Thanks to you!"</span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: large;"> And before he could decode what I had just said, I leapt off the bus out of view...</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
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Anonymousnoreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1026377992600020743.post-2181023785740992022012-10-31T16:44:00.001+05:302013-11-16T20:34:28.043+05:30Zoya... A Short Story (Part V)<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<br />
<div class="SamParagraphStyle" style="text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-size: large;"> My fingertips were trembling, but I
had them well out of her sight.</span></span></div>
<div class="SamParagraphStyle" style="text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-size: large;"> ‘Sure, I guess, after ten years
maybe’ she replied after a while gazing me deeply into my eyes.</span></span></div>
<div class="SamParagraphStyle" style="text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-size: large;"> ‘Would you even remember me?’ I
chuckled funnily and a moment later, wishing that I had rather punched myself
in the nose than say that.</span></span></div>
<div class="SamParagraphStyle" style="text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-size: large;">She laughed.</span></span></div>
<div class="SamParagraphStyle" style="text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-size: large;"> ‘Of course. It isn’t too hard – the
English song guy’</span></span></div>
<div class="SamParagraphStyle" style="text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-size: large;"> The dreaded bell rang. We bade
goodbyes to each other and wished each other luck for the rest of the days and
when I walked out of the classroom, I knew it was over at last. It was the last
time I talked to her.</span></span></div>
<div class="SamParagraphStyle" style="text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-size: large;"> I still remember the day as clear
as the best polished marble.</span></span></div>
<div class="SamParagraphStyle" style="text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-size: large;"> On March 13<sup>th</sup>, I had one
of my papers of final examinations and when I arrived at the venue, I saw her
standing there at a distance. She was deeply immersed into her book and I was
unable to take my eyes off her. We didn’t talk; I didn’t try to. I was
completely aware that the feelings I had for her were free of expectations. It
was but merely an anthology of little
things carefully concealed in the little time that we had spent together. The
starting bell rang a little too soon than I wanted it to. I stole my glance
away from her to walk towards my room, from what I knew for certain was the
very last time I was going to see her. And so it was. </span></span></div>
<div class="SamParagraphStyle" style="text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-size: large;"> After I moved to Calcutta a month
later, I tried to look for her for a few years and when I recalled the story to
my best friends, they too joined the hunt, but none of us ever found her again.
It was, perhaps, meant to be one of those bizarre fairytales which come to pass
accidentally, and we merely find ourselves extraordinarily fortunate to have lived
through them, if not more, then only for a while. They are never meant to come
true but only be cherished and treasured in our memory. Whenever miracles like
this occur, there is a reason, maybe universe’s bigger plans which are beyond
the realm of our momentary realizations.</span></span></div>
<div class="SamParagraphStyle" style="text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-size: large;"> Even though, back in the summer of
2006, I didn’t believe I would stop looking for her, but deep down, I knew I
would, eventually. However, at the same time, I knew that I was going to keep
her, and the entire pleasant adventure, safe in my reminiscence, forever.</span></span></div>
<div class="SamParagraphStyle" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: large;"> Today,
I know why I never expected to find her...</span></div>
<div class="SamParagraphStyle" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="SamParagraphStyle" style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: large;">T H E E N D</span></div>
<div class="SamParagraphStyle" style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="SamParagraphStyle" style="text-align: center;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
--------------------------------------</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<a href="http://dreams-on-paper-leaves.blogspot.in/2012/10/zoya-a-short-story-part-I.html">Part I</a> | <a href="http://dreams-on-paper-leaves.blogspot.in/2012/10/zoya-a-short-story-part-II.html">Part II</a> | <a href="http://dreams-on-paper-leaves.blogspot.in/2012/10/zoya-a-short-story-part-III.html">Part III</a> | <a href="http://dreams-on-paper-leaves.blogspot.in/2012/10/zoya-a-short-story-part-IV.html">Part IV</a></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
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</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<div class="SamParagraphStyle" style="text-align: left;">
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Anonymousnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1026377992600020743.post-16146946218901718512012-10-31T16:44:00.000+05:302013-11-16T20:34:15.444+05:30Zoya... A Short Story (Part IV)<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<br />
<div class="SamParagraphStyle" style="text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-size: large;"> She stood up to make way for me. I
was very resentful of her absence in the previous days and I wasn’t willing to
talk much. But halfway through my paper, she closed her script, capped her pen
and set them aside.</span></span></div>
<div class="SamParagraphStyle" style="text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-size: large;"> ‘Do you need some help?’ she asked rubbing
her palms together.</span></span></div>
<div class="SamParagraphStyle" style="text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-size: large;"> ‘Yeah if you can solve the income
tax problem’ I said instantly. We had mathematics and that’s one of the
problems I didn’t have the slightest clue about. Moreover, it was long and
boring.</span></span></div>
<div class="SamParagraphStyle" style="text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-size: large;"> ‘Oh! Anything other than that
please’ she replied bitterly. She disliked the problems and she didn’t even
mean to hide it.</span></span></div>
<div class="SamParagraphStyle" style="text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-size: large;"> ‘Okay’ I laughed. ‘Can you do
these?’ I said pointing towards the linear equations.</span></span></div>
<div class="SamParagraphStyle" style="text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-size: large;"> ‘Yeah sure!’ and she started
solving for the variables.</span></span></div>
<div class="SamParagraphStyle" style="text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-size: large;"> ‘So you missed the previous two?’ I
asked her after a while.</span></span></div>
<div class="SamParagraphStyle" style="text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-size: large;"> ‘Yeah, I was group-studying’ she
said. I started humming ‘Summer of 69’ very deliberately but carefully enough not to allow it to reach the invigilator's earnest ears and just like I thought,
she joined in again.</span></span></div>
<div class="SamParagraphStyle" style="text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-size: large;"> By the end of the day, she had
solved three of my questions, offered me to do it for me in my spare answer
sheets and we hummed many English numbers together. My mood was back up again
and it was better than ever.</span></span></div>
<div class="SamParagraphStyle" style="text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-size: large;"> After I got home, I dug up my music
collection to look for rare tracks which I could feed into the remaining conversations
with her in the coming days. I also picked up Wuthering Heights and read it in ten
straight hours over the next day which was the day off because of the Republic
Day. My mom was bewildered because she was sure I didn’t have Wuthering Heights
in my syllabus.<span style="color: red;"> </span>The icy chill of the winter was disappearing
as days passed and a gentle air was taking over, unusually agreeing with the
mood and dexterously carving its way into my head. The dull of the examinations
had vanished into thin air making it probably the only exam-time I ever enjoyed
in my life.</span></span></div>
<div class="SamParagraphStyle" style="text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-size: large;"> ‘Can I be of any help with
anything?’ I whispered the next day after quickly finishing my script like she
did the previous day.</span></span></div>
<div class="SamParagraphStyle" style="text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-size: large;"> ‘Only if you know anything about
Accounts!’ she replied.</span></span></div>
<div class="SamParagraphStyle" style="text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-size: large;"> ‘Umm… no, not a clue!’ I replied, my
balloon inside suddenly showing signs of a big puncture at her answer, as soon
as it was inflated. However, I was soon reassigned to my previous part-time job
of the holy messenger which worked out quite smooth over the next hour. After both
of us were finished, we had a half hour to spare in which time we discussed
some music including George Michael and Goo Goo Dolls and also a detailed
analysis of Wuthering Heights which was only interrupted by the bell.</span></span></div>
<div class="SamParagraphStyle" style="text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-size: large;"> Days were bliss. Books lay
forgotten, more songs were queuing up in the playlist. Heaven couldn’t have
been farther away. I knew it was not for long, still I willingly pursued the
unknown and I also knew I cannot expect anything else than what I’ve already
got; a chance to spend some time with her. It served to be sufficient for a
reason.</span></span></div>
<div class="SamParagraphStyle" style="text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-size: large;"> The last paper of the second
pre-board arrived eventually and I was ready to make it count, yet a little
nervous.</span></span></div>
<div class="SamParagraphStyle" style="text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-size: large;"> ‘I hate this subject; Sanskrit’ I whispered
to her furiously. She smiled.</span></span></div>
<div class="SamParagraphStyle" style="text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-size: large;"> ‘You know, I used to wear full
sleeves in those days and I used to hide pieces of paper saying all my answers.
I could “never” stand that subject and moreover couldn’t get the spellings
right’ she whispered back reassuringly. I smiled this time.</span></span></div>
<div class="SamParagraphStyle" style="text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-size: large;"> ‘Finally the papers are going to be over’ I
sighed, but for a hugely different reason.</span></span></div>
<div class="SamParagraphStyle" style="text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-size: large;"> She smiled in acknowledgement.</span></span></div>
<div class="SamParagraphStyle" style="text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-size: large;"> ‘What are you going to do after
this?’ I asked.</span></span></div>
<div class="SamParagraphStyle" style="text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-size: large;"> ‘I was planning to do CA. How about
you?’</span></span></div>
<div class="SamParagraphStyle" style="text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-size: large;"> ‘I am another passionate IIT
enthusiast’ I replied. In those days I was more than sure that I would crack
it.</span></span></div>
<div class="SamParagraphStyle" style="text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-size: large;"> ‘Ah good luck with that’ she
replied with a carefully muted laugh.</span></span></div>
<div class="SamParagraphStyle" style="text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-size: large;"> ‘I was wondering one thing, you
remember that guy who sang an English number in the competition last year?’ I
asked hesitantly. I wanted to make an impression.</span></span></div>
<div class="SamParagraphStyle" style="text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-size: large;"> ‘Ya ya! He was the only guy who did
such a thing. It was a lovely song. I forgot the name though’ she whispered
trying hard to remember.</span></span></div>
<div class="SamParagraphStyle" style="text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-size: large;"> ‘The song was called “We’re on the
Same Boat Brother” by Leadbelly’ I said proudly.</span></span></div>
<div class="SamParagraphStyle" style="text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-size: large;"> ‘Oh! Wait a minute, it was you?’
she hushed with her eyes widening.</span></span></div>
<div class="SamParagraphStyle" style="text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-size: large;"> ‘Yeah!’ I replied smiling broadly.
My head had wandered off to the Pluto and might as well have strolled beyond
that.</span></span></div>
<div class="SamParagraphStyle" style="text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-size: large;">She adjusted herself in her bench.</span></span></div>
<div class="SamParagraphStyle" style="text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-size: large;"> ‘You know I love that song “Summer
of ‘69” ’ it totally agrees with me. I wonder how that guy managed to say the
things I wanted to say’ I said.</span></span></div>
<div class="SamParagraphStyle" style="text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-size: large;"> ‘Yeah, really unusual. The song
agrees with most of us’ she said and hummed the first few lines and when I
filled in the lyrics, she became excited and we started to sing together even
though in whispers, but I could make out every single tune in her voice.</span></span></div>
<div class="SamParagraphStyle" style="text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-size: large;"> We discussed some more Bryan Adams
the whole time and that day and she was more interested to talk than ever. Her
paper too lay forgotten, like mine did the previous days. I felt that I
succeeded to make it count.</span></span></div>
<div class="SamParagraphStyle" style="text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-size: large;"> Time flew faster than light that
day and the time of the unwelcome bell was drawing nearer and nearer and my
heart was shrinking painfully making me a little uncomfortable to breathe. I
didn’t want it to end for it was too magical to let go.</span></span></div>
<div class="SamParagraphStyle">
<span lang="EN-US"></span></div>
<div class="SamParagraphStyle" style="text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: large;"> ‘I was wondering if after a few
years when we would be in different places, would you like to meet again?’ I
asked her...</span></div>
<div class="SamParagraphStyle" style="text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-US"><br /></span></div>
<div class="SamParagraphStyle" style="font-size: x-large; text-align: justify;">
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="color: #073763; font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><i>To Be Continued...</i></span></div>
</div>
<div class="SamParagraphStyle" style="text-align: justify;">
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="text-align: left;">--------------------------------------</span></div>
</div>
<div class="SamParagraphStyle" style="text-align: justify;">
<div style="text-align: center;">
<a href="http://dreams-on-paper-leaves.blogspot.in/2012/10/zoya-a-short-story-part-I.html" style="text-align: left;">Part I</a><span style="text-align: left;"> | </span><a href="http://dreams-on-paper-leaves.blogspot.in/2012/10/zoya-a-short-story-part-II.html" style="text-align: left;">Part II</a><span style="text-align: left;"> | <a href="http://dreams-on-paper-leaves.blogspot.in/2012/10/zoya-a-short-story-part-III.html">Part III</a> | <a href="http://dreams-on-paper-leaves.blogspot.in/2012/10/zoya-a-short-story-part-V.html">Part V</a></span></div>
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Anonymousnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1026377992600020743.post-18877107050124972852012-10-31T16:42:00.001+05:302013-11-16T20:34:08.599+05:30Zoya... A Short Story (Part III)<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<br />
<div class="SamParagraphStyle" style="text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-size: large;"> ‘You missed yesterday?’ I asked
anxiously but in a hushed voice to avoid any attention from the invigilator.</span></span></div>
<div class="SamParagraphStyle" style="text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-size: large;"> ‘Yeah, I didn't feel like it.’ She replied
in the same way.</span></span></div>
<div class="SamParagraphStyle" style="text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-size: large;"> ‘Could you do that?’ I asked
curiously</span></span></div>
<div class="SamParagraphStyle" style="text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-size: large;"> ‘Yeah, sure! These are just pre-boards,
they don’t fuss. So, how was yours yesterday?’</span></span></div>
<div class="SamParagraphStyle" style="text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-size: large;"> We continued exchanging whispers
for a while and then she immersed herself into the paper and I pretended to be
immersed in mine. It was Computer Science paper for me and was only meant for an
hour while she was scheduled for three. I didn't like the sound of it at all.</span></span></div>
<div class="SamParagraphStyle" style="text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-size: large;"> ‘Could you stay after you have
finished your paper?’ she asked me in a low whisper.</span></span></div>
<div class="SamParagraphStyle" style="text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-size: large;"> ‘Only if they let me’ I mumbled
back. Secretly wishing they did.</span></span></div>
<div class="SamParagraphStyle" style="text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-size: large;"> ‘Okay! I thought I could use some
of your help’ she said carefully pointing at the girl sitting right in front of
her. I was in for it blindly. I could swallow a scorpion for her. </span></span></div>
<div class="SamParagraphStyle" style="text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-size: large;"> For the next half hour my paper lay
forgotten and desolate. Instead, I worked as the holy messenger between my lady
and the lady in front of her. She shot occasional smiles at me which I was
savoring. I was exceptionally delighted with myself and started humming a few
songs. She joined in without taking her pen and eyes off her answer script.</span></span></div>
<div class="SamParagraphStyle" style="text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-size: large;"> ‘You listen to foreign music?’ I
asked her surprised but suppressing my voice which had all the reasons to be
loud.</span></span></div>
<div class="SamParagraphStyle" style="text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-size: large;"> ‘Uh huh’ she replied taking a quick
glance at me.</span></span></div>
<div class="SamParagraphStyle" style="text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-size: large;"> ‘That’s unusual. None of the people
I know in my class listens to them’</span></span></div>
<div class="SamParagraphStyle" style="text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-size: large;"> ‘There aren't any around who do, I
guess. But I like them; you know Backstreet Boys, Shakira, Christina Aguilera…’</span></span></div>
<div class="SamParagraphStyle" style="text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-size: large;"> ‘Blue?’ I interrupted. Blue was the
band which I was exploring intensively at that time.</span></span></div>
<div class="SamParagraphStyle" style="text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-size: large;"> ‘Yes, “One Love”, “Fly By”, nice
tracks’ she replied. My heart and mind was swimming somewhere near Jupiter. We
had similar tastes.</span></span></div>
<div class="SamParagraphStyle" style="text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-size: large;"> ‘Then you must also like books?’ I
asked curiously.</span></span></div>
<div class="SamParagraphStyle" style="text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-size: large;"> ‘Yes, I do too. Dickens, Bronté’</span></span></div>
<div class="SamParagraphStyle" style="text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-size: large;"> ‘You’re kiddying! Dickens is my
favorite’ I whispered back excitedly. It was loud enough to grab an eye of
interest from the invigilator and I lowered my voice at once.</span></span></div>
<div class="SamParagraphStyle" style="text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-size: large;"> ‘I love Wuthering Heights’ she said,
her whole attention towards me.</span></span></div>
<div class="SamParagraphStyle" style="text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-size: large;"> ‘Yeah I love that one too’ I lied
quickly. But the moment passed as soon as it appeared. The bell rang.</span></span></div>
<div class="SamParagraphStyle" style="text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-size: large;"> Our scripts were collected into a
neat pile and I got the feeling that we would be thrown out soon. I glanced at
her trying hard to conceal the unwillingness in my eye.</span></span></div>
<div class="SamParagraphStyle" style="text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-size: large;"> ‘I guess I won’t be able help you further.
I wish I could’ I told her quietly.</span></span></div>
<div class="SamParagraphStyle" style="text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-size: large;"> ‘That’s okay, I will manage
somehow’ she chuckled and thanked me for my help.</span></span></div>
<div class="SamParagraphStyle" style="text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-size: large;"> I was the last to leave the
classroom and I stole a quick last glance at her and she smiled back. It could
be the last time I ever saw her.</span></span></div>
<div class="SamParagraphStyle" style="text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-size: large;"> A fortnight passed and we were
having our regular school when one day the teacher announced that they have
decided that we were going to have to sit for the second pre-board. Everybody
groaned. I was delighted, but resisted to show.</span></span></div>
<div class="SamParagraphStyle" style="text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-size: large;"> January 23<sup>rd</sup>; the first
day of the second pre-board. I waited anxiously for her to turn up, checking eagerly
up and down the corridor adjacent to our room for the slightest sign of her and
by the time it was halfway into the paper, I knew she wasn't coming. Just like
the day in the first pre-board.</span></span></div>
<div class="SamParagraphStyle" style="text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-size: large;"> January 24<sup>th</sup>; the second
paper. She didn't turn up yet again. The largest part of my heart had given up
on the hope to see her again. At nights, I spent most of the time awake.
Sometimes strolling in the balcony, looking up at the cloudless, dark sky
filled with a thousand sparkling specks, listening to songs playing randomly in
my playlist and trying to remember the time we've had just a little more than a
fortnight ago. I had three more papers to go before I knew for certain that I
would never get to spend time with her. Maybe that served as a little hope to
make me appear for the papers next day, which I knew by now, didn't matter.</span></span></div>
<div class="SamParagraphStyle">
<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-size: large;"></span></span></div>
<div class="SamParagraphStyle" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><span lang="EN-US"> The next day I arrived without
expecting her but she was there, already sitting on the bench with a pleasant
face...</span></span></div>
<div class="SamParagraphStyle" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><span lang="EN-US"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="SamParagraphStyle" style="text-align: justify;">
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><span lang="EN-US" style="color: #073763; font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><i>To Be Continued...</i></span></span></div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
--------------------------------------</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<a href="http://dreams-on-paper-leaves.blogspot.in/2012/10/zoya-a-short-story-part-I.html">Part I</a> | <a href="http://dreams-on-paper-leaves.blogspot.in/2012/10/zoya-a-short-story-part-II.html">Part II</a> | <a href="http://dreams-on-paper-leaves.blogspot.in/2012/10/zoya-a-short-story-part-IV.html">Part IV</a> | <a href="http://dreams-on-paper-leaves.blogspot.in/2012/10/zoya-a-short-story-part-V.html">Part V</a></div>
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Anonymousnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1026377992600020743.post-87293360454550449682012-10-31T15:50:00.000+05:302013-11-16T20:34:02.065+05:30Zoya... A Short Story (Part II)<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<br />
<div class="SamParagraphStyle" style="text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-size: large;"> Well it certainly sounded like an echo
to me and also made me drop my pen. She was of average height, bright, fair
skin, her jet black shoulder length hair was tied into a neat ponytail and she
wore a full sleeved petticoat suit of the school uniform colors.</span></span></div>
<div class="SamParagraphStyle" style="text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-size: large;">I hastily picked up my pen as she
strolled inside to take her seat beside me. I lost my tongue.</span></span></div>
<div class="SamParagraphStyle" style="text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-size: large;"> She continued to scribble for the
next three hours occasionally tucking her long freckles behind her ear. She
wrote with her left hand and had long fingernails. Her handwriting, as I
noticed, was strikingly similar to mine. I didn't make a sound, nor did I do
anything else other than steal a glance of her through the corner of my eye every
once in a while and smell the beautiful perfume she was wearing. She was
gorgeously stunning and I had already lost my urge to write my paper, yet I
wanted to turn up for the rest of them.</span></span></div>
<div class="SamParagraphStyle" style="text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-size: large;"> The next day progressed pretty much
like the first except when I helped picking up her handkerchief which she had
dropped and we had both momentarily bent to pick it up and hit our foreheads
instead. She thanked me politely and I too kept my manners but still didn't find
my tongue.</span></span></div>
<div class="SamParagraphStyle" style="text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-size: large;"> One more day passed the same way
and it was New Year’s Eve.</span></span></div>
<div class="SamParagraphStyle" style="text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-size: large;">New Year’s time was wonderful. I
got into my dreamy shoes, like I did often, and spent most of the time thinking
about her and the merry lights seemed to garnish it extraordinarily. I wished
badly that she knew how I felt and came running to me like people do in movies.
But my life wasn't yet a movie, but it sure didn't feel too far from it either.</span></span></div>
<div class="SamParagraphStyle" style="text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-size: large;"> January 3<sup>rd</sup>. It was the
day of the final paper of the first segment of examinations (pre-board, as it
was called) and there was a fortnight at hand before the school officials
decided if they should hold a second pre-board for our revision. But for me, it
could be the last time I get to spend time with her.</span></span></div>
<div class="SamParagraphStyle" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: large;"> I arrived early and was quite
determined to spark a conversation with her. So, I had it a little rehearsed in
my head. She had missed her paper the previous day and I was scared if she did
that again. But she didn't...</span></div>
<div class="SamParagraphStyle" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="SamParagraphStyle" style="text-align: justify;">
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i style="color: #073763; font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: x-large;">To Be Continued...</i></div>
</div>
<div class="SamParagraphStyle" style="text-align: justify;">
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="text-align: left;">--------------------------------------</span></div>
</div>
<div class="SamParagraphStyle" style="text-align: left;">
<div style="text-align: center;">
<a href="http://dreams-on-paper-leaves.blogspot.in/2012/10/zoya-a-short-story-part-I.html">Part I</a> | <a href="http://dreams-on-paper-leaves.blogspot.in/2012/10/zoya-a-short-story-part-III.html">Part III</a> | <a href="http://dreams-on-paper-leaves.blogspot.in/2012/10/zoya-a-short-story-part-IV.html">Part IV</a> | <a href="http://dreams-on-paper-leaves.blogspot.in/2012/10/zoya-a-short-story-part-V.html">Part V</a></div>
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<div class="SamParagraphStyle" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="color: #073763; font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><i><br /></i></span>
<span style="color: #073763; font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><i><br /></i></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Anonymousnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1026377992600020743.post-8447916174329981432012-10-31T15:31:00.004+05:302013-11-16T20:33:55.705+05:30Zoya... A Short Story (Part I)<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<br />
<div class="SamParagraphStyle">
</div>
<div class="SamParagraphStyle" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: large;"> There exists a bunch of words, which I believe, can prove to be exceptionally difficult to define. Maybe that’s why sometimes it’s for everyone’s well-being that words like ‘Love’, are best left alone from our attempts to define it. </span><span style="font-size: large;">Nevertheless, we often unconsciously happen to relate it to a few of our actions. This also qualifies for a convincing justification as to ‘why different people have different opinions about love’. Just like, beauty lies in the eyes of the beholder.</span></div>
<div class="SamParagraphStyle" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: large;"> I wouldn't take more time to confess that I don’t have the slightest idea whatsoever about what love is or what it can possibly be. However, I, like so many others, have taken the liberty to associate it with two of my unforgettable and most treasured experiences. One of which, I am about to share.</span></div>
<div class="SamParagraphStyle" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: large;"> It was the December of 2005 and the city of Bilaspur used to swing delicately between chilly and soothing. Our school, being one of its kind, stood out from the rest by not having winter vacations. </span></div>
<div class="SamParagraphStyle" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: large;"> Even though they had spared Christmas day, there wasn't much left to celebrate because the examinations were scheduled to start the next day and continue till three days into the New Year. But the universe somehow manages to amuse us with its curiously placed miracles and turn our dull, boring life upside down. I found mine the very next day; the first day of the exams.</span></div>
<div class="SamParagraphStyle" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: large;"> I was a boy of fifteen back then, with a decent height, messy short hair, </span><span style="font-size: large;">athletic</span><span style="font-size: large;"> build though I was not too much into sports and not to forget a pair of glasses. </span><span style="font-size: large;">The sun spilled itself all over my room but still </span><span style="font-size: large;">couldn't</span><span style="font-size: large;"> confiscate the cold. </span><span style="font-size: large;">I had to drag my feet to get up and get dressed. My head was still frozen from the previous night’s heavy dosage of unopened pile of textbooks. I somehow managed my morning chores, nibbled some of my breakfast (with a lot of help from Mom), and after a while, climbed into the big yellow bus filled with serious people, who still </span><span style="font-size: large;">didn't</span><span style="font-size: large;"> seem to be satisfied with their preparations, and got to school.</span></div>
<div class="SamParagraphStyle" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: large;"> ‘Who’s sitting here?’ I quickly asked a twelfth grader, pointing to my empty bench, when I found her voluntarily answering identical queries of my friends. We were supposed to sit with twelfth grader girls alongside us at each of the desks. We were in tenth grade.</span></div>
<div class="SamParagraphStyle" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: large;">‘Lemme see, one… two…’ She counted, ‘that would be... Zoya, if I am not wrong’</span></div>
<div class="SamParagraphStyle" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: large;"> My heart skipped a beat.</span></div>
<div class="SamParagraphStyle" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: large;"> ‘Wasn't she the cute girl you kept looking out for whenever you got the slightest of chances?’ a voice in my head broke loose, and I was pretty sure it was loud and as correct.</span></div>
<div class="SamParagraphStyle" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: large;"> I waited patiently on my bench, as the minutes ticked by, for her to arrive and take her seat, alongside mine.</span></div>
<div class="SamParagraphStyle" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: large;"> ‘May I come in sir?’ echoed a sweet voice...</span></div>
<div class="SamParagraphStyle" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="SamParagraphStyle" style="text-align: justify;">
<i style="color: #073763; font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: x-large;"><br /></i>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i style="color: #073763; font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: x-large;">To Be Continued...</i></div>
</div>
<div class="SamParagraphStyle" style="text-align: justify;">
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="text-align: left;">--------------------------------------</span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="text-align: left;"><a href="http://dreams-on-paper-leaves.blogspot.in/2012/10/zoya-a-short-story-part-II.html">Part II</a></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Anonymousnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1026377992600020743.post-51745610565031186972012-10-22T17:13:00.002+05:302012-10-22T17:16:43.092+05:30Arthur Hitler<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: large;"> All the miss-communication started when my friend misheard 'Hiller' as 'Hitler'. He was a stock broker and all he has ever seen in his life is a bunch of videos containing more numbers and figures than characters who did anything other than sitting and staring out at you with but their lips moving. It was not until recently had he been introduced to something alien to his usual watch-list - Motion Picture.</span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: large;"> The first movie he had seen was Valkyrie, two months ago. But the latest movie we saw was Love Story. </span><span style="font-size: large;">But it seems he was still more into Valkyrie than Love Story.</span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: large;"> We were trying to have a movie discussion of Love Story (at least I thought so) and apparently he didn't know the name of the director (Arthur Hiller). But that wasn't the only thing he wasn't aware of. It so happens, he also didn't know that Hitler's first name was Adolf, not Arthur.</span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: large;"> ..."That's outrageous!" he burst out.</span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: large;"> "No No, I believe the artful way he had portrayed them was significantly overwhelming" I replied. Only I was talking referring to the characters of the movie.</span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: large;"> "But he hated them and there is considerable depiction of racism and hatred in, what he calls, his accomplishments. And the whole world is there to support this fact." He was referring to the Jews.</span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: large;"> "But it can't be! I have several references who considers Arthur's art as subtle and moving. His art was even honored -" -I meant Oscar Nominated - " - by one of the most prestigious -"</span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: large;"> "He was only awarded stuff which he awarded himself! That's exactly what people like him do. And that's the truth and that's where it stands." he said thumping his fist into my coffee table.</span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: large;"> "But that is so untrue. An artist is no dictator. But yes, sometimes, one needs to dictate to get good at his art."</span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: large;"> "Whatever he did, has got nothing to do with art. It was all pride. On the contrary, I know he had destroyed art in many ways. And he was ruthless! And moreover -"</span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: large;"> "Yes, ruthless, he was, but that's the very quality the art of film-making demands. You have to have an eye for certain aspects but you can't be too attached to it either. I think -"</span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: large;"> "Wait, what did you just say? FILM-MAKING?" He cut me in.</span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: large;"> "Yes, precisely that." I replied annoyed, by the interruption and also other things he said.</span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: large;"> He stared at me for a full minute before he burst out -</span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: large;"> "Who the hell are you talking about?"</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"> "Arthur Hiller, director of a movie called Love Story? Why, what's going on?"</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"> "Wasn't Hitler's first name 'Arthur' ?"</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"> And that's all folks...</span></div>
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Anonymousnoreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1026377992600020743.post-9420341368567483672012-10-20T17:37:00.000+05:302012-10-20T17:37:04.158+05:30Of Advices...<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<span style="font-size: large;"> Giving advice is easy!</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"> I give loads of advice and suggestions to myself every time. They are all very brilliant too. Now is the point, you are by all means entitled to ask - 'If they are so brilliant, why aren't you on the top of the world?' The answer to which is easier even - I am too busy being proud of the advice that I had just devised, I spend the rest of the time being obsessed about it and after I am done with that, I forget what the advice was in the first place. So I seldom follow my own advice.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"> The usual blokes who give advice are well known successful people - that's the traditional idea. You will never take advice from someone who never succeeded. And sometimes you also run across people who have been awarded success for free by the thing called Universe (Universe is defined for non-scientific folks as 'a thing to blame if you have no clue why or how something happened'). These people have no advice under their invisible sleeve. They usually retort to the phrase - "I have no idea!" when they are asked how they succeeded.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"> But I am not one of those folks. I am pretty disciplined in what I do. My two major activity of the day involves eating and spending the rest of my time staring at my computer screen, sometimes moving some stuff around (mostly within hard drive partitions).</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"> But that was two days ago. Now I have known better and I took up reading again. And I found out, not long ago, that somebody missed my writing (I am ecstatic) so I am here, writing once again.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"> Now that I have tore my eyes off the computer screen and have read books the past few days, I can give myself advice again.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"> In my brief research on this subject (Advice) all my life, I have found out that - if you want to give good advice to yourself, try it on people who are in pursuit of similar stuff as you are and more importantly, pursued them to follow it (that is what takes real skill and energy). If they work for them, then you can be somewhat certain that they are going to work for you as well. Surely, there might be a few loopholes and glitches; its not rocket science; but it usually works pretty fine with me...</span></div>
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Anonymousnoreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1026377992600020743.post-2856280176259367192012-08-28T20:54:00.002+05:302012-10-20T17:37:24.414+05:30Of Marriages And Megaphones<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"> Often have I heard the old joke, and so has everyone else I am sure, that love marriage is like holding the gun at your chest and pulling the trigger while arranged marriage is like asking someone to shoot you. In both cases, you end up dead anyway. But considerable damage can be prevented with the use of certified bulletproof vests even though there can be a little damage followed by swelling of the area but that’s not the point here.</span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"> I am just a little older than twenty and don’t have much idea about marriages anyway, except for the fact that my parents are more interested in my marriage than I am and every now and then I get hit by a cannonball containing phrases like – ‘how will you manage with your wife if you can’t adjust with us?’ I wonder, isn’t the answer too obvious? I mean there are loads of stuffs. I would practically be the boss in the house (unless I find myself still living with my parents) which is impossible right now and even if I would still be regularly inquired about the time I get back home, ‘midnight’ as an answer won’t end me up grounded for the rest of the week without television. I could take her to the bar and have a few drinks etc.</span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"> I know one of my friends, who is nearly engaged (as soon as he finishes college I guess) and all I can infer from their relationship is that, it’s really beautiful to be in love if you have enough supply of aspirins within your reach. Not that he needs it all the time, but safety is always advised, no matter what. If they manage to be like the couple they are now, they are surely going to be one of those who could prescribe love-marriages to everyone and maybe even end up as preachers; much like Karl Marx would suggest that every country should have a Communist government.</span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"> However, for a bloke like my other friend, who often manages to ruin things with the girl he has a crush on, arranged marriage seems to be quite perfect. I am sure the girl would be highly impressed by him at first sight, for he is well behaved, good-looking and all, but I (nobody for that matter) can’t specifically be sure of what might follow afterwards.</span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"> So, marriage is much like two sides of a coin. You can’t see the other side if you are currently seeing one (unless you have a mirror nearby) and it can also help you pay your loans and mortgage or even win you a green card in some countries. But, I guess, deriving from the joke I mentioned, in both the cases, you end up killing the bachelor in yourself (if not the bachelor at heart, then at least officially).</span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"> So, I would suggest, that if you feel like you are seeing any of the sides of the coin right now, then you are quite lucky. If you find yourself unhappy with the coin halfway, there’s always another dime <span style="font-family: inherit;">called divorce. Those who aren’t seeing any coin nearby, but badly want to, should pray regularly. And those who don’t want the coin, go out, the world is yours.</span></span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> Megaphones, on the other hand, come very handy when you want to invite people to celebrate your bachelor-self's funeral with a decent supply of wine, free food and lots of music and dancing to go with it as well. Marriage is </span>probably<span style="font-family: inherit;"> the only type of funeral when people actually enjoy themselves and is most of the time doesn't take bloodshed into account, unless (god forbid) extreme situations (such as smashed wedding cake) are encountered.</span></span></span></div>
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Anonymousnoreply@blogger.com13tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1026377992600020743.post-72276441049871999062012-08-06T12:36:00.000+05:302012-10-20T17:37:49.347+05:30F.R.I.E.N.D.S<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<span style="font-size: large;"> NOW TO START with, I REALLY hate to watch F.R.I.E.N.D.S. If you have not already came up with your version of possible reason, I would like to rush to tell you mine before you get the wrong notions. I really hate to watch F.R.I.E.N.D.S because I am not allowed to be on it. The only better thing than to be cast on the show is to get to live the characters. And I am so jealous of those who got to be them. That is really unfair for everyone in the world apart from those six people. I would, however, choose to be the guys at any cost, but whatever.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"> It's not just that they are the only ones with perfect lives. They have their fights and they manage to make it sound funny for us to laugh at. It kinda reminds me of the times when we used to be funny too. Those three minute fights used to be really silly when I look back at them now. But what's the point of trying not to make it look silly now? Because later when we look back at these days, they are going to look silly then anyway.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"> The friends I have had the privilege to sport, they are potentially the best fun makers there could be and I really hated them all along, when they would try to pull me into being the victim of their cheap old prank which can never be any worse, when they tried to stick two fingers above the back of my head making my already sucking photograph look worse than imaginable. But, somehow they managed me to convince me to stick around them and probably I did because I just wanted to get some more of it, or maybe I wanted to find out how much more I could hate them than I already did.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"> I really hated when they tried to poke their nose in my everything. I hated when they rehearsed all their free advice which they couldn't have done in any other place, I hated when they never left my side when I wanted them to, I hated when they abandoned their jobs for me, I hated when they made me the first person to tell about their plans and I really hate now to make the long list of the things I hate about them.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"> I guess I met them, in the first place, because I wanted to hate them so much. And now I just wanna call up everyone of them and tell them how pricks they are and how much I hate those old hags always trying to make me hate them.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"> Well, maybe I just hate F.R.I.E.N.D.S a lot which reminds me to hate my friends every time, but I guess I am just to addicted to it...</span><br />
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Anonymousnoreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1026377992600020743.post-2483110928117792842012-08-05T10:14:00.001+05:302012-11-02T14:46:02.344+05:30College Journals: Prologue<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"> AMONG MY FRIENDS, the closest ones of course, I am most famous for being nostalgic. But I cannot be more certain that before they decide to append this quality to their description of me, they wouldn’t be more ecstatic to squeeze in a dozen other adjectives before, such as, idiotic, silly, prankster and possibly a total hopeless case with several other matters. They are quite lucky, however, that they are aware of the fact that I am not going to frown on them on the inside as I would pretend to show them on the outside for attacking me with these right on my face, because I am quite fond of them and the names they call as well.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"> My desperation for keeping records of the reminiscences have sometimes fetched delights to some while a considerable amount of annoyance to others, but I do not recall being discouraged to do so at any point. But not getting into more webs of words, I would land right into the point and start telling you the near bizarre but immensely special story of my college life and the crazy friends who made every single tale count.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"> Back in 2009, same time of the year as now, I was preparing for getting into a college. After two years of struggle through a really rough patch of eleventh-twelfth grade, which have been my darkest days till now, the thought of college came to a rather blissful rescue.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">Time had already rolled to mid-July when it eventually let me quit my job of nail-biting (which has been dominant in the past few days) and allowed me to sit back and relax. I was safely admitted into an engineering college at last relieving my parents' from their daily nightmare of me ending up as an outcast. I spent the days around watching a television series called How I Met Your Mother and also caught the sixth part of the Harry Potter movie series in the theatre figuring nothing better to do.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"> Apart from that, I also found time to explore the online community in Orkut, of the college where I had opted for admission. Orkut used to be a really breathing place in those days and was the most welcome source of making friends for many people (me included) as Facebook </span><span style="font-size: large;">hadn't</span><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"> quite established itself among us yet.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"> My first memoirs, that I could recall, of Arka happens to be nothing more than an Orkut profile and a really responsible and strict owner of the Orkut community of the Freshers Batch of our college called – “NSEC Batch 2009-2013.”</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"> My first interactions with him began when I received a nearly system generated scrap in my Orkut scrapbook stating – “Hi Samik, I'm also a fresher in NSEC... Check out this community” with a link attached beneath. But afterwards he did everything in his might to test </span><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">if I </span><span style="font-size: large;">wasn't</span><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"> any nosy senior trying to spy on the juniors and use their own words against them during the unofficial formal introduction with the seniors (well known as ragging).</span><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"> I had no choice but to comply to the terms and conditions. </span><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">But after things were settled and I was honorably discharged of the attribution</span><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">s, things went pretty great.</span></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"> We had a lot of fun during those two weeks where nobody had met each other yet. The great momentous things always start with the little insignificant ones. And it was beyond anyone’s realization at that time that something like this could possibly be one, but I know how things turned out. And if it </span><span style="font-size: large;">wouldn't</span><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> have been worth it, I probably </span>wouldn't<span style="font-family: inherit;"> be sitting here today, three years later from that day, trying to put my remarkable reminiscences in words.</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"> Throughout the three years, there have been many roads we have trotted and went through many times, some were worth remembering and some were worth even more and among the great many things that I have learnt in due course, my most favourite would be – The best thing about having best friends is that they could make you realise so strongly that, in life, some friends and instances of friendship in life could be just impossible to forget and worth not forgetting as well...</span><br />
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<span style="color: #274e13; font-family: inherit;"><b>P.S.</b>: Yes, there is going to be a part II (and many parts subsequently)</span></div>
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Anonymousnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1026377992600020743.post-45959186520134001952012-02-29T23:35:00.000+05:302012-10-22T17:18:52.098+05:30The Train Journals Part I<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<span style="font-size: large;"> I HAVE TRAVELED in trains since an early age. Every
time I met different people who became family for that little while and made me
feel like I had known them forever. Sometime we knew quite a bouquet of things
about each other except our names and sometimes we forgot to ask, which would
be my case in particular as I often find myself forgetting to ask names. But I have
also learnt that there is so much more present than just a name to put on a
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<span style="font-size: large;"> During my travels, I have met many different people
and nobody among them have crossed my ways more than once, yet they have left a
sweet impression on my mind which reflected on my face as well whenever I remembered
them.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"> This one time, which I am now going to narrate, I
was travelling from Nagpur to my home at Calcutta in the time of Durga Puja of 2009
and it was this time when I got the opportunity of travelling with a gentleman
who has left a hard-to-forget impact in my memory. I was exceptionally happy
that day, which surfaced every time I travelled back home and the obsessive
excitement and desperation made the journey longer and longer every minute in a
progressive pattern which mathematicians might term as geometric progression (a
value which doubles with every step).</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"> When I woke up in the morning and climbed down from
that swinging top berth in the train, I noticed a new face occupying the window
seat of the opposite lower berth. He must have boarded the train when I was
fast asleep. He was a man who would be comfortably in his mid-fifties. The
proud graying hair was combed primly and a warm brown blazer felt heavy but contented
on his shoulder. His head swayed with the movement of the train as his eyes
kept reading through the bottom portion of the bi-focal lens resting on his
nose. I took a quick gaze from the corner of my eye avoiding any awkward moment
as I folded my blanket. The mornings in the countryside felt chilly even though
it was the middle of September.</span></div>
<div class="SamParagraphStyle" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="SamParagraphStyle" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: large;"> After I had settled down in my own window seat which
I borrowed from the kind gentleman whose night had just started in my top berth,
I ordered a cup of coffee from the passing vendor and I asked my companion
sitting immediately opposite to me if he would like a cup for himself. This was
the cliché technique of starting a conversation in any journey and it never
seemed to fail nor age. He cordially agreed and thanked me with a decent smile and
folded his book beside him. I had already grown a little fond of my newly found
travel companion and the book lying in my bag kept seeming unnecessary minute
by minute.</span></div>
<div class="SamParagraphStyle" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="SamParagraphStyle" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: large;"> As we carried our conversation forward with the
gradual attenuation of coffee in our cups, I discovered he was an Indian
Railways employee and even though he was entitled to a first class coach for
free, he liked it better travelling in the second class. It secretly lifted my
respect for him in no time. And I also discovered that he was an exceptional
storyteller as well. Among his hilarious tales, the one I especially remember involved
a nasty misunderstanding.</span></div>
<div class="SamParagraphStyle" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="SamParagraphStyle" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: large;"> “Once, I was travelling by train.” He began, “when
night had fallen and everyone commenced preparations for their sleep, the passenger
in the opposite seat said to me - ‘bhai, I have to get down at a station which
arrives around 2 o’clock at night. I am a really heavy sleeper. Bhai can you
wake me up? Well, I might resist and not want to get down, but I insist you to
force me and see that I make it to the station.’</span></div>
<div class="SamParagraphStyle" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="SamParagraphStyle" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: large;"> “I agreed.</span></div>
<div class="SamParagraphStyle" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="SamParagraphStyle" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: large;"> “When everything was settled, and everybody went to
sleep, I, who was supposed to wake up my companion, lay awake reading my book. The
clock ticked from one to two and the train started slowing down at a station. Now
I approached the berth my companion fast asleep and started waking him up. He
started resisting as I was forewarned and started moaning that he is not
supposed to get down, but I kept forcing him and somehow, I managed to pack all
his luggage and carried my sleeping companion to the platform. The train went
on and when daylight broke, the gentleman from the top berth climbed down with
a horrified look on his face as he had suddenly realized he was still on the
train. I glanced and to my astonishment and horror, saw my companion from
previous night who had asked me to wake him up. He instantly turned towards me and
started showering abuses which I took silently. When the next station arrived,
he collected his belongings and got down still muttering curses directed
towards me.</span></div>
<div class="SamParagraphStyle" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"> “An adjacent passenger curiously asked the reason
for my silence even after such irresistible provocation, and I calmly answered –
‘well, whatever he said is nothing compared to the passenger whom I have forced
to get down at the station at 2 o’clock last night.’</span></div>
<div class="SamParagraphStyle" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="SamParagraphStyle" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: large;"> “Apparently, he had changed berths with somebody and
didn’t remember to inform me.” He finished.</span></div>
<div class="SamParagraphStyle" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="SamParagraphStyle" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: large;"> By that time, I had already managed to attract weird
glances from those sitting earshot of this story. And this wasn’t the only one
but I didn’t cared about anything else for laughter is one of my weaknesses and
I forget of any courtesy during this brief period.</span></div>
<div class="SamParagraphStyle" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="SamParagraphStyle" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: large;"> The journey didn’t last forever, on the contrary it
seemed miraculously shortened considerably. But this gentleman, whose name I forgot
to catch yet again defending my previous record, had placed himself in my memory
forever. Sometimes I really feel thankful to my fortune that I ended up as a traveler
which came more as a compulsion and transformed into a necessity for heart. Sometimes
even for the thirst of meeting new nameless people, I start travelling,
journeying in public transports for faraway destinations and the pursuit not
only fulfils my occasional yearning for getting acquainted with new faces, but
also new places. But sometimes, I really miss not knowing the names, to meet
them once again, but the extraordinary irony is, maybe that’s the beauty of it…</span></div>
<div class="SamParagraphStyle" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
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</div>
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</div>
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<br /></div>
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Anonymousnoreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1026377992600020743.post-86862782331675148502012-01-12T23:50:00.001+05:302012-10-22T17:19:09.503+05:30Raakhal-Da<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;">
</div>
<div class="SamParagraphStyle">
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-C-P3izNzDaY/Tw8vtPC0k0I/AAAAAAAABLU/8B3SViKnb8c/s1600/A.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-C-P3izNzDaY/Tw8vtPC0k0I/AAAAAAAABLU/8B3SViKnb8c/s1600/A.png" /></a></div>
<span style="font-size: large;">rghyadeep, one of my closest friends in my college
days, had always some stories up his sleeve. His college, where he is doing
B.Sc with Physics major, is an exquisite place for every kind of species you
wish to find, including students and professors and the best part, even the
caretakers and laboratory attendants.</span></div>
</div>
<div class="SamParagraphStyle">
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: large;"> This story is a pretty short one. One time, in the
Digital Electronics laboratory, the students were required to make a specific
electronic circuit using an 8-pin integrated chip placed on a bread board.</span></div>
</div>
<div class="SamParagraphStyle">
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: large;"> Everyone was busy following the steps and the
circuit diagrams and suddenly one of the students summoned the Professor in
charge for some problem he was facing.<span style="line-height: 130%;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
</div>
<div class="SamParagraphStyle">
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: large;"> The circuit he designed apparently was independent
of any flaw. The chip was the correct one, as was prescribed in the paper, the
wires were placed accurately, but still the LED test lamps were blind.<span style="line-height: 130%;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
</div>
<div class="SamParagraphStyle">
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: large;"> The Professor was startled, he tried many different
things. Gradually the place started filling up with Professors from the Physics
and Electronics departments. Everyone was crowning over the bread board that had suddenly decided to break all the laws of physics.<span style="line-height: 130%;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
</div>
<div class="SamParagraphStyle">
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: large;"> After a long and intense discussion which almost
summoned a Board meeting but resisted, the ultimate conclusion reached was that
the bread board must be the faulty one.<span style="line-height: 130%;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
</div>
<div class="SamParagraphStyle">
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: large;"> Eventually, Raakhal-Da, the laboratory attendant (we Bengalis call our elder
brother as 'da') was summoned and he came to take a look at the bread board
with the chip. He then simply detached the IC (Integrated Chip), rubbed it clean on his pants and then put it back. The power was turned on and suddenly all the LEDs
sprang back to life.<span style="line-height: 130%;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
</div>
<div class="SamParagraphStyle">
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: large;"> The Professors had a hard time figuring out what
exactly had happened after all that brain storming devoted by them to the piece
of problem.<span style="line-height: 130%;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
</div>
<div class="SamParagraphStyle">
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: large;"> That was one of the many incidents when Raakhal-da
saved the day and the world was in order again </span><span style="font-size: large;">(at least the laboratory was)</span><span style="font-size: large;">.</span></div>
</div>
<div class="SamParagraphStyle">
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: large;"> Whenever Arghyadeep tells us about Raakhal-da, we
always know something like this is on its way and that we should keep
anti-laughter medicines with us.</span></div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
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Anonymousnoreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1026377992600020743.post-20683754645750085742012-01-06T23:04:00.001+05:302012-11-02T14:44:19.985+05:30Portugal To Panchpota!<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-iMU2vzCOZP0/TwcgccAoiVI/AAAAAAAABK8/NzGY5b7JVqg/s1600/B.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-iMU2vzCOZP0/TwcgccAoiVI/AAAAAAAABK8/NzGY5b7JVqg/s1600/B.png" /></span></a></div>
<div class="SamParagraphStyle" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 13.5pt;">
<div style="text-indent: 0px;">
</div>
<div class="SamParagraphStyle" style="text-indent: 0in;">
<br />
<div class="SamParagraphStyle" style="text-indent: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">ack in 2009, when I was new
in my first year of college, one of my closest mates, Arka (pronounced Awrko as
in ‘Awkward’) and I used to have wonderful adventures on campus. Though they
might not seem that special, but sometimes, they were crazy enough to risk our
reputation as good fellows among the professors.</span></div>
<div class="SamParagraphStyle" style="text-indent: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="SamParagraphStyle" style="text-indent: 13.5pt;">
<span style="font-size: large;">One day, when triple physics
and triple math in our respective departments drove us nuts, Arka and I decided
to take the first chance we got to run out of our classes. Now we were stranded unemployed. We needed to do something of the time before recess. He
suggested we should attend the seminar that was going on in the auditorium.
When I started giving him a horrified look, he quickly said that he isn’t
saying to actually pay attention to what was going on. In fact, he didn’t even
know what seminar was it about, nor was he interested. But what he did know was
that they were giving free attendance to whoever attended it.</span></div>
<div class="SamParagraphStyle" style="text-indent: 13.5pt;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="SamParagraphStyle" style="text-indent: 13.5pt;">
<span style="font-size: large;">Since I was out of any
ideas at all, I thought it couldn’t be that bad. We could occupy a seat in the
back and chat and get free attendance as well. Moreover, it was air conditioned
as well. Seemed like quite a plan only that fate had an entirely different plan
devised for the two of us.</span></div>
<div class="SamParagraphStyle" style="text-indent: 13.5pt;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="SamParagraphStyle" style="text-indent: 13.5pt;">
<span style="font-size: large;">Arka poked his head
through the auditorium door and signaled me inside. I followed him. The auditorium
was dimly lit, but the stage was brightly decorated with a long table equipped
with microphones.</span></div>
<div class="SamParagraphStyle" style="text-indent: 13.5pt;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="SamParagraphStyle" style="text-indent: 13.5pt;">
<span style="font-size: large;">The entrance and the exit
to the auditorium were on the back, so we didn’t have to walk too much and I
settled myself near the back, a seat at the mouth of a row. I kept my eyes
fixed to the front and whispered to Arka from the corner of my mouth. </span></div>
<div class="SamParagraphStyle" style="text-indent: 13.5pt;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="SamParagraphStyle" style="text-indent: 13.5pt;">
<span style="font-size: large;">“So, how long are we
supposed to stay here actually?”</span></div>
<div class="SamParagraphStyle" style="text-indent: 13.5pt;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="SamParagraphStyle" style="text-indent: 13.5pt;">
<span style="font-size: large;">“It will be over around 2”
he replied</span></div>
<div class="SamParagraphStyle" style="text-indent: 13.5pt;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="SamParagraphStyle" style="text-indent: 13.5pt;">
<span style="font-size: large;">“Okay! So it’s your
responsibility to keep me away from boredom. Those guys seem awful to listen to
for three hours.”</span></div>
<div class="SamParagraphStyle" style="text-indent: 13.5pt;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="SamParagraphStyle" style="text-indent: 13.5pt;">
<span style="font-size: large;">“They are very well known
people. The one in the left is from Portugal and he has come to tell us about……………………………….”
(I still have no idea what he said or meant or even what language he was
speaking.)</span></div>
<div class="SamParagraphStyle" style="text-indent: 13.5pt;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="SamParagraphStyle" style="text-indent: 13.5pt;">
<span style="font-size: large;">At this point, I was very
much taken aback and almost felt like I was cheated and tricked into this
situation and moreover I was surprised to discover that Arka actually knew what
seminar was about.</span></div>
<div class="SamParagraphStyle" style="text-indent: 13.5pt;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="SamParagraphStyle" style="text-indent: 13.5pt;">
<span style="font-size: large;">“Oh! You actually know
what’s going on? You are destined to touch the sky my boy!” I joked.</span></div>
<div class="SamParagraphStyle" style="text-indent: 13.5pt;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="SamParagraphStyle" style="text-indent: 13.5pt;">
<span style="font-size: large;">“Yes of course! In fact I
think everyone should have attended this seminar!”</span></div>
<div class="SamParagraphStyle" style="text-indent: 13.5pt;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="SamParagraphStyle" style="text-indent: 13.5pt;">
<span style="font-size: large;">“People wouldn’t have stared
at them even for 50 bucks!” I chuckled.</span></div>
<div class="SamParagraphStyle" style="text-indent: 13.5pt;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="SamParagraphStyle" style="text-indent: 13.5pt;">
<span style="font-size: large;">Now he seemed to take
offence and said, “Good things don’t happen in our college because people are
not interested in occasions like these.”</span></div>
<div class="SamParagraphStyle" style="text-indent: 13.5pt;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="SamParagraphStyle" style="text-indent: 13.5pt;">
<span style="font-size: large;">“What the hell is wrong
with you, weren’t we supposed to come here for free attendance?” I said
crossly. At that point of time, suddenly I got a text. It was from Arka!</span></div>
<div class="SamParagraphStyle" style="text-indent: 13.5pt;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="SamParagraphStyle" style="text-indent: 13.5pt;">
<span style="font-size: large;">I stared at the screen.</span></div>
<div class="SamParagraphStyle" style="text-indent: 13.5pt;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="SamParagraphStyle" style="text-indent: 13.5pt;">
<span style="font-size: large;">How on earth could that be
possible! I jerked my head to see it was some nerd from the Electronics or
Electrical Engineering department, sitting where Arka was supposed to be.</span></div>
<div class="SamParagraphStyle" style="text-indent: 13.5pt;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="SamParagraphStyle" style="text-indent: 13.5pt;">
<span style="font-size: large;">I sat there completely frozen.
My face was vacant as my brain was doing all the weird thinking. My mobile
phone still clenched in one hand and the other hand was apparently scratching
my head.</span></div>
<div class="SamParagraphStyle" style="text-indent: 13.5pt;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="SamParagraphStyle" style="text-indent: 13.5pt;">
<span style="font-size: large;">The guy there wore a
strange look, but I was busy with my own. I jerked back to the text and read,
“Where the hell did you sit?”</span></div>
<div class="SamParagraphStyle" style="text-indent: 13.5pt;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="SamParagraphStyle" style="text-indent: 13.5pt;">
<span style="font-size: large;">“Oh man! You won’t
believe I was talking to a nerd thinking it was you!” I replied back. “And he
is actually interested in this crap!”</span></div>
<div class="SamParagraphStyle" style="text-indent: 13.5pt;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="SamParagraphStyle" style="text-indent: 13.5pt;">
<span style="font-size: large;">It looked impossible to
hunt each other in that big crowd of intellectual people. He could have been
anywhere. Now the quest began to find each other. Among one of the attempts, we
decided to sneeze at the receipt of a text. But that failed, as five different
sneezes came from five different places and I couldn’t spot anyone remotely as
Arka.</span></div>
<div class="SamParagraphStyle" style="text-indent: 13.5pt;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="SamParagraphStyle" style="text-indent: 13.5pt;">
<span style="font-size: large;">I sat there thinking of
ways of spotting him when he texted – “Look Sam, the guy up front, it is
actually a figurine.”</span></div>
<div class="SamParagraphStyle" style="text-indent: 13.5pt;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="SamParagraphStyle" style="text-indent: 13.5pt;">
<span style="font-size: large;">“The guy beside me says he’s
from Portugal!” I replied back. It was funny, because after I received this
text, I stared at him for quite long and he didn’t even twitch which made me
quite sure that it was indeed a figurine. Could be a figurine that is supposed
to look like a guy from Portugal.</span></div>
<div class="SamParagraphStyle" style="text-indent: 13.5pt;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="SamParagraphStyle" style="text-indent: 13.5pt;">
<span style="font-size: large;">“That’s funny. If anyone
wrote about his travels, it would be titled ‘Portugal to Panchpota’!” he
texted. (Panchpota was the name of the area where our college was situated, but
we are often ashamed to tell people that so we used Techno City instead.)</span></div>
<div class="SamParagraphStyle" style="text-indent: 13.5pt;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="SamParagraphStyle" style="text-indent: 13.5pt;">
<span style="font-size: large;">I almost fell down to the
floor laughing. The guy beside me gave me a what-a-moron look.</span></div>
<div class="SamParagraphStyle" style="text-indent: 13.5pt;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="SamParagraphStyle" style="text-indent: 13.5pt;">
<span style="font-size: large;">After a few texts, I
became quite certain that I couldn’t stand two more hours only texting. So I
started getting desperate to spot Arka. And when my desperation crossed its
limits, I finally did what I had to do.</span></div>
<div class="SamParagraphStyle" style="text-indent: 13.5pt;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="SamParagraphStyle" style="text-indent: 13.5pt;">
<span style="font-size: large;">I stood up, with all due
respect to the Normal Engineering students’ code of conduct, I cleared my
throat and – “Ma’am, I have a doubt!”</span></div>
<div class="SamParagraphStyle" style="text-indent: 13.5pt;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="SamParagraphStyle" style="text-indent: 13.5pt;">
<span style="font-size: large;">There was rubble. Many
weird things happened at the same time.</span></div>
<div class="SamParagraphStyle" style="text-indent: 13.5pt;">
<span style="font-size: large;">The supposedly figurine
from Portugal moved its head towards me, several heads turned and started
talking and one of the lady professors sitting on the front desk brought the
microphone closer to her mouth and said with utter surprise – “Young man, we
haven’t started yet!”</span></div>
<div class="SamParagraphStyle" style="text-indent: 13.5pt;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="SamParagraphStyle" style="text-indent: 13.5pt;">
<span style="font-size: large;">The moment was perfect to
be embarrassed.</span></div>
<div class="SamParagraphStyle" style="text-indent: 13.5pt;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="SamParagraphStyle" style="text-indent: 13.5pt;">
<span style="font-size: large;">But my mission was
accomplished. I had spotted Arka, who nodded in reply starting to get up. There
was not a way I could stay there for another moment and save my repute at the
same time.</span></div>
<div class="SamParagraphStyle" style="text-indent: 13.5pt;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="SamParagraphStyle" style="text-indent: 13.5pt;">
<span style="font-size: large;">“Oh right! Sorry ma’am!”
I said in a hurry, turning back and moving towards the exit, half-running,
before anyone could catch my name.</span></div>
<div class="SamParagraphStyle" style="text-indent: 13.5pt;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="SamParagraphStyle" style="text-indent: 13.5pt;">
<span style="font-size: large;">I didn’t stop for Arka at
the exit of the auditorium, but ran straight outside of the campus gates. Arka
came a while later laughing and panting at the same time.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">“Dude! That guy stirred!
He was not a figurine!” I said breathlessly.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">He started laughing even
harder and said, “You actually think I was serious?”…</span></div>
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Anonymousnoreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1026377992600020743.post-64025125333773927022011-06-27T21:31:00.004+05:302012-10-22T17:18:27.887+05:30The BLUE Boy...<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-VVhZhKm5hUU/Tgik7py7VaI/AAAAAAAAA2U/Us4tt9oBohg/s1600/The+Blue+Boy.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-VVhZhKm5hUU/Tgik7py7VaI/AAAAAAAAA2U/Us4tt9oBohg/s320/The+Blue+Boy.png" width="228" /></span></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large; letter-spacing: 1.4pt; line-height: 115%;">THE <span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #073763;">BLUE</span> BOY<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large; line-height: 14px;">I knew a little boy once who painted his face blue,<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large; line-height: 14px;">For he was born so different from me and you.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large; line-height: 14px;">His face looked like just another in the crowd,<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large; line-height: 14px;">But his thoughts had their abode higher than the clouds.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large; line-height: 14px;">Hidden behind the smoke, sunlight was hard to find<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large; line-height: 14px;">When the tanks used to march the deserted streets.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large; line-height: 14px;">It was the year 1989 and thus not very kind,<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large; line-height: 14px;">For in some corner of the world, people still were colorblind.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large; line-height: 14px;">Some places where sunlight shone just bright,<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large; line-height: 14px;">He danced and trotted and played around fearless.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large; line-height: 14px;">While other childhoods of neighborhoods grew up with fright<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large; line-height: 14px;">The Blue Boy merely chose to see a different sight.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large; line-height: 14px;">He sang as he walked, of the colors he could see,<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large; line-height: 14px;">For he wanted every soul to listen to his songs,<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large; line-height: 14px;">“The colorful flag fluttered with warmth and glee”.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large; line-height: 14px;">Wind carried his songs to the world where people were living free.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large; line-height: 14px;">The mother’s heart was frightened when she heard,<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large; line-height: 14px;">Her little boy was the “Blue Boy” as they called him in the streets.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large; line-height: 14px;">For it were still 1989 there and thus not at all kind<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large; line-height: 14px;">But the Blue Boy had a special question in mind.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large; line-height: 14px;">When his mother caught him down there, he said,<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large; line-height: 14px;">“Why can’t I be blue Mamma? When I can see right?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large; line-height: 14px;">“Why do they need so many colors everywhere?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large; line-height: 14px;">“If they want it to be just black and white?”</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #ffe599; line-height: 14px;"><br /></span></span>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #ffe599; line-height: 14px;">-----------------------------------------------------------------------</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #ffe599; line-height: 14px;">---</span></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 14px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #38761d; font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">This poem is dedicated to South Africa, and the people around the world who became victims of the cruel word called "racism". Be in the Nazis and the Jews, the Blacks and the Whites, the Hindus and Muslims.</span></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 14px;"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #ffe599; font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">-----------------------------------------------------------------------------</span></i></span></div>
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Anonymousnoreply@blogger.com16