tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5773088062719303422024-11-06T08:26:25.882+05:30Nomadic Philosopherhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07629142237730532579noreply@blogger.comBlogger20125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-577308806271930342.post-31634327784633223332017-02-20T20:25:00.002+05:302017-02-20T20:25:30.958+05:30

There’s dust on the keyboard, Some more on the books, A wallet lying open nearby, With bits and pieces around. The walls are scattered with photographs, Of near and dear ones; And some more moments of cheer you'd find, In the gallery of the handheld device. The guitar needs a tuning, A couple of strings too, perhaps, It's clear they need a bit more of music, Some fun and more

Nomadic Philosopherhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07629142237730532579noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-577308806271930342.post-1848682570779293072017-02-07T19:02:00.000+05:302017-02-07T19:03:30.775+05:30

The sands of time, o how they trickle by, Sometimes quickly you say, sometimes a tad prolonged, I wonder what tales these sands can say, Some sombre and then some so grand. They've seen the times of emperors and great leaders of yore, They've been at the battles fought in the land, A silent spectator as history enfolded, Some sombre and some so grand. Adjusted they did to

Nomadic Philosopherhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07629142237730532579noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-577308806271930342.post-9826935041601564012017-01-08T18:57:00.000+05:302017-02-07T18:59:17.884+05:30

She could resist it no more, Her eyes were too heavy, They longed to leave the present world. The pull was too strong, A beginning awaited on the other side, She was reluctant to leave the story she had this side. It wasn't over yet,  She couldn't leave yet,  This couldn't be how it ended,  She needed to know the end. It was a losing battle, she knew it as much,

Nomadic Philosopherhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07629142237730532579noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-577308806271930342.post-6272715169758016522016-12-27T10:51:00.001+05:302016-12-27T10:52:34.630+05:30

Remember that conversation, Of which you weren't really a part, Cos twas between some others, But you had no choice but to hear along? Twas one such overheard conversation, Between two pals who journeyed along, A couple of seats away from me, On a day not so long. They were both young and exuberant, Wanting to take the world by storm, Both of them had high aspirations,

Nomadic Philosopherhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07629142237730532579noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-577308806271930342.post-73305026917027709322016-12-10T10:39:00.000+05:302016-12-27T10:40:16.156+05:30

Are you a good listener, the preacher asked on a Sunday, Do you hear what is being said and understand?Do you try to piece together the context with the words,Catch the nuances of what is left unsaid? Or are you pretending to listen,While coining a response in your head,Rephrasing it a million times in your mind,Wanting your response to sound the best? Or are you even hearing, what is

Nomadic Philosopherhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07629142237730532579noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-577308806271930342.post-8719992181824792322016-12-03T11:03:00.001+05:302016-12-03T11:03:19.865+05:30

Don’t you feel you’re living in a concrete jungle, With brick and mortar rising tall and high? Often seeming to have a life of their own, Springing up overnight where they weren’t before? Sometimes in shapes resembling the next, Oft one floor higher than the rest. You hear the motor chugging, the drilling sounds echo, The droning noise carries itself round and round, Filling the air

Nomadic Philosopherhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07629142237730532579noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-577308806271930342.post-625880660075821052016-11-26T11:31:00.000+05:302016-11-26T11:31:03.672+05:30

It was a gift, a birthday gift, One she'd asked her mother for, Because her friends around where she lived, Looked happy riding in one around.  With smiles on their faces, light in their eyes, They made it look easy to pedal back and forth,  The wind in the hair and bells in the air, Seemed to make them float around on those wheels. Now she'd got one too, she was

Nomadic Philosopherhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07629142237730532579noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-577308806271930342.post-23287863283789877262016-11-24T10:21:00.000+05:302016-11-24T10:21:12.196+05:30

He had just a couple of days,  To hop and skip and see the world, With tiny wings he flew around, Till he was sure he'd seen it all. He wasn't sure, but thought he had, Someone follow him close by, Keeping up with his each step, Silently, all day by. Tried he did to peer and see, Who it was that followed him, Friend or foe he did not know, Or was it just a flutterby?

Nomadic Philosopherhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07629142237730532579noreply@blogger.com0Hyderabad, Telangana, India17.385044 78.48667116.9002155 77.841224 17.8698725 79.132118tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-577308806271930342.post-66189011823113807922016-02-19T18:45:00.001+05:302016-02-19T18:50:04.701+05:30

In the giant rush of all the madness that encompasses your life and the time that everyone wants a slice of you, there is always some place which is your refuge. That place which only our few closest ones know of. It could be the quiet corner in the library amidst those books which are not that frequented. It could have been that comfortable branch of the age old tree whose canopy leaves told

Nomadic Philosopherhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07629142237730532579noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-577308806271930342.post-13802386533120381202016-02-03T10:48:00.001+05:302016-02-03T16:38:26.791+05:30

You’ve been thinking of the perfect way to start a conversation or have been struggling with a quick comeback to something your friend or colleague had said or it’s just that you wanted a perfect opening to the next blog or article you wanted to write and all this eluded your grasp at that particular time no matter how hard you tried. Now let’s fast forward to the time when you hit your head

Nomadic Philosopherhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07629142237730532579noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-577308806271930342.post-48097179930716768902014-02-03T18:36:00.001+05:302014-02-03T18:38:55.072+05:30

I’ve always been fascinated by words and the picture they are able to create when strung in a particular order. Rudyard Kipling referred to words as the most powerful drug used by mankind. Ever since I was able to string together the alphabets to form words and then to join them and form sentences, it was always a thrill to unravel a new world or see the same one through the eyes of different

Nomadic Philosopherhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07629142237730532579noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-577308806271930342.post-26600712586251798742014-01-20T12:56:00.000+05:302014-01-27T13:02:20.692+05:30

The secret recipe for being young is still at large. I’m sure cosmetologists and estheticians across the world are trying to figure out a magic formula that would help the human race be young for long. While the brilliant minds are still at work to develop this magic drug, I had a stimulating experience which kind of opened up my mind to looking beyond the physical and focus on being young at

Nomadic Philosopherhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07629142237730532579noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-577308806271930342.post-23400128145384311382009-07-05T10:31:00.000+05:302009-08-04T10:37:44.273+05:30

Work-life balance? What’s that? At one level it seems almost absurd to pose the question when work is so hard to come by. Whatever the government may say about green shoots of recovery, the reality is jobs are scarce. You know that for sure when you’re told the biggest recruiters at IIT Delhi this year were Jalandhar’s Lovely Professional University, started by a mithai-magnate (it picked up 21

Nomadic Philosopherhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07629142237730532579noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-577308806271930342.post-1071099615948913472009-02-28T12:25:00.000+05:302009-02-28T12:30:33.745+05:30

Someone quite rightly said that you don’t get to choose your relatives but then you do get to choose your friends.. I guess that God just let us choose the best! I’m not sure how many have been lucky with friends but I should say that I am one fortunate person who has been surrounded by so many loved ones at times when I needed them most that today I feel I can easily attribute a lot of what I am

Nomadic Philosopherhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07629142237730532579noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-577308806271930342.post-50933666669167290442009-02-14T12:33:00.000+05:302009-02-28T12:53:43.081+05:30

I just got this hilarious forward from Joe and I thought it ought to be shared... In spite of what you have been told by everyone, especially the propagandist English media, the truth is that Valentine's Day originated hundreds of years ago, in India, and to top it all, in Narendrabhai's Gujarat! It is a well known fact that Gujarati men, specially the Patels, (used to?) mistreat and disrespect

Nomadic Philosopherhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07629142237730532579noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-577308806271930342.post-91155897882813820192009-01-28T12:03:00.000+05:302009-02-28T12:13:42.896+05:30

Well.. I wouldn’t describe myself to be a prolific writer and somebody who has the creative juices flowing out through their hands. I guess I am just happy when left by myself to do what I feel like.. but then when I do need an output for my vent up thoughts, I do pick up a pen and jot em’ down in my diary...  I’ve been one to keep a diary for years now. Not as somebody who chronicles each day

Nomadic Philosopherhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07629142237730532579noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-577308806271930342.post-32286161543666671502008-04-17T18:24:00.001+05:302008-04-17T18:26:11.478+05:30

A professor stood before his Philosophy class and had some items in front of him. When the class began, wordlessly, he picked up a very large and empty mayonnaise jar and proceeded to fill it with golf balls. He then asked the students if the jar was full. They agreed that it was. The professor then picked up a box of pebbles and poured them into the jar. He shook the jar lightly. The pebbles

Nomadic Philosopherhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07629142237730532579noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-577308806271930342.post-50596216830546455842008-04-10T09:59:00.000+05:302008-04-10T10:04:48.738+05:30

A Jobless man applied for the position of 'office boy' at Microsoft. The HR manager interviewed him then watched him cleaning the floor as a test.'You are employed' he said. Give me your e-mail address and I'll send you the application to fill in, as well as date when you may start. The man replied 'But I don't have a computer, neither an email'. 'I'm sorry', said the HR manager. If you don't

Nomadic Philosopherhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07629142237730532579noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-577308806271930342.post-71196855767180233622008-04-10T09:47:00.000+05:302008-04-10T09:59:12.215+05:30

One day a Maths teacher asked her students to list the names of the other students in the room on two sheets of paper, leaving a space between each name. Then she told them to think of the nicest thing they could say about each of their classmates and write it down. It took the remainder of the class period to finish their assignment, and as the students left the room, each one handed in the

Nomadic Philosopherhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07629142237730532579noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-577308806271930342.post-14055100821541492832008-03-27T19:24:00.000+05:302008-03-27T19:26:47.059+05:30

Ever seen a steno sit and take down notes that the boss goes on dictating with the pencil on a notepad moving swiftly. Moving to a closer range you’d see that the notes that she has made are hardly comprehensible and make no sense to you as they look as merely curves drawn in many shapes. Before you jump to any conclusions about the steno playing up with her job let me tell you that she’s

Nomadic Philosopherhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07629142237730532579noreply@blogger.com1