Cracked Grecian Urn

Celebrity Obsession

2007-01-27T21:29:00.000+05:30

(Nasa so kindly giving me the honour of putting his very own song lyrics on my blog. I was so excited that I postponed it as much as I could. But here it is finally. So, now you know the following is not mine. I'm incapable of such explicitness.... LOL!!)

You switch on the TV and now you're in the know,
Some dumb fuck celebrity, she broke her toe.
You throw your hands up in the air.
You say "So?
What's so hot?
Is that all u've got?
It seriously makes me sick."

What u see next makes u go red,
A full page centrespread,
Some model slipped a tit,
You yodel "Oh! Dip shit!
Can it get any worse?"

(I suppose he has plans of continuing the song.... )

The Day After Yesterday...

2007-01-23T09:37:00.000+05:30

Honestly, being 18 seems in no way different from being 17. Not in the midst of exams anyway. And speaking of birthdays, some people have really weird ideas of what to give you for your birthday. This concept of people changing as time goes by seems a convenient way of describing that you’ve changed too but are unwilling to accept it. I noticed stark differences in the tone of two poems, by the same author (who shall remain unnamed to protect identity) to the same person (who shall also remain anonymous), written exactly a year apart. How weird is this?

(Last Year)

He said:

Every time I see your face

My heart begins to pace

Every time I see you smile

It makes my day worthwhile

I want to call out stars and the sky so blue

And tell them I’m so glad to be with you

And on this glorious day, I have one thing to say to you

And that is Happy B’Day to you

She said:

Oh God! I love him so!

(This Year)

He said:

I want to tell you some things as a friend

I don’t think you’ve realized

That I don’t know you anymore

But I know enough to tell

That after all that has been said and done

You don’t like the person you’ve become

Why don’t you take a look at yourself

What I see is just bitterness

You hate the people you never though you’d hate

Maybe all you need is just a break

The times have changed and so have you

You’re doing things you shouldn’t do

With every step you take, you go further away

From the person you really are today

I leave you here alone to wonder

About why I’ve given you these words to ponder

You may choose to listen, or you may not

But these words are all I’ve got

She said:

Is it getting better?

Or do you feel the same?

Will it make it easier on you,

Now that you’ve got someone else to blame?

Did I disappoint you?

Or leave a bad taste in your mouth?

Well, it’s too late tonight

To drag the past out into the light.

Did I ask for much?

More than a lot?

You gave me nothing

Now these words are all I’ve got?

What I learnt from you was how to shoot someone who outdrew me

You’ve got to do what you should

Even hate people, who I never thought I could

We hurt each other

I’m sorry if I did it again

I need you to understand, to hear

That reasons were there

For me to want to start anew

To change from being the person you knew

And the reason was, undoubtedly, you

I’ve been down

I’ve been cold

But now I’m still standing

Bitterness had helped me cope

Saying what I feel

Being free, being me

Being what I want to be

Times change

As people do too

When you could understand me

I could understand you

But now you don’t know me

Nor me you

A wall betwixt us

And the door’s closed

But so are your eyes

Open your mind

Tell me what I’ve done

Does it seem wrong to you

That now I see the sun?

Friend, as in be-there-for you-always?

Words from you, when everything’s finally in place?

It might have helped though

If you had been there when I was gone

There are many things I shouldn’t do

There are many things I wish I hadn’t done

But it doesn’t matter to me that all that was is gone

Now that we’re saying goodbye

(Gonna miss you so!!)

Translation (for those as simple-minded as me):

“Don’t you tell me what to do, now that you’ve already walked out of my life. This is something I might have listened to some other time, some other place if said some other way. But it’s a little late to dig up the past and complain I’ve changed because there’s no one else to blame for that but you. So what if I’m bitter? It didn’t matter to you that I was lonely, sad and heart-broken and now it’s of great concern I’ve gotten a little caustic? Anyways, thank your for the good times, the better times and thanks tonnes for all that fish. Toodles, buddy!"

My notes on above:
It kinda hits you, the first set of exchanges is so much shorter than the second. Is it really so much easier to convey what it isn't you don't like than your love? Or is this, love don't need words sorta thing? Amazing how you can hate people you liked a few months back. Did they really change that rapidly? Or is it something they said and did? I do think of this a lot, do the others consider it too?
Hmmm... Quite a mystery, the human mind and evolution.

C’EST LA VIE D’UN CHIEN…

2007-01-02T08:25:00.000+05:30

(This is some story I wrote for some story writing competiton. It isn't brilliant. It might not even be good. But why do I care. This is MY blog and so MY story shall go right here)

I don’t remember much of my life before Maria found me. I was really young then. I find myself able to connect better with the smells and sounds better than any scenes of my past. I recall snatches of my mother though. She is the pretty, golden-haired angel that frequents my dreams. She used to smell of fresh fields, even in that horrible slum that we lived in. I remember the vile stench of that place too. And my two brothers, they smelled as bad as they looked. I don’t think I was biologically related to them, but I still had to call them my brothers. My mother hadn’t been very fond of them either. But I knew she loved me. And I had hoped and dreamed for a long time since the day she went missing that she’d come looking for me.

Dusty brown haired and a matching complexion, I had deep brown eyes. My name is Merlin, now. But my mother used to call me Bandito. I think that meant Bandit in Mexican. She used to say I had stolen her heart. My brothers, on the other hand, didn’t really like me, or anyone else, for that matter. All they cared about was themselves, their next meal, fighting, creating a racket, being a public nuisance and giving street folks like us a bad name. Life in that poor section of town was hard, really very hard. Food was scarce on a good day and non-existent on a bad one. Handouts and leftovers formed our staple. Some people were slightly friendlier than most others. Like Al from the Italian restaurant who always had a few kind words and some fresh meat to spare.

I was just a little guy, but I was still expected to learn to survive the routine that might have become a part of my life if it hadn’t been for that one day. My mother hadn’t returned from her usual wanderings for food. It was really very late. But my brothers just didn’t bother. I urged them to go find her, but they laughed and said I could go if I was really that interested. And so I did. But not knowing left from right or one neighbourhood from another it wasn’t long before I was roaming unfamiliar streets, very lost. I had lost track of time and direction, and finally tired out and helpless I curled up on the corner of the street and decided to stay there till morning. But it turned out to be not such a good idea. When I awoke, not only was I still lost but also on a street with the biggest, nastiest and cruelest bullies. They threw stones at me, beat me with sticks and kicked me around like a soft toy. And I couldn’t fight back, being very small as well as very scared. I tried to run away from them, but that provoked them catch me and beat me harder. I suppose they tired of their game soon, and left me there bleeding and badly bruised. It was as I lay there that I first came to believe in God and said my first ever prayer. There hadn’t been any room for God earlier, but now I wanted to be rescued. I wanted to live. And I prayed.

The woman who had found me, as I lay bleeding, was called Maria. An angel sent for my prayer, no doubt. She carried me gently, wrapped in some fresh towels to a place that smelt like disinfectant – the doctor’s office. The doctor examined me and declared I was one lucky guy. I was duly medicated, bandaged, pet and consoled. No one there seemed to understand what I was saying, but Maria sensed I had no place to go. And so, she took me home with her. As I learnt, Maria was a good, devout woman and a stickler for cleanliness. She scrubbed all parts not covered by bandages until I howled in pain. And to think she did that once every week. I was really sore after every bath. And she took me to the church with her once a while. Not for the Sunday mass when loads of people came, she thought the crowds might scare me. So I accompanied her on some weekdays to the church and I loved going. The building filled with so many rooms, lined with shiny tiles, and it’s a pleasure to be allowed to roam around outside in the yards surrounding the church. I don’t know if God was inside, in the church but he was certainly present in the graceful old trees and lawns around it.

I stayed with Maria for about three weeks during which I had to make frequent visits to the doctor and finally got my bandages off. During this time, some people came to look at me. I think they were considering taking me to their families. But I wasn’t a pretty sight with my bandages, and none of them came back for me. Except for this one girl. She was youngish, about twenty probably. She came one day and just took me home with her. I realize now she didn’t intend on keeping me. She was to be my temporary care-taker, foster parent until I found a family of my own to go to. I got to travel in a car that day, for the first time. It was fun. And I had been so thrilled that it didn’t occur to me I might never see Maria again and I never did.

Her name was Alafiya. She was an exchange student, studying to be a veterinarian. Where Maria had been plump and matronly, Alafiya was a petite brunette with a heavy accent. Not that the accent mattered, we didn’t speak the same language anyway. She had the most amazing grayish-blue eyes. She looked into my brown eyes and seemed to look right into my soul. She didn’t live in an apartment like Maria but had a small old-fashioned, good-looking, two-storey place of her own. Before I arrived there had been four others there. I was to share a room with them. It was quite a cultural mix. All of them had either been found lost and abandoned like I was, or dumped by their families that hadn’t wanted them. Frenella was one such. She was a friendly red-head, a real darling. She was only slightly older than me, but she fussed around like I was her little brother. She and Loki, a dark guy were my best friends during my stay there. The other was Benny, an aggressive guy. He had had a real hard life before coming here, and that had made him violent, suspicious and untrusting. I never got to meet the fourth lady who was supposed to have shared the room with me. It turned out a family had come for her earlier that day. Lucky girl, I remember thinking.

Life with Alafiya was different from with Maria. Now, my baths were still a weekly torture. But there was also a schedule that we worked by. Every morning, we were up by eight and breakfast followed our morning duties. This was usually followed by a walk, but when Alafiya felt like it, it sometimes became a run. After the exercise we were given rest of the morning free. We usually played outdoors during that time. Alafiya insisted on good-behaviour. She insisted on it. In the afternoons, we worked on our manners, not always successfully. She warned us often, during those lessons, that if we wanted to be taken in by a family we had to be well-behaved, and friendly. I suppose the warning was meant particularly for Benny, though he always pretended he didn’t hear or understand. Sometimes in the evenings people came to see us. These were the people who might take us home, if they liked us, and if they were willing to go through all the necessary paper-work. We all had our hair brushed and freshened to be presentable. Benny was such a good-looking guy, but he was always rude to the people who took note of him on their visits. One such day, Benny went berserk. Screaming, he jumped on the nice lady who was trying to speak to him, bit her little boy, threw things, broke lamps, pulled table-clothes and ran out of the house. Alafiya apologized to them and when they had left made some phone calls. She told the person on the other end she might never find a home for Benny, he was just too violent. She looked real disturbed and upset, I wanted to help her. The next day, she took Benny on a ride in her car. I wanted to go too. But Frenella hushed me up, and told me not to distress Alafiya. She also said some of them who got taken away like Benny never came back. A gloom had settled upon us there in the house. And when Alafiya got back, she didn’t have Benny with her. That made up my mind for me. I knew, by instinct, I will never see him again. And I promised to never ever misbehave.

Weeks rolled on. Frenella got adopted – that’s right, adopted – by a nice couple. She promised to keep in touch. I haven’t heard from her yet, but I know she’s happy and that’s the way I want it to be. And some new-comers arrived to occupy her place in the house. Loki and I missed her a lot, and we didn’t get along very well with the new-arrivals. I liked staying with Alafiya, but I knew it wouldn’t be permanent. I wished for a nice family to come and adopt me too. Loki and I prayed every night for someone to come and take us home with them. And one day they did.

It was just a regular Wednesday. Though my bath wasn’t due for another four whole days Alafiya gave me and Loki a bath that day. I was still rolling in the grass trying to rid myself of the suffocating smell of soap when a big car arrived in the driveway. Apparently had come looking to adopt one of us. I noticed the family comprised of a man, a pleasant looking woman and a little boy. Not the sort of boys that become bullies and throw stones at you, but a good shy boy. He looked at me, our eyes locked briefly before he ran into the house after his parents. Alafiya called for us eventually. And the family got to look at us, me and Loki. They talked to us a while, played with us and seemed to like us. I liked them too. I didn’t want them to leave. They told Alafiya that they couldn’t make up their minds and that they’ll be back. When they didn’t come back for a whole week I worried that they might never.

But the following Monday, Alafiya received a call that made her all excited like she had been when Frenella had found a family. She bundled me and Loki into the car, much to my delight, and took us down to see the doctor, the one I had met earlier. I was given a number of medicines until I felt quite sick, shots on my arms and my temperature and other statistics were checked. Loki had been through the same procedure as well, he told me. And once again it was back in the car, and back home. The next day the family returned. They couldn’t decide between Loki and me. And since they had a reasonably big house they decided they could give us both a good home. We were going to be adopted, both of us, into the same family. We were so thrilled.

But I was also partly sad; I realized we had to leave Alafiya. She was really special to me. I tried to tell her I’d miss her, but she didn’t pay much heed. She had bought me and Loki a nice thick collar each. It was brown and I still keep it in memory of her. And soon it was time for us to leave. Loki bounded into the car, not stopping to think for a moment. But I stopped to look back at Alafiya and let out a little doleful bark. My first friend, my first real house and I wasn't going to see her again. But she just waved and turned back to the house. She meant a lot me but I guess I was just another dog in her life, one of many that she finds good homes for.

Loki and I still live with the family. They take real good care of us, and love us with everything they’ve got. The little boy’s now off to high school now and he’s studying really hard. He wants to be a vet someday. Loki and I were his inspiration, I believe. We are no longer the little playful puppies we used to be, but respectable dogs. I guess my story ends here. My human mother’s looking for me. I guess she will want her slipper back now.

(Incidently, if you waddled through all this, the title is in French. Translated it means, It's a Dog's Life)

Poetically (Un)Inclined

2006-12-28T14:59:00.000+05:30

When I was eight, I was duly jealous of a classmate's ability at poetry writing. True, it was my poem, about my imaginary pet, that was published in the school magazine. But she had this notebook full of poems, and some even with titles longer than 'My Dog'. Sure, my poem described the dog in all its splendour and was everything a third-grader's poem should be, but who could beat a girl with a notebook?

I suppose that was my only attempt at verse-writing. The person I used to be could never stand being second best. So even class assignments went undone. Really, the teacher's condescending disapproval seemed so much better than being told what an amazing poem someone else has written. People reminded me often how good I was in english. But no matter what, poetry I wouldn't venture into.

One of my best friends now writes poetry, though she seldom lets anyone read it. The girl with the notebook doesn't even write even notes much anymore (:P). And I'm still versically challenged.

But I love poetry. Poetry was the only thing I appreciated in my second language. The best assembly I've attended was the Poetry Reading by some group from The British Council (and that had nothing to do with I, as a lowly 9ther, having Porko sitting next to me. Though that was an added benefit.). If poetry was a person, I'd describe our relationship as love-hate. I hate him. I love him.

The first poem I ever recieved, I was critical of it and cherished it. But when time came to express my feelings it came out as a rambling, unsatisfactory letter which incidentally failed in its objective. When I was 13 and submitting my first story to the Commonwealth, a 10-year old submitted a poem that surpassed my story. When I was 15 and smitten for the first time, I couldn't write love poems (not like I wanted to, but still I couldn't). When I am 17 and confused, I still believe I can't write poetry much as I want to.

Why can I not write poems???
Maybe I had been scared of trying earlier, but now I'm the girl with the I-Don't-Give-A-**#*-If-You-Think-I'm-A-*#**# attitude (that's what Nasa said, in those exact words). So try I shall. So what if its not outstanding, as might be expected of me? Atleast I'd be quelling my interests and satisfying my need for adequate expression.
SO THERE!

Saying Goodbye.... Gonna Miss Ya so...

2006-12-18T15:24:00.000+05:30

Saying goodbye, why is it sad?
Makes us remember the good times we've had

Much more to say, foolish to try
It's time for saying goodbye.

Somehow I know, we'll meet again
Not sure quite where and I don't know just when
You're in my heart so until then
Wanna smile
Wanna cry
Saying goodbye

HOW TO LOSE A FRIEND IN 10 WAYS

2006-11-02T16:45:00.000+05:30

1. Borrow your friend's books and set wet mugs on them. Return it and apologize. Repeat process after a week.

2. Flirt excessively with your friend's crush. Get especially intimate when you are sure your freind's looking.

3. When your friend does get some time alone with his crush/girl/guy make sure you scream, shout and do whatever it takes to interrupt them, every single time.

4. Insist on telling embarrassing stories about your friend at social gatherings. Especially if your friend's trying to impress someone present.

For Girls:

Get your friend to ask you out and then

5. Say NO. And make sure you till him plenty of times how it disgusts you that he should think that way.

6. Say NO, impulsively. Think it over and then say YES. 12 hours later say NO again.

7. For better effect, try to set him up with another girl after (6) and say YES, a month later. And have him say NO.

8. Say YES. Make sure you mess with his head sufficiently for him to break it off. Become a broken soul, sobbing mess and self-pitying slob. Blame it all on him. Cry often until all your other mutual friends think of him as some kind of monster.

Note: These are only 75% guarenteed to work.

For Guys:

9. Date all your friends' mutual best friend for well over a year. Dump her. Tell her you can still be friends. Claim to your other friends you aren't ready for committment. For extra measure, be sure to bitch about her to people who know her better than to beleive you.

Note: 100% guarenteed to lose ya atleast 3 friends all in one go.

10. Have him run over by a tanker.

Note: My personal favourite. Never got to try it out though. :)

This is Gonna Hurt Just a Lil Bit...

2006-10-10T21:22:00.000+05:30

Yesterday, a little Stellaluna look-alike (a bat, to the ignorant) got wild, got disoriented and (rather unfortunately) got into a class of crazy kids. I was in that class too, Mr.Raavi's, but I did refuse to go ballistic and duck and squeal every time the bat flew past my head. That little critter's entry into the room proved beyond doubt that its not the GIRLS who go into a frenzy every time a furry being comes within 3 feet of them (in that case you'd think they'd be running from guys all the while). The brave strong GUYS were a whole different story, and quite a laugh. The photo here is proof enough. Mr.Raavi stopped short of crawling under the desk.

Oh, I mentioned the trespasser to be unfortunate because one hero-wannabe knocked the cute little thing on its tiny little head and rendered it either dead or terribly unconscious (you know who you are, you deserve to have Greenpeace arrest you). Mr.Raavi proclaimed it dead and did (bravely) carry the poor thing to a safer resting place. But it is rumoured that Stellaluna survived after all... :D

Now what has all this got to do with the title?? Nothing at all. Now getting down to what I was starting out to say.

Remember how the doctor, before sticking a lethal-looking needle into you, says "This won't hurt a bit" and after piercing your skin with it, and after you've screamed your head off and the roof down, adds "Now that didn't hurt, did it?" and you wonder how thick he could get as you rather forlornly nurse the now-numb region of your epidermis? The injection is just a little thing, but it does hurt.

It's really amazing how you could probably forget, if not forgive, your worst enemy but the slights of the closest of your friends seems to nag you consistently till it hurts more than it's supposed to. So what if your best friend forgets to tell you something that's going on with her? So what if it is something important? And so what if everyone else seems to know and you get to hear it through someone else? Does it really matter?

It does to me.

The little things matter. Terribly. People who have heard me rave and rant and complain about this earlier have said "It's such a little thing, let it go." But how many little things does it take before you realize its not really all that unimportant anymore? These small, generally unnoticed errs matter to me, why? Because I feel threatened, vulnerable, left out and INSECURE. Yes, me. I do feel insecure.

No matter how strong a person anyone is, everyone's got their own Achille's heel. And dear reader, this is mine.

And the Moral of the Story is...

2006-10-07T17:53:00.000+05:30

Young King Arthur was ambushed and imprisoned by the monarch of a neighboring kingdom. The monarch could have killed him but was moved by Arthur's youth and ideals. So, the monarch offered him his freedom, as long as he could answer a very difficult question. Arthur would have a year to figure out the answer and, if after a year, he still had no answer, he would be put to death.

The question was: What do women really want?

Such a question would perplex even the most knowledgeable man, and to young Arthur, it seemed an impossible query. But, since it was better than death, he accepted the monarch's proposition to have an answer by year's end. He returned to his kingdom and began to poll everyone: the princess, the priests, the wise men, and even the court jester. He spoke with everyone, but no one could give him a satisfactory answer.

Many people advised him to consult the old witch, for only she would have the answer. But the price would be high as the witch was famous throughout the kingdom for the exorbitant prices she charged.

The last day of the year arrived and Arthur had no choice but to talk to the witch. She agreed to answer the question, but he would have to agree to her price first. The old witch wanted to marry Sir Lancelot, the most noble of the Knights of the Round Table, and Arthur's closest friend!

Young Arthur was horrified. She was hunchbacked and hideous, had only one tooth, smelled like sewage, made obscene noises, etc. He had never encountered such a repugnant creature in all his life. He refused to force his friend to marry her and endure such a terrible burden. But Lancelot, learning of the proposal, spoke with Arthur. He said nothing was too big a sacrifice compared to Arthur's life and the preservation of the Round Table.

Hence, a wedding was proclaimed and the witch answered Arthur's question
thus: "What a woman really wants," she said, "is to be in charge of her own life." Everyone in the kingdom instantly knew that the witch had uttered a great truth and that Arthur's life would be spared. And so it was, the neighboring monarch granted Arthur his freedom and Lancelot and the witch had a wonderful wedding.

The honeymoon hour approached and Lancelot, steeling himself for a horrific experience, entered the bedroom. But, what a sight awaited him. The most beautiful woman he had ever seen, lay before him on the bed. The astounded Lancelot asked what had happened. The beauty replied that since he had been so kind to her when she appeared as a witch, she would henceforth be her horrible deformed self only half
the time and the beautiful maiden the other half. "Which would you prefer? she asked him. "Beautiful during the day... or at night?"

Lancelot pondered the predicament. During the day he could have a beautiful woman to show off to his friends, but at night, in the privacy of his castle, an old witch! Or, would he prefer having a hideous witch during the day, but by night a beautiful woman for him to enjoy wondrous, intimate moments with?

(If you are a man reading this ...) What would YOUR choice be?

(If you are a woman reading this ..) What would YOUR MAN'S choice be?

What Lancelot chose is below. BUT ... make YOUR choice before you
scroll down below. OKAY?

Noble Lancelot, knowing the answer the witch gave Arthur to his question, said that he would allow HER to make the choice herself. Upon hearing this, she announced that she would be beautiful all the time because he had respected her enough to let her be in charge of her own life.
Now ... what is the moral to this story?

The moral is ..
If you don't let a woman have her own way, things are going to get ugly.

RULES AND INSTRUCTIONS FOR BEING "ONE OF THE GUYS"

2006-10-04T19:06:00.000+05:30

I found this someplace. This is the highly edited version. Enjoy. :)

> Don't call. EVER.
> If you don't like a girl, don't tell her. It's more fun to let her figure it out by herself.
> Lie.
> If you lose something that belongs to someone else, tell them already gave it to them.
> Be as ambiguous as possible. If you don't want to answer, a grunt will do.
> Always remember: You are a man. Therefore, no matter what, it isn't your fault.
> Lie.
> If, GOD FORBID, you have to talk to a girl on the phone, use only monosyllabic words.
> Tell her you will call. Then, refer back to rule #1.
> Lie.
> Deny everything. Everything.
> If you like a girl, tell all your female friends about her. Especially female friends you suspect may have a crush on you. (Probably all of them --- you're a man remember?) They really want to know.
> Don't have a clue.
> If you get a clue, pretend you didn't and disregard it.
> No means yes.
> Yes means no.
> Feelings? What feelings?
> Life is one big competition. If someone is better than you at something, either pretend it's not true or kick their ass.
> Lie, I tell you!!
> Diss your girlfriend. Beg and plead until you get her back. Diss her again. Repeat cycle.
> Apologize whenever it's expected. NEVER mean it.
> If you hurt someone, pretend you care. Don't.
> Try to have a good memory, but it's OK if you forget trivial things. You know, like your girlfriend's birthday and eye color.
> Ignorance solves problems. If you can't see them, they can't see you.
> It is never your duty to take responsibility for your actions.
> Lie.
> You are male, therefore you are superior.
> Don't ever notice anything.
> Lie.
> If you cheat on a girl, but no one finds out, then technically you've done nothing wrong.
> Crying is not manly. Then again, if you are a man, what do you have to cry about, anyway.
> If the question begins with "why," the answer is "I don't know."
> Women are your napkins. Use them, and throw them away.
> Don't ever let anyone say "I told you so." If you hear this phrase and it didn't come out of your mouth, go ballistic.
> Other peoples' pain is strictly for your amusement. Laugh long, laugh loud, laugh heartily.
> Lie.
> If anyone asks you for a favor- a) make a big deal about how hard it is for you to do it, b) remind them of this huge favor you've done for them at least every 5 minutes for the rest of their life.
> If you do something really mean to a girl, and she doesn't want to talk to you, pretend nothing happened. If she still doesn't talk to you, casually ask, "is something wrong?"
> Lie.
> Default facial expression: blank stare.
> If you are asked to do something you REALLY DON'T want to do, first try your manly best to get out of it. If that doesn't work, go ahead and do what you were asked to do, but complain that you don't know how to do it and continuously ask questions on how to do each little part. If no one rushes in to do it for you YET, finish the job in the most half-assed way you possibly can and then say, "SEE?? I TOLD you I couldn't do it." Eventually, people will stop asking you to do things.
> One word: FOOTBALL!
> LIE.

FAIRYTALE ROMANCE....... INDEED??

2006-10-04T18:23:00.000+05:30

Life is a tragedy in the close shot and a comedy in the long shot

Of all the myriad variety of changes a human can undergo the most obvious, observable, nerve-wrecking change usually occurs with GUYS you know well i.e either you or some close girlfriend of yours dates or cares about. I'm gonna be ranting here a bit, deal with it.
I don't hate guys, mind ya. Some of my friends go to the extent of wildly exaggerating that I might be man-mad, which also I'm not. So, I don't hate guys, I only dislike MORONS who mostly seem to be guys anyway.

Now, where was I headed originally?

In the beginning of every relationship, everything is just rose-tinted perfect. And then something goes horribly wrong. Some small fights, small twinges of jealousy or something silly, usually blown way out of proportion throws a itty bitty spanner in the works. After that the guy has a tendency to go a bit like Dr.Jekyll and a lot like Mr.Hyde. So there's a lesson to be learnt here: When one dates nice guys, they turn into jerks anyway. So better save time and go for the jerk in the first place.

There are a lotta advantages to liking the rotten-cored guys instead of the nice ones. For instance, they are more fun to complain about to your friends and gain you more sympathy. Also, you won't get all emotionally attached to them and can always be in control of your situation.

Then there are such guys who after quite a while of commitment decide they need to break and go find themselves or think about the situation a bit. What they propbably mean is that they're bored and need to find themselves a new girl.

Ok, this post seems unfinshed. I know. Becuse it is. I'm hungry now. I'll come back and rave and rant a bit later.

Not Bad.. :)

2006-10-03T15:17:00.000+05:30

I just took this test. It wasn't too far of.. :)

Your Learning Style: Organized and Goal Oriented

You are good at leading a group and finishing projects.

You Should Study:

Business
Communication
Fashion Merchandising
Health Administration
Interior Design
International Studies
Public Administration

What Should You Study?

REACHING BEYOND

2006-09-19T11:09:00.000+05:30

Our lives are full of dreams waiting to come true
Follow this high-way of hope and see where it takes us to.
We can push the dark clouds away.
Reach for the skies of blue
Further we’ll be searching and soon we’ll all be reaching so high
And I’ll be soaring with you.
With every step we are moving ahead.
We’ll go beyond the clouds and stars.
To a world where dreams are realised.
A land of inspiration.
Beyond the skies.
Imagine where we can go, if we all can fly.
We’ll count the stars in the sky
As we fly and fly so high.
We can reach beyond what we know and learn something new.
Further we’ll be searching
And soon we’ll all be reaching so high
And I’ll be soaring with you.
We’ll find a place that we belong,
A place that we will want to be.
With every step we are moving ahead.
We’ll go beyond the clouds and stars.
To a world where dreams are realised.
A land of inspiration.
A brand new destination

We’ll reach beyond, beyond, beyond
We’re reaching up high
Reaching up beyond the skies