tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-36609655275167667032024-03-19T01:23:24.041-07:00The Bipolar Being Ishita Dutthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16485138086806880091noreply@blogger.comBlogger34125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3660965527516766703.post-38016392369687440212017-04-21T10:11:00.000-07:002017-04-23T04:11:05.276-07:00The Science Of Happiness (Not A Book Review)<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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I just completed reading The Science of Happiness by Stefan
Klein and first chapter into the book I decided that this needs to be stuff of
common knowledge. We spend our whole lives seeking happiness. Almost everything
we do is to attain a sense of satisfaction and joy. No one ever wants to be
sad. Yet we put dismal amount of effort to actually be happy. We keep expecting
good things to happen to us without realizing that “good” is objective and
happiness is more a state-of-mind than a state-of-life. <o:p></o:p></div>
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This book puts forward the neuroscience behind many of our
concepts about happiness, sadness, satisfaction, love and desire. Translating
everything into layman language I am going to interpret some general concepts
about happiness that many of you might already know to be too ingrained in our
minds that we forget the logical background of these, taking them for granted
and preventing ourselves to actually follow them in our daily lives. <o:p></o:p></div>
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<b>We have a happiness system</b>. </div>
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This means that happiness is not
simply the absence of sadness, but it is something to be practiced despite the
continuous struggles of life. Adult brain continues to change. Every time we
gain new experiences, like reading a book, indulging in a hobby or going on a
trip, new connections are forged in our network of nerve cells. What this
implies is that no one is born a “Sunday’s child”, we can all learn to channel our energy. Connections in our brain determine how we feel and they are more
easily formed in childhood. Genes too affect our ability to be happy, but only
as much as destiny affects our life. WE CAN CHANGE IT. </div>
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Since environment shapes
an organism, brain can reprogram itself. <o:p></o:p></div>
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In order to control our feelings, we must first be aware of
them. We feel a lot of emotions without analyzing the why or how of it. It is
same as saying you have to accept your weaknesses to conquer it. Emotions are
unconscious and beyond our control, but feelings, the realization of these
emotions, can well be manipulated. But manipulating the brain is quite a task.
The “All Is Well” theory actually works, but it takes skill and continued
monitoring of emotions to deceive the master. Human beings don’t understand
reason, they understand feelings. How many times have you taken a decision
impulsively somehow knowing it is harmful? It is thus important to know the
root of all our feelings and then reason with ourselves. <o:p></o:p></div>
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<b>Positive feelings can extinguish negative ones and
vice-versa</b>. </div>
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However, they sometimes occur together. In such times we have to choose
which side we allow to take over. <o:p></o:p></div>
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The feedback system of pleasure and stress are connected.
The expectation of pleasure can work in direct opposition to the things that
are upsetting us. If you’re having a bad day at college, the pretext of going
home and watching your favorite TV show can lighten up your mood. We can use
this to our benefit in a lot of situations. Rewarding yourself with a cupcake
after two hours of study can increase your productivity. Little joys that don’t
usually matter a lot can still get the expectation system working and help ooze
stress. <o:p></o:p></div>
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There are specific areas in the brain that control
negative and positive emotions, thus reinforcing the idea that both can occur
at the same time. When we control our negative feelings we increase the
activity on the left side of our brain that is responsible for positive
emotions. This sets a chain reaction in motion and we eventually learn to
harbor positivity and shun negativity. Slowly, happiness can become a habit.
But if we keep indulging in self-doubt and negativity, sadness can also become
a habit.<br />
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<o:p></o:p></div>
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<b>Having focus can help us practice control over almost all our
habits</b>. </div>
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For example, if you have a bad direction sense, paying attention only to the routes instead of the song playing in your car or the argument breaking
out next to it, will help you memorize the routes slowly but
definitely. <o:p></o:p></div>
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Similarly, when we focus on pain, the changes in the cerebral cortex
make us still more sensitive to suffering. The perception of pain is atleast
partially learned. <o:p></o:p></div>
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<b>Passions and Desires </b></div>
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In nature they are all good and we only
have to avoid misuse and excess. That can happen only by becoming familiar. Animals
experience emotions just like human beings but we have the added skill set
required to resist our emotions and desires whether due to family pressure or
just so that we can focus our time on our careers.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<b>Human beings are never satisfied.</b> </div>
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What we want only makes us
more hungry. There is an expectation system mechanism which releases excitement
at the sight of something we want. However when this process is repeated over a
certain time span, the expectation system gets used to the object and we want
more of it or something else apart from it. Stronger stimulation is then
required to activate the expectation system. This explains the theory that
happiness and satisfaction are two very different but correlated terms. It is
possible to be happy yet unsatisfied and vice-versa. <o:p></o:p></div>
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“But when we are open to different pleasures instead of <i>stronger</i> ones, the sense of delight is restored, and when the contrast is well chosen, our enjoyment is even more intense than before.”<o:p></o:p></div>
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There is a<b> Robinson Crusoe </b>theory, wherein writing down the
good and bad things in our life side by side makes us realize that it could
have been worse, that it is better to hold on to what we have and try to be
satisfied.<br />
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<o:p><br /></o:p></div>
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These are all concepts and techniques to tame the mind. However, happiness is different for all of us. Learning the science behind it can give us a better perspective but we still need to work towards it. </div>
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"There are 6 billion people on earth, and there are 6 billion paths to happiness"</div>
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Ishita Dutthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16485138086806880091noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3660965527516766703.post-74338261863894357822017-02-27T19:38:00.000-08:002017-02-27T19:38:45.042-08:00The Bitter Truth <div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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Trying to understand human emotions is like watching people on a Columbus. They look like a crazy bunch screaming on the top of their voices but it's only when you sit there yourself that you truly comprehend what it feels like to lose control of yourself and the screams are no longer singular beats of crazy excitement. They are reverberation of fear, uncertainty, ecstacy, energy, dizziness and the pathetic dedication to hold on, to be brave. When you sit for more rounds the ratio of fear over joy (for loss of more diverse terms) keeps diminishing. In human life too all the “firsts” are a lot more scary, a lot more painful and definitely more regretful than the “nexts”. This thought makes me look at the concept of enlightenment in a whole new light (pun intended). Gautam Budha perhaps achieved enlightenment when his ratio of joy over fear was infinity. <br />
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Most of us never dare sit on the Columbus again. A person like me would never achieve that stage where the sky kissing my face would make me “one with myself” and so for people like me the ratios of life will always only change marginally; never drastically enough to be guided out of this labyrinth.<br />
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At the center of this labyrinth is love. From here you might find the right way out or you might fall deeper and deeper back into the shadows. Who knows if you’ll ever get rescued then? It all depends on the people you love. Some will leave you to figure out your fate on your own. Some will hold your hand, unafraid of toil and suffering for as long as you promise them your own self. But what if you are too deeply lost to promise anybody anything that you don’t have possession of? Why are we expected to provide others the very thing we are in pursuit of?<br />
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This is why I believe it is most important in life to love yourself to an extent that nobody else’s love could bend or mend you. You do need your family, friends and lovers. But the person you need the most is you. <br />
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The dream is to have such power and control over your life, to be so self-sufficient that you don’t suffer anymore. And then in fact we can love more selflessly, without the baggage of getting ourselves hurt or hurting others. We can then look at people as they are, understand and accept their flaws and eventually learn to love better. Loving better for me means to put aside the pain and helplessness that is implicit in the act of loving. When you are happy and responsible for your happiness, you can carry anybody else’s sadness on your shoulders like a feather. What a wonderful, positive and desirable situation is that. <br />
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Let not human relations define you. You must not define them either. Everything in life is momental. Whenever there is a sharp shift in the momental routine you can either bend yourself or be standing while the road swerves beneath your feet. Walking on requires tremendous energy and willpower. For a chicken like me it requires all that courage I always need but never muster. To see with your own eyes your life crumbling into pieces ahead of the path and still going on with it is not meant for the weak hearted. <br />
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The point of this post is not to emphasize that being strong is difficult, but to emphasize that it sometimes is not in your hands. I just want to let everyone reading this know that if you’re weak right now, I too am. We all are sometimes. Knowing that is somehow cathartic. Thus I realize one more thing about human life. Collective grief helps soothe individual grief. </div>
Ishita Dutthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16485138086806880091noreply@blogger.com12tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3660965527516766703.post-47374282303605966572017-02-25T06:15:00.001-08:002017-02-25T06:15:55.745-08:00Homecoming<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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When you spend all the summer vacations of your life in Himachal, staying away from the hills for more than two years changes a lot of thing (and change happens faster in a state of bereftness). So when the train rushed past a blur of familiar houses I couldn’t help but notice that Scorpios and i10s had replaced Maruti 800s outside the houses that were now lined with fences; perhaps the fear of deceit has shadowed the naïve town life too. Bungalows can now be spotted in midst of fields. Shops are lined together in semi-cut hills. But these developments couldn’t alter the known but obliterated calm that embraced me the moment I set foot in the land of Gods. Men draped in shawls over their kurtas, women with the same redness on their cheeks and the familiar joy of homecoming. I had grown so accustomed to Nana ji waiting for us at the railway station and Nani welcoming us at home with tea, I almost forgot that in the years that I grew young, they had grown old too. Coping with the disappointment at his absence I drew my head outside the auto window; in insane admiration of just normal people doing mere routine stuff. When my mother had asked the driver to pull down the binds he replied in my favorite pahaadi accent that it’s not so cold at this hour in the morning. 15 mins later he, in his zipper, was very coolly humming a song I didn’t understand while I sat shivering despite my three layers of clothing. Once back home, I spent my three days’ stay without internet and in the company of people I had forgotten how much I loved. The takeaway was more than just memories and peace of mind; rather it lies in the realization that we all still have hope to de-cluster, that there are people whose lives are not so complex and that family means not only blood but brotherhood. Utopia exists, after all. </div>
Ishita Dutthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16485138086806880091noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3660965527516766703.post-82311379240802748262016-10-20T07:45:00.004-07:002016-10-20T07:45:44.851-07:00The Monster <div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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Violence these days has become a tweet gone viral, with 140
characters of hatred and a hashtag of lunacy.<br />
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War is not the new shirt you’ve been saving that one morning
you just wake up and go “I should wear this today”. And nations are not
siblings, no. If you hide each other’s toys and then go on taking revenge on
each others’ most loved possessions, don’t think mom’s going to help you when
you end up pulling each others’ hair and breaking nail for nail. Dad’s not
going o come home with presents and put you on his shoulders. No one is going
to clean up the mess when you turn the house upside down and leave it all
destroyed.</div>
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How easy it is to post “Modi is a coward afraid of war with
Pakistan” and how painful it is to take bullets on your chest and bury your
dead. </div>
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For every other headline saying “Delhi on red alert against
attacks” there’s a normal citizen like me terrified of doing my normal things. The
thought of a family member being blown away makes every inch of my skin tremble
with fear. </div>
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If you call blood thirst courageous, I’d better find solace
in cowardice. Of all the history I’ve mugged up in school, I don’t remember any
war that has done us some good. But I do remember civilizations being wiped
away and nations ripped off their social, economical and political stability
due to war.</div>
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True that we need a solution. </div>
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True that we cannot and should not tolerate terrorism.</div>
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But I am sure war is not any obvious answer. </div>
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Ishita Dutthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16485138086806880091noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3660965527516766703.post-22269248917199419162016-10-02T07:54:00.000-07:002017-02-25T22:58:32.044-08:00 Courage <div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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some days make me
feel like there is a conspiracy against me in the world</div>
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everything topples
down one by one</div>
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just when I think it
better ended something disastrous
unfolds</div>
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“courage”</div>
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I take in a deep sigh
and whisper to myself, have courage young girl.</div>
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there are going to be
days even worse in life</div>
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there are going to be
days you'll have to choose between burning paths</div>
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and walk ahead without
any loved one by your side</div>
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sometimes the fire
will engulf your most precious people</div>
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and sometimes those
people will themselves choose the other path.</div>
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some people will
enter uninvited into your life and become a part of it</div>
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they will question
your beliefs, your past, your insecurities</div>
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they'll think they
can rescue you, take you out of this labyrinth</div>
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out beyond to the field
Rumi wrote about</div>
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and indeed they will</div>
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they will hold your
hand and guide you out of the blazing fire</div>
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but just when you're
about to step inside the gate of bliss they'll vanish</div>
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vanish like a puff of
smoke out of the fire they just extinguished</div>
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and there you'll be
standing</div>
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one step forward from
here will make you the girl you always dreamed to be,</div>
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the girl your mom
will be proud of and the world will cherish</div>
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but the sad part is,
you won't be able to move from here</div>
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your palm is still
wet with the imprints of their fingers that were just held between yours</div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
your mind still
shelters their image and their promises</div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
these thoughts
running in your mind will again paralyze your strength</div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
now your feet are heavier
than a sack of milestones</div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
you should have
stopped</div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
you'll curse yourself</div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
though you knew all
this while that you'll never have the courage to go alone from here</div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
why did you hold
their hand in the first place</div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
you should have
crossed the fire alone</div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
but you wanted
friendship and companionship</div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
you wanted love</div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
well girl, there's
always a prize you have to pay for love</div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
it's the most romanticized
and longed emotion in the world so what made you think you'll get it so easily</div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
now stand here</div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
stand here and watch
others go</div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
learn from them</div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
there's no fire here
but you'll still burn with envy and lust</div>
<br />
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
meanwhile, be brave</div>
</div>
Ishita Dutthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16485138086806880091noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3660965527516766703.post-82444164453220055312016-08-11T08:07:00.003-07:002017-02-26T01:49:19.762-08:00To Write Or Not To Write<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<br /><br />I am an occasional writer, or perhaps one aspiring to be. This realization dawns upon me as I sit down to write after a long time. I often feel an urge to pen down my thoughts but something or the other comes in the way of my bleak dedication. Be it lack of composite ideas, pre-occupation in some other work or mere shameless procrastination. However, I could fill pages if I had to write about my daily activities, my writing block or my apprehensions. But then I stop and ask myself- who would want to read all this? Who am I? A celebrity? A sports icon? An acclaimed actor? The truth is I am nothing; just a breathing piece of flesh in this vast universe ruled by numerous talented and twinkling stars. I am just a dull member of the galaxy clouded by the ever so magnificent moon. So I realize that if and when I wish to write I must consciously decide to distinguish the writing from the writer. It may pour itself into the pages like rain droplets hissing down the window pane but I must make sure that the window remains shut.<br /><br /><br />So what shall I write about? Love? Nah. It is cliché to the point that all of my poems end up glorifying the purpose, existence and importance of it regardless of the theme I had begun with. Also, I have never been in a relationship. I know nothing. (But isn’t it the job of a writer to imagine and create what is not there?)<br /><br /><br />So I tell myself to move beyond love and write a story about, umm, well, a war. A gruesome war narrative that would stir the soul of the reader by bringing to life the struggles of millions of those scarred from the clutches of the monster that destroys both the perpetrator and the preventer. But how could I even dare to think that I am capable of such an endeavor? I have no experience or research accomplishments whatsoever. How will I ever be able to understand the gravity without having sufficiently read, heard or searched?<br /><br /><br />Now I search for a lighter topic, something that would not be beyond my capabilities and something that could attract more readers. So I pick a recent controversy and plan to voice my opinion in order to give a new angle to the event. Finally, the nib of my pen touches the page of my new diary and I see that the ink has already dried up. </div>
Ishita Dutthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16485138086806880091noreply@blogger.com15tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3660965527516766703.post-56998871892348481232016-01-02T01:30:00.000-08:002016-01-02T01:30:53.651-08:00Book Review #1<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
Title:<br />
The Bestseller She Wrote<br />
<br />
Author:<br />
Ravi Subramanian<br />
<br />
Genre:<br />
Romantic Intrigue<br />
<br />
Publisher:<br />
Westland Ltd<br />
<br />
MRP:<br />
275 INR<br />
<br />
Bio:<br />
Ravi Subramanian, a banker-turned-author, is a famous bestselling author of seven books. TBSW is his 8th book and entirely different from his earlier ones that were set in the banking world. In this book too, the male protagonist is s banker-turned-author (I know, right?).<br />
<br />
Outline:<br />
The story is set in modern day Mumbai where the protagonist Aditya Kapoor is settled as a bestselling author. Middle-aged Aditya lives there with his wife Maya and son Aryan. Maya is a caring wife who sacrificed her career as a banking professional and instead became an educationist.<br />
Then enters Shreya Kaushik, a pretty, belligerent and straight forward management student. In a predictable turn of events, Aditya gets attracted to Shreya who is a good deal of years younger than him. Shreya, who wants to be a bestselling author like Aditya seeks this as an opportunity to make her foothold in the industry. I was confused throughout the novel whether Shreya actually had fallen in love with Aditya or it was mere fangirling gone wrong. However, Aditya is caught in a love triangle of sorts and heads on with the 'best of both worlds', until of course there's a twist in the tale and events get chaotic. How he deals with entangled relationships and whether he's able to come out of the web he weaved around for himself, read the book to find out.<br />
<br />
Opinion:<br />
When I had started reading the book I thought it would be another yound adult cliché and by most, if not all means, it turned out to be exactly that. The author at numerous occasions, by medium of dialogue between his characters, mocks the currently trending bestsellers by new Indian authors and how they simply sell trash. Ironically, he has managed to only marginally go beyond this category. In one dialogue his lead character is voicing her opinion on bestsellers - "push any book, however mediocre, through an aggressive sales campaign and you have a bestseller". This quote from the lead character should have been the tagline of this book! There are a few plot holes that I managed to notice because at some points the plot was getting boring. If you're a feminist, the book is rather likely to piss you off at a few instances. For the initial part of the novel, I was unable to create a vivid imagery of Shreya. In contrast, Aditya and Maya are nicely carved characters. There are other supporting characters like Sanjay, Aditya's friend, who are shaped well and play key roles in the plot. However, my favourite character has to be Maya. A strong-headed woman who is equally gentle when it comes to family and the society. Extremely courteous and sacrificing, she beautifully fills the gap Aditya leaves as an unreasonable and unable-to-create-fanbase protagonist. Despite the clichés, there are many positives that have made this book stand out in the shelf of this genre. One is definitely the writing style of Ravi Subramanian. He is among the many IIMalumunus-turned-author but a slight notch higher. Despite his professional background, he doesn't write like a boring banker. It shows that he hasn't simply become a writer, but has the skills. Steady vocabulary, quick paced narrative and relatable setting of the novel will more or less keep you glued.<br />
<br />
I am reviewing <a href="http://dl.flipkart.com/dl/bestseller-she-wrote-english/p/itmeca2xhvfmtdmf?affid=contactblo&pid=9789385152382" target="_blank">The Bestseller She Wrote </a>by Ravi Subramanian as a part of the biggest <a href="http://blog.blogadda.com/2011/05/04/indian-bloggers-book-reviews" target="_blank">Book Review Program </a> for <a href="http://www.blogadda.com/" target="_blank">Indian Bloggers</a>. Participate now to get free books!</div>
Ishita Dutthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16485138086806880091noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3660965527516766703.post-52315382561841671622015-11-15T06:25:00.003-08:002015-11-15T06:26:50.567-08:00Someone Who Makes A Difference <div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: medium;">I am an ultra filmy person. I have always believed that our life is just like a movie. While we are in the lead role, there are many supporting actors and others doing significant cameos. In most of the my favorite movies there is one such character who is more wise and charming than the protagonist, always guiding through the tough times. In our lives too, we often come across one such person. A person who may have a short spanning role in our lives, yet managing to leave a deep imprint.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: medium;">Such characters become our role models, our mentors, our teachers. In my life also that person is a teacher, literally. My English teacher. Unfortunately, our lives collided for only one year, when she taught me in 11th grade. But I can count on that one year as a thorough learning experience that is significant to my life more than all the other years taken together.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: medium;">Mrs. Bisht is an exceptional teacher, and a graceful human being. Even though she was our English teacher, she imparted us knowledge pertaining to Geography, Philosophy, History and life in general; all while rambling between the literature lessons.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: medium;">She is a fluent and confident speaker. It was always a pleasure listening her speak. She has a knack of language, knows what to speak where and when, and in such an eloquent manner that she could win hearts with her words. And she actually did. Ours was the last batch she taught in school after which she retired from job. But what she has given us in the form of these words will continue to enlighten us throughout our lives.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: medium;">She always told us to be aware of the world around us. When we were promoted to 11th class we were just a bunch of careless and ignorant girls. Mrs. Bisht worked to raise us into ladies who would be intelligent but would always remember from where they belong. She gave us strong roots, and she gave us wings to fly, into a world that would often be harsh but we shall never let it dull the glimmer in our eyes.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: medium;">The fondest memory I have with her is of the stories she used to share in her English classes. Whether she told us about one incident where she cleverly outwitted a molester and escaped a potential threat; or how she always maintained dignity while talking to her mother-in-law (who eventually remembered only her name during her last days when she lost her memory); and how she and her brother never fought with each other, or their father, for any thing at all. All such stories from her experience would teach me so much about life, and how to live it with my head held high. She filled a major vacuum in my life, that of a role model. Whenever I think of someone I want to become, her flawless face appears in front of me, smiling like always.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: medium;">She always talks with great regard about her family. I feel it is in the way that she was raised that makes her such a perfect human being. Her desire to inculcate the same values in her students is absolutely adorable. She would often scold and punish us when we were wrong, though she once confessed that she never really gets angry but pretends to be just to make us realize our mistakes! It even worked. Her slightest of scolding would pinch me deep down to the heart, because they were true and in the purest of intention. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: medium;">I can't help but wish she would have taught us for one more year, but then I guess it's all destined. Even in the short time she had with us, she made a big difference in my life. I am extremely grateful for all the moments I shared with her. Truly, some people are one in a million and #madeofgreat.</span></div>
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<i><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></i></div>
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<i><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: medium;">This post was for the #madeofgreat contest by Indiblogger. Check out: <a href="http://madeofgreat.tatamotors.com/">http://madeofgreat.tatamotors.com/</a></span></i></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjEiQHEbzAvSPNPN2hFgMV9DuSV6cXNvhl-egfG9vTeWay2AoGmShiBsMrvP5iTu7OzI-wBmOPLEY7nRFmotH0YgL3nBaB0S1bUh3c8XvwegAT0T7vBGEWft4YkyC19ketLbBX2ApJaezc/s1600/mainbanner.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: medium;"><img border="0" height="157" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjEiQHEbzAvSPNPN2hFgMV9DuSV6cXNvhl-egfG9vTeWay2AoGmShiBsMrvP5iTu7OzI-wBmOPLEY7nRFmotH0YgL3nBaB0S1bUh3c8XvwegAT0T7vBGEWft4YkyC19ketLbBX2ApJaezc/s320/mainbanner.jpg" width="320" /></span></a></div>
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<b><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></b></div>
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<b><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: medium;">There is one contest for the readers, too! </span></b></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: medium;">The best comment that answers the following question will win an Amazon Gift Voucher worth INR 750/$11.34:-</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: medium;"><br /></span>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: medium;">"What do you think of Tata Motors' association with Lionel Messi?"</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: medium;"><b>The contest closes on 26th November 2015 at 11:59 p.m</b>. So make sure to drop a comment below before the time ends!</span></div>
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Ishita Dutthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16485138086806880091noreply@blogger.com19tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3660965527516766703.post-58649366982572268532015-11-14T06:23:00.001-08:002015-11-14T06:26:09.352-08:00The Horrors of Sleep Paralysis <div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYshQ-hnAgEv2iVFks2fv_2j6JAbY09mRKnpEdTsGBg7LZps7goXBHhCKyBuGp_w8m0OMTUtNMMwbRuAnjRs9E5RdOOIiGnHCK7Ei3GYiMaUBYR4_V6F7TtlFRxa5nAyHx691MHBoADlA/s1600/images+%25281%2529.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYshQ-hnAgEv2iVFks2fv_2j6JAbY09mRKnpEdTsGBg7LZps7goXBHhCKyBuGp_w8m0OMTUtNMMwbRuAnjRs9E5RdOOIiGnHCK7Ei3GYiMaUBYR4_V6F7TtlFRxa5nAyHx691MHBoADlA/s1600/images+%25281%2529.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Source: Google Images</td></tr>
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<br />
An asleep person is half dead. Anything can happen to you while you’re sleeping. A spider can walk over your face and get inside your nose. Someone may break into your house and steal your Nutella. A natural calamity may sway you to Heaven along with your mattress. Or for that matter, the world may come to an end and you might wake up straight on the Judgment Day. Anything can happen. <br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Sleep is an integral part of the human existence on this planet. It is also the most fascinating phenomenon that a person can study. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Recently I started paying attention to my nightmares and often tried to remember them for as long as possible. One afternoon I was having my after-lunch nap that I had a nightmare. This is not the unusual part. The unusual part is that after I became aware of my lucid dream and it ended somehow, I lay in bed motionless for a few minutes. No matter how eloquent I try to be I cannot precisely describe that terrifying moment. I just lay still in my bed while my brain was struggling between sleep and consciousness. I was trying to sit up with all the strength and might I had in the midst of sleep exhaustion, but nothing happened. I came out of it somehow and regained control. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">This irregularly happens with me. It’s just a matter of few numb seconds after which I wake up. But those few seconds are absurd, sometimes very horrifying. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">I was so intrigued with this strange occurrence that I decided to Google it and read a bit about this phenomenon called sleep paralysis. </span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxis6VWkHvziB_id8JwYNrULDkS_faoy89BaMGjvAWUxaT97bQLzSHcVbtF3A9Plj_6P-g-dhPg6vomFQdfhZbwF1-R_VVvgbA7MbvG8MGE1JWuaJg2kvLjSgpVUGGlsmXtymFTo3YN-8/s1600/John_Henry_Fuseli_-_The_Nightmare.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="259" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxis6VWkHvziB_id8JwYNrULDkS_faoy89BaMGjvAWUxaT97bQLzSHcVbtF3A9Plj_6P-g-dhPg6vomFQdfhZbwF1-R_VVvgbA7MbvG8MGE1JWuaJg2kvLjSgpVUGGlsmXtymFTo3YN-8/s320/John_Henry_Fuseli_-_The_Nightmare.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: 12.8px;">"The Nightmare, by Henry Fuseli (1781) is thought to be one of the classic depictions of sleep paralysis perceived as a demonic visitation." - Wikipedia </span></td></tr>
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I opened up myself to a vast ocean of knowledge pertaining to sleep disorders and what they really are. After knowing what sleep paralysis actually is, I realized that what I experienced is not even a fraction of something that could explain the gravity and complexity of the situation people suffering from it go through. People actually struggling from sleep paralysis disorder had shared their stories. Some of their experiences were similar to mine but with some I simply couldn’t relate. Before I head on to that comparison I would like to explain what all I know about sleep paralysis to give you a better insight. <br />
<br />
Simply put, it is a moment either while falling asleep or waking up; where your body is still into the state of sleep but the mind has woken up. While reading up sleep paralysis I noticed repeated mention of the term ‘REM sleep’.<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i>What is REM Sleep?</i></div>
<i></i><br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i><i>Rapid Eye Movement (REM) Sleep is when we do most active dreaming. Our eyes are actually moving back and forth during this stage, hence the name. </i></i></div>
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</i>
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<div style="text-align: center;">
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Now, it would be more comprehensible to know that sleep paralysis occurs when our body can’t transition smoothly between going into deep REM sleep and coming out of it. The reason behind the failure of smooth transitioning is yet unidentified. It is, however, an absolute natural occurrence and can happen to any person, healthy or ill. <br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgSbXKP8p859tsh3g6-QtteaNXyWDfXo52nGa-6xpTkeU2L6xGzW64k8kTb99KNQrGWBOZvWjqPUZPMVcBDJCjF4yiLto6q-ZVxuPsW9ZEac4afj8GnNvusxuR9IQBPXbutmQSy1k_zWJU/s1600/images.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgSbXKP8p859tsh3g6-QtteaNXyWDfXo52nGa-6xpTkeU2L6xGzW64k8kTb99KNQrGWBOZvWjqPUZPMVcBDJCjF4yiLto6q-ZVxuPsW9ZEac4afj8GnNvusxuR9IQBPXbutmQSy1k_zWJU/s1600/images.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Source: Google Images</td></tr>
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<div style="text-align: center;">
<i>If we look at the logical need of sleep paralysis state for the body, one fairly obvious reason surfaces. When the body fails to transition smoothly between stages of REM sleep, the brain instructs our voluntary muscles to relax. This causes a state of paralysis called ‘atonia’ in science. </i></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i>This way the brain prevents us from acting out our dreams (as in the case of sleep walking).</i></div>
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Now I would like to share with you all the tid-bits of facts I collected about sleep paralysis. <br />
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Some of which matched with my personal experience: <br />
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<b>· It is more likely to happen when we are sleep deprived and need more rest than we are currently having. </b><br />
<b>· Most people have experienced it at least once in life but are not aware of it or ignore it.<br /><br />· It lasts for around 20 seconds to a few minutes. <br /><br />· It is NOT a disease or a mental illness, until it is very frequent and exceeds the 20 sec- few mins average span. In that case, the reasons behind it might be other than the usual natural occurrence (for instance, a past mental illness or trauma) </b><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjbALj4gL5WLvf2L7RXhMDpmF2See4beqNXVqBT1fSkioRBvLjUuPRmIqcfsDn1SH9S5a0gqt8lutGNtaw54gLXI0ov7MlQn1ffEY2y1J49f9_rOqqYk_xcAdmmkggYY-Vz7qphlC0L0QQ/s1600/2_Sleep-Paralysis.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="211" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjbALj4gL5WLvf2L7RXhMDpmF2See4beqNXVqBT1fSkioRBvLjUuPRmIqcfsDn1SH9S5a0gqt8lutGNtaw54gLXI0ov7MlQn1ffEY2y1J49f9_rOqqYk_xcAdmmkggYY-Vz7qphlC0L0QQ/s320/2_Sleep-Paralysis.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Source: Google Images</td></tr>
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<br />
<br />
However, I couldn’t relate to a few other facts. These are possibly true in case of unusual causes originating out of a mental illness or trauma:<br />
<br />
<b>· You feel as if you woke up dead.</b> Well, that is not what I felt, at least. You kind of know what’s happening but can’t really do anything about it.<br />
<br />
<b>· Your eyes are sometimes open. </b><br />
Hell! That is scary.<br />
<br />
<b>· You feel a presence in your room and sometimes even hear voices.</b><br />
That seems bizarre and is more supernatural than scientific. <br />
<br />
<b>· You just can’t wake up. It is a natural process, not in your control. So you just lay there waiting until it ends. </b><br />
But in my case, as I mentioned, I was able to wake up once I pushed myself up with all my might. But chances are that I just feel that I got up because I tried hard but in reality it was simply the natural end of atonia. <br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
In a nutshell, sleep paralysis is just one of the sleep disorders like insomnia and sleep walking but not as common. These lines by one of my Twitter friends perfectly explain the feeling of being in sleep paralysis: <br />
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It's that time again –</div>
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that moment </div>
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when wake and sleep </div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
become one </div>
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and I don't know </div>
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what world I belong to.</div>
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<br /></div>
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<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
P.S- If any of you know more about sleep paralysis, have a story to share or simply want to correct any of my observations, comment below or you can message me directly via the contact widget on the right sidebar.</div>
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Ishita Dutthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16485138086806880091noreply@blogger.com13tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3660965527516766703.post-44085141282791762282015-10-25T06:46:00.001-07:002015-10-27T05:21:47.830-07:00Why Do People Think It's OK To Lie?<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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Here, I don't intend to claim that I don't lie. But I definitely don't think it's OK to lie and often fail terribly at it. Sometimes I have to lie, just to make a situation better. In such scenarios we all feel it's OK to lie because a 'small' lie can turn things in our favour. Well, yes. But why is it so?</div>
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<i><br /></i>
Because we're a world obsessed with serendipity. Even though we see no potential of it happening, we still keep wishing it happens. Any consolation in that regard calms us and soothes what's burning inside. </div>
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<i><br /></i>
But I don't want to soothe my fire. It is what keeps me from giving up and going berserk. </div>
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That is why I like brutally honest people. They might seem rude and harsh but atleast they're not pretending to be someone else. They are people we can bank on, people who are actually making the world a better place to live in. </div>
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<br />
I would trade my seven lives in this world for a year in a world where all the people are honest. Where you can make friends without the fear of being stabbed and express your real emotions without the fear of being misinterpreted. </div>
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<br />
That would be my utopia. Because of course, ' <b>There is no legacy as rich as honesty'.</b></div>
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Ishita Dutthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16485138086806880091noreply@blogger.com14tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3660965527516766703.post-11893050679603613672015-10-01T06:50:00.003-07:002015-10-10T06:45:51.970-07:0027 Broken Footprints- A discussion with the author <div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<span lang="EN-IN"><br /></span></div>
<br />
Recently I got the chance to have a discussion with the debutant novelist Preeti Bhonsle regarding her novel <b>27 Broken Footprints</b>. I would like to share the interesting conversation I had with her: <br />
<br />
<br />
Me: Firstly talking about <b>When A Star Dies</b>. When I read the name of the chapter I thought it would be a metaphor about the downfall in the career of a celebrity. I was party wrong and partly right. What is most surprising is the fact that you've connected it to science, despite maintaining the literary device. Did the IITian inside you seep into that concept or was it the result of a past observation that led you to this fascinating piece of fiction? <br />
<br />
Preeti: I had the story in my head about the girl as you have already read. It seemed so obvious – her fall and the way a star fades out. What I like about this piece is how a story can be told around a few factual sentences and also how these scientific inserts provide for the right kind of breaks for the starlet’s story to progress. <br />
Now tell me did you like her name?<br />
<br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhNOqGXxtiO28QXGjYHzGHuWxdHY4jv3yFC1Nt-ekLQjRLh8ct-qmmumlKi0J6VkfRnVPYsrLHuL0C49PVcOgmhRcC2dn2X8A68myF-BwTbW99lQGRyKt6jrH5RC0wAkzeQ8hYZ-q3TaL4/s1600/picture+insert+1.PNG"><img border="0" height="417" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhNOqGXxtiO28QXGjYHzGHuWxdHY4jv3yFC1Nt-ekLQjRLh8ct-qmmumlKi0J6VkfRnVPYsrLHuL0C49PVcOgmhRcC2dn2X8A68myF-BwTbW99lQGRyKt6jrH5RC0wAkzeQ8hYZ-q3TaL4/s640/picture+insert+1.PNG" width="640" /></a><br />
<br />
Me: I loved it! Did you name her so because it seemed apt to the story or is it inspired by a real life character?<br />
<br />
Preeti: I would like to believe that I have invented the name. Google might disagree, should check on this. But I certainly did coin the name. I like how it sounds. <br />
Based on a real person? Hmmn...let’s not share everything…<br />
<br />
Me: One thing I find really interesting about your book is that even though there are different chapters with different characters yet it all looks interconnected. Want to elaborate on this?<br />
<br />
Preeti: They are all interconnected. Ways of story telling are carried over from one section to another, sometimes in style sometimes in characters. For example <b>The Tree House in the rain</b>, the second story in the book, borrows the protagonist of the first story, <b>The Other Woman</b>. <b>Borderline Human Tales</b> is just a more detailed version of <b>Little Stories</b>. Also the issues I bring up in <b>Women, men and heroes</b> form an integral part of the story - Like me, you are and also a little of <b>Inside Diary.</b><br />
I had written an article about the fractal nature of the book, <a href="https://iitandtheworld.wordpress.com/2015/06/01/what-is-the-fractal-pattern-ofin-your-life/">you should go through it.</a><br />
<br />
Me: Your writing surprises me every single time. One thing which is identifiable to your writing style is that you connect science to random life coincidences, and it seems absolutely legit. Let me tell you that I am a very non-science person. In fact I hated science all through middle school, if I may say. That is because I was always inclined towards the philosophy of living than the science of life. And you're the first such person I've come across who blends both science and philosophy in such a beautiful manner. I admire you for that! <br />
Coming to the chapter <b>Forgotten Tales Of A Family Lost</b>. Why do you call these tales 'forgotten'?<br />
<br />
Preeti: The family in this story is struck by recurring tragedy across two generations. They have realized that the only way to truly cope up with difficult times is to forget them. <br />
But the "forgotten tales" bit is slightly self-referential. Notice the starting lines, the narrator is trying to remember their story, her story, she is trying to remember what she has forgotten. Also the prose forgets certain details too - for e.g. after the twin is lost there are four people at the dining table, the very next line says there are five of them at the table. <br />
Towards the end of the story, the forgetting bit gets very rapid. I think it is a bit scary how this story ends, I almost feel for the husband. <br />
Did you like this one?<br />
<br />
Me: Yes, I do. After having read three of your chapters I notice that you have a kind of soft corner for the supernatural. Your writings are wrapped in suspense and it gives immense food for thought. Is it your genre of writing by default or did you work on it for specifically this novel?<br />
<br />
Preeti: This was just a phase. I had been experimenting with this kind of writing – magical, real, mystical, with characters – abstract, blurred, ideal, evil. Only these sections of the book -<b> Little Stories</b> and <b>Borderline Human Tales</b> are mystical, supernatural, abstract and magical. Rest of the seven are in no way like these.<br />
I did not work on it specifically for this book. It was just a phase I was going through. For example my latest experiment was in trying to write a different kind thriller ( <a href="https://iitandtheworld.wordpress.com/">Who Killed Linda?)</a> and it turned out to be fantastic. <br />
<br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjzrSn3wgDbMHzpuxJHTb-aBipcnPBG1wGRBsGo-bENuvBNpLtP4-MZDxqz3GM3X2cZfh84PHOU2ZnqGN2PrkD2xKsL60hZhq0QTELe0v3SN5hs2lIt7quEZdBtmyDBWgBnIM-EmgjjANU/s1600/27+broken+footprints+picture+insert+3.jpg"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjzrSn3wgDbMHzpuxJHTb-aBipcnPBG1wGRBsGo-bENuvBNpLtP4-MZDxqz3GM3X2cZfh84PHOU2ZnqGN2PrkD2xKsL60hZhq0QTELe0v3SN5hs2lIt7quEZdBtmyDBWgBnIM-EmgjjANU/s320/27+broken+footprints+picture+insert+3.jpg" /></a><br />
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<br />
27 Broken Footprints is available on <a href="http://goo.gl/77RxzJ">Amazon</a> and <a href="http://goo.gl/vKiSja">Infibeams</a>. Despite of what it says on the Amazon site, the book will be delivered with 3-4 days. <br />
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<br />
To read more about the book and Preeti, you can visit <a href="http://www.27brokenfootprints.com/">www.27brokenfootprints.com</a></div>
Ishita Dutthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16485138086806880091noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3660965527516766703.post-49883842097692401572015-08-29T08:55:00.003-07:002015-08-29T09:07:52.797-07:00Reader's Post <div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<br />
Recently I encouraged all my readers to write poems to themselves, for self love. I got to read some really beautiful poems. I would like to share two of my most favorite ones.<br />
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<b><i><br /></i></b>
<br />
<h2 style="text-align: left;">
<b><i>Introduction</i></b></h2>
<br />
Why hello there young lady<br />
Came around to recheck?<br />
While you stand at the 'right' angle<br />
Here is a gentle reminder-<br />
It's about time you sung your song!<br />
<br />
An introduction<br />
Of a peculiar soul<br />
Behold the irony-<br />
With just two syllables<br />
You scribble a whole saga!<br />
<br />
<br />
Born amongst fiery flames<br />
Under the northern star<br />
As nine as a feline<br />
As clean as a cleanser<br />
And yield company like Caesar.<br />
<br />
Your ebony coated pupils<br />
Shy away from those ivory<br />
They tremble with grace<br />
Look down with "dew" respect<br />
And up with a gazillion ambitions.<br />
<br />
Your bruises have a healing power<br />
Right now they may be numb<br />
But they contain ingredients<br />
Of a soothing lotion<br />
Which creates dimples in melancholy.<br />
<br />
The strands that fall out of place<br />
Creep under your quilt<br />
To tease you during wintry nights<br />
Yet when you mercilessly splash water<br />
They go on and kiss your blades.<br />
<br />
You bump into humps<br />
And enter a different dimension<br />
You trip on a tile<br />
And fall into nature's cradle<br />
You make clumsiness feel trendy!<br />
<br />
Your puffed up cheeks<br />
And ever pigmented lips<br />
Moisten the mist<br />
Outshine the sunshine<br />
And drill the craters further.<br />
<br />
And when you hide your face<br />
While chewing those treats<br />
And when you button your cuffs<br />
Like it's a huge obstacle<br />
There's someone capturing your moments.<br />
<br />
Honey, you are beautiful<br />
A treasure, a dynamite<br />
You wear a halo for a tiara<br />
Just never fall for your shadow<br />
For it is the black in a spectrum.<br />
<br />
<div>
- By Vani Devraj</div>
<div>
<br />
<br /></div>
<div>
<h2>
<b><i>Loving Me....</i></b></h2>
<br />
Comfortable, neat, pressed, well dressed;<br />
Yep, I take pride in always looking my best.<br />
I'm fly, I'm breezy, I'm sharp, I'm mean<br />
Whenever they see me they say I'm too clean 😎<br />
<br />
Calm, collected, quiet, reserved,<br />
I'll give you no less than the respect you deserve.<br />
I'm shy at first but don't be deceived<br />
If you ever befriend me I'll make you believe<br />
That even if you're hurt and filled with sorrow<br />
There's waiting for you a beautiful tomorrow<br />
<br />
Lean, fit, ripped and toned<br />
At 5'5, man I'm bad to the bone<br />
But don't be alarmed, I'm gentle I swear<br />
Yep, I'm cuddly just like your teddy bear<br />
<br />
Smart, wise, mentally sound<br />
My head's held high, my feet firm on the ground<br />
Straight A student, yes at every school<br />
Try me America, I'm no "nigger" nor fool<br />
<br />
This poem is mine, but its not just for me<br />
It shows you everything I think about daily<br />
My virtues, my strengths, my guidelines in life<br />
Things that help me in times of strife<br />
<br />
Standing in front of my mirror, I will try something new<br />
I will lift my eyes... Smile... and whisper "I love you"<br />
I've said to so many, friends and family.<br />
But I never said it, to the one that is... Me<br />
<br />
"The Bipolar Being", my friend, I love you too<br />
Because without this poem I would've never knew<br />
How lost I was, trying to please everyone else<br />
Trying to help them I neglected myself<br />
<br />
So in my closing, a quote i leave with you<br />
"If I asked you to name all of the things you loved, would you ever name you?"<br />
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<br /></div>
- By Tadãshï Yasáhîro</div>
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Ishita Dutthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16485138086806880091noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3660965527516766703.post-62258034037275424042015-08-25T00:51:00.000-07:002015-08-25T09:13:49.610-07:00The Curse Of Monsoon <div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Photography: The Dreamers </td></tr>
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This title might be indigestible for many of you.<br />
<div>
<i>Monsoon can’t be a curse!</i> </div>
<div>
<i>What is she saying? </i></div>
<div>
<i>We all love monsoon!</i> </div>
<div>
Maybe you do. But some people don’t. <br />
<br />
When I travel to school, my school van passes under a flyover in Hauz Khas. Like every other flyover in Delhi it houses a dozen or two beggars and vagabonds. And when it rains, holy shit, when it rains; they live in literal hell. My school van’s window seat gets wet in rain because the window doesn’t shut properly. I was annoyed at the driver for this the other day. But then I looked beyond the window and what I saw has pacified my grumblings forever. Of those nomads, ones who have the flyover as a roof are still the lucky ones. Some of them sleep on the footpath, the ones that don’t have a family or are abandoned by them. They are the minorities among the minorities. The footpath is their mattress and the night breeze becomes their air conditioner. But when it rains they are left devoid of even these petty dwellings. They probably have only one pair of clothing that soaks wet and dries along their skin and this cycle continues with the water cycle during monsoon. <br />
<br />
The situation on the flyover is no better. All the water slopes down the steep end of it, where it clogs. It should rather flow into the drains but for some reason it doesn’t. So the cars riding towards the flyover have to swim across to go ahead and climb the flyover. Almost always an aged car drowns mid-process. This leads to a line of cars behind it honking ridiculously to make way. My van mostly swims, thankfully. And then we go on peacefully till we pass in front of that huge MCD public dustbin. Now what is a dustbin doing here, right? The problem being that there is always more waste accumulated at a time than the dustbin can capacitate. So the waste walks out of it on the by lanes and forms grand heaps. The time at which my van passes by this vista the MCD truck has not come for picking up the garbage. Coincidently, at the same time the Heavens shower pious water droplets on these heaps of garbage giving out the pleasant odor we all despise. <br />
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Thinking of all this I start to wish for the monsoons to storm away to some far off land and not return. But then I think of the farmers, the devotees of monsoon. They wait all through the sweating summer and windy winter to quench their thirst. The harvest needs rain, and the country needs the harvest. Not just our country, but this harvest is exported to all over the world. This eventually stimulates the inflow the foreign currency and the Economics student inside me boasts with pride. The tiny droplets of water caress the seeds of nutrition sowed in the fields of Punjab, Haryana, Madhya Pradesh and all the agricultural states. Monsoon is the time when the perpetual sweat on a farmer’s forehead is wiped off with the rain droplets. The country rejoices. Now I cannot wish for the monsoon to go away to some far off land. <br />
<br />
But all I wish to ask is that can I not, as a teenage girl from India, love monsoon like others do? The answer comes<i> no</i>. Never in my life have I been able to look at something from the face value. I see beyond my immediate pleasures. And I get sick tired of this process. To think so much about matters supposedly not concerning me is the reason I have pages of my diary filled with rants. But let’s not shift from the point, here. The point is that I live in a beautiful country. We are blessed with the most diverse combination of land forms, climate and resources. What we could achieve with all this, yet what where we stand is miserable. If water clogged flyovers and stinking by lanes is development for people, I don’t know what we’re up to. If these developments were taken care of in the right way, I would also enjoy monsoon like the rest of the girls; gazing out of the window and daydreaming while my face is smitten with the cold winds. But here I am, indoors, terrified of stepping out into the muddy roads and water clogged flyovers! </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Writing all this and wishing for the world to change won’t do. I cannot change the world, but I can change myself and the people around me. And that might as well change the world?</div>
</div>
Ishita Dutthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16485138086806880091noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3660965527516766703.post-86393643026513924342015-08-15T04:13:00.001-07:002015-08-29T09:13:00.559-07:00Hideous Beauty<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<div dir="ltr">
I recently read a post while surfing the net. It emphasized on the fact that why are all those love poems dedicated to someone else but yourself? Why is it that we have all the love in our heart to love somebody else but not ourselves. So I decided to take it up and write a poem dedicated to <i>myself. </i><br />
<i></i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i><br /></i><i><br /></i>
<i>I was born and I shall die. But in the labyrinth of life if I ever get lost, let me not loose myself.</i></div>
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<br />
<br />
I love the way my wet curly hair <br />
Flow lustily down my shoulders after a shower<br />
They be frizzy and untamed, but they be mine<br />
I won't tie them up, what if they don't smell like the flower?</div>
<div dir="ltr">
<br />
During times of melancholy, I read myself stories, poems, listen to songs, go on a walk. <br />
Who else would ever do so much and why?<br />
I can trace the map alone<br />
The comrade of my soul is never shy.</div>
<div dir="ltr">
<br />
I have brown eyes that glisten with dreams<br />
Even after my specs hide them<br />
Some days I have dark circles and my eyes look dull<br />
But to me they'll always be a precious gem.</div>
<div dir="ltr">
<br />
A stranger is never strange to me<br />
I gel with a myriad, not just one personality<br />
Deliberate in my efforts to not leave a scar<br />
Even if I fail, I value this mentality</div>
<div dir="ltr">
<br />
My nose is flat and small<br />
But it breathes for me the smell of rain-drenched mud<br />
Twitches everytime the sneeze plays hide-n-seek<br />
But it's as significant to me as the redness of my blood</div>
<div dir="ltr">
<i><br /></i>
<i><br /></i>
<i>I am short, but I can make a big difference</i><br />
<i>I am fat, but my greed is bleak</i><br />
<i>I am amateur, but my pursuit is clear</i><br />
<i>I am flawed, yet beautiful all the same.</i></div>
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Ishita Dutthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16485138086806880091noreply@blogger.com15tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3660965527516766703.post-65965497843011341162015-07-14T07:24:00.000-07:002015-07-13T22:01:40.828-07:00आज मै डाकखाने गई थी। <div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<div dir="ltr">
<br />
Note: I had written this a few weeks earlier. An account of a previous date.<br />
03.07.2015</div>
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<br />
<br />
अाज मैं डाकखाने गई थी। चंद दोसतों अौर दो अध्ययापिकाऔं के साथ। स्कूल के चार कदम पीछे ही है हाॅज़-खास़ का दाकखाना।<br />
<br />
वहाँ जाकर कुछ अलग सा ही महसूस हुआ। जैसे वो चार कदम चल अपने बचपन में आ गई थी।</div>
<div dir="ltr">
सातवीं कक्षा में हिंदी का कार्य मिला था कि गर्मीं कि छुट्टियों मे एक दोस्त को पत्र लिखकर पोस्ट करना है। तब इंलेंड लैटर लेने पहली बार डाकखाने की सूरत देखी थी। पापा जब काऊंटर पर खत जमा कर रहे थे तो मैं वहाँ बेंच पर बैठी एक गहरी सोच में डूबी हुई थी। कि नाजाने किस तरह भारत के एक कोने से एक कागज़ पर मामूली स्याही से कोई व्यक्ति अपने एहसास लिखता होगा अौर चंद दिनों बाद उसका मित्र वह कागज़ अपने हाथों पर पाता होगा। आजकल अगर कोइ पार्सल लेकर पोस्टमैन अाता है भी तो शायद Flipkart का भेजा हुआ औरडर होगा। खत पाकर, खोलकर पढने का वो रहस्यमयी एहसास तो डाकखाने की तरह ही लुप्त हो गया है।</div>
<div dir="ltr">
आज रह गये हैं तो केवल SMSs अौर e-mails, जिंहे ना तो मैं संज्यो कर अपने मेमोरी बैग में रख सकती हूं अौर ना ही सालों बाद उनकी सुगंध से यादें ताज़ा कर सकती हूं।</div>
<div dir="ltr">
<br />
ऐसे ही कुछ खयालात लिए INDIA POST के दफ़तर के सामने खड़ी थी। इतने में एक मध्यम-आयु के पुरुष आये और हमें पोस्ट-औफिस कि नयी सुविधाओं के बारे में जागरुक करने लगे। Digital India के तहद अब भारत के डाक-खाने उपलब्ध एवं बेहतर हो गये हैं। Core Banking कि सुविधाएं काफी आश्चर्यचकित लगीं। मैंने तो कभी सोचा भी नहीं था कि एक डाकखाना बैंक की तरह भी काम कर सकता है!</div>
<div dir="ltr">
<br />
आखिरी कमरे से बाहर निकल रहे थे कि देखा दीवार पर कोने में एक कागज़ पर लिखकर चिपका रखा था - "हिंदी कार्यालय दिवस"। एक ग्यारहवीं कक्षा की लड़की ने उन पुरूष से पूछा कि इसका क्या मतलब है तो उन्होनें हमें बताया कि हर बुद्धवार को विधि हेतु सारा कार्य हिंदी में निभाया जाता है। पहले तो यह सुनकर चेहरे पर मुस्कान आ गयी पर फिर हैरानी ने माथा ढ़क लिया। भला ऐसा क्यों कि भारत के डाकखाने में प्रमुख भाषा हिंदी के लिए एक दिन सिद्ध किया गया है? डाकखाने जैसे बुज़ुर्ग दफ्तर में भी अगर अंग्रेजी आवश्यक हो गयी तो आखिर हिंदी प्रयोग होगी कहाँ?</div>
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इसलिए अपना छोटा सा ही सही, पर हिंदी में यह लिखकर, योगदान देना चाहती हूं उस भाषा को जो मेरे दिल के बहुत करीब है। इतने करीब कि ये आखिरी वाक्य लिखते सार ही एक आंसू आंख से छूट अाया है। <br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1SmT7ZFWFXMVrAvPHBzvTD24CVZi_R8wVjIMo4AVqgs82GR6PtaRRja9GnN4_a2_nGjeSvOpvOKjFG-bRM79L9qOFmXFeoSokfV_3MIqgNM1soSFTNKJUIe4ny0hT_M7nFy0j-XkQNHU/s1600/20150713214848.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1SmT7ZFWFXMVrAvPHBzvTD24CVZi_R8wVjIMo4AVqgs82GR6PtaRRja9GnN4_a2_nGjeSvOpvOKjFG-bRM79L9qOFmXFeoSokfV_3MIqgNM1soSFTNKJUIe4ny0hT_M7nFy0j-XkQNHU/s320/20150713214848.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Image courtesy: Vani Devraj</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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Ishita Dutthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16485138086806880091noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3660965527516766703.post-19246957522252078962015-07-08T07:05:00.002-07:002015-07-08T07:05:44.191-07:00Shot In Heaven <div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<div style="text-align: center;">
He sips on his coffee</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
and remembers when love was brewing </div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
moulding them in feelings</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
warmer than the mould that holds his coffee</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
----------</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
He looks out of the window</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
and sees himself dwindling in the street</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
holding her hands, jumping over puddles</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
This monsoon had been prolonged, the reporters had said</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
our courtship had lasted even longer, he thought</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
----------</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
The channel flickers on the radio he is listening to,</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
breaking his tryst with the outside</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
he rubs the small droplets of water off the antenna</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
and the song that plays then, he remembers, was their favorite</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
he can feel his palms on her waist as she swings along.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
The beats are zealous, but her moves were exuberant, he knew</div>
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<div style="text-align: center;">
He closes his eyes and when he opens them</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
for a moment he doesn't blink</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
what he sees is her face, exquisite as ever</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
then his pupils broaden and he realizes it's her picture </div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
the last one of her life; poised on the bureau.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
The picture is beautiful</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
but lifeless,</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
just as his wife now is </div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
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Ishita Dutthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16485138086806880091noreply@blogger.com19tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3660965527516766703.post-35954005708060407722015-04-16T07:09:00.003-07:002015-04-16T07:17:34.756-07:00And I Found Myself Like Never Before<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<div class="MsoNormal">
It was a usual Sunday morning and I had my Maths class test
(I had studied for this one). It is the beginning of class 12<sup>th</sup> and
we are all on this study spree regarding this whole CBSE Board thing. I am not
the one who usually studies for a Maths class test but this time it was
different. Since the past two weeks I had been in a deplorable academic
condition. All these days I used to sit in the class and stare blankly at the
blackboard trying to fathom what the teachers wrote. All I could still fathom
was that I was a loser. Absolutely. Completely. One part of me cursed the
education system and just wanted to write multiple poems to the non-existent
love of my life while the other half nudged my loser self to work hard in order
to achieve my long-lost dreams. In short, I was constantly at war with myself. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
With all these thoughts playing in the back of my mind, I
completed the math test way ahead of time. I submitted my sheet and glanced
back at my friends who were furiously stabbing their answer sheets and I knew
better than to wait for them to finish. So I went out, alone. I had a lot of
time in hand and as I had mentioned earlier, it was a Sunday morning. Cold winds,
seclusion and stuff. A solitary walk was needed. High time. So I started
walking. I had no idea where to go but I wanted to reach as soon as possible. I
had long been in search of a parallel universe, or maybe the fourth-dimension. I
just wanted to be somewhere else, somewhere better. I wanted to explore. But before
that, perhaps, all I needed was to find <i>myself</i>.
Explore <i>myself. </i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
While I was walking, the first drops of drizzle touched my
palm. Unnerved, I kept walking. I saw a man fixing the chains of his bicycle. I
couldn't have been of any help. <i>Loser</i>. I kept
walking and reached a familiar road. I remembered
how I used to walk here and listen to <i>Tum
Se Hi</i> with Tanya. She was probably still stabbing her answer sheets right
now. I put the thought away and started walking swiftly. I came to a sudden
halt in front of an old park which was almost to ruins. Due to the recent
turmoil of bad weather, a few trees had fallen in the middle of the park which
blocked the inside view. I kicked a few bushes off the entrance and went
inside. Thankfully, one of the benches, though muddy, was still intact. The fallen
trees provided a kind of enclosure and blocked this spot entirely out of public
view. Relived, I sat down. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
For a moment, I sat there emotion-less. And then it
happened. Tears trickled down my face beating the speed of the ongoing drizzle and soon I was exhausted
and choked. But when I stopped and wiped my tears away, I swear, I had found
myself. <i>This was the place.</i> I picked
up my phone wanting to listen to some radio but realized I never brought
earphones to the math class. Then I saw my register. And my pen. Bliss was
never so exquisite. It was the end to my month-long block and I kept writing
until I had nothing more to say. It felt as if a big burden was hustled off my
shoulders. I felt light as a bubble, ready to float around without the fear of
being pricked. </div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I saw that my phone was vibrating. It was Arunma’s call. They
had finished the test. I got up to walk back. But I was different now, no longer
the same person who wanted to run away. Now I had the courage to bounce back,
and fight. <br />
<br />
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Ishita Dutthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16485138086806880091noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3660965527516766703.post-33544529286689877602015-03-08T03:02:00.000-07:002015-03-08T03:02:08.316-07:00I Am Sorry<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<div class="MsoNormal">
I am sorry</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
And I've always been</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
For one thing or the other</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I’m born into a world where I am constantly reminded</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
That I should be sorry and that I should not have it any
other way</div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I am sorry because even though some people hate me</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I do not hate them back</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I am sorry because I feel only love can drive out hatred</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I am sorry because no matter how hard I try to be the ideal
child</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
They still find a speck of dust in the vast ocean that is my
demeanor</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I am sorry because no matter how much generous a human being
I try to be</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
People don’t cease to zoom into the flaws</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
But despite of that I continue to believe in myself when no
one else believes in me </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
And trust me, I am sorry for that</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The people who abandon me and choose to leave</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Are like scars on my soul</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
With every second scar my skin grows rough and ugly</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
But this time if you choose to be one of those scars</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I will still care and love, like always </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
And I am sorry for that</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I love, and therefore I am</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
What is the essence of our transient being if we don’t feel
the need to love?</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I am sorry I theorize that we’re all broken into pieces and
that only love can join us back</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
People continue to forego my love, but still I continue to
love, and fiercely so, </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
With the sum of all my broken pieces </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I’m really sorry I do</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I have dreams. Indestructible dreams that won’t let me
sleep.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Oh, but I’m not sorry this time. Why?</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Because when in the day I allow the world to slave me and my
thoughts,</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I wait for the dark. That is when my dreams breathe life
into my scarred soul. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
That is when I, and only I, have the key to my conviction. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
That is when I can unapologetically hope for a better world</div>
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And I will not let you snatch away my hope and crumble my
dreams</div>
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Even if I belong to this world, my dreams solely belong to
me. </div>
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And mind you, I will never be sorry for that.</div>
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Ishita Dutthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16485138086806880091noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3660965527516766703.post-46028355536911751892015-03-04T05:22:00.000-08:002015-03-04T06:15:37.011-08:00Liebster Award<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEifmsnx1SyZK6GEb9NXn0LtkbSDBbjD39GubhGPUsFJmm-t0_MkW8rN3YAwgnQwRNoPQLhScJfAxpEwBUah9o_fK092ELPjPoG5QnpPcdv7O7NpySftcqz5r-3riwMjQmpe44a-WPkuRAM/s1600/blogger-image-353694272.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEifmsnx1SyZK6GEb9NXn0LtkbSDBbjD39GubhGPUsFJmm-t0_MkW8rN3YAwgnQwRNoPQLhScJfAxpEwBUah9o_fK092ELPjPoG5QnpPcdv7O7NpySftcqz5r-3riwMjQmpe44a-WPkuRAM/s1600/blogger-image-353694272.jpg" /></a></div>
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To start with, I must thank my friend and one of my favorite bloggers Vani Devraj for nominating me for the Liebster Award :) She blogs at <a href="http://plainjane98.blogspot.com/" target="_blank">Pearls Of Catharsis </a><br />
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For all of you who don't know what the award means, you can read the details in the image given below </div>
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<b><span style="font-size: 18pt;">Questions I've been asked:</span></b><span style="font-size: 13.5pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span background:white="" color:black="" crimson="" serif="" style="font-family: "; font-size: 13.5pt;" text="">1. What is the last thing you ate?</span><span style="font-size: 13.5pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span background:white="" color:black="" crimson="" serif="" style="font-family: "; font-size: 13.5pt;" text="">- I'm just eating a burger while typing this. Big foodie I am
yaa</span><span style="font-size: 13.5pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span background:white="" color:black="" crimson="" serif="" style="font-family: "; font-size: 13.5pt;" text="">2. The mystery behind your name? (Who kept it, meaning etc.)</span><span style="font-size: 13.5pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span background:white="" color:black="" crimson="" serif="" style="font-family: "; font-size: 13.5pt;" text="">- My mother kept my name. 'Ishita' apparently means<span class="apple-converted-space"> </span><i>superior<span class="apple-converted-space"> </span></i>and therefore it is a synonym for
Hindu Goddess Durga. </span><span style="font-size: 13.5pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: black; font-family: ""","serif"; font-size: 13.5pt;">3. Any dream you
remember? Then share it. :D</span><span style="font-size: 13.5pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span background:white="" color:black="" crimson="" serif="" style="font-family: "; font-size: 13.5pt;" text="">- I am an avid procrastinator so most of the time I'm
sleeping and hence dreaming. I hope we could record our dreams and replay them
because it's so difficult to remember them once you get up. So TBH, can't
remember anything vividly to answer this :( </span><span style="font-size: 13.5pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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4. Your ultimate aim in life? </span><span style="font-size: 13.5pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span background:white="" color:black="" crimson="" serif="" style="font-family: "; font-size: 13.5pt;" text="">- In the
words of John Lennon-<span class="apple-converted-space"> </span><i>to be
happy. </i></span><span style="font-size: 13.5pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span background:white="" color:black="" crimson="" serif="" style="font-family: "; font-size: 13.5pt;" text=""><br />
5. Has life given you lemons?</span><span style="font-size: 13.5pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span background:white="" color:black="" crimson="" serif="" style="font-family: "; font-size: 13.5pt;" text="">- *Burps* I
guess that was the lemonade. </span><span style="font-size: 13.5pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span background:white="" color:black="" crimson="" serif="" style="font-family: "; font-size: 13.5pt;" text=""><br />
6. Do you believe in ghosts?</span><span style="font-size: 13.5pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span background:white="" color:black="" crimson="" serif="" style="font-family: "; font-size: 13.5pt;" text="">- According
to Newton, every action has an equal and opposite reaction. So since I believe
in God, I do believe that there exists an opposite force but definitely not
equal in power. Most of the time, the ghost resides in our very own soul and
keeps haunting our desires. </span><span style="font-size: 13.5pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span background:white="" color:black="" crimson="" serif="" style="font-family: "; font-size: 13.5pt;" text=""><br /></span>
<span background:white="" color:black="" crimson="" serif="" style="font-family: "; font-size: 13.5pt;" text="">7. Are you
creative? If yes then share your talent. :)</span><span style="font-size: 13.5pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span background:white="" color:black="" crimson="" serif="" style="font-family: "; font-size: 13.5pt;" text="">- I think
creativity has more to do with the way your thought process functions rather
than how good you are in an art, dance or writing as in my case. And in that
matter, I can be sure to say that the rebel inside me does not let my thoughts
be ordinary.</span><span style="font-size: 13.5pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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8. Name a book that changed your outlook towards life.</span><span style="font-size: 13.5pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span background:white="" color:black="" crimson="" serif="" style="font-family: "; font-size: 13.5pt;" text="">- It has to
be Tuesdays With Morrie by Mitch Albom. He urgently needs to write more books!
*Sigh*</span><span style="font-size: 13.5pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span background:white="" color:black="" crimson="" serif="" style="font-family: "; font-size: 13.5pt;" text="">9. How many
true friends do you have?</span><span style="font-size: 13.5pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span background:white="" color:black="" crimson="" serif="" style="font-family: "; font-size: 13.5pt;" text="">- Around
5. </span><span style="font-size: 13.5pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span background:white="" color:black="" crimson="" serif="" style="font-family: "; font-size: 13.5pt;" text=""><br />
10. Do you like me? ^_^</span><span style="font-size: 13.5pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span background:white="" color:black="" crimson="" serif="" style="font-family: "; font-size: 13.5pt;" text="">- I love
you, Vani !</span><span style="font-size: 13.5pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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11. Are you satisfied with these questions?</span><span style="font-size: 13.5pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span background:white="" color:black="" crimson="" serif="" style="font-family: "; font-size: 13.5pt;" text="">- Hell yes!</span><span style="font-size: 13.5pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Facts About Me</b></span></div>
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My last post being <a href="http://www.ish-tyle.blogspot.in/2015/01/20-facts-about-myself.html" target="_blank">20 Facts About Myself</a> , I would like to avoid repeating the same facts in another blog post.</div>
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I further nominate <a href="https://plus.google.com/u/0/+PallaviBhatia98/posts" target="_blank">Pallavi Bhatia</a>, Yashasvi Shailly, <a href="https://plus.google.com/u/0/103427300522615822575/posts" target="_blank">Rudrank Riyam</a> and <a href="https://plus.google.com/u/0/114161341418207904221/posts" target="_blank">Traci Lawrence</a> for the award. If anybody else wants to be nominated you can let me know in the comments below and I will tag you :) </div>
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<b style="font-size: x-large;">My Questions</b></div>
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If you choose to accept the award, then these are my questions for you: </div>
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1. When did you feel that you should start blogging? </div>
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2. What is your wildest fantasy? </div>
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3. If you get to chose your Heaven after dying, how would you like it to be?</div>
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4. What is that one thing you swear by?</div>
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5. What would be your comeback if someone criticizes your writing skills?</div>
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6. If you have to listen to one music artist or band all your life, who would that be?</div>
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7. Who is your favorite writer and why?</div>
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8. What do you think this world needs the most?</div>
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9. If you were Adam/Eve, what kind of civilization would you have initiated? </div>
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10. What is your idea of love?</div>
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11. One thing that brings out the best in you? </div>
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Happy Reading! </div>
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Ishita Dutthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16485138086806880091noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3660965527516766703.post-88453366657826587902015-01-24T01:17:00.003-08:002015-01-24T01:21:57.214-08:00The Great Indian Litterbug<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I have a very vulnerable hate speed, i.e. the speed with
which I can start hating a person is very fast. Usually these are people I
don’t know, people I just observe on the roads, the streets, the markets etc. And
my hate speed is directly proportional to how big of a litterbug they are.
Though the reasons for which I may hate a person are many, but the most
irritable nuisances committed which I just can’t tolerate are the various modes
of spreading “beauty” that people in India are accustomed to. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Broadly categorizing, there are 3 main types of such
litterbugs in India. </span></div>
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<b>1. The Great Indian
Pee Panthers<o:p></o:p></b></div>
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These are commonly men, who have the nature’s advantage to
be able to stand and pee. And for the same that goes for all the other
advantages men claim in the society, this is also considered a birth right by
most of them. These people, surprisingly, have no set range (pun not intended).
They may vary from a construction laborer to an educated businessman to a
policeman himself! These people would never care to control it in for some time
and look for a public toilet. In fact, they have their own favorite and
convenient spots- public walls! Ironically, many walls have been covered up
with tiles portraying religious idols to stop this practice! Yet another example
that people in India need religion to remind them of their social
responsibilities. </div>
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<b>2. The Great Indian <i>Gutka</i> Giants. <o:p></o:p></b></div>
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These are people fond of chewing <i>‘paan’</i> or <i>‘gutka’</i> or any
such so called delicacy. Even if we ignore the gross activity itself, but the
fact that they spit it out on public roads is invincible. Our roads and streets
have become more red than grey. The walls bear emboss color outbursts of their <i>gutka</i>. If you’re having a bad day you
might as well step on one such fresh pulp of red and curse your existence! </div>
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<b>3. The Great Indian
Tetra Troubleshooters<o:p></o:p></b></div>
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This, according to me is the most heinous social crime. One
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out waste is uncontrollable (even
though prevention is better than cure) but the practice of throwing Tetra Paks
, plastic bottles, vegetable and fruit peel offs, etc on roads is unforgivable and any excuse to
justify it is utterly baseless. While one can easily carry such packets home
and throw them in a bin, most of us chose to get rid of them right away. But we
forget the most important thing- when you throw dirt, you lose ground!</div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">It is because of these litterbugs that revolutionary
movements like the Swachh Bharat Abhiyan bring about but a little change. It takes
so much time and effort for many people together to clean up a road. But it takes only
one unconcerned brain-dead person to litter it down again. As unfair as it is,
we, the anti-litterbugs, just end up cursing our own government and citizens
and find opportunities to run abroad.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">But we need to do
this:</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><b>Ridicule the
litterbugs!</b> Show them that they are gross and unclean. Whenever you see a
person littering the surroundings, even if it is somebody you know, make them
an ugly face; say <b>‘Yuck! You’re such a litterbug’</b>;
and move away from where they’re standing. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Social isolation and mockery is the best way to prick their
conscience! </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">You must watch this video - The Great Indian Litterbug Pledge , a hilarious initiative by Times Of India and <a href="https://www.indiblogger.in/" target="_blank">IndiBlogger .</a></span></div>
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<a href="http://greatindian.timesofindia.com/" target="_blank"> http://greatindian.timesofindia.com/.</a></div>
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Ishita Dutthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16485138086806880091noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3660965527516766703.post-2413394234583596642015-01-18T03:47:00.004-08:002015-01-18T03:47:55.892-08:00Garnier Pure Active Neem Face Wash<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 13.5pt;">Just imagine. You're
going out for a party. All dressed up in pretty clothes and good make up. You
look absolutely perfect. But that one pimple that flashes on your face spoils
the whole idea of looking beautiful. We all have faced situations like this. During
my puberty days my face used to be red. Not because a rose berry blush or
something, but with pimples. Even though I believe that beauty is from inside
but pimples are a different matter altogether. I was fed up with trying all
kinds of medication to get rid of them but nothing seemed to work. Around that
time Garnier had launched the first Pure Active Neem Face Wash and it was just
a matter of few weeks for my pimples to vanish in thin air! What an exquisite
feeling that was! </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 13.5pt;">Since then Garnier has
been favorite beauty care brand. For me it is the tried and tested brand we can
rely on for our needs.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 13.5pt;">So when I got this
opportunity to blog about the <a href="http://www.garnier.in/face-care/beauty/garnier/pure-active/neem-face-wash" target="_blank"><span style="color: blue; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;">Garnier Pure
Active Neem Face Wash</span></a> I was more than happy to do so. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: 13.5pt;">We all know that acne is
a curable problem and we can easily fight it back with the right tools. So don’t
need to worry about those little spots. </span><span style="font-size: 18px;">You've</span><span style="font-size: 13.5pt;"> got this perfect product to your aid. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 13.5pt;">Firstly, you need to
know how the Garnier Pure Active Neem Face Wash helps your skin. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 13.5pt;">It fights germs,
pollution and removes oil as it is enriched with real Neem Leaf and Tree Tea
Oil extracts. So after washing your face with it, you will get a fresh and
glowing skin and you will eventually get rid of your pimples. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 13.5pt;">It is important to use
the right product in the right way. Here are the steps to use the Garnier Pure
Active Neem Face Wash: <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 13.5pt;">*Gently massage on damp
face using your fingertips carefully avoiding the eye contour area. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 13.5pt;">*Rinse thoroughly. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 13.5pt;">*For best results use
twice a day.</span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEimBgaxOUNXz5dktlveQthSwuvLkOO5Of0OEhdt8YoqxwfJgOrRQVXF5Ydg4SOy553zex_R0bXUTqiCS51ZqqAagAbKFMMjKtefWLbaiF-oB4mTQYIN_f4l-qjYp-jriSeZtSlUGt2mp70/s1600/dsc01168.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEimBgaxOUNXz5dktlveQthSwuvLkOO5Of0OEhdt8YoqxwfJgOrRQVXF5Ydg4SOy553zex_R0bXUTqiCS51ZqqAagAbKFMMjKtefWLbaiF-oB4mTQYIN_f4l-qjYp-jriSeZtSlUGt2mp70/s1600/dsc01168.jpg" height="204" width="320" /></a></div>
<o:p></o:p><br />
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 13.5pt;">It is a superb product
priced reasonably and cleanses the face without depriving it of its natural moisture.
Also, a very small amount is required for every single wash hence it also
provides value for money! <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 13.5pt;">I have myself used this
product and it has proved to be extremely useful. Now I confidently step out of
home with a clear skin. I don’t have to worry about extra make up for hiding my
pimples and I don’t have to cry over pimple marks. All thanks to this awesome
face wash! <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: 18px;">This blog post is a part of my Blogger Activity at <a href="http://bit.ly/GPABlogLinkIndiBloggerActivity" target="_blank">IndiBlogger</a></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<a href="http://bit.ly/GPABlogLinkIndiBloggerActivity" target="_blank">http://bit.ly/GPABlogLinkIndiBloggerActivity</a></div>
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<a href="http://bit.ly/GarnierPureActiveNeemWebsite" target="_blank">http://bit.ly/GarnierPureActiveNeemWebsite</a></div>
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Ishita Dutthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16485138086806880091noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3660965527516766703.post-85660552444899685242015-01-16T04:23:00.003-08:002015-01-16T04:23:59.479-08:0020 Facts About Myself <div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEig0f4g6m8FpXyl3Cn0is-SIjrxSZnVuIPiR2Dao5wcOwN4Fa-qrVOQ282-dodTW-MOTeR46snY-H11KiKv0A7GNfhdXFRx5LUDR4h3cPYUvX6FD3iMaLG1-QN8pgBc6DBkTqoiYihU5UA/s1600/2015-01-15.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEig0f4g6m8FpXyl3Cn0is-SIjrxSZnVuIPiR2Dao5wcOwN4Fa-qrVOQ282-dodTW-MOTeR46snY-H11KiKv0A7GNfhdXFRx5LUDR4h3cPYUvX6FD3iMaLG1-QN8pgBc6DBkTqoiYihU5UA/s1600/2015-01-15.jpg" height="320" width="320" /></a></div>
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1. I am a very filmy person; so filmy that this point made
it to the top of the list. My conversations very often contain dialogues from
films.</div>
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2. I am a tomboy and I hate the color pink just for the
girlish feel of it.</div>
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3. I am a big time foodie. After breakfast I think of lunch and after lunch I think of dinner!</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi9tDqAxZ4YTdHJAdAThd6ib1D_6sqxpZqWAeA64Hu7e4uWOHWay-RBPL0nqIXrFMxAIJ-Q8uppZeogmcA9g4vo7cpCI5M5mGVNF_5zkWVuE74Oo3RnHH0H0rOo9TEZO1z3yDvI9RefjPA/s1600/10934685_939327626078339_1198388441_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi9tDqAxZ4YTdHJAdAThd6ib1D_6sqxpZqWAeA64Hu7e4uWOHWay-RBPL0nqIXrFMxAIJ-Q8uppZeogmcA9g4vo7cpCI5M5mGVNF_5zkWVuE74Oo3RnHH0H0rOo9TEZO1z3yDvI9RefjPA/s1600/10934685_939327626078339_1198388441_n.jpg" height="400" width="192" /></a></div>
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4. I fantasize that violins will be playing when I meet the
love of my life. </div>
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5. I am that friend who’s always single but looked up to for
relationship advice. Love guru, you may call it!</div>
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6. I am very fond of my singing but others are not. You will
always find me humming to an old 90’s song.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjg726_bp4CgJDRxnFjSft5fR5AfWz9DI7eyhsZW3WSAUBWlo4wOSc6laFktdDUcBaT-O3zCM-wNp0Os6rfH6_lDCt8hhfGrH91iBXCqlU-tfoI61Ik56isdbFcjbubTaGZarrtQyjebBA/s1600/10933076_939327206078381_731297474_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjg726_bp4CgJDRxnFjSft5fR5AfWz9DI7eyhsZW3WSAUBWlo4wOSc6laFktdDUcBaT-O3zCM-wNp0Os6rfH6_lDCt8hhfGrH91iBXCqlU-tfoI61Ik56isdbFcjbubTaGZarrtQyjebBA/s1600/10933076_939327206078381_731297474_n.jpg" height="195" width="320" /></a></div>
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7. I may seem jolly and strong but I’m a very sensitive
person. Even a little argument or insult can take its toll on me. </div>
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8. I love it when somebody writes something for me. I am an
ardent reader and if it is about me, all the more wonderful!</div>
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9. I really like if I’m able to make people happy and lessen
their sorrows.</div>
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10. I love experimenting new styles with my hair but they are
just not meant for that!</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjmg3lpVS2fg0Lb-_FTl1cP9DfeLFuRRRCS5KcKHnuyehjJOcSSF8xDnJ1dT7DEb3TD3JIcWE2dhlv9SRmK_ZD5pm4SyMXMCsYtIXuSXwi2Lh2eRmJjwLxLcVkI6zAN-DjpiFDHoQLCiTo/s1600/10937288_939327102745058_1954254997_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjmg3lpVS2fg0Lb-_FTl1cP9DfeLFuRRRCS5KcKHnuyehjJOcSSF8xDnJ1dT7DEb3TD3JIcWE2dhlv9SRmK_ZD5pm4SyMXMCsYtIXuSXwi2Lh2eRmJjwLxLcVkI6zAN-DjpiFDHoQLCiTo/s1600/10937288_939327102745058_1954254997_n.jpg" height="320" width="318" /></a></div>
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11. I don’t like if somebody hates me. No matter how much I
pretend I do give a damn about that! </div>
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12. I am a very confused person. I’m always in double minds
about making a decision and after </div>
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making it always think if the other option
would have been better!</div>
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13. I am a single child to my parents and pampered beyond
limits. But that doesn't make me a spoiled brat. </div>
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14. I am very, very punctual. I hate getting late and because of this I often end up sitting in a party where no one else has yet arrived.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjPQZ3JjuSNv3dDdZjcF3NsO1p9loHiQ4NDXg8a4HblwbZLTaUgPHKFlBqeKja0mPF7P3WCicCp1WFFNxfBXBVm0NC_2VYQpwGqihxodaLFwReAp6cQBIaJj4G6ksVURzuTD_KZkQ71DIU/s1600/10937590_939327629411672_41746039_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjPQZ3JjuSNv3dDdZjcF3NsO1p9loHiQ4NDXg8a4HblwbZLTaUgPHKFlBqeKja0mPF7P3WCicCp1WFFNxfBXBVm0NC_2VYQpwGqihxodaLFwReAp6cQBIaJj4G6ksVURzuTD_KZkQ71DIU/s1600/10937590_939327629411672_41746039_n.jpg" /></a></div>
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15. My favorite author is Mitch Albom. I have many favorite
authors but no one ever reaches close to this man. </div>
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16. I am a loud and boisterous person. I am calm only when
I’m sad or deeply pondering over something.</div>
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17. I hate the winter season. Too much of procrastination!</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJYl7H2wRYRrTRxGv_i5gXFcjPbN_Yxz1899vw5t-a5yUXzMHswNzy1qka5My37q0UndCzCRB52eOCw-Myd9QfodV2zrELBXyyC6fRdYPM2lVeVJvJ9M4P83grUSoEEzb5gmOyqncmf2o/s1600/10937546_939327099411725_1883803570_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJYl7H2wRYRrTRxGv_i5gXFcjPbN_Yxz1899vw5t-a5yUXzMHswNzy1qka5My37q0UndCzCRB52eOCw-Myd9QfodV2zrELBXyyC6fRdYPM2lVeVJvJ9M4P83grUSoEEzb5gmOyqncmf2o/s1600/10937546_939327099411725_1883803570_n.jpg" /></a></div>
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18. I am a very opinionated person and really love
discussions. </div>
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19. I was a Humanities aspirant and really loved studying History, I still do. Somehow ended up with Commerce.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjUruqygeek2lxSZeLx1ZM1t1IDuaRaYEE91tqDS0A1kcztQrfHv7HjWwHBQtkYcL0lU7oacAacbm45VyFVgNm3-YDRpCJd27kIOek9DPfpIGaJZuRsNeOnT5YIjeK8KLpIeG3ou4JV16k/s1600/10934415_939327632745005_1431247599_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjUruqygeek2lxSZeLx1ZM1t1IDuaRaYEE91tqDS0A1kcztQrfHv7HjWwHBQtkYcL0lU7oacAacbm45VyFVgNm3-YDRpCJd27kIOek9DPfpIGaJZuRsNeOnT5YIjeK8KLpIeG3ou4JV16k/s1600/10934415_939327632745005_1431247599_n.jpg" /></a></div>
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20. And but of course, I love writing! ;) </div>
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I thank Vani Devraj for nominating me for the 20 Facts
Challenge. She blogs at <a href="http://plainjane98.blogspot.in/p/responses-to.html" target="_blank">Plain Jane</a>. I don’t have 20 people to tag. But I will just nominate three of my friends Yashasvi Shailly who blogs at <a href="https://beyashasvi.wordpress.com/" target="_blank">Randomness and Beyond..</a> , Pallavi Bhatia who blogs at <a href="http://babyareyoumine.blogspot.in/" target="_blank">Reckless Serenade</a> and Prerna Rawat who blogs at <a href="https://shewritesaboutherself.wordpress.com/" target="_blank">shewritesaboutherself</a> . Also if you are willing to take up the task, you can mention it in the comments below and I will tag you too. :)</div>
</div>
Ishita Dutthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16485138086806880091noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3660965527516766703.post-68893482222820280972015-01-04T05:47:00.000-08:002015-01-15T06:17:40.660-08:00There is a place in the heart that will never be filled<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiNA-FL4YzzHg6wKCve5BksdJpGulGKEb71c-HGrPYq58s-PwR06g_OoqVztreUSbDJ1GiSPSDne10bvP4cr3IeC5a1Kr8b8QP11j8cv-o17fK4xdfqBEFTBqamqBtbRZg3iBeHxbrUJVc/s1600/Quotation-Charles-Bukowski-moments-heart-best-space-Meetville-Quotes-47999.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiNA-FL4YzzHg6wKCve5BksdJpGulGKEb71c-HGrPYq58s-PwR06g_OoqVztreUSbDJ1GiSPSDne10bvP4cr3IeC5a1Kr8b8QP11j8cv-o17fK4xdfqBEFTBqamqBtbRZg3iBeHxbrUJVc/s1600/Quotation-Charles-Bukowski-moments-heart-best-space-Meetville-Quotes-47999.jpg" height="218" width="320" /></a></div>
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It is yet another year</div>
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So I try to count the losses I bear;</div>
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Not of gems and pleasures </div>
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But of relations I treasure.</div>
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<o:p><br /></o:p></div>
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There was a friend, </div>
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I loved her dearly</div>
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But as time played the role of sand;</div>
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And swayed her away from my hand</div>
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She is too distant to be anymore,</div>
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my gleaming lamp of Aladdin.</div>
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As I behold the Bible she gifted</div>
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resting on my lap,</div>
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I miss the times when she had my back;</div>
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Yet I moved on</div>
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A girl I met in 8<sup>th</sup> grade</div>
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Fragile and lone she was</div>
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Firmly clinging to my Olive leaf</div>
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She confided in me through thick and thin.</div>
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A swirling roller coaster our friendship was</div>
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It went up and down</div>
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But came all the way round</div>
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As gullible and hateful as she was</div>
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The ride came to a halt.</div>
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The roller coaster stopped, </div>
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But I moved on</div>
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My mother’s family is close to my heart</div>
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And closest was the man</div>
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whom I revered more than my dad. </div>
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A man of his words, </div>
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he was my guardian angel</div>
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He inspired our philosophies of life</div>
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But death patronized suffering</div>
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And I willed myself to move on</div>
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The nonchalant strolls of a charming boy</div>
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had secretly made way to my heart</div>
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A mere fleeting glance intoxicated every part </div>
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of my miserable scarred senses</div>
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Babbling gibberish talks all day</div>
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I would go mute, cold as clay</div>
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on the sight of his distant silhouette </div>
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Oh my, how the heart did sway!</div>
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But as the bubble of infatuation </div>
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burst out to reality,</div>
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I moved on.</div>
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And with all these people I leave behind,</div>
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a part of me is left behind</div>
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And as Charles Bukowski said</div>
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"There is a place in the heart that will never be filled"</div>
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Thus, I shall move on.</div>
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Ishita Dutthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16485138086806880091noreply@blogger.com14tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3660965527516766703.post-32032531178932476182014-12-20T00:58:00.001-08:002014-12-20T01:05:55.543-08:00Wake Up<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgL-Z-9VECt78v_u1nbz4EGRiIxFTbWZC7ki4mFcRKTpXW5yIbOdLKSNg1lnmsJ_tqv0yFzn_8VsU6-4JN6xv4TpVayrw9chXS5ey5hNuLmUdfEHVbyvSVXxG9MEG62S6yShZpDLfbIjqE/s1600/641271450792.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgL-Z-9VECt78v_u1nbz4EGRiIxFTbWZC7ki4mFcRKTpXW5yIbOdLKSNg1lnmsJ_tqv0yFzn_8VsU6-4JN6xv4TpVayrw9chXS5ey5hNuLmUdfEHVbyvSVXxG9MEG62S6yShZpDLfbIjqE/s1600/641271450792.jpg" height="263" width="400" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">We all have read about the 16 December Peshawar tragedy.
7 militants of the <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Tehrik-i-Taliban_Pakistan" target="_blank">Taliban</a> entered an army school and killed around 145
people including students and staff. They later tried to reason it by saying that
they were seeking vengeance against the <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Operation_Zarb-e-Azb" target="_blank">Zarb-e-Azb</a> operation being conducted by
the Pakistani Armed Forces against militant groups. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Much has been said about
the excruciating step taken by the terrorists that has once again defied all
the laws of humanity and has brought invincible shame to the one true God they
supposedly worship. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Such militant groups lure many youths into joining them by
claiming of bravery and courage in terms of enforcement of their definition of
religion. Such people do not realize that there is absolutely no courage in the
butchering of 136 unarmed and indefensible children. True courage is what all
the prophets of our religions portrayed in history by uniting people in a
common faith of brotherhood. True courage is what those commandos portrayed who rescued
the children on that unfortunate day. True courage is being a savior, not a
murderer.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">This incident reminded me of a very stirring song by John
Lennon:<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<i><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Imagine
there's no heaven<br />
It's easy if you try<br />
No hell below us<br />
Above us only sky<br />
<br />
Imagine all the people<br />
Living for today<br />
<br />Imagine there's no countries<br />
It isn't hard to do<br />
Nothing to kill or die for<br />
And no religion too<br />
<br />
Imagine all the people<br />
Living life in peace<br />
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You may say I'm a dreamer<br />
But I'm not the only one<br />
I hope someday you'll join us<br />
And the world will be as one<br />
<br />
Imagine no possessions<br />
I wonder if you can<br />
No need for greed or hunger<br />
A brotherhood of man<br />
<br />
Imagine all the people<br />
Sharing all the world<br />
<br />
You may say I'm a dreamer<br />
But I'm not the only one<br />
I hope someday you'll join us<br />
And the world will live as one<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 16.0pt; line-height: 115%;">It’s high time to realize that violence is futile and
revenge begets revenge. If we want to show God we love him, the best way is to
love his creations, and not destroy them.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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Ishita Dutthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16485138086806880091noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3660965527516766703.post-38870379319279393772014-11-27T21:46:00.002-08:002015-07-20T07:05:31.175-07:00Come, fall in love<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<br /><br /><b>"Aisa pehli baar hua hai satrah athrah saalon meinUndekha anjaana koi aane laga hai khayalon mein"</b><br /><br /><br />Some 1000 weeks ago, Indian cinema was divided into two eras. Pre-DDLJ and Post-DDLJ. <br /><br />So basically, we are 1000 weeks into the post-DDLJ era and it is certainly something to be proud of. I have only three regrets in life and one of them is not being born early enough to be able to watch DDLJ in 1995. I can imagine myself going to a theater to watch DDLJ and coming out teary-eyed. It would have been a gem of a moment! If you’re one of the people who have been that much lucky and reading this blog, please let me know in the comments below. <br /><br /><br />In the 90’s, Bollywood had the air of those silly Karishma Kapoor Rom-Coms (Some of them were epic, though). And DDLJ came as a breath of fresh air. Everything about the Aditya Chopra directorial was so overwhelming, so new. It had never happened before; neither did it happen ever after. The movie gave us some of the most incredible scenes and dialogues that act as a thumbnail of Bollywood in the 90’s. <br /><br />Not only did the movie scored aces at the box office, it was a turning point in the careers of almost the entire cast and crew. Aditya Chopra has established himself as one of the most successful directors and is leading YRF to the heights. Kajol has had a clear steady stardom ever since. Right from Mandira Bedi to Farida Jalal, they all cherish a career worth being grateful for. And of course, pre-DDLJ who would have thought that the long-haired lad from Fauji would make it this big in Bollywood? Like literally, he is the KING! <br /><br />Now, I can go on and on rambling about DDLJ and you might just sleep. <br /><br />So as my little tribute, I would like to share some of my favorite elements of my favorite movie:<br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><b>Amrish Puri’s Grocery Store</b><br /><br />The very famous scene where Raj peaks into the grocery store and runs with a bottle of beer was shot in Trafalgar Square, London. And this place is on my to-visit list since forever! <br /><br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg8hLkAmj3RcbIMj9DlQmrK9BMd6TiVDZy4G-NdWIktOyhLKhrK8iB6_yHwmM6f_f4elgbx52Qk8gjE7B1I6XSARexih0Zgr8NgNAKIVXxXTvSBJObNXzyzRz1nit6Nf5eNjn3xzfqbHzk/s1600/hqdefault.jpg"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg8hLkAmj3RcbIMj9DlQmrK9BMd6TiVDZy4G-NdWIktOyhLKhrK8iB6_yHwmM6f_f4elgbx52Qk8gjE7B1I6XSARexih0Zgr8NgNAKIVXxXTvSBJObNXzyzRz1nit6Nf5eNjn3xzfqbHzk/s1600/hqdefault.jpg" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><b>Raj’s Violin </b><br /><br />All through the movie, Raj’s violin was a character in itself. Not only do we all fantasize it, but the very holding of the violin by SRK added on to its sex appeal.<br /><br /><br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhrdB5C_GFTJzSGAa0lijTmjmGJdrjTE2nkjGAe5X7r8JzYk_vLovrr1VVdRqmz1PNZ0p6HjLUBjArYl4SV55GuL9HB_ojGiLYa6vOapm5O5KqChl9PrHaNlcPsEAwUzX4sfxuQqRucK8k/s1600/ddlj.jpg"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhrdB5C_GFTJzSGAa0lijTmjmGJdrjTE2nkjGAe5X7r8JzYk_vLovrr1VVdRqmz1PNZ0p6HjLUBjArYl4SV55GuL9HB_ojGiLYa6vOapm5O5KqChl9PrHaNlcPsEAwUzX4sfxuQqRucK8k/s1600/ddlj.jpg" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><div>
<b>The ‘Palat’ scene</b><br /><br /><br />"Agar ye tujhse pyar karti hai, to ye palat ke dekhegi. Palat. Palat. Palat."<br /></div>
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And that glance was the moment-of-realization for Simran. <br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjNv_nOzlgl2aCMRvDNHgPpp8Zwc7xMF7UXeryoemYwk52HcChIwvXETNr7SKWb-oTxYgOXLHVi7GuXe_uAE1DtYnOQc0Qy1dk8wtfXVC6uxoGvXNgI0uovFQhv_TidYNxHaoHwaqwrFkM/s1600/7daa9fcb2a6deb3f9ba45e1e199f29ca.jpg"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjNv_nOzlgl2aCMRvDNHgPpp8Zwc7xMF7UXeryoemYwk52HcChIwvXETNr7SKWb-oTxYgOXLHVi7GuXe_uAE1DtYnOQc0Qy1dk8wtfXVC6uxoGvXNgI0uovFQhv_TidYNxHaoHwaqwrFkM/s1600/7daa9fcb2a6deb3f9ba45e1e199f29ca.jpg" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /></div>
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<b>Karan Johar!</b><br /><br />Very few people must have noticed the blink-and-miss appearance of Karan Johar in the movie. He plays the role of Raj’s buddy, Rocky. However, in the scene before the song Ruk Ja O Dil Diwane starts, he’s got dialogues too! xD This is how far back Aditya-Karan-SRK friendship goes. <br /><br /><br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgrA0pT9uaINDK2jr-6_laLYme_XqLSNP3D6tjnB3Z552tv_pokEsiCRn1G-6k3HSfqbVsAUqzXAuFAacNFfaSUZeLHW2g20F2X3ZmYN-Na41JAZSJvQM2pHTQQp-6pcZPSRKMvOhlYZYw/s1600/Arjun-sablok-Rajs-friend.jpg"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgrA0pT9uaINDK2jr-6_laLYme_XqLSNP3D6tjnB3Z552tv_pokEsiCRn1G-6k3HSfqbVsAUqzXAuFAacNFfaSUZeLHW2g20F2X3ZmYN-Na41JAZSJvQM2pHTQQp-6pcZPSRKMvOhlYZYw/s1600/Arjun-sablok-Rajs-friend.jpg" /></a><br /><br /><br /><b><br />The Sarson Ka Khet!</b><br /><br /> The mustard field in the movie has got a career of its own. When Simran runs through all those plants and embraces Raj, the Sarson ke khet just add to the whole moment. <br /><br /><br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjs_EBy1itzriJBy9qU8j52E8tdmBvUurOOJTZroP5cc8MzQG-sA79EP9fcFrwBm3EDBIcoc-Hy3GTCHf6SEjhFHtOuEs8xDZ5jVbfibC1SUSsxM6NGSdRDBD-LPV9j1EF2QyYR74CEh2o/s1600/srk+kajol+jodi+pic+photo+image+wallpaper+ddlj+best+top+quality+bollywood.jpg"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjs_EBy1itzriJBy9qU8j52E8tdmBvUurOOJTZroP5cc8MzQG-sA79EP9fcFrwBm3EDBIcoc-Hy3GTCHf6SEjhFHtOuEs8xDZ5jVbfibC1SUSsxM6NGSdRDBD-LPV9j1EF2QyYR74CEh2o/s400/srk+kajol+jodi+pic+photo+image+wallpaper+ddlj+best+top+quality+bollywood.jpg" width="400" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><b>The feeding of the pigeons by Amrish Puri</b><br />Bauji starts his day by feeding the pigeons. But then one fine day Raj tries to replicate. And then we got it. Aao. Aao. Aaao.<br /><br /><br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5qDrz-CIz7uFhqLMhqyo1BrN-FzTaRxt7_mpZP5QP6cgFv4EI6QiKOiczVamh7lVeU5QIbBFp0wJP1KL95bQ8IQ1MSRV5FYSdOfWxact4aJYfoWznCMtOypd3LfJs3YqnAUUsZbUp5ow/s1600/hqdefault+(1).jpg"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5qDrz-CIz7uFhqLMhqyo1BrN-FzTaRxt7_mpZP5QP6cgFv4EI6QiKOiczVamh7lVeU5QIbBFp0wJP1KL95bQ8IQ1MSRV5FYSdOfWxact4aJYfoWznCMtOypd3LfJs3YqnAUUsZbUp5ow/s1600/hqdefault+(1).jpg" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /></div>
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<b>LAJWANTI and CHUTKI</b><br /><br /> Remember the geeky looking little sister of Simran? She acts cupid in the love story and we all loved her in the movie! She is Pooja Ruparel , a cousin of Sonakshi Sinha. And Lajwanti , Simran’s mom, was played by the evergreen Farida Jalal. The cutest mother in Bollywood!<br /><br /><br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhwjBowGRVzsOXlraVpu9oaX5hrNoX_0zQErqyflFtQLNjQnb3GGxk8TJEVQ1xmzcntf_Wtb_0sqItFsLvZg1HhmaQQB8cQNDhBoHSPemVIXsdodKAhoSaDCUvQ12p1i5-fuK_hzbhNyb0/s1600/Pooja-ruparel-simran-sister1.jpg"><img border="0" height="170" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhwjBowGRVzsOXlraVpu9oaX5hrNoX_0zQErqyflFtQLNjQnb3GGxk8TJEVQ1xmzcntf_Wtb_0sqItFsLvZg1HhmaQQB8cQNDhBoHSPemVIXsdodKAhoSaDCUvQ12p1i5-fuK_hzbhNyb0/s400/Pooja-ruparel-simran-sister1.jpg" width="400" /></a><br /><br /><b><br />The Railway Station scene</b><br /><br /><br />This whole scene was the best. Starting from the Raj-Baldev fight that still causes Goosebumps, to Bauji’s holding back Simran; and then, finally, Simran’s running frantically to reach Raj’s hand. Isn't it magic? <br /><br /><br /><br /><a href="http://www.telegraphindia.com/1130212/images/ddlj4.jpg"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/proxy/AVvXsEhN7B0DKh2nZ__zlQyAAaT4hJ00cjcGZSMAx8yVt8Ms0BXJ_V_QfTVw8ZbjMp54jmXtfPjNI8-E-YsjHWmqu7IEC3vypplV1Te0EEsa0CqCqK1FhPUaJCtfrFI44cF-BCPp5IeHU3n1J4kP6uUH01YkUSYAekbq=" /></a><br /><br /><br /> <br /> <br /> Have you watched the new trailer of Dilwale Dulhaniya Le Jayenge launched by Yash Raj Films? If not, you're missing something beautiful. So here is the video for you: <br /><br /><br /><br /> <br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /> <br /><br /><br /><img src="https://img2.blogblog.com/img/video_object.png" /><br /><br /><br /> - celebrating 1000 weeks of DDLJ :)</div>
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