<?xml version='1.0' encoding='UTF-8'?><?xml-stylesheet href="http://www.blogger.com/styles/atom.css" type="text/css"?><feed xmlns='http://www.w3.org/2005/Atom' xmlns:openSearch='http://a9.com/-/spec/opensearchrss/1.0/' xmlns:blogger='http://schemas.google.com/blogger/2008' xmlns:georss='http://www.georss.org/georss' xmlns:gd="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005" xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6131915189450379967</id><updated>2026-04-29T01:36:37.255-07:00</updated><category term="Life"/><category term="Fiction"/><category term="Abstract"/><category term="Random"/><category term="Irony"/><category term="Humour"/><category term="IT"/><category term="Marketing"/><category term="Rant"/><category term="Social"/><title type='text'>Phantom Chase...</title><subtitle type='html'></subtitle><link rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#feed' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://phantomchase.blogspot.com/feeds/posts/default'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6131915189450379967/posts/default?redirect=false'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://phantomchase.blogspot.com/'/><link rel='hub' href='http://pubsubhubbub.appspot.com/'/><link rel='next' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6131915189450379967/posts/default?start-index=26&amp;max-results=25&amp;redirect=false'/><author><name>Medha</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06605142797940042679</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='28' height='32' src='//blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhrxDQui8_Il8yr45kU9tMPfDfnvjs2hVTiFaDjWqaMvAFDFIIIfDw3e4eL98DUK7h_MGjQQeZS5DHV09Q7seXNSQRI7TvqsPwS0rVJbAkQvRzPrZlfehqojc1Slb78vw/s220/medha.jpg'/></author><generator version='7.00' uri='http://www.blogger.com'>Blogger</generator><openSearch:totalResults>32</openSearch:totalResults><openSearch:startIndex>1</openSearch:startIndex><openSearch:itemsPerPage>25</openSearch:itemsPerPage><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6131915189450379967.post-7415064622873334473</id><published>2012-07-27T21:31:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2012-07-27T21:31:29.112-07:00</updated><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="Life"/><title type='text'>Let&#39;s Waste Time..</title><content type='html'>&lt;div dir=&quot;ltr&quot; style=&quot;text-align: left;&quot; trbidi=&quot;on&quot;&gt;I play with your mind, you play with mine!&lt;br /&gt;
Whatever happens to this god-given life.&lt;br /&gt;
Precious, is not the word for the swine. &lt;br /&gt;
I have an ego to massage, You have thine.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Let&#39;s waste time.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Let me have my say and win, and celebrate your loss.&lt;br /&gt;
When I lose, I too become a rot.&lt;br /&gt;
Whatever happens to our self, is an imaginary thought!&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Let me know my little world - for it&#39;s all that I got.&lt;br /&gt;
In the twilight of my life,&lt;br /&gt;
I will sit and reflect, if everything was a naught.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
For now let me be drunk, on who is who and what is what.&lt;br /&gt;
Let me be one, with all who are similarly caught.&amp;nbsp; &lt;br /&gt;
I want to feel at home, although I&#39;m lost.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Let me not think of way back, until it&#39;s too late.&lt;br /&gt;
For I fear finding, what I really sought.&lt;br /&gt;
So let me just be, it&#39;s my escape from lots.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://phantomchase.blogspot.com/feeds/7415064622873334473/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://phantomchase.blogspot.com/2012/07/lets-waste-time.html#comment-form' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6131915189450379967/posts/default/7415064622873334473'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6131915189450379967/posts/default/7415064622873334473'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://phantomchase.blogspot.com/2012/07/lets-waste-time.html' title='Let&#39;s Waste Time..'/><author><name>Medha</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06605142797940042679</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='28' height='32' src='//blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhrxDQui8_Il8yr45kU9tMPfDfnvjs2hVTiFaDjWqaMvAFDFIIIfDw3e4eL98DUK7h_MGjQQeZS5DHV09Q7seXNSQRI7TvqsPwS0rVJbAkQvRzPrZlfehqojc1Slb78vw/s220/medha.jpg'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6131915189450379967.post-3791345434323698733</id><published>2012-07-22T02:50:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2012-07-22T02:50:13.233-07:00</updated><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="Life"/><title type='text'>Dear Success</title><content type='html'>&lt;div dir=&quot;ltr&quot; style=&quot;text-align: left;&quot; trbidi=&quot;on&quot;&gt;It only suits a successful man to talk of the&amp;nbsp;importance of a failure !&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Who does not love or want success?&amp;nbsp;But unfortunately or fortunately, it&#39;s a few things that you could choose to be successful at. Rest are endured in the spirit&amp;nbsp;of completing the circle.It&#39;s heartening to be received as successful - as sometimes it&#39;s a burden of a tired soul, trying to find an approval of it&#39;s own ideas, and at others an answer to a question, long sought. I have experienced this dialogue so many times, in my mind.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Deep within, there is a die-hard believer in most of us, who&amp;nbsp;wants to stand a little longer, wants to be heard for&amp;nbsp;some&amp;nbsp;more time. One can sometimes feel elevated with success stories, even though the recipe has been recycled and served.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Self and its matters are germinal subjects, when it comes to motivation. Happiness is perhaps the second most important. My only contention is that -&amp;nbsp;in retrospect, perhaps most of us think that we&amp;nbsp;have dealt amazingly&amp;nbsp;with our situations, but could we ever lose the gravity while we were in/with them ? And then the argument is that you need to experience, all shades of life, to keep alive. So, my point is - why bother then ? &lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
I think rationality is a benchmark, that most of us have, for&amp;nbsp;our decisions. Pursuit of self can verge on to the pursuit of selfishness. It&#39;s not an easy life because&amp;nbsp;all of us think and think differently. And that holds in the idea of success and failure too.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
I feel, there could be more happiness, if not sought. More of self when not searched ! But success is alluring, very comely in demeanor.Failure, if not translated to success, is despicable. The tryst goes on.. and I keep hooked on to dear success..&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://phantomchase.blogspot.com/feeds/3791345434323698733/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://phantomchase.blogspot.com/2012/07/dear-success.html#comment-form' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6131915189450379967/posts/default/3791345434323698733'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6131915189450379967/posts/default/3791345434323698733'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://phantomchase.blogspot.com/2012/07/dear-success.html' title='Dear Success'/><author><name>Medha</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06605142797940042679</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='28' height='32' src='//blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhrxDQui8_Il8yr45kU9tMPfDfnvjs2hVTiFaDjWqaMvAFDFIIIfDw3e4eL98DUK7h_MGjQQeZS5DHV09Q7seXNSQRI7TvqsPwS0rVJbAkQvRzPrZlfehqojc1Slb78vw/s220/medha.jpg'/></author><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6131915189450379967.post-2350563502416433454</id><published>2012-07-08T04:32:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2012-07-08T04:59:36.700-07:00</updated><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="Random"/><title type='text'>Wet Wet Wet !</title><content type='html'>&lt;div dir=&quot;ltr&quot; style=&quot;text-align: left;&quot; trbidi=&quot;on&quot;&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;div class=&quot;MsoNormal&quot;&gt;
&lt;i&gt;And it rained! &lt;span style=&quot;font-family: Wingdings;&quot;&gt;:)&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/i&gt; &lt;/div&gt;
&lt;div class=&quot;MsoNormal&quot;&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;div class=&quot;MsoNormal&quot;&gt;
&lt;i&gt;6:00 pm. Over 40 degree Celsius.&lt;/i&gt; Clouds dark grey, managing to block the sun, but for a few rays, lending the gloss to the rocks and the plants beneath. I can see very beautiful, cinematic colors of green, grey, orange, brown (well, name it !) – spread out on a large canvas before me. Times when you want your journey to last longer.. Another 20 mins and there lands a big rain-drop on my window, and then another follows and in no time, its like a splash !&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;div class=&quot;MsoNormal&quot;&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;div class=&quot;MsoNormal&quot;&gt;
After enjoying the scene from behind the wet screen for some more time, I reach my station. I disembark - immediately conscious of the need to shelter myself from the downpour. I hire a rickshaw, which barely shelters me and my belongings. There’s a group of young lads walking in the pools of water beside the roads. Kicking it now ‘n’ then, to wet their sidekicks. I have an urge to join them…but the awareness of the overflowing drainage, keeps the thoughts in check. &amp;nbsp;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;div class=&quot;MsoNormal&quot;&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;div class=&quot;MsoNormal&quot;&gt;
There’s a bit of chaos and confusion on the road, as commuters try to figure out its steady parts. I inch closer to my home, in the middle of the sound of horns and tempers and mutual dialogs between strangers. I can see someone, with his motorbike stuck on something submerged in water. As I contemplate whether to get down and help or stay put, wishing well, I hear a loud horn.. and ..&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;div class=&quot;MsoNormal&quot;&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;div class=&quot;MsoNormal&quot;&gt;
&lt;i&gt;Splash ! &amp;nbsp;&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;div class=&quot;MsoNormal&quot;&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;div class=&quot;MsoNormal&quot;&gt;
The next moment I’m all wet ! &lt;/div&gt;
&lt;div class=&quot;MsoNormal&quot;&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;div class=&quot;MsoNormal&quot;&gt;
There&#39;s a young biker who whizzes past, piercing through the pool of water, making sprays of water jets, wetting the civilized neighborhood, evoking the choicest invectives they have known, in their life ! My being is amused.. suddenly woken up !&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;div class=&quot;MsoNormal&quot;&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;div class=&quot;MsoNormal&quot;&gt;
I’m aware of bacteria and the other inhabitants of the hidden world, resting on me, right now.. but for the maiden rain of this season – I could bear with them ! &lt;span style=&quot;font-family: Wingdings;&quot;&gt;:)&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;div class=&quot;MsoNormal&quot;&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;div class=&quot;MsoNormal&quot;&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://phantomchase.blogspot.com/feeds/2350563502416433454/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://phantomchase.blogspot.com/2012/07/wet-wet-wet.html#comment-form' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6131915189450379967/posts/default/2350563502416433454'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6131915189450379967/posts/default/2350563502416433454'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://phantomchase.blogspot.com/2012/07/wet-wet-wet.html' title='Wet Wet Wet !'/><author><name>Medha</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06605142797940042679</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='28' height='32' src='//blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhrxDQui8_Il8yr45kU9tMPfDfnvjs2hVTiFaDjWqaMvAFDFIIIfDw3e4eL98DUK7h_MGjQQeZS5DHV09Q7seXNSQRI7TvqsPwS0rVJbAkQvRzPrZlfehqojc1Slb78vw/s220/medha.jpg'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6131915189450379967.post-8666985829444181083</id><published>2012-07-06T07:53:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2012-07-24T21:53:46.856-07:00</updated><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="Abstract"/><title type='text'>Flicker</title><content type='html'>&lt;div dir=&quot;ltr&quot; style=&quot;text-align: left;&quot; trbidi=&quot;on&quot;&gt;
The candle had been melting slowly. Soft breeze almost flirting with the flame, tickling it here and there. I had been watching it with a purposeless, keen intent. With the rest of the world soaked in darkness, the interplay looked amusing. It were the wee hours of the night, with occasional bark of the dog and rustle of the leaves, as the wind caressed them. I sat right beside the candle, making some abstract association with it.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
There had been a major technical snag and the people had been rendered &#39;powerless&#39; and quite literally so. As I sat at&amp;nbsp; the window, enjoying the subtle, silent moves, that were only possible with the darkness- I noticed myself too - moving and dancing with the flame, on the opposite wall.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
My rather stationary self had been playing all along, beyond my cognizance of the fact..I knew this would be a short game that would at the most, last till dawn. I looked out, peeping into the ocean of black. I got down from the window and blew the candle off. Game over !&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
All was one and I was one with all..&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://phantomchase.blogspot.com/feeds/8666985829444181083/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://phantomchase.blogspot.com/2012/07/flicker.html#comment-form' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6131915189450379967/posts/default/8666985829444181083'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6131915189450379967/posts/default/8666985829444181083'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://phantomchase.blogspot.com/2012/07/flicker.html' title='Flicker'/><author><name>Medha</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06605142797940042679</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='28' height='32' src='//blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhrxDQui8_Il8yr45kU9tMPfDfnvjs2hVTiFaDjWqaMvAFDFIIIfDw3e4eL98DUK7h_MGjQQeZS5DHV09Q7seXNSQRI7TvqsPwS0rVJbAkQvRzPrZlfehqojc1Slb78vw/s220/medha.jpg'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6131915189450379967.post-5035992214585491439</id><published>2012-05-31T08:06:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2012-06-04T01:57:47.840-07:00</updated><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="Abstract"/><title type='text'>Cryptic Karma</title><content type='html'>&lt;div dir=&quot;ltr&quot; style=&quot;text-align: left;&quot; trbidi=&quot;on&quot;&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;div class=&quot;MsoNormal&quot;&gt;
‘It’s his karma and nothing else’, he said to the man with him as the third parted.&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;div class=&quot;MsoNormal&quot;&gt;
&amp;nbsp;I was standing in a queue, ahead of them, waiting for my order to be delivered. I took my packet and started for home. But somehow the conversation stayed with me, as I walked. &amp;nbsp;&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;div class=&quot;MsoNormal&quot;&gt;
There’s a lot of invocation of subjects as intricate as Karma, in our daily parlance. Regular chit-chats are replete with allusions and casual mentions to Karma and Destiny, like household subjects. &amp;nbsp;Krishna’a treatise on Karma, the beloved Hindu scripture, ‘Bhagawad Gita’ – has had innumerable translations by men of towering stature. It&#39;s popularly known as ‘The Gita Rahasya’ (the mystery of Gita) – and the phrase sums up the human dilemma about the good, the bad, the ugly and the unknown.&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;div class=&quot;MsoNormal&quot;&gt;
In very crude terms – &amp;nbsp;we interpret karma in terms of gain and loss. Whatever leads to a gain is a good karma and all that results in a loss is the bad karma. I feel such definitions are a little too myopic. Karma should serve as a stepping stone, like the one set by a hiker for his next step, as one tries to realize his purpose of existence. Gains or losses are a part and parcel of every event. How can they ever be the terminal indicators!&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;div class=&quot;MsoNormal&quot;&gt;
Many individuals, who come across as the believers of the ideology that they are the makers of their destiny, show up the chinks when they lose. One can see that they’ve given in to the thought that - All that makes you lose is devised by the people or circumstances around you and all that makes you gain is in accordance with your abilities. We are many a times one of them. It takes a heart to bear it all by yourself otherwise !&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;div class=&quot;MsoNormal&quot;&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Whatever it is, however complicated or simple. I think it&#39;s a cake that each one cooks and has it too - through one birth or many. Perhaps the remedial lies in the word -&amp;nbsp; &lt;i&gt;Chireveti ! Chireveti ! (Go On..)&lt;/i&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&amp;nbsp; &lt;/div&gt;
&lt;div class=&quot;MsoNormal&quot;&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://phantomchase.blogspot.com/feeds/5035992214585491439/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://phantomchase.blogspot.com/2012/05/cryptic-karma.html#comment-form' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6131915189450379967/posts/default/5035992214585491439'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6131915189450379967/posts/default/5035992214585491439'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://phantomchase.blogspot.com/2012/05/cryptic-karma.html' title='Cryptic Karma'/><author><name>Medha</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06605142797940042679</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='28' height='32' src='//blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhrxDQui8_Il8yr45kU9tMPfDfnvjs2hVTiFaDjWqaMvAFDFIIIfDw3e4eL98DUK7h_MGjQQeZS5DHV09Q7seXNSQRI7TvqsPwS0rVJbAkQvRzPrZlfehqojc1Slb78vw/s220/medha.jpg'/></author><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6131915189450379967.post-8341533897422484161</id><published>2012-05-15T09:32:00.003-07:00</published><updated>2012-07-06T08:04:07.537-07:00</updated><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="Fiction"/><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="Irony"/><title type='text'>In the name of &#39;___&#39;</title><content type='html'>&lt;div dir=&quot;ltr&quot; style=&quot;text-align: left;&quot; trbidi=&quot;on&quot;&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
She daubs her face with a foundation, lightens the dark circles with an under-eye shade, puts a touch of mascara on the eye-lashes, smears some anti-wrinkle cream &amp;nbsp;and colours her lips with her favourite stick. And as she looks close to being &#39;naturally&#39; beautiful, she rushes out, checking her watch to keep an appointment. She has to conduct a workshop on trust and openness.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Her bag has a laptop with presentations on many such subjects, which are a proprietary of XYZ corporation, for which she works. She had been amongst the brightest in the fraternity and her work gets her to deal with the best in the industry.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Today&#39;s theme is - &#39;How to maintain a familial eco-system in a growing organization ?&#39;.There are many intellectuals present to deliberate on the issue. And her contention would be with building trust and openness.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Quite a few of her subordinates have spent long hours to get the slides in place. Cribbing about her high-handedness and being a taskmaster. The rebellious few, sometimes playing a hard-ball. They believe that they are merely being used to reap the gains. The other intellectuals have subordinates, who too feel similarly.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
It&#39;s evening and it&#39;s been an extensive discussion. After the high-tea, she heads back to her apartment. Almost fighting with her thoughts, trying to keep them at bay. But succumbing now and then to her own vulnerability. Approaching a home broken on grounds of loss of trust , and working with people researching and deliberating on issues of organizational and human relevance - each failing with them, in his/her own way..&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;i&gt;&#39;C&#39;est la vie..&#39;&lt;/i&gt; - she sighs.. &lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://phantomchase.blogspot.com/feeds/8341533897422484161/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://phantomchase.blogspot.com/2012/05/in-name-of-trust.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6131915189450379967/posts/default/8341533897422484161'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6131915189450379967/posts/default/8341533897422484161'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://phantomchase.blogspot.com/2012/05/in-name-of-trust.html' title='In the name of &#39;___&#39;'/><author><name>Medha</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06605142797940042679</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='28' height='32' src='//blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhrxDQui8_Il8yr45kU9tMPfDfnvjs2hVTiFaDjWqaMvAFDFIIIfDw3e4eL98DUK7h_MGjQQeZS5DHV09Q7seXNSQRI7TvqsPwS0rVJbAkQvRzPrZlfehqojc1Slb78vw/s220/medha.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6131915189450379967.post-5551593609152298436</id><published>2012-05-05T08:29:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2012-07-16T01:49:03.342-07:00</updated><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="Social"/><title type='text'>Be with me - in my violence !</title><content type='html'>&lt;div dir=&quot;ltr&quot; style=&quot;text-align: left;&quot; trbidi=&quot;on&quot;&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;div class=&quot;MsoNormal&quot;&gt;
A lot of media stories are talking of atrocities on infants and children these days. And needless to say, mostly they are about the female child and human trafficking sometimes. Babies found dumped in dustbins, children who’ve succumbed to the blind lust of lecherous men – trying to suck out their innocence. Infants, who’re products of violence and have been consumed by it.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Media works for its ‘bites’, and such stories attract good attention. But I have seen such mishaps with my eyes- when ironically, I had more pressing concerns, such as, catching a train on time or putting my car on ignition as the lights turned green, at a red light. I couldn’t have possibly done much in all those situations, given that I had been a girl myself and there were hoards of approving or indifferent eyes around. But they left some deep-seated impressions and a powerful imagery.&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;div class=&quot;MsoNormal&quot;&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;div class=&quot;MsoNormal&quot;&gt;
In some public places, as acts of downplayed violence, even in a ladies queue, women constantly nudge you to move ahead, with no space to move. Leave alone what would happen with men around. You’re sized up for the girth of your curves with those scrutinizing eyes, badgered with some lewd comments etc. In exclusive circles, the handling is subtle. For sure, all this is not generically applicable to both genders. &lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Violence is being manifested in many different ways.. The ones in thoughts, actions, words and emotions. There&#39;s a social amalgamation taking place with the advent of globalization, media and internet. Social thinkers had predicted such implications long back. But what worries me, if at all, is the realization of a theory, that we, human beings understand but little, of morality, fairness and other such beatific and pacific ideals - that it&#39;s a venal humanity subject to morality in the purview of self-interest.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Although, the debate that whether institutions would always be needed for decorum, or can we be instinctively led, would be a long ranging one - but it&#39;s just a wish, that one day we would. Unfortunately, even peace is interpreted as a case of one-up-man-ship mostly. It&#39;s an every soul&#39;s need. And by virtue of a human birth, I believe, it&#39;s deserved too..Till then, I think, we&#39;ll be looking up to the heaven&#39;s above, seeking some solace in our individual violence !&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://phantomchase.blogspot.com/feeds/5551593609152298436/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://phantomchase.blogspot.com/2012/05/be-with-me-in-my-violence.html#comment-form' title='4 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6131915189450379967/posts/default/5551593609152298436'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6131915189450379967/posts/default/5551593609152298436'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://phantomchase.blogspot.com/2012/05/be-with-me-in-my-violence.html' title='Be with me - in my violence !'/><author><name>Medha</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06605142797940042679</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='28' height='32' src='//blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhrxDQui8_Il8yr45kU9tMPfDfnvjs2hVTiFaDjWqaMvAFDFIIIfDw3e4eL98DUK7h_MGjQQeZS5DHV09Q7seXNSQRI7TvqsPwS0rVJbAkQvRzPrZlfehqojc1Slb78vw/s220/medha.jpg'/></author><thr:total>4</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6131915189450379967.post-2745682615688979249</id><published>2012-05-01T02:42:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2012-05-05T08:44:07.511-07:00</updated><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="Fiction"/><title type='text'>Story Teller</title><content type='html'>&lt;div dir=&quot;ltr&quot; style=&quot;text-align: left;&quot; trbidi=&quot;on&quot;&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;div class=&quot;MsoNormal&quot;&gt;
Ron the master story teller had been spinning some of greatest stories of his time. He was from the city of Joy. He and other story tellers would tell stories and the rest of the city’s inhabitants would live by enacting them. It was a good city, where peace and calm prevailed. Life in all its colors was embraced by one and all. It bordered the city of sorrow. The thematic being that of, travails and tribulations, which bind a human spirit in unrelenting shackles. &amp;nbsp;The city of sorrow too had story tellers and actors, enacting the pangs of misery and pain.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;div class=&quot;MsoNormal&quot;&gt;
Though the two cities were in neighborhood, they were dreaded by either of their inhabitants. Because once anyone had lived in both, he always left for the third world- never to come back. And no one knew what that third world was.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;div class=&quot;MsoNormal&quot;&gt;
Ron, a virtuoso, had a deep and sublime idea of well-being, which would shine through his works. But he knew that he was still missing the forest for trees. Like a man possessed, he would spend hours in dissertations on happiness, to verify its veracity. But it being the city of joy, had nothing contrary to offer. As time passed, his idea grew bigger than himself. He started to experience what he never had – queasiness and an inexplicable flurry – that alienated him amongst his men. His loneliness which he couldn’t define started to affect his work and clarity of thought. &lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;div class=&quot;MsoNormal&quot;&gt;
One fine day, he thought it was his calling. The third world had summoned him. He started for the city of sorrow. And as he went around the city, he slowly found meaning to his own state. He was familiar with tears, but these were warm as from deep despondency within. His heart would contract, mind would be numb. He would be feverish and would spin some heart-rending stories for the actors.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Some years went by and he started to lose the art of story telling. He was lonely again - but this was the most comfortable state he was in, thus far.. The quality of this solitude was what he was seeking. Stories died and he was unwanted, unsought again - giving him the indication to his final destination.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Nobody knew where he went thereafter, but his parting words were - &lt;i&gt;&#39;I come to freedom, melted and warm - mould me, the way you want&#39;&lt;/i&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://phantomchase.blogspot.com/feeds/2745682615688979249/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://phantomchase.blogspot.com/2012/05/story-teller.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6131915189450379967/posts/default/2745682615688979249'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6131915189450379967/posts/default/2745682615688979249'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://phantomchase.blogspot.com/2012/05/story-teller.html' title='Story Teller'/><author><name>Medha</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06605142797940042679</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='28' height='32' src='//blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhrxDQui8_Il8yr45kU9tMPfDfnvjs2hVTiFaDjWqaMvAFDFIIIfDw3e4eL98DUK7h_MGjQQeZS5DHV09Q7seXNSQRI7TvqsPwS0rVJbAkQvRzPrZlfehqojc1Slb78vw/s220/medha.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6131915189450379967.post-1324711074309243994</id><published>2012-04-15T01:50:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2012-04-15T01:53:47.666-07:00</updated><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="Random"/><title type='text'>History Repeats Itself?</title><content type='html'>&lt;div dir=&quot;ltr&quot; style=&quot;text-align: left;&quot; trbidi=&quot;on&quot;&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;div class=&quot;MsoNormal&quot;&gt;Yes the point is, does it really? &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class=&quot;MsoNormal&quot;&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class=&quot;MsoNormal&quot;&gt;Apple falling on the ground led Newton to discover gravity. And that has through ages been responsible for many related phenomena in the universe. And then Einstein propounds his own version and makes it a push factor of time and space instead of the pull of a heavenly body. Apples still fall on the ground, because of Einstein’s or Newton’s gravity. History repeats depending on the perspectives taken!&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class=&quot;MsoNormal&quot;&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class=&quot;MsoNormal&quot;&gt;I opine that it can never repeat itself. The impossibility of marriage of time, space and circumstance would preclude such a happening. Given the existence of ever advancing time, this doesn’t look like a possibility either. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class=&quot;MsoNormal&quot;&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class=&quot;MsoNormal&quot;&gt;A great discovery is countered or enhanced with time. This could be a novelty or a continuity of a pattern. A horseman fallen off it brushes himself up and gets back on the saddle. The next time he falls is another fall, another event under different circumstances.History is an alibi for bias and familiarity. &amp;nbsp;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class=&quot;MsoNormal&quot;&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class=&quot;MsoNormal&quot;&gt;I look at the various facets of the universe – mesmerized and lost. I’m sure it’ll reveal some &lt;span style=&quot;font-family: Wingdings;&quot;&gt;:)&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class=&quot;MsoNormal&quot;&gt;&lt;span style=&quot;font-family: Wingdings;&quot;&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class=&quot;MsoNormal&quot;&gt;&lt;span style=&quot;font-family: Wingdings;&quot;&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://phantomchase.blogspot.com/feeds/1324711074309243994/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://phantomchase.blogspot.com/2012/04/history-repeats-itself.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6131915189450379967/posts/default/1324711074309243994'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6131915189450379967/posts/default/1324711074309243994'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://phantomchase.blogspot.com/2012/04/history-repeats-itself.html' title='History Repeats Itself?'/><author><name>Medha</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06605142797940042679</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='28' height='32' src='//blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhrxDQui8_Il8yr45kU9tMPfDfnvjs2hVTiFaDjWqaMvAFDFIIIfDw3e4eL98DUK7h_MGjQQeZS5DHV09Q7seXNSQRI7TvqsPwS0rVJbAkQvRzPrZlfehqojc1Slb78vw/s220/medha.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6131915189450379967.post-5443592409289005831</id><published>2012-03-15T09:28:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2012-03-15T09:28:53.383-07:00</updated><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="Life"/><title type='text'>Downstream..</title><content type='html'>&lt;div dir=&quot;ltr&quot; style=&quot;text-align: left;&quot; trbidi=&quot;on&quot;&gt;Silently the river flows beside me. I have been watching its huge expanse. I&#39;m in the middle of an adventure trip, where the river had been wild in places. Its rapids of violent waters headbanging against small hillocks. I had been there, in them, holding someone, something or scampering to do the same.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Now it looked smooth and peaceful in close comfort of the skirting mountains - gentle and divine, though I still reeled under a gamut of emotions, of having sailed through. Not that the panorama has changed too much - but it seems like I&#39;ll be more practiced now. It&#39;s slowly growing on me.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
I get into the water to float and feel the lightness of my body, holding the hand of a friend, whom I met in this expedition - at times losing and at times finding her support, in the rock-n-roll !&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
At some distance, I see more rapids coming - I&#39;m quite tired but patient..bring it on..&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://phantomchase.blogspot.com/feeds/5443592409289005831/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://phantomchase.blogspot.com/2012/03/downstream.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6131915189450379967/posts/default/5443592409289005831'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6131915189450379967/posts/default/5443592409289005831'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://phantomchase.blogspot.com/2012/03/downstream.html' title='Downstream..'/><author><name>Medha</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06605142797940042679</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='28' height='32' src='//blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhrxDQui8_Il8yr45kU9tMPfDfnvjs2hVTiFaDjWqaMvAFDFIIIfDw3e4eL98DUK7h_MGjQQeZS5DHV09Q7seXNSQRI7TvqsPwS0rVJbAkQvRzPrZlfehqojc1Slb78vw/s220/medha.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6131915189450379967.post-6415190457332586207</id><published>2012-02-17T12:12:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2012-02-18T08:03:23.283-08:00</updated><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="Life"/><title type='text'>Pure</title><content type='html'>&lt;div dir=&quot;ltr&quot; style=&quot;text-align: left;&quot; trbidi=&quot;on&quot;&gt;My little one heard a sermon a few days back. More on the lines that we all have an expiry date. Older people vacate earlier and the younger ones stay on for some more years.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;i&gt;She asked me - &#39;So you&#39;ll leave ?&#39;.&amp;nbsp;&lt;/i&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;i&gt;I said - &#39;No, not like how you think. There&#39;s a lot of time !&#39;.&amp;nbsp;&lt;/i&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;i&gt;&#39;Well ! But you&#39;ll leave that means ?&#39; &lt;/i&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;i&gt;&#39;In a way yes, but let&#39;s talk of something else...&#39;&lt;/i&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;i&gt;&#39;You lied - I don&#39;t want to talk to you now !&#39;&lt;/i&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
I&#39;m struggling with life, how do I explain death to you - I thought as I wound up my cooking chores.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
That was that.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
And today, as I close in on to my little one, to pick her up in my arms and kiss her forehead, she cringes at my touch. I feel a twitch in my heart as she looks at me with complaints writ large on her face. Her sensitivity makes me gulp down lumps of emotion, as a rush of them brings tears to my eyes. It&#39;s a strange relationship I&#39;m discovering with her. Wouldn&#39;t I love to live like this forever! But I know, my little one would &lt;br /&gt;
grow too, into a woman who would be a source of strength. And then she would know it all. For now I just happily snuggle the sleeping angel, before she writes me a loving epitaph..&lt;br /&gt;
__________________________________________________________________________&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Inspired from a conversation.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://phantomchase.blogspot.com/feeds/6415190457332586207/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://phantomchase.blogspot.com/2012/02/pure.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6131915189450379967/posts/default/6415190457332586207'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6131915189450379967/posts/default/6415190457332586207'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://phantomchase.blogspot.com/2012/02/pure.html' title='Pure'/><author><name>Medha</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06605142797940042679</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='28' height='32' src='//blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhrxDQui8_Il8yr45kU9tMPfDfnvjs2hVTiFaDjWqaMvAFDFIIIfDw3e4eL98DUK7h_MGjQQeZS5DHV09Q7seXNSQRI7TvqsPwS0rVJbAkQvRzPrZlfehqojc1Slb78vw/s220/medha.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6131915189450379967.post-5560129024566511403</id><published>2012-02-11T00:44:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2012-02-11T09:16:57.633-08:00</updated><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="Abstract"/><title type='text'>Contradictions..</title><content type='html'>&lt;div dir=&quot;ltr&quot; style=&quot;text-align: left;&quot; trbidi=&quot;on&quot;&gt;It&#39;s interesting. We are generally aware of our strengths and flaws, and perhaps those of people around. The fact remains that when we, with limited knowledge, are the frames of reference, the inferences are only relative or misconstrued..But then, it seems, we are programmed to draw them - to make some sense of this world !&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Beside a personal or individual note - there are things which are prevalent and accepted facts, but delve deeper and you&#39;d feel flummoxed at times. Laws are to ensure order and safety, but a closer look would unravel that they are meant for crime and for criminals, who break them. A rather symbiotic relationship between the two.&amp;nbsp; Police is meant for maintaining order - but its existence is relevant only when there&#39;s disorder. A doctor&#39;s profession of ensuring health, is relevant only when there is disease. An army is not needed when there is peace.Though that is the objective of having one in place. Talent - a personal, natural ability has no foundation without an audience and acceptance. There could be many more instances to exemplify.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
We live in a world of bizarre contradictions. And a ricochet of such thoughts could keep one busy for a lifetime. Sometimes I feel that it&#39;s a concoction that has been given benign colors, which are otherwise the&amp;nbsp; dark schools of thought, that human mind is capable of. And it has been served down to generations - with not much of a rebellion. Or maybe its the fear that - &lt;i&gt;&#39;&lt;span class=&quot;line line-s hover&quot; id=&quot;line_21&quot;&gt;If you knew that you would find a truth&lt;/span&gt;, &lt;/i&gt;&lt;span class=&quot;line line-s hover&quot; id=&quot;line_22&quot;&gt;&lt;i&gt;That brings a pain that can&#39;t be soothed&#39;&lt;/i&gt; (from the song - Change, Tracy Chapman) - that impresses upon us, to believe. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Not sure if it&#39;s an inherent lack of trust that is the cause of this fear, or despite knowing that we spend a short duration as a lifetime, our obsession with security- physical, mental and emotional, the reason !&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://phantomchase.blogspot.com/feeds/5560129024566511403/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://phantomchase.blogspot.com/2012/02/contradictions.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6131915189450379967/posts/default/5560129024566511403'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6131915189450379967/posts/default/5560129024566511403'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://phantomchase.blogspot.com/2012/02/contradictions.html' title='Contradictions..'/><author><name>Medha</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06605142797940042679</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='28' height='32' src='//blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhrxDQui8_Il8yr45kU9tMPfDfnvjs2hVTiFaDjWqaMvAFDFIIIfDw3e4eL98DUK7h_MGjQQeZS5DHV09Q7seXNSQRI7TvqsPwS0rVJbAkQvRzPrZlfehqojc1Slb78vw/s220/medha.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6131915189450379967.post-2041170254307095943</id><published>2012-01-31T20:36:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2012-01-31T21:54:51.033-08:00</updated><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="Fiction"/><title type='text'>Drift</title><content type='html'>&lt;div dir=&quot;ltr&quot; style=&quot;text-align: left;&quot; trbidi=&quot;on&quot;&gt;&lt;div&gt;He had just got down to writing the letter, when the bell rang. A parcel had arrived. There was a packet with a note, which read -&amp;nbsp;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;i&gt;&#39;I had put up the pieces of my heart, not to have coins of sympathy thrown all over, like you would to a beggar ! I was never into a profession of misery.. I was always an embodiment of strength. Just wanted to see if you had some to stand-by and lend a dependable shoulder !&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;i&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;i&gt;Have put all those coins together in the third shelf of the cupboard. Use them along with this parcel, and go get a heart !..&#39;&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;He folded it with a mirthless smile and looked at his own letter, which so far read..&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;i&gt;&#39;You know what - I never needed your sympathy ...&#39;&amp;nbsp;&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&#39;Even though we&#39;ve fallen apart, we&#39;ve managed to fall together..Strange ...&#39;, he thought as he put the parcel in the third shelf and his own incomplete letter in the second shelf - his collection..&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;As he closed it, he wondered if either of them would ever need these collections anymore !&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://phantomchase.blogspot.com/feeds/2041170254307095943/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://phantomchase.blogspot.com/2012/01/drift.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6131915189450379967/posts/default/2041170254307095943'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6131915189450379967/posts/default/2041170254307095943'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://phantomchase.blogspot.com/2012/01/drift.html' title='Drift'/><author><name>Medha</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06605142797940042679</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='28' height='32' src='//blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhrxDQui8_Il8yr45kU9tMPfDfnvjs2hVTiFaDjWqaMvAFDFIIIfDw3e4eL98DUK7h_MGjQQeZS5DHV09Q7seXNSQRI7TvqsPwS0rVJbAkQvRzPrZlfehqojc1Slb78vw/s220/medha.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6131915189450379967.post-5786092487411972076</id><published>2012-01-21T02:01:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2012-01-21T07:53:34.223-08:00</updated><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="Fiction"/><title type='text'>The Unsaid</title><content type='html'>&lt;div dir=&quot;ltr&quot; style=&quot;text-align: left;&quot; trbidi=&quot;on&quot;&gt;There was a merchant of precious stones in the city of Armilli. His name was Hortin. The city had been a coastal, secluded settlement for almost a couple of centuries. The inhabitants made a living with the help of the resources, the place was abound with.So not much of a trade was carried out with the neighboring cities. It was prosperous and people spent their time peacefully, carrying out their respective occupations.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
But Hortin, was an adventurer of sorts. Young as he was, he had spent last 5 years of his life, diving deep into the sea and bringing some unknown stones from its bosom, to the surface. He would sell some and keep the others, to admire for life..Now, he wanted to explore the land and discover new places and civilizations. He bought a sturdy, brown horse, named Nello.&amp;nbsp; &lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
From whatever little was known of the outside world - the closest city was a 7-day journey by a horse. After spending a few days of educating and equipping himself for the terrain, the route, the requisites - Hortin decided to embark on one, with Nello.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
It had been 5 days of experiencing, discovering and wondering in an alien land with just a living soul around - to share his thoughts, his food, his company with. Nello, in turn had also been sentient enough to acknowledge his master&#39;s presence, reciprocate the occasional affection and although reticent being an animal - listen to him and offer a respectful, loving silence to Hortin&#39;s monologues.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
By the 6th day - the duo was tired and had stopped coming across landmarks that should&#39;ve guided the journey ahead. Fear of having lost the way had started gripping Hortin. Nello was slowly losing the strength to sustain for a few more days. By the day&#39;s end - resting against Nello&#39;s brown torso, shining in the luminosity of the moon, Hortin contemplated on what was to come. Disheartened - he slept with his friend.&amp;nbsp; &lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
They should&#39;ve have been in a close proximity of the city by then. But there was no trace of a city in sight. More days went by. By the end of ninth day, they were running out of even water.. Nello was barely walking, though some signs of human life had started appearing. &lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Tenth day into the journey - it was afternoon and Nello had almost given up. He crashed to the ground. No mark of water could be seen, though Hortin sensed that they were just a few miles from the city. He thought he could cover the rest of it on foot. But how would he leave Nello, dying like this. Ten days with him, had been magical. And though all was non-committal - it had been special. Nello looked at him tenderly without askance. And as Hortin embraced him and caressed his manes, he felt bound. &lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
After thinking for a while, Hortin picked up the bag of pearls, he had got and walked towards the city. Nello&#39;s gaze followed him, till he could see him no more and closed his eyes.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
By evening - Hortin reached the city. Thick black clouds had covered it. It was going to rain. Something told him that his wish had been granted. His heart was bubbling with joy. It had started to pour. Hortin traded a few pearls, bought some food, and hired a horse. He dared the inclement weather and set back for the place where he had left his friend, hoping that the waters&#39; from the heaven&#39;s above would have revived Nello.&lt;br /&gt;
The rains had letup.He paced his horse and eventually reached his destination.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
But Nello was gone...&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Hortin frantically searched around in the thick of the night - yelling his name aloud, for no response in return, except for the echoes of a hollow space. Teary eyed he kept the food he had got, and turned towards the city...&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://phantomchase.blogspot.com/feeds/5786092487411972076/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://phantomchase.blogspot.com/2012/01/unsaid.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6131915189450379967/posts/default/5786092487411972076'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6131915189450379967/posts/default/5786092487411972076'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://phantomchase.blogspot.com/2012/01/unsaid.html' title='The Unsaid'/><author><name>Medha</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06605142797940042679</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='28' height='32' src='//blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhrxDQui8_Il8yr45kU9tMPfDfnvjs2hVTiFaDjWqaMvAFDFIIIfDw3e4eL98DUK7h_MGjQQeZS5DHV09Q7seXNSQRI7TvqsPwS0rVJbAkQvRzPrZlfehqojc1Slb78vw/s220/medha.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6131915189450379967.post-5709875568076826149</id><published>2012-01-16T20:25:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2012-01-16T20:25:17.746-08:00</updated><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="Humour"/><title type='text'>FISH ! Why me ? :P</title><content type='html'>&lt;div dir=&quot;ltr&quot; style=&quot;text-align: left;&quot; trbidi=&quot;on&quot;&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;div class=&quot;MsoNormal&quot;&gt;Yesterday night I tripped in the middle of the road (thanks to a stone that missed my line and sphere of sight). I was accompanied by a group of formal friends. It was rather embarrassing, by regular standards. For a woman of my age, sophistication is a natural expectation. And I tend to disappoint people big-time. I’m not yet a lady and not sure, if I ever want to be one ! So this incident, though brought chuckles to me and the one’s around – also set me thinking of the embarrassments I’ve had&amp;nbsp; - those that I have enjoyed in my solitude and with people extremely close.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class=&quot;MsoNormal&quot;&gt;As one of my friends says – we’re all stories and we keep telling stories. I have some to share. Not stories, but moments.. Some of those moments were -&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;/div&gt;&lt;ul style=&quot;text-align: left;&quot;&gt;&lt;li&gt;&lt;span style=&quot;font: 7pt &amp;quot;Times New Roman&amp;quot;;&quot;&gt;&amp;nbsp; &lt;/span&gt;When in a South Indian Temple I was asked to take off my shirt(as a ritual for men, while visiting it), as they took me to be a boy! (Mind you, I was 5 then&amp;nbsp; :) ) &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; &lt;/li&gt;
&lt;li&gt;&lt;span style=&quot;font: 7pt &amp;quot;Times New Roman&amp;quot;;&quot;&gt;&amp;nbsp;&lt;/span&gt;In my college, when an audible fart escaped while standing in a queue with a friend. Guess where ?, the place was – the library ! Quiet, with no escape or cover up, quite literally..&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; &lt;/li&gt;
&lt;li&gt;&lt;span style=&quot;font: 7pt &amp;quot;Times New Roman&amp;quot;;&quot;&gt;&amp;nbsp;&lt;/span&gt;At my first workplace – in a stint of a couple of weeks – engrossed in an Einstein-ish state of mind, I entered the Gents&#39; Toilet. Realizing it only after appalling a poor soul. &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &lt;/li&gt;
&lt;li&gt;&lt;span style=&quot;font: 7pt &amp;quot;Times New Roman&amp;quot;;&quot;&gt;&amp;nbsp;&lt;/span&gt;When I sincerely discussed the relevance of Karva-Chauth(a Hindu festival) in my school with my teacher, and gave it a laughable interpretation. I was pretty old for it ! &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &lt;/li&gt;
&lt;li&gt;&lt;span style=&quot;font: 7pt &amp;quot;Times New Roman&amp;quot;;&quot;&gt;&amp;nbsp;&lt;/span&gt;To dodge an onlooker on the road, lest I be perceived as insane( I talk loudly with myself sometimes) – I broke into a song, to justify my lip movements ! (this I do occasionally) &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &lt;/li&gt;
&lt;li&gt;While dancing in an empty, descending elevator, ended up in a pose as it opened. The gentlemen right outside made a complementary welcoming pose, which I ignored(like a lady) and moved on ! &lt;/li&gt;
&lt;/ul&gt;&lt;div class=&quot;MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle&quot;&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class=&quot;MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle&quot; style=&quot;mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;&quot;&gt;-&lt;span style=&quot;font: 7pt &amp;quot;Times New Roman&amp;quot;;&quot;&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class=&quot;MsoNormal&quot;&gt;There are so many more that I can recall ! And I’m sure all of us have some or the other such tales to tell. For the more socially conscious, they are the instances that put the curve in place, in their private moments. I can’t stop grinning mostly, at my or other people’s ‘moments&#39;, publicly or otherwise.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Feeling small and stupid can be elevating sometimes. It relieves you of a lot of pretenses and labels that you acquire while &#39;maturing&#39;. A child&#39;s life always looks more hassle-free. I would love to rewind years !&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://phantomchase.blogspot.com/feeds/5709875568076826149/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://phantomchase.blogspot.com/2012/01/fish-why-me-p.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6131915189450379967/posts/default/5709875568076826149'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6131915189450379967/posts/default/5709875568076826149'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://phantomchase.blogspot.com/2012/01/fish-why-me-p.html' title='FISH ! Why me ? :P'/><author><name>Medha</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06605142797940042679</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='28' height='32' src='//blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhrxDQui8_Il8yr45kU9tMPfDfnvjs2hVTiFaDjWqaMvAFDFIIIfDw3e4eL98DUK7h_MGjQQeZS5DHV09Q7seXNSQRI7TvqsPwS0rVJbAkQvRzPrZlfehqojc1Slb78vw/s220/medha.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6131915189450379967.post-2910757194371742573</id><published>2011-12-31T01:25:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2012-01-20T01:31:56.917-08:00</updated><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="Life"/><title type='text'>Happy New Year !</title><content type='html'>&lt;div dir=&quot;ltr&quot; style=&quot;text-align: left;&quot; trbidi=&quot;on&quot;&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&lt;br /&gt;
&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&lt;i&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; &lt;img alt=&quot;a_1 x_1 + a_2 x_2 + \cdots + a_n x_n = b.&quot; class=&quot;tex&quot; src=&quot;//upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/en/math/d/8/e/d8ea72a9337f856e607ad2b87c3c6656.png&quot; /&gt;&lt;/i&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;i&gt;In this form, a&lt;sub&gt;1&lt;/sub&gt;, a&lt;sub&gt;2&lt;/sub&gt;, …, a&lt;sub&gt;n&lt;/sub&gt; are the coefficients, x&lt;sub&gt;1&lt;/sub&gt;, x&lt;sub&gt;2&lt;/sub&gt;, …, x&lt;sub&gt;n&lt;/sub&gt; are the variables, and b is the constant. When dealing with three or fewer variables, it is common to replace x&lt;sub&gt;1&lt;/sub&gt; with just x, x&lt;sub&gt;2&lt;/sub&gt; with y, and x&lt;sub&gt;3&lt;/sub&gt; with z, as appropriate.&lt;/i&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Won&#39;t take up anything on algebra and&amp;nbsp;disappoint&amp;nbsp;an anticipating&amp;nbsp;mind !&amp;nbsp;But this was&amp;nbsp;just the right equation to sum up this year for me.&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;Year after year, it&#39;s b&#39;s struggle to balance itself out as a constant. That &#39;b&#39; could be either of us.&amp;nbsp;There are variables with varied proportionalities affecting his existence negatively or positively. Some just zeroing out&amp;nbsp;and others&amp;nbsp;in a hip-hop, zig-zag tandem, completing what you would call - the rhythm of life..&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Most of these variables being people - learned, unlearned, burdened, unburdened and undergoing their own learning curves. Leaving &#39;b&#39;&amp;nbsp;with a feverish sense of self sometimes - which would for months give it sleepless nights interspersed with vomits of acid and numbness incomparable. And at others, a comforting warmth of a mother&#39;s protection of her infant.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
There are the one&#39;s,&amp;nbsp;self-assured of perfection, committing deeds comparable to any indistinguishable mortal. Not that I alienate myself but I was always a seeker - failing, faltering and succeeding. So I never knew the difference. But like every other non-conclusive year on &#39;knowing&#39; things - this ends on a similar, though a very drawn out, melodramatic&amp;nbsp; note !&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
There have been some beautiful artifacts in terms of human goodness and softer emotions which I&amp;nbsp;always treasured. Lot of it had been an object of mockery and misunderstanding, and it&amp;nbsp;has taken a while for me&amp;nbsp;to reconcile. No time is enough for people to understand you and vice-versa. And hence I don&#39;t see an end to conflicts. I had to assume some extremely familiar&amp;nbsp;people as dead, pass them by like they were just apparitions - it was atrociously&amp;nbsp;funny and it still is ! But if it&#39;s ordained this way - I can only concede because I live anyway.. &lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Hoping there&#39;s something new in this New year.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Wish there are pleasant surprises&amp;nbsp;which hold your breath time and again.That nature rocks you to sleep and eases you with caressing winds, which whisper lullabies into your ears when you&#39;re tired. And may it be the&amp;nbsp;soft sun rays&#39; that promise a peaceful, fruitful dawn that starts each of&amp;nbsp;your day..&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
My greetings for this year. Wish you a very Happy 2012 :)&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://phantomchase.blogspot.com/feeds/2910757194371742573/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://phantomchase.blogspot.com/2011/12/happy-new-year.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6131915189450379967/posts/default/2910757194371742573'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6131915189450379967/posts/default/2910757194371742573'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://phantomchase.blogspot.com/2011/12/happy-new-year.html' title='Happy New Year !'/><author><name>Medha</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06605142797940042679</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='28' height='32' src='//blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhrxDQui8_Il8yr45kU9tMPfDfnvjs2hVTiFaDjWqaMvAFDFIIIfDw3e4eL98DUK7h_MGjQQeZS5DHV09Q7seXNSQRI7TvqsPwS0rVJbAkQvRzPrZlfehqojc1Slb78vw/s220/medha.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6131915189450379967.post-7210604019480209740</id><published>2011-12-30T23:25:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2012-01-04T10:03:23.143-08:00</updated><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="Random"/><title type='text'>A trailer..</title><content type='html'>&lt;div dir=&quot;ltr&quot; style=&quot;text-align: left;&quot; trbidi=&quot;on&quot;&gt;Sometimes your dreams come in compact packages !&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
It was a childhood fantasy to make a movie or at-least be a part of it. I got a taste of what it took to make one, in a hurried up morning till late night activity. It was sheer fun to discover the art and a lot of craft of making one. The Story, Screenplay, Acting, Direction, Cinematography and Editing, all happening under your nose, at an island-ish location.. &lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Even though the product is rather run-of-the-mill, or great if you&amp;nbsp;judge it as otherwise !&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;It&#39;s something that was consuming and enriching. I consider it as a trailer as&amp;nbsp;I&#39;m still quite greedy with what I really want :)&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;div class=&quot;separator&quot; style=&quot;clear: both; text-align: center;&quot;&gt;&lt;iframe allowfullscreen=&#39;allowfullscreen&#39; webkitallowfullscreen=&#39;webkitallowfullscreen&#39; mozallowfullscreen=&#39;mozallowfullscreen&#39; width=&#39;320&#39; height=&#39;266&#39; src=&#39;https://www.youtube.com/embed/kAEl4C1n-gI?feature=player_embedded&#39; frameborder=&#39;0&#39;&gt;&lt;/iframe&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&lt;br /&gt;
&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; &lt;br /&gt;
Hope you like it !&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://phantomchase.blogspot.com/feeds/7210604019480209740/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://phantomchase.blogspot.com/2011/12/trailer.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6131915189450379967/posts/default/7210604019480209740'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6131915189450379967/posts/default/7210604019480209740'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://phantomchase.blogspot.com/2011/12/trailer.html' title='A trailer..'/><author><name>Medha</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06605142797940042679</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='28' height='32' src='//blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhrxDQui8_Il8yr45kU9tMPfDfnvjs2hVTiFaDjWqaMvAFDFIIIfDw3e4eL98DUK7h_MGjQQeZS5DHV09Q7seXNSQRI7TvqsPwS0rVJbAkQvRzPrZlfehqojc1Slb78vw/s220/medha.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6131915189450379967.post-2376206526090588484</id><published>2011-12-10T02:14:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2012-01-20T03:20:16.007-08:00</updated><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="Life"/><title type='text'>On Marriage...</title><content type='html'>&lt;div dir=&quot;ltr&quot; style=&quot;text-align: left;&quot; trbidi=&quot;on&quot;&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
In the Indian context, I think this is one of the most talked about subject ! I don&#39;t get the reasons though. But now that I&#39;m actually going through the process, popularly known as &#39;settling down&#39;, for quite a while now, I&amp;nbsp; can almost empathize with people, who go through the grind..&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
It can begin anytime during school, college, while in a job etc. And there is an upper age limit to it, mostly. Lower age limit, maybe yes - as formalization happens only after thresholds of manhood/womanhood are met. People taking an initiative towards this, are said to be in love and the others, like me, are caught unawares by the years passing by, until you start hitting the fateful numbers ! And then as your parents/relatives, find a &#39;suitable match&#39; for you, you start creating &#39;the magic&#39;.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
It is evident from my posts that I travel quite a bit everyday - and a lot of this time is spent listening to various sounds, which put me to sleep or attune my mind to an abstract, tiring concentration.. The various sounds are the groan of my bus, hisses and hushed whispers of lovers and fiances, catching up after a days&#39; work (somehow married people prefer to sleep ! :D ), chitchats of friends, some music if I have my earphones on, horns of vehicles whizzing by and some noise of crowd outside..&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
I could be an outlier, or at-least, I feel like one ! But I&#39;ve very earnestly tried to understand and contemplate the importance such institutions...and the way people perceive them to be. There&#39;s a huge difference between love and sexual love. Between friends and boy/girl-friends ! Love and friends look dispensable..&#39;true love&#39; doesn&#39;t ! So much so, that as if to highlight an object as fairer/lighter, you paint it&#39;s background darker, grosser - to vindicate your stand for a person, you would highlight the imperfections of the world around you..especially when your lives are not congruent..And this has not been my isolated experience, with one person. But again, these views could be partisan..&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Another interesting attitudinal change I observe as people get into a &#39;relationship&#39; (like others are not), is a heightened sense of insecurity..maybe it&#39;s to do with a perceived lack of sexual freedom- that the little that we have is worth guarding from everything inauspicious. But what beats me is, that people who are not into one, are generally taken to be indulging in a sort of &#39;voyeurism&#39;, even when the exhibits are in public spaces...and are mostly confined to dropping hints to partners.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Similarly, for a youth, passion, care and concern are more ascribed to man/woman love than a platonic association.In recent times, in fact, a deep platonic association is read as an &#39;abnormality&#39; by many ! &lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
When if you look at it from my perspective, I feel almost floundering in the dark when it comes to such matters.My sense of practical wisdom had not been taken kindly by many, though time stood by me, and lately, it&#39;s also been understood as a trickery..and I&#39;m bemused to the core of my being..&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
All said and done, I think people would need people beside them always. Marriages(love and otherwise) tend to give a longevity to such associations. In the end if it makes you feel anchored someway, it must be good :)&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://phantomchase.blogspot.com/feeds/2376206526090588484/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://phantomchase.blogspot.com/2011/12/on-marriage.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6131915189450379967/posts/default/2376206526090588484'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6131915189450379967/posts/default/2376206526090588484'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://phantomchase.blogspot.com/2011/12/on-marriage.html' title='On Marriage...'/><author><name>Medha</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06605142797940042679</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='28' height='32' src='//blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhrxDQui8_Il8yr45kU9tMPfDfnvjs2hVTiFaDjWqaMvAFDFIIIfDw3e4eL98DUK7h_MGjQQeZS5DHV09Q7seXNSQRI7TvqsPwS0rVJbAkQvRzPrZlfehqojc1Slb78vw/s220/medha.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6131915189450379967.post-544319572370373525</id><published>2011-11-30T03:56:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2011-12-01T22:15:29.792-08:00</updated><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="Abstract"/><title type='text'>Farce and Wide..</title><content type='html'>&lt;div dir=&quot;ltr&quot; style=&quot;text-align: left;&quot; trbidi=&quot;on&quot;&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;div class=&quot;MsoNormal&quot;&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class=&quot;MsoNormal&quot;&gt;&lt;i&gt;‘So this was about Appreciative Intelligence.&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class=&quot;MsoNormal&quot;&gt;&lt;i&gt;Let’s look at only what’s right with this world, you know, everything positive…’&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class=&quot;MsoNormal&quot;&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class=&quot;MsoNormal&quot;&gt;&lt;i&gt;‘Nice thought.. but Sir, How do you ignore all that is negative and wrong with it ?’&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class=&quot;MsoNormal&quot;&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class=&quot;MsoNormal&quot;&gt;&lt;i&gt;‘Yeah, good question.. Let’s open it up for the audience..&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class=&quot;MsoNormal&quot;&gt;&lt;i&gt;&amp;nbsp;Or we could do it later maybe.. it’s winters and we are awaited at home, we should leave..’&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class=&quot;MsoNormal&quot;&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class=&quot;MsoNormal&quot;&gt;The group winds up for the day, I know it was an important question and it had been lost for good...&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class=&quot;MsoNormal&quot;&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class=&quot;MsoNormal&quot;&gt;It’s never a fair idea to stick like a leech to things which emanate rot and decay, but how much would you defeat your own balking mind and your meandering experience, which is both sweet and sour.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class=&quot;MsoNormal&quot;&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class=&quot;MsoNormal&quot;&gt;Wanted to delve in a little with what’s wrong with this world. Things that I come across and those that have a deep impact !&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class=&quot;MsoNormal&quot;&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class=&quot;MsoNormal&quot;&gt;To begin with the occupational hazards, those accrue with my job, and quite literally so.&amp;nbsp; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class=&quot;MsoNormal&quot;&gt;Perception and impression management are the things that were conveniently missed out of the JD. And believe me, that’s more than 50% of the job I do ! And a more troubling fact is that it is unabashedly accepted as a norm. And close to a 100% job being done by many !.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class=&quot;MsoNormal&quot;&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class=&quot;MsoNormal&quot;&gt;I’m treated like a lady in its closest approximation (strict approximation, may I say !). Though it misses &amp;nbsp;my idea by miles, there are people who think they know better… And to my sheer distress, I’m learning the sorry art of abusing privileges.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class=&quot;MsoNormal&quot;&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class=&quot;MsoNormal&quot;&gt;Well, my context has proven to be better than me in a lot of other ways. I just wished it hadn’t been such a bloody adversary. I would’ve been happier with a little less..&amp;nbsp;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class=&quot;MsoNormal&quot;&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class=&quot;MsoNormal&quot;&gt;And then, there are cliques getting formed, in a rather sartorial way of patronizing cultures and languages. I find my contemporaries embracing European languages and culture (to an extent)over anything more at home. I understand economics, but let’s chew on this, a little:&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class=&quot;MsoNormal&quot;&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class=&quot;MsoNormal&quot;&gt;Across the globe, we are losing 2 languages every month. Most, succumbing to English – as it has become the language of the currency and hence of people. It’s my preferred language too, but more as a lack of choice. My friends, even those learning languages for sheer literary pleasure, like to learn French or Italian, instead of the many ‘Indian’ languages. And many who feel a sense of shame in practicing the cultural practices (in ceremonies&amp;nbsp; etc.), because they look so pedestrian ! (Of course, need not to mention the frailties that have crept in because of the nonchalance..)&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class=&quot;MsoNormal&quot;&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class=&quot;MsoNormal&quot;&gt;This, when the world is still deliberating on whether, globalization is proving to be a boon or a bane. Europe’s economic turmoil, global meltdowns have been definite repercussions of a highly integrated world.&amp;nbsp; And Russia has been better off as a part of CIS than being a huge USSR. Europe – in a hindsight ,would definitely weigh the option to dismantle EU as Dollar spends sleepless nights to retain its primacy..&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class=&quot;MsoNormal&quot;&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class=&quot;MsoNormal&quot;&gt;To add more on what’s wrong :&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class=&quot;MsoNormal&quot;&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class=&quot;MsoNormal&quot;&gt;There’s almost a 50:50 ratio of male/female populations. Till 90’s, all womanhood had just 1% share in real estate across the globe. I’m not sure how improved the figures stand today. And come to think of it, if as a penalty, your daughter or your wife or you, are sexually assaulted or raped or burnt, or for an exchange of a kg of salt, you part with a few kgs of dry fruits or you face unimaginable exploitation for generations and term ‘the disease of hunger’ as the cause of death or you find begging as a preferred occupation – where could you be ? We could’ve done well to prevent a world war III, but civil wars look impending !&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class=&quot;MsoNormal&quot;&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class=&quot;MsoNormal&quot;&gt;These are the times of contextual morality. And it’s really sad when you have a first hand experience of the same. There’s a lot that I can only sense that’s within me, which would perhaps, not find an expression through words. And a lot that I can sense about the people around me, the impressions - which fade or reinforce with time.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class=&quot;MsoNormal&quot;&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class=&quot;MsoNormal&quot;&gt;&amp;nbsp;I would park my reservations on the subject here, but one thing that accentuates is, that, none of us knows the ‘truth’ of anything… , speculations are abound and we convince ourselves of our ‘knowledge’… , fear of losing is steadfast, even when nothing’s at stake!&amp;nbsp;  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class=&quot;MsoNormal&quot;&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class=&quot;MsoNormal&quot;&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://phantomchase.blogspot.com/feeds/544319572370373525/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://phantomchase.blogspot.com/2011/11/farce-and-wide.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6131915189450379967/posts/default/544319572370373525'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6131915189450379967/posts/default/544319572370373525'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://phantomchase.blogspot.com/2011/11/farce-and-wide.html' title='Farce and Wide..'/><author><name>Medha</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06605142797940042679</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='28' height='32' src='//blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhrxDQui8_Il8yr45kU9tMPfDfnvjs2hVTiFaDjWqaMvAFDFIIIfDw3e4eL98DUK7h_MGjQQeZS5DHV09Q7seXNSQRI7TvqsPwS0rVJbAkQvRzPrZlfehqojc1Slb78vw/s220/medha.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6131915189450379967.post-902689821244703301</id><published>2011-11-20T05:34:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2011-11-20T05:34:28.782-08:00</updated><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="Life"/><title type='text'>By the By..</title><content type='html'>&lt;div dir=&quot;ltr&quot; style=&quot;text-align: left;&quot; trbidi=&quot;on&quot;&gt;&lt;!--[if gte mso 9]&gt;&lt;xml&gt;  &lt;w:WordDocument&gt;   &lt;w:View&gt;Normal&lt;/w:View&gt;   &lt;w:Zoom&gt;0&lt;/w:Zoom&gt;   &lt;w:PunctuationKerning/&gt;   &lt;w:ValidateAgainstSchemas/&gt;   &lt;w:SaveIfXMLInvalid&gt;false&lt;/w:SaveIfXMLInvalid&gt;   &lt;w:IgnoreMixedContent&gt;false&lt;/w:IgnoreMixedContent&gt;   &lt;w:AlwaysShowPlaceholderText&gt;false&lt;/w:AlwaysShowPlaceholderText&gt;   &lt;w:Compatibility&gt;    &lt;w:BreakWrappedTables/&gt;    &lt;w:SnapToGridInCell/&gt;    &lt;w:WrapTextWithPunct/&gt;    &lt;w:UseAsianBreakRules/&gt;    &lt;w:DontGrowAutofit/&gt;   &lt;/w:Compatibility&gt;   &lt;w:BrowserLevel&gt;MicrosoftInternetExplorer4&lt;/w:BrowserLevel&gt;  &lt;/w:WordDocument&gt; &lt;/xml&gt;&lt;![endif]--&gt;&lt;!--[if gte mso 9]&gt;&lt;xml&gt;  &lt;w:LatentStyles DefLockedState=&quot;false&quot; LatentStyleCount=&quot;156&quot;&gt;  &lt;/w:LatentStyles&gt; &lt;/xml&gt;&lt;![endif]--&gt;&lt;!--[if gte mso 10]&gt; &lt;style&gt;
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&lt;/style&gt; &lt;![endif]--&gt;  &lt;br /&gt;
&lt;div class=&quot;MsoNormal&quot;&gt;I come after a long hiatus here - believe there’s something to pour out ! &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class=&quot;MsoNormal&quot;&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class=&quot;MsoNormal&quot;&gt;The months gone by and the years of late have been life-changing, personally and professionally. Though I’ve been fortunate enough to be able to strike off a number of significance from my wish-list, there have been things which have kept on adding. And others, that have left a lingering void and thus, a wonder for life. It’s almost a solemn grace with which life is revealing itself with each passing day, as I sit and marvel its continued romance.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class=&quot;MsoNormal&quot;&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class=&quot;MsoNormal&quot;&gt;Some of my best possessions (or so I like to believe), in terms of people who dearly touched my life, have slowly moved on – with marriage, death and life in general. And I feel so indebted, that they helped me to be better than myself, even when I didn’t meet their idea of perfection. Professionally, so far, every change has been a fresh start for me !&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class=&quot;MsoNormal&quot;&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class=&quot;MsoNormal&quot;&gt;In this passing-by, all that I always thought was dynamic, somewhere held the promise of a constancy and I wanted to believe. But the hypnotism just makes it more livable for the time-being. Transitions are sudden, or so I felt - never giving you enough time to be practiced. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class=&quot;MsoNormal&quot;&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class=&quot;MsoNormal&quot;&gt;Most of the life gets relegated to thoughts and memories. Memories which come rushing in like waves of a sea, filling you in with freshness and excitement, and the ones that recede into the same vastness, taking away the sand beneath your feet, as you struggle to find a firm foundation. And thoughts, what to say of them ? A constant companion and perhaps, the only constant companion.. &lt;span&gt;&amp;nbsp;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class=&quot;MsoNormal&quot;&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class=&quot;MsoNormal&quot;&gt;Till sometime back, I used to travel from my workplace to my home (a considerable distance), and would witness the transition from day to dusk to dark, as the world around me would lose all its color slowly – and transform into solid dark mass – kept alive and colorful, with all that is humanly possible.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class=&quot;MsoNormal&quot;&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class=&quot;MsoNormal&quot;&gt;Towards the end of this journey every day, I would pass by a cremation ground beset with a couple or more pyres still ablaze with prominent reflections in the river, alongside. A liberating scene, in the sense, that all the discords, hate, love and warmth would be laid to rest despite the wishes and wants - &lt;span&gt;&amp;nbsp;&lt;/span&gt;and therefore, there’s some meaning in letting go..&amp;nbsp;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class=&quot;MsoNormal&quot;&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class=&quot;MsoNormal&quot;&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://phantomchase.blogspot.com/feeds/902689821244703301/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://phantomchase.blogspot.com/2011/11/by-by.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6131915189450379967/posts/default/902689821244703301'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6131915189450379967/posts/default/902689821244703301'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://phantomchase.blogspot.com/2011/11/by-by.html' title='By the By..'/><author><name>Medha</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06605142797940042679</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='28' height='32' src='//blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhrxDQui8_Il8yr45kU9tMPfDfnvjs2hVTiFaDjWqaMvAFDFIIIfDw3e4eL98DUK7h_MGjQQeZS5DHV09Q7seXNSQRI7TvqsPwS0rVJbAkQvRzPrZlfehqojc1Slb78vw/s220/medha.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6131915189450379967.post-8682990802226017113</id><published>2011-10-06T08:13:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2011-10-13T21:28:17.221-07:00</updated><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="IT"/><title type='text'>Apple of the i</title><content type='html'>&lt;div dir=&quot;ltr&quot; style=&quot;text-align: left;&quot; trbidi=&quot;on&quot;&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;div class=&quot;MsoNormal&quot;&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class=&quot;MsoNormal&quot;&gt;Jerry of the IT space is no more. Woke up to a Dushehra morning and to the news of Steve Jobs’ death. I’m not the kinds who would reach out for a newspaper or a news channel at the start of a day, but these days news follow you from unexpected corners of&amp;nbsp; the world (considering that the world is flat !). &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class=&quot;MsoNormal&quot;&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class=&quot;MsoNormal&quot;&gt;There are lots who are hooked on to the latest and share the thoughts ‘in their minds’. Most of the thoughts today were to wish him peace, irrespective of the toughness the gentleman exhibited as a leader. A little offbeat, and somewhere I feel more honest and genuine amongst his competitors. His life was a story – personally and professionally. The disowned, the claimant, the claimed, the recluse, the loser and the winner. Don’t know if that’s life or life’s that..&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class=&quot;MsoNormal&quot;&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class=&quot;MsoNormal&quot;&gt;He, the Jerry, who changed the landscape a lot of times and the piped piper who’d been a vanguard of innovation. And ‘it just worked’, invariably. There’s a whole genre of people who would vouch by the power of &amp;nbsp;the ‘i’ today. I’m a laggard, so you could count me out ! But I admire the mind of the man who could start a whole religion of sorts – the &amp;nbsp;iPod, iPhone, iOS, iPad, iCloud.. And taking the cue are the Androids, the Symbians, the RIMs, the Palms et al. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class=&quot;MsoNormal&quot;&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class=&quot;MsoNormal&quot;&gt;Smart devices are a rage. With more and more of the world condensing in small gadgets. There’s a whole world revolving around the idea of ‘Mobile’. From personal to professional - all the space has become ‘virtual’. &amp;nbsp;I’m definitely in the party, though do take time out to get over the hangover ! &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class=&quot;MsoNormal&quot;&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class=&quot;MsoNormal&quot;&gt;There’s a lot that is to come – Jonathan’s Starbucks card and your child’s school perhaps, but let’s just hope that like there are 75 lac colors but we have only 4000 odd English words to express&amp;nbsp; them (with the help of ‘light’ and ‘dark’) – we don’t restrict ourselves to how virtually enabled we are. There’s a lot more to us !&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class=&quot;MsoNormal&quot;&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class=&quot;MsoNormal&quot;&gt;___________________________________________________________________________ &lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
* With all due respect to the departed soul, this was something I couldn&#39;t resist posting !&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;a href=&quot;http://www.forbes.com/sites/kylesmith/2011/10/12/steve-jobs-was-a-lousy-role-model/&quot;&gt;http://www.forbes.com/sites/kylesmith/2011/10/12/steve-jobs-was-a-lousy-role-model/&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://phantomchase.blogspot.com/feeds/8682990802226017113/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://phantomchase.blogspot.com/2011/10/apple-of-i.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6131915189450379967/posts/default/8682990802226017113'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6131915189450379967/posts/default/8682990802226017113'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://phantomchase.blogspot.com/2011/10/apple-of-i.html' title='Apple of the i'/><author><name>Medha</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06605142797940042679</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='28' height='32' src='//blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhrxDQui8_Il8yr45kU9tMPfDfnvjs2hVTiFaDjWqaMvAFDFIIIfDw3e4eL98DUK7h_MGjQQeZS5DHV09Q7seXNSQRI7TvqsPwS0rVJbAkQvRzPrZlfehqojc1Slb78vw/s220/medha.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6131915189450379967.post-6735922798076563918</id><published>2011-08-14T10:44:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2011-08-18T22:29:09.289-07:00</updated><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="Fiction"/><title type='text'>Tonight ..</title><content type='html'>&lt;div dir=&quot;ltr&quot; style=&quot;text-align: left;&quot; trbidi=&quot;on&quot;&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
I drive to home tonight like everyday. It&#39;s quite cold and there have been spells of snowfall during the day. It&#39;s snowing still as I see the flakes silently settling down on my windshield. The road looks awash with fresh melted water, as the sides are still guarded by white fences. There are a few souls, carrying umbrellas, scurrying down to their homes, as there&#39;s a forecast of more in store. The town is covered with a white all over - the sloping roofs of the houses, the trees and almost everything that&#39;s not moving. A perfect foil to a night that&#39;s pretty dark and silent.The contrast evinced by the silver streetlights, with their rays laden with mist.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
I&#39;m mostly home-bound at this time, and the empty roads look inviting for my mind to delve into the secrets they whisper in my ears.My gaze rarely shifts from my cherished friend, whose company I long for, whenever I seek some solace. There&#39;s music playing in the stereo - and some familiar tunes do register as my heart pulsates in a rhythm with them. It being cold, my breath is deep and calm. But I can see those eyes again. Like I have been seeing, for so many days now..&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
The eyes of my subject.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
My subject met with an accident. She damaged her right hand some months ago. My internship at the hospital has been entirely based on the clinical procedures to cure her hand. It had been an awful accident, which had almost left her hand useless. After much effort, the doctors could get it in a shape after multiple operations. When I saw her reports the first time, it looked beyond repair. The pain that she went through was heart-rending. In my most secret and sacred moments I prayed that it be amputated - a selfishness of not being able to withstand the misery or maybe the only way that I saw her deliverance..&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
These had been very difficult prayers, as over a period of time, she was not merely my subject. She was a woman whom I had come know very closely. She had been an individual strong, headstrong and vulnerable.Very attractive in her purity and pristine in her innocence. So full of imagination and freedom, despite her impediments. &lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
I took upon myself to draw her into the criminal idea to go limb-less. She could hate me for life for that. Not that the thought hadn&#39;t crossed her mind. But despite the pain, it was a horrendous thought to entertain - she was a well- known painter...&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Since childhood she had captured some of the most exquisite frames of life, through her subtle sense of discrimination. To not paint, would render into the death of someone who defined her all this while. An identity-crisis, that would confront her with a stranger she hadn&#39;t known.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
I hated myself for being so convinced. I spent days looking in her eyes, as she spoke, discovering the uncertainty, the despair, hope and confusion. A deep sense of disbelief as to why she was &#39;chosen&#39;..We would talk for hours as I would emphasize that there&#39;s more she could look at, her beautiful voice to begin with.. etc. etc. With every conversation I would feel a little hopeful, and a little stupid.. and it went on till today.. &lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Her report says, that her nerves are not getting revived. The blood circulation cannot be restored after all the endeavors. That amputation is as close as reality and this at the fag end of my internship, has left me as blank as her own eyes..we have not spoken much for a few days now - like two tired souls, who&#39;ve given into the insurmountable fact. &lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
My life has not been a dream-run by any stretch of imagination, but this was proving to be a nightmare. For a long time when you know that you&#39;re losing something/someone precious by trickles, it hurts and hurts immensely..&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
I&#39;ve reached home, the snowfall is a little heavy..I hope I can catch some sleep and a sweet dream too, for a respite !&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; &lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://phantomchase.blogspot.com/feeds/6735922798076563918/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://phantomchase.blogspot.com/2011/08/tonight.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6131915189450379967/posts/default/6735922798076563918'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6131915189450379967/posts/default/6735922798076563918'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://phantomchase.blogspot.com/2011/08/tonight.html' title='Tonight ..'/><author><name>Medha</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06605142797940042679</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='28' height='32' src='//blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhrxDQui8_Il8yr45kU9tMPfDfnvjs2hVTiFaDjWqaMvAFDFIIIfDw3e4eL98DUK7h_MGjQQeZS5DHV09Q7seXNSQRI7TvqsPwS0rVJbAkQvRzPrZlfehqojc1Slb78vw/s220/medha.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6131915189450379967.post-4000367847130268901</id><published>2011-07-30T07:14:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2011-08-02T00:20:37.177-07:00</updated><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="Life"/><title type='text'>A Bohemian&#39;s Blues</title><content type='html'>&lt;div dir=&quot;ltr&quot; style=&quot;text-align: left;&quot; trbidi=&quot;on&quot;&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
Man is the product of his environment. (Masculine is only a generalization here).&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
In my search for an individuality, environment is what has caught my fancy of late. Re-wording it as culture makes it a huge ocean in which I rest for a while as it flows through as thoughts that were heard and resonated.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Culture more in behavioral and literary terms has been moulding generations of humanity across geographies. Like chunks of rocks being turned into ordered and dimensional bricks while constructing great pieces of architecture - it also serves a similar purpose of building a behemoth of a civilization.The awe that these monuments of human perseverance and imagination kindle, even for the mason who had been instrumental in shaping it - is similar to the sentiments experienced by the people of a civilization too..the awe which is inspiring at times and intimidating at others !&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
On a wider base this word looks all-encompassing, but as it gets broken into silos - every individual seems to be defining some and confining to others. I don&#39;t see the generalizations of Protestant and Catholic cultures as they have come to be defined in recent times. Intriguing it is though, that some patterns do lend&amp;nbsp; our existence as predictable.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
90% of world trade happens through the sea-route. And in that sense, most of the countries of the eastern hemisphere have been naturally disadvantaged. With a majority lying huddled together, they are void of passages in between, necessary for the proliferation of material and thought. And these have been interestingly the nations which are known for a Catholic culture - one that lays emphasis on &#39;self&#39; and it&#39;s matters, with bare minimum emphasis on the physicality of being. Leading them to a natural consequence of material inferiority.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
The other half - the western or protestant cultures, which are the pioneers of &#39;individual&#39; thought - are visibly the fairer and better-off cousins. Materialism finds an agreement with them. The number of researches and innovations for lifestyle improvements are vindictive of the fact. On the flip-side, that makes the oriental - a mystique, a birthplace of major religions and a spiritual mecca..&lt;br /&gt;
&amp;nbsp; &lt;br /&gt;
As an aside, there are parallels that can be drawn with the human mind too. People governed more by the eastern(feminine/right) brain - dealing with the softer side of a personality, emotions, feelings et al.. and the others with the western(masculine/left) brain - handling the logical, statistical ability of an individual. More or less their dispositions are predictable and so is their material well-being. Men and women with dominant left and right respectively have been understood on similar lines.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Sometimes I am amazed at the extent of amalgamation that an individual undergoes under influences that are mostly beyond his/her control. And to think differently than an accustomed pattern becomes quite an impossibility. In that sense, all of us are prejudiced, beyond our understanding of ourselves.There have been tenets laid down which are meant to be a torchlight, of how things should be done and how the motivations be directed. But what bothers me is whether it&#39;s (for the sake of a contrast) the &#39;American&amp;nbsp; profit&#39; or the &#39;Japanese growth&#39; (the two divergent theories) which can deliver us ? Or is it something else that we&#39;re looking for, which is neither of them..&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
In the context of human relationships too, the lines between right and wrong, just and unjust, love and hate are hazy. The contours they define keep varying with time, space and people. And sometimes that renders into hurts that are never intended and pain that is inflicted unknowingly..&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
If rebirth is a possibility or if I&#39;m the maker of my own destiny - I&#39;m floating cluelessly !&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; &lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://phantomchase.blogspot.com/feeds/4000367847130268901/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://phantomchase.blogspot.com/2011/07/bohemians-blues.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6131915189450379967/posts/default/4000367847130268901'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6131915189450379967/posts/default/4000367847130268901'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://phantomchase.blogspot.com/2011/07/bohemians-blues.html' title='A Bohemian&#39;s Blues'/><author><name>Medha</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06605142797940042679</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='28' height='32' src='//blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhrxDQui8_Il8yr45kU9tMPfDfnvjs2hVTiFaDjWqaMvAFDFIIIfDw3e4eL98DUK7h_MGjQQeZS5DHV09Q7seXNSQRI7TvqsPwS0rVJbAkQvRzPrZlfehqojc1Slb78vw/s220/medha.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6131915189450379967.post-7989540569292217581</id><published>2011-07-16T00:58:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2011-07-16T03:37:24.416-07:00</updated><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="Rant"/><title type='text'>It&#39;s all gassss..</title><content type='html'>Now that&#39;s been a job for a while for me !&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
So, Australia considers culling its camel population - around a modest 6000 out of the 1 million - for offsetting the carbon emissions/earning carbon credits by getting rid of the farting/burping animal ! As curious as it gets, on an average, a camel apparently produces methane equivalent of 1 tonne of carbon dioxide every year- making it one of the biggest emitters of the greenhouse gases. And Australia, by some measures, is the highest emitter in the world.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Another interesting fact from the story is that, Camel is not a&amp;nbsp; native specie of Australia.. It had been brought there to navigate through the sprawling mass of the continent. Its deserts - to be more specific. But the ingenuity of human mind has given more robotic, tireless and comfortable options for travel today. And unfortunately that has made these creatures redundant for human consumption. They are even being considered as a threat to the desert ecology - and this wisdom has dawned after a 100 years, since the camels were first brought there !&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
I wonder if any mortal cared to know as to why the animal had been emitting so much ? Was it a change for it too ? Had it also been undergoing the pangs of a &#39;culture shock&#39; that translated into a messy abdomen and would a rehabilitation help ? I could agree on economic terms, that the animal has lost its opportunity cost, but that would be valid if I could survive by eating dollars..!&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
This could just be a trigger for the many disturbing questions that crowd out my reasoning mind...What the hell is the hullabaloo about sustaining ? And more than that, how are we addressing it.. or dressing it maybe !&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Countries emitting more carbon can offset it by buying carbon credits from countries engaged in projects to reduce them and effectively emitting less. But climates are locale specific. No doubt Westerly winds, Trade winds etc. will continue to revolve around the globe and there will be climate change - but how would it ever happen that the Amazon forests (&#39;the lungs of the world&#39; ) would convert the Sahara Desert into a wetland ! The onus of natural fecundity would always rest with the populace of the specific geography..&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
It seems businesses are running out of ideas. After failing miserably with some financial instruments, based on fictitious money in the recession of 2008, which I see as a superlative of greed (not profit, really) - they are on a lookout for a face-lift - so, the wool in the eyes is not cleared ! Yesterday it was - Product,Price, Promotion and Place. Today it&#39;s the innocuous 3 more - People, Planet and Profit. We got to sell, you know ! And among the howling noises of the activists(social, political, animal,environmental, gender etc. etc. ) who have got a new life of late, this would be given room, in all&amp;nbsp; likelihood..&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
It&#39;s about &#39;gas&#39;, no doubt..but why does it have to be &#39;all gas&#39; !&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://phantomchase.blogspot.com/feeds/7989540569292217581/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://phantomchase.blogspot.com/2011/07/its-all-gassss.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6131915189450379967/posts/default/7989540569292217581'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6131915189450379967/posts/default/7989540569292217581'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://phantomchase.blogspot.com/2011/07/its-all-gassss.html' title='It&#39;s all gassss..'/><author><name>Medha</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06605142797940042679</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='28' height='32' src='//blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhrxDQui8_Il8yr45kU9tMPfDfnvjs2hVTiFaDjWqaMvAFDFIIIfDw3e4eL98DUK7h_MGjQQeZS5DHV09Q7seXNSQRI7TvqsPwS0rVJbAkQvRzPrZlfehqojc1Slb78vw/s220/medha.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6131915189450379967.post-179896261904761388</id><published>2011-07-10T00:36:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2011-07-10T00:46:23.966-07:00</updated><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="Abstract"/><title type='text'>The Walk..</title><content type='html'>Onwards into the horizon,&lt;br /&gt;
Where the sun of my hopes and dreams,&lt;br /&gt;
Rises every morning,&lt;br /&gt;
And shines on my life&#39;s streams.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Beautiful is the oasis,&lt;br /&gt;
From which I sip the nectar of life,&lt;br /&gt;
And rejoice my fortune,&lt;br /&gt;
Which is swelling ripe.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
But somewhere I love misery too,&lt;br /&gt;
More than what it spells for me -&lt;br /&gt;
For I feel hungry on a full stomach,&lt;br /&gt;
Tired on a restful day,&lt;br /&gt;
Engrossed, when the mind is in disarray.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
I marvel at the shadows, I befriend,&lt;br /&gt;
And the pain I feel at their loss !&lt;br /&gt;
And still sleep in anticipation of finding,&lt;br /&gt;
Something new, something dearly sought..&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://phantomchase.blogspot.com/feeds/179896261904761388/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://phantomchase.blogspot.com/2011/07/walk.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6131915189450379967/posts/default/179896261904761388'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6131915189450379967/posts/default/179896261904761388'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://phantomchase.blogspot.com/2011/07/walk.html' title='The Walk..'/><author><name>Medha</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06605142797940042679</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='28' height='32' src='//blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhrxDQui8_Il8yr45kU9tMPfDfnvjs2hVTiFaDjWqaMvAFDFIIIfDw3e4eL98DUK7h_MGjQQeZS5DHV09Q7seXNSQRI7TvqsPwS0rVJbAkQvRzPrZlfehqojc1Slb78vw/s220/medha.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry></feed>