The Life of Iranian President Ahmedinejad

The FoxNewsTV (USA) asked the Iranian President Ahmedinejad,

'When you look into the mirror in the morning what do you say to yourself'?
He answered: I see the person in the mirror and tell him 'Remember' you are no more than a small servant, ahead of you today is the heavy responsibility, and that is to serve the Iranian nation'.
Ahmedinejad, the Iranian President who astonished many when he first reached to the office of the Presidency by donating all the high valued Iranian carpets to one of the mosques in Tehran by replacing them with the low cost ordinary carpets. He observed that there was a huge extravagant lounge for receiving and welcoming the VIPs and he ordered it to be closed and asked the protocol office to arrange for an ordinary room only with wooden chairs.
On many instances he joins the cleaning staff of the municipality for cleaning the streets in the area where his home and the Presidency are located.
Under his authority whenever he appoints any minister to his post he gets a signed document from him with many points particularly highlighting that he shall remain poor and that his personal and his relatives accounts will be watched and the day he leaves the ministry shall be with dignity, and therefore it is not lawful for him or his relatives to take any advantage of his office. First of all he declared himself for all the 'Big' wealth and the property he owned was a Peugeot 504 car, model 1977, an old small house inherited from his father 40-years ago in one of the poorest zones in Tehran . His accounts with a zero balance and the only money comes in to his a/c was from his salary from the university as a lecturer with an amount of US$ 250 only.
For your information the President still lives in that same house. This is all what he owns; the president of one of the world's important countries; strategically, economically, politically and with regard to its oil and defense. He even doesn't take his personal salary with the argument that all the wealth belongs to the nation and he is the safeguard over it.
One of the things that impressed the staff at the presidency is the bag the President brings with him every day, which contains his breakfast; some sandwiches or bread with olive oil and cheese prepared by his wife and eats and enjoys it with all happiness.
One of the other things he changed was his personal carrier 'the President's Aircraft' to a cargo aircraft in order to save the spending from the public treasury and he ordered that he will be flying with the ordinary airline in the economy class..
He organizes meetings every now and then with all the ministers to know their activities and efficiency and he closed down the office of the Manager of the president and any minister can enter to his office without any permission. He also stopped the welcome ceremonies like the red carpet, the photo session or any personal advertisement or respect of any kind while visiting any place in the country.
Whenever he has to stay in any of the hotels he asks them to make sure not to give him a room with any big bed because he doesn't like to sleep on beds but rather likes to sleep on the floor on a simple mattress with a blanket.
Refer to some of the photographs which also confirm the above. The Iranian president is sleeping in the guest room of his house after getting away from his special guards who follow him wherever he goes and photo is taken by his small brother according to the Wifaq Newspaper which published this photo and the next day the photo was published in most of the world's newspapers and magazines and particularly the Americans.


During the prayer you can see that he is not sitting in the first row.

Try comparing this with the emoluments and privileges our ministers get………

Memories-A fast buck

This is an incident about my childhood which is stuck in my memory and would probably always be there for the rest of my life.
It was a wedding in my neighborhood in the beautiful city of Chandigarh, Punjab. It is a custom in Punjabi weddings to throw money in the air when all the guests are dancing in the streets to the rhythm of the "dhols" (drums) played by "dholwallahs". The money thrown was then collected by beggars, domestic helps and the guys playing the dhol. I was a six year old then who was invited to the wedding with my parents, watching the proceedings with boredom when it suddenly struck me that I could make some quick pocket-money in that situation.

I eyed the coins and the currency notes scattered on the road with lust and was looking for an opportunity to pick up a few coins and stuff it in my pockets before anybody could notice. Throughout the celebrations, my total concentration was on the road, looking for currencies which went unnoticed by the beggars and dhol-players. What I did not know, was that my father, who was on the first floor of the nearby building, was watching the entire episode from the balcony and had read my intentions correctly.

After the celebrations were over, and as I was headed home, I suddenly felt a strong hand on my shoulders. It was my father, with a very mean look on his face. He took me to a corner of the building, where nobody could see us, and asked me to empty my pockets. I tried to protest and wanted to demand why I was being asked to do so, but the look in his eyes told me I should simply do as I was told. I turned my trouser pockets inside out and to my good luck, my pockets were empty. My father checked my pockets again as he was sure I had picked up some of the coins from the streets. Luckily for me, I did not manage to pocket any of the coins or currencies and I thanked God for that. Had my father found any coins in my pockets, I was in for a good bashing. After having gone through all the pockets in my clothes, and finally satisfied that I had not picked up anything, my father told me, “I know what was on your mind. Don’t think that you can fool me just because there was nothing found in your pockets. I can read your mind, so don’t you ever dare to pocket what is not yours”. With that, he went away, leaving behind a very relieved boy of six, who had missed out on making a fast buck, but learnt a very important lesson of life.

Photographs-Prism lamps at Lighthouse

India calling-Views of Army Officer's daughter

Who let the politicians out?
by Vaishnavi Prasad

Sir,

I am Vaishnavi Prasad, daughter of Colonel K Prasad, whom you would remember from MHOW between 1991-93. I am a student of Journalism in Chennai, India and am closely following this issue, both on the news and through the email group Report My Signals which my father receives regularly. You are doing a great service to the armed forces both serving and retired, in fighting the injustice meted out them by the bureaucrats and the politicians.
Here, are my personal views on the same for your reading.
Sincerely& hoping for the best,
A concerned citizen
Vaishnavi.

---------------
Absolutely genuine views of an Officer's daughter!
It's very simple. A military coup, that is. One collective word is all it needs to convert this nation from a democratic country to a progressive economy with martial law.
The armed forces will take over the nation, and no one can do a thing about it.
Not the police force, not Manmohan Singh(=Sonia Gandhi), not A.K. Antony. No one. A movement will arise so suddenly and with the fury of a raging tsunami, that it will rewrite India's future, inject discipline in the blood of every Indian, unscrew unopened bottles of potential and terrorise the intestines out of those who dare to oppose them or irrigate the minds of others with vile thoughts. Corruption will be eliminated 90% and progress will double.. Indeed, the souls of our forefathers who fought for real freedom, will rest whole-heartily under this military control. Ironic, but true. The question here is, why won't they do it?
Let me tell you what bothers me. I am the 19 year old daughter of a retired government servant, an army officer to be specific (note the 'Servant'.. absolutely true in case of the armed forces)
My father, who retired as a Colonel, is not a reciever of the PVSM, AVSM,&; VSM, or even the VC for that matter. He was a part of the army, served an ordinary Colonel's role, did not jump in front of a bullet to save his men, or plan an intelligent strategy to capture some enemy territory. He was a part of both major wars with Pakistan and China, returned without being a decorated war hero, served in regiments in both borders, saw extreme weather conditions and backward technology and most importantly, he enjoyed and took immense pride in doing all this and serving the nation.
Yet, I feel my father is a greater man than many 'greats' in thisnation. Shahrukh Khan, or Pratibha Patil,to begin with:neither of them have sacrificed more than a sleepless night or compromised on their Saturday morning sleep for the nation.
I don't blame you for saying, 'Oh, she's an army officer's daughter, obviously that's why she's biased'. I don't deny it. It is true. I am biased. And I want every single person in this country, if not the world to be biased. I can only tell you what it is like to have seen these people up, close and personal, to have heard true incidents of bravery and selflessness and then know they're are being paid peanuts, to sacrifice their lives without hesitation for the nation.
When I was 16, my family took a holiday to Arunachal Pradesh, to the regiment where my father had been in command, more than 20 years ago. From a scenic , quaint little town called Tenga, on the banks of a gushing river, we travelled to a snow desert near the Chinese border called Bumla. Here, in the middle of nowhere, one could see a small board stuck in the ice reading 'Welcome to India'.
For as far as our eyes could see in all four directions, there was nothing but snow. Beside that board stood a guard, probably of south Indian origin, in 6 layers of clothing, a giant wind-cheater and the heaviest pair of snow-boots imaginable, against constant rapid winds, endless lengths and immense depths of ice, pacing an abandoned minefield from the 1962 war, looking through a telescope at Chinese vantage points to track enemy positions and moves.
He didn't opt to be there, but when he chose the forces as a career he knew what he would be facing, and he faces it with valour, for he has the patriotism that you and I and many of our politicians lack. Tomorrow he may die in battle, but I know for sure, that no one who has joined the forces will ever regret taking up that profession. If he dies in an act of bravery, he will most
probably be awarded a VC or PVC medal for the same, posthumously. Then the government might give his family a lump sum and/or a measly monthly stipend of Rs.850 to Rs.1500. I ask you, is that all this man's life is worth?
What about a serving soldier? He mostly hails from small areas or rural backgrounds with an uneducated wife and 2 children back in his village alone.Typical, but true. This man, who has time in the forward areas only to eat, sleep and watch the enemy, hardly sees his family. His entire salary is sent back home to his spouse, who faces the brunt of yet again uneducated parents-in-law ready to blame her for anything that happens to their son. In such a situation, a soldier's wife receiving the pitiful salary of her husband will be left an orphan in the middle of the road, simply for the lack of money.
Then, these war heroes, and martyrs are forgotten within minutes, no, wait, seconds of their death. No one forgets to come for the Republic Day parade ,or to place that wreath they didn't order on the grave of some memorial they don't know was built for what om Independence day. Just because it is protocol. Protocol to 'remember' (or forget?) these people on these 'days' meant for our nation, to 'remember' them for the 30 seconds it takes you to read patriotic forwards and messages in your in boxes on email and on your cellphone.

Like a 90-year old war veteran said, I guess it's the forces who are to be blamed. Right from the 3rd pay commission-who screwed up royally- the three forces have always put the pride of serving the nation over money. I guess it's their fault they didn't demand it then.
My father and I have been discussing this issue for a while now, and my blood boils, every single time I see our so-called Defence minister Mr.A.K.Antony defending his stupidity on a podium which he does not deserve. Have you for a minute stopped and thought about why you at home are able to enjoy your evening spent listening to your iPod, or watching a DVD on your 42-inch LCD? It is because you live in India, where the borders, threatened by invasion every second, are guarded constantly, by the watchful eyes of some 27-year old son of a mother who sits far away in a remote town, praying consciously every second for the safety of her son. If that guard decided to look away for even a minute, he would be dead, within seconds, and there would be an invasion leading to chaos everywhere. Soon, India would become a replicate Iraq, pandemonium prevailing,where you would need the permission of your invaders to even use the toilet, which under normal circumstances would be your birthright.
Sometimes it's scary, how something so simple and routine is linked to something so complex and out of hand. From all of you who saw these reports of the military's peaceful war against the government on television, some of you changed the channel since it didn't concern you, some saw the report and took it in as general knowledge, and some burnt rage over it for a few seconds. Those whose blood still boils, would be the ones who have actually some patriotism left in their blood.
Am I being too philosophical for a nineteen year old? Most of you might say yes, but I say, why not? You would too, if you saw the fire in the eyes of these people the way I do.
And what is it, with Mr.Antony's comment on discipline? I'm sorry Mr.Antony, but you politicians, who hit each other with chappals, and microphones, use unparliamentary language in the parliament, come half an hour late to a meeting, and do not know the words of the national anthem, are talking about discipline.Please, don't make me laugh.O r with the panel that is enquiring the pay commission having IAS officers in it!? Why don't we have a separate pay commission for the Military like most other countries do? Why do we have to put up with a cock-eyed system? Why does a DGP get paid almost twice as much as his equivalent in the forces? Why does the army have to replace the fire-brigade, police force and everyone else, when it is specifically mentioned that the forces are only for training during peace and attack during war. Why does the government involve the forces in flood relief , earthquake relief, tsunami relief, and more recently, rescuing of children fallen in pits? Then to put the cherry on the icing, you pay them in a pay scale adopted in 1948?
I have faced and will face a lot of criticism for my views.As some of my friends say, we do get good rations, accommodation and cheaper FMCGs and alcohol. Rations and accommodation -anyone in a decent government service gets that. Cheaper FMCGs- The least the government can do is to remove the taxes off the MRP of many products and make it available to the average soldier, who in return is willing to pay the price of his life for his nation. Cheap alcohol- yes, a bottle of rum is relatively cheaper. Why don't you spend one year of your life to replace a soldier in snowy altitudes, in nothing but a tent or in the blistering heat of the Thar with the only wind bringing sandstorms along with it or in the jungles of Nagaland with the leeches sucking your blood out and I'm sure ANY soldier you replace to give him precious time with his family will gladly give you all the rum he can ever get in his life, simply so you don't die of exhaustion and depression and actually live to tell your tale. Simply, so you can survive.
Let me remind you (non)patriotic souls, that the life of a person in the armed forces is one filled with dignity and pride, and I believe it should reflect in how much s/he is paid, for glamour and corruption rule the roost today, and that bias will take our country nowhere.
Hoping for the best to come for our brave men and women..

JAI HIND.
Vaishnavi Prasad
www.livetimefe.blogspot.com

Photographs-Lighthouse

Lighthouse in Dwarka-India, watches the sun go down.

Photographs-Shadows

Desperately seeking Mohua didi

In India, an elder sister is addressed as “Didi”. I have lost touch with her- my didi who is so dear to me. Her family was very close to mine, and I have very fond memories of the time I spent with Mohua didi who was like an elder sister to me. She had two younger sisters, and I would often spend time at their place, as I enjoyed her company the most. She would take care of all us children, play games with us, feed us, and discipline us, if the need be. She had a strong personality and her mere presence would brighten up the room. I would often stay over at her place, like children of other family friends, and she would take charge of all of us. She was like a godmother to us children, and we would look up to her for solutions to our problems.

Her father lost his job, when she was in college, and she had to take charge of the family. Her family, once very prosperous, had to go through very tough times. Then her mother passed away – I remember that day when all of us were crying and instead of others offering condolences to her, she was the one hugging each one of us and asking us to be strong. She was always the pillar of strength to all of us. There was so much comfort in her touch.

I moved out of town and met her years later, during a family crisis. She had grown older-having to look after her two young sisters and educate them. I have not seen her since then, it has been 14 years, and I miss her so very much. I tried to find her on social networking sites, but she is not registered anywhere.

If you ever happen to chance on my site, Mohua didi, I want you to know that I have always loved you and will continue to do so all my life.

View from an Autorickshaw in Mumbai, India

Stars

It’s gazing at the stars that I miss the most. When I was a kid, I used to live in a small town, which offered fresh air, open skies and a pollution free environment. In summers, I used to sleep on the terrace with my family. The smell of the night air, the sound of crickets and other nocturnal creatures, the light summer breeze, and the clear view of the skies with millions of stars bring back pleasant memories. I would count the stars – small ones, big ones, some brighter than the others, some closer while some very far, some moving while others still – I would count myself to sleep. I would, often, draw an imaginary line connecting the stars at different locations, forming imaginary shapes and figures. The vastness of the sky, the limitlessness of the expanse above would infiltrate a feeling of awe and wonder in the mind of a child who had many miles to go, many dreams to fulfill.

I live in a big city now, and hardly ever get the opportunity to gaze at the night sky. I miss the days of my childhood, the clear skies, and the million of stars that would stare back at me, and pat me softy to sleep.

Festivals of India-Durga Puja celebrated in Mumbai, India

Her name was Shiney

Her name was Shiney, and she was the cutest four-legged friend I had ever had. She was my friend, Ajay’s pet Doberman, and she would never fail to surprise us on every visit that we made to Ajay’s place. She loved to be loved, and would come running to me the moment I entered their home. She would always want me to stroke her head, which I would lovingly do, and the moment I stopped, she would tap my leg with her paw, indicating that I should continue stroking her head. If I sat on the floor, she would come running to me and rest her head on my lap. It was these impulsive actions that would make me visit Ajay’s place time and again.

One day, Ajay called me to say she was not eating anything, and wanted me to come over to try and feed her. I went to his place immediately but she refused to have anything to eat. It was later found that she had cancer, and she died within a few weeks. It was so painful to see her go. To this day, just the thought of her brings back a smile on my face.

Bipin's misadventure

This is a story about my friend, Bipin, which I can never forget in my life. Bipin, a very handsome guy in his college days, was very popular with the girls. Good-looking and charming, he always used to be surrounded by girls. One of his girlfriends, whom he had met during New Year's eve at a party hosted by the Air Force, had grown very fond of him. Within a few weeks of their courtship, she had already started dreaming about settling down with him.

One day, she invited him at her place to introduce him to her parents. This guy was very nervous and shifty throughout the day. When it was finally time to go, he asked me to come along for moral support. He went on his bike and I followed him a short distance behind. When Bipin took the bend to her house, and I was a little behind him, the scene awaiting us was disastrous.

At his girlfriend's gate, there was a huge crowd waiting to greet him! There were her parents, grandparents, uncles, aunts, nephews, friends, even her dog! I was watching the whole scene from a distance. I could sense how nervous Bipin must have got as he approached the gate of her bungalow.

I had no idea that I was in for a bigger surprise. Suddenly, Bipin gave full throttle to his bike and vrooooooom......he raced his bike and just fled from the scene. I watched in disbelief as Bipin and his bike disappeared from my sight. His girlfriend's whole family was waving, shouting, beckoning, calling him back, the dog was barking madly, but Bipin was too scared to go back! I laughed so hard...I almost fell off my bike....from that day on, Bipin made it a point never to visit any girlfriend's home.

Simple pleasures of Life

Quotes-Had I known

"Had I not known that I was dead already,
I would have mourned my loss of life"

- Last words of Ota Dokan, Scholar of Military Arts & poet, 1486

Simple thoughts-History repeats itself!

These pictures represent 3 generations of the same family - my father, my son & me. I am the common factor- While the pictures below shows me air-borne thanks to my father, the picture above is kind of history repeating itself, as I fling my son up in the air....

An article by my father-In love with cricket

As a student I went to a school, which had plenty of sports facilities and a big enough playground of its own. It was a co-ed school but in those days in early sixties, boys and girls did not talk to each other. Socially it was not accepted. Of course, there were a few bold ones who defied the rule but they too talked furtively making sure teachers were not around.

Every year, after final exams, a cricket match was held between students and teachers. This occasion was looked forward to as girls and lady teachers remained present to watch the big match. And this was one day when students could take little liberties like girls congratulating good performance of a batsman or a bowler. The ladies’ presence made certain that boys played with vigour and received their cheers.

The captain of teachers’ team was our principal, a gentleman of such immense proportions and weight that nobody had ever seen him walk fast, let alone run, and having little knowledge of the game. Captainship was given as a mark of respect. While fielding, he was given a post at the boundary line with a lackey (usually a student) to run and field for him. While batting, he opened the innings and was given an underarm slow ball from half-pitch, which he tried to hit. He usually lasted for one over or thereabouts before being bowled or caught out. (No LBWs for him & he didn’t take singles). After his royal departure, serious action would start.

The teachers’ team had one Parsi gentleman known as ‘Parsi Sir’ as he was the only Parsi person in the school who was really a good and keen cricketer. He invited his son Jal to play for teachers though Jal was not in our school. Usually students won but for this father-son duo and occasionally a stray teacher who stood between students’ victory. Both teams wore flannel cream-white pant-shirts as cricket gear.

This particular year, students’ team had some good players including ‘yours truly’. The captain of the students’ team was one Suresh, very funny and full of mischief known as Suresh-sursurio as he could smoothly sneak away from any difficult or unpleasant situations, but a good fast bowler. Students had won the toss, had batted first and had made a reasonably good score. Now teachers were batting and students were finding it difficult to uproot the Parsi father-son duo. Balance was tilting slowly on teachers’ side. Suresh-sursurio was bowling furiously and desperately.

It happened suddenly. The stitches of Suresh’s trousers tore on the backside as he bowled furiously. The more he bowled, more stitches came apart. Now his V-shape blue underwear was clearly visible. Still, he continued bowling and the crowd; girls in particular, cheered, booed and went wild. In his next over Suresh took his tucked-in shirt out of his pants, continued bowling with his shirt flying as he took his long run. Imagine the scene and you can guess the howling and chaos it caused. When his over was finished, we advised him to stop bowling and to let someone else bowl. But the bull that he was, his mind was only on winning the game.

In his next over he took off his pants all together and bowled only in his underwear with his shirt flying high as he took his long run. The crowd of more than 800 students went wild. The scene, screaming, hooting, whistling, distracted the Parsi duo’s concentration and both were out one after another in a span of three overs. Thereafter, students’ victory was easy. Suresh was the shining star that day – the ultimate hero.

I suppose in today’s scenario, Suresh could have easily given Gangulis & Sreesanths a run for their money.

Ode to my friend Som

He was the typical boy-next-door. He was 13 years of age and extremely shy, lacked in confidence, was unsmart to the extent of being stupid, lacked communication skills, dressed shabbily, always had dirty nails but he had one talent - he was an artist. He had won many awards for his school in drawing & painting competitions. Six years younger to me, I decided to take this boy under my wings. I introduced him to hard rock, showed him the ways of the world, talked to him about the birds and the bees. We became good friends and spent a lot of time in each other's company.
I had to move to another city in pursuit of my career, and we almost lost touch. I knew that he had joined a school in New Delhi for a degree in Architecture. Years later, he turns up at my doorstep in Bombay, a man completely transformed. Those six years at the School of Architecture had done something to him! He was now a confident young man with razor-sharp intellegence who would discuss nothing less than rocket science. It became difficult communicating with this intellectual who was no longer the country cousin i knew. He was majorly into books, was involved in very important projects for his institute, and had clearly evolved into a superior personality. He had come to Bombay to negotiate with some institutes for a scholarship to pursue higher studies at a reputed institute in the USA. There was no trace of the old Som I had once known. I have never seen such transformation in my life.
This one's dedicated to you, Som. Wish you a very successful future.

Festivals-Lord Ganesha prepares for his heavenly abode

Quotes

The weakest moments are often the result of the strongest desires

My mother

Have you ever shared a special bond with anyone? A bond so special that the same thought occurs to 2 people at the same time. I share such a bond with my mother. There have been so many instances when we think of the same thing together at the same time. Be it remembering a relative, or commenting on the performance of a certain film star, or planning a trip somewhere, even thinking of a tune which we would both sing simultaneously without knowing that the other has the same tune in mind, it is an amazing phenomenon. We surprisingly get similar thoughts, ideas, and react similarly to situations - something that we had heard only happens to twins.
When I am thinking about something and relate it to my mother, there are so many times that she tells me she was thinking about the same thing. Can this phenomenon be explained? Can it be given a name? How can the same thoughts occur to 2 different individuals with perfect timing? Is it some umbilical cord of the mind that still connects me to my mother? Can she peek into my mind & read what I am thinking? Whatever it is, it's the most beautiful bond I share.

Simple thoughts-Technology

Technology brings out the best and worst in people

Thoughts-Cover up

The level of your integrity is sometimes determined by the extent to which life is willing to cover up your mistakes

The city of my childhood

I was forced to leave the city i love so much, the city where I grew up, the city that gave me so much - my education, my sense of well-being, my first crush, my first love. Unforeseen circumstances led to giving it all up, to move to greener pastures, looking for new horizons.

Chandigarh is a city for the privileged, with it's beautiful architecture, greenery,gardens, planned development, cosmopolitan and warm-hearted people. It was not easy to say goodbye to the city which had witnessed the best seasons of my life, to bid farewell to friends who had so much been a part of my childhood. I remember touching the walls of my room and crying that lonely cry before I turned by back to the place which had been home to me for 17 long years.

I would like to go back some day, maybe when I am retired from work, to spend the rest of my battered life in peace.

The calm

Desperate days

What an appropriate end to a bad day...was my first thought, as i lay on the road, right leg underneath my motorbike, right arm, right & left knees, ankles badly bruised. The helmet had rolled off, while 2 cops picked me up from the middle of the road to the footpath, and applied ice on my bruises. My fault was that i pressed the brakes a little too hard when i saw a man crossing the road on foot and suddenly he was sheilding himself from the headlights of my bike. i reacted immediately and the next thing i knew i was down, and smiling that sarcastic smile to myself. After all, it was not the best of days. Since yesterday morning, i was not feeling good - some strange depressing thoughts were creeping into my head, making me uncomfortable. My mind can play games sometimes, and it is difficult to pinpoint what exactly is bothering me the most, as there were several things that had got me upset and it was all building up. Wanted some fresh air, so decided to check the night breeze on my bike. I am lucky not to be in hospital. The pain has shifted- from mental to physical!

Fag-end of Life

The lonely child

As a single child of my parents, I have seen loneliness in all it’s colors in my childhood. I used to be a shy child, introvert, and withdrawn most of the times. The most difficult task I would face was to enter a room full of strangers. It would be such a difficult task to face people I did not know and to make conversation. I remember an incident when my aunt took me to her friend’s place when I was a 5 year old. The moment I entered their home, I saw about 10 people sitting in the living room. I was so overcome by shyness that I turned around and fled from the scene. I crossed the roads and found my way back to my aunt’s place where I was putting up for my summer holidays. I was punished when my aunt returned home, mad as a bull, because she suddenly found me missing and was looking everywhere for me.

So many times, I had wanted to participate in a group, but had withdrawn. Something would pull me back, and I would regret it later. Always feel left out because I had the chance to be a part of the group, but I had let that chance go by. The summer holidays would be long, spent mostly in the city of Kolkata, at my grandmother’s home. The terrace of my Grandmother’s house would be a wonderful place for a lonely child like myself – there were so many things to discover, the small plants and weeds that would grow in the not-so-maintained terrace floor, plucking and devouring the tulsi leaves, the space below the water tank where there was a cat occasionally taking the afternoon nap, the grain boxes in the family store house, gulping down the nokul-danas (small balls of sugar offered to the deity’s idol during prayers), chasing the pigeons, watching the busy street below from the height of the terrace – there are many memories of the summer afternoons spent by a lonely kid at his grandma’s home.

The numbers game

What is this inexplicable obsession with numbers? I like increasing figures – numbers that go on growing infinitely, be it the number of visitors on my blog, the number of kilometers covered in the dashboard of my vehicle, the number of points earned in the game of a community site, the months spent at the gym, the number of years spent in the city I currently live in, it is a strange obsession – and it gives a kind of satisfaction, a reason to look forward to the next day, the reason to live and to go on & on. Have you ever felt this madness?

Simple thoughts

"Normal" is a setting on a washing machine.

Dark Thoughts

Every morning is the dawn of a new error

Simple thoughts-Pain

Pain is inevitable. Suffering is optional.

Thoughts

We live in a society where pizza gets to your house before the police.

Simple thoughts

Usually people are as happy as they make their minds up to be.

Simple thoughts-It might matter

You never know when someone might catch a dream from you.
Or something you say may open up the windows of a mind that seeks light
The way you live may not matter at all,
But you never know, it might.
And just in case it could be that another's life, through you,
might possibly change for the better with a better and brighter view,
it seems it might be worth a try at pointing the way to the right;
Of course, it may not matter at all, but then again, it might.

Tragedy-China Earthquake -Wedding Photo Shoot - A Day To Remember

It was a day to remember... Their Wedding shoot.
At the famous 100-year-old Church of the Annunciation in Pengzhou , China . Very early morning May 12, photographer Wang went about preparing to shoot wedding pictures for a young couple, this was the test shot before the shoot...

Pengzhou is located in the Sichuan province. It was morning May 12, 2008.
And then it happened.... the earth quake! 7.8 on the Richter scale.

Bricks fall from the building during the earthquake, which turned Wang from a wedding photographer into a journalist. 'Thank God we were only shooting from outside the church!' remarked a helper.

The stunned couple huddles together at the church ground during initial tremors. 'I shouted to people, 'Run! Run!'' said photographer Wang Qiang. 'The ground shook and we couldn't see anything in the dust.' As the dust began to clear, the true extent of damage was only beginning to appear.

A cracked facade was all that remained of the 100-year-old Church of the Annunciation after the quake. Most of the church 'collapsed in 10 seconds,' said Wang, who lives in Chengdu , capital of hard-hit Sichuan province.

Soon after the quake, the people at the seminary set out for a nearby village, but residents warned them the route was blocked. 'We could still hear landslides,' Wang wrote in an online account of the disaster. So they stayed overnight in a tent and made it to the village the next day, thanks to help from a truck driver.

A scarf from a wedding dress lies forgotten in front of the seminary. Wang said he thought the catastrophe would strengthen the bonds of the couples who were there that day: 'Having gone through a life-and-death test, they surely will clasp hands and grow old together.'
No one was harmed at the above location.

They'll sure have a Wild story to tell their Children!

I walk

I walk for what seems to be an eternity

Aimlessly, listlessly, devoid of emotion

I want to run but I can only walk

Dreamer

I am a dreamer
I dream that there will be happiness
I dream there will be peace and free passage some day
I dream I will make it to the other side someday and hold her hand
I dream I will hear her sing lying next to her side
I would trade my life for that one moment of bliss

The loneliness

The loneliness surrounding me is immense. There are people around me but somehow, they do not seem to exist. The weekdays keep me busy, it’s the weekends that kill me. I have died different deaths – solitary & meaningless. The mistakes I made in my life continue to haunt me – I have to learn to live with them.

Sad eyes

He looks at me with those beautiful but sad eyes. He deserves better, I tell myself. His small expectant fingers find their way into my hand. He needs me, wants to be by my side. I perform my duties and look after him well, but he needs more than that. Maybe he is just as lonely as me.

Devastated

When she left, I was devastated. Life had suddenly come to a standstill. I knew it was coming, but there was not much I did about it. Then I said something that triggered the inevitable. She said she had done everything she could to please me, and I told her she had done nothing. I heard something break that very moment. She left the same day. I regretted what I had said. I tried to reach out to her so many times, but she had locked herself in a cocoon. She was unreachable.

Desperate days

I saw him off at the station just like I had done so many times in the past. It was another one of his business trips and he had promised to be back home by the weekend. He never came back. The days that followed were desperate days – calls to all his business associates to try to locate him. No one had seen him. A trip to the city he had said he was going to, offered no clues. Contacts were used to search each and every hospital in town. No results. As news spread, harassment increased from people he owed money to. I broke down when I gave his photograph to the Missing People section of the TV station. The bus ride back home was equally painful. Tears refused to stop as memories of my childhood flashed in my head. He had been a good father to me.