<?xml version='1.0' encoding='UTF-8'?><?xml-stylesheet href="http://www.blogger.com/styles/atom.css" type="text/css"?><feed xmlns='http://www.w3.org/2005/Atom' xmlns:openSearch='http://a9.com/-/spec/opensearchrss/1.0/' xmlns:georss='http://www.georss.org/georss'><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1078380865499459390</id><updated>2009-11-02T00:05:00.573+05:30</updated><title type='text'>A TAKE ON LIFE... I DONT GIVE A DAM</title><subtitle type='html'></subtitle><link rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#feed' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://biduism.blogspot.com/feeds/posts/default'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1078380865499459390/posts/default'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://biduism.blogspot.com/'/><link rel='hub' href='http://pubsubhubbub.appspot.com/'/><link rel='next' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1078380865499459390/posts/default?start-index=26&amp;max-results=25'/><author><name>bidu</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01192820569907273689</uri><email>biduprakashdas@gmail.com</email></author><generator version='7.00' uri='http://www.blogger.com'>Blogger</generator><openSearch:totalResults>88</openSearch:totalResults><openSearch:startIndex>1</openSearch:startIndex><openSearch:itemsPerPage>25</openSearch:itemsPerPage><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1078380865499459390.post-2720070675758586021</id><published>2009-10-23T01:37:00.000+05:30</published><updated>2009-10-23T01:47:17.396+05:30</updated><title type='text'>I AM BACK</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_oaEm-R_TDdo/SuC9h-rD12I/AAAAAAAAAP4/ZQo9IQe3Hc4/s1600-h/1187308224.gif"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 290px; height: 400px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_oaEm-R_TDdo/SuC9h-rD12I/AAAAAAAAAP4/ZQo9IQe3Hc4/s400/1187308224.gif" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5395520745046792034" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight:bold;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Friends, Indians and non-Indians l, countrymen as well as country women, lend me your comments&lt;br /&gt;I come here to dig up the grave of this blogger, not to praise him.&lt;br /&gt;For the praise that he deserve can be only through his writings,&lt;br /&gt;So let it be with this blogger also. My noble readers&lt;br /&gt;Who should say I was lazy,&lt;br /&gt;If it were so then it is a grievous fault,&lt;br /&gt;And grievously have I answered it,&lt;br /&gt;Here, By having no post in my blog and no comments from you all,&lt;br /&gt;For you all are honorable men and women,&lt;br /&gt;Come I now to speak in this bloggers resurrection,&lt;br /&gt;I am your friend, faithful and just to you all,&lt;br /&gt;But you all should say that I was lazy,&lt;br /&gt;And you all are honorable men and women,&lt;br /&gt;I have written many posts,&lt;br /&gt;With the hope that they made you thrill,&lt;br /&gt;Did this in me seem lazy?&lt;br /&gt;But when the plane left ground, and I landed in a place far away,&lt;br /&gt;I got no time and this was lazy of thee,&lt;br /&gt;Thus you all should say that I was lazy,&lt;br /&gt;And you all are honorable men and women,&lt;br /&gt;But now you all will see in this webpage,&lt;br /&gt;Posts from my trip, my experiences, my thought, My Take on Life,&lt;br /&gt;For I write to please myself and to please you,&lt;br /&gt;For you all are honorable Men and women.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style:italic;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;For those like me who find Shakespeare difficult to comprehend and my above adaptation even more difficult to make any sense the simple message is that I AM BACK.&lt;span style="font-style:italic;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1078380865499459390-2720070675758586021?l=biduism.blogspot.com'/&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://biduism.blogspot.com/feeds/2720070675758586021/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='https://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1078380865499459390&amp;postID=2720070675758586021&amp;isPopup=true' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1078380865499459390/posts/default/2720070675758586021'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1078380865499459390/posts/default/2720070675758586021'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://biduism.blogspot.com/2009/10/i-am-back.html' title='I AM BACK'/><author><name>bidu</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01192820569907273689</uri><email>biduprakashdas@gmail.com</email><gd:extendedProperty xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' name='OpenSocialUserId' value='07794445879221848214'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_oaEm-R_TDdo/SuC9h-rD12I/AAAAAAAAAP4/ZQo9IQe3Hc4/s72-c/1187308224.gif' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1078380865499459390.post-8559197684906454239</id><published>2009-07-05T20:50:00.002+05:30</published><updated>2009-07-05T20:51:45.811+05:30</updated><title type='text'>VISA power</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_oaEm-R_TDdo/SlDE94-3XVI/AAAAAAAAAPE/4M5jaXPV-KU/s1600-h/photo.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 213px; height: 230px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_oaEm-R_TDdo/SlDE94-3XVI/AAAAAAAAAPE/4M5jaXPV-KU/s400/photo.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5354996524490644818" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;As part of my company’s training routine me and my fellow recruits are to be send to our head office abroad for a three month training session. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So when I first landed in my new job in this new town I was informed that we all will soon have to go to Chennai to fulfill our visa formalities. As it turned out, that day was long, unique and action packed.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I left home at 2 in the night. Reached office, got on the bus to airport. Bangalore airport is fancy enough to make your eye balls pop out. It is also far enough to ensure the road trip till there will invariably be longer than your air trip.  We reached the airport by 5 am. I was sleepy to the core. So as soon as I got into the pigeonhole of a airplane which we were assigned I slept off. I woke up only after we landed. Many adventures followed in Chennai airport, given that it was early morning, a time when nature beckons you.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Chennai airport it by no means comparable to Bengaluru airport, but at least it is close to the city.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We went to the embassy lounge. It was not what we had imagined. It was a small building in one end of a tiny street. The queue to enter was not long, but it took forever for us to enter as they scanned us and our belongings to every slightest detail.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We entered the place, completed the formalities and waited for our turn to be escorted to the embassy. I went on the third batch after a good portion of my colleagues had left. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We reached the place, all that I could see was a very high boundary wall, the kind you see encircling forts and palaces. Then again the US embassy is a virtual fort. There was just one tiny window in the entire wall which seemed endless. This perfectly fitted what we had imagined. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;After submitting our documents the ghost from behind the glass pointed towards a small steel door. I was frisked before as well as after crossing the door. The inside was calmer. Now there were numerous glass windows. I waited for my turn. I kind of had the hunch that everything will be ok. As always my hunch turned out to be incorrect. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I walked up to the glass window. Once again I submitted my documents. A lady was seated in front of me. She examined all my documents. They were all fine.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;“Kindly place your two thumbs on the finger print scanner”- said the lady with a smile. I obliged.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;“Now place your left four fingers on the scanner”. I obliged once again.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;“Now place ……..”. I stopped hearing. I knew she would ask me to do the same, but with my right hand instead. What is the big deal? I have done it twice. I will do it once again.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I did it. But this time something wrong had happened. The lady’s expression changed. She gasped, my heart skipped a beat. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt; “Can you do it again”. I did it, but her expression did not change, mine got worse. She asked the others behind me to wait. She made a few calls. Soon many people gathered at her desk. People from adjoining windows also went to her. I was asked to wait. I moved back, away from the action. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The wait seemed endless. I could see my colleagues going for their Visa interviews. They went in and came out smiling. I was still waiting. My face was becoming paler by the second. Finally the wait was over.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;They called me. I knew I had the Murphy luck. Of course I will not get visa. I stood there waiting to hear the bad news.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;“You have jointed fingers in your right hand; the machine cannot read all four finger prints of yours. It is accepting only three and not four prints. “&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Give me some good news please.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;“You have created a bug in the system; we got to learn something from you today. You may now proceed for your interview.”&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I did not believe my luck. Turns out that I a am unlucky, but not ass much as Murphy.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Seeing me so nervous she promptly added –“Don’t be nervous. Go and give your interview with confidence. Wish you luck”. She was very sweet. I finally went for my interview. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It was a breeze. I was asked no questions whatsoever. I finally got the much sorted stamp of approval.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I went out with a jump in my step. I am a computer science engineer. I fix bugs, but today I turned out to be the bug. I left the fort, my colleagues were long done with there interviews. They were all waiting for me. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I celebrated by treating myself to lunch at The Taj (not worth the price) and then taking a bath in Chennai sea (in spite of the heat it was totally worth it). &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I boarded the 5 pm flight back home. Reached home by nine and slept like a baby. That was the end of a highly tiring and sleepless 24 hours. But it was successful. Now even I have the VISA power.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1078380865499459390-8559197684906454239?l=biduism.blogspot.com'/&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://biduism.blogspot.com/feeds/8559197684906454239/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='https://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1078380865499459390&amp;postID=8559197684906454239&amp;isPopup=true' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1078380865499459390/posts/default/8559197684906454239'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1078380865499459390/posts/default/8559197684906454239'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://biduism.blogspot.com/2009/07/visa-power.html' title='VISA power'/><author><name>bidu</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01192820569907273689</uri><email>biduprakashdas@gmail.com</email><gd:extendedProperty xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' name='OpenSocialUserId' value='07794445879221848214'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_oaEm-R_TDdo/SlDE94-3XVI/AAAAAAAAAPE/4M5jaXPV-KU/s72-c/photo.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1078380865499459390.post-2543523660439061079</id><published>2009-07-05T20:46:00.001+05:30</published><updated>2009-07-05T20:49:51.502+05:30</updated><title type='text'>BANGALORED</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_oaEm-R_TDdo/SlDEkLQlkgI/AAAAAAAAAO8/xwJdLbXgjUQ/s1600-h/fired2.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 262px; height: 260px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_oaEm-R_TDdo/SlDEkLQlkgI/AAAAAAAAAO8/xwJdLbXgjUQ/s400/fired2.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5354996082720215554" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;“It is time that we stop shifting our jobs to Bangalore. It is time that we started promoting our own cities like Buffalo and not Bangalore”.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;These words are those of the most powerful man in the world.  These words symbolize the effect the city of Bangalore has had on the world. This city of 6 million is the primary reason why people approach us Indian and say “Are you from India? There is something wrong with my laptop. Can you fix it?”&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Such has been the impact of the city I now reside in. Such has been the impact of the ‘city of gardens’.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So now people abroad work twice as hard, because they know the slightest inefficiency means they risk being “bangalored”. They know there is someone or the other in this amazing city who can do their work in a faster, better and cheaper way. But there is so much more to this city than its IT safe haven.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Bangalore or Bengaluru as it is now know is truly a glamorous city, it has a mall in almost every street, its business parks will give you the illusion that you are no longer in India, the lifestyle of some of its people will give force to you believe that India is not a poor country. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;All big cities have a darker side. Mumbai’s slums accounts for 40% of its total population, Delhi does not fare better but surprisingly Bangalore hardly has any slums. The people are also highly congenial. The co-passengers of my office cab refer to my cab driver as “sir”. You may have been careless while walking and end up bumping into someone, but who shall always hear a “sorry” from the other side before you can utter one. Even the autowallas who are the most dreaded elements, especially in south Indian cities, more often than not agree to go by the meter fare. The city is a huge air conditioned room. When the entire country burns, here in Bangalore you hardly feel anything. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But it is not all rosy, nothing in life is. People looking for a place in this city do not just consider the house, the rent or the locality. They also take into consideration the number of traffic light between the house and their office. Many times this becomes the deciding factor. People who think Bangalore is a north-Indian city in south India are in for a surprise. In Bangalore you will be the odd one out if you do not know at least one south Indian language. Given that is way better than any of its southern counterparts and that English can get much of your work done, but sooner or later you will find yourself scratching your head trying to figure out what the other guy is trying to say. The city has a high per capita income, being as expensive as it is the lesser off population must have succumbed and migrated. Mumbai may need 90 cm of rain to bring it to a standstill but in this city areas get flooded even in the summer. &lt;br /&gt; &lt;br /&gt;I am new to this place. But I have developed a liking for it. But any given day I will still prefer my janam-bhumi over this tinsel town. I think that is the case with most of us. No matter where we end us in search of prosperity, a part of our hearts shall always long to go back to our hometown. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But I have heard people say that there is something about this town which makes you make her your hometown. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;For now at least &lt;br /&gt; &lt;em&gt;    It’s a new place………..A new Beginning&lt;/em&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1078380865499459390-2543523660439061079?l=biduism.blogspot.com'/&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://biduism.blogspot.com/feeds/2543523660439061079/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='https://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1078380865499459390&amp;postID=2543523660439061079&amp;isPopup=true' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1078380865499459390/posts/default/2543523660439061079'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1078380865499459390/posts/default/2543523660439061079'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://biduism.blogspot.com/2009/07/bangalored.html' title='BANGALORED'/><author><name>bidu</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01192820569907273689</uri><email>biduprakashdas@gmail.com</email><gd:extendedProperty xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' name='OpenSocialUserId' value='07794445879221848214'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_oaEm-R_TDdo/SlDEkLQlkgI/AAAAAAAAAO8/xwJdLbXgjUQ/s72-c/fired2.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1078380865499459390.post-3916225645575676776</id><published>2009-07-05T20:42:00.002+05:30</published><updated>2009-07-05T20:46:18.779+05:30</updated><title type='text'>THE PROFESSIONAL LIFE</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_oaEm-R_TDdo/SlDDsGE1NdI/AAAAAAAAAO0/x6O4bSrFe5U/s1600-h/professional_pastor.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 291px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_oaEm-R_TDdo/SlDDsGE1NdI/AAAAAAAAAO0/x6O4bSrFe5U/s400/professional_pastor.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5354995119256057298" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It has been three weeks since I have embarked upon this new journey. Needless to say many things have changed. The fact that I my posting this piece so late in spite of having the urge to do so much earlier speak volumes about this change. Priorities have changed; factors which motivate have changed in general one’s outlook has changed.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Not too long ago I was a student. The fact is that being a student you are never expected to come up with ground breaking achievements. Not that it is any different now; no one expects much from a fresher one week into the job but still once gets the notion that the margin of error is small. In college one always “knew” the other person. We had a very good idea as to which professor was the blood thirsty Dracula not to be messed with and who were the rather “cooler” ones. We were thus able to choose our battles.  The new world which I have entered offers no such liberties. Everyone is congenial to the core. This is a very good thing but I am the type who appreciates constructive criticism and thrives on it. With everyone busy with themselves, no one is there to tell you what you are doing wrong. You are own your own. Thus after falling down if you cannot get up on your won, you will soon be buried. This may sound as rather harsh, especially coming from a person with such minimal truth but it is true as well as necessary. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;For if it was not like this the professional life will lose it’s most unique and prized characteristics- freedom. You are truly the master of your own destiny. You can dig a hole for yourself or build your own staircase to heaven. You cannot let the situation get the better of you; one cannot be overwhelmed by the first impression which more often that not is scary. You have to believe in yourself and remember this simple truth that all those who made it big in this “mean” world were amateurs once, they too must have found all this a bit too overwhelming but gradually settled in. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Yes all the above statements may seem boring to those who are still “young” at heart irrespective of which “life” they are leading. But my first impression of this “life” was that it is boring, at least at the onset (may be it has something to do with me practicing indolence all this while). &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The lack of one-upmanship is the greatest difference between my past and this life. Although it may still exist but you certainly don’t see it superficially. That is all well and good especially because of the tried and tested formula of star teams and not star players. But this difference leads to lesser zeal but at the same time better compatibility and harmony. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Another interesting observation is that you can mould the professional world to suit your requirements. It gives to that much freedom but that does not mean it will cut you some slack. It demands certain minimal things, which you have to give else risk being booted out. It is up to you how you can mould your actions to get the result that is required but still do it your way.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Such subtle differences do exist. But the fact still remains your life is what you make of it. I am a professional now, but at heart I shall always be “me”.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1078380865499459390-3916225645575676776?l=biduism.blogspot.com'/&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://biduism.blogspot.com/feeds/3916225645575676776/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='https://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1078380865499459390&amp;postID=3916225645575676776&amp;isPopup=true' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1078380865499459390/posts/default/3916225645575676776'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1078380865499459390/posts/default/3916225645575676776'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://biduism.blogspot.com/2009/07/professional-life.html' title='THE PROFESSIONAL LIFE'/><author><name>bidu</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01192820569907273689</uri><email>biduprakashdas@gmail.com</email><gd:extendedProperty xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' name='OpenSocialUserId' value='07794445879221848214'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_oaEm-R_TDdo/SlDDsGE1NdI/AAAAAAAAAO0/x6O4bSrFe5U/s72-c/professional_pastor.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1078380865499459390.post-5473703944399973324</id><published>2009-06-12T20:09:00.003+05:30</published><updated>2009-06-14T16:04:49.953+05:30</updated><title type='text'>THIS WILL BE A SHORT ONE</title><content type='html'>With my entry into the corporate world many things have changed. I now know people who find 24 hours too less a time. There is a urgency every where. People get in early, try to get there work over at the earliest so that they can leave(yes you guessed it right) at the earliest. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Time is money and i am finding it out by first hand experience. So how can i be spared. So realizing that it will be very difficult for me to be a regular blogger i am bidding goodbye for an indefinite time. Hope you had fun in this journey.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;GOTCHA....  ;-)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;No time to blog are you kidding me!!!!!!&lt;br /&gt;I BLOG SO I AM.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It is just that being part of a clandestine organization does not allow you to access certain very public web pages. Thus i am having problems to access blogger.com.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But the blogger in me will not give up. I will soon find a way and soon update you with my takes on my this new life and i guess this time i do give a dam ;)&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1078380865499459390-5473703944399973324?l=biduism.blogspot.com'/&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://biduism.blogspot.com/feeds/5473703944399973324/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='https://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1078380865499459390&amp;postID=5473703944399973324&amp;isPopup=true' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1078380865499459390/posts/default/5473703944399973324'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1078380865499459390/posts/default/5473703944399973324'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://biduism.blogspot.com/2009/06/this-will-be-short-one.html' title='THIS WILL BE A SHORT ONE'/><author><name>bidu</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01192820569907273689</uri><email>biduprakashdas@gmail.com</email><gd:extendedProperty xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' name='OpenSocialUserId' value='07794445879221848214'/></author><thr:total xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1078380865499459390.post-329569349682620706</id><published>2009-05-30T09:30:00.002+05:30</published><updated>2009-05-30T09:46:03.356+05:30</updated><title type='text'>LEAVING ON A JET PLANE….</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_oaEm-R_TDdo/SiCyfuMfUcI/AAAAAAAAAOs/3j3NsKLwxWs/s1600-h/jetplane.gif"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 266px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_oaEm-R_TDdo/SiCyfuMfUcI/AAAAAAAAAOs/3j3NsKLwxWs/s400/jetplane.gif" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5341465416107512258" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight:bold;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;In the book of life many chapters are to be written. A very important chapter of my life just got over, but at the turn of a leaf a new one is to begin even sooner. I am in transition mode. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I am to enter the mean and dreaded professional life. Dreaded not from experience but because of what I have heard. Many people laments for not having enjoyed there college days enough. They say that if given a chance they will trade their present for their past in a heartbeat. I being fully aware of this school of thought tried to live my last days if college as if there was no tomorrow. Now those days are history and I am standing at the crossroads of life, uncertain and also a bit scared about the future.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But I have never walked on the beaten path. I remember in school I went through the same phase. I remember people saying how much we are going to miss school and that we close friends will now be separated for good. Thankfully today that is not the case. School got over, the fun did not. I am still friends with those who really mattered to me in school and am sure that it will last a lifetime. Things have got better with me getting the best of both worlds. College was always great, and when I came back home I was pampered like anything.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But I got a hunch that this time it will be different. The professional world may not be as kind to me. Firstly I will have to toil more, secondly I will get much lesser vacation time and thirdly I would have become old. My mentality may get reduced to- go to office, come back, chill- no spirit of adventure left. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Thus now as weird as it may seem, after cursing for years as to why we have to go to class so early, today I am actually a bit skeptical as to if that was the “good” life and what lies ahead is nostalgia and remembrances.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Change is the only constant, but there are certain things which you hope never changes. Things that matter the most, things that you dread to lose. Thus as I enter a new phase of life I hold on to these magical things very dearly, with all my life and swear to never let go.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The book of life may have many chapters; it may take many twists and turns but what matters is what happens in the long run, how it all culminates. I may leave on a jet plane many times, my life may take many turns but the end is predefined. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I SHALL ALWAYS RETURN TO YOU. Sorry to make you cry.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style:italic;"&gt;All my bags are packed&lt;br /&gt;Im ready to go&lt;br /&gt;Im standin here outside your door&lt;br /&gt;I hate to wake you up to say goodbye&lt;br /&gt;But the dawn is breakin&lt;br /&gt;Its early morn&lt;br /&gt;The taxis waitin&lt;br /&gt;Hes blowin his horn&lt;br /&gt;Already Im so lonesome&lt;br /&gt;I could die&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So kiss me and smile for me&lt;br /&gt;Tell me that youll wait for me&lt;br /&gt;Hold me like youll never let me go&lt;br /&gt;cause Im leavin on a jet plane&lt;br /&gt;Dont know when Ill be back again&lt;br /&gt;Oh babe, I hate to go&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Theres so many times Ive let you down&lt;br /&gt;So many times Ive played around&lt;br /&gt;I tell you now, they dont mean a thing&lt;br /&gt;Evry place I go, Ill think of you&lt;br /&gt;Evry song I sing, Ill sing for you&lt;br /&gt;When I come back, Ill bring your wedding ring&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So kiss me and smile for me&lt;br /&gt;Tell me that youll wait for me&lt;br /&gt;Hold me like youll never let me go&lt;br /&gt;cause Im leavin on a jet plane&lt;br /&gt;Dont know when Ill be back again&lt;br /&gt;Oh babe, I hate to go&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;leavin on a jet plane&lt;br /&gt;Dont know when Ill be back again&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;leavin on a jet plane&lt;br /&gt;Dont know when Ill be back again&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;leavin on a jet plane…… leavin on a jet plane&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1078380865499459390-329569349682620706?l=biduism.blogspot.com'/&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://biduism.blogspot.com/feeds/329569349682620706/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='https://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1078380865499459390&amp;postID=329569349682620706&amp;isPopup=true' title='6 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1078380865499459390/posts/default/329569349682620706'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1078380865499459390/posts/default/329569349682620706'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://biduism.blogspot.com/2009/05/leaving-on-jet-plane.html' title='LEAVING ON A JET PLANE….'/><author><name>bidu</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01192820569907273689</uri><email>biduprakashdas@gmail.com</email><gd:extendedProperty xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' name='OpenSocialUserId' value='07794445879221848214'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_oaEm-R_TDdo/SiCyfuMfUcI/AAAAAAAAAOs/3j3NsKLwxWs/s72-c/jetplane.gif' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'>6</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1078380865499459390.post-2682411700251373495</id><published>2009-05-22T19:21:00.002+05:30</published><updated>2009-05-22T19:29:41.602+05:30</updated><title type='text'>THE POWER OF LAN</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_oaEm-R_TDdo/ShavvK98EdI/AAAAAAAAAOk/9XZjyxROpi0/s1600-h/dc.png"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 256px; height: 256px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_oaEm-R_TDdo/ShavvK98EdI/AAAAAAAAAOk/9XZjyxROpi0/s400/dc.png" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5338647633227157970" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight:bold;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I am sited in the comfort of my home. I has all the resources which are normally available to the average  middle class Indian.But I am a bit bored. I do the obvious. I switch on the idiot box. After a few hours I realize just why it is called the “idiot” box- you have to be an idiot to watch some of the programs on it. With IPL not on till the evening and the good English series not being aired I succumb to the torture and give in. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;After having switched off the 21 inch, I took a leap backwards in time; I next tried the ancestor of television-the radio. But gone are the days of vividh bharti (not that they were much entertaining). Today we dance to the tunes of FM radio. But I soon got feed up of RJ’s cracking below the belt jokes. It was really awful, the cheesy alias, the brain dead PJ’s and the irritating, artificial tone negated the joy of listening to good music. I soon gave up on that also.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So I turned to something which is the invention of the century. The largest network on the planet with millions of pages, each with its own uniqueness and appeal had to be the answer to my boredom. But I was cheated once again. The browsing speed was too slow. I did not feel like surfing educational websites. So I was reduced to social networking. But I was never an active member and I always used to feel that the task of going through others private information is an act of voyeurism. So it happened again- I got feed up. Not knowing what to do I started to search for some good, entertaining torrents. My search found many hits but when I pressed the magic download button, it flashed the estimated time left. My heart sank. I would die of boredom before this download could be complete. If only I had a faster download speed? Then it struck me, not long ago I had that facility, because not too long ago I was a member of a 2000 computer strong, 20 TB worth LAN. Not long ago I had access to my college LAN.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So whenever after college I had to study I had the prefect distraction and did not study, whenever I should have gone out and played, I being true to my engineering subject did play, but “on lan” not in the hot sun. Also, whenever I was bored all that I had to do was run "DC++.exe" and presto-the beautiful and limitless world of entertainment was there in front of me. It was all that easy, so easy rather that we did not appreciate it, but know when we no longer have that invaluable asset we miss it like hell.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So when out of utter desperation I see the DC++ icon in my desktop and double click it which the hope that a miracle will happen and I shall somehow get connection, I get the reply “Host unreachable” and my heart sinks. I knew the result before clicking it, but sometimes when you miss something terribly you start to hope against hope. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Yes I miss my classmates, I miss my institute, I miss my friends, I miss my bestest friend but DC-I miss you too :-(.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1078380865499459390-2682411700251373495?l=biduism.blogspot.com'/&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://biduism.blogspot.com/feeds/2682411700251373495/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='https://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1078380865499459390&amp;postID=2682411700251373495&amp;isPopup=true' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1078380865499459390/posts/default/2682411700251373495'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1078380865499459390/posts/default/2682411700251373495'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://biduism.blogspot.com/2009/05/power-of-lan.html' title='THE POWER OF LAN'/><author><name>bidu</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01192820569907273689</uri><email>biduprakashdas@gmail.com</email><gd:extendedProperty xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' name='OpenSocialUserId' value='07794445879221848214'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_oaEm-R_TDdo/ShavvK98EdI/AAAAAAAAAOk/9XZjyxROpi0/s72-c/dc.png' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1078380865499459390.post-1193591606600270726</id><published>2009-05-18T16:22:00.003+05:30</published><updated>2009-05-22T23:49:31.728+05:30</updated><title type='text'>BREAKING A HABIT</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_oaEm-R_TDdo/ShE-cUuRaHI/AAAAAAAAAOc/XQYfrCZtORM/s1600-h/Missing_You.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_oaEm-R_TDdo/ShE-cUuRaHI/AAAAAAAAAOc/XQYfrCZtORM/s400/Missing_You.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5337115689730795634" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style:italic;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Dedicated to all my special friends from college&lt;span style="font-weight:bold;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The fine line between regular activities and habit is usually crossed without the self knowledge of the practitioner. But when we are to let go of our habits and once again reduce it to an infrequent activity the change is difficult, long and tiresome. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Thus when I left my picturesque campus some practices which were merely activities when I joined my college but then in the course of four years became an essential and almost involuntary habit, had to be broken, almost suddenly. This breaking away was rather difficult. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;There was the usually lazy, laid back attitude which us engineers practice throughout those wonderful years of college. It was just like heaven- waking up at 7:50 to attend the 8 o clock class, the liberty of not taking bath for ages and also the independence of not being judged by any of your classmates as all of them are in the same shabby state. The freedom of being as indiscipline in your personal hygiene as possible (you don’t want to be the one who broke the thumb rule of the hostel). But when you are back home and are firmly under the rule of your mom you are forced to abandon the good life for a more “disciplined” way of living.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;All that is well and good, I mean we are engineers not maugly, but the habit most difficult to break it the feeling that you have certain special friends who were a stone throws away all these years but now are very far way. Through out college these special people were all that you had. You got up with them, meet them in the bathroom, walked till college with them, sat in class besides them ,ate in canteen with them , played with them , fought with them, wherever you went they went with you,. It was assumed they will follow your every step, be with you every moment, never leave you; you will never have to miss them. But change is the only constant; you get to find this the hard way. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So those special people go away and you have to break the most wonderful habit you practiced all these years. You have to let go the habit of amusing that someone will always be there for you , besides you, holding your hand, comforting you, telling you in the deepest, darkest moments that “everything is gonna be all right”. You have to let go of the habit of believing such well intentional words and forgetting all your troubles just like that. You will have to let go of lots of fun times.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Miss you all &lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1078380865499459390-1193591606600270726?l=biduism.blogspot.com'/&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://biduism.blogspot.com/feeds/1193591606600270726/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='https://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1078380865499459390&amp;postID=1193591606600270726&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1078380865499459390/posts/default/1193591606600270726'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1078380865499459390/posts/default/1193591606600270726'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://biduism.blogspot.com/2009/05/breaking-habit.html' title='BREAKING A HABIT'/><author><name>bidu</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01192820569907273689</uri><email>biduprakashdas@gmail.com</email><gd:extendedProperty xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' name='OpenSocialUserId' value='07794445879221848214'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_oaEm-R_TDdo/ShE-cUuRaHI/AAAAAAAAAOc/XQYfrCZtORM/s72-c/Missing_You.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1078380865499459390.post-3989739932994297837</id><published>2009-05-15T21:23:00.003+05:30</published><updated>2009-05-22T23:50:06.355+05:30</updated><title type='text'>BIDDING GOODBYES</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_oaEm-R_TDdo/Sg2QNvGgKKI/AAAAAAAAAOU/3WDZJUCD0io/s1600-h/So_Hard_to_Say_Goodbye_by_lukeroberts.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 300px; height: 277px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_oaEm-R_TDdo/Sg2QNvGgKKI/AAAAAAAAAOU/3WDZJUCD0io/s400/So_Hard_to_Say_Goodbye_by_lukeroberts.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5336079699160344738" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Goodbye is often a very difficult word to utter. I found this to be untrue. Bidding good bye is the most difficult thing to do. So as I set sail to begin a new life I bid farewell to my past with a truly heavy heart, moist eyes and with memories that make life worth living. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So it all began. The last day in college began. After being awake till the wee hours of the morning I woke up late realizing that I till that a few things to sort out. So hastily started to scrutinize my room and ended up stuffing things randomly into any bag which had any space left. After all once I reach home my super-mom will set things rights. So after having left many important things and packed the useless ones it was finally time to bid adieu.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It all started with my first room mate showing up in my room. It all began with him and ironically the end also began with him.  He was his own self as usual but like myself he too was nostalgic. We remembered the pigeon hole we shared together, it was a small, filthy room but we had some good times, we had some really good times. Then one by one they kept pouring in. My friends were all there in my room to have one final banter with me. We chatted like any other day. We made fun of each other, we giggled, and we frowned. But it was all so special. We were doing this for the final time. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Interactions with acquaintances were also heart warming. Whoever crossed the lobby and saw my bags packed stopped for a second just to say good bye. Many close friends were not close by, so frantic calls were made to find there whereabouts. I just had to meet everyone who mattered before I left. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;By the time my transportation arrived I was feeling in a car wreck. The auto wala pressed for a quick departure else I would have stayed much longer. So with an auto rearing to go he all shook hands and embraced each other with a promise that no matter what may we shall all be friends forever. So after having let go of my beloved hostel is was now time for the real test. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;After a calorie full pit stop I and a few close friends had reached the railways station. I was now a train wreck I vividly remember my previous journeys back home. The time spend in the station waiting for the train to arrive was the worst. The hot sun, the crowd, the noise, the flit, the lack of sitting place used to get to my nerves. But like everything else this time was also different. That hour of misery, which earlier used to stretch on for time infinite, ironically flew by with me wishing all the while that it last a few more moments.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The train arrived. I and my friends got on it. Placed my luggage on my berth and stepped back on the platform. My last few minutes with some very special people had begun. We did not talk anything special .We did not explicitly say that we were going to miss each other. All of us just looked as each other. I looked at the line signal. It was still red. I was still happy. Suddenly it happened- these girl I tell you. One broke down and then the chain reaction started. It was not comfortable seeing your best friends sob, but they were sobbing for you. It just tells you just how lucky you are to have certain very special people in your life and the fact that they will miss you when you are not there simply makes you not go anywhere. But it was inevitable. We were soon back to our merry ways, joking and pulling each others legs. But then it happened. The signal turned green. The trumpet blew. I was going. So with a final wave of hands I jumped into the train and stood near the gate waving for as long as I could and gazing out for those wonderful figures till my eyes permitted.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Bidding farewell is definitely tough. But I happy this was not the final farewell. We will all meet again .I will ensure that we will all met again.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1078380865499459390-3989739932994297837?l=biduism.blogspot.com'/&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://biduism.blogspot.com/feeds/3989739932994297837/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='https://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1078380865499459390&amp;postID=3989739932994297837&amp;isPopup=true' title='4 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1078380865499459390/posts/default/3989739932994297837'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1078380865499459390/posts/default/3989739932994297837'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://biduism.blogspot.com/2009/05/bidding-goodbyes.html' title='BIDDING GOODBYES'/><author><name>bidu</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01192820569907273689</uri><email>biduprakashdas@gmail.com</email><gd:extendedProperty xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' name='OpenSocialUserId' value='07794445879221848214'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_oaEm-R_TDdo/Sg2QNvGgKKI/AAAAAAAAAOU/3WDZJUCD0io/s72-c/So_Hard_to_Say_Goodbye_by_lukeroberts.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'>4</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1078380865499459390.post-6950813319599052288</id><published>2009-05-11T23:04:00.003+05:30</published><updated>2009-05-15T21:28:14.404+05:30</updated><title type='text'>……AND THEN THERE WERE NONE</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_oaEm-R_TDdo/Sghls8krGTI/AAAAAAAAAOM/MVHtoWdKXbw/s1600-h/friends-forever.gif"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 256px; height: 328px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_oaEm-R_TDdo/Sghls8krGTI/AAAAAAAAAOM/MVHtoWdKXbw/s400/friends-forever.gif" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5334625581468948786" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;As I that stated earlier, due to the unsurprising goof up of my dearest institute my journey of becoming an engineer got prolonged a bit more. Many including this writer found this irritating. But we decided to focus on that single ray of light in this room of darkness and took solace in the fact that this lovely journey is not yet over.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So we had a last man standing….but after it was all said and done, after the dust had finally settled, after we all had answered that last question and squirted that last drop of ink we all realized that it was all over. For some time we had one last man standing tall but now there were none left.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It is over, not almost but completely over. We are done. Our time is over. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It struck us all of a sudden. It was always coming but somehow none of us could see it coming nor could understand the magnitude of it. I guess for me the moment of reckoning had to be seeing the status message of my fellow college mates in my IM list. I mean seeing everyone keep the same status message in a way says that something huge has happened. Although the words used where different but it all meant the same. All the statements were written with a heavy heart, all of them were stating the obvious, and all of them were going to miss this place. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;For the past four years we all traveled on the same road. We lived together, we grew up together, we learned new things together, and we became engineers together. But now we have all come to the crossroads in our lives. The road will now diverge into many separate, lonely sub branches. Each road is different from the other, each road is unknown and while going through this new journey we shall miss our past fellow travelers to the extreme. But all of us still carry the hope in our hearts that these separate roads will sooner or later intermingle once again so that we all could reunite once again.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Bas ek bar wapas lautne ka man karta hai&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Aaj har wo din jeene ko man karta hai.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;kuch buri batein jo ab acchi lagti hain&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;kuch batein jo kal ki hi batein lagti hain.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;abki baar class attend karne ka man karta hai&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Dopahar ki class mein aakhein band karne ko man karta hai.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Doston ke room ki wo baatein yaad aati hai&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;exam ke time pe wo hasi mazak yaad aati hai,&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;college ke paas Munna ka dhabe ki yaad aati hai&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;tab ki bekar lagne wali photos chehre pe hasi laati hai.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Apni galtiyon pe tumse daat khana yaad aata hai.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Par tumhari galti dekhne ka ab bhi mann karta hai.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Ek aisi subah uthne ka mann karta hai&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;bas ek bar wapas lautne ka man karta hai.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;bas ek bar aur&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;wapas lautne ka man karta hai.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1078380865499459390-6950813319599052288?l=biduism.blogspot.com'/&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://biduism.blogspot.com/feeds/6950813319599052288/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='https://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1078380865499459390&amp;postID=6950813319599052288&amp;isPopup=true' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1078380865499459390/posts/default/6950813319599052288'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1078380865499459390/posts/default/6950813319599052288'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://biduism.blogspot.com/2009/05/and-then-there-were-none.html' title='……AND THEN THERE WERE NONE'/><author><name>bidu</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01192820569907273689</uri><email>biduprakashdas@gmail.com</email><gd:extendedProperty xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' name='OpenSocialUserId' value='07794445879221848214'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_oaEm-R_TDdo/Sghls8krGTI/AAAAAAAAAOM/MVHtoWdKXbw/s72-c/friends-forever.gif' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1078380865499459390.post-4962792368505119163</id><published>2009-05-01T13:15:00.001+05:30</published><updated>2009-05-01T13:19:21.815+05:30</updated><title type='text'>LAST MAN STANDING</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_oaEm-R_TDdo/SfqpcWBZmhI/AAAAAAAAANU/s4y4Stc20hg/s1600-h/past-present-future.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 300px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_oaEm-R_TDdo/SfqpcWBZmhI/AAAAAAAAANU/s4y4Stc20hg/s400/past-present-future.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5330759413359286802" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It’s over … almost.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;As our fight with pen, paper and time reached its final leg it was going to be all over for us. But as faith will have it in a fitting tribute to the past four years something unexpected happened… again! So while everyone was but taking “final” snaps, being nostalgic, being sad as well as excited at the same time I was in a totally different state. I was indifferent because for me the last hurdle was till to be crossed.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;This gave me a good opportunity to observe others and realizing once again that what perceives the eye is not always true. For the scenes after the “last” exam was a sight to behold. The various emotions were all out there in the open. I realized for the first time that we may actually want something very bad and be very eager to get it, but when we finally achieve it we realized that it was the journey that stole our hearts, mesmerized our souls, got the adrenaline rushing whereas the end result was just a consequence of the journey which was to occur sooner or later but had no real importance.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We were all to become engineers. We were all destined to leave the place when we first landed here. But somehow we all valued the end result more. I remember having thought about the “future” in my first year itself. I remember having thought- when this will be over I will enter the “good” life. I remember making plans about the distant future, so distant that when the future finally became the present the idea became obsolete. I felt like kicking myself for having worried so much. I felt like punishing myself for not living in the moment. So now as everyone lined up to bid their final goodbyes, to take their final bow and someone asked me “how are feeling now that it is over?” I smiled back and corrected him and replied “It is not yet over, at least not for me”.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;For seeing people realize that it is all over it made me think that even I will end up in this state very soon. But until that day comes I will not think about it. I will not stop enjoying the present by trying to anticipate the future. When it is over it will be over, but it is not over yet. So I will carry on in my merry ways keeping in mind the fact that it will be all over soon which will hopefully drive me to enjoy the present even more.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So because of another stupid action by our administration it is not yet done and dusted with for me. Although it is irritating that such silly things happen again and again but keeping in mind Dr Phil’s philosophy I am able to look at it from a different perspective&lt;br /&gt;-IT IS NOT OVER YET- KEEP ENJOYING. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My Last Hurdle is still standing tall and I will take my own sweet time to knock it down. :-P&lt;br /&gt;  &lt;br /&gt;Yesterday is history&lt;br /&gt;         Tomorrow is a mystery&lt;br /&gt;                Today is a gift&lt;br /&gt;                       That is why it is called the present&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1078380865499459390-4962792368505119163?l=biduism.blogspot.com'/&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://biduism.blogspot.com/feeds/4962792368505119163/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='https://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1078380865499459390&amp;postID=4962792368505119163&amp;isPopup=true' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1078380865499459390/posts/default/4962792368505119163'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1078380865499459390/posts/default/4962792368505119163'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://biduism.blogspot.com/2009/05/last-man-standing.html' title='LAST MAN STANDING'/><author><name>bidu</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01192820569907273689</uri><email>biduprakashdas@gmail.com</email><gd:extendedProperty xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' name='OpenSocialUserId' value='07794445879221848214'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_oaEm-R_TDdo/SfqpcWBZmhI/AAAAAAAAANU/s4y4Stc20hg/s72-c/past-present-future.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1078380865499459390.post-3854270098157983515</id><published>2009-04-16T20:16:00.002+05:30</published><updated>2009-04-16T20:20:09.905+05:30</updated><title type='text'>LAST DAY IN COLLEGE</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_oaEm-R_TDdo/SedFX1Q9ANI/AAAAAAAAANM/QNgaz9f4ctY/s1600-h/farewell-poster-c12183202.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 333px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_oaEm-R_TDdo/SedFX1Q9ANI/AAAAAAAAANM/QNgaz9f4ctY/s400/farewell-poster-c12183202.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5325301360126394578" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My last exam in this institute is going to start in less then a week. I should be studying but I am not. I am not the only one, no one is studying. I cannot speak for everyone but if you want my opinion it is this overwhelming thought that is lurching in the back of our heads that is preventing us from doing the obvious. This feeling is the sad but inevitable realization that the end is near.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So as I am typing this new post I am sad because tomorrow is my last working day in college.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Going to college tomorrow is more or less a formality. We all are pretty much sure that nothing much is going to happen. But none will dare to give it a miss, even if that means rising early and reaching class in time (for the first time in four years). Our emotional state of mind is hard to explain. The best word to describe it has to be mixed. We are all confused. We all have mixed feelings. A part of us wants us to be practical and accept that the four year tenure has come to an end; thinking about it will not delay it. Another part is excited about the uncertain future, hoping that it will bring more joy that grief. A class of thought is so overwhelmed by the time spend here that it fears to let go for  it is sure that the future cannot be as good as the past. But no matter the feeling one has, one thing is for sure-when we walk out our class after the final bell all of us will turn back to view that empty class room and feel a slight pinch in our hearts.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;For it is the same classroom where we have spend so many hours learning, quarreling, sleeping, concentrating, planning but above all having fun. It is the same classroom where all of us have regretted going to so early in the morning, it is the same class room where time seemed to stop when the lectures were going on, it is the same class room where we became what we are. We make now have liked every moment we spend within those four walls but we will not have it any other way. For enclosed within that concrete and cement were the best days of our lives. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It was in this place we learned the tricks of not just engineering but also life in general. We grew up in that classroom, we made mistakes, we goofed up, and we fell down but also got up. It was in that classroom where we met some real special people who became our classmates, our partners, our FRIENDS. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Now when I look back and remember the best moments of my life it is not surprising that most of them occurred in the past four years. This realization reminds me more as to how special my college days have been and how much I will miss it.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style:italic;"&gt;As we move on we remember&lt;br /&gt;         All the times we spend together&lt;br /&gt;                 As our lives change come whatever&lt;br /&gt;                       We has all be friends FOREVER &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt; &lt;br /&gt;  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1078380865499459390-3854270098157983515?l=biduism.blogspot.com'/&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://biduism.blogspot.com/feeds/3854270098157983515/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='https://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1078380865499459390&amp;postID=3854270098157983515&amp;isPopup=true' title='4 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1078380865499459390/posts/default/3854270098157983515'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1078380865499459390/posts/default/3854270098157983515'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://biduism.blogspot.com/2009/04/last-day-in-college.html' title='LAST DAY IN COLLEGE'/><author><name>bidu</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01192820569907273689</uri><email>biduprakashdas@gmail.com</email><gd:extendedProperty xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' name='OpenSocialUserId' value='07794445879221848214'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_oaEm-R_TDdo/SedFX1Q9ANI/AAAAAAAAANM/QNgaz9f4ctY/s72-c/farewell-poster-c12183202.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'>4</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1078380865499459390.post-3142661309482671411</id><published>2009-04-12T16:46:00.005+05:30</published><updated>2009-04-12T17:40:51.989+05:30</updated><title type='text'>BATCH PHOTOGRAPH</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_oaEm-R_TDdo/SeHVVS1OmNI/AAAAAAAAAMs/oeEU2QPwpWA/s1600-h/DSCN1388.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_oaEm-R_TDdo/SeHVVS1OmNI/AAAAAAAAAMs/oeEU2QPwpWA/s400/DSCN1388.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5323770796337699026" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_oaEm-R_TDdo/SeHO5tJPRwI/AAAAAAAAAMk/RSc5uY9zFaE/s1600-h/DSCN5335.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_oaEm-R_TDdo/SeHO5tJPRwI/AAAAAAAAAMk/RSc5uY9zFaE/s400/DSCN5335.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5323763725294847746" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;As my days in my current college draw to a close emotions are running high. Everyone is busy bidding their good byes. They are trying very hard not to leave any stone unturned and are trying to do anything and everything that they might have missed out on. The atmosphere is electric. You feel the energy in the air as well as the pain and realization that it will all be soon over.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;As the D day approaches a series of farewell events have been lined up for us seniors. Due to the varied nature of my institute one person can get quite a few farewells. The numerous clubs and societies have their farewells, also some student gives their state seniors farewell, and certain departments give their students a separate farewell in addition to the institute farewell. But without a shadow of a doubt the most awaited event leading to the adieu has to be the batch photography session.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;If you think about it, it is not batch but branch photography as each branch lines up one after another to have their picture taken, but somehow the name has stuck and we all like it this way only.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Every year in the month of April us seniors dress up in our best attires to pose with our branch mates and professors. But it is much more than just one picture. It is an extravaganza. It normally spans across three four days to accommodate all the braches as well as UG n PG as a result all of us end up having a lot of fun. Everyone has friends in almost all the branches so we end up going to the main lawn almost everyday.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The build up to the day is arguably better than the day itself. The boys are able to keep their cool but for the girls it all goes haywire. The have the task of dressing up in sarees, which for many is a first time thing. So from a month beforehand they are busy choosing, modifying, and improving their attire. Some even call their moms to the hostel to help them dress up. These girls I tell you  :-P&lt;br /&gt; &lt;br /&gt;We boys have it really cool. No hassles whatsoever.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So when the day finally comes the cameras are rolled out. Pictures are taken of all possible objects, of all places, with everyone imaginable. Snaps are taken in the way to the main lawn, in the lawn, in the institute, in the department, in the canteen, on the road and everywhere else. So by the time the “official” photo is to be taken it really does not matter that much as we already have taken pictures with the people who really matter. But we pose again and are able to freeze this lovely moment for eternity. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;With this picture we accept that our time in this beautiful place is over, the most important phase of our life is over. But we shall all remember this moment and we have this picture to help us remember. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We came, we saw, we conquered and now we shall remember. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Now I also believe that “a picture can speak a thousand words”.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1078380865499459390-3142661309482671411?l=biduism.blogspot.com'/&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://biduism.blogspot.com/feeds/3142661309482671411/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='https://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1078380865499459390&amp;postID=3142661309482671411&amp;isPopup=true' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1078380865499459390/posts/default/3142661309482671411'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1078380865499459390/posts/default/3142661309482671411'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://biduism.blogspot.com/2009/04/batch-photograph.html' title='BATCH PHOTOGRAPH'/><author><name>bidu</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01192820569907273689</uri><email>biduprakashdas@gmail.com</email><gd:extendedProperty xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' name='OpenSocialUserId' value='07794445879221848214'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_oaEm-R_TDdo/SeHVVS1OmNI/AAAAAAAAAMs/oeEU2QPwpWA/s72-c/DSCN1388.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1078380865499459390.post-8382538025659502608</id><published>2009-04-07T21:58:00.005+05:30</published><updated>2009-04-07T22:16:54.749+05:30</updated><title type='text'>Figments Of Imaginations</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_oaEm-R_TDdo/SduCa_Sw5qI/AAAAAAAAAMc/65oqvuOvHqs/s1600-h/2008_0502_bollywood.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 369px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_oaEm-R_TDdo/SduCa_Sw5qI/AAAAAAAAAMc/65oqvuOvHqs/s400/2008_0502_bollywood.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5321990784846718626" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Slumdog Millionaire has swept away the Oscars and made its unknown cast superstars overnight. In spite of such achievements Slumdog has been severely criticized by not just Indian critics but also by a section of the Indian film fraternity. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Many of them believe that because Slumdog depicted the poverty of India and stamped the prejudiced opinion of the West about India it was able to win over the jury. In other words Slumdog showed the gora chamdi wala’s what they wanted to see. Such an argument is not entirely untrue. This year Sean Penn won the best actor award and was truly surprised for having "wrestled" past the come back kid. On receiving his award he even commented “You homo loving sons of guns”, clearly advocating the academy’s basis towards gay right movies. May be poverty also greatly appeals to them. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But curse Slumdog as much as you want for not portraying the “shining” India but one cannot overlook the fact that the rising and shining of new India is being depicted thoroughly in main stream Indian cinema, may be a tag bit too much.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;When was the last time that a big banner bollywood flick that its lead protagonist as a poor guy? Sure the cinema of 70’s had an Amitabh Bachchan born into poverty, cheated by the system who finally defying the system and becoming the angry young man. But cut across to today and invariably you will find the lead man to be born into a rich north Indian family who instead of attending class in college roams around with the hottest chick in campus but soon after campus fit into the family business earning the laurels of one and all. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;sadly all the big banners have a pattern. The Yash Chopra camp picturises its movies in beautiful Punjab where everyone has huge kotharis and acres of fertile farm lands. Karan Johar makes movies for the NRIs in places where you will find NRIs . UTV which till now was a breath of fresh air is kind off following the same path with movies where the “hero” does nothing for a living.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Farhan Akhtar is many times credited to make movies for the youth of this country. But even in his work the artists are from metros living a very comfortable life(on their dad’s money off course).&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I hail from a fairly affluent family, but even then it was ingrained into me and all my friends fairly early that we being from the service class and being born in India had to struggle. Studies if not everything in my household was given importance and no one ever( especially my parent) cut me any slack. Even my friends from business families knew that they had to be shrewd to succeed. This obviously does not mean that we followed our parents’ advice like the holy gospel or that our childhood was deep ingrained in books. We had our share of fun, our share of papers were flunked, our share of unparliamentary activities were committed but there was always a level to which we were allowed to screw up, and we were well aware of it. But do our directors portray it in their work. You yourself are the best judge.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Some may argue that we live our fantasies, our dreams through the silver screen. Thus they are allowed to be larger than life. That is true if you consider cinema only as a form of entertainment but given the fact that we are born in the multimedia generation and have successfully traded books with electronic media as our primary pass time, the highly influential world of Indian Cinema needs to become a bit realistic and cannot simply be the figments of imaginations of a chosen few.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1078380865499459390-8382538025659502608?l=biduism.blogspot.com'/&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://biduism.blogspot.com/feeds/8382538025659502608/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='https://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1078380865499459390&amp;postID=8382538025659502608&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1078380865499459390/posts/default/8382538025659502608'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1078380865499459390/posts/default/8382538025659502608'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://biduism.blogspot.com/2009/04/figments-of-imaginations.html' title='Figments Of Imaginations'/><author><name>bidu</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01192820569907273689</uri><email>biduprakashdas@gmail.com</email><gd:extendedProperty xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' name='OpenSocialUserId' value='07794445879221848214'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_oaEm-R_TDdo/SduCa_Sw5qI/AAAAAAAAAMc/65oqvuOvHqs/s72-c/2008_0502_bollywood.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1078380865499459390.post-1201963132117453948</id><published>2009-04-07T14:12:00.003+05:30</published><updated>2009-04-07T17:19:06.031+05:30</updated><title type='text'>I AM CHANGING</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_oaEm-R_TDdo/Sds9knupflI/AAAAAAAAAMU/0fef4fOVktg/s1600-h/1389009088_776b3410fa.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 400px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_oaEm-R_TDdo/Sds9knupflI/AAAAAAAAAMU/0fef4fOVktg/s400/1389009088_776b3410fa.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5321915084017598034" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Change is the only constant"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The world around us, the people around us, circumstances almost everything changes. It is also natural that we individuals will also change. Change here does not just mean physical growth or mental maturity. Many times an individual may also witness a paradigm shift in his way of thinking and approach towards life in general.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Such a change can be a dangerous one. For it defies the natural order of things. A change like this is opposite to the acquired changes. Normally as we grow older our mind starts functioning in a particular way. We acknowledge certain class of things and refuse to accept another. Our ideology and thinking gradually mature into either fundamentalism, fascism, liberal or any other type. But this development is gradual. From a state of indifference to a state of confusion to a state of believe, we all go through the same stages although the destination might be different.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But once a while people "change". There might occur fundamental change in there believe, working and relationships. Such changes can actually "change" a person and make him into something that he or she actually is not.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I too am changing into something else.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I am at a stage where i could not care less for certain things. My priorities are changing and i no longer believe in being completely honest. I am lazy enough not to blog for two months although i had the time. I am selfish enough not to indulge in certain activities because they provide aesthetic pleasure only. I am now ready to say something and mean something else.I am not me anymore.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It might be the realization had my previous tactics in life did not serve me well in certain fields that i am resorting to alternative methods. Although many times change is for the better this time i feel i am trying to mold into something i am not. May be i am thinking too much but the plain fact that for the first time i am writing a post about myself in particular and not about us in general proves how much i have changed.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I believe that in life you are always in a state of predicament. The mind constantly debates which path to take among the various at hand. Same with this mortal. A school of thought says that the changes happening are for the good only. It is essential to ensure progress and not repeat the same mistakes again, but another thought is much more blunt- "screw everyone, you be yourself". The path i will eventually take is unclear as of now,but one thing is for sure I need to pull back things a bit. Starting with being a more active blogger.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Change is good when it happens by me change is bad when it happens to me"&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1078380865499459390-1201963132117453948?l=biduism.blogspot.com'/&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://biduism.blogspot.com/feeds/1201963132117453948/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='https://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1078380865499459390&amp;postID=1201963132117453948&amp;isPopup=true' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1078380865499459390/posts/default/1201963132117453948'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1078380865499459390/posts/default/1201963132117453948'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://biduism.blogspot.com/2009/04/i-am-changing.html' title='I AM CHANGING'/><author><name>bidu</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01192820569907273689</uri><email>biduprakashdas@gmail.com</email><gd:extendedProperty xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' name='OpenSocialUserId' value='07794445879221848214'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_oaEm-R_TDdo/Sds9knupflI/AAAAAAAAAMU/0fef4fOVktg/s72-c/1389009088_776b3410fa.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1078380865499459390.post-9035047408751304969</id><published>2009-02-22T11:34:00.000+05:30</published><updated>2009-02-22T11:36:13.439+05:30</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_oaEm-R_TDdo/SaDrLkeMCYI/AAAAAAAAAL8/NOHWVo2eIt8/s1600-h/Picture+077.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_oaEm-R_TDdo/SaDrLkeMCYI/AAAAAAAAAL8/NOHWVo2eIt8/s400/Picture+077.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5305498945043827074" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1078380865499459390-9035047408751304969?l=biduism.blogspot.com'/&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://biduism.blogspot.com/feeds/9035047408751304969/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='https://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1078380865499459390&amp;postID=9035047408751304969&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1078380865499459390/posts/default/9035047408751304969'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1078380865499459390/posts/default/9035047408751304969'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://biduism.blogspot.com/2009/02/blog-post.html' title=''/><author><name>bidu</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01192820569907273689</uri><email>biduprakashdas@gmail.com</email><gd:extendedProperty xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' name='OpenSocialUserId' value='07794445879221848214'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_oaEm-R_TDdo/SaDrLkeMCYI/AAAAAAAAAL8/NOHWVo2eIt8/s72-c/Picture+077.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1078380865499459390.post-7263159097385236218</id><published>2009-02-22T11:30:00.000+05:30</published><updated>2009-02-22T11:34:18.164+05:30</updated><title type='text'>SO… YOU THINK YOU CAN DANCE ?</title><content type='html'>Every man has his own specialization. Every one of us has certain comfort zones. We all can do some things really well. But once in a while we step out of our comfort zone and try to do something we have never done before. A rush of adrenaline, a misjudgment or simply an intrinsic desire to make a fool of one self may forces one to accept this endeavor.  The reasons can me many but once we decide to travel the path less traversed a journey of self discovery awaits. This journey can be daunting, inspiring, confusing, futile or simply a fun filled one. So when I, born with two left legs, decided to do a step or two during our cultural fest life had a few surprises in stored for me.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;First things first I CANNOT DANCE.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I can do a lot of other things BUT I CANNOT DANCE.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So I took the plunge fully aware of how bumpy the ride would be. Little did I now it would be even more bumpy. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The first day at practice was the toughest. It was the only time I wanted to give up and thought the end result was not worth this much of effort. But music can tame the beast and dance can excite the dead. So I got more and more excited. Make no mistake about it, dancing is no walk in the park. It is a team effort. One has to remember all the moves, all the facial expressions all the beats and hope that everybody else in your dance group also remembers and does exactly the same moves in exactly the same way and does it in exactly the same moment when you are doing.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So I persevered. We all struggled but I guess time and desire was with us. So after a few setback, numerous trails and much sweat, we gave our auditions got selected and were all set to set the stage on fire.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Before the dance I was not that pumped up. It’s just a five minute dance, how good can it be? But I was dead wrong.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;There is a feeling about the stage which is so hard to explain. Once to are up there facing the crowd, hearing the music, dancing your way to glory it is a different feeling all together. Your body becomes numb, you feel no pain, you just want to DANCE. As I was up there performing I had a strange sense of satisfaction. I attempted to do something that was totally new to me, with people many of whom were strangers to me, in conditions that were adverse to me, but I, correction WE pulled it off. Those five minutes were simply magical, may be that’s why we had named our group so. As the songs changed and the music faded I said to myself-“Shit! It’s over”.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style:italic;"&gt;Special thanks to my group members for dancing the way they danced.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Thanks to all my friends who were present that night. &lt;br /&gt; &lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1078380865499459390-7263159097385236218?l=biduism.blogspot.com'/&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://biduism.blogspot.com/feeds/7263159097385236218/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='https://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1078380865499459390&amp;postID=7263159097385236218&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1078380865499459390/posts/default/7263159097385236218'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1078380865499459390/posts/default/7263159097385236218'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://biduism.blogspot.com/2009/02/so-you-think-you-can-dance.html' title='SO… YOU THINK YOU CAN DANCE ?'/><author><name>bidu</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01192820569907273689</uri><email>biduprakashdas@gmail.com</email><gd:extendedProperty xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' name='OpenSocialUserId' value='07794445879221848214'/></author><thr:total xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1078380865499459390.post-4249273909967840862</id><published>2009-01-15T22:38:00.000+05:30</published><updated>2009-01-15T22:43:09.771+05:30</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_oaEm-R_TDdo/SW9uYXaUAEI/AAAAAAAAALs/leAH2uppw2k/s1600-h/6a00d83451c60869e200e54f39166a8833-800wi.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 218px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_oaEm-R_TDdo/SW9uYXaUAEI/AAAAAAAAALs/leAH2uppw2k/s400/6a00d83451c60869e200e54f39166a8833-800wi.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5291569452063916098" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1078380865499459390-4249273909967840862?l=biduism.blogspot.com'/&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://biduism.blogspot.com/feeds/4249273909967840862/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='https://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1078380865499459390&amp;postID=4249273909967840862&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1078380865499459390/posts/default/4249273909967840862'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1078380865499459390/posts/default/4249273909967840862'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://biduism.blogspot.com/2009/01/blog-post.html' title=''/><author><name>bidu</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01192820569907273689</uri><email>biduprakashdas@gmail.com</email><gd:extendedProperty xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' name='OpenSocialUserId' value='07794445879221848214'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_oaEm-R_TDdo/SW9uYXaUAEI/AAAAAAAAALs/leAH2uppw2k/s72-c/6a00d83451c60869e200e54f39166a8833-800wi.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1078380865499459390.post-3184659591183652853</id><published>2009-01-15T22:36:00.001+05:30</published><updated>2009-01-15T22:38:21.488+05:30</updated><title type='text'>I AM WHAT I AM</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-style:italic;"&gt;In this weird world where every fat guy wants to be slim, every slim person wants to be muscular, every curly haired girl wants to have straight hair and every straight hair girl wants to have blue eyes it is every difficult is accepting yourself for simply what you are. In this world where every body wants to be somebody else true happiness can be achieved only by loving yourself.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We somehow always manage to live life the way others want us to live it. We may proudly proclaim that ‘I live life on my own term’ but the truth is something really different. For like it or not respect is social and to achieve this we many times mould ourselves into being what others want us to be. Thus we end up not being honest with ourselves and always undergoing a struggle with our inner self.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Social scrutiny is unavoidable. We do live in a society and this mean society has some norms which we have to follow. Many such rules are highly essential and form the very essence of our social existence. Such rules prevent us from infringing on the private space of others and allow us to live in a civilized manner. But one man’s bread is another’s poison. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;What society claims to be civilized rules, may turn up to be unacceptable to certain extraordinary individuals. Such people who lay there own rules find themselves cramped because society expects them to be something that they are not. To avoid social scrutiny one has succumb to such regulations but sooner or later the call of rebellion from inside overcomes the fear of social boycott and these rebels find themselves in a battle against the society.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;This war may seem to be for a lost cause. How can the might one a single individual change the social order. But time and time again a new world order has come into existence and such new ideologies have always found their root from a single individual. It all a matter of believing in your self and the fact that “I AM WHAT I AM”, no point in trying to change it as sooner or later it will fail. But if we change the society which is plagued with a false sense of righteousness we will definitely succeed&lt;br /&gt; &lt;br /&gt;He who falls in love with himself has no competition.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1078380865499459390-3184659591183652853?l=biduism.blogspot.com'/&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://biduism.blogspot.com/feeds/3184659591183652853/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='https://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1078380865499459390&amp;postID=3184659591183652853&amp;isPopup=true' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1078380865499459390/posts/default/3184659591183652853'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1078380865499459390/posts/default/3184659591183652853'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://biduism.blogspot.com/2009/01/i-am-what-i-am.html' title='I AM WHAT I AM'/><author><name>bidu</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01192820569907273689</uri><email>biduprakashdas@gmail.com</email><gd:extendedProperty xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' name='OpenSocialUserId' value='07794445879221848214'/></author><thr:total xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1078380865499459390.post-7303073668450108348</id><published>2008-12-29T10:38:00.001+05:30</published><updated>2008-12-29T10:46:41.975+05:30</updated><title type='text'>PLANNING AHEAD</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_oaEm-R_TDdo/SVhdGpF1b7I/AAAAAAAAALk/4tQuJFXjOSg/s1600-h/planning-ahead.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 267px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_oaEm-R_TDdo/SVhdGpF1b7I/AAAAAAAAALk/4tQuJFXjOSg/s400/planning-ahead.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5285076531410202546" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;‘In life things never turn out exactly the way you plan them’&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The above line is the closing observation of one of my all time favorite show. The show is a heart touching portrayal of the daily life of a confused boy. It is the story of his adolescence life and how life in its own weird way moulds him into the person that he eventually becomes.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The lead protagonist had it all figured out at a very early stage. He knew exactly what he wanted and how he was going to get there. But as the story unfolded he found many instances when things did not exactly go ‘according to the plan’. At numerous occasions he was at bay. In the end after numerous twists and turns he did not exactly get what he intended to but had a reasonably happy ending never the less. Today I, and I am guessing even my readers, can empathize with him.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I am at a crossroad of my life. I have numerous options, but I have it ‘all figured out’. I am almost sure that I know not just how to talk the walk but also walk the talk .But seeing how things have unfolded recently I can’t help but ponder as to whether planning ahead will do me any good? Will going with the flow serve me better? The thing is I can already feel the strange way in which life operates. You are many times sure of a few things, a few people, and a few achievements but as time takes its toll they end up becoming either trivial or unacceptably different. Ironically a few non-planned and undesired occurrences leave their ever lasting impressions on you.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So what is life trying to say to us? Keep your eyes and ears open; allow things to follow their natural order and allow your gut instincts to dictate your movements. If this is true then what about preparation, labor and ‘planning’?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I guess the desire to perform is what matters the most. Many times we plan a bit too audaciously and do not back it up with the required effort, hence are left with egg on our faces. But I have, and I am guessing even you, have encountered a true winner in life who is a perfectionist and achieves what he plans. His single minded focus and maturity allows him to achieve exactly what he wants.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Such people are a rare bread but they do exist. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Planning your future and aspiring big is an audacious task. Do it only if you can follow it with hard labor&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1078380865499459390-7303073668450108348?l=biduism.blogspot.com'/&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://biduism.blogspot.com/feeds/7303073668450108348/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='https://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1078380865499459390&amp;postID=7303073668450108348&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1078380865499459390/posts/default/7303073668450108348'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1078380865499459390/posts/default/7303073668450108348'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://biduism.blogspot.com/2008/12/planning-ahead.html' title='PLANNING AHEAD'/><author><name>bidu</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01192820569907273689</uri><email>biduprakashdas@gmail.com</email><gd:extendedProperty xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' name='OpenSocialUserId' value='07794445879221848214'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_oaEm-R_TDdo/SVhdGpF1b7I/AAAAAAAAALk/4tQuJFXjOSg/s72-c/planning-ahead.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1078380865499459390.post-7879708840536266213</id><published>2008-11-30T16:22:00.001+05:30</published><updated>2008-11-30T16:26:29.509+05:30</updated><title type='text'>ME n MY BIHARI FRIENDS</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_oaEm-R_TDdo/STJxQsayjvI/AAAAAAAAALA/-s7udtm1rf0/s1600-h/a-gang-of-friends.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_oaEm-R_TDdo/STJxQsayjvI/AAAAAAAAALA/-s7udtm1rf0/s400/a-gang-of-friends.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5274402645219643122" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;“Do not mix with bihari people, stay aloof”, instructions like this and several others in the same line was hammered into my ears about four years ago. Ever since I got lucky and got into a good engineering college in Jharkhand (erstwhile Bihar) ever acquaintance of mine did not hesitate from giving me the very same advice over and over again.&lt;br /&gt; &lt;br /&gt;“Which engineering college did you get into?” would be the question, barely would I have finished my reply then spat comes the statement of shock “Its in Bihar !, be careful”. “It is actually in Jharkhand” was my automated answer to this common misapprehension. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;As the days rolled by, this common opinion did affect me. Unaware of what life had installed for me I started my journey, little did I know how wrong common perceptions are.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;In the beginning I stayed aloof but then it happened. May be it was destiny but from friendly smiles in the hostel lobby to introductions which involved using ‘nics’ and wit rather than your place of origin, from meaningless gossip  which involved numerous people squeezed into one 10 X 10 room (God only knows how!) to fights in the cricket field over umpiring decisions, things just started to happen. One thing lead to another and there I was with my new formed gang of friends. Although it took me some time to notice but almost all my friends were biharis. Ironically the only other ethnicity I was friends with was Bengali, arguably the second most dreaded ethnicity of the country. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So there I was a misfit by text book definitions. But life is not about not following stereotypes; it is about creating your own rules. So I jumped the bridge, free from all social reserves and end result was true friendship.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Don’t get me wrong. This has not been a fairytale affair. There have been the usual ups and downs. There have been times when I felt that it would have been best if I never came here and never meet the people I met, there have been arguments, criticism, leg pulling, embarrassment, abuses, cynicism and all other negative emotions possible in all possible quantities. But then there have also been some really good times, numerous night outs, birthday bashes, placement treats, simple casual banters on the mess table or serious discussion about life in general, all of which leave you with the notion that you have friends you can depend on. Irrespective of what happened I know this much that what ever happened, the positives as well as the negatives, was because of my doing, my karma. It was a culmination of the person I am and the persons I am a part of and ethnicity had very little to do with it. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;If I was given the ability to reverse the arms of clock and change time I will give it a pass. I am what I am. The things that have happened have made be different, for better or worse only time will tell, but I willing to take that chance. I have installed a few qualities within myself which I shall cherish forever, and I would have never learned them if it was not for the company I have. A few things are for sure, no one can indulge like a bihari can, no one can abuse like a bihari can, no one can care like a bihari can. So here I am proudly proclaiming that life would have been less eventful if it was not for my biharis friends.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;May be I got lucky. It might be that the best of people who just happen to be biharis became associated with me. That may be true but I think it is fare that this ethnicity is given a fair chance to present their case before declaring the verdict.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;In this “Raj” ,where blood is drawn based on whether you are a bhaiyaji or if your ends with a kar it is very much essential that we practice tolerance and do not allow stereotypes to affect our judgments. It is a matter of individual perception. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And you might just get lucky like me and discover great friends and be left with a life time of sweet memory about people called “biharis”.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1078380865499459390-7879708840536266213?l=biduism.blogspot.com'/&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://biduism.blogspot.com/feeds/7879708840536266213/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='https://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1078380865499459390&amp;postID=7879708840536266213&amp;isPopup=true' title='6 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1078380865499459390/posts/default/7879708840536266213'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1078380865499459390/posts/default/7879708840536266213'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://biduism.blogspot.com/2008/11/me-n-my-bihari-friends.html' title='ME n MY BIHARI FRIENDS'/><author><name>bidu</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01192820569907273689</uri><email>biduprakashdas@gmail.com</email><gd:extendedProperty xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' name='OpenSocialUserId' value='07794445879221848214'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_oaEm-R_TDdo/STJxQsayjvI/AAAAAAAAALA/-s7udtm1rf0/s72-c/a-gang-of-friends.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'>6</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1078380865499459390.post-6675603571844065639</id><published>2008-11-19T12:57:00.003+05:30</published><updated>2008-11-19T13:07:46.168+05:30</updated><title type='text'>OLD IS GOLD</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_oaEm-R_TDdo/SSPBpoWTR0I/AAAAAAAAAIQ/jvPfl3if6zs/s1600-h/2006FALP_PH_DF-09989.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 267px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_oaEm-R_TDdo/SSPBpoWTR0I/AAAAAAAAAIQ/jvPfl3if6zs/s400/2006FALP_PH_DF-09989.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5270268909903365954" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;meta equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html; charset=utf-8"&gt;&lt;meta name="ProgId" content="Word.Document"&gt;&lt;meta name="Generator" content="Microsoft Word 11"&gt;&lt;meta name="Originator" content="Microsoft Word 11"&gt;&lt;link rel="File-List" href="file:///C:%5CDOCUME%7E1%5CBIDUYO%7E1.002%5CLOCALS%7E1%5CTemp%5Cmsohtml1%5C05%5Cclip_filelist.xml"&gt;&lt;o:smarttagtype namespaceuri="urn:schemas-microsoft-com:office:smarttags" name="City"&gt;&lt;/o:smarttagtype&gt;&lt;o:smarttagtype namespaceuri="urn:schemas-microsoft-com:office:smarttags" name="place"&gt;&lt;/o:smarttagtype&gt;&lt;!--[if gte mso 9]&gt;&lt;xml&gt;  &lt;w:worddocument&gt;   &lt;w:view&gt;Normal&lt;/w:View&gt;   &lt;w:zoom&gt;0&lt;/w:Zoom&gt; 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	margin:0in; 	margin-bottom:.0001pt; 	mso-pagination:widow-orphan; 	font-size:12.0pt; 	font-family:"Times New Roman"; 	mso-fareast-font-family:"Times New Roman";} @page Section1 	{size:8.5in 11.0in; 	margin:1.0in 1.25in 1.0in 1.25in; 	mso-header-margin:.5in; 	mso-footer-margin:.5in; 	mso-paper-source:0;} div.Section1 	{page:Section1;} --&gt; &lt;/style&gt;&lt;!--[if gte mso 10]&gt; &lt;style&gt;  /* Style Definitions */  table.MsoNormalTable 	{mso-style-name:"Table Normal"; 	mso-tstyle-rowband-size:0; 	mso-tstyle-colband-size:0; 	mso-style-noshow:yes; 	mso-style-parent:""; 	mso-padding-alt:0in 5.4pt 0in 5.4pt; 	mso-para-margin:0in; 	mso-para-margin-bottom:.0001pt; 	mso-pagination:widow-orphan; 	font-size:10.0pt; 	font-family:"Times New Roman"; 	mso-ansi-language:#0400; 	mso-fareast-language:#0400; 	mso-bidi-language:#0400;} &lt;/style&gt; &lt;![endif]--&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;It was a hot April afternoon. The Sun was out in full flare. The sky seemed spotless. There was hardly a soul in the streets as Aditya and his Dad rode towards the Lord Shiva temple. &lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;o:p&gt; &lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;Aditya, now finally a teenager was going there to pay respect to his deceased grandmother. His grandmother had departed for her heavenly journey a few months ago and keeping in line with Hindu customs the family went to the famous Lord Shiva temple of his city to perform the necessary rituals.&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;o:p&gt; &lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;Aditya sat in the front seat alongside his Dad who was busy driving. They left the busy city roads and entered the narrow lanes leading to the magnificent temple. The road was stone laden and not made of tar. It was build by the same king who made the &lt;st1:city st="on"&gt;&lt;st1:place st="on"&gt;Temple&lt;/st1:place&gt;&lt;/st1:city&gt;. As they neared their destination the crowd grew. The fact that Indians were deeply religious was evident these devotes indifference towards the scorching sun.&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;o:p&gt; &lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;They finally found a place to park their vehicle. The Gods have followers from all strata of society. The &lt;st1:city st="on"&gt;&lt;st1:place st="on"&gt;Temple&lt;/st1:place&gt;&lt;/st1:city&gt; was gigantic. Legend has it that he entire structure was carved out from one single rock. But Aditya had seen it so many times that its beauty no longer excited him. &lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;o:p&gt; &lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;Aditya was a typical teenager. He was restless, hyperactive and like all teenagers he did not like to be corrected. He believed he was now “mature”. Also, like all his peers he somehow resented been told what to do and how to do it. &lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;o:p&gt; &lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span style=""&gt; &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;Aditya’s father was a typical “Dad”. He wanted his son to do the “right” thing. He wanted him to study well, be clean and tidy, sleep early, eat his vegetables, and talk softly. But Aditya’s age always prevented him from taking his fathers words in the right sense. Even their interests did not match.&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;Aditya’s father was a man of science. Research was his life. Even Aditya loved science but how can he wholehearted agree with his father? Many times his father had corrected him when he enquired out the spiritual or the metaphysical&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;o:p&gt; &lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;He always thought him to be judgmental. The generation gap was evident. But being an Indian son he dare not say anything. He just kept fuming from inside and occasionally disclosed his thoughts to his Mother. His mother served as a good audience. She knew it was a phase that every teenager goes through&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 1in; text-indent: -1in;"&gt;.&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;Aditya and his father entered the holy place. Near the entrance there were numerous beggars. The &lt;st1:place st="on"&gt;&lt;st1:city st="on"&gt;Temple&lt;/st1:city&gt;&lt;/st1:place&gt; premise somehow incites the benevolent nature of the devotees making the place a hot spot for beggars. But&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;Aditya noticed in one corner a very old lady. It seemed as if she was as old as the temple itself. She seemed insignificant in the crowd. But unlike everyone else she did not have her arm stretched out. She was seated quietly. After much deliberation Aditya finally discovered that she was a soothsayer, she had no customers; her fragile body suggested that she was hungry for many days. But she still chose not to beg.&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 1in; text-indent: -1in;"&gt;&lt;o:p&gt; &lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;“Come along quickly, I don’t have all day” -his fathers words broke Aditya’s analysis. “I had asked to stay close to me. What if you get lost?” Aditya became furious. How can his father think he would get lost?” I am old enough to take care of myself” Aditya thought so but did not utter a word. &lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 1in; text-indent: -1in;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 1in; text-indent: -1in;"&gt;&lt;o:p&gt; &lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;Inside the shrine they searched for a &lt;i style=""&gt;Brahmin&lt;/i&gt;. They were required to feed a Brahmin to earn &lt;i style=""&gt;punya&lt;/i&gt; so that the soul of their loved one may get salvation. All this time Aditya was remembering his Grandmother. His mother being a working lady, her grandmother served as his foster mother. He was the apple of her eye and he loved her dearly. But Alas! She is no more.&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 1in; text-indent: -1in;"&gt;&lt;o:p&gt; &lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;They finally found a Brahmin. He sat down, cross legged, and Aditya served him while being corrected by his father for not doing the rituals properly. His father may have objective and protested correctly a nominal number of times &lt;span style=""&gt; &lt;/span&gt;but to his son it was one too many times. But still Aditya did not say anything. After the meal the Brahmin got his &lt;i style=""&gt;dakshina. &lt;/i&gt;He then had a friendly banter with Aditya’s Dad. His father talked about the scientific reason behind using banana leaves to consume ones food, he then talked about the architectural marvel of the shrine giving it a technical analysis, he further talk about religion and how we should look at it in an objective way and not give in to century old blind practices. The Brahmin was impressed. But Aditya was not.&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 1in; text-indent: -1in;"&gt;&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style=""&gt; &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style=""&gt; &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style=""&gt; &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style=""&gt;   &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style=""&gt; &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span style=""&gt; &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;With all the rituals done they came out of the temple. Aditya distributed alms among the beggars. He turned back hoping to find his father but he was no where to be found. After stressing his vision he found his father near the old lady soothsayer.&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 1in; text-indent: -1in;"&gt;&lt;o:p&gt; &lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;His father- a man of science was talking to a soothsayer whom he at numerous occasions had labeled illogical. He could believe my eyes. His father was leaning forward with both his arms stretched out. The old lady was meticulously reading the lines in his palm and making remarks. She first made projections about his past. Aditya’s father nodded to whatever she said. ”It is all true” he said .Then she made claims about his future. With eyes wide open and a beaming face, Aditya’s father listened with great sincerity. When she was done he gave her a heavy tip for her services and walked away as a satisfied man.&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 1in; text-indent: -1in;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 1in; text-indent: -1in;"&gt;&lt;o:p&gt; &lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;Aditya was furious. How can his father not practice what he preaches? He had corrected Aditya so many times now it was Aditya’s turn. As they approached their car Aditya finally burst out.&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 1in; text-indent: -1in;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 1in; text-indent: -1in;"&gt;&lt;span style=""&gt; &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;“How can you do this? You believe is soothsaying whereas you always ask me to think logically. What logic were you trying to display back there?” Aditya was loud. He had never talked to his father like that. &lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 1in; text-indent: -1in;"&gt;&lt;o:p&gt; &lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;His father, calm as always smiled at him and replied in the softest voice “No son, I still don’t believe in soothsaying”.&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 1in; text-indent: -1in;"&gt;&lt;o:p&gt; &lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;Aditya was puzzled. He looked back and got his answer. The old lady who was a minute ago all alone was surrounded by customers. Aditya’s dad knew the mentality of people. They always follow the herd. He simply wanted to break the ice. After his dad’s high praise many passersby where curious to query the “talented” soothsayer. The old lady will not be hungry today.&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;o:p&gt; &lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;Aditya made eye contact with the old lady. She smiled; it was as if she was saying thank you. She understood what he failed to realize. She understood his Dad’s true intention. He entered the car and they drove away.&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 1in; text-indent: -1in;"&gt;&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;Aditya had always believed his dad to be a scientist but above all Aditya’s father was first and foremost a humanist. His Old man truly had a heart of Gold.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;o:p&gt; &lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;i style=""&gt;The above is an work of fiction but fiction always draws inspiration from real LIFE.&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;div style="text-align: right;"&gt;  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1078380865499459390-6675603571844065639?l=biduism.blogspot.com'/&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://biduism.blogspot.com/feeds/6675603571844065639/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='https://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1078380865499459390&amp;postID=6675603571844065639&amp;isPopup=true' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1078380865499459390/posts/default/6675603571844065639'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1078380865499459390/posts/default/6675603571844065639'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://biduism.blogspot.com/2008/11/old-is-gold.html' title='OLD IS GOLD'/><author><name>bidu</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01192820569907273689</uri><email>biduprakashdas@gmail.com</email><gd:extendedProperty xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' name='OpenSocialUserId' value='07794445879221848214'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_oaEm-R_TDdo/SSPBpoWTR0I/AAAAAAAAAIQ/jvPfl3if6zs/s72-c/2006FALP_PH_DF-09989.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1078380865499459390.post-1043375103095118155</id><published>2008-10-10T12:31:00.003+05:30</published><updated>2008-10-10T12:35:15.259+05:30</updated><title type='text'>I AM SCARED</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_oaEm-R_TDdo/SO7-CjEd_BI/AAAAAAAAAII/CDU32ZXqCog/s1600-h/scared-pic.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_oaEm-R_TDdo/SO7-CjEd_BI/AAAAAAAAAII/CDU32ZXqCog/s400/scared-pic.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5255417134915124242" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;There are times when you are terrified, there are times when you are petrified, there are times when you are mortified and then there are times when you are simply scared.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Given the nature of English Language, the first three verbs used is the paragraph above will strike more to a reader but I think the subtle notion of being scared is more scary, as unlike all others isn’t a reflex  to some ghastly action and is not short lived. It is actually a logical conclusion drawn by carefully observing the scenario and stays with you even after the adrenalin stops flowing.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The reason why I am saying all this is because I am truly scared and have been scared for some time and will be scared for some time to come. I wish that I was rather terrified or mortified or petrified as that would mean that I am overreacting and impulsive but as I am simply scared I know better.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The reason I am scared is because of the insanity prevailing everywhere. After the turn of the millennium we have had more devastation and derailment of human life than ever before. It is almost a CATASTROPHY.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So what is wrong with the India and the world in general? I say everything.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;With global terrorism at its peak life is very unpredictable. With the prolonged and now ineffective struggle going on in Afghanistan and Iraq the world is literally bleeding. To make things worse the Georgia crisis happened. So now the world has a new bully.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Back home things could not be worse. The recent happenings have given a new definition to the abbreviation IM. The phrase “blow away” has a new figurative meaning. No major town has been spared and the question on everyone’s lip is “where next?”. What has made things worse is the investigation procedure. The “fake” encounter is Muslim populous Jamia area of Delhi has left many fuming. Both sides have there swords drawn. Many suspect that such incident may add fuel to fire. We are walking on a thin line and are fast loosing balance.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Even the Gods are unhappy with us. The Bihar flood has the worst in history. Orissa has faced flood in one side and drought on the other.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;In the religious side we are been torn apart. Kashmir is on boiling point. The Amarnath Shrine controversy has now become a call for complete independence. The valley which has been ignored till now is finally erupting in mammoth ways. The inefficient negotiation skills of the authorities has not made things better. Communal violence against Christians in Orissa , Karnataka has lead to loss of face in international media.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;To top it all off we have the on going US Credit Crisis whose ripples are being felt all across the world. With financial institutes and i-banks going bust the world is headed for a global meltdown. The major economies are going into a recession and this will adversely affect the developing nations. With crude oil shortage growth is a thing of the past.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The worst part is that most of these troubles are our own doing. We screwed up big time.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I am scared because of all these calamities. But the question is shouldn’t you be sharing my concern? Shouldn’t we all do something?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span class="sqq"&gt;“&lt;a class="sqq" href="http://thinkexist.com/quotation/courage_is_the_art_of_being_the_only_one_who/260697.html"&gt;Courage is the art of being the only one who knows you're &lt;b&gt;scared to death&lt;/b&gt;.&lt;/a&gt;"&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1078380865499459390-1043375103095118155?l=biduism.blogspot.com'/&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://biduism.blogspot.com/feeds/1043375103095118155/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='https://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1078380865499459390&amp;postID=1043375103095118155&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1078380865499459390/posts/default/1043375103095118155'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1078380865499459390/posts/default/1043375103095118155'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://biduism.blogspot.com/2008/10/i-am-scared.html' title='I AM SCARED'/><author><name>bidu</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01192820569907273689</uri><email>biduprakashdas@gmail.com</email><gd:extendedProperty xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' name='OpenSocialUserId' value='07794445879221848214'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_oaEm-R_TDdo/SO7-CjEd_BI/AAAAAAAAAII/CDU32ZXqCog/s72-c/scared-pic.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1078380865499459390.post-6595470281253718581</id><published>2008-08-25T17:04:00.002+05:30</published><updated>2008-08-25T17:10:07.480+05:30</updated><title type='text'>TCS ZINDABAD</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_oaEm-R_TDdo/SLKaBwmivkI/AAAAAAAAAIA/Twu2UuBo8fQ/s1600-h/tcs1.gif"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_oaEm-R_TDdo/SLKaBwmivkI/AAAAAAAAAIA/Twu2UuBo8fQ/s400/tcs1.gif" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5238418671602417218" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;       &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;Yes you read it right ……TCS zinbabad.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;I will say it more more time TCS ZINDABAD.&lt;/p&gt;    &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;Before my placement season began I felt an anti-TCS atmosphere in my campus. It was mainly because of the stereotype that TCS suffers form-&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;T&lt;/span&gt;respassers &lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;C&lt;/span&gt;an and will be given &lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;S&lt;/span&gt;ervice (TCS). But now I know better.&lt;/p&gt;    &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;A lot has been said about how TCS hires trucks during its recruitment procedures as the number of offer letters can also be brought in using trucks. Bathroom humors like this and many more are common before the D day. &lt;/p&gt;    &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;The D day should actually be rechristened as T-day. It is in this day that our desi MNC TCS comes alone but leaves after making 100’s of dream come true. In many campuses this is the first and last company to come as others are not required. That may be stretching things a bit too far but still as long as TCS is there all engineers and computer application students know&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;that their chances of&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;remaining unemployed is slim.&lt;/p&gt;    &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;Even during the 2000-01 IT screw up TCS stood firm and now with depreciating dollar, rising oil prices, sub prime crisis and political uncertainty one would have been forced to believe that TCS’s dream run is over but in its characteristic way TCS has surprised every one but hiring if not more but at par with previous years.&lt;/p&gt;    &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;But people still say “if not any where else than TCS”, well given the present crisis “no where else but TCS” is more apt. Lets not go into technicalities. Many may argue against my claim by talking about the type of work given there, the environment, the talent there&lt;span style=""&gt;   &lt;/span&gt;&lt;i style=""&gt;blah blah blah…&lt;/i&gt;. &lt;/p&gt;    &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;I say at least it is giving you a job, a security. It has given all of us a cushion to fall back on. If you really think that you better than this then prove it by getting a “better job”, and even when you do that dare not look down on a TCS employee, as the work for a company which has revolutionized the Indian IT arena.&lt;/p&gt;    &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;TCS today is a far of cry than the &lt;st1:country-region st="on"&gt;&lt;st1:place st="on"&gt;India&lt;/st1:place&gt;&lt;/st1:country-region&gt; of 70’s. A typical Amitabh Bachchan movie of that time symbolized the angry young man, frustrated from the system due to lack of opportunities. But today we can not be that grumpy. The youth of today has immense opportunities. It is a question of tapping it. &lt;/p&gt;    &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;I guess bestowing TCS all the honor is not fair. The current opportunities are the results of years of toil by numerous organizations, but some how at least in my opinion TCS is the crown jewel. It has shown the way for others to be inspired and try to follow it.&lt;/p&gt;    &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;Yes there are companies “better” than TCS but still no one recruits as many as TCS, no one leaves behind so many smiling faces as TCS, no one can sweep campuses like TCS.&lt;/p&gt;        &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;Don’t get me wrong I am not an employee of TCS. I am just an admirer.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;TCS zindabad.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1078380865499459390-6595470281253718581?l=biduism.blogspot.com'/&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://biduism.blogspot.com/feeds/6595470281253718581/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='https://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1078380865499459390&amp;postID=6595470281253718581&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1078380865499459390/posts/default/6595470281253718581'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1078380865499459390/posts/default/6595470281253718581'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://biduism.blogspot.com/2008/08/tcs-zindabad.html' title='TCS ZINDABAD'/><author><name>bidu</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01192820569907273689</uri><email>biduprakashdas@gmail.com</email><gd:extendedProperty xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' name='OpenSocialUserId' value='07794445879221848214'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_oaEm-R_TDdo/SLKaBwmivkI/AAAAAAAAAIA/Twu2UuBo8fQ/s72-c/tcs1.gif' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1078380865499459390.post-4993305047504348982</id><published>2008-08-11T20:10:00.001+05:30</published><updated>2008-08-25T16:25:09.085+05:30</updated><title type='text'>IN TWO MINDS</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_oaEm-R_TDdo/SLKPKeoymWI/AAAAAAAAAHw/3o6amHMv3cY/s1600-h/sphereshead.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_oaEm-R_TDdo/SLKPKeoymWI/AAAAAAAAAHw/3o6amHMv3cY/s400/sphereshead.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5238406726770923874" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;‘Did you ever have the feeling that you wanted to go&lt;br /&gt;                                          And at the same time had the feeling that you wanted to stay’&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Computer science engineering is always a trade off. Some of the greatest minds always strive to obtain the optimal code the best possible algorithm but invariably what they end up achieving is a compromise. They solution is almost always implementation dependent. So we end up with an “optimal” solution for a “particular” test case. So when all is said and done, it is always a ‘trade off’. Its is always about weighing the pros and the cons. It is about choosing one of the many correct paths.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Cut to real life and we have an almost same story. We are always in two minds. We always wanted the best of both lives and curse faith for making us choose one. Some may argue it is like having your cake and wanting to eat it also others may counter argue it is like having either cake or cookies but not both.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But many times it is not about choosing between two good things, invariably we have to choose the lesser of two evils, also no matter what decision we take it will leave someone heart broken and will make us the villain. It is as if we make one decision and are forced to stick with it, but all the time we wish that we had taken the other available path knowing fully well that the other path would have also led to this mind set of regret.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Yes there are a few who always know which path to traverse when they reach a crossroad. They decide; they stick to it; they face the consequences with no regret. But this is also true that such men are a rare breed. But for the majority of us are always in two minds. May be this is what separates the focused for the unfocused, the believers from the quitters, the leaders from the followers and the winners from the losers.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But many times it is not within our control. It is just human nature. It is human to want more and imagine ‘what if?’, also it is human nature to hope against hope and believe that no matter what I will end up fine.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Then again winners are not just mere human beings. They are ‘winners’.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;‘Did you ever have the feeling that you wanted to win&lt;br /&gt;                                          And at the same time had the feeling that you wanted to lose’&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1078380865499459390-4993305047504348982?l=biduism.blogspot.com'/&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://biduism.blogspot.com/feeds/4993305047504348982/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='https://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1078380865499459390&amp;postID=4993305047504348982&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1078380865499459390/posts/default/4993305047504348982'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1078380865499459390/posts/default/4993305047504348982'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://biduism.blogspot.com/2008/08/in-two-minds.html' title='IN TWO MINDS'/><author><name>bidu</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01192820569907273689</uri><email>biduprakashdas@gmail.com</email><gd:extendedProperty xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' name='OpenSocialUserId' value='07794445879221848214'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_oaEm-R_TDdo/SLKPKeoymWI/AAAAAAAAAHw/3o6amHMv3cY/s72-c/sphereshead.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'>0</thr:total></entry></feed>