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<?xml-stylesheet type="text/xsl" media="screen" href="/~d/styles/atom10full.xsl"?><?xml-stylesheet type="text/css" media="screen" href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~d/styles/itemcontent.css"?><feed xmlns="http://www.w3.org/2005/Atom" xmlns:openSearch="http://a9.com/-/spec/opensearch/1.1/" xmlns:georss="http://www.georss.org/georss" xmlns:gd="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005" xmlns:thr="http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0" xmlns:feedburner="http://rssnamespace.org/feedburner/ext/1.0" gd:etag="W/&quot;CEUMRn09fyp7ImA9WhRUE0g.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14894235</id><updated>2012-01-23T12:58:07.367-08:00</updated><category term="Friends" /><category term="marriage" /><category term="PG" /><title>CuppaCapuccino</title><subtitle type="html" /><link rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#feed" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://cuppacapuccino.blogspot.com/feeds/posts/default" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://cuppacapuccino.blogspot.com/" /><link rel="next" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/14894235/posts/default?start-index=26&amp;max-results=25&amp;redirect=false&amp;v=2" /><author><name>fullmoononearth</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02514396329603988179</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="32" height="30" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-4_nEiX31j60/TdH948QCD5I/AAAAAAAAASw/qQeS7EI_qv8/s220/Rums.jpg" /></author><generator version="7.00" uri="http://www.blogger.com">Blogger</generator><openSearch:totalResults>211</openSearch:totalResults><openSearch:startIndex>1</openSearch:startIndex><openSearch:itemsPerPage>25</openSearch:itemsPerPage><atom10:link xmlns:atom10="http://www.w3.org/2005/Atom" rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/Cuppacapuccino" /><feedburner:info uri="cuppacapuccino" /><atom10:link xmlns:atom10="http://www.w3.org/2005/Atom" rel="hub" href="http://pubsubhubbub.appspot.com/" /><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;A0EBRnc7fCp7ImA9WhRVE00.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14894235.post-3968776622920329446</id><published>2012-01-11T11:19:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2012-01-11T11:20:57.904-08:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2012-01-11T11:20:57.904-08:00</app:edited><title>The Big 3 - O</title><content type="html">Turning 30, surprisingly, isn't as traumatic as shown on the series F.R.I.E.N.D.S. When I turned 25 I was super excited. I was finally going to be old enough to be not dismissed anymore. Well, as soon as u turn the age to think for yourself, you want all your opinions considered. But that does not happen for a long long time. You have to wait out your teens, then the college student years and add a few years of work experience before parents think that you're old enough to take into consideration your suggestions w.r.t big decisions. Then came the 26th birthday. I was a li'l concerned that I'd finally reached the stage where I could be referred to as Old now. That passed soon. Fast forward to 29th and I was excited again coz I'd be turning 30 next year. Almost as much as my 24th. Well, the excitement was more so coz this was my first birthday with my darling husband. Somehow all the firsts are quite exciting experiences. In a few months I'm turning 30. And I'm so excited about it. Also a li'l surprised, coz, if this were the 90's, this probably would have been a reason to feel sad for myself as I was growing "Old". Back then turning 30, especially for a woman, was considered almost the retirement age. The age after which she should give up on life's pleasures. The age after which no amount of make over could make her feel "young" or desirable. When being a mom meant that that was your only identity.&lt;br /&gt;
Times have changed so much. Even a 40+ woman is considered desirable today (Read about Jen Aniston &lt;a href="http://www.foxnews.com/entertainment/2012/01/10/jennifer-aniston-regains-title-hollywoods-most-desired-body-at-age-42/" target="_blank"&gt;here&lt;/a&gt;). You are no longer just a wife or mother. You have a bigger role to play. Raising well mannered children is no longer the Only aim in your life. &lt;br /&gt;
I can only feel blessed to have such encouraging and empowering environment around me.&lt;br /&gt;
Cheers to happily turning 30&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/14894235-3968776622920329446?l=cuppacapuccino.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;p&gt;&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/4bAUs5GYJiSZ434F7Pp30TUxRk4/0/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/4bAUs5GYJiSZ434F7Pp30TUxRk4/0/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br/&gt;
&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/4bAUs5GYJiSZ434F7Pp30TUxRk4/1/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/4bAUs5GYJiSZ434F7Pp30TUxRk4/1/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/Cuppacapuccino/~4/PklxjnKiZTw" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://cuppacapuccino.blogspot.com/feeds/3968776622920329446/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=14894235&amp;postID=3968776622920329446" title="2 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/14894235/posts/default/3968776622920329446?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/14894235/posts/default/3968776622920329446?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/Cuppacapuccino/~3/PklxjnKiZTw/big-3-o.html" title="The Big 3 - O" /><author><name>fullmoononearth</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02514396329603988179</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="32" height="30" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-4_nEiX31j60/TdH948QCD5I/AAAAAAAAASw/qQeS7EI_qv8/s220/Rums.jpg" /></author><thr:total>2</thr:total><feedburner:origLink>http://cuppacapuccino.blogspot.com/2012/01/big-3-o.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;DUAER3k5fip7ImA9WhRWGEQ.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14894235.post-6987417814936856826</id><published>2012-01-06T16:55:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2012-01-06T16:55:06.726-08:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2012-01-06T16:55:06.726-08:00</app:edited><title>Marriage - Arranged or Love</title><content type="html">This is still an age where the younger generation feels arranged marriage is an arrangement that the parents force upon their children. I do see a lot of valid reasons behind such feelings. However, for the people who very strongly believe that love marraige is The way for a happy marraige I'd like them to give arranged marriage a li'l more thought and credit. I do not deny I hated the entire process of chosing the person. Allt the things I was asked to do in the name of tradition were all not one bit to my liking. But I did it coz that is what it takes, a tiny bit of adjustment from my end. And I did it coz my parents never forced any proposal onto to me just coz they deemed it suitable for me. They did try to persuade, very hard, but never force. I had the last word. It took me a lot of time and a lot more of my parent's patience to find the person I thought I could live with, for the rest of my life. And I am more glad than sorry that I waited to go my parents way. I know I couldn't have dealt with a love marraige coz that would always make me feel that I let my parents down in some way, whether they feel so or not. It had to be their way BUT on my terms of course. Another adjustment that my parents were willing to make for having given me freedom to think for myself. But the end result is a happy family.&lt;br /&gt;
And what is more satisfying than to see that you've pleased the maximum number of people in your ability. All said and done I want to see the few people I value the most as happy as I can make them. Frankly I never made any sacrifices. It was mostly made by the people who love me, who put up with every whim of mine. I am now with a person who also puts me ahead of himself. What more can one ask for from a marriage. I'm not forgetting that I'm one of the few privileged persons on earth to have a wonderful life, to have things go my way. But I did have to make small adjustments so that everyone feels pleased. And it indeed has paid off.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/14894235-6987417814936856826?l=cuppacapuccino.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;p&gt;&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/q_m8f57PF5Lkb9qVvgbGt_emVYc/0/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/q_m8f57PF5Lkb9qVvgbGt_emVYc/0/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br/&gt;
&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/q_m8f57PF5Lkb9qVvgbGt_emVYc/1/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/q_m8f57PF5Lkb9qVvgbGt_emVYc/1/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/Cuppacapuccino/~4/ny_IFaYzMoU" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://cuppacapuccino.blogspot.com/feeds/6987417814936856826/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=14894235&amp;postID=6987417814936856826" title="4 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/14894235/posts/default/6987417814936856826?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/14894235/posts/default/6987417814936856826?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/Cuppacapuccino/~3/ny_IFaYzMoU/marriage-arranged-or-love.html" title="Marriage - Arranged or Love" /><author><name>fullmoononearth</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02514396329603988179</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="32" height="30" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-4_nEiX31j60/TdH948QCD5I/AAAAAAAAASw/qQeS7EI_qv8/s220/Rums.jpg" /></author><thr:total>4</thr:total><feedburner:origLink>http://cuppacapuccino.blogspot.com/2012/01/marriage-arranged-or-love.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;DE4GQn8zeip7ImA9WhRWGEQ.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14894235.post-8408597186495000589</id><published>2012-01-06T16:42:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2012-01-06T16:42:03.182-08:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2012-01-06T16:42:03.182-08:00</app:edited><title>I disagree "3 Idiots"</title><content type="html">Not all of the movie. It certainly has a very valid point that do not blindly follow all that you've been told. But frankly not every person is equally capable of understanding and grasping concepts. Also not every teacher/guide has the same intentions or the necessary patience for each and every student. So what do you do when you're not fortunately smart by yourself and neither privileged to have a wonderfully patient and dedicate guide in your life. You do not want this to hold you back. Worse, if the teacher insists that the answers you give are the same as he/she has taught you, verbatim. And this is usually very common when you're younger. Inadvertently the practice of learning answers by heart is inculcated in you. This may lead a few kids not to develop the habit of thinking for self and improvising. Also, not being encouraged to ask too many questions by the adults. Another set back in the childs growth. Some adults do that to save themselves from embarrassment of having to answer awkward questions or not knowing the answer either. I myself was a child who wouldn't ask many questions. I do not remember anyone making me not ask. I just did not feel comfortable asking questions. I still wonder why.&lt;br /&gt;
So in all saying that scoring marks isn't the ultimate goal is not the right message. Coz like it or not, the scale to measure your intelligence (and indirectly your worth) is through marks as a student and pay package as working adult. Why, there could be a movie made that says, do not go to a 9-7 job if you don't love it. Work not for money but for the joy. Now wouldn't that be kinda against "Work is Worship" which encourages you to like the job you have at hand?&lt;br /&gt;
I guess I have this very bad tendency to think against a topic and try to contradict. Even if I'm agreeing with something, I'm still thinking against it in the back of my mind to see if I can get a better perspective of the subject.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/14894235-8408597186495000589?l=cuppacapuccino.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;p&gt;&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/k4gKPjjIC23I8-UXAU2yanszTF0/0/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/k4gKPjjIC23I8-UXAU2yanszTF0/0/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br/&gt;
&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/k4gKPjjIC23I8-UXAU2yanszTF0/1/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/k4gKPjjIC23I8-UXAU2yanszTF0/1/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/Cuppacapuccino/~4/No5JXmLRuqU" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://cuppacapuccino.blogspot.com/feeds/8408597186495000589/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=14894235&amp;postID=8408597186495000589" title="0 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/14894235/posts/default/8408597186495000589?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/14894235/posts/default/8408597186495000589?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/Cuppacapuccino/~3/No5JXmLRuqU/i-disagree-3-idiots.html" title="I disagree &quot;3 Idiots&quot;" /><author><name>fullmoononearth</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02514396329603988179</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="32" height="30" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-4_nEiX31j60/TdH948QCD5I/AAAAAAAAASw/qQeS7EI_qv8/s220/Rums.jpg" /></author><thr:total>0</thr:total><feedburner:origLink>http://cuppacapuccino.blogspot.com/2012/01/i-disagree-3-idiots.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;DEAERnk7fip7ImA9WhRQF0g.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14894235.post-3603220605251377294</id><published>2011-12-12T22:11:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2011-12-12T22:11:47.706-08:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2011-12-12T22:11:47.706-08:00</app:edited><title>Kung Fu Panda</title><content type="html">Looks like you really do not need to be extraordinary, as long as you know how to make the best of your ordinaryness. Yes, that is the clear message of the movie. You can be as pathetic as you please. And yet if you have only the desire for something, it'll turn you into extraordinary.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/14894235-3603220605251377294?l=cuppacapuccino.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;p&gt;&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/oAzk6vO5XPrZFMOlvJtyQdJwsFs/0/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/oAzk6vO5XPrZFMOlvJtyQdJwsFs/0/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br/&gt;
&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/oAzk6vO5XPrZFMOlvJtyQdJwsFs/1/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/oAzk6vO5XPrZFMOlvJtyQdJwsFs/1/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/Cuppacapuccino/~4/7hQmcj-1DrY" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://cuppacapuccino.blogspot.com/feeds/3603220605251377294/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=14894235&amp;postID=3603220605251377294" title="0 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/14894235/posts/default/3603220605251377294?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/14894235/posts/default/3603220605251377294?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/Cuppacapuccino/~3/7hQmcj-1DrY/kung-fu-panda.html" title="Kung Fu Panda" /><author><name>fullmoononearth</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02514396329603988179</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="32" height="30" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-4_nEiX31j60/TdH948QCD5I/AAAAAAAAASw/qQeS7EI_qv8/s220/Rums.jpg" /></author><thr:total>0</thr:total><feedburner:origLink>http://cuppacapuccino.blogspot.com/2011/12/kung-fu-panda.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;CkMGRn8zfip7ImA9WhdVE0Q.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14894235.post-4807395810901455713</id><published>2011-09-18T08:45:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2011-09-18T17:00:27.186-07:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2011-09-18T17:00:27.186-07:00</app:edited><title>Hockey - Really the National sport of India?</title><content type="html">I found the blogger app and decided to try it. Also I've been wanting to pen down my thoughts but sheer laziness kept me off it. Anyway, here I ramble again.&lt;br /&gt;
I happened to read this article on TOI where the Indian Hockey team was being awarded merely 25000 as for having won a championship. I was aghast. I can understand that, in India, hockey isn't given the respect that cricket is, in spite of it being the national sport. But the latest news made me feel that it was more like insulting the players for pursuing a career in the sport IMHO. Lately a fresh out of college engineering graduate is being paid as much on a monthly basis. And (s)he is confidant that the amount is only going to go higher over time. Why didn't the hockey federation or whoever involved in the decision not think a zillion times before making such a news public? It's sad but the only thought that kept coming to my mind was people of India must stop playing other sports except cricket as professionals. As it is people play and watch cricket most times even for pleasure. Rather than being insulted by their government for the hard work put in, they may as well pursue careers that help in their family's sustenance. There is no need to put in so much hard work and yet be made to feel unworthy. It was extremely disrespectful for the players of the national sport of a country&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/14894235-4807395810901455713?l=cuppacapuccino.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;p&gt;&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/xBMZ6Ublvi66jXsq1bvb2CGtkUk/0/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/xBMZ6Ublvi66jXsq1bvb2CGtkUk/0/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br/&gt;
&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/xBMZ6Ublvi66jXsq1bvb2CGtkUk/1/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/xBMZ6Ublvi66jXsq1bvb2CGtkUk/1/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/Cuppacapuccino/~4/ugWSs-2AOvM" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://cuppacapuccino.blogspot.com/feeds/4807395810901455713/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=14894235&amp;postID=4807395810901455713" title="0 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/14894235/posts/default/4807395810901455713?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/14894235/posts/default/4807395810901455713?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/Cuppacapuccino/~3/ugWSs-2AOvM/i-found-blogger-app-and-decided-to-try.html" title="Hockey - Really the National sport of India?" /><author><name>fullmoononearth</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02514396329603988179</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="32" height="30" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-4_nEiX31j60/TdH948QCD5I/AAAAAAAAASw/qQeS7EI_qv8/s220/Rums.jpg" /></author><thr:total>0</thr:total><feedburner:origLink>http://cuppacapuccino.blogspot.com/2011/09/i-found-blogger-app-and-decided-to-try.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;D0EFRXY8eCp7ImA9WhdQF0w.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14894235.post-44903307001587903</id><published>2011-08-18T18:00:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2011-08-18T18:00:14.870-07:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2011-08-18T18:00:14.870-07:00</app:edited><title /><content type="html">You don't have to be dead to know how many people actually love you or care for you. Coz then you won't be able to reciprocate. Moreover, most people tend to be nice to dead people. So if you think someone cares for you, don't second guess it.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/14894235-44903307001587903?l=cuppacapuccino.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;p&gt;&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/sRSB-b1-fHj95uH07yTvtwtMXQ8/0/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/sRSB-b1-fHj95uH07yTvtwtMXQ8/0/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br/&gt;
&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/sRSB-b1-fHj95uH07yTvtwtMXQ8/1/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/sRSB-b1-fHj95uH07yTvtwtMXQ8/1/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/Cuppacapuccino/~4/h8QfE9NdbzI" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://cuppacapuccino.blogspot.com/feeds/44903307001587903/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=14894235&amp;postID=44903307001587903" title="0 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/14894235/posts/default/44903307001587903?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/14894235/posts/default/44903307001587903?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/Cuppacapuccino/~3/h8QfE9NdbzI/you-dont-have-to-be-dead-to-know-how.html" title="" /><author><name>fullmoononearth</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02514396329603988179</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="32" height="30" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-4_nEiX31j60/TdH948QCD5I/AAAAAAAAASw/qQeS7EI_qv8/s220/Rums.jpg" /></author><thr:total>0</thr:total><feedburner:origLink>http://cuppacapuccino.blogspot.com/2011/08/you-dont-have-to-be-dead-to-know-how.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;D0IFRX0ycCp7ImA9WhdRE08.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14894235.post-4628236814700870374</id><published>2011-08-02T15:51:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2011-08-02T15:51:54.398-07:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2011-08-02T15:51:54.398-07:00</app:edited><title /><content type="html">Everyone close to me knows my affinity for dogs. I'm a total dog person. So much that if there's a scene on TV where a human is fighting a dog that isn't really devilish looking I'd side with the dog and feel sorry if it were hurt, but would have no reaction if the human was bitten. I consider having a dog is almost similar to having a 2 year old child around. In fact the workings of the mind of a 2 year old can scare me. Not so much with a dog. In a short time you can predict a dog's behavior. But we humans can evolve so fast.&lt;br /&gt;
My mom finds our dog too much of a pain coz she's gotta take care of him all day long. Every time we talk about him at least once she says how she wishes she could get rid of him. And I instantly snap back at her saying she has no idea how lucky she is to have him with her.&lt;br /&gt;
Anyway, lately I follow a couple of shows on TV on dog rearing, &lt;strong&gt;It's Me or the Dog&lt;/strong&gt; and &lt;strong&gt;Dog Whisperer&lt;/strong&gt;. And over a few shows it has been evident that if a dog is misbehaving then it isn't really the dog but the owners fault. Just like if a child misbehaves, it's parents who are to be blamed and not the child. I know it's much harder to make a child behave than it is to with a dog. The level of intelligence is the reason. But if you see that your dog isn't behaving well and before you come to a conclusion that you're unlucky to have found such a misbehaved brat, give it a second thought and get yourself copies of the above mentioned shows. You'll see there is still hope for your darling.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/14894235-4628236814700870374?l=cuppacapuccino.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;p&gt;&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/rHPLqT-ZiygZOaoy_omMZ-Hg32g/0/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/rHPLqT-ZiygZOaoy_omMZ-Hg32g/0/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br/&gt;
&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/rHPLqT-ZiygZOaoy_omMZ-Hg32g/1/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/rHPLqT-ZiygZOaoy_omMZ-Hg32g/1/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/Cuppacapuccino/~4/D8TH-XUJBn4" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://cuppacapuccino.blogspot.com/feeds/4628236814700870374/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=14894235&amp;postID=4628236814700870374" title="0 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/14894235/posts/default/4628236814700870374?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/14894235/posts/default/4628236814700870374?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/Cuppacapuccino/~3/D8TH-XUJBn4/everyone-close-to-me-knows-my-affinity.html" title="" /><author><name>fullmoononearth</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02514396329603988179</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="32" height="30" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-4_nEiX31j60/TdH948QCD5I/AAAAAAAAASw/qQeS7EI_qv8/s220/Rums.jpg" /></author><thr:total>0</thr:total><feedburner:origLink>http://cuppacapuccino.blogspot.com/2011/08/everyone-close-to-me-knows-my-affinity.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;C04MRHs-fCp7ImA9WhdSF0Q.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14894235.post-4793423663167135651</id><published>2011-07-27T11:39:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2011-07-27T11:39:45.554-07:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2011-07-27T11:39:45.554-07:00</app:edited><title>Count My Blessings?</title><content type="html">I have a friend who's a li'l depressed lately. And she gives away this vibe that her life is kinda a failure just coz she couldn't find herself a life partner she could marry and lead the so called normal life. From her stand point, she's a disappointment for her parents. But what I see is that she's the most accomplished person at her home. She has better judgment than most of the people related to her by blood. She is well educated. She's fared better in life than her siblings younger and older. That in a way seems to have become a bane for her. Coz being accomplished has made it difficult for her father to find her a suitable match. Although she agrees with me when I say that it's really not a reason to lose heart, that being single is so not as bad as it seems, it's hard for her to accept it whole heartedly. For simply the society we live in sees me as a more accomplished person than her though she's been better than me at studies always, she makes more money than I do with almost the same experience, she also does better than me at work. And my major accomplishment is I happened to have got married. That one difference makes elders have a negative opinion about her. She is told that she's being adamant. That she thinks very high of herself. That she thinks she knows better. That she no longer has respect for elders. And I feel she's being misjudged coz she's an independent thinker. And I have a feeling that if she remains single for a few more years, most people will start seeing her as a women who drove away suitable matches coz of her being egotistic. She is being blamed for being in a position that most guys are appreciated for. All this makes me wonder if it was all worth her while, the excelling at studies, work etc? Even today does a woman's life really only revolve around being married and bearing children?&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/14894235-4793423663167135651?l=cuppacapuccino.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;p&gt;&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/w3d_tUNnubOjyON831kWvIOc-F4/0/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/w3d_tUNnubOjyON831kWvIOc-F4/0/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br/&gt;
&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/w3d_tUNnubOjyON831kWvIOc-F4/1/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/w3d_tUNnubOjyON831kWvIOc-F4/1/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/Cuppacapuccino/~4/UYCrrFgaMvI" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://cuppacapuccino.blogspot.com/feeds/4793423663167135651/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=14894235&amp;postID=4793423663167135651" title="3 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/14894235/posts/default/4793423663167135651?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/14894235/posts/default/4793423663167135651?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/Cuppacapuccino/~3/UYCrrFgaMvI/count-my-blessings.html" title="Count My Blessings?" /><author><name>fullmoononearth</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02514396329603988179</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="32" height="30" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-4_nEiX31j60/TdH948QCD5I/AAAAAAAAASw/qQeS7EI_qv8/s220/Rums.jpg" /></author><thr:total>3</thr:total><feedburner:origLink>http://cuppacapuccino.blogspot.com/2011/07/count-my-blessings.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;C0QDSHg5cSp7ImA9WhdSEEk.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14894235.post-6180016621641649269</id><published>2011-07-18T19:09:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2011-07-18T19:09:39.629-07:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2011-07-18T19:09:39.629-07:00</app:edited><title>Imported</title><content type="html">Haldirams snacks were a good alternative to chips for the 4 O'clock hunger at office on busy days. I used to like quite a few of their varieties. Yet almost the same stuff when imported doesn't taste half as good in the USA. Similar is the case with the goodday cashews. Where are all the cashew bits?&lt;br /&gt;
Wonder why the "imported from India" isn't all that great when it comes to snacks&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/14894235-6180016621641649269?l=cuppacapuccino.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;p&gt;&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/jOibVcszpaLMggFXaYruRwZE1Y8/0/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/jOibVcszpaLMggFXaYruRwZE1Y8/0/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br/&gt;
&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/jOibVcszpaLMggFXaYruRwZE1Y8/1/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/jOibVcszpaLMggFXaYruRwZE1Y8/1/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/Cuppacapuccino/~4/UisKMVO8hcM" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://cuppacapuccino.blogspot.com/feeds/6180016621641649269/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=14894235&amp;postID=6180016621641649269" title="1 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/14894235/posts/default/6180016621641649269?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/14894235/posts/default/6180016621641649269?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/Cuppacapuccino/~3/UisKMVO8hcM/imported.html" title="Imported" /><author><name>fullmoononearth</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02514396329603988179</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="32" height="30" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-4_nEiX31j60/TdH948QCD5I/AAAAAAAAASw/qQeS7EI_qv8/s220/Rums.jpg" /></author><thr:total>1</thr:total><feedburner:origLink>http://cuppacapuccino.blogspot.com/2011/07/imported.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;DkQNQXw_cSp7ImA9WhZaGUQ.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14894235.post-8347603204415146303</id><published>2011-07-06T16:18:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2011-07-06T16:19:50.249-07:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2011-07-06T16:19:50.249-07:00</app:edited><title>Surreal Yet True</title><content type="html">Some events in life are so joyous that they seem surreal. Like you know that you aren't dreaming. You are aware of how real it all is. Yet it is quite dream like. You don't need a pinch or a slap to realize it's really happening. But just some time for the fact to sink in. Oh such joys life has in store for you!&lt;br /&gt;
One such event was my offer letter from my current work place. I remember running down the stairs to inform my parents after having checked my e-mail. I never run down stairs, I'm kinda scared to do so. (The image of Renuka Shahane slipping down in Hum Aapk Hain Kaun comes to my mind almost every time I'm going down stairs). I guess that was the last time I ran down any stairs. There's yet another moment in life that I feel I'm thankful to god for. And I guess there always will be more to look forward to. I hope that along with troubled times, there's many more of such wonderful moments to live for.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;span style="font-size: x-small;"&gt;Still looking forward to the day I bring home a pup :)&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/14894235-8347603204415146303?l=cuppacapuccino.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;p&gt;&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/2VpdXZ4Hc_FElg5YA6TgVrNcq8I/0/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/2VpdXZ4Hc_FElg5YA6TgVrNcq8I/0/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br/&gt;
&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/2VpdXZ4Hc_FElg5YA6TgVrNcq8I/1/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/2VpdXZ4Hc_FElg5YA6TgVrNcq8I/1/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/Cuppacapuccino/~4/GchJ8PAWqe8" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://cuppacapuccino.blogspot.com/feeds/8347603204415146303/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=14894235&amp;postID=8347603204415146303" title="0 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/14894235/posts/default/8347603204415146303?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/14894235/posts/default/8347603204415146303?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/Cuppacapuccino/~3/GchJ8PAWqe8/surreal-yet-true.html" title="Surreal Yet True" /><author><name>fullmoononearth</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02514396329603988179</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="32" height="30" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-4_nEiX31j60/TdH948QCD5I/AAAAAAAAASw/qQeS7EI_qv8/s220/Rums.jpg" /></author><thr:total>0</thr:total><feedburner:origLink>http://cuppacapuccino.blogspot.com/2011/07/surreal-yet-true.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;A08BQHc-eCp7ImA9WhZaGEQ.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14894235.post-7408820401238508303</id><published>2011-07-05T14:04:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2011-07-05T14:04:11.950-07:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2011-07-05T14:04:11.950-07:00</app:edited><title>Spring</title><content type="html">A friend once said that his favorite season of all is Spring and that in India we don't really experience this season .&amp;nbsp;And that you can actually experience Spring in Europe or US. I did not get it back then. I thought I do see the trees shed. And it is so pleasing to see the fresh new leaves all around as summer approaches. But the experience is really different here in the USA. May be it's the gradual onset of new leaves and blossoms. May be it's the variety in color too. There are more vibrant colors out here than just the greens and reds and yellows. And of course the fall colors that we've seen in so many wallpapers. I'm yet to see that though.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/14894235-7408820401238508303?l=cuppacapuccino.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;p&gt;&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/d4p0f63qZKjzRH7op7ZqhHM9lZ0/0/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/d4p0f63qZKjzRH7op7ZqhHM9lZ0/0/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br/&gt;
&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/d4p0f63qZKjzRH7op7ZqhHM9lZ0/1/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/d4p0f63qZKjzRH7op7ZqhHM9lZ0/1/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/Cuppacapuccino/~4/EFYFmMkfxQI" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://cuppacapuccino.blogspot.com/feeds/7408820401238508303/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=14894235&amp;postID=7408820401238508303" title="3 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/14894235/posts/default/7408820401238508303?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/14894235/posts/default/7408820401238508303?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/Cuppacapuccino/~3/EFYFmMkfxQI/spring.html" title="Spring" /><author><name>fullmoononearth</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02514396329603988179</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="32" height="30" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-4_nEiX31j60/TdH948QCD5I/AAAAAAAAASw/qQeS7EI_qv8/s220/Rums.jpg" /></author><thr:total>3</thr:total><feedburner:origLink>http://cuppacapuccino.blogspot.com/2011/07/spring.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;Ak4FQXk9eSp7ImA9WhZaE0U.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14894235.post-3273365742291351870</id><published>2011-06-30T03:38:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2011-06-29T16:08:30.761-07:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2011-06-29T16:08:30.761-07:00</app:edited><title>Toddlers and Tiaras</title><content type="html">This is the title of the show on TLC whose ad I happen to watch and it left me shocked. The ads show girls may be 2-3 years old in full make up and throwing tantrums like a woman in her early 20s. The makeup itself was too much for me to handle but the attitude captured on camera completely shook me. What is this show about?? Aren't girls being objectified enough already as soon as they hit puberty that someone had to go and extend it to these li'l girls? I remember being dressed up by my aunts in a saree and the make up of kajal and an occasional lipstick once every year during summer vacation. It was entertainment for them and an opportunity for me to look like my mom and one of them. But apart from that if my dad saw me ever saw me even with a bindi (which he now considers is must as I'm not just married but a grown up woman) he would say that it wasn't for li'l girls. Li'l girls shouldn' spoil their skin by applying creams and such. And here I see that the li'l girls whose almost every act must look adorable and cute and funny to us grown ups are behaving just like us. Even if the show is scripted I'm aghast that the parents of these girls are ready to sell their daughters' sweet innocence for some fame and money (even if it were a million.) I can't fathom how desperate the parents must be to be a part of this.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/14894235-3273365742291351870?l=cuppacapuccino.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;p&gt;&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/MiEbWCye2DsYp1KbgBCYe272QhM/0/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/MiEbWCye2DsYp1KbgBCYe272QhM/0/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br/&gt;
&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/MiEbWCye2DsYp1KbgBCYe272QhM/1/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/MiEbWCye2DsYp1KbgBCYe272QhM/1/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/Cuppacapuccino/~4/eEUCzGUUA0g" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://cuppacapuccino.blogspot.com/feeds/3273365742291351870/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=14894235&amp;postID=3273365742291351870" title="2 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/14894235/posts/default/3273365742291351870?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/14894235/posts/default/3273365742291351870?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/Cuppacapuccino/~3/eEUCzGUUA0g/toddlers-and-tiaras.html" title="Toddlers and Tiaras" /><author><name>fullmoononearth</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02514396329603988179</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="32" height="30" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-4_nEiX31j60/TdH948QCD5I/AAAAAAAAASw/qQeS7EI_qv8/s220/Rums.jpg" /></author><thr:total>2</thr:total><feedburner:origLink>http://cuppacapuccino.blogspot.com/2011/06/toddlers-and-tiaras.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;D0UESXw_eCp7ImA9WhZaEk8.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14894235.post-7647368157635945621</id><published>2011-06-27T18:39:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2011-06-27T18:40:08.240-07:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2011-06-27T18:40:08.240-07:00</app:edited><title>Stupid ads</title><content type="html">&lt;span style="font-family: &amp;quot;Verdana&amp;quot;, sans-serif;"&gt;In my 7 months in the US I have seen very few ads that makes me wanna watch them again.Unlike in India where there are very few ads I did not wanna watch again. Only that the same ads getting repeated so many times that they bore you. Many ads here in US are plainly stupid. Absolutely lack creativity. I understand that any publicity is good publicity. But when I'm being forced to watch them it'd be nice if the marketing team was a li'l more considerate.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/14894235-7647368157635945621?l=cuppacapuccino.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;p&gt;&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/nJbsln25zmR6ZG7yWcj0r4BwKzk/0/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/nJbsln25zmR6ZG7yWcj0r4BwKzk/0/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br/&gt;
&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/nJbsln25zmR6ZG7yWcj0r4BwKzk/1/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/nJbsln25zmR6ZG7yWcj0r4BwKzk/1/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/Cuppacapuccino/~4/c-oOMrqeaPk" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://cuppacapuccino.blogspot.com/feeds/7647368157635945621/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=14894235&amp;postID=7647368157635945621" title="2 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/14894235/posts/default/7647368157635945621?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/14894235/posts/default/7647368157635945621?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/Cuppacapuccino/~3/c-oOMrqeaPk/stupid-ads.html" title="Stupid ads" /><author><name>fullmoononearth</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02514396329603988179</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="32" height="30" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-4_nEiX31j60/TdH948QCD5I/AAAAAAAAASw/qQeS7EI_qv8/s220/Rums.jpg" /></author><thr:total>2</thr:total><feedburner:origLink>http://cuppacapuccino.blogspot.com/2011/06/stupid-ads.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;C0AESH4_eyp7ImA9WhZbF0Q.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14894235.post-1757326547117714142</id><published>2011-06-22T18:09:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2011-06-22T18:15:09.043-07:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2011-06-22T18:15:09.043-07:00</app:edited><title>Ramble Ramble</title><content type="html">These days I wake up looking forward to nothing. Utmost it is to watching comedy series on TV. And of the few shows that I haven't already watched for the 2nd or 3rd time, I look forward to watching George Lopez and Everybody Loves Raymond. But somehow both these shows makes us, hubby and me, laugh at how one family member takes a bite at another, be it father-son, mom-son or hubby-wife. The sarcastic remarks are the ones that crack us up. There is love but very subtle. I found Friends and How I Met Your Mother were fun too without as much of cashing on the negative emotion. I consider that sarcasm is a negative emotion coz I have used it at times when I've been extremely angry. Not good at all.&lt;br /&gt;
Well, there are a couple more shows, new seasons of both White Collar and So You Think You Can Dance. But they're only weekly.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/14894235-1757326547117714142?l=cuppacapuccino.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;p&gt;&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/ZWjCS9uSs7CgSmX9njEPl2vk-mU/0/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/ZWjCS9uSs7CgSmX9njEPl2vk-mU/0/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br/&gt;
&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/ZWjCS9uSs7CgSmX9njEPl2vk-mU/1/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/ZWjCS9uSs7CgSmX9njEPl2vk-mU/1/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/Cuppacapuccino/~4/Fdb3-D_ZQBQ" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://cuppacapuccino.blogspot.com/feeds/1757326547117714142/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=14894235&amp;postID=1757326547117714142" title="3 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/14894235/posts/default/1757326547117714142?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/14894235/posts/default/1757326547117714142?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/Cuppacapuccino/~3/Fdb3-D_ZQBQ/ramble-ramble.html" title="Ramble Ramble" /><author><name>fullmoononearth</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02514396329603988179</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="32" height="30" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-4_nEiX31j60/TdH948QCD5I/AAAAAAAAASw/qQeS7EI_qv8/s220/Rums.jpg" /></author><thr:total>3</thr:total><feedburner:origLink>http://cuppacapuccino.blogspot.com/2011/06/ramble-ramble.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;C0ANQX46fSp7ImA9WhZUEEk.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14894235.post-2070795004706707003</id><published>2011-06-02T11:50:00.002-07:00</published><updated>2011-06-02T12:09:50.015-07:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2011-06-02T12:09:50.015-07:00</app:edited><title>Finding God</title><content type="html">There are a lot of things on facebook that you can like. The list of celebrities, your work places(s), TV shows, movies and even God. I didn't know you can 'like' Lord Ganesha. When I first saw this on the right hand column I was a li'l taken aback. I wondered who would 'like' something like god. But there was this friend of mine who had. And that is how I had com across a page by the name Lord Krishna. Then had this doubt, Have I found god yet? I'm not god fearing, not in the sense people usually talk about it. I don't don't do bad/immoral things coz I fear God will punish me. I just avoid them coz they're bad/immoral. So I don't fear god that way. I do pray, every single time I'm in trouble. And some other times too when not in trouble. I have faith in god too. Not that he'll pull me out of trouble or he'll guide me on the right path. I just have faith. Yet I feel I haven't found god, like the people who carry god's photo in their wallet or have a god's picture as their wallpaper. Have they found god either?&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/14894235-2070795004706707003?l=cuppacapuccino.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;p&gt;&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/9vwOY9LZ4tLy7fEqmOS_bhXBbNs/0/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/9vwOY9LZ4tLy7fEqmOS_bhXBbNs/0/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br/&gt;
&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/9vwOY9LZ4tLy7fEqmOS_bhXBbNs/1/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/9vwOY9LZ4tLy7fEqmOS_bhXBbNs/1/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/Cuppacapuccino/~4/T34pxzll_8M" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://cuppacapuccino.blogspot.com/feeds/2070795004706707003/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=14894235&amp;postID=2070795004706707003" title="2 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/14894235/posts/default/2070795004706707003?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/14894235/posts/default/2070795004706707003?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/Cuppacapuccino/~3/T34pxzll_8M/finding-god.html" title="Finding God" /><author><name>fullmoononearth</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02514396329603988179</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="32" height="30" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-4_nEiX31j60/TdH948QCD5I/AAAAAAAAASw/qQeS7EI_qv8/s220/Rums.jpg" /></author><thr:total>2</thr:total><feedburner:origLink>http://cuppacapuccino.blogspot.com/2011/06/finding-god.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;DkMHRH4zeyp7ImA9WhZXGUo.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14894235.post-8292537885481096478</id><published>2011-05-09T10:51:00.004-07:00</published><updated>2011-05-09T13:53:55.083-07:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2011-05-09T13:53:55.083-07:00</app:edited><title>Mother-in-Law</title><content type="html">The relationship between Mothers-in-law and daughters-in-law is a point of stress world over, I guess. Most of us are aware of the mega soaps that run in India with both Saas and Bahu in the title. And then there is JLo's Monster-in-Law. There are also chats with girl-friends wherein you get to hear the occasional this and that. So when it was my time to find a mother-in-law I was only hoping that we are as cordial as possible by both of us. And by god's grace, so far it has been that. I'm sure my mom and aunts also had a similar wish. A couple of days before my wedding, one of my aunts (maasi) asked me, "So how do you address your MiL?". I instantly replied, "Atthe (Saas in kannada)." She wanted to know why not amma or maa coz lately that's how girls seem to be addressing their MiL. I said I did not find that necessary. Atthe is just the way to identify our relationship. The title certainly can't dictate the way I will or am supposed to feel. To add to this, I already have a mom. And have the possibility of addressing all my maasi's and the other older ladies as amma. But I can't address anyone else as MiL now, can I?&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/14894235-8292537885481096478?l=cuppacapuccino.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;p&gt;&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/NVIwZ3nUsTgTPgx_YUIjtgYGkKw/0/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/NVIwZ3nUsTgTPgx_YUIjtgYGkKw/0/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br/&gt;
&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/NVIwZ3nUsTgTPgx_YUIjtgYGkKw/1/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/NVIwZ3nUsTgTPgx_YUIjtgYGkKw/1/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/Cuppacapuccino/~4/6uFPaYLm734" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://cuppacapuccino.blogspot.com/feeds/8292537885481096478/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=14894235&amp;postID=8292537885481096478" title="4 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/14894235/posts/default/8292537885481096478?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/14894235/posts/default/8292537885481096478?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/Cuppacapuccino/~3/6uFPaYLm734/mother-in-law.html" title="Mother-in-Law" /><author><name>fullmoononearth</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02514396329603988179</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="32" height="30" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-4_nEiX31j60/TdH948QCD5I/AAAAAAAAASw/qQeS7EI_qv8/s220/Rums.jpg" /></author><thr:total>4</thr:total><feedburner:origLink>http://cuppacapuccino.blogspot.com/2011/05/mother-in-law.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;DUEMSH09fCp7ImA9WhZXFkw.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14894235.post-5547581108413786602</id><published>2011-05-04T22:10:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2011-05-05T10:48:09.364-07:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2011-05-05T10:48:09.364-07:00</app:edited><title>Sociophobia</title><content type="html">&lt;p&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:verdana;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;When I was li'l I was quite people shy. To an extent that I wished I could go invisible. I always tried to avoid doing anything that could cause attention to me. From anyone and everyone. I used to in a way dread PTA meetings coz that meant teachers paying attention to me for a specific duration. I still remember faintly about an incident during my primary school. During an annual event, for some occasion my dad stood up to ask a question during a discussion before the crowd. I was so embarrassed that my classmates would point out that it was my dad speaking that I wished I could be invisible instantly. In fact when we'd go to my grand parents during the summer vacation, I'd go sit in a dark room all by myself for upto half hr before I felt comfortable meeting all my relatives whom I would every summer. This went on for quite a few summers. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:verdana;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;I still don't understand the reason for such a behavior.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:verdana;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;Over the years I was ok with people noticing my presence. But attention still made me uncomfortable. I remember my music teacher in my 7th and 8th std. I may have hated her. She would conduct music tests. And the test was to sing before the entire class. And I was someone who wouldn't sing even when I was just by myself. I believed I just couldn't sing without even attempting it once. The lady never bothered about why or how to get me to. She just gave me C/C- every single time. Around this time I remember I was chosen to deliver a speech on Teacher's day. I practiced hard, memorized every single line and did deliver it with li'l mistake. But it was a flat and emotionless delivery. And frankly I was in a kind of trance all through the delivery. I came to my senses only after I was off the podium.  &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:verdana;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;Then came the time when I had to give my first presentation to my class  in the 10th std. And I found I was nervous, yet quite ready for it. I did much better than my first public speech. And sine then I have been fairly comfortable talking before people. I seemed to not mind attention at most times. In fact I figured it was good to be noticed. It brought me opportunities. And today when I watched this video I wished I was not as shy around people. May be then I would have wanted to be around them. And may be I too would have been able to learn new art forms. And may be got a few B/B+ in my music tests.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:verdana;"&gt;&lt;iframe width="425" height="349" src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/bSPZNYNg2io" frameborder="0" allowfullscreen=""&gt;&lt;/iframe&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/14894235-5547581108413786602?l=cuppacapuccino.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
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&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/8jprNyLLA77wOlSI0Zu81QNfDP8/1/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/8jprNyLLA77wOlSI0Zu81QNfDP8/1/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/Cuppacapuccino/~4/8SKMi8-s36w" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://cuppacapuccino.blogspot.com/feeds/5547581108413786602/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=14894235&amp;postID=5547581108413786602" title="3 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/14894235/posts/default/5547581108413786602?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/14894235/posts/default/5547581108413786602?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/Cuppacapuccino/~3/8SKMi8-s36w/when-i-was-lil-i-was-quite-people-shy.html" title="Sociophobia" /><author><name>fullmoononearth</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02514396329603988179</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="32" height="30" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-4_nEiX31j60/TdH948QCD5I/AAAAAAAAASw/qQeS7EI_qv8/s220/Rums.jpg" /></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media="http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/" url="http://img.youtube.com/vi/bSPZNYNg2io/default.jpg" height="72" width="72" /><thr:total>3</thr:total><feedburner:origLink>http://cuppacapuccino.blogspot.com/2011/05/when-i-was-lil-i-was-quite-people-shy.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;CE4FQHo9cCp7ImA9WhZWF0s.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14894235.post-9107459813313111653</id><published>2011-05-02T01:35:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2011-05-18T16:55:11.468-07:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2011-05-18T16:55:11.468-07:00</app:edited><title /><content type="html">&lt;a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-SMRZShbqMvo/Tb8byFrZJCI/AAAAAAAAAQs/xZCJNuwVZlY/s1600/iPhone%2B027.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"&gt;&lt;img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 239px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-SMRZShbqMvo/Tb8byFrZJCI/AAAAAAAAAQs/xZCJNuwVZlY/s320/iPhone%2B027.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5602227008803775522" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;I have always been interested in cooking. Main course doesn't interest me much. It's the appetizers, entree and desserts that are most appealing part of the meal to me. Also baking. I had tried my hands with baking cakes a few times in India. My mom is an awesome cook and fortunately I have her genes. When I realized I'd be jobless for a while when I move to US, I'd already thought of joining baking lessons if possible. When I got the oven ready for use, it was time to try something. And I found that the WWW has so many videos that I don't really need to go to attend classes. So far I've baked Banana cake, Walnut muffins, Banana bread. Recently I tried baking Honey-wheat bread too. It turned out decent. More so in the photo here :). Right now I have Green tea tiramisu cake in the fridge to set. I hope it turns out good too. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/14894235-9107459813313111653?l=cuppacapuccino.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;p&gt;&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/6v3WuE9PACgO8WCTpRm59UvOk4A/0/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/6v3WuE9PACgO8WCTpRm59UvOk4A/0/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br/&gt;
&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/6v3WuE9PACgO8WCTpRm59UvOk4A/1/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/6v3WuE9PACgO8WCTpRm59UvOk4A/1/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/Cuppacapuccino/~4/TXEgFFHdOSY" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://cuppacapuccino.blogspot.com/feeds/9107459813313111653/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=14894235&amp;postID=9107459813313111653" title="0 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/14894235/posts/default/9107459813313111653?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/14894235/posts/default/9107459813313111653?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/Cuppacapuccino/~3/TXEgFFHdOSY/i-have-always-been-interested-in.html" title="" /><author><name>fullmoononearth</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02514396329603988179</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="32" height="30" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-4_nEiX31j60/TdH948QCD5I/AAAAAAAAASw/qQeS7EI_qv8/s220/Rums.jpg" /></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media="http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/" url="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-SMRZShbqMvo/Tb8byFrZJCI/AAAAAAAAAQs/xZCJNuwVZlY/s72-c/iPhone%2B027.jpg" height="72" width="72" /><thr:total>0</thr:total><feedburner:origLink>http://cuppacapuccino.blogspot.com/2011/05/i-have-always-been-interested-in.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;Ck4BSXk_fSp7ImA9WhZXEU0.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14894235.post-1552248509931872270</id><published>2011-04-29T11:01:00.002-07:00</published><updated>2011-04-29T11:15:58.745-07:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2011-04-29T11:15:58.745-07:00</app:edited><title>Hi, How are you?</title><content type="html">Yes, ever since I've come to the US of A, this is the way I've been greeted everywhere, from stores, to doctors to just about anyone. They don't really mean it but they do ask how you're doing.  This isn't the thing back in India. No one even greets you for no reason.   For almost four months I'd be uncomfortable as soon as I was greeted or smiled at. Although I usually went out only with my husband.  And he'd be the one to respond or be in charge and I just preferred to stand back and watch. It was still an awkward feeling if someone even smiled when I looked at them. However, yesterday I caught myself by surprise when I found that I was greeting my dentist and her assistant with the same "Hi, How are you?". I figure I've now gotten used to the new way of being greeted. And I guess I'm glad about it.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/14894235-1552248509931872270?l=cuppacapuccino.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;p&gt;&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/GqKajnXz8QuqHCxLSWRCSglFGGM/0/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/GqKajnXz8QuqHCxLSWRCSglFGGM/0/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br/&gt;
&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/GqKajnXz8QuqHCxLSWRCSglFGGM/1/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/GqKajnXz8QuqHCxLSWRCSglFGGM/1/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/Cuppacapuccino/~4/yyi4i-PIVsE" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://cuppacapuccino.blogspot.com/feeds/1552248509931872270/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=14894235&amp;postID=1552248509931872270" title="3 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/14894235/posts/default/1552248509931872270?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/14894235/posts/default/1552248509931872270?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/Cuppacapuccino/~3/yyi4i-PIVsE/hi-how-are-you.html" title="Hi, How are you?" /><author><name>fullmoononearth</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02514396329603988179</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="32" height="30" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-4_nEiX31j60/TdH948QCD5I/AAAAAAAAASw/qQeS7EI_qv8/s220/Rums.jpg" /></author><thr:total>3</thr:total><feedburner:origLink>http://cuppacapuccino.blogspot.com/2011/04/hi-how-are-you.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;CEEMSXs-fCp7ImA9WhZXGUU.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14894235.post-2081861327846067381</id><published>2011-04-09T15:44:00.004-07:00</published><updated>2011-05-09T16:11:28.554-07:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2011-05-09T16:11:28.554-07:00</app:edited><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="Friends" /><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="PG" /><title>Fond Memories</title><content type="html">&lt;p&gt;Following are a few of my old compilations that I found. Bring back bitter-sweet memories of friends, being a paying guest and having new job. Of love found and lost. Of staggering, falling and then dusting ourselves up. My friends were the inspiration for most of my older compositions. Well, I did spend all my time with them. &lt;/p&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;p&gt;The last bit, Broken Dreamz, I dedicate to Moni and her craziness. Guess it assimilates her passion :)&lt;/p&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;blockquote&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;strong&gt;I never remember to forget you&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I’ve tried to ward off your thoughts.&lt;br /&gt;And yet I’ve had imaginary conversations with you, loads of times.&lt;br /&gt;I’ve tried to hold back my urge to call you. To tell you that what happened was not&lt;br /&gt;right. That what is happening isn’t good. Come let’s make it the best.&lt;br /&gt;I’ve wanted to tell you how much I wish to see you, sit beside you and tell you all&lt;br /&gt;that I’ve never been able to.&lt;br /&gt;I’ve always wanted to hold your hand and walk along the long stretch where it’s no one but just you and me.&lt;br /&gt;I’ve tried not to call you out of the fear of losing the only thing that I fondly hold, your cherished memories. And yet I try not to think of you.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;/blockquote&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;p&gt;-&lt;br /&gt;Uneventful are the days, Gloomy are the nights.&lt;br /&gt;Thoughts only of you, None&lt;br /&gt;otherwise.&lt;br /&gt;Now that you’ve got away with my heart,&lt;br /&gt;Life isn’t worth the&lt;br /&gt;fight as long as we are apart.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;blockquote&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;p&gt;Time and again,&lt;br /&gt;Why does it pain,&lt;br /&gt;When I try to convince,&lt;br /&gt;I’m not in love with you?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Day in and day out,&lt;br /&gt;It’s only your thought,&lt;br /&gt;On my mind that crowds,&lt;br /&gt;Leaving my heart wrapped in shroud.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;All my attempts ceased,&lt;br /&gt;My only desire,&lt;br /&gt;Run away from this world,&lt;br /&gt;And in your arms retire. &lt;/p&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;span&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Broken Dreamz&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;Every time you tried coming closer to me I pushed you away.&lt;br /&gt;Now that you've gone, far away, out of my reach, why do I long for you?&lt;br /&gt;Why is it so hard for me to accept that you are no longer accessible to me?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;In the morning, when I could no longer hold myself, I dialed your no. My heart sank when I heard that your number has been temporarily disconnected. I was lost, disappointed, felt betrayed, devastated. I did not know if I was happy that you have&lt;br /&gt;moved on or sad that I may no longer matter to you. I always thought&lt;br /&gt;that I had control over my heart and I was the one steering it. But now&lt;br /&gt;I realize I can never take control of it. It goes the way it wishes to.&lt;br /&gt;Never gives a thought about others, unlike the workings of our mind.&lt;br /&gt;Now I wish I had told you, for once, that I love you. May be it wouldn't hurt as much. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;/blockquote&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/14894235-2081861327846067381?l=cuppacapuccino.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;p&gt;&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/dCv4GLWPI1kh9Gk66g53Lsr0LI4/0/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/dCv4GLWPI1kh9Gk66g53Lsr0LI4/0/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br/&gt;
&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/dCv4GLWPI1kh9Gk66g53Lsr0LI4/1/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/dCv4GLWPI1kh9Gk66g53Lsr0LI4/1/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/Cuppacapuccino/~4/9GHQtECKbK4" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://cuppacapuccino.blogspot.com/feeds/2081861327846067381/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=14894235&amp;postID=2081861327846067381" title="2 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/14894235/posts/default/2081861327846067381?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/14894235/posts/default/2081861327846067381?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/Cuppacapuccino/~3/9GHQtECKbK4/following-are-few-old-compilations-that.html" title="Fond Memories" /><author><name>fullmoononearth</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02514396329603988179</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="32" height="30" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-4_nEiX31j60/TdH948QCD5I/AAAAAAAAASw/qQeS7EI_qv8/s220/Rums.jpg" /></author><thr:total>2</thr:total><feedburner:origLink>http://cuppacapuccino.blogspot.com/2011/04/following-are-few-old-compilations-that.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;D0cDRnw5eSp7ImA9WhZXEUw.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14894235.post-591135811664746052</id><published>2011-03-20T12:36:00.009-07:00</published><updated>2011-04-29T15:11:17.221-07:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2011-04-29T15:11:17.221-07:00</app:edited><title>Where do I wish to belong?</title><content type="html">It has been 3 months since I've come to the US. I like it here. I like being married and have enjoyed playing the role of a house wife for a while now. This sabbatical has given me the much needed break. Although it has only been 3 months I've been having thoughts about returning. And each time I'm unsure. I do want to get back to a place closer to my people. Every time my friends and family ask me about how I like it here in San Diego, my response has been "Not very different from Bangalore." So far it hasn't been very different. Except for the cleanliness factor and the rarely crowded places. Something that I'm sure most people appreciate. I like the fact that I don't have to look at the path while I'm walkin on the streets so that I don't step on trash or miss a step coz of uneven pavements. Crowded places have always bothered me. So staying here seems quite tempting. But since I have a more rational and less emotion thought process, when I try concluding I wanna stay here, the other part of me says 'go back to Bangalore, it's got almost everything that we have here'. That reminds me of the crowd and I wanna stay back here. I see my husband also go through the same dilemma. I guess it's the same with almost all the people away from home. I hope that someday soon we will be able to make up our minds.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/14894235-591135811664746052?l=cuppacapuccino.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;p&gt;&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/EDYjk3GNIS1zgegUApY0ppNnh90/0/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/EDYjk3GNIS1zgegUApY0ppNnh90/0/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br/&gt;
&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/EDYjk3GNIS1zgegUApY0ppNnh90/1/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/EDYjk3GNIS1zgegUApY0ppNnh90/1/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/Cuppacapuccino/~4/K3kQhy8uUQs" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://cuppacapuccino.blogspot.com/feeds/591135811664746052/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=14894235&amp;postID=591135811664746052" title="0 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/14894235/posts/default/591135811664746052?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/14894235/posts/default/591135811664746052?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/Cuppacapuccino/~3/K3kQhy8uUQs/where-do-i-wish-to-belong.html" title="Where do I wish to belong?" /><author><name>fullmoononearth</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02514396329603988179</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="32" height="30" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-4_nEiX31j60/TdH948QCD5I/AAAAAAAAASw/qQeS7EI_qv8/s220/Rums.jpg" /></author><thr:total>0</thr:total><feedburner:origLink>http://cuppacapuccino.blogspot.com/2011/03/where-do-i-wish-to-belong.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;DkIDSXYzfip7ImA9WxNbFUQ.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14894235.post-2413717317532222973</id><published>2009-10-01T08:04:00.005-07:00</published><updated>2009-11-18T17:36:18.886-08:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2009-11-18T17:36:18.886-08:00</app:edited><title>Me and mySelf</title><content type="html">I adore myself. And I unabashedly state that I'm a narcissist. I need no reason to get into self admiration.  I can spend all day with myself and yet not get bored of myself. Sometimes this attitude of mine bothers me. How much am I in self love? Do I mean so much to myself that I do not bother about anyone else? God forbid, if there is a trying situation I'm put in and I have to put someone over myself, Will I be able to? Or... would I ignore that person? I may say to myself that it will be the other person who will come before me, provided I love him/her more than myself. Yet, when I look at myself I'm just lost in self admiration. I can admire myself at length. My eyes, my hair, hands, feet I can just go on and on and on. I dunno if I can tire. Haven't so far.&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;I also wonder, "Is this what drove him away from me? Is it that he couldn't handle me? Or did he find it disgusting that I love myself so much??" I wonder... if it is wrong to indulge in myself. If it is not acceptable that I adore my own self so much.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/14894235-2413717317532222973?l=cuppacapuccino.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;p&gt;&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/MH7qz_Dbl6bAdQOs-gOwmEFm_u0/0/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/MH7qz_Dbl6bAdQOs-gOwmEFm_u0/0/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br/&gt;
&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/MH7qz_Dbl6bAdQOs-gOwmEFm_u0/1/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/MH7qz_Dbl6bAdQOs-gOwmEFm_u0/1/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/Cuppacapuccino/~4/kjn1zmJtCt8" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://cuppacapuccino.blogspot.com/feeds/2413717317532222973/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=14894235&amp;postID=2413717317532222973" title="4 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/14894235/posts/default/2413717317532222973?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/14894235/posts/default/2413717317532222973?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/Cuppacapuccino/~3/kjn1zmJtCt8/me-and-myself.html" title="Me and mySelf" /><author><name>fullmoononearth</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02514396329603988179</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="32" height="30" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-4_nEiX31j60/TdH948QCD5I/AAAAAAAAASw/qQeS7EI_qv8/s220/Rums.jpg" /></author><thr:total>4</thr:total><feedburner:origLink>http://cuppacapuccino.blogspot.com/2009/10/me-and-myself.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;AkQCRnw8eip7ImA9WxNRGE8.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14894235.post-1253603750220261085</id><published>2009-09-12T23:59:00.007-07:00</published><updated>2009-09-13T00:52:47.272-07:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2009-09-13T00:52:47.272-07:00</app:edited><title>Why I can't fall in love</title><content type="html">For a very long time I was unable to understand as to what stops me from getting married to someone whom my parents won't approve. For a really long time I convinced myself that all said and done, I'm not a rebel. In fact when a friend of mine had made a statement as ,"Why doesn't she understand that if her parents are going to be hurt from our marriage then it will only last for a few years. Soon they'll forget everything and accept us. And this way all of us shall live happily ever after. But if she marries the guy her parents want her to she will not be happy as she is in love with me. Which will eventually leave everyone unhappy. Why is she unable to understand the simple logic? Why does she wanna leave me for her parents not approving? "&lt;div&gt;At that moment I felt that the guy was right. That eventually parents shall forgive and forget. May be the girl should have heeded to him. Yet I was not completely convinced. That confused me further. And only last week while returning from office did I understand what was subconsiously stopping me all this while in understandng the logic stated above. Parent, I may never have understood the feeling of being one by just observing mine. This friend of mine, who is the mom to a lovely year old gal, helps me see and understand my parents in a very different perspective. Her daughter is just one. And yet, the mother has a lot of expectations built in inadvertantly. She constantly repeats, more so to herself, that she has no idea how her daughter will turn up. And that she has no expectations from her daughter. But she can't stop herself from tryin to teach her daughter the values that she has imbibed from her parents. And that made me realise, may be this affection and faith that parents uphold in their children. They try their best to educate us so that we turn out to be good(according to their dictionary) people. And it is that faith that I did not wish to shatter.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/14894235-1253603750220261085?l=cuppacapuccino.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;p&gt;&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/HOIYOv_1NZH_CuDD7SUHhuNxr_8/0/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/HOIYOv_1NZH_CuDD7SUHhuNxr_8/0/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br/&gt;
&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/HOIYOv_1NZH_CuDD7SUHhuNxr_8/1/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/HOIYOv_1NZH_CuDD7SUHhuNxr_8/1/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/Cuppacapuccino/~4/0DxYpx-6-ms" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://cuppacapuccino.blogspot.com/feeds/1253603750220261085/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=14894235&amp;postID=1253603750220261085" title="1 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/14894235/posts/default/1253603750220261085?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/14894235/posts/default/1253603750220261085?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/Cuppacapuccino/~3/0DxYpx-6-ms/why-i-cant-fall-in-love.html" title="Why I can't fall in love" /><author><name>fullmoononearth</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02514396329603988179</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="32" height="30" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-4_nEiX31j60/TdH948QCD5I/AAAAAAAAASw/qQeS7EI_qv8/s220/Rums.jpg" /></author><thr:total>1</thr:total><feedburner:origLink>http://cuppacapuccino.blogspot.com/2009/09/why-i-cant-fall-in-love.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;CU4NRXs9cCp7ImA9WxNREUs.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14894235.post-3496593873362689275</id><published>2009-09-05T07:44:00.005-07:00</published><updated>2009-09-05T08:19:54.568-07:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2009-09-05T08:19:54.568-07:00</app:edited><title>Sonu Nigam</title><content type="html">&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_xLbRKYceicc/SqKBMfbFyfI/AAAAAAAAABg/07Zf2tSM8hA/s1600-h/Sonu3.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 150px; height: 113px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_xLbRKYceicc/SqKBMfbFyfI/AAAAAAAAABg/07Zf2tSM8hA/s320/Sonu3.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5378002956627331570" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_xLbRKYceicc/SqKBGRr1iaI/AAAAAAAAABY/p8h5vYxSYMA/s1600-h/Sonu1.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 84px; height: 118px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_xLbRKYceicc/SqKBGRr1iaI/AAAAAAAAABY/p8h5vYxSYMA/s320/Sonu1.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5378002849860258210" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_xLbRKYceicc/SqKA7mrIxNI/AAAAAAAAABQ/-CDiR_mM2UM/s1600-h/Sonu2.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 134px; height: 134px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_xLbRKYceicc/SqKA7mrIxNI/AAAAAAAAABQ/-CDiR_mM2UM/s320/Sonu2.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5378002666515907794" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;div&gt;I am amzed with the person. I have adored many many of his songs in Hindi. I have spent months listening to the songs from his hindi albums through out my stay at office. But I had never imagined he would sing for the Kannada film industry. When I heard his singing in Huchha n Mungaru MaLe, the songs did touch me. But not the way his songs in hindi did. I'd always say that his hindi songs were the same as wat honey is to my tongue. Off late his hold on Kannada has improved. But I never imagined that he would go for an album in Kannada. Frankly, I do not know of a Kannada singer having of his or her own album. I have only heard their film songs. So this happenend to be more of a shock than surprise to me. Everytime I heard the bollywood singers sing Kannada songs I'd feel a li'l sorry for the talent here. They're good, yet. Lately I did get to listen to really good Kannada music. Otherwise I do not shy away from advicing people from keeping away from Kannada movies or songs. Yet, I do not have many recent time movies that I can recommend to any of my friends. But the songs have been very impressive. Brilliant singing with good music composition. But an album from Sonu!! Something I still can't believe. He gets a Filmfare for playback singing in Kannada.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;May be some people are always striving for more, and always find new roads to cover. I now admire him all the more and wish him more and more success.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/14894235-3496593873362689275?l=cuppacapuccino.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;p&gt;&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/iUDPM-UHc8oLsZRhiuujMV0ab-o/0/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/iUDPM-UHc8oLsZRhiuujMV0ab-o/0/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br/&gt;
&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/iUDPM-UHc8oLsZRhiuujMV0ab-o/1/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/iUDPM-UHc8oLsZRhiuujMV0ab-o/1/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/Cuppacapuccino/~4/44v4i9kbBuM" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://cuppacapuccino.blogspot.com/feeds/3496593873362689275/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=14894235&amp;postID=3496593873362689275" title="0 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/14894235/posts/default/3496593873362689275?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/14894235/posts/default/3496593873362689275?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/Cuppacapuccino/~3/44v4i9kbBuM/sonu-nigam.html" title="Sonu Nigam" /><author><name>fullmoononearth</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02514396329603988179</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="32" height="30" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-4_nEiX31j60/TdH948QCD5I/AAAAAAAAASw/qQeS7EI_qv8/s220/Rums.jpg" /></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media="http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/" url="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_xLbRKYceicc/SqKBMfbFyfI/AAAAAAAAABg/07Zf2tSM8hA/s72-c/Sonu3.jpg" height="72" width="72" /><thr:total>0</thr:total><feedburner:origLink>http://cuppacapuccino.blogspot.com/2009/09/sonu-nigam.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;C0UAR3gycSp7ImA9WxNTFU8.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14894235.post-7909965799787579680</id><published>2009-08-17T07:50:00.002-07:00</published><updated>2009-08-17T08:00:46.699-07:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2009-08-17T08:00:46.699-07:00</app:edited><title>Taking Control</title><content type="html">If you are feeling helpless that nothing is going your way. &lt;div&gt;If you see that all that you planned is going awary. And you wish that you could do something so that things can fall back in place. So that you can take control over things... &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;then go ahead...  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;reach for the T.V. remote.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;This may not make things get back on track, but at least you shall be in control of something.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/14894235-7909965799787579680?l=cuppacapuccino.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
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&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/B9lNsWjvnRxl0-bF7Jw51krNqzI/1/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/B9lNsWjvnRxl0-bF7Jw51krNqzI/1/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/Cuppacapuccino/~4/4Zb7bM8294E" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://cuppacapuccino.blogspot.com/feeds/7909965799787579680/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=14894235&amp;postID=7909965799787579680" title="0 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/14894235/posts/default/7909965799787579680?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/14894235/posts/default/7909965799787579680?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/Cuppacapuccino/~3/4Zb7bM8294E/taking-control.html" title="Taking Control" /><author><name>fullmoononearth</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02514396329603988179</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="32" height="30" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-4_nEiX31j60/TdH948QCD5I/AAAAAAAAASw/qQeS7EI_qv8/s220/Rums.jpg" /></author><thr:total>0</thr:total><feedburner:origLink>http://cuppacapuccino.blogspot.com/2009/08/taking-control.html</feedburner:origLink></entry></feed>

