tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3426649752253916892018-08-31T22:46:19.307+05:30strangerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04575895156823663082noreply@blogger.comBlogger41125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-342664975225391689.post-38686301067357579152015-05-02T18:45:00.001+05:302015-05-02T18:45:22.473+05:30<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-family: &#39;Times New Roman&#39;, serif; font-size: 13.5pt;">I was watching the pouring rain from that bakery-tea shop; where as my friend at my side fixed his eyes into the evening news paper.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><br></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-family: &#39;Times New Roman&#39;, serif; font-size: 13.5pt;">&#39;See here&#39; he called for my attention, &#39;this girl from my home town committed suicide in spite of scoring 481 in SSLC.’ I felt his voice was little proud when he mentioned the word <i>home town</i>.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><br></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-family: &#39;Times New Roman&#39;, serif; font-size: 13.5pt;">&#39;481&#39; I wondered &#39;I should have committed suicide more than 80 times if I considered my marks were less back then&#39;<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><br></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-family: &#39;Times New Roman&#39;, serif; font-size: 13.5pt;">&#39;Probably I more than you, back then&#39; he said turn-folding those daily sheets. I realized the lack of guilt in our conscience though we were making funny comment on someone’s death.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><br></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-family: &#39;Times New Roman&#39;, serif; font-size: 13.5pt;">&#39;Back then&#39; I said again, as that word gave a micro-second understanding and acceptance of the fact that I am getting old.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-family: &#39;Times New Roman&#39;, serif; font-size: 13.5pt;"></span></div></div><a href="http://strangeediary.blogspot.com/2015/05/back-then.html#more">continue reading »</a><div class="blogger-post-footer">Copyright: stranger (strangeediary@gmail.com)</div>strangerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04575895156823663082noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-342664975225391689.post-12700740466939618742015-02-11T14:40:00.000+05:302015-02-11T14:42:40.943+05:30<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB">The hype building for India-Pakistan World cup match reminds me of the first ever cricket match I watched on television, <i>Ind v Pak, 1992 world cup</i>, though I could only vaguely remember it. The years that followed watching &amp; speaking cricket become a life style like most of the Indian boys. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><br></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB">No matter how much you deny saying ‘Am not <i>that</i>craze about cricket, you know’, you know you are one, when you can tell which class you were studying - which place you were – which shirt your were wearing just by mentioning when some cricket matches played.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB"><br></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-GB">My amma use to yell at me &#39;You are not gonna get anything out of watching this stupid game&#39; whenever I sat in front of our solidar B&amp;W television or the Sony colour TV, which replaced that later. The statement which I least cared about until my later teens, slightly concurred with her during earlier twenties and now thinks how both of us were partially wrong.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><br></div></div><a href="http://strangeediary.blogspot.com/2015/02/how-my-mother-was-wrong-about-cricket.html#more">continue reading »</a><div class="blogger-post-footer">Copyright: stranger (strangeediary@gmail.com)</div>strangerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04575895156823663082noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-342664975225391689.post-62849640881164573782015-01-23T15:59:00.001+05:302015-01-23T16:02:16.434+05:30<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">My sister called me and said, ‘Happy birthday! so turning 30. How do you feel?’<br><br>’Correction, Thirty One and Thanks’ I replied to first part of her question and ignored the second half as I unsure what to say. <br><br>As apart from feeling a bit of accomplishment that somehow I managed 3 decades in this world and was lucky enough to get sufficient opportunity to learn and evolve in spite of carrying a below average tag, I ensured a routine silent birthday even at thought level.<br></div><a href="http://strangeediary.blogspot.com/2015/01/turning31.html#more">continue reading »</a><div class="blogger-post-footer">Copyright: stranger (strangeediary@gmail.com)</div>strangerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04575895156823663082noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-342664975225391689.post-87451319891649588252014-02-25T13:15:00.000+05:302014-02-25T15:48:39.655+05:30<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><span style="font-family: &quot;Times New Roman&quot;; font-size: 12pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: Latha; mso-bidi-language: TA; mso-fareast-font-family: &quot;Times New Roman&quot;; mso-fareast-language: EN-US;"></span><br><span style="font-family: &quot;Times New Roman&quot;; font-size: 12pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: Latha; mso-bidi-language: TA; mso-fareast-font-family: &quot;Times New Roman&quot;; mso-fareast-language: EN-US;">I open my eyes to find myself at a strange new place; I feel that the place was trying hard to match my own place, but it failed.</span><br><br><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">The last thing I remember was few men were chasing me. I ran thinking even at their best they could never come closer to me. Suddenly then, I felt a strong impact in my leg followed by a piercing pain along my skin and flesh. That part was neatly covered with some white material now.</div><br><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">As my vision getting clearer, I look up to see someone standing in front of me with plain eyes, he gauging me.</div><br><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">“Why, why did you bring me here?” I ask furiously.<br></div></div><a href="http://strangeediary.blogspot.com/2014/02/how-do-you-call-this-place.html#more">continue reading »</a><div class="blogger-post-footer">Copyright: stranger (strangeediary@gmail.com)</div>strangerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04575895156823663082noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-342664975225391689.post-36919716669181860462013-10-11T03:00:00.000+05:302013-10-12T21:39:09.223+05:30<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Are you asking who I am, to call you to be like me? My name is…. Well, what’s in a name?</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Anyhow, you won’t find difficult to predict my name. Especially the smart peoples like you. </span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"></span><br></div></div><a href="http://strangeediary.blogspot.com/2013/10/be-like-me.html#more">continue reading »</a><div class="blogger-post-footer">Copyright: stranger (strangeediary@gmail.com)</div>strangerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04575895156823663082noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-342664975225391689.post-65874024916102244542013-10-10T03:00:00.000+05:302013-10-10T12:12:05.863+05:30<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I googled if I could find any Restaurant which could serve Indian cuisine. Unfortunately nothing I could find in that city, where I stayed just has one day transit stay from those 100+ fetched link.</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Then I decided the best way is to walk down along the street and see if I could find any.</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"></span><br></div></div><a href="http://strangeediary.blogspot.com/2013/10/not-in-its-own-form.html#more">continue reading »</a><div class="blogger-post-footer">Copyright: stranger (strangeediary@gmail.com)</div>strangerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04575895156823663082noreply@blogger.com0Libreville, Gabon0.390841 9.453643999999940.1367895 9.13092049999994 0.6448925 9.77636749999994tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-342664975225391689.post-40321420928534991822013-09-26T13:09:00.001+05:302013-09-26T17:05:51.878+05:30<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">&quot;Name two persons, like whom you never want to be&quot; I asked that elderly man.</span><br><div><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br></span></div><div><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">&quot;As you asked this, better you tell first&quot; he gently said.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br></span></div><div><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Actually I was that so frustrated with two people I know which made me to ask that question to him. So those two names blasted out from my mouth with a lengthy reasoning for each of the names. And a afterword how much I hate them.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br></span></div><div><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Recomposing my temper, I said</span><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"> &quot;Now your turn&quot; </span></div><div><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"></span><br></div></div><a href="http://strangeediary.blogspot.com/2013/09/like-whom.html#more">continue reading »</a><div class="blogger-post-footer">Copyright: stranger (strangeediary@gmail.com)</div>strangerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04575895156823663082noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-342664975225391689.post-62795115480114182372013-09-21T19:57:00.000+05:302015-06-26T22:14:51.809+05:30<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I always believed that I have less of interest for numbers inform of marks, minutes and money. But interestingly, I have had interest in numbers in form of dates and days. Every month I eager on certain dates, which eventually helps to avoid boredom and I look forward to rejoice or contemplate <i>‘since then’</i> thoughts.</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I have more than one such since then date in September; the second important such day is the <i>21st</i>.</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"></span><br><a name="more"></a><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I never know before she walked in and sat before me during that train journey, how things going to change in my life. A new hobby or interest, or unearthing something which I could do better (apart from sleeping and eating), a new learning process or whatever it is. An elderly lady who triggered me to pen down my thoughts.&nbsp;</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Four years since then. Four years since I first posted </span><a href="http://www.strangeediary.blogspot.com/2009/09/whom-i-love.html" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">whom I love</a><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">, my first post in blogger.</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">So what happened since then? Plenty. Many. However, I would like to share 4 lessons I learnt in these 4 years pertaining to blogging/writing.</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><i style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><b><br></b></i></div><div style="text-align: left;"><i style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><b>The blogger vs. the writer:</b></i></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Well as of today, I can boast that I have wrote 80+ full length blogs including 14 </span><a href="http://strangeediary.blogspot.com/search/label/story" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">short stories</a><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">, 34 </span><a href="http://stranger-short-write.blogspot.com/" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">short writes</a><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">, 44 write-ups in </span><a href="http://tamil.strangeediary.com/" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Thamizh</a><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">, my mother tongue excluding a short story and a couple of attempts in Hindi. But if you ask me back, do I have at least these many of people who are eager to read mine, well, I have nothing to boast then. In fact I have asked myself this very question frequently only to lose interest in penning, feel low and get little depressed and left with nothing to lift me up, until unless an interesting event happens, which press me pen again.</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I have gone through this cycle considerable number of time in last 4 years. Hope not anymore.&nbsp;</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Few months before I happen to have a chat with a guy, who is a hardcore video gamer. He was sharing some of the games of his interest, the difficulty level he use to challenge himself and the scores he obtained.</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br>I was dump in this subject. I have zero games in my mobile or PC. The last game I remember playing was Mario, and level-2 of it has been my career best. I&nbsp;couldn't&nbsp;stop myself asking “Don’t you get bored playing all alone. If anyone know that you are so good at this?”</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br>His spontaneous reply was:<br><i>“Why should I, Bro? I play because, I like to. It de-stress me out and make me feel good. I am not a&nbsp;theater&nbsp;artist to display my talent, look for audience to cheer me up and get disappointment when I don’t get that. Rather, I am a video gamer, whose motivation comes from inside and not from outside."</i></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br>Following the conversation, I recalled my earlier days of blogging, when I never bothered that someone will read or not what I wrote or appreciate or give me a feedback. I was a blogger and I enjoyed blogging. Somewhere in the middle I wanted and tried to be a writer, only to get disappointed. Not anymore.</span></div><blockquote class="tr_bq"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><i>The world may consider its fair to judge others by their results; but it’s totally unfair that you too judge you by results not by efforts</i>&nbsp;<span style="text-align: center;">- from: </span><a href="http://www.strangeediary.blogspot.com/2013/07/unfair.html" style="text-align: center;">Unfair</a></span></blockquote><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br></span><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><i><b>Compelled to vs. Forced to:</b></i></span><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br></span><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">“When compel to write your thoughts don’t procrastinate” - I totally mistook this piece of advice as force yourself to write.&nbsp;</span><br><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I remember there where occasions when I sat with big ideas to pen an interesting topic for hours and end up not reaching half of an A4 sheet. OTOH, sitting in front of a sea and recklessly taping the mobile keyboard and end up with a smile. </span><a href="http://stranger-short-write.blogspot.com/2012/08/she-touched-me.html" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">She touched me</a><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">, </span><a href="http://tamil.strangeediary.com/2013/04/blog-post.html" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">வெறுப்பாய்இருக்கிறது</span></a><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"> are some example for such; and squeezing time between day-to-day activities like shaving &amp; bathing to scribble something and get surprised myself to read something like </span><a href="http://strangeediary.blogspot.com/2013/09/balloon-on-my-forehead.html" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">A balloon on my forehead</a><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">, </span><a href="http://fiction.pulse72plus.com/2013/03/20/draw-and-explain-the-structure-of-an-amoeba/" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Draw and explain the structure of Amoeba</a><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">.</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I was little late to learn when you have a genuine thought, it conceive itself and compel yourself to write. Forcing yourself for something you willing to create out of nothing you many end up with a sub-standard one or nothing.</span><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br></span><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"> </span><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">If at all I have a rule to blog as of today, it’s just <i>“Be available when you are compel to but don’t force yourself”</i></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><b style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><i><br></i></b></div><div style="text-align: left;"><b style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><i>Inspired by vs. Plagiarism:</i></b><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br></span><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br></span><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">We live in an era where we come across so many blogs, write-ups and stories easily available. It may not be possible to claim I am the first to write such kind for the first time or so.&nbsp;</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Earlier, I wrote couple of </span><i style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">inspired by</i><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"> pieces which were actually </span><i style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">plagiarism</i><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">. Then I determined not to repeat that and avoid penning some of </span><i style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">inspired by</i><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"> kinds.</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Again it took me little time to learn the difference between both.&nbsp;</span><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">To me,</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Plagiarism </span><i style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">is an act to present something completely in different way and doing carefully so that none could ever identify the source; yet end up thinking who will be the first to ask, isn’t from there/theirs you got this.</i></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Inspired by </span><i style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">are something where you are sure that none will get where you got that idea from and yet on any day you voluntarily say I got inspired by that/his-her or I have adapted that style of writing.</i></div><div style="text-align: left;"><b style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><i><br></i></b></div><div style="text-align: left;"><b style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><i>Proud vs. Humble</i></b></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">This one not just here, I have always got it wrong in most verticals of life. I used to behave proud on certain things only to understand later how stupid and unworthy I am or I used to humble myself and feel worthless to end up not doing things confidently &amp; messing it.</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Fortunately, </span><i style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I learnt to be proud with myself and to behave humble with others</i><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">. Then I understood the value of sharing credit with everyone, who has given little hand, little info or little correction of what I am doing to get a better or comparatively good output.</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"> </span></div><blockquote class="tr_bq"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I learnt I am not actually self reliant, but actually a support system was built/being build around me taking factors from each people I came across so far in my life.</span></blockquote><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">It helps me to be thankful to them and all. Maybe that's why even after four years, I still remember who gave the first positive feedback; who was the first to say a constructive criticism; at where, who gave me the motivation that I could write more. Today, I am thorough with my <i>'who taught me what matrix'</i>.</span><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br><br>Yet behind (or within) me, whenever I am down or hopeless, what I penned earlier makes me feel proud of myself,&nbsp;reevaluate&nbsp;what I am capable of, motivates me and suggest my next step – <i>may not be a big step, but a firm next step.</i></span><br><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><i><br></i>Thanks for reading my boasting/sharing.</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Smiles,</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Stranger :)</span></div><br><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><o:p></o:p></div></div><div class="blogger-post-footer">Copyright: stranger (strangeediary@gmail.com)</div>strangerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04575895156823663082noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-342664975225391689.post-31448983491697238252013-09-01T10:00:00.000+05:302013-09-02T12:09:38.540+05:30<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">On that morning, a man with a dull face appeared in front of my mirror and wished me good morning with a semi-forced smile as like any other day. He is the only person to wish me once I woke up.<br><br>Just then I noticed an un-blown balloon hanging on my fore head. I was puzzled and tried to pull I of… “Stop” – I heard a firm sound from nowhere. I stay alone and wonder who was it, that to in my bathroom. Then an angel appeared and smiled. “Hi” <br><br>“Long time, no see Angel” I replied and asked what the agenda of the visit was.<br><br>“Shall we play a game today” Angel asked.</span><br></div><a href="http://strangeediary.blogspot.com/2013/09/balloon-on-my-forehead.html#more">continue reading »</a><div class="blogger-post-footer">Copyright: stranger (strangeediary@gmail.com)</div>strangerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04575895156823663082noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-342664975225391689.post-74170933083189869432013-08-24T10:00:00.000+05:302013-09-03T20:45:30.574+05:30<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">“Railway station?”<br><br>“Townaa? Portaa?”<br><br>“Kadu, samalkot junction”<br><br>“Hundred and fifty annaiya!”<br><br>Knowing that is at least 30 Rupees more than maximum normal auto rickshaw fare I got in saying: <br><br>“Done! But one condition”<br><br>“Condition? What is that?” he started his auto with the typical sound.</span><br></div><a href="http://strangeediary.blogspot.com/2013/08/sixthsense.html#more">continue reading »</a><div class="blogger-post-footer">Copyright: stranger (strangeediary@gmail.com)</div>strangerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04575895156823663082noreply@blogger.com0Samarlakota, Andhra Pradesh, India17.053591 82.17723117.0232295 82.1368905 17.083952500000002 82.2175715tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-342664975225391689.post-88695369250310030672013-08-07T12:45:00.000+05:302015-03-16T17:42:29.352+05:30<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">No kAkA (crow) or nari (fox) were harmed during writing this story. However, my</span><span style="font-family: &#39;Courier New&#39;, Courier, monospace;"> sincere apologies in advance, if they get mentally hurt after reading!</span><br><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;"><br></span><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Long long ago</span><br><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">not more than eight months ago</span><br><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I landed at CN Annadurai international terminal, Chennai for my New Year vacations. I dragged my bag all way outside. After a typical bargain for 5 minutes and saving 10 rupees, i got in a auto rickshaw. The auto set itself in pace in the airport road toward my friend’s place.</span><br><br></div></div><a href="http://strangeediary.blogspot.com/2013/08/vspr.html#more">continue reading »</a><div class="blogger-post-footer">Copyright: stranger (strangeediary@gmail.com)</div>strangerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04575895156823663082noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-342664975225391689.post-49597125345232041672013-07-24T13:41:00.001+05:302013-09-03T20:47:03.224+05:30<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><div><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">It was one such insomniac night , he slid himself in between the window and its blinds, nudging his nose against the glass door, smelling the citrus scented glass cleaner; his eyes negotiated the metal grills and seeing through:</span></div><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br>A BBQ table with a tent on the extended balcony of the floor beneath – geared up workers shouting and commanding each other – many concrete structures of colonial period, drying clothes by the sides &amp; random cell phone towers on top – patchy yellow lights sneaking out of those random apartments </span><br></div><a href="http://strangeediary.blogspot.com/2013/07/unfair.html#more">continue reading »</a><div class="blogger-post-footer">Copyright: stranger (strangeediary@gmail.com)</div>strangerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04575895156823663082noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-342664975225391689.post-90031813476554449002013-03-11T16:04:00.001+05:302013-08-23T00:32:44.657+05:30<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I promise: Fair game this round; this ‘her’ honestly refers to a female.<br><br>I saw her first day, very first day I reached here. I had least interest in her and never paid any interest in her. </span><br></div><a href="http://strangeediary.blogspot.com/2013/03/herimpact.html#more">continue reading »</a><div class="blogger-post-footer">Copyright: stranger (strangeediary@gmail.com)</div>stranger :)noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-342664975225391689.post-24012051957457519202013-03-05T00:53:00.001+05:302013-09-03T20:44:01.114+05:30<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">“Snooze” I say tentatively. Still I could hear the noise. It irritates me. I repeat the same word two more times trying to be crispier than earlier. It cut off.<br><br>I realize, suddenly. “...” a word almost pops up from my throat. I bite my tongue to hold it, still semi sleeping. I wave off the blanket roughly wrapping me. “Thank God” – that’s what you should be saying first up in the morning. I remember what mom taught me. “That has been a habit of past. A long past” I pity myself.</span><br></div><a href="http://strangeediary.blogspot.com/2013/03/marriage.html#more">continue reading »</a><div class="blogger-post-footer">Copyright: stranger (strangeediary@gmail.com)</div>strangerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04575895156823663082noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-342664975225391689.post-50184080792384643192013-02-25T16:39:00.000+05:302013-08-23T00:33:14.720+05:30<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">I miss her. I seriously do.<br><div><br></div><div>If you are one of the few who read mine regularly, by this time you must be telling yourself now “I am super sure, this ‘her’ not referring to any girl”<br><div><br></div><div>Well, I would neither say yes nor a no, at this point. Rather I request you to read further. </div><div><br></div></div></div><a href="http://strangeediary.blogspot.com/2013/02/i-miss-her.html#more">continue reading »</a><div class="blogger-post-footer">Copyright: stranger (strangeediary@gmail.com)</div>strangerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04575895156823663082noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-342664975225391689.post-68447842811020838622013-02-12T21:01:00.000+05:302013-09-03T20:41:06.956+05:30<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Food – dress – bike &amp; car – job –subject – place of living - colours, we have likes and dislikes, we have on all possible things; so as the month. </span><br><br><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">There may be some months we love most, some comparatively less, few we may not. And we have our own reasons and justifications for that.</span><br><br><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">The first thing which came to my mind when I woke up on first of this month was “Ho, no, February; Not again”</span><br><br></div><a href="http://strangeediary.blogspot.com/2013/02/february.html#more">continue reading »</a><div class="blogger-post-footer">Copyright: stranger (strangeediary@gmail.com)</div>stranger :)noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-342664975225391689.post-70321975793716383442013-02-02T15:09:00.000+05:302013-08-23T00:33:43.337+05:30<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">We can (or I would like to) categorize people around the world into two. Irrespective of their race, religion, caste, culture and whatever denominations we made for ourselves so far.</span><br></div><a href="http://strangeediary.blogspot.com/2013/02/threecategory.html#more">continue reading »</a><div class="blogger-post-footer">Copyright: stranger (strangeediary@gmail.com)</div>stranger :)noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-342664975225391689.post-80522627106145095412013-01-07T09:26:00.002+05:302013-08-23T00:33:57.342+05:30<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br>I open my eyes and I am between two crumbled sheets of linen and my pillow. The one that occupied my thoughts when my eyes were closes resumes. It has been quite a recent addition into me, just roughly above two weeks. <br><br>Actually I am not ready for such relationships and always avoided saying “for my nature and patience level, I can’t afford anyone in my life or end up hurting someone daily”. But only coz of my amma’s liking, I decided to have a try. </span><br></div><a href="http://strangeediary.blogspot.com/2013/01/660-determined.html#more">continue reading »</a><div class="blogger-post-footer">Copyright: stranger (strangeediary@gmail.com)</div>strangerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04575895156823663082noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-342664975225391689.post-71763847910952762042012-09-11T12:03:00.000+05:302013-08-23T00:34:17.559+05:30<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><br><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Boss, times it’s really frustrating to be a boss; most of the time to precise.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Too much work to delegate </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Too much decision to make</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Too much communication to cascade </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I have been working in this company for so long; in fact joined just few weeks since the pre-opening project kick-started. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br></div></div><a href="http://strangeediary.blogspot.com/2012/09/brain.html#more">continue reading »</a><div class="blogger-post-footer">Copyright: stranger (strangeediary@gmail.com)</div>strangerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04575895156823663082noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-342664975225391689.post-7487055064208361192012-09-04T22:53:00.000+05:302013-08-23T00:34:32.976+05:30<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">At GMT +9.00 hours, over a dinner table<br><br> “What is his name” Mr. Sam asked coolly to his daughter Andrea, who just disclosed about her love.<br><br> “Dad, he is Mac” her eye lids batted sweetly.<br><br> “Mac? Is he the same American” his voice suggested some urgency.</span><br></div><a href="http://strangeediary.blogspot.com/2012/09/incompatibles.html#more">continue reading »</a><div class="blogger-post-footer">Copyright: stranger (strangeediary@gmail.com)</div>stranger :)noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-342664975225391689.post-92167546818926259772012-08-15T01:37:00.000+05:302013-08-23T00:35:07.836+05:30<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I heard a weird noise like that of a buzzer. It continued for few more seconds, that’s then I realized its coming from my house. Oops! It’s actually my calling bell, which never had a privilege to raise its voice since I shifted in 6 weeks before. I leaped over the small tea table in front of me, two more leaps, I opened the door, “You guys? But how come here?”</span><br></div><a href="http://strangeediary.blogspot.com/2012/08/independenceday.html#more">continue reading »</a><div class="blogger-post-footer">Copyright: stranger (strangeediary@gmail.com)</div>stranger :)noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-342664975225391689.post-20246187482854640932012-07-17T03:09:00.000+05:302013-09-21T18:14:51.427+05:30<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #666666; font-size: x-small;"><u><span style="text-align: -webkit-auto;">Statutory warning: </span><span style="text-align: -webkit-auto;">cigarette</span> smoking is injurious to health.</u></span><span style="background-color: white; color: #666666; text-align: -webkit-auto;"> </span></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; text-align: -webkit-auto;"><br></span></div><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; text-align: -webkit-auto;">“Hey, look who’s busy?” Kathir sneaked in to Pankaj’s work station saying this.</span><br><span style="background-color: white; text-align: -webkit-auto;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br></span></span><span style="background-color: white; text-align: -webkit-auto;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">“Not exactly dude, done for the week. Just surfing to kill Friday afternoon” simultaneously he pressed winkey+D and prepared to concentrate himself completely to Kathir.</span></span><br><a href="http://www.blogger.com/blogger.g?blogID=342664975225391689" name="more"></a><br><span style="background-color: white; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; text-align: -webkit-auto;">“Chal then, will have a coffee”</span><br><span style="background-color: white; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; text-align: -webkit-auto;"><br></span><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; text-align: -webkit-auto;">“Before that, let me show me the new member of our family” Pankaj started to browse through the files.</span><br><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; text-align: -webkit-auto;"><br></span><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; text-align: -webkit-auto;">“Ho congratz, who? accept that alliance which your uncle’s friend’s friend brought?</span><br><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; text-align: -webkit-auto;"><br></span><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; text-align: -webkit-auto;">“Naa.. Look!” he turned the monitor towards Kathir and said “My brother’s Son – born yesterday”</span><br><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"></span><br></div><a href="http://strangeediary.blogspot.com/2012/07/just-story.html#more">continue reading »</a><div class="blogger-post-footer">Copyright: stranger (strangeediary@gmail.com)</div>strangerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04575895156823663082noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-342664975225391689.post-58714437076193175872012-06-13T12:39:00.000+05:302013-08-23T00:38:15.305+05:30<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Kuppam</span><br><div><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">- the dark bold letters proclaimed in 3 different languages in a bright yellow concrete board. A train passes the board carrying, a boy in his early twenties standing with one feet bend and fixed to the wall perpendicular to other one on floor.</span><br></div></div><a href="http://strangeediary.blogspot.com/2012/06/500-co-passenger.html#more">continue reading »</a><div class="blogger-post-footer">Copyright: stranger (strangeediary@gmail.com)</div>strangerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04575895156823663082noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-342664975225391689.post-77047485454889848952012-06-07T13:10:00.000+05:302015-11-10T13:36:02.188+05:30<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><span style="font-family: &quot;verdana&quot; , sans-serif;">The scorching sun smiling at me vigorously on its success to break my resolution to ride only bicycle back home, to cope up with the hiked fuel prices. I give my slipper to the cobbler for mending it. He gives options either to wait or to come back after his lunch time. Thought I could conserve time, fuel and some liters of sweat in option one. So I decide to wait. While the physical me takes cover in the nearby shadow. The memory races back how I got that slipper.</span><br><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-skP6oZORHlM/VkGlNrmfM2I/AAAAAAAAGng/fT7141SwVdI/s1600/CK4-dgzUkAAifG2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-skP6oZORHlM/VkGlNrmfM2I/AAAAAAAAGng/fT7141SwVdI/s400/CK4-dgzUkAAifG2.jpg" width="265"></a></div><span style="font-family: &quot;verdana&quot; , sans-serif;"><br></span></div><a href="http://strangeediary.blogspot.com/2012/06/340-slipper.html#more">continue reading »</a><div class="blogger-post-footer">Copyright: stranger (strangeediary@gmail.com)</div>strangerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04575895156823663082noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-342664975225391689.post-26425221881915563302012-05-13T02:05:00.000+05:302013-08-23T00:39:20.754+05:30<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Most part of my life, I thought that my amma is the best. For a quite simple reason, if someone can be good with someone like me; obviously they have to be the best. We grow up, look things around and realize some of our beliefs are very correct, some are not and based on the nature of belief and the bias we have to that, we alter our beliefs.</span><br></div><a href="http://strangeediary.blogspot.com/2012/05/460-my-mother-is-best-not-better-than.html#more">continue reading »</a><div class="blogger-post-footer">Copyright: stranger (strangeediary@gmail.com)</div>strangerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04575895156823663082noreply@blogger.com0