tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-43395084395693263882024-02-19T08:06:39.917+05:30Fullon BakwaasShanuhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18348099109882967131noreply@blogger.comBlogger73125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4339508439569326388.post-46477713680807402492012-09-18T04:19:00.001+05:302012-09-30T17:25:45.635+05:30The foodie in me....<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
A couple of months ago, my aunt was diagnosed with stomach cancer. Her prognosis is good and doctors have assured us that her chances of a full recovery are very high. My grandfather passed away 3 years ago. He suffered from prostrate cancer. My nani passed away a few years before him. She died of stomach cancer.<br />
<br />
Yup, I know all about family history and how significant it is when we talk about a disease as deadly as cancer. I am a foodie and I absolutely love eating. High metabolism ensured that I did not have to worry about putting on weight, and I got away with eating all kinds of unhealthy junk food. So high is my craze for oily, fatty food that not even the fear of acne in my teenage years could keep me away from all the oily, unhealthy stuff.<br />
<br />
My aunt's diagnosis changed everything. Everyone in my family is scared. G (who is a doctor) freaked out and begged me to start eating healthy. Knowing my love for all things oily, it was G who suggested I try cooking food in olive oil. It will make food tastier and healthier, he promised. I have been addicted to olive oil ever since.<br />
<br />
When I came across the <span style="color: blue;"><a href="http://www.facebook.com/worldfoody"><span style="color: blue;">The Del Monte Blogger Receipt Carnival</span></a>,</span> I knew I HAD to take part as my favorite recipe uses most of products that Del Monte is famous for. This recipe gets a thumbs up from G every time I make it. Knowing how finicky he is about eating healthy, it assures me that the dish is very nutritious. And my taste buds vouch for its yumminess. I usually use mushrooms, but I didnt have them handy when I made this dish today.<br />
<br />
<b>Egg Noodles with Stir Fried Vegetables</b><br />
<br />
Preparation time: 15 mins<br />
Cooking time: 20 mins<br />
Serves 2<br />
<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgcOWj20EyI6f62PS0ECCAZlKinNwY264wENJw1ujWIXg-H6m3XoYhsI1ADoC4QsPkBXZcw55f-JFX__UowCvwnEjY0Q0phq9iefNzTdPfPyI-tl1_1QEH17KkKkYlk4pUQnBsdMYXxDvh8/s1600/pic+1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="289" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgcOWj20EyI6f62PS0ECCAZlKinNwY264wENJw1ujWIXg-H6m3XoYhsI1ADoC4QsPkBXZcw55f-JFX__UowCvwnEjY0Q0phq9iefNzTdPfPyI-tl1_1QEH17KkKkYlk4pUQnBsdMYXxDvh8/s320/pic+1.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
Ingredients:<br />
<br />
100 gm flat beans<br />
1 Courgette<br />
2 Capsicums<br />
2 red onions - 1 finely chopped and 1 chopped into larger pieces<br />
1 tomatoes finely chopped<br />
<a href="http://www.worldfoody.com/index.php?option=com_content&view=article&id=66&Itemid=34"><span style="color: blue;">2 tsp tomato chilli sauce</span></a><br />
100 gm mushrooms*<br />
A handful of coriander leaves*<br />
1 tsp pumpkin seeds*<br />
1 packet egg noodles/<a href="http://www.worldfoody.com/index.php?option=com_content&view=article&id=67&Itemid=33"><span style="color: blue;">spaghetti</span></a><br />
<a href="http://www.worldfoody.com/index.php?option=com_content&view=article&id=71&Itemid=91"><span style="color: blue;">3-4 tsp extra virgin olive oil</span></a><br />
1 tsp chilli powder<br />
1 tsp coriander-jeera powder<br />
1 tsp soya sauce (optional)<br />
A pinch of turmeric<br />
A pinch of asafoetida<br />
A pinch of oregano<br />
A pinch of roasted sesame seeds*<br />
Salt to taste<br />
<br />
Preparation:<br />
<ul style="text-align: left;">
<li>Cut all the vegetables (except the flat beans) into small pieces.</li>
<li>Boil all the veggies with a pinch of salt. <a href="http://www.livestrong.com/article/539239-how-to-cook-vegetables-keep-them-crunchy/"><span style="color: blue;">This</span></a> is how I ensure that my veggies retain a crunchy texture. </li>
<li>Grind tomato and the finely chopped onion into a coarse paste</li>
<li>Boil the egg noodles as per the packet instructions</li>
</ul>
Method:<br />
<ul style="text-align: left;">
<li>In a low pan add 3 tsp olive oil. Add asafoetida, chilli powder, coriander powder, tumeric and saute for a minute.</li>
<li>Add the onion and tomato paste and saute for around 5 - 8 minutes. I usually wait till the tomato loses its lumpiness and the paste stops sticking to the side of the pan. </li>
<li>Add tomato chilli sauce and soya sauce (optional) and mix well</li>
<li>Add salt to taste.</li>
<li>Add all the vegetables and mix well</li>
<li>Add roasted sesame seeds and pumpkin seeds</li>
</ul>
<div>
To serve:</div>
<div>
<ul style="text-align: left;">
<li>Serve a helping of noodles in a bowl. Top it up with the veggies as shown in the picture. Sprinkle a pinch of oregano. Garnish with coriander leaves.</li>
</ul>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJ9a29V3YsojJ4cCfnG51lT3JUsOCA7IYrqLFv29wcYL89zNo6Yi5zjGliuAHBGG7cCXCHafOm5qPLNkzaqjW_RHMvoiXnxsVCyyIlLyaqh8m0xHI8hYiRdXQwPRIgbbgCULVihum14BQv/s1600/pic+2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="251" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJ9a29V3YsojJ4cCfnG51lT3JUsOCA7IYrqLFv29wcYL89zNo6Yi5zjGliuAHBGG7cCXCHafOm5qPLNkzaqjW_RHMvoiXnxsVCyyIlLyaqh8m0xHI8hYiRdXQwPRIgbbgCULVihum14BQv/s320/pic+2.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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</div>
<div>
The best thing about this dish is that you can use any combination of vegetables in it. G loves <span style="color: blue;"><a href="http://www.worldfoody.com/index.php?option=com_content&view=article&id=70&Itemid=31"><span style="color: blue;">pitted olives</span></a> </span>in his noodles while I prefer mine without them. I don't like the flat beans and add them only when G is around as he loves them. My friend makes this dish by adding eggs to the tomato and onion paste before adding the vegetables, while G once experimented with chicken as well.<br />
<br />
It is a versatile dish which will please any palate. Healthy and tasty, perfect for the foodie in me :)<br />
<br />
Ingredients marked with * were not used when I cooked this dish today. However, I have used them on countless other occasions and they always add an extra zing.</div>
</div>
Shanuhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18348099109882967131noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4339508439569326388.post-32593959949059633232012-09-15T23:14:00.000+05:302012-09-30T17:28:01.275+05:30London Dreams<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
My love story or rather my infatuation with UK began 3 years ago. As a newbie in my organisation, I was chosen to be a part of a project which required me to travel to UK.<br />
<br />
Those few weeks of anticipation saw me walking around the office with a stupid grin on my face, telling all and sundry that I was going to London. My mom called long lost relatives and gloated. My dad told all the uncles in our building how proud he was of his foreign jaane wali beti. My little cousins looked at me with awe and flocked to me for career advice.However, a few days before my flight, the trip was cancelled. Reason? Recession. And the project was abandoned.<br />
<br />
For a few months, my parents and I contemplated changing our surnames to Popat*, such was the magnitude of our embarrassment.<br />
<br />
So, when I was offered another secondment last year, I accepted it with a lot of skepticism. No hurrahs, no phone calls to long lost relatives and no career advice to cousins.<br />
<br />
London was definitely all that I dreamed of and more, for the initial few weeks. I was lost in the glamour of London, in the beauty of the immaculately made up girls and the handsome faces of 6 packed guys. I saw<br />
<a href="http://fullonbakwaas.blogspot.co.uk/2012/04/one-with-green-headphones.html">'<span style="color: blue;">The one with the green headphones</span>'</a> and my infatuation shifted from London to the Londoner.<br />
<br />
In my few months here, I have met some really nice people and some really mean racist ones as well.<br />
<br />
Random strangers who went out of their way to help the directional-dyslexic me with directions, strangers who offered to help me pick up the right type of milk just by looking at the confusion on my face (trust me, with over 12 varieties of milk on display, there is bound to be a lot of confusion) to strangers took a moment to smile and say that I looked beautiful. I once had a long conversation with a lady who told me that she thought I had a gorgeous complexion and that she wished she could be as tanned as I was. Away from the mom's pampering and dad's protective eye, forced to do everything from cooking to the laundry to finding places using Google maps, London was the first place that made me feel beautiful and independent.<br />
<br />
Managing a team of firangs showed me a completely different side of London. One where the difference between the eastern and western cultures and beliefs is huge. Where it was OK to be single and have a baby but it was not OK to believe in arranged marriages. Where it was OK to treat your parents like strangers, expecting them to call you before they come and visit you, but it was not OK to take a week off so that you can show your parents around. Treading with caution, keeping my opinions to myself (anything and everything can be construed as racist here), I managed to make a few friends - not best friends but colleagues I could call friends. They took me out for drinks and joked about the fact that I was a vegetarian and a non drinker. They pampered my sweet tooth and ensured that I add a couple of dress sizes by eating all the cupcakes and cakes they lovingly baked for me.<br />
<br />
London is the place where I realized how much I loved my parents and Sid and how much I took them for granted. In the initial lonely days, all I could wish for was to fly back home and cuddle up next to mom. Food that I ran away from at home, now became my comfort food. From the girl who detested home cooked food, I turned into a girl who maintains a list of all the home cooked stuff that she wants to eat.<br />
<br />
<br />
London is the place where I met G.<br />
<br class="Apple-interchange-newline" />
<br />
London made me realize that I am not as career focused as I pretend to be. When my company decided to extend my visa and asked me to stay on for 2 years, I resigned. I want to work, I want a career. But not at this cost. I want to stay close to my parents and my brother. I want a career closer to home.<br />
<br />
As I now pack my bags to come back to India, I am scared. For the first time since I graduated, I do not have a job. I do not know where/when I will get my next job. But yet, I know everything will work out fine.<br />
<br />
My mom says that the next 3 months will be a turning point in my life, one that will show me what course the future will take. I do not know what that future holds. All I know is that I soak no more in my tears, I will eat, sleep and chill for the next 3 months and spend some quality time at home. :)<br />
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<br /></div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<br class="Apple-interchange-newline" />
*Popat is a Mumbaiya term used to refer to people who make a royal fool of themselves.<br />
<br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: arial; font-size: 14px; line-height: 22.383333206176758px;">P.S. This post is an entry for the contest on Indiblogger </span><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: arial; font-size: 14px; line-height: 22.383333206176758px;"> </span><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: arial; font-size: 14px; line-height: 22.383333206176758px;">by Surf excel Matic <a href="http://www.indiblogger.in/topic.php?topic=61">#Soak no More</a> Contest!</span></div>
Shanuhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18348099109882967131noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4339508439569326388.post-72632134142716599552012-05-05T23:10:00.002+05:302012-05-05T23:10:37.898+05:30Yes, they made me smile.....<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<div style="color: purple; text-align: center;">
<i>“It is a truth universally acknowledged that when one part of your life
starts going okay, another falls spectacularly to pieces.”
<br /> ―
Helen Fielding,
</i><i>
Bridget Jones's Diary</i></div>
<br />
<i>Yup, that is true for yours truly as well. Just when things started looking OK in one sphere of my life, the other spheres started unraveling like balls of yarn. When I called my mom yesterday, she told me to focus on the positives and leave the rest to God (Someone told me that my mom is very wise, and I concur). So, this blogpost is an attempt to list down the things that made my life bearable this week...</i><br />
<br />
<i><b><span style="font-size: xx-small;">What follows next is a list of totally boring,random things....read on at your own risk..... </span></b></i><br />
<br />
<ul style="text-align: left;">
<li><i>One of the guys from my team won a bet that he placed on a dog race. Yup, you heard it right. Dog race. Dog races are quite a popular weekend pastime here. Honestly, it isn't something I fancy going to. So last week Dean walked up to me and asked me if I wanted to bet as well. He told me that he was planning to bet on a dog called 'Colourful Mark'. Now, </i><i>Colourful Mark was a new entrant and had really high odds stacked up against him. The favorite for the game was Speedy J, who seemed to the favorite in my team as well. Inspite of everyone in the team asking him not to bet on </i><i>Colourful Mark (CM), Dean stuck to his guns and did not change his bet. On Monday, he told me that CM had won, with a told you so look. 'How', I asked him, 'did you know that CM would win?'. 'His name' he smiled cheekily and said '</i><i>Colourful Mark sounds gay, doesnt it? I figured that rest of the dogs would rather have a gay dog in front of them then behind them</i><i>'. It took me some time to understand what he meant, but when I did, I couldn't really argue with his logic :D :D</i></li>
</ul>
<br />
<ul style="text-align: left;">
<li><i>I had to get my visa copied and sent to the HR team for some formalities this week. My senior manager checked my date of birth on the passport and said, 'Whoa, you are quite young, aren't you?' He then turned to my manager who was seated behind him and said, 'She is quite a youngster, isnt she?' To which my manager replied, 'Yup, she is my little dynamite' Needless to say, I left with a smile that remained on my face the whole day. :D</i></li>
</ul>
<br />
<div>
<ul style="text-align: left;">
<li><i>My friend N was blessed with a baby boy last week. Although its been close to 3 years that we haven't spoken to each other, this news made me smile. She is quite older to me and has been trying for a baby for a few years now. We stopped speaking sometime in 2009, which arguably was one of the worst years of my life. I lost more friends that year, than in all my life combined. Although, there is no way we could ever patch up, the fact that she now has something she so dearly wanted, made me feel really happy for her.</i></li>
</ul>
</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<i><br /></i></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<ul style="text-align: left;">
<li><i>My sweet blogger friend Sangitha got a promotion that she totally deserved and another thing that has been bothering her for quite a while, is getting resolved as well. Me cant wait to meet you here in London, Sangi baby.</i></li>
</ul>
</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<i><br /></i></div>
<div>
<ul style="text-align: left;">
<li><i>Yummy cupcakes that S brought at work. He gave me 2 more than everyone else, coz he knows that I have a major sweet tooth.</i></li>
</ul>
</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<i><br /></i></div>
<div>
<ul style="text-align: left;">
<li><i>Being asked by one of my team members to sign as a witness in her property documents, as she needed someone responsible to sign the documents for her. Hearing my name and responsible in the same sentence made me :D :D</i></li>
</ul>
<i> </i><ul style="text-align: left;">
<li><i>Being told by K that I can't write to save my life, after reading my latest blogpost. Agreed, the stuff that I churn out on Fullon can in no way be called writing, but for someone who does not have any book writing aspirations, this level of writing will have to do. Hai na?</i></li>
</ul>
<i> </i><i> </i><i> </i></div>
<div>
<i>That's all for this week, folks. I hope things settle down and I am able to breathe freely again. Till then, I have my lists to keep me company :D :D </i><ul style="text-align: left;">
</ul>
</div>
</div>Shanuhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18348099109882967131noreply@blogger.com12tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4339508439569326388.post-49645487339604668462012-04-25T02:14:00.000+05:302012-04-25T02:14:17.115+05:30The one with the green headphones...<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">He is a typical
angrez cutie pie. Tall, blue eyes, spiked hair and headphones with blaring
music. Green headphones. He takes the same train as I do in the mornings. In my
initial days, I would stare at him from a distance, knowing that a cutie like
him would never notice someone like me. But notice me he did. Noticed the
sloppy me spilling coffee on my pink shirt. Noticed the lost me looking for a
loo in the train. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjcScuCO9Q5V_sbtZIcQVvG3UzKpxl63uMuGvGsmATcO-s4FvAzJP4jBcjhSmfG7uTPRPI74ei3IyVGzlNGpUP2rMzb1lyhtm3951NmlP6JC5j3gJc8YVQP8tcL-AMqlzAwQ0QGhTNOChGx/s1600/Skull-Candy-Hesh-Headphones---Green---Black_2010017055476.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjcScuCO9Q5V_sbtZIcQVvG3UzKpxl63uMuGvGsmATcO-s4FvAzJP4jBcjhSmfG7uTPRPI74ei3IyVGzlNGpUP2rMzb1lyhtm3951NmlP6JC5j3gJc8YVQP8tcL-AMqlzAwQ0QGhTNOChGx/s200/Skull-Candy-Hesh-Headphones---Green---Black_2010017055476.jpg" width="200" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">A couple of
weeks ago, in my rush to catch an empty window seat, I spilled coffee from a discarded
coffee cup on my pretty pink shirt. Although, I religiously avoid public loos,
I had no choice but to go splash my shirt with water or face the prospect of
spending the whole day with the unsightly stain.<span class="apple-converted-space"> </span><i>Now, yeh <st1:country-region w:st="on"><st1:place w:st="on">UK</st1:place></st1:country-region> ke train loos bhi bade funky hote
hain</i>. <i>Handle wandle toh hota hi nahi.
</i>Try as I may, I couldn't get the door to open. Mr Green Headphones,
who was watching my predicament from a distance, came up to me, pressed a
button and the door opened with a whoosh! Having splashed my shirt with water,
I came out and tried closing the door but it wouldn’t budge. My knight in
shiny headphones came to my rescue once again and closed the door with the
flick of another button. I smiled coyly. He flashed a bright grin. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">And we went our
separate ways.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">But fate had
other things in store. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">A couple of days
later, I was late for work. Running, I managed to squeeze into the train just
as the doors were closing. I got in but my bag did not. I was stuck,<span class="apple-converted-space"> </span><i>main andar, mera bag bahar</i>.
Embarrassed, I kept tugging feebly at my bag, but it refused to budge. Phir kya
hona tha, in true hindi movie style, Mr Green Headphones came to my
rescue yet again. In a display of super human strength, he pulled the doors
apart, muscles bulging, shirt fating, bisceps showing.<span class="apple-converted-space"> </span><i>That is how the scene played out in
my mind.</i><span class="apple-converted-space"> </span>In reality, he
pulled open the doors with help from a baldy uncle with an umbrella and a
muscular guy who looked like he spent a lot of his time in the gym. Honestly, I
now kinda feel like Mr Headphones was doing pulling ka natak and bechara baldy
uncle and muscular gym guy were doing all the mehnat. My bag was rescued in the
nick of time and I thanked the trio coyly. Actually, the coy smile was meant
for Mr Green Headphones but continuity maintain karne ke liye I gave same
to same smile to everyone.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">And we went our
separate ways.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">But fate,
obviously, had other things in store. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">I was at the
coffee machine at work a couple of days later, blabbering away with my friend
T. Coffee cup in one hand and a bottle of water in the other, I was oblivious
to the tall and cute guy standing behind me. My phone rang and in my haste to
answer it, I dropped my coffee cup. Coffee splashed out and splattered all over
the guy's light coloured trousers. Scared, I turned to apologise. And came face
to face with, no prizes for guessing, Mr Green Headphones!! While I
apologised profusely, he shrugged and walked away. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">As Mr Fate would
have it, Mr Green Headphones urf Matt works in my office. In an office full of
tall, cute guys, he seems to just blend in.<span class="apple-converted-space"> </span><i>Waise
bhi all angrez ladka log look the same to me. If it weren’t for his green
headphones, I dont think I could have <s>lusted
after</s> recognised him on the train everyday.</i><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">He walked up to
me at work yesterday. Smiled and sat on the chair next to me. And in cool
dude style asked "Do you want to meet up for coffee today."<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">I smiled coyly,
jhukofied my nazrein and answered "I hope the coffee is in a cup and
not on your pants this time".<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">And that is the
reason why, yet again, we went our separate ways. :D :D<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
</div>Shanuhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18348099109882967131noreply@blogger.com17tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4339508439569326388.post-60340334329885906842012-04-22T18:10:00.001+05:302012-04-23T00:02:40.432+05:30To Mr Sexy Forearms....<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 14px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'lucida grande'; font-size: large;">Tumhara yun mujhe chedna, muje yaad rahega,</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: 'lucida grande'; font-size: large; line-height: 14px;">Every smile I smiled with you, mujhe yaad rahega,</span><br />
<span style="font-family: 'lucida grande'; font-size: large; line-height: 14px;">Tum mujhe yaad rakho ya na rakho ae sexy forearms wale,</span><br />
<span style="font-family: 'lucida grande'; font-size: large; line-height: 14px;">Tumhare saath bitaya hua harr pal, muje yaad rahega ♥ ♥ ♥</span></div>
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<div style="text-align: left;">
<span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 14px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'lucida grande'; font-size: large;">Woh tumhari katilana hassi, the way you looked into my eyes</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: 'lucida grande'; font-size: large; line-height: 14px;">Woh tumhare deep, deep dimples, the way you touched my arm,</span><br />
<span style="font-family: 'lucida grande'; font-size: large; line-height: 14px;">I read between the lines, I overanalysed your words,</span><br />
<span style="font-family: 'lucida grande'; font-size: large; line-height: 14px;">I tried, I promise, but I just couldnt resist your charms </span><br />
<span style="font-family: 'lucida grande'; font-size: large; line-height: 14px;"><br /></span></div>
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<div style="text-align: center;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 14px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'lucida grande'; font-size: large;"><br /></span></span></div>
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<div style="text-align: center;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 14px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'lucida grande'; font-size: large;">Tere saath parking lot main ghumna, mujhe yaad rahega</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: 'lucida grande'; font-size: large; line-height: 14px;">Woh tera mere paas chipak ke baithna, mujhe yaad rahega</span><br />
<span style="font-family: 'lucida grande'; font-size: large; line-height: 14px;">Tumhare kadamo main toh pade hain sekdo dil, ae dil churane wale,</span><br />
<span style="font-family: 'lucida grande'; font-size: large; line-height: 14px;">Lekin hume humara khoya hua dil, humesha yaad rahega </span></div>
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</div>Shanuhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18348099109882967131noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4339508439569326388.post-21583482389018352062011-03-26T19:41:00.004+05:302011-03-26T23:38:07.564+05:30Chicken Soup for the Dying Blog’s Soul....<p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" ><span style="color:black">3 stories. No connection. Just a small stab at a huge writers block<span class="apple-converted-space"> </span></span><span style="color: black; ">J</span><span style="color:black"><o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" ><i><u><span style="color:black">Age 8:</span></u></i><span style="color:black"><o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" ><i><span style="color:black">Chotu Shanu rushed down the stairs. At a distance she could see all her chintar pintar friends engrossed in a game of Catch and Cook. Screaming, all ran helter skelter trying to avoid getting out. Her little eyes searched for her best friend Anagha. A quick scan revealed that Anagha was standing on top of the water tank looking around at everyone running about. Shanu understood Anagha’s plight. She was stuck on the water tank all by herself and could be caught by the denner any moment now. She needs my help, Shanu realised.</span></i><span style="color:black"><o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" ><i><span style="color:black">“Tu ghabru nakos, me yete”<span class="apple-converted-space"> </span>yelled Shanu and climbed up the water tank. Anagha looked at her with happy eyes, came rushing to her and with one mild stroke touched her hand and shouted “OUT”</span></i><span style="color:black"><o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <span class="Apple-style-span" ><u1:p></u1:p> </span><p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" ><i><u><span style="color:black"><u1:p></u1:p>Age 12:</span></u></i><span style="color:black"><o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <span class="Apple-style-span" ><u1:p></u1:p> </span><p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" ><i><span style="color:black">Shanu felt pretty as she walked towards the playground. Her new jeans and new shoes shone in the summer sun. Out in the distance, she saw her crush standing with his buddies. 4 years older and several inches taller, he was the best batsman in her school cricket team.</span><u1:p></u1:p></i><span style="color:black"><o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" ><i><span style="color:black">Everyone knew about her crush. A teacher had caught her doodling his name in her Maths book and had shown it to the whole class. News spread like wild fire and now everytime her path crossed his, she heard whispers and snickers.</span></i><span style="color:black"><o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" ><i><span style="color:black">Today was no different. People snickered and whispered as she walked. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw his buddies push him towards her. Her heart raced as she saw him approaching. The wind blew his silky hair and he looked absolutely yummilicious.</span></i><span style="color:black"><o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" ><i><span style="color:black">As he crossed her path, he stopped and looked right into her eyes. And with his beautiful lips whispered ‘I think tera zip khula hai’</span></i><span style="color:black"><o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" ><i><u><span style="color:black">Age 16:</span></u></i><span style="color:black"><o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" ><i><span style="color:black">Shanu hated kids right from bachpan. They were irritating, cranky and pissed/ shat at the drop of a hat. She avoided holding them till they were potty trained. Potty trained kids were easier to handle and they didn’t wet your clothes every 15 minutes.</span></i><span style="color:black"><o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" ><i><u1:p></u1:p><span style="color:black">Adi was 2 and roly poly. He had gorgeous curls and a beautiful, round dusky face. And most importantly, he was potty trained.</span></i><span style="color:black"><o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" ><i><u1:p></u1:p><span style="color:black">Shanu watched as he played with the toys and sipped milk from his little bottle.</span></i><span style="color:black"><o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" ><i><u1:p></u1:p><span style="color:black">Tired from all the running around and playing, he looked at her with sleepy eyes and smiled. A slight nod and he came rushing to her and sat in her lap. As he ate the mashed bananas she was feeding him, he turned to her and planted a kiss on her cheek.<span class="apple-converted-space"> </span>Her heart melted. No more hating bacchas, she decided.</span></i> <i><span style="color:black">Spotting an unexplored toy, he dashed off to play but not before he adorned her lap with a batch of fresh puke.<o:p></o:p></span></i></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" ><u1:p></u1:p></span><span style="color:black"><span class="Apple-style-span" >Abhi ke liye itna hi….I shall be back soon. With something funny and original. I promise.</span><o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p><p></p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>Shanuhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18348099109882967131noreply@blogger.com14tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4339508439569326388.post-8411408949885261822011-03-19T21:17:00.000+05:302011-03-19T21:19:03.674+05:30I will be back soon :)<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg3AGJ_RzK1gX2eTdhMYgMCfLM-H2UHmvPliZbkSUEOtCvtR-33wYSFx7nyv7KrBxDsu2tL_9PKiNzvB_UKdgYlVbZJVXNAD7jGE1RbMm1la-fR-muWXHIcCBZV89T7ZuaI6HNr-A2JTHKH/s1600/pdx_i_will_be_back_soon.gif"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 174px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg3AGJ_RzK1gX2eTdhMYgMCfLM-H2UHmvPliZbkSUEOtCvtR-33wYSFx7nyv7KrBxDsu2tL_9PKiNzvB_UKdgYlVbZJVXNAD7jGE1RbMm1la-fR-muWXHIcCBZV89T7ZuaI6HNr-A2JTHKH/s400/pdx_i_will_be_back_soon.gif" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5585818409134433458" /></a><br /><div style="text-align: center;">I promise :)</div>Shanuhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18348099109882967131noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4339508439569326388.post-59679628195124325902010-10-24T14:54:00.003+05:302010-10-24T22:11:21.433+05:30A true story - Dimply tales<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgUhXgEulMAxDS8nvgLHfb3OXJtel2xTMB7OKPKgTWvYEbHFqQ0DH1J1Ilrg2HYcklsvKzfSTI0iQzqxI95sOBE3m-tuyOTeqQ1WRoJ7jCRCladDyEp2jrToXpmp39MqINepUzQl-xXvAIf/s1600/abhay-deol-320x240-2009-07-01.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgUhXgEulMAxDS8nvgLHfb3OXJtel2xTMB7OKPKgTWvYEbHFqQ0DH1J1Ilrg2HYcklsvKzfSTI0iQzqxI95sOBE3m-tuyOTeqQ1WRoJ7jCRCladDyEp2jrToXpmp39MqINepUzQl-xXvAIf/s200/abhay-deol-320x240-2009-07-01.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5531541483071060162" /></a><br /><p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Comic Sans MS'; font-size: 13px; ">As a child, I was fascinated with dimples (I still am). <span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>My best friend Ekta had the deepest dimples in the whole wide world and the whole school swooned whenever she smiled. <span style="mso-spacerun:yes"></span>When she was chosen to play the little princess in our school play ‘Princess and the frog’, I was convinced that the non existence of dimples stood between me and super stardom.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Comic Sans MS'; font-size: 13px; ">I spent many a nights sitting in front of the mirror with pencils stuck in my cheeks, hoping that they leave behind dimples. <span style="mso-spacerun:yes"></span>I tried smiling by sucking my cheeks in, I tried poking fingers into my cheeks when smiling, I tried praying to God and asking for dimples but nothing seemed to work.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Comic Sans MS'; font-size: 13px; ">A trip to my native place revealed that my maternal grandmom had dimples that put Ekta’s dimples to shame. <span style="mso-spacerun:yes"></span>My badi mami too had a faint dimple on her right cheek. <span style="mso-spacerun:yes"></span>How, I wondered, did I manage to skip the dimple gene when everyone around me seemed to be blessed by them?<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>My mom who was pakkaued by my dimple fetish chose to ignore my questions while my granny and mami encouraged me by letting me poke my little finger into their cheeks when they smiled.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Comic Sans MS'; font-size: 13px; ">It was then that I realised that the dimples were a result of missing teeth. <span style="mso-spacerun:yes"></span>While my granny had no teeth at all, my mami had a wisdom tooth removed, leading to the formation of those gorgeous dimples. <span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>That summer I pestered my mom to let me get dental extractions so that I could get a couple of dimples, but my mom just didn’t want a pretty daughter (*sobs*)</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Comic Sans MS'; font-size: 13px; ">Not the one to give up easily, I kept looking for ways that would get me my prized dimples. <span style="mso-spacerun:yes"></span>Hope came in the way of Asha aunty, my mom’s best friend. <span style="mso-spacerun:yes"></span>Asha aunty had an unnatural dimple which was formed when she fell on a pointy rock as a child. <span style="mso-spacerun:yes"></span>Her dimple was different. <span style="mso-spacerun:yes"></span>It didn’t come up when she smiled. <span style="mso-spacerun:yes"></span>It was <b style="mso-bidi-font-weight:normal">always </b>there.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>That was the best, most awesomest dimple ever. <span style="mso-spacerun:yes"></span>That dimple could kick Ekta’s dimple’s butt like a million times. <span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight:normal"><span style="font-size:10.0pt;font-family:"Comic Sans MS"">And I wanted it.</span></b></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Comic Sans MS'; font-size: 13px; ">After several unsuccessful attempts at finding a pointy rock, I had a brainwave. <span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>Picking up a pair of scissors, I marched into my room and with all the precision my trembling hands could manage, I snipped a tiny cut into my right cheek. <span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>The fountain of blood that started pouring out freaked me and I went running back to mom who took me to the doctor. <span style="mso-spacerun:yes"></span>That week was filled with loads of shoutings from the elders and wide eyed stares of respect from my cousins. <span style="mso-spacerun:yes"></span>Inspite of the pain, I slept soundly, proud that I finally had the perfect dimple.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Comic Sans MS'; font-size: 13px; "><i>Epilogue: The dimple (or to be really honest, the tiny dent) stayed on my cheek for nearly 2 years before finally fading away. This is my brother’s favourite dinner time story, the one he usually narrates to embarrass me. I, on the other hand, keep praying for some miracle which will get me that coveted dimple.</i></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Comic Sans MS'; font-size: 13px; "> </span></p>Shanuhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18348099109882967131noreply@blogger.com54tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4339508439569326388.post-33676177453440115132010-10-03T11:50:00.001+05:302010-10-24T22:11:21.433+05:30Call me Sugar!!<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium; "><p class="MsoNormal"><span class="apple-style-span"><span style="font-family: 'Comic Sans MS'; color: black; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small; ">It all started with the birth of my oldest cousin K. My mom was barely 15 when K , her first niece, was born. Horrified by the thought of being called Aatye (aunt) at such a tender age, she tutored K to call her Didi. Time passed, K grew up and so did my mom. Yet, for some unfathomable reason, all my cousins born after K referred to mom as Didi.<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Comic Sans MS'; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small; ">Living in an age where kids start calling you aunty the minute you start working, I found this Didi business hard to digest.</span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Comic Sans MS'; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small; ">The last straw came last week when my youngest cousin D, came to visit us. And true to tradition, she called my mom Didi and me Akka (older sister). Her incessant chatter sprinkled with an overdose of Didi brought out the devil residing within me. "If you call my mom Didi, shouldnt I start calling you Maasi?" I asked with a grin. The colour draining out of the tiny face told me that I had struck a chord.</span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Comic Sans MS'; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small; ">D now calls my mom Aatye and serves as an example for anyone who dares to call my mom and me Didi in the same breath. :P</span></span></p></span>Shanuhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18348099109882967131noreply@blogger.com19tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4339508439569326388.post-25836764292258525922010-10-03T01:49:00.009+05:302010-10-24T22:11:21.434+05:30My experiments with Make Up :)<div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><i><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 16px; font-style: normal;"><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><i></i></span></span></span></span></p><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><i><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size:10.0pt;font-family:"Comic Sans MS"; color:black">How long does it take for some childhood trauma to wear off? Can you just brush aside the mortifyingly embarassing incidents into some dark corner of your brain and never look at them again? Apparantly not! And these tiny incidents emerge everyday, making living a normal life close to impossible.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:10.0pt;font-family:"Comic Sans MS"; color:black"></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'comic sans ms', sans-serif; font-size: small; "><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 16px; "></span></span></span></p><span class="Apple-style-span"><div style="text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: normal; font-size: small; "><i><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 16px; font-style: normal;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><i><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><p class="MsoNormal" style="display: inline !important; "><span style="font-size:10.0pt;font-family:"Comic Sans MS"; mso-bidi-font-family:Arial;color:black">This is one such incident which kinda explains why Shanu can never dress up like a girl and why the very thought of make up makes her break into hysterical sobs!!</span></p></span></span></span></span></span></span></i></span></span></span></span></i></span></div></span></i></span></span></span></span></i></span><i><span class="Apple-style-span"><u><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><i><i><span class="Apple-style-span"><u><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><i><p></p></i></span></span></u></span></i><i><span class="Apple-style-span"><u><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"></span></span><p></p></u></span></i><p></p><p class="MsoNormal"><i><span class="Apple-style-span"><u><span class="Apple-style-span"></span></u></span></i></p><i><span class="Apple-style-span"><u><p></p></u></span></i><i><span class="Apple-style-span"></span></i><p></p></i></span></span><p></p></u></span></i></span></div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: arial; font-size: small; "><div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span">Chotu Shanu pushed open the door to her newly married chachi's room. Naayi chachi was the cynosure of all eyes, with her kohl laden eyes, mehndi adorned hands, spreading a dreamy Ponds talcum talc fragnance wherever she went. Shanu's annual village trip this time was filled with visits from the village elders lining up to shower blessings and praises on the nayi chachi. Nachi, as Shanu fondly called her Nayi chachi, was beauty personified. Shanu too wanted to look pretty, so that her bhaiyya's friend Govind (who was her first crush) would stop calling her </span><i><span class="Apple-style-span">undir </span></i><span class="Apple-style-span">(rat). </span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span">Nachi's room was like any other bride's room, filled with powders and lipsticks and creams and concoctions meant to make her look pretty. Shanu, who had never even seen a lipstick before, was blinded by the sheer choice she suddenly seemed to have. She picked up every cream she could find, rubbed it on her face and followed it with a generous helping of talcum powder and lipstick.</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span">Feeling extremely pretty and pleased with herself, she bounced off to play with bhaiyya, Govind and his other friends. On her way to the playground, she was greeted with a lot of admiring glances, some subtle smiles and some loud laughs but she attributed them all to her new found beauty. Walking towards the ground, she saw Govind leaning agaisnt the wall lost in conversation with her bhaiyya and his friends. As she approached closer, Govind looked at her. He stared for what seemed like an eternity and then burst out laughing. Bhaiyya didnt stare, he just picked her up and dropped her off in front of mom.</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span">Shanu has no clue how hilarious she looked that day but she is pretty sure she looked a lot like this. </span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 16px; "><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhuHquv5Dw0oE-CCw4gp8gaHoJngatWEE7EgZyb5qQt00OtnZjpTiU_BB8gqPWVJT0FjL-yi79XIk_PKjzqCI1nIPpMz2qYkwhEogwdE-EmUFj1Sc1PCCOc_h_PcBI4Q66dKBMpNTtmy7UY/s1600/girl.png"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhuHquv5Dw0oE-CCw4gp8gaHoJngatWEE7EgZyb5qQt00OtnZjpTiU_BB8gqPWVJT0FjL-yi79XIk_PKjzqCI1nIPpMz2qYkwhEogwdE-EmUFj1Sc1PCCOc_h_PcBI4Q66dKBMpNTtmy7UY/s200/girl.png" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5523546270787250706" style="text-align: justify;display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 160px; " /></a></span></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span">She was banned from using cosmetics till she turned 18. College didnt see her using anything apart from sunscreen either. And now that her mom is convinced that her daughter needs a heavy does of makeup to look anything close to presentable, Shanu cant bring herself to use any cosmetics at all.</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><i>P.S: I saw this movie when I was in school and cried my heart out during this scene. Could it be because it was so close to real life?? This scene still gives me goosebumps.</i></div></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /><br /><object width="300" height="285"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/6i89UVr56rQ?fs=1&hl=en_US"><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/6i89UVr56rQ?fs=1&hl=en_US" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="300" height="285"></embed></object><br /><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: arial; "><div style="text-align: justify;"><i>P.P.S: I have alwayz believed that God gave us all our qualities in little pots before we were born..This is how my share of blog writing skills look like...</i></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><i><br /></i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 16px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbQyA53MTHVYMHcYl-ud31SBn4DZ0EwLIZGw6K5YN2vwBrI5gdOgzg4LLmlNB7Zw-ulX5bnlZ51iaqvw6zzrCLTlC-AJAj25Cmnn59Ke4HXcRTSsnB99-fzuXGU1SUzKnjITaRJyFRcije/s400/3+pots.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5523673655362103026" style="text-align: justify;display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 159px; " /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'comic sans ms', sans-serif; "><i>My pot has developed a crack somewhere and now all my talent is leaking away..the pot is almost empty. That could be the reason for such dimwitted posts. My follower count decreased from 115 to 110 after my last post and has increased from 110 to 123 since I stopped blogging...which again indicates that my posts are detrimental to my follower count :P</i></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'comic sans ms', sans-serif; "><i><br /></i></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'comic sans ms', sans-serif; "><i>P.P.P.S: Both pics are a result of my experiments with MS Paint....nice na? :)</i></span></div></span></span></div></span>Shanuhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18348099109882967131noreply@blogger.com14tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4339508439569326388.post-77032356248824667662010-08-18T22:54:00.005+05:302010-08-19T23:51:41.214+05:30Punti Learns to Drive....<div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" ;font-family:'comic sans ms', sans-serif;font-size:small;">A couple of weeks ago, Punti tried learning how to drive again. As it was nearly a year and a half since she had last touched the steering wheel, my dad suggested she take driving lessons from a professional. So Vishnu Kaka (VK) started teaching her how to drive. After a week of going round and round our complex, VK suggested taking the car out on the road.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'comic sans ms', sans-serif;"></span></span><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'comic sans ms', sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'comic sans ms', sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" ;font-family:Georgia, serif;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFWQBBPpFGWEE2u35xkCpN3kLYWT3n-bQJRB_NL0SMHZ_OxvfwRyd7iDUKKzc237doInGXYQMgEUsW29niTzvZ7530aQhFHjxoGK-WftMIhhn3FlRfUpqjZTlFkHP93EpFsEXz4smd2fuR/s1600/300_83729.gif"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFWQBBPpFGWEE2u35xkCpN3kLYWT3n-bQJRB_NL0SMHZ_OxvfwRyd7iDUKKzc237doInGXYQMgEUsW29niTzvZ7530aQhFHjxoGK-WftMIhhn3FlRfUpqjZTlFkHP93EpFsEXz4smd2fuR/s200/300_83729.gif" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5506803342855374082" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 190px; " /></a></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'comic sans ms', sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'comic sans ms', sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'comic sans ms', sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">As she would to take the car out early in the morning, it was decided that she would drop Sid to work before taking a U turn and heading back home. All was hunky dory till the time she dropped him in front of his office. As they moved towards the main road, the car was suddenly filled with a foul smell. This, in a car which had the windows rolled up and the AC on full blast. </span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'comic sans ms', sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'comic sans ms', sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">Punti eyed VK with suspicion who suddenly stops singing his favorite Bhojpuri song and stares straight ahead. Unable to do anything but smile and bear it, poor Punti manages to get the car home. </span></span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'comic sans ms', sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">'Jaane de baba, buddha hai...peth kharab hoga' </span></span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'comic sans ms', sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">my dad says when she comes to him complaining about VK's antics. "</span></span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'comic sans ms', sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">Hume toh kabhi yeah problem nahi hua VK ke saath" </span></span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'comic sans ms', sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"> I teased. </span></span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'comic sans ms', sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">'Are you sure it was VK'. </span></span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'comic sans ms', sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">Punti left in a huff and I burst out laughing.</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'comic sans ms', sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'comic sans ms', sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">The desire to learn burning strong inside her, she turned up again the next day hoping VK's stomach was back to normal. But the same thing happened. And this continued for 2 days in a row. It seemed as if VK would wait for Sid to get off before dropping a bomb in the car. Finally, she could take it no longer and decided to stop learning from VK.</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'comic sans ms', sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'comic sans ms', sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">This intrigued the jasoos in me because I have known VK for years now and have never come across this problem. Yes, he does tend to sing in his besura awaaz but that is something that can be rectified by playing the radio on full volume. I needed to get to the bottom of this (this extremely gross pun was completely unintended).</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'comic sans ms', sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'comic sans ms', sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">So, I decided to accompany Punti on her morning drive. After loads of pestering she finally agreed. We dropped Sid off at work and right on cue the car was filled with an extremely foul smell.While I tried holding my breath and rolled the windows down, Punti looked at me with watering eyes. She was trying to hold her breath too and by the looks of it she was on the verge of killing herself. VK continued staring straight ahead.</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'comic sans ms', sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'comic sans ms', sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">Unable to make sense, I stared out of the window when it struck me. We were driving past a huge garbage dump. I asked Punti to pullover and checked the dashboard. And there was the reason staring right at me. Punti, stupid Punti, had turned on the incoming car vent (not sure what the technical term is) which would cause the foul air to come gushing in. The only explanation why the car would start smelling on that particular stretch was that we were driving too early in the morning for any other pollutants to make their way in. </span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'comic sans ms', sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" ;font-size:small;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'comic sans ms', sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">I am sure you must have assumed that being the sweet girl that I am, I told Punti what the issue was. Hah! You are so wrong. I didnt.</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'comic sans ms', sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'comic sans ms', sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">Punti still thinks VK is the reason for the foul smell while VK thinks Punti suffers from IBS. I told her that VK thinks she is the reason for the foul smell in the car. She is so embarrassed she hasn't been able to face him. </span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'comic sans ms', sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'comic sans ms', sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">Punti is back to her driving lessons now but without VK. Which suits me just fine because he is now free to drop me to work again :)</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'comic sans ms', sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'comic sans ms', sans-serif;"><u><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">P.S: </span></u></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'comic sans ms', sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><br /></span></span></div><div><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">"Huh? What is this ****? Do people even read the stuff you write?" she asked me when I showed her my first blog.</span></span></i></div><div><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">"You creative types, write ***** and pretend that all is fine in the name of creative liberty. Please try and write something that makes sense for a change"</span></span></i></div><div><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">Needless to say, I took her advice and started a new blog - Fullon Bakwaas.</span></span></i></div><div><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><br /></span></span></i></div><div><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">Punti is one of my closest cousins but she doesn't know about this blog. She loves making fun of people around her, but cannot take a joke sportingly. If she ever finds out that I write about her, I am sure all hell will break loose. She might even start her own blog, dedicated to Shanu bashing (which I think is fab - love the idea of having a blog dedicated to me!!)</span></span></i></div><div><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><br /></span></span></i></div><div><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">I realised that my drafts have many more Punti stories to share, but noone really knows who the real Punti is.</span></span></i></div><div><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><br /></span></span></i></div><div><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">She has lived with us for the last 2 years and I cherish the times we spend together chatting the night away. But, there are times when I wish I can block her out of my life just like I have blocked her on gtalk. But unfortunately, life isnt that simple. </span></span></i></div><div><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><br /></span></span></i></div><div><i><u><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">PPS:</span></span></u><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"> And neither is blogging - none of my fav bloggers are blogging anymore but thankfully none of them are blaming writers block for it either. The simple - I am bored/Have no time - sounds so much better and modest!!</span></span></i></div></span></div>Shanuhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18348099109882967131noreply@blogger.com33tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4339508439569326388.post-37206320468950513152010-07-13T23:36:00.004+05:302010-07-14T22:32:32.054+05:30Project Tillu....<div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" ;font-family:'Comic Sans MS';font-size:small;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" ;font-family:'Comic Sans MS';font-size:small;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" ;font-family:'Comic Sans MS';font-size:small;">Meenu gets up with a sudden jerk and ends up spilling water all over her desk.</span></div> <p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'Comic Sans MS';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">"</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#CC33CC;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">Hello, watz your problem?</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">" I yell as the water drips over me.</span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'Comic Sans MS';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">"</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#000099;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">Sorry yaar, dekh na</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">"</span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'Comic Sans MS';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">I turn around in time to see Tillu walking away. </span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'Comic Sans MS';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">Tillu is the only eye candy in our otherwise barren office. So starved are we for any kind of male cuteness that the slightly mandus, lost in his own world Tillu seems like Adonis to us. Tillu/Tilly/Tuktuk is a pseudo name for the adorable guy who works with the team that sits next to my cubicle.</span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'Comic Sans MS';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; font-family:Georgia, serif;"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFQgcKT1VHJTfr_9piMHVIKYhsHzYpyFtcMoZafkl_HKYrPAFdTKkZGZlKtz_atABqdNhnTrfXcBtVGInKnSLxlIBGQTd63JDY2HfPxfizGW4_C1Fu073yxNy2ihaUsWPOD4KUSgUlfqc5/s200/geek.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5493455074880074690" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 188px; height: 200px; " /></span></span></p><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" ;font-family:'Comic Sans MS';font-size:small;">With the news of Chimpu being married and my heart break spreading like wild fire, Meenu did not want to take any chances. She had done a fair bit of research (on FB and Orkut) and had come to the conclusion that Tillu was single and desperate to mingle. But, he was also a geek and terribly shy.</span></div> <p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'Comic Sans MS';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">That meant joh bhi karma tha hume hi karna tha….</span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'Comic Sans MS';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">Anu became our watchdog and 3 short coughs were used to signal his arrival. Everytime Tillu passed by, our cubicle was filled with a frenzy of activity with everyone trying to get a look at Meenu’s cutie pie. When weeks of just watching him pass by did not yield any results and Meenu’s sighs refused to let us work, Mano decided to take charge.</span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'Comic Sans MS';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">Mano was the only one in our group who had managed to date the guy she fancied. After my Chimpu debacle, I had lost all credibility in match making circles. The girls who would come flocking to me for dating advice had now started going to Mano. I had to redeem myself. I </span><s><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">pleaded </span></s><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">demanded to be made a part of Project Tillu.</span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'Comic Sans MS';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">The plan was simple. Anu was to signal us with her 3 coughs and we were to call out Meenu’s name when he passed our cubicle. This, explained Mano, will make him aware of Meenu’s existence. After a week of chanting Meenu’s name, the best amongst us was to be given a lead role. With a dialogue.</span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'Comic Sans MS';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">Determined to be the one with the dialogue, I ensured my voice was the first Tillu heard as soon as Anu signalled his arrival and the last voice he heard when he passed our bay. Sure enough, my efforts paid off and I was chosen to deliver a crucial line the following week.</span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'Comic Sans MS';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">With Tillu’s attention grabbed, it was now time to reel the fish in.</span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'Comic Sans MS';"><u><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">Location: Cafeteria</span></u></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'Comic Sans MS';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">The plan was simple. Meenu was instructed to wear her prettiest outfit. We took the table right behind where Tillu was sitting. As soon as he moved towards the counter, Meenu was supposed to overtake him and my job was to walk behind Tillu and call out to Meenu so that she could turn dheere se, filmi ishtyle.</span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'Comic Sans MS';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">The setting was perfect. We had the table behind Tillu. Meenu looked ravishing. I had practised my dialogue a number of times..I had to walk behind Tillu and shout out “Meenu, palat, palat” and Meenu and her slow motion palatna would do the rest.</span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'Comic Sans MS';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">After waiting for what seemed like an eternity, Tillu got up and walked towards the counter. Meenu got up and overtook him in a jiffy. A few seconds later, I got up. As we walked in a single file, Meenu, Tillu and I, Anu coughed. My signal to say the dialogue I had so painstakingly mastered over the weekend. I suddenly realised Tillu was walking faster than I had anticipated. I had to practically run to keep up with him. Just as I got closer to him to deliver the crucial dialogue, I tripped. My hand jerked and I accidentally slapped him on his butt.</span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'Comic Sans MS';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">Tillu froze. And turned dheere se. Looked at me and gave me a weird, sly smile. And walked back to the counter.</span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'Comic Sans MS';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">Needless to say, Project Tillu was a flop. Tillu has been dropped from the cutie list. Meenu has now found another crush who they call Mahi but I have no clue who he is. Mano now gives me lessons in how to walk without tripping or slapping people’s butts.</span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'Comic Sans MS';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">As for Tillu, for some unfathomable reason, I now find him walking ahead of me wherever I go. :P</span></span></p>Shanuhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18348099109882967131noreply@blogger.com41tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4339508439569326388.post-11548443179797182922010-07-11T22:24:00.003+05:302010-07-14T22:31:59.636+05:30I want a heart....<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhRWPUNmkqg_F-2bSwWoeWhG4Mk48-M35E76cYUYuonVL2mnYkXxc_C3xelcAX33DkxG6xaIk4Biwmx79yu5bxh32lw0dOR5158XM3n4ogLVtS1uLJrKTgFDQuKlGm_9qOe0an_pZOob3yr/s1600/36.gif"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 192px; height: 200px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhRWPUNmkqg_F-2bSwWoeWhG4Mk48-M35E76cYUYuonVL2mnYkXxc_C3xelcAX33DkxG6xaIk4Biwmx79yu5bxh32lw0dOR5158XM3n4ogLVtS1uLJrKTgFDQuKlGm_9qOe0an_pZOob3yr/s200/36.gif" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5492693097771104306" /></a><br /><div><br /></div><div><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#3333FF;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">I</span></span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'lucida grande';"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#3333FF;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"> want a heart..this doesnt look anything like a heart..</span></span></i></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'lucida grande';"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></i></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'lucida grande';"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#CC33CC;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">Wat? This is a perfect heart. See how it curves here and tapers down...look at the shading..I think its just perfect....</span></span></i></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'lucida grande';"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></i></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'lucida grande';"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#3333FF;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">It isnt..I dont like it. I want another one..</span></span></i></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'lucida grande';"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></i></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'lucida grande';"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#CC33CC;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">Kidhar se laun another one..Heart factory kholi hai kya maine..</span></span></i></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'lucida grande';"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></i></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'lucida grande';"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#3366FF;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">I DONT CARE..I AM NOT TAKING THIS TO SCHOOL!!</span></span></i></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'lucida grande';"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></i></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'lucida grande';"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#CC0000;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">As Shreya, my 7 year old neighbor, stomped off without her thermocol heart project, the great truth dawned on me....</span></span></i></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'lucida grande';"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#CC0000;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></i></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'lucida grande';"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#CC0000;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">Isnt this what all of us are looking for...the perfect heart?? ;)</span></span></i></span></div><div><br /></div>Shanuhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18348099109882967131noreply@blogger.com26tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4339508439569326388.post-64552260741538974082010-06-26T23:39:00.005+05:302010-07-14T22:32:32.054+05:30BOOO........<div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0saiqf8ccXggL9o99lTImGYdjn9OS8fQ4Mhz_xYiDtXrkQmHijpUa8w0Kf-GG5Uwg1rAygpnAi702pO_u10st1M6C1kzzjN4Nitns_qBPmf8amozxOwGQoZzMPzpaiJjWmJqpQeMaxEp9/s1600/3ghosts.jpg"></a><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" ;font-family:arial;font-size:small;">I dont believe in ghost stories, I honestly dont. </span><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; font-family:Georgia, serif;"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0saiqf8ccXggL9o99lTImGYdjn9OS8fQ4Mhz_xYiDtXrkQmHijpUa8w0Kf-GG5Uwg1rAygpnAi702pO_u10st1M6C1kzzjN4Nitns_qBPmf8amozxOwGQoZzMPzpaiJjWmJqpQeMaxEp9/s200/3ghosts.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5487149161434755858" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 200px; " /></span></span></span></div><div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#0000EE;"><br /></span></div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; font-family:Georgia, serif;"></span></span></span><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" ;font-family:arial;font-size:small;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" ;font-family:arial;font-size:small;">I am the guy you see laughing @ a good ghost story when everyone around is squirming with fear. So, it came as no surprise to my friends when I told them that I was taking the Aarey road when going home after a late night party.<div><br />Aarey road is long and winding, covered with greenery. Legend says that this place was a robbers paradise where lonely travellers were robbed and murdered. Stories of murder victims being dumped in this remote area are well known. It is believed that these spirits still continue to haunt this area. Infact, this stretch of road in Mumbai is believed to be so haunted that no one is allowed to take it after 11 in the night to upto 5 in the morning. But, bribing the guard works and you do get a few people who come here looking for adventure, hoping to get spooked. I, on the other hand, prefer taking this route because it cuts my travel time by nearly 40 mins.</div><div><br />So there I was, cruising away on my bike when I notice an elderly man on an antique scooter phut phutting away in front of me. In no time, I zipped ahead of him. A few minutes later, I saw the man and his scooter again, riding ahead of me as if I had never overtaken him. Surprised, I zipped ahead again, but this time I managed to take in the make of the scooter and what the man was wearing. A few minutes later, when I saw him ahead of me again, I knew something was wrong. I hadn't seen him overtake me (there was no way his old Bajaj could have overtaken me anyways) and there are no shortcuts as the road is flanked by a lake on both sides. Intrigued, I overtook him and turned to take a quick look at his face. What happened next, I do not remember, but I woke up at home the next morning with no memory at all of how I got there.</div><div><br />I had to go back. I had to. I couldn't let a weirdo with an antique scooter knock me unconscious. Plus, I couldn't stand all the jokes my friends were now cracking at my expense.</div><div><br />Gathering a few friends, I decided to go back the next night. No, I wasn't scared. I just didn't want to take a chance. I mean there could be robbers and stuff and I didn't want to get mugged now, did I?</div><div><br />We took our bikes and parked right in the middle of the road where I had seen the weirdo the previous night. It was a clear night with the half moon throwing pleasant light. The crickets chirped and a light breeze carried with it, the sounds of the night. Flanked by the lake, the road looked breathtakingly beautiful and peaceful. As we waited for the weirdo to materialise, we indulged in friendly banter.</div><div><br />Suddenly, we heard a rustling sound coming from the lake. The hair on the back of my neck started tingling and there was a sudden chill in the air. Turning back, we saw what seemed like a figure running towards us at top speed. Running on water!!</div><div><br /></div><div>Screaming as loudly as our lungs let us, we got on to our bikes and got the hell out of there. Atleast the rest did. </div><div>My bike refused to start. It was almost as if some weird force was keeping it glued to the spot. <span class="Apple-style-span" style=" ;font-family:Arial;">I felt <s>someone</s> something breathing down my neck.<span> </span></span>And then the inevitable happened.</div><div><br /></div><div>I fainted.</div><div><br /></div><div>Nothing untoward hasn't <wbr>happened after that apart from the unexplained knocks I hear on my door at times. Or the weird voices and languages that my room mate says I speak in. Or the way Browny whines at times. I am in perfect shape but avoid taking the Aarey road. No, I am not scared. The roads have become too slippery in the rains and its too foggy in winters. I still enjoy a good ghost story but haven't really attended any late night parties in a while now. Work commitments.<div><p class="MsoNormal"></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span class="apple-style-span"><span style=" ;font-family:Arial;color:black;">And ya, I <s>still </s><s>don’t</s> believe in ghost stories.<span> </span></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span class="apple-style-span"><span style="font-family:Arial;color:black;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:x-small;"><i><br /></i></span></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span class="apple-style-span"><span style="font-family:Arial;color:black;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:x-small;"><i>This is a true story. I tried telling it in third person par maaza nahi aa raha tha...thght the 1st person account did justice. So ya, this story isnt abt me..its abt a guy I know :)</i></span></span></span></p><p></p></div></div></span></div></div>Shanuhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18348099109882967131noreply@blogger.com44tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4339508439569326388.post-91402180073214377162010-06-20T21:49:00.005+05:302010-07-14T22:31:29.558+05:30One Good turn......<div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgrkiGbqmikyj7b0Jp5-7jg8xu7c5ns6TuNoBTfcBy2jpBbNSe-um6FWcq8nDBMURBkMDYfiRt9qTeMydaBJhWxPnv8zkIp42W_YUqs3hU1EILBcHK6v60iKA2u39mhnitWcVXuOYw4EJAJ/s1600/cup-of-goodness.jpg"></a><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" ;font-family:arial;font-size:small;">Bachpan se we have been taught "Achai ka phal humesha acha hota hai" (One good turn begets another) but I am not really sure this saying holds true anymore......</span><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" ;font-family:arial;font-size:small;"><div><br /></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, serif; color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgrkiGbqmikyj7b0Jp5-7jg8xu7c5ns6TuNoBTfcBy2jpBbNSe-um6FWcq8nDBMURBkMDYfiRt9qTeMydaBJhWxPnv8zkIp42W_YUqs3hU1EILBcHK6v60iKA2u39mhnitWcVXuOYw4EJAJ/s200/cup-of-goodness.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5484893073456004450" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 160px; " /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, serif; color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><br /></span></div><div><br /></div><div><ul><li>A couple of days ago, M (a pleasantly plump friend) and I were travelling to Chembur by BEST. While I blabbered on, M decided to eat the motichur ka ladoos her mom had packed for her. That day was one of those rare occasions when I wasn't in the mood for Motichur ka ladoos. So while M munched happily, I kept her entertained with my bakwaas. Spotting an elderly man in the next row staring at her, she asked me if she should offer him a ladoo. "Uncle bhuke lag rahe hain" she said. As I nodded my approval, she reached out and offered him a ladoo. The guy refused and in his booming voice said "Nahi nahi, agar main yeah ladoo khaunga toh main bhi tumhare tarah mota ho jaaunga...Apna size dekho aur apni friend se kuch seekho..thoda patla hone ki koshish karo" Stunned, M didn't know how to respond. We got down a couple of stops later, but not before I had given the guy a piece of my mind.</li></ul></div><div><br /></div><div><ul><li>Travelling to Vashi by bus, I was standing for nearly an hour. When I finally got a seat, I gratefully gave my poor tired legs some rest. A couple of minutes later, a lady got in with an infant in her arms and a toddler by her side. Trying to balance herself and the child, she tried removing the bus fare from her purse. I looked around. There were people who were sitting for the last one hour but not one moved a muscle. No one offered her a seat. My tired legs complained. "You dont need to give up your seat" they told me and I succumbed. (High heels in a BEST bus - bad combination). Suddenly the bus gave a jerk and the lady lost her balance. She crashed against a rod but managed to save the child from getting hurt. And yet no one moved. Ignoring my feet, I got up and offered her my seat. She sat down gratefully and the infant and the toddler found a cozy place to sit - their mom's lap. I did not get another seat for the next 1 hour and I reached Vashi with sore feet.</li></ul></div><div><br /></div><div><ul><li>On a train ride to Dadar, I saw a pair of twins barely 3-4 years old, jostling for place in the crowded compartment. The babies couldn't stand for a minute without being stamped on by someone. I got up and offered them my seat. Out of nowhere, their mom came scrambling by, asked the kids to get up and sat down. The kids were left jostling for space again.</li></ul></div><div><br /></div><div>If they say, a good turn begets another..I have yet to see that happen. These 3 incidents in the last one week have left me questioning my beliefs. And this is not just about offering food to strangers or giving up my seat in crowded public transport.</div><div><br /></div><div>I often wonder if there is any point being nice and kind to anyone especially when you dont seem to get any kindness from anyone around you. If good karma attracts good things into your life, shouldn't bad karma attract bad things? If yes, how come some of the meanest and nastiest people I know, are also the most successful and happy people I have seen? If there are no shortcuts to success, how come there are people who have taken shortcuts and are still successful. Why does life seem so freaking unfair at times that it threatens to destroy every iota of goodness in you?</div><div><br /></div><div>I know everything turns out fine in the end, but what if the end comes too late? What if by the time things turn fine, I no longer care?</div><div><br /></div><div><i>Fullon Frustrations on Fullon Bakwaas!!</i></div></span><br /></div>Shanuhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18348099109882967131noreply@blogger.com43tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4339508439569326388.post-52509904924364257802010-05-31T01:58:00.006+05:302010-07-14T22:31:29.559+05:30Love in the times of the Internet....................<div><br /></div><div><br /></div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhRwe3l8ICHAdDoiyG7M8nxMeba1_5gRQ0QGAnSFYmq31YE5LsWyYBYBd_g8qSESveAdJqpACf-TubiHvYMBE5g7yOM1rmpxquNjxJ2ZAkg7dcpybGYsgYPDq8mL1j_JjuXyD-Fh5JJMZWj/s1600/love-computer.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 184px; height: 200px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhRwe3l8ICHAdDoiyG7M8nxMeba1_5gRQ0QGAnSFYmq31YE5LsWyYBYBd_g8qSESveAdJqpACf-TubiHvYMBE5g7yOM1rmpxquNjxJ2ZAkg7dcpybGYsgYPDq8mL1j_JjuXyD-Fh5JJMZWj/s200/love-computer.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5477165080406315090" /></a><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#0000EE;"><u><br /></u></span></div><br /><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" ;font-family:arial;font-size:small;"><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><br /></span></div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;">I spent my days in junior college, waiting for his glimpse. He was the college stud with his <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">SRK</span> hairstyle and lean mean physique. I joined the events committee for my college fest just so that I could be around him. My first and only words to him in those 2 years were "I think that umbrella is broken", the response to which was just a stare and a careless nod. I gave up my internship with Citibank to join him at <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">McKinsey</span> (but couldn't join that either <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2">coz</span> my parents refused to let me go to <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3">Gurgaon</span>). I was truly, madly, deeply smitten by him for 3 long years.</span><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><br /></span></div><div><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;">Thanks to <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4">Facebook</span>, I now know that he is balding and has a pot belly.</span></i></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;">I have <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5">pakkaued</span> everyone on <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_6">Fullon</span> <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_7">Bakwaas</span> talking about him. I have given him weird nicknames and have blushed every time some one took his name. I have behaved @ work like a teenager with a crush. I have gone blank during presentations whenever he has walked into the room and have taken on projects just to be around him. On my first <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_8">concall</span>, unnerved by his presence, I have blurted out the same sentence multiple times, before he played the knight in a sparkling new suit and pressed the mute button (phone <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_9">ka</span>). I have whistled at him when I saw him at the mall (completely co-incidental) and have gone blank when he asked me what my plans for new year's were. I have saved the one official email where he wrote Dear <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_10">Shanu</span>, instead of the customary Hi <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_11">Shanu</span>. I was truly, madly, deeply smitten by him for 12 whole months.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><br /></span></div><div><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;">Thanks to <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_12">Facebook</span>, I now know that he is married and his wife is expecting their first baby in December.</span></i></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;">I first saw him singing at Not Just Jazz by the Bay. His silky voice levitated me to a completely different world. He was my type..tall, dark and handsome. With the face of an angel and a beautiful sexy voice, he was every girl's dream come true. I met him again at my friend's daughter's christening (six degrees of separation, anyone?) and boy, was he a delight to talk to. We danced the waltz and the jive, and I was truly, madly, deeply smitten by him. For 2 whole weeks.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><br /></span></div><div><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;">Thanks to <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_13">Facebook</span>, I now know that he is gay.</span></i></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;">We have been in a committed blogger relationship for close to 6 months. He has professed his undying love for me a zillion times in the comments section of <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_14">Fullon</span>. He writes poems for me, he helps me fix my blog templates. He is my ultimate <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_15">Mako</span> man.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><br /></span></div><div><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;">Thanks to <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_16">Facebook</span>, I now know that he proclaims himself to be single. And flirts with <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_17">PYTs</span>.</span></i></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><br /></span></div><div><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_18">Facebook</span> has been responsible for single <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_19">handedly</span> ruining my crush life. I now Google/<span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_20">Facebook</span> all my crushes before I get smitten. I have been <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_21">crushless</span> (No, its not a word, I just made that one up) for the last 1 month. </span></i></div><div><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><br /></span></i></div><div><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;">Thank you <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_22">Facebook</span>, I owe you one. (Not) </span></i></div></span>Shanuhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18348099109882967131noreply@blogger.com56tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4339508439569326388.post-4712025368073278552010-05-20T19:55:00.009+05:302010-07-14T22:31:29.559+05:30Ahh..such a bitch..<div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#0000EE;"><u><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><br /></span></i></span></u></span></div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><br />Life is such a bitch isnt it? But I aint talking about life here....for a change ;)</span></i></span><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><br /></span></i></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';">Have you ever come across guys who will hit on you even when you are looking like crap? I mean, come on guys..these are days when I cant stand to look at myself in the mirror and you choose this day to marofy "Will you friendship with me " wala dialogue!!</span></i></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';">Not that, choosing any other day is gonna improve their chances anyway ;o)</span></i></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><br /></span></i></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><br /></span></i></span></div><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiG76hSzcrT3jqb5g-xV4UqNDELGbXroH30KsL-IYGVxTYW58csh-q-WLn2hKZoUbxAsjJPjKGIB9N1mQ3NgV4gpSkllCTY1RrCD5AZSvP0YqfkVz-Hqa_w21pd1q4fa4GJOldfV3ho9A7c/s1600/random-thoughts.jpg.w300h209.jpg"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiG76hSzcrT3jqb5g-xV4UqNDELGbXroH30KsL-IYGVxTYW58csh-q-WLn2hKZoUbxAsjJPjKGIB9N1mQ3NgV4gpSkllCTY1RrCD5AZSvP0YqfkVz-Hqa_w21pd1q4fa4GJOldfV3ho9A7c/s200/random-thoughts.jpg.w300h209.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5473390850560432626" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 139px; " /></a></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><br /></span></i></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><br /></span></i></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><br /></span></i></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';">Have you come across people who are so full of themselves that they think every one around them should dance to their tunes? People who think they can walk all over you only because you value the relationship and wont ask them to shut up? People who brand anyone who cannot jhelofy their nakhras as snobs when they themselves are intolerable? People who stop talking to you the day you decide to show them what air-headed morons they are??</span></i></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><br /></span></i></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><br /></span></i></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';">Have you come across people you regretted being friends with? Do you regret sharing your deepest, darkest secrets with them? Does that make you feel vulnerable now? And yet, you would never take them back if even if they begged you?</span></i></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><br /></span></i></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><br /></span></i></span><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';">Have you ever noticed that your hair and skin look fab when you are doing nothing and sitting at home? That the hair cut which looked so fab when the stylist cut it yesterday.. doesn't really look all that great today? And yet, you go back religiously every 3 months, hoping that this time you might end up looking like Priyanka Chopra?</span></i></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><br /></span></i></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><br /></span></i></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';">Have you ever been compared to someone who looks breathtakingly gorgeous? Have you felt embarrassed by the comparison? Have you then had someone say, "Naah, I think (your name) looks way better"? Has that made you jump up and down with joy dil me while you maintain a straight face and say "Chal haan, kuch bhi kya"?</span></i></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><br /></span></i></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><br /></span></i></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';">Have you ever bought something for a friend? And then realized that itz so awesome that you wanna keep it for yourself? Have you then hastily bought something else and packed it off ? ;)</span></i></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><br /></span></i></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><br /></span></i></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';">Have you ever bought something from a restaurant and passed it off as your own cooking? </span></i></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><br /></span></i></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><br /></span></i></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';">Have you ever wanted to nap in the middle of the day and regretted all those bachpan ke days when you refused to sleep? Do you wanna go back in time and nap all you can?</span></i></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><br /></span></i></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><br /></span></i></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';">Have you ever written a blog post and then realized that it wont make any sense to anyone? That the title looks out of place? Have you still gone ahead and posted it because some how it makes perfect sense to you?</span></i></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><br /></span></i></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><br /></span></i></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';">P.S: Been super busy @ work. But that hasn't stopped me from reading your blogs, commenting on them and following the ones that I loved.</span></i></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><br /></span></i></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';">P.P.S: I am enabling comment moderation. Have had some really weird people commenting on my posts lately ;)</span></i></span></div></div>Shanuhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18348099109882967131noreply@blogger.com48tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4339508439569326388.post-22722392822223448272010-05-16T14:36:00.008+05:302010-09-15T23:54:00.232+05:30One year later....<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">My bloggie turned 1 a few days ago..and I completely forgot to wish it! I was never this forgetful..guess age is finally catching up ;)</span></i></span><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><br /></span></i></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">This last year has been full of learnings..I have realised that blogsville is really a chotu version of the big bad world we live in...I have met many bloggers, shared laughs with some and befriended a few..just like we meet many people in the big bad world, connect to some and befriend a few.</span></i></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><br /></span></i></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">Blogging gave me an outlet to vent out my craziness, it gave me online friends (something I had never done before), it made me realise that not everyone we meet online is a stalker..there are cute, adorable people out there too....it made me realise that harmless flirting is fun..and that these conversation make for great laughs when you have nothing better to do...</span></i></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><br /></span></i></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">It made me realise I could stick to something without getting bored...it gave me something to look forward to every morning..checking comments every hour became an obsession :)</span></i></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><br /></span></i></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">It gave me a peek into the lives of others...it showed me people who were not afraid to talk about their life, their insecurities, their fears....people who shared their happiness with me and as they did their deepest darkest secrets.</span></i></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><br /></span></i></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">It taught me that most bloggers who hide behind the cloak of anonymity are pretty chilled out..they are fun and they are smart..but like everything else in life..there are exceptions here too....its all about holding on to the good experiences and letting the bad ones go...</span></i></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><br /></span></i></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">Today, I wish to thank everyone who has made my time here truly enjoyable...and helped me stick to blogging for so long...</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: normal; "><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">I always refine what I write..but not this time... I wanted to write dilse and not let my dimaag interfere....</span></i></span></i></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><br /></span></i></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" ;font-family:georgia;"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">I want to repost something that is very close to my heart..I wrote this for my friend when she got engaged and I still think this is my best post till date..</span></i></span></div><div><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><br /></span></i></div><div><br /></div><div></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><div style="background-color: #f4cccc; color: #666666"><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLJ3ws2ddzoifBd54I9d63lgQidByWY9TMsECWg2b0pdnTu-b9qUo12ZkQM551cNeRFdYG3LRccSlGvzBV8agG_VHVkxhU4GbU4FGh_HhZ8XWBWUM2m9Z62M8fPUXzekUwKg8A06_LdLpd/s1600-h/jasmine.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5345015147528917810" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLJ3ws2ddzoifBd54I9d63lgQidByWY9TMsECWg2b0pdnTu-b9qUo12ZkQM551cNeRFdYG3LRccSlGvzBV8agG_VHVkxhU4GbU4FGh_HhZ8XWBWUM2m9Z62M8fPUXzekUwKg8A06_LdLpd/s200/jasmine.jpg" border="0" style="float: right; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: 10px; width: 150px; cursor: pointer; height: 117px; " /></a><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="color:black;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" ;font-size:small;">Princess Jaijaishubhlaxmi (Lets call her P.J shall we...the name is too long) was ecstatic. She was to marry Prince Ishwar Jaykumar Unnikrishnan (PIJU for short...watz with all these south Indian names!!) in 3 weeks. The palace was being cleaned and preparations were on in full swing..and why not..it was the first wedding the palace was witnessing in 25 years.</span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="color:black;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">Flashback:</span></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="color:black;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: normal; "><i><span style="color:black;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">Princess Jaijaishubhlaxmi's beauty was talked abou</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: normal; "><i><span style="color:black;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">t in all kingdoms far and wide. Legend has it that her smile could light a thousand lamps (much like the</span><span class="apple-converted-space"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"> </span></span></span></i><span style="color:black;"><i><a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=a7TSlg3Jljk"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#3333ff;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">H</span></span></a><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: normal; "><a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=a7TSlg3Jljk"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#3333ff;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">appydentWhite ads</span></span></i></a><span class="apple-converted-space"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"> </span></i></span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">) Many valiant princes had tried to win her hand but in vain. P.J didn’t feel the connection with any one.</span></i></span></i></span></span></span></i></span></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="color:black;"><i><span style="color:black;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">One fine summer afternoon P.J was strolling in the royal gardens with her friends F, R and S. These girls were courtiers in His Majesty's court. They were best friends and shared everything. They would meet by the lake during smoke breaks ( F, R and S who weren’t born to privilege like PJ worked during the day and partied during the nite. PJ on the other hand spent her days rejecting guys and her nites partying with her gal gang) and talk about the latest suitor to bite the dirt. But today something was different.</span></span></i></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">P.J seemed quite impressed with the </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: normal; "><i><span style="color:black;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">latest suitor who had come her way. They had exchanged a few <span class="apple-converted-space"></span></span></span></i><span style="color:black;"><a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Pigeon_post"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#3333ff;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">P-mails</span></span></i></a><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"> </span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">and she seemed quite smitten by him.</span></i></span></span></span></p><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5345015327702263026" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhuSIZyx6y2eGOHDKwa2pRY0m0qooweerlUpP5terabVHaGyTa6bcj8uXdEupsZNxN9QDPsKc86lI0CwKNukt5CnkhjExj1yY5uGnbRlDg9l4cM7GAER2McS8KpJlokXQF1JIgzn7dFfZt8/s200/frineds.jpg" border="0" style="float: right; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: 10px; width: 200px; cursor: pointer; height: 200px; " /><p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">PJ: I think PIJU is the one (giggles)</span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><i><span style="color:black;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">S: But you haven’t even met him, how could you be so sure?</span></span></i><span style="color:black;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><i><span style="color:black;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">F: (staring at his oil painting) Ohh hez soo cute...!!</span></span></i><span style="color:black;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><i><span style="color:black;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">R: Ohh I dunno..I dont really like his pose..I mean which guy would wanna pose like that for a pic?</span></span></i><span style="color:black;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><i><span style="color:black;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">PJ: Ohh cmon you guys...hez cute...hez intelligent....He lives in UK (Uttar Karnataka).. You know how much I love UK!!</span></span></i><span style="color:black;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">And right then the girls knew....PIJU was gonna become their Jiju.</span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><br /></span></b></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">At the palace (Flashpresent):</span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="color:black;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">The preparations were on in full swing. PJs lustrous hair was being oiled and combed. Bottles of Livon (a gift from the British) were being emptied to ensure not one hair was out of place. PJ looked at herself in the mirror and was pleased. She had never looked so gorgeous..... PIJUs love was surely making her glow. She smiled at that thought. Par yeah kya...???? Only 900 lamps lit up!!</span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><b><span style="color:black;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">PJ</span></span></b><span style="color:black;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">: Ohh no Mom, my smile doesn’t have that Jadoo anymore :(<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><b><span style="color:black;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">Maharani Mom (MaM)</span></span></b><span style="color:black;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">: Ohh no..we will now have to manually light those 100 lamps. Do you have any idea how expensive kerosene is now a days??<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><b><span style="color:black;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">Maharaja Dad (MaD):</span></span></b><span style="color:black;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"> Aare bacche koi nahi...don’t u worry!!</span></span></p><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5345016155251724562" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxHIz9776xFsXJadpBraZlVuwp2QB6yYrNX0gLVIJZVLHVPcL5Y32l6D5nYooqH8mAzKsy1jdlwbtpwcdmniylxaBacLd7a18Rq3eFqiEFk8OOW5Qvzq_2LtxupOSBxpLUH1JTzRx1QwQP/s200/Aladdin_-_Sultan.gif" border="0" style="float: right; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: 10px; width: 150px; cursor: pointer; height: 150px; " /><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="color:black;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">Lets get your teeth cleaned. I know a really great daanth-vaidh (dentist). He will get your teeth shining in no time.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="color:black;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><b><span style="color:black;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">At the Daanth-Vaidh's clinic :</span></span></b><span style="color:black;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><b><span style="color:black;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">PJ: </span></span></b><span style="color:black;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">Ohh please!! Ohh please!! get my teeth all shining again.</span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><b><span style="color:black;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">Daanth-Vaidh:</span><span class="apple-converted-space"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"> </span></span></span></b><span style="color:black;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">Of course your majesty.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><b><span style="color:black;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">PJ</span></span></b><span style="color:black;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">: Aaaaachhhhoooooo!!<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><b><span style="color:black;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">Daanth-Vaidh</span></span></b><span style="color:black;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">: OHH NOOOO!!<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="color:black;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><b><span style="color:black;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">Back at the palace (Still flashing present):</span></span></b></p><p class="MsoNormal"><b><span style="color:black;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">MaM:</span><span class="apple-converted-space"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"> </span></span></span></b><span style="color:black;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">Ohh no PJ...what happened to your tooth. Your mouth looks like the gateway to our kingdom!!</span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><b><span style="color:black;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">PJ</span></span></b><span style="color:black;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">: What do I do now....I cant believe PIJU will see me like this.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><b><span style="color:black;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">MaM</span></span></b><span style="color:black;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">: Aaare beta its ok....PIJU has 3 extra teeth and U have 1 less. Balance out ho jaaayega!!</span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><b><span style="color:black;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">MaD</span></span></b><span style="color:black;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">:Beta let this be a test of PIJU's love for you. Dekhte hain who he loves more...You or your tooth.</span></span></p><p class="MsoBodyText"><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">RF:</span></b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">I think u still look good....Trust me 968.75 lamps are more than enough to light up any palace</span></p><p class="MsoBodyText"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><b><span style="color:black;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">F:</span></span></b><span style="color:black;"><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">ROFLHAO</span></b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">...You look soo funny!<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><b><span style="color:black;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">S</span></span></b><span style="color:black;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">: </span></span><span style="color:black;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">IDEA </span></span><span style="color:black;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">!!!</span></span><span style="color:black;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><b><span style="color:black;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">Flash Foward:Wedding Day</span></span></b><span style="color:black;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></p><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5345016501862808386" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGwsUT49ajcOjx9-zI9cmkMPnUZT4zNza-RCnS6CEyxBfBF_9tIG7e5Cnzh6IqlXsEiSCda6z-IUKFpxXxUwnnykfgun15INoeg0YKPWqKIZfCn2gZ2FENbdcUGtpxgi-ss3o81QITyLxS/s200/Prince_and_Princess_Peach_by_soul_sama.jpg" border="0" style="float: right; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: 10px; width: 144px; cursor: pointer; height: 200px; " /><p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">S,R and F come running in...</span><em><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">Baraat aa gayi, Baraat aa gayi </span></em><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">(</span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">giggles</span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">)</span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">PJ smiles shyly at PIJU and PIJU is smitten all over again.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="color:black;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">PJ gets married and becomes PJIJU (Princess Jaijaishubhlaxmi Ishwar Jaykumar Unnikrishnan) and they live happily ever after.</span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><i><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">P.S</span></b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">:I know the questions on your mind "What about her lost tooth ?" "What brilliant idea did S come up with?"</span></i></p><p class="MsoNormal"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">Well its simple....it turned out PIJU did love PJ more than her tooth…so he happily donated one of his own....This ladies and gentlemen was the first and only tooth transplant in the history of mankind!!</span></i></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center; "><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">Truly a (tooth) fairytale</span></b></p><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5345016846245198690" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhSks7zXQGrMMSHAMf7V5xJ-VNB-tc9sateerMXzmamCOuxlPn46WH2L3T3eT0Ds2dRC2mypJbnJj0GeS5JgJXMX3gVsp9XalyHWUsyUT1JQSJ-7fR57W0aEvTIFqNK4E2nKiBbPmICPAVy/s200/F-500Z_f500Z_Happily_EverAFter.gif" border="0" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; width: 200px; cursor: pointer; height: 198px; text-align: center; " /><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left; "><i><span style="font-size:78%;">PS:All pictures used are copyrighted by Disney and their respective owners. I do not own them. If this infringes any copyright laws please let me know and the pics will come down asap.</span></i></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left; "><i><span style="font-size:78%;"><br /></span></i></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left; "><i><span style="font-size:78%;"><br /></span></i></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left; "><i><span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:x-small;"></span></span></i></p><i><span></span></i><div style="background-color: #f4cccc; color: #666666"><p></p></div><div></div></div></span></div><br /><br /><i>I am sure not many of you have read this post...I hope you enjoy it and love it the way I do :)</i>Shanuhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18348099109882967131noreply@blogger.com41tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4339508439569326388.post-72313020489404938392010-05-04T13:53:00.005+05:302010-07-14T22:32:32.055+05:30Mere haathon main Jadoo hai ;)<div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#0000EE;"><u><br /></u></span></div><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" ;font-family:arial;font-size:small;"><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#000066;">Studying his reflection in the mirror, Sid shook his head "No this isn't the way I wanted it...Try again"</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#000066;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#000066;">"Ohh come on, I need to get ready too" I wailed</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#000066;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#000066;">A baby face and puppy dog eyes later, I was plugging in the hair dryer again.</span></div><div><br /></div><i>In the 6 months since we moved here, I hadnt seen my mom grin so widely. Chatting and laughing with her new found walking group, my mom looked 20 years younger.</i><div><i><br /></i></div><div><i>As the name suggests, her walking group goes on morning and evening walks together and spends a few afternoons at each other's house, chating, joking and gossiping. Today, it was mom's turn to play host and the aunty log were treated to a wide range of south indian fare from idli to dosa to mendu wada. Munching on an idli, Mehta aunty stared at Sid and me (we were playing waiters, getting lemonade and chutney and sambhar), turned to my mom and said, "Toh aap bahu kab laa rahe ho?"</i></div><div><i><br /></i></div><div><i>My mom smiled, "Bahu? Abhi toh hum jamai layenge..Pehle Shanu ke haath peele karne hain" I had half a mind to drop the tray and run off pretending to be shy like some 70s ka heroine but with my T-shirt and shorts, I wasnt really dressed as the demure girl. "Lekin Shanu toh abhi choti hai..aapka beta toh kafi bada hai...uski shaadi nahi karoge kya?" </i></div><div><i><br /></i></div><div><i>My mom nearly chocked on her dosa "Nahi nahi, Sid toh Shanu se ek saal chota hai"</i></div><div><i><br /></i></div><div><i>Sid burst out into loud sobs while I did a little jig. I have alwayz had people tell me I dont look my age but trust me, nothing beats the feeling that you get when you are called younger than your younger sibling. I now know, how my mom must have felt when my doctor jokingly told me that I look like my mom's older sister (I hope he was joking though).</i></div><div><i><br /></i></div><div><i>While I danced to Sid's tuneful sobs and the aunty log clapped, a sinister plan was taking shape in Sid's brain (he can multitask quite well). </i></div><div><i><br /></i></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#000066;">"See, this is the way I want it. Dont you remember how it looked when I came home that day?? Try again."</span></div><div><br /></div><div><i>That evening, he decided to get himself a brand new look. He came back home with his hair cut into spikes. The thing with a great haircut is, that it can do wonders to your face. Take away years, make your eyes look bigger, your nose smaller..it can unveil a whole new you. And that is what the haircut did to him. It made him look younger. While the haircut brought with it loads of compliments for Sid, it also brought truckloads of problems for me. For you see, he cant spike his hair himself. </i></div><div><i><br /></i></div><div><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" font-style: normal; font-family:Georgia, serif;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLn6nMYbJOMYPXNLhXrLlxLSPXijadcBtQ0ht7U-wtkRM2sGGk_h0giooTIzttmBcMyTjRnSK0NQzE-Yw0yuyS2un3IIXZZEYdvtc2QNpP-qNwdAbCMWKGMx20B93axV3qz5c6g6_EeoHw/s1600/200px-Spike_hair.jpg"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLn6nMYbJOMYPXNLhXrLlxLSPXijadcBtQ0ht7U-wtkRM2sGGk_h0giooTIzttmBcMyTjRnSK0NQzE-Yw0yuyS2un3IIXZZEYdvtc2QNpP-qNwdAbCMWKGMx20B93axV3qz5c6g6_EeoHw/s200/200px-Spike_hair.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5467336220122083202" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 157px; height: 200px; " /></a></span></i></div><div><i><br /></i></div><div><br /></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#000066;">"C'mon ya Sid, this is looking perfect. I need to get ready too. I cant go out looking like this." I complained</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#000066;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#000066;">Puppy dog eyes and I am back to the styling gel.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#000066;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#000066;">5 attempts later, his hair is finally styled the way he wants it and I am able to run a comb through my unstyled hair.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#000066;"><br /></span></div><div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#000066;">I have spent the whole of last week, spiking his hair. Me thinks, me could open a salon and spike hair for a fee.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#000066;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#000066;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0); font-family: Georgia, serif; "><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjFPbdKNc8CTxnokkhk41CkZD4Bl8WzEfPs_nbb2XhfuBSOewkheYp4RNG8IqkZ1jBVn2YVwu324XYq_Kj9UousHvXQOVbf5bg6vCKiHnF-gW0lhPnsDePTqSmw4bsKGJ-wvq3gL1bXx14Z/s1600/hairstylist.jpg"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjFPbdKNc8CTxnokkhk41CkZD4Bl8WzEfPs_nbb2XhfuBSOewkheYp4RNG8IqkZ1jBVn2YVwu324XYq_Kj9UousHvXQOVbf5bg6vCKiHnF-gW0lhPnsDePTqSmw4bsKGJ-wvq3gL1bXx14Z/s200/hairstylist.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5467337012061863570" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 167px; height: 200px; " /></a></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#000066;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 102); ">While this week gave Sid a whole new look, it also gave me an insight into my own hidden talents. I have realised that I have a flair for hairstyling and dont really need any formal training. I have now decided to pursue hairstyling and have convinced my cousin to lend me her tresses for practising my skills. If all goes well, she will have a great hairstyle to flaunt by the end of this week. But ek se mera kya hoga? I need to keep practicing...So if you are looking for a free makeover, write to me and watch your life transform because mere dost..mere haathon main jadoo hai :)</span></div></div></span>Shanuhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18348099109882967131noreply@blogger.com53tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4339508439569326388.post-47372298588020069362010-03-27T01:05:00.004+05:302010-07-14T22:32:32.056+05:30Googling Memories...<div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#0000EE;"><u><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><br /></span></u></span></div><p class="MsoNormal"><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#CC66CC;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">8:45 pm Andheri Local </span></span></b></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#336666;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">"Hey, You are Shanu right? From ****** school at Andheri? Remember me?? I am Eliza."</span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">I gave her a broad smile while my mind started hunting through the various names I had stored under the School section in my brain. Its in times like these, that you wish life was like Google..Bas enter the name and you have all the information you need about the person right from her date of birth to how she looks to details of why you are no longer in touch. </span></p> <span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><br /></span> <p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#330099;"><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">Searching….Eliza….Eliza..</span></b></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"> <span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#663366;"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">Std III</span></i></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#663366;"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"> <o:p></o:p></span></i></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#663366;"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">The window seat in the class was her favorite. It allowed her to stare out at the traffic going by and on rainy days splashed drops of cold water on her. Chotu Shanu went to school in a time when the classrooms weren’t air conditioned like they are now..it was the rickety old fan that tried its best to keep the kids cool but failed miserably.</span></i></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#663366;"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">Her neighbor, a long black haired girl nudged her and they giggled. Eliza was her best friend. </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: normal; "><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">They shared their tiffins in the recess and played together during PT.</span></i></span></i></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#663366;"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: normal; "><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><br /></span></i></span></i></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#663366;"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: normal; "><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0); font-style: normal; "><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgKN_dNIl3VcTmhucZuAPJZy47zKvHBB2b8eQAUsjt26Eb6DKgn6JlaBm11i7fORqKN0w6W2RrZPt0w4NSUV41J5-_KWxOhMRnW6bz1s9hL-OrO5M94JXOfabvUsL6d93uQyil4FNHPKE4M/s1600/girl+with+lice+modern.jpg"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgKN_dNIl3VcTmhucZuAPJZy47zKvHBB2b8eQAUsjt26Eb6DKgn6JlaBm11i7fORqKN0w6W2RrZPt0w4NSUV41J5-_KWxOhMRnW6bz1s9hL-OrO5M94JXOfabvUsL6d93uQyil4FNHPKE4M/s200/girl+with+lice+modern.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5453030999655691682" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 156px; height: 200px; " /></a></span></i></span></i></span></p><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#663366;"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: normal; "><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><br /></span></i></span></i></span></div> <p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#663366;"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"> <o:p></o:p></span></i></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#663366;"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">Eliza wasn’t like the other girls in her class. Some things about her were different..like her pretty grey eyes and her long hair..and the million lice that called it their home. The lice would jump around merrily while Shanu watched in fascination. It was like a little kingdom on her friend’s head. A couple of huge ones were called King and Queen while the chotu motus were the servants.</span></i></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#663366;"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"> <o:p></o:p></span></i></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#663366;"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">While Shanu played with Eliza and her lice, Shanu’s mommy spent a fortune buying Medicare to get rid of the lice that Shanu merrily brought home with her everyday. A million shampoos and 3 complaint letters to Medicare (to complain about the poor quality of their products) later, her mom gave up. Finally, it was time for the schools to close for summer and the lice finally left Shanu’s head in peace.</span></i></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#663366;"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"> </span></i></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#336666;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">“You don’t remember me?? We were bench partners in Std III after which I moved to Canada. We were together again in Std IX remember?”</span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#336666;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"> </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#333399;"><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">Searching….Eliza….Eliza..Std IX</span></b></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#663366;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">Std IX</span></span></i></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#663366;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">Shanu looked at the new girl who walked up to her in the canteen..she didn’t look like she was new here. The girl squealed “Shanu, don’t tell me you don’t recognize me!! I am Eliza..we were in the same class in Std III”</span></span></i></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#663366;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">Shanu gave her a broad smile while her brain started hunting through the various names she had stored under Std III.</span></span></i></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><br /></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#663366;"><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">Searching….Eliza….Eliza..</span></b></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><br /></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#663366;"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">“Uff, this heat is making my hair all ichy and irritating the lice in my hair.” She said.</span></i></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"> <span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#663366;"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">Shanu, who no longer found lice and their kingdom fascinating, suddenly remembered Eliza and the bottles of Medicare. Medicare smelled yucky..no way was she spending another school year using Medicare to shampoo her hair. No, she was way too cool for that. </span></i></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#663366;"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"> <o:p></o:p></span></i></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#663366;"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">That year, the school was buzzing with gossip about the not so new girl Eliza with the mini Lice kingdom in her head, who would remove her socks the minute she entered the class and folded her skirt an inch above the mandatory length. All this in an effort to fit in..and yet nothing was done about the lice and the havoc it played in the life of her bench partner that year.</span></i></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#663366;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"> </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#000099;"><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">Search ended…486897 memories found</span></b></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"> <span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">I beamed “Ahh Eliza, of course I remember you” I said, while I stared at her in surprise. Her beautiful hair framed her heart shaped face and her grey eyes twinkled when she smiled.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">I quietly moved from the seat next to her to the seat opposite. It was a great ride back home that day… with loads of catching up and trading loads of gossip about all our ex school mates. I reached home, Medicare in hand, pleasant and happy memories rekindled and most importantly, with the old, not so pleasant ones deleted. :)</span></p>Shanuhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18348099109882967131noreply@blogger.com70tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4339508439569326388.post-77711331839540339032010-03-24T18:56:00.006+05:302010-07-14T22:31:59.636+05:30Mood :o(<div style="text-align: center; color: rgb(0, 102, 0);">Date: 20.3.2010</div><div style="text-align: center; color: rgb(0, 102, 0);"><br />Status: 98 Followers<br /><br />Mood:<br /><div style="text-align: center;"><img src="http://i25.tinypic.com/xo13k8.jpg" alt="blogger-emoticon.blogspot.com" title="blogger-emoticon.blogspot.com" /><img src="http://i25.tinypic.com/xo13k8.jpg" alt="blogger-emoticon.blogspot.com" title="blogger-emoticon.blogspot.com" /><img src="http://i25.tinypic.com/xo13k8.jpg" alt="blogger-emoticon.blogspot.com" title="blogger-emoticon.blogspot.com" /></div><br />Date : 21.3.2010<br /><br />Status: 99 Followers<br /><br />Mood:<br /><br /><img src="http://i28.tinypic.com/16ixhn5.jpg" alt="blogger-emoticon.blogspot.com" title="blogger-emoticon.blogspot.com" /><img src="http://i28.tinypic.com/16ixhn5.jpg" alt="blogger-emoticon.blogspot.com" title="blogger-emoticon.blogspot.com" /><img src="http://i28.tinypic.com/16ixhn5.jpg" alt="blogger-emoticon.blogspot.com" title="blogger-emoticon.blogspot.com" /><img src="http://i28.tinypic.com/16ixhn5.jpg" alt="blogger-emoticon.blogspot.com" title="blogger-emoticon.blogspot.com" /><br /><br /><br />Date: 22.3.2010<br /><br />Status: 98 Followers<br /><br />Mood:<br /><br /><img src="http://i25.tinypic.com/2v92aok.jpg" alt="blogger-emoticon.blogspot.com" title="blogger-emoticon.blogspot.com" /><img src="http://i25.tinypic.com/2v92aok.jpg" alt="blogger-emoticon.blogspot.com" title="blogger-emoticon.blogspot.com" /><img src="http://i25.tinypic.com/2v92aok.jpg" alt="blogger-emoticon.blogspot.com" title="blogger-emoticon.blogspot.com" /><img src="http://i25.tinypic.com/2v92aok.jpg" alt="blogger-emoticon.blogspot.com" title="blogger-emoticon.blogspot.com" /><br /><br />Date: 23.3.2010<br /><br />Status: 98 Followers<br /><br />Mood:<br /><br /><img src="http://i27.tinypic.com/244pb3c.jpg" alt="blogger-emoticon.blogspot.com" title="blogger-emoticon.blogspot.com" /><img src="http://i27.tinypic.com/244pb3c.jpg" alt="blogger-emoticon.blogspot.com" title="blogger-emoticon.blogspot.com" /><img src="http://i27.tinypic.com/244pb3c.jpg" alt="blogger-emoticon.blogspot.com" title="blogger-emoticon.blogspot.com" /><img src="http://i27.tinypic.com/244pb3c.jpg" alt="blogger-emoticon.blogspot.com" title="blogger-emoticon.blogspot.com" /><br /><br /><br />Date: 24.3.2010<br /><br />Status: 97 Followers<br /><br />Mood:<br /><br /><img src="http://i27.tinypic.com/2d3las.jpg" alt="blogger-emoticon.blogspot.com" title="blogger-emoticon.blogspot.com" /><img src="http://i27.tinypic.com/2d3las.jpg" alt="blogger-emoticon.blogspot.com" title="blogger-emoticon.blogspot.com" /><img src="http://i27.tinypic.com/2d3las.jpg" alt="blogger-emoticon.blogspot.com" title="blogger-emoticon.blogspot.com" /><img src="http://i27.tinypic.com/2d3las.jpg" alt="blogger-emoticon.blogspot.com" title="blogger-emoticon.blogspot.com" /><br /><br /><br />Have my recent posts been so pathetic that people have now started unfollowing me?? Was the reducing comment count, a beginning of the end??<br /><br /><img src="http://i25.tinypic.com/2qvz9j7.jpg" alt="blogger-emoticon.blogspot.com" title="blogger-emoticon.blogspot.com" /><br /></div><i style="color: rgb(0, 102, 0);"><br /></i><div style="text-align: center; color: rgb(0, 102, 0);"><i>Tadap tadap ke iss dil se aah nikalti rahi</i><br /></div><div style="text-align: center; color: rgb(0, 102, 0);"><i>Hume sazadi bakwaas ki, aisa kya gunha kiya</i><br /><i>Ki number of comments gir gaye, haan gir gaye,</i><br /><i>Saath lekar kar gaye, kuch followers bhi :o(</i><br /></div><br /><br /><br /><div style="text-align: center; color: rgb(0, 102, 0);"><img src="http://i31.tinypic.com/2hmq1kw.jpg" alt="blogger-emoticon.blogspot.com" title="blogger-emoticon.blogspot.com" /><img src="http://i31.tinypic.com/2hmq1kw.jpg" alt="blogger-emoticon.blogspot.com" title="blogger-emoticon.blogspot.com" /><img src="http://i31.tinypic.com/2hmq1kw.jpg" alt="blogger-emoticon.blogspot.com" title="blogger-emoticon.blogspot.com" /><img src="http://i31.tinypic.com/2hmq1kw.jpg" alt="blogger-emoticon.blogspot.com" title="blogger-emoticon.blogspot.com" /></div><div style="text-align: center; color: rgb(0, 102, 0);"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;color: rgb(0, 102, 0); "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;color: rgb(0, 102, 0); "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;">P.S: This is not a pathetic plea for enticing new followers. I hope this post doesn't get me sympathy followers..that would be worse than having no followers at all!!</span></span></div>Shanuhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18348099109882967131noreply@blogger.com50tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4339508439569326388.post-76182013395669613302010-03-10T21:56:00.008+05:302010-07-14T22:31:29.561+05:30The Thing called Love....<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj38KMkDPfZOu7O6lq0CcUJfQR1PUMVi7TRpLAu4yTu6pRsC_vQdL_LHz5NyYiDYMNMrzLDdhmuy71Hq3bEGIxxhet3mQSETamvRGefr3RRO7tisliDBX2ieLsar9mbEGylB86eqv9yuERk/s1600-h/thing-called-love.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 199px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj38KMkDPfZOu7O6lq0CcUJfQR1PUMVi7TRpLAu4yTu6pRsC_vQdL_LHz5NyYiDYMNMrzLDdhmuy71Hq3bEGIxxhet3mQSETamvRGefr3RRO7tisliDBX2ieLsar9mbEGylB86eqv9yuERk/s200/thing-called-love.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5447068884854772706" /></a><br /><div style="text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" ;font-size:16px;"><div style="text-align: justify; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" ;font-size:small;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" ;font-size:small;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" ;font-size:small;">PDAs disgust me and an overdose of mushiness makes me wanna throw up. Rounds of light hearted banter, loads of teasing and listening to the same stories a million times later , realization dawns..</span></div><div style="text-align: justify; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" ;font-size:small;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify; "><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" ;font-size:small;">Love makes people do weird things.......</span></i></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><i><br /></i></span></div></span></span></span></div><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" ;font-family:arial;font-size:small;"><div style="text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">I stood in the overcrowded bus waiting for someone to offer me a seat. Two love birds sat on the seat in front of me coochie cooing away to glory. Suddenly the girl sneezed. Rescued her hand out of her boyfriend's clutches, wiped the snot off her face and thrust the hand back into her boyfriend's hand. I managed to stifle a laugh when realization dawned...</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">Love makes me (and definitely the people in love ) sick...</span></i></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">Surrounded by friends who cry at movies, I pride myself in the fact that I dont lose control over my emotions that easily. Bored out of my mind with nothing productive to do, I bought my first romantic novel 'PS. I love you', and cried through the whole book, when realization dawned..</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" ;font-size:small;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">Love makes my heart melt....</span></i></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">I listened unbelievingly when they spoke of how love made their world go round. I tutted disapprovingly, when they tried to steal secret glances at the object of their affection, wondering why they had to behave like lunatics. Then Chimpu walked into my life and realization dawned...</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" ;font-size:small;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">Love makes me go weak in my knees....</span></i></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">I watched as you fought with him and called him names. And I watched as you made up. I listened to you calling him Chikdipie and he calling you Chikdipoo. I watched as he called your HUGE behind small and as you called his cigarette smoke stained smile intoxicating. I watched as you laughed at his sad jokes and realization dawned....</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">Love makes people in love go blind but the people around them see things clearly :P</span></i></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: normal;"><br /></span></i></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" font-style: normal; font-family:Georgia, serif;font-size:16px;"><div style="text-align: justify; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" ;font-size:small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">My friend called me all excited at 2 in the morning. </span></span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" ;font-size:small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">He asked me out...he asked me out</span></span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" ;font-size:small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">, she yelled.</span></span></div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;font-size:small;"><div style="text-align: justify; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" ;font-size:small;">Duh, when a guy calls you at 11 every night and talks to you about nothing at all till the wee hours of the morning, it is very very evident that he likes you and might ask you out. But is it worth spoiling my beauty sleep? I think not.</span></div><div style="text-align: justify; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" ;font-size:small;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" ;font-size:small;">But yes, as a understanding and supportive friend I heard her jibber jabber for an hour before <span class="Apple-style-span" style=" ;font-size:16px;"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" font-style: normal; font-family:Georgia, serif;font-size:16px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;font-size:small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" ;font-size:small;">realization<span class="Apple-style-span" style=" ;font-size:16px;"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" font-style: normal; font-family:Georgia, serif;font-size:16px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;font-size:small;"><div style="text-align: justify; display: inline !important; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" ;font-size:small;"> dawned...</span></div></span></span></span></i></span></span></span></span></span></i></span></span></div><div style="text-align: justify; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" ;font-size:small;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify; "><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" ;font-size:small;">Love makes me sleepy.... :P</span></i></div><div style="text-align: justify; "><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" ;font-size:small;"><br /></span></i></div><div style="text-align: justify; "><i><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">P.S: Chimpu is a product of my imagination...just like everything else on this blog....this note is addressed to everyone who wants to know who Chimpu is...</span></span></i></div></span></span></span></i></div></span>Shanuhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18348099109882967131noreply@blogger.com59tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4339508439569326388.post-16631409212001841992010-03-04T21:46:00.006+05:302010-07-14T22:32:32.056+05:30A summery tale.....<div style="text-align: center;"><u><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#330033;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><br /></span></span></span></u></div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#330033;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><br /></span></span></span><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjlQ9JyaTAyfWKCtsLbCRrozUDYD21c_Q62GZpDU_AuaYUOutx-gc_WzPrOhUxIU2yKy77r6hr9OXua3_YSz381k_5-TmUMWKfXHF8Q2gjK_Yh3zjgknLj3hcmI-TAC44bHQMAt3DEjNllR/s1600-h/cartoon_sun_st61.gif"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 200px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjlQ9JyaTAyfWKCtsLbCRrozUDYD21c_Q62GZpDU_AuaYUOutx-gc_WzPrOhUxIU2yKy77r6hr9OXua3_YSz381k_5-TmUMWKfXHF8Q2gjK_Yh3zjgknLj3hcmI-TAC44bHQMAt3DEjNllR/s200/cartoon_sun_st61.gif" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5444814432947213922" /></a><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#330033;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><br /></span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" ;font-family:arial;font-size:small;"><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#330033;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#330033;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><br /></span></span></div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#330033;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">Little Shanu was never the sporty types. Eating, reading and watching TV was all she did during her summer, Diwali and Christmas vacations. The more she lazed around, the paler and rounder she got. On the rare occasions that she ventured out, she was affectionately called Potli (bundle) by the kids in her locality. Little Shanu didn't care. She was happy being round and pale as long as she could laze around.</span></span><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#330033;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#330033;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">Shanu's mommy was worried. She never wanted a pale milky child. She craved for some hint of brown, some hint of red in Shanu's cheeks. She tried pestering Shanu to go out and play. But Shanu was a stubborn child. She refused to go out and play in the sun. </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0); "><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#330033;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">Its too hot to play Ma</span></span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#330033;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">, she wailed. Worried, her mom called Shanu's nani for help.</span></span></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#330033;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#330033;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">"</span></span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#330033;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">Dont worry, Main hoon na</span></span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#330033;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">" Nani smiled and presented Shanu with a bright pink cycle the next day.</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#330033;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#330033;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">The cycle was the most beautiful thing Shanu had ever laid her eyes on. It had a tiny flower basket with a Barbie doll picture. The handles had shiny festoons, while the tyres had shiny beads. Shanu was thrilled. The summer heat didn't seem to bother her anymore and she pulled her cycle out onto the road. The trainer wheels made riding the cycle easy and within no time she was zipping around the complex. Shanu started spending hours out in the sun whizzing by on her cycle. She turned a beautiful shade of brown, mommy was happy and the complex found a new cycling champion.</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#330033;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><br /></span></span></div><div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiIKTsegx3K2Z_W4h9Ah16dmXUzpg8TbJCEcRkWuV_4M61QGO1AFxD5xYTYpURNpagL_sUg7s7i_PSJ1SGUNsSh64U2oBbYHPMNiGx5OKnNB4pkw-ihthBmbSJCVOop1nSBuxdDsoVAcuDB/s1600-h/bike_cartoon.gif"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiIKTsegx3K2Z_W4h9Ah16dmXUzpg8TbJCEcRkWuV_4M61QGO1AFxD5xYTYpURNpagL_sUg7s7i_PSJ1SGUNsSh64U2oBbYHPMNiGx5OKnNB4pkw-ihthBmbSJCVOop1nSBuxdDsoVAcuDB/s200/bike_cartoon.gif" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5444814441474885954" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 194px; height: 200px; " /></a></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#330033;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#330033;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#330033;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">All good things come to an end and so did this summer vacation. As Shanu pulled her cycle out for one last spin that day, she eyed the long winding road that she didnt dare take all those days. The uphill road was extremely steep and Little Shanu was scared. But she decided to take her chance that day.</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#330033;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#330033;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">As she pedaled uphill, sweat pouring down her face, she realized why this road was never used by the other kids in the locality. The ride uphill was very tiring and the top seemed to be nowhere in sight. But ride downhill promised to be </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#330033;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">exhilarating and little Shanu pedaled on. B</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#330033;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">y the time she reached the top she was completely exhausted.</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#330033;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#330033;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">The ride downhill was something she had never experienced. The steepness of the road ensured that she didnt have to pedal at all. The wind swept her hair as she swooshed down the road. She felt like a Bollywood heroine with her hair blowing gracefully behind her and the sun kissing her cheeks.The speed thrilled her and she went into a trance. </span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#330033;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#330033;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">Her reverie was broken by cries of "</span></span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#330033;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">Aaga baya sambhal..kuthe bagtes</span></span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#330033;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">". (Watch where you are going!). By the time Shanu convinced her herself that she wasnt Aishwarya Rai, it was too late. She saw a lady carrying a pot of water standing a couple of yards away shouting herself hoarse.</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#330033;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#330033;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">Shanu panicked. </span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#330033;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#330033;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">She started shouting back "</span></span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#330033;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">Utha samorun utha</span></span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#330033;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">" (Move aside). </span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#330033;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#330033;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">The lady was in no mood to budge. Ignoring the obvious danger, she decided this was the perfect time to give Shanu cycling lessons. "</span></span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#330033;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">Brake maar na pori"</span></span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#330033;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"> she screamed back.</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#330033;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#330033;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">Shanu drew a blank. </span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#330033;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#330033;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">Brake? Pedal? Handle? Woh kya hota hai??</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#330033;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#330033;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">The lady's horrified expression was the last thing Shanu saw, before the cycle came to a screeching halt. </span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#330033;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><br /></span></span></div><div><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#330033;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">By lodging itself between the poor lady's legs!!</span></span></i></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#330033;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#330033;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">Shanu's mommy's wish of a red cheek wali daughter was finally fulfilled and it wasn't just embarrassment that caused Shanu's cheeks to turn scarlet that day ;)</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#330033;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#330033;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">Any wonder then, that Shanu doesn't cycle anymore??</span></span></div></span>Shanuhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18348099109882967131noreply@blogger.com43tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4339508439569326388.post-77193929518162329462010-02-28T13:32:00.006+05:302010-07-14T22:31:59.637+05:30Any one missed me….??<div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#0000EE;"><u><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><br /></span></u></span></div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><br /></span><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#0000EE;"><u><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><br /></span></u></span></div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><br /></span><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#0000EE;"><u><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><br /></span></u></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><u><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><br /></span></u></div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEidUc9anJHKuGkzPfKpnukQ4ce-6FJhTh3za3IST6k-i_IJGb1DspR42HEnHsghfALUOdumrLBsqnk3fEluBsFVAY2BTj3trFyEIwM4OuW8gNnZYF5UtnzjH4-fQ2x_OO_WiYTNF2RRdPyI/s1600-h/mia.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 151px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEidUc9anJHKuGkzPfKpnukQ4ce-6FJhTh3za3IST6k-i_IJGb1DspR42HEnHsghfALUOdumrLBsqnk3fEluBsFVAY2BTj3trFyEIwM4OuW8gNnZYF5UtnzjH4-fQ2x_OO_WiYTNF2RRdPyI/s200/mia.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5443214251101916434" /></a><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><br /></span><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" ;font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">I have been MIA from my blog for close to a month now. Not that anyone noticed :(</span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><o:p><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">Everyday I would open my mailbox hoping to find emails asking me where I was….why wasnt I posting...emails telling me how my writing was missed and how they would do anything to see me post again. But Afsoos!! No one noticed my absence, no one missed my bakwaas...no emails..not even a comment :( </span></span></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><o:p><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" ;font-family:Georgia, serif;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgSEFisXauCCYObxQZnL6V5rRVKUNk7s1ruzMTcqzTAfWnwuqribNu-5gbQUZwXN9AEKCHoqGH1aFFhx_Je2DUqGO5uQlD4GL4bmkpBEmZK7D360EdXzZtXGl3dVkBHTZ1Ps24yfkWpDesJ/s1600-h/1200474800_1.jpg"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgSEFisXauCCYObxQZnL6V5rRVKUNk7s1ruzMTcqzTAfWnwuqribNu-5gbQUZwXN9AEKCHoqGH1aFFhx_Je2DUqGO5uQlD4GL4bmkpBEmZK7D360EdXzZtXGl3dVkBHTZ1Ps24yfkWpDesJ/s200/1200474800_1.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5443214253163286706" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 150px; " /></a></span></span></o:p></p><div><o:p><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><br /></span></span></o:p></div> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">This is enough for any self respecting blogger to mend her ways and stop bloggin bakwaas. Infact, it did occur to me, that I could start writing poems (I am pretty good at rhyming, you can check out the creative gems strewn around in my and Bluntu's comment section) or I could start writing dark gory stuff (I have tried that once) or I could write </span></span><s><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">fairy tales</span></span></s><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"> vampire tales (love Twilight series by Stephanie Meyer)..but then that puts the people around me at risk. With no place to vent out all the bakwaas energy I have, I tend to torture people around me with my bakwaas stories. I am single mouthedly responsible for my mom losing nearly half her hair, for P losing her hearing and for R suffering a concussion (she banged her head on the wall in frustration).</span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">So, in favor of everyone I love and adore, I decided to go a youth festival organised by the local church, where I could diffuse some of my energy around. All youngsters were invited to be a part of this fun filled weekend where we were stayed in make shift camps and learned to cook, sing and dance. Volunteering for those 2 days made me overcome some of my greatest fears..stage fright and fear of babies..and gave me a amazing set of new friends. I emerged out of this experience a better, more confident person...or so I thought. It was at an outing with these newly found friends last week that terror struck.</span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">There we were enjoying a noisy, fun filled dinner when our laughter caught the attention of a really cute baby on the table behind us. My friends started coochie cooing the baby and filled with newly found bravado, I joined in. The mom was more than delighted to pack the kid off to our table while she cosied up with her husband. My friends started feeding the kiddo cheesy pasta while I sat at a distance, smiling and waving at intervals.</span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><br /></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><i><span style="color:black;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">Big Mistake. <o:p></o:p></span></span></span></i></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">One jhalak of my smile and the child was smitten. Waving a fork, he struggled to get into my arms. A child with cheesy pasta stuck to a fork didn’t really look like good news to me and I tried my best to avoid getting close to him. His beady eyes filled with tears and he threatened to bawl any minute.</span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" ;font-family:Georgia, serif;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjZajJ7hfNSYQIGa50X6wLJBsx-ssCAJQ4dI8C0xSXEAmrZLxuGFD-m_2BaopwsA9Z0wi63tgV87YV6xriLAiu-3y2oJF07aGllQn-mX0r4GmjvcnbP7KoDx2KxfKflikwjHxQ7j6SLwt-/s1600-h/Baby-with-spoon-dinosaurs-99419_362_421.jpg"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjZajJ7hfNSYQIGa50X6wLJBsx-ssCAJQ4dI8C0xSXEAmrZLxuGFD-m_2BaopwsA9Z0wi63tgV87YV6xriLAiu-3y2oJF07aGllQn-mX0r4GmjvcnbP7KoDx2KxfKflikwjHxQ7j6SLwt-/s200/Baby-with-spoon-dinosaurs-99419_362_421.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5443214917154917074" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 172px; height: 200px; " /></a></span></span></p><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><br /></span></span></div> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="color:black;"><o:p><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"> </span></span></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="color:black;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">"Oh come on, he is only a kid....kya kar lega woh" my new found friends chided.<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="color:black;"><o:p><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"> </span></span></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><i><span style="color:black;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">I now know what they mean by peer pressure..it sure makes you do weird things.<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></i></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="color:black;"><o:p><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"> </span></span></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="color:black;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">Unwillingly, I took the kiddo in my arms. <o:p></o:p></span></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">He smiled an angelic smile.</span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">And poked the fork right into my hair.</span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="color:black;"><o:p><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"> </span></span></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="color:black;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">A fork filled with kiddie drool and cheesy pasta stuck in my beautifully blow dried hair. His smile turned to giggles and yes, my </span></span><s><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">friends,</span></span></s><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"> </span></span><s><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">colleagues, </span></span></s><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">acquaintances joined in too. I am now known as Cheesy head in my new found circle.<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">So I am back to with my bakwaas to Fullon, the only place where no one laughs at me, where I can share my most embarrassing stories without feeling embarrassed.</span></span></p><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhT6zzDrRB-4k4synJhUOO1zEdPpqNyGg2xR34rTtm-r8EWyOeK9aIxzAa-xOQSf3cWUQrT5v_rkWTSgFpMXdtg_doMRZ0mPsjqwJ0l6xCGze6KsEhyphenhyphen_RlxSjRVdMhKtGa4nadM6qsj7B68/s1600-h/be-yourself.jpg"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhT6zzDrRB-4k4synJhUOO1zEdPpqNyGg2xR34rTtm-r8EWyOeK9aIxzAa-xOQSf3cWUQrT5v_rkWTSgFpMXdtg_doMRZ0mPsjqwJ0l6xCGze6KsEhyphenhyphen_RlxSjRVdMhKtGa4nadM6qsj7B68/s200/be-yourself.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5443214910169471906" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 133px; " /></a></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">Its a place I miss even though it doesn’t miss me, its a place where I can be me. Where people accept me for the Bakwaas I shell out, where no one expects me to change and write serious writer type posts.</span></span></div> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">This is my 51st post. Still have another guest post to go. But the guest is a ghost. He comes online late at nights when poor little me is fast asleep. Plus, he is too caught up at work and has no time to write a post. The ghost who works!!</span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">So I decided to give Mr Ghost a break and post the 51st myself.</span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">Ghostie, you are now azaad to write whenever you have the time. Thanks for being an amazing friend. </span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">You rock :)</span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style=" ;color:black;"><o:p><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"> </span></o:p></span></p>Shanuhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18348099109882967131noreply@blogger.com33tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4339508439569326388.post-49057449611609711532010-02-04T23:00:00.003+05:302010-07-14T22:31:29.561+05:30Broken Toe Nails, A Sprained neck and The 49th post<div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#0000EE;"><u><br /></u></span></div><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" ;font-family:arial;font-size:small;"><div><div><div><p class="MsoNormal"><span class="apple-style-span"><s><span style=" ;color:black;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;">Its been 6 months since I started my blogging journey</span></span></s></span><span class="apple-style-span"><span style=" ;color:black;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"> </span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#CC33CC;">Typical</span></span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=" ;color:black;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"> <o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><s><span style=" ;color:black;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;">Wow my 49th post, I never thought I would reach this far</span></span></s><span style=" ;color:black;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"> </span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#CC66CC;">Boring</span></span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=" ;color:black;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"> <o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><s><span style=" ;color:black;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;">I am choked with emotions as I write my 49th post</span></span></s><s><span style=" ;color:black;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"> </span></span></s><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#CC66CC;">49 th post hai, Booker winning speech nahi</span></span></i><span style=" ;color:black;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#CC66CC;"><br /></span></span></i></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=" ;color:black;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"> <o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#CC66CC;">Umm..lets try writing something in third person....</span></span></i><span style=" ;color:black;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=" ;color:black;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"> <o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoBodyText"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;">What started as a way to ward off boredom has now become an integral part of Shanu's life. <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=" ;color:black;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"> <o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=" ;color:black;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;">Shanu the drama queen obviously wants some drama..48 posts..8 months of blogging and yet she cant come up with a dhansu 49th post. <o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=" ;color:black;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"> <o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=" ;color:black;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;">The last couple of weeks haven’t been very kind to her.. </span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#CC66CC;">Attention seeker</span></span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=" ;color:black;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"> <o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=" ;color:black;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;">Playing bridesmaid at her best friend’s wedding ended with Shanu nursing a broken toe nail which still mars the beauty of her pretty feet...A lady dressed to kill (with her razor sharp stilettos) </span><s><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;">poked</span></s><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"> </span><s><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;">crushed</span></s><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"> stamped on Shanu's toe. Its been 2 weeks now and yet the poor toe refuses to heal.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style=" ;color:black;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, serif; "><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEixQRC6u3csPh8tXXYqC6iLqijfAwuzT_5AhSV8JUyFnIE5mcmKtQyuKrB32LXpuoFJJp0Bc7UzjYjv9mJ5TYan9CgPfkqTu2abNiDLk8qSabsahZQ4HnJNCkkp3tfOUwiLgda3lRPv7kn1/s1600-h/pedicure-rmg-news.jpg"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEixQRC6u3csPh8tXXYqC6iLqijfAwuzT_5AhSV8JUyFnIE5mcmKtQyuKrB32LXpuoFJJp0Bc7UzjYjv9mJ5TYan9CgPfkqTu2abNiDLk8qSabsahZQ4HnJNCkkp3tfOUwiLgda3lRPv7kn1/s200/pedicure-rmg-news.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5434445885616920962" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 133px; height: 200px; " /></a></span></span></span></p><div><span style=" ;color:black;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><br /></span></span></div><p class="MsoNormal"><span style=" ;color:black;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><br /></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=" ;color:black;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"> <o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=" ;color:black;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;">A rickshaw trip to Thane for her friend's mehndi ended with Shanu nursing a sore neck...</span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#CC66CC;">The rickwala (obviously a Schumacher fan with his fake Ferrari jacket ) was someone who treated speed breakers as a device to check if his rick could fly. Me thinks, if need be, he will even manage to fly across a half built flyover like Sandra Bullock in Speed….Now if only he were half as cute as Keanu :)</span></span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=" ;color:black;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"> <o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=" ;color:black;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;">Her weekly trips to the doctor give her ample opportunity to come up with something creative, something brilliant, something befitting of a 49th post but yet when she decides to write, she ends up with nothing...<o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=" ;color:black;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"> <o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=" ;color:black;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;">Fullon Bakwaas was the only high point in her otherwise non happening life..Her bakwaas found a new target and made life bearable for the people around her....Striking friendships was never on her mind.. and yet she managed to 'make fraaandship' with many amazing bloggers...She wrote some good posts and some really bad ones but yet her blogger friends never failed to light up her blog with their amazing comments. </span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#CC66CC;">Thank you Ashley, Mindey, Bluntu, Riddhi for being such amazing sports...my comment section wouldn't be half as interesting without you guys..</span></span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=" ;color:black;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"> <o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=" ;color:black;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"> <o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=" ;color:black;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;">She reads amazing posts by some of her friends and wonders why cant she come up with something half as good..</span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#CC66CC;">Check out the blogs I follow..They are all wow!</span></span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=" ;color:black;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"> <o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=" ;color:black;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;">As she writes this she knows that although this post will go down in history as a super pakkau post, her friends and their comments will ensure that anyone who comes here for a laugh doesn’t leave without one.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=" ;color:black;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"> <o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=" ;color:black;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;">Coming up with something dhansu for her 50th and 51st post fills her with dread.... but being super intelligent she decides to do what she does best…Delegate ;)<o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=" ;color:black;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"> <o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=" ;color:black;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;">She gives fullon emotional torture to 2 of the greatest bloggers on Bloggerville and convinces them to write guest posts for Fullon :)<o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=" ;color:black;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"> <o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=" ;color:black;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;">So keep your eyes peeled for some Not so Bakwaas (read brilliant) stuff coming your way on Fullon Bakwaas in the next couple of weeks. </span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p></div></div></div></span>Shanuhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18348099109882967131noreply@blogger.com47