tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-59142504115392079862024-03-21T08:32:40.969-07:00Once upon a Time....Srishti School of Art Design and Communication
(Foundation Studies)
Course :Hand Crafted Book, Core SkillNarendra Raghunathhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02375172095721894566noreply@blogger.comBlogger70125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5914250411539207986.post-53142496561565224152012-04-26T22:19:00.001-07:002012-04-26T22:19:21.172-07:00<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<b>A Friend and Rum</b></div>
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<b>Vivan Kamath</b></div>
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For my book, I made a handwritten diary loosely based on two stories I had heard casually from a family friend of ours. The story revolves around life in the Indian army and what some of the responsibilities you're given and the choices you make. I hand wrote the diary as if the main character was narrating and also put in dialogue in Hindi. The diary came in sort of holdall that is issued to all people in the army which includes medicines, sewing kits, pens and pencils and other objects. The diary, apart from the text, comes with a picture of the two characters in the story, a picture of the main character's family and a picture of the main character's god (which I found out all officers usually carry with them). </div>
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I don't know too much about the army life so it was difficult at first to get into the tone that I would use but I spoke to some people I knew in the army who helped create that scene in my head for me. </div>
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<span style="font-family: "Palatino Linotype","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Palatino Linotype","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">As an officer in the military, you learn how to put
aside your own opinion and unquestioningly follow orders. You figure out how to
filter out the superfluous and learn to prioritize. Your sense of morality and
the ‘greater good’ goes for a spin the day you put on your uniform and in time,
you can’t tell when you got which scar. All this may sound terrible, as if I’ve
destroyed my soul but I still believe in the purity of my principles. And I can
say that with no shuddering of conscience. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Palatino Linotype', serif; font-size: small;"><span style="line-height: 115%;">The tone of voice in my writing may suggest a lack
of emotion and you may presume that even that’s been filtered out. But, like I
said, there’s filtering and there’s prioritising. Being an officer</span></span><i style="font-family: 'Palatino Linotype', serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"> </i><span style="font-family: 'Palatino Linotype', serif;"><span style="line-height: 18px;">doesn't</span></span><span style="font-family: 'Palatino Linotype', serif; font-size: small;"><span style="line-height: 115%;"> mean you become a slave to the
government. You’re just a government employee with a difficult job. And like at
most work places, you do make comrades and friends. You need to create your own
system of understanding even with the civilians in the region.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Palatino Linotype","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">At times of crisis, people want to grab onto those
closest to them; part of this job is to contrive to be the closest and get the
masses at your polar end. A number of strategies and tools are used to achieve
this relationship; a key one being rum. As cold as it is up here in the
mountains, rum is a big favourite with civilians and officers alike. And over a
drink or two, you sometimes make friends with informers willing to share what
they know for certain compensation. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Palatino Linotype","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">I had called my ‘friend’ to the dhaba where we
usually meet. The fire was lit, on the table stood two glasses and a bottle of
rum. The food was still being cooked. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Palatino Linotype","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">The cook was an ex-<i>jawaan</i> who had been injured and couldn’t serve anymore; he’s taken
up this position to stay as close to the action as he could. He knew what the
conversations we conducted were about but always kept them to himself. He knew
where his loyalties lay. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Palatino Linotype","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">My friend arrived a little while after me and
greeted me warmly as he always did; more so than my own brother does. We sat
and I poured him a drink to bring him some warmth in the blistering cold. He
asked, “</span><span style="font-family: Mangal, serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">भाई</span><span style="font-family: 'Palatino Linotype', serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"> </span><span style="font-family: Mangal, serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">साहिब</span><span style="font-family: 'Palatino Linotype', serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"> , </span><span style="font-family: Mangal, serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">आज</span><span style="font-family: 'Palatino Linotype', serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"> </span><span style="font-family: Mangal, serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">कोई</span><span style="font-family: 'Palatino Linotype', serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"> </span><span style="font-family: Mangal, serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">खास</span><span style="font-family: 'Palatino Linotype', serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"> </span><span style="font-family: Mangal, serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">बात</span><span style="font-family: 'Palatino Linotype', serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"> </span><span style="font-family: Mangal, serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">है</span><span style="font-family: 'Palatino Linotype', serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"> </span><span style="font-family: Mangal, serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">क्या</span><span style="font-family: 'Palatino Linotype', serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"> ? </span><span style="font-family: Mangal, serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">जनमदिन</span><span style="font-family: 'Palatino Linotype', serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"> </span><span style="font-family: Mangal, serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">या</span><span style="font-family: 'Palatino Linotype', serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"> </span><span style="font-family: Mangal, serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">कुछ</span><span style="font-family: 'Palatino Linotype', serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"> ? </span><span style="font-family: Mangal, serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">में</span><span style="font-family: 'Palatino Linotype', serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"> </span><span style="font-family: Mangal, serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">तो</span><span style="font-family: 'Palatino Linotype', serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"> </span><span style="font-family: Mangal, serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">आपको</span><span style="font-family: 'Palatino Linotype', serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"> </span><span style="font-family: Mangal, serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">परसों</span><span style="font-family: 'Palatino Linotype', serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"> </span><span style="font-family: Mangal, serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">खबर</span><span style="font-family: 'Palatino Linotype', serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"> </span><span style="font-family: Mangal, serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">लेकर</span><span style="font-family: 'Palatino Linotype', serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"> </span><span style="font-family: Mangal, serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">मिल्ने</span><span style="font-family: 'Palatino Linotype', serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"> </span><span style="font-family: Mangal, serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">वाला</span><span style="font-family: 'Palatino Linotype', serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"> </span><span style="font-family: Mangal, serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">था</span><span style="font-family: 'Palatino Linotype', serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">.” </span><span style="font-family: "Palatino Linotype","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Palatino Linotype","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">“</span><span style="font-family: Mangal, serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">नहीं</span><span style="font-family: 'Palatino Linotype', serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"> , </span><span style="font-family: Mangal, serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">नहीं</span><span style="font-family: 'Palatino Linotype', serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"> </span><span style="font-family: Mangal, serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">यार</span><span style="font-family: 'Palatino Linotype', serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"> </span><span style="font-family: "Palatino Linotype","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">,”
I replied, “</span><span style="font-family: Mangal, serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">आज</span><span style="font-family: 'Palatino Linotype', serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"> </span><span style="font-family: Mangal, serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">बस</span><span style="font-family: 'Palatino Linotype', serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"> </span><span style="font-family: Mangal, serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">मिल्ने</span><span style="font-family: 'Palatino Linotype', serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"> </span><span style="font-family: Mangal, serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">का</span><span style="font-family: 'Palatino Linotype', serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"> </span><span style="font-family: Mangal, serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">मन</span><span style="font-family: 'Palatino Linotype', serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"> </span><span style="font-family: Mangal, serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">किया</span><span style="font-family: 'Palatino Linotype', serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"> </span><span style="font-family: Mangal, serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">तो</span><span style="font-family: 'Palatino Linotype', serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"> </span><span style="font-family: Mangal, serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">बुल्ला</span><span style="font-family: 'Palatino Linotype', serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"> </span><span style="font-family: Mangal, serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">लिया</span><span style="font-family: 'Palatino Linotype', serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"> . </span><span style="font-family: Mangal, serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">काम</span><span style="font-family: 'Palatino Linotype', serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"> </span><span style="font-family: Mangal, serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">की</span><span style="font-family: 'Palatino Linotype', serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"> </span><span style="font-family: Mangal, serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">बात</span><span style="font-family: 'Palatino Linotype', serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"> </span><span style="font-family: Mangal, serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">हमेशा</span><span style="font-family: 'Palatino Linotype', serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"> </span><span style="font-family: Mangal, serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">होती</span><span style="font-family: 'Palatino Linotype', serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"> </span><span style="font-family: Mangal, serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">है</span><span style="font-family: 'Palatino Linotype', serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">.</span><span style="font-family: "Palatino Linotype","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">” The cook brought out some chicken, still
steaming. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Palatino Linotype","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">I began to tell my companion my favourite story. I
hadn’t told it to anyone before and I didn’t know a better person for the first
hearing. It was a story from a very long time ago; before I had the first white
in my hair or the belly pickled by years of rum and chicken. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Palatino Linotype","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">It was when I first joined the Army. We had been
tipped off by someone that there were three terrorists hiding in a small house
in the market place. I was picked as part of the team to bring them in. Geared
up and racing through all the training tactics in my head, we arrived at the
market place right in front of the house. We burst in with guns pointing in
every direction, but there was no one in the house. All we got was the glimpse
of a foot escaping through the window. It was them, they were running. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Palatino Linotype","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Split up, I was ordered, and pointed in the
direction of one. He knew the marketplace much better than I did and managed to
duck into every <i>galli </i>possible,
darting over every wall he could find. His exit had been planned and he knew
that it would be extremely difficult for anyone else to keep up. He largely kept
to the crowded areas so as to not allow me to take a shot at him. No one
stopped him but I didn’t really expect them to. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Palatino Linotype","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">“</span><span style="font-family: Mangal, serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">उस</span><span style="font-family: 'Palatino Linotype', serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"> </span><span style="font-family: "Palatino Linotype","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">
</span><span style="font-family: Mangal, serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">कुत्ते</span><span style="font-family: 'Palatino Linotype', serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"> </span><span style="font-family: Mangal, serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">ने</span><span style="font-family: 'Palatino Linotype', serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"> </span><span style="font-family: Mangal, serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">मुझे</span><span style="font-family: 'Palatino Linotype', serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"> </span><span style="font-family: Mangal, serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">इतना</span><span style="font-family: 'Palatino Linotype', serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"> </span><span style="font-family: Mangal, serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">भगाया</span><span style="font-family: 'Palatino Linotype', serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"> , </span><span style="font-family: Mangal, serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">इतना</span><span style="font-family: 'Palatino Linotype', serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"> </span><span style="font-family: Mangal, serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">भगाया</span><span style="font-family: 'Palatino Linotype', serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"> ! </span><span style="font-family: Mangal, serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">और</span><span style="font-family: 'Palatino Linotype', serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"> </span><span style="font-family: Mangal, serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">तब</span><span style="font-family: 'Palatino Linotype', serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"> , </span><span style="font-family: Mangal, serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">मुझे</span><span style="font-family: 'Palatino Linotype', serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"> </span><span style="font-family: Mangal, serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">मौका</span><span style="font-family: 'Palatino Linotype', serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"> </span><span style="font-family: Mangal, serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">मिल</span><span style="font-family: 'Palatino Linotype', serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"> </span><span style="font-family: Mangal, serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">गया</span><span style="font-family: 'Palatino Linotype', serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"> .</span><span style="font-family: 'Palatino Linotype', serif; font-size: small;"><span style="line-height: 115%;">” He turned into a path with no one
about and I took my shot. It hit him just as he took another of his turns; the
bullet missed his back but went hard into his shoulder. I could see him fall to
the ground around the bend. I moved forward slowly, ready for any surprises and
stuck to the wall. I turned the corner and pointed my gun straight at him. He
was bleeding profusely and didn’t seem to be armed. He </span></span><span style="font-family: 'Palatino Linotype', serif;"><span style="line-height: 18px;">didn't</span></span><span style="font-family: 'Palatino Linotype', serif; font-size: small;"><span style="line-height: 115%;"> try to escape; he
knew he didn’t have it in him anymore.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Palatino Linotype","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">I took out the cuffs and approached him cautiously
to arrest him when he shrugged me off and asked, “</span><span style="font-family: Mangal, serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">गोली</span><span style="font-family: 'Palatino Linotype', serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"> </span><span style="font-family: Mangal, serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">पहले</span><span style="font-family: 'Palatino Linotype', serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"> </span><span style="font-family: Mangal, serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">किसने</span><span style="font-family: 'Palatino Linotype', serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"> </span><span style="font-family: Mangal, serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">चलाई</span><span style="font-family: 'Palatino Linotype', serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"> </span><span style="font-family: "Palatino Linotype","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">?”
“</span><span style="font-family: Mangal, serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">मैंने</span><span style="font-family: 'Palatino Linotype', serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"> </span><span style="font-family: "Palatino Linotype","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">” I said. “ </span><span style="font-family: Mangal, serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">तो</span><span style="font-family: 'Palatino Linotype', serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"> </span><span style="font-family: Mangal, serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">आप</span><span style="font-family: 'Palatino Linotype', serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"> </span><span style="font-family: Mangal, serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">मुझे</span><span style="font-family: 'Palatino Linotype', serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"> </span><span style="font-family: Mangal, serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">म</span><span style="font-family: 'Palatino Linotype', serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">I</span><span style="font-family: Mangal, serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">रने</span><span style="font-family: 'Palatino Linotype', serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"> </span><span style="font-family: Mangal, serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">ही</span><span style="font-family: 'Palatino Linotype', serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"> </span><span style="font-family: Mangal, serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">वाले</span><span style="font-family: 'Palatino Linotype', serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"> </span><span style="font-family: Mangal, serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">थे</span><span style="font-family: 'Palatino Linotype', serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"> . </span><span style="font-family: Mangal, serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">अगर</span><span style="font-family: 'Palatino Linotype', serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"> </span><span style="font-family: Mangal, serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">आप</span><span style="font-family: 'Palatino Linotype', serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"> </span><span style="font-family: Mangal, serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">मुझे</span><span style="font-family: 'Palatino Linotype', serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"> </span><span style="font-family: Mangal, serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">वापिस</span><span style="font-family: 'Palatino Linotype', serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"> </span><span style="font-family: Mangal, serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">लेजाओगे</span><span style="font-family: 'Palatino Linotype', serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"> </span><span style="font-family: Mangal, serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">तो</span><span style="font-family: 'Palatino Linotype', serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"> </span><span style="font-family: Mangal, serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">या</span><span style="font-family: 'Palatino Linotype', serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"> </span><span style="font-family: Mangal, serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">तो</span><span style="font-family: 'Palatino Linotype', serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"> </span><span style="font-family: 'Palatino Linotype', serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">aap</span><span style="font-family: 'Palatino Linotype', serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"> </span><span style="font-family: Mangal, serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">लोग</span><span style="font-family: 'Palatino Linotype', serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"> </span><span style="font-family: Mangal, serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">मेरी</span><span style="font-family: 'Palatino Linotype', serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"> </span><span style="font-family: Mangal, serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">आधी</span><span style="font-family: 'Palatino Linotype', serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"> </span><span style="font-family: Mangal, serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">जान</span><span style="font-family: 'Palatino Linotype', serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"> lekar </span><span style="font-family: Mangal, serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">हमेशा</span><span style="font-family: 'Palatino Linotype', serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"> </span><span style="font-family: Mangal, serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">के</span><span style="font-family: 'Palatino Linotype', serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"> </span><span style="font-family: Mangal, serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">लिए</span><span style="font-family: 'Palatino Linotype', serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"> </span><span style="font-family: Mangal, serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">कब्ज़ा</span><span style="font-family: 'Palatino Linotype', serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"> </span><span style="font-family: Mangal, serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">करके</span><span style="font-family: 'Palatino Linotype', serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"> </span><span style="font-family: Mangal, serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">रखोगे</span><span style="font-family: 'Palatino Linotype', serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"> </span><span style="font-family: Mangal, serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">या</span><span style="font-family: 'Palatino Linotype', serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"> </span><span style="font-family: Mangal, serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">फिर</span><span style="font-family: 'Palatino Linotype', serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"> </span><span style="font-family: Mangal, serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">मेरे</span><span style="font-family: 'Palatino Linotype', serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"> </span><span style="font-family: Mangal, serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">लोग</span><span style="font-family: 'Palatino Linotype', serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"> </span><span style="font-family: Mangal, serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">मुझे</span><span style="font-family: 'Palatino Linotype', serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"> </span><span style="font-family: Mangal, serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">मार</span><span style="font-family: 'Palatino Linotype', serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"> </span><span style="font-family: Mangal, serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">देंगे</span><span style="font-family: 'Palatino Linotype', serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"> . </span><span style="font-family: Mangal, serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">अगर</span><span style="font-family: 'Palatino Linotype', serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"> </span><span style="font-family: Mangal, serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">आप</span><span style="font-family: 'Palatino Linotype', serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"> </span><span style="font-family: Mangal, serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">मुझे</span><span style="font-family: 'Palatino Linotype', serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"> </span><span style="font-family: Mangal, serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">पहले</span><span style="font-family: 'Palatino Linotype', serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"> </span><span style="font-family: Mangal, serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">गोली</span><span style="font-family: 'Palatino Linotype', serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"> </span><span style="font-family: Mangal, serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">चलाकर</span><span style="font-family: 'Palatino Linotype', serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"> </span><span style="font-family: Mangal, serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">मारने</span><span style="font-family: 'Palatino Linotype', serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"> </span><span style="font-family: Mangal, serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">ही</span><span style="font-family: 'Palatino Linotype', serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"> </span><span style="font-family: Mangal, serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">वाले</span><span style="font-family: 'Palatino Linotype', serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"> </span><span style="font-family: Mangal, serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">थे</span><span style="font-family: 'Palatino Linotype', serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">, </span><span style="font-family: 'Palatino Linotype', serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"> </span><span style="font-family: Mangal, serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">तो</span><span style="font-family: 'Palatino Linotype', serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"> </span><span style="font-family: 'Palatino Linotype', serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">ab</span><span style="font-family: 'Palatino Linotype', serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"> </span><span style="font-family: Mangal, serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">भी</span><span style="font-family: 'Palatino Linotype', serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"> </span><span style="font-family: Mangal, serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">मार</span><span style="font-family: 'Palatino Linotype', serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"> </span><span style="font-family: Mangal, serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">सकते</span><span style="font-family: 'Palatino Linotype', serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"> </span><span style="font-family: Mangal, serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">हो</span><span style="font-family: 'Palatino Linotype', serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">.</span><span style="font-family: "Palatino Linotype","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">”
And so I shot him dead. That was the first person I ever killed. Till then I
had wondered if I would be able to handle it; to be able to kill another
person. And I realised after that, killing them is what should be done, for us
and for them. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Palatino Linotype","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">“</span><span style="font-family: Mangal, serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">और</span><span style="font-family: 'Palatino Linotype', serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"> </span><span style="font-family: Mangal, serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">आज</span><span style="font-family: 'Palatino Linotype', serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"> </span><span style="font-family: Mangal, serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">आप</span><span style="font-family: 'Palatino Linotype', serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"> </span><span style="font-family: Mangal, serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">मुझे</span><span style="font-family: 'Palatino Linotype', serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"> </span><span style="font-family: Mangal, serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">म</span><span style="font-family: 'Palatino Linotype', serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">I</span><span style="font-family: Mangal, serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">रने</span><span style="font-family: 'Palatino Linotype', serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"> </span><span style="font-family: Mangal, serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">वाले</span><span style="font-family: 'Palatino Linotype', serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"> </span><span style="font-family: Mangal, serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">हो</span><span style="font-family: "Palatino Linotype","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">.” My informer said as he finished his
drink. He didn’t ask, he said. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Palatino Linotype","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">There was an incident earlier today where some of
my men had died. Good men. And it was because of my friend, the informer. He
had been double crossing me; getting me to kill their people whom they needed
sent away. But like the man I killed that first day, I didn’t want my friend to
be tortured like I know he would be. I wanted a respectable death for him even if
he hadn’t led the most respectable life. And that’s when I shot him. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
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<br /></div>
<br /></div>Anonymousnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5914250411539207986.post-81997688851102273552012-04-26T06:56:00.001-07:002012-04-26T06:56:56.824-07:00<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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</div>
<div style="direction: ltr; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-top: 0pt; mso-line-break-override: none; punctuation-wrap: hanging; text-align: left; unicode-bidi: embed; word-break: normal;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: Calibri; font-size: 18.0pt; language: en-US; mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: +mn-cs; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi; mso-color-index: 1; mso-fareast-font-family: +mn-ea; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-fareast; mso-font-kerning: 12.0pt; mso-style-textfill-fill-alpha: 100.0%; mso-style-textfill-fill-color: black; mso-style-textfill-fill-themecolor: text1; mso-style-textfill-type: solid;">The
book I made was a children's illustrative book. The first half of the book is a
pop up and and second half is a 3D book. The book was completely made
digitally. It</span><span style="color: black; font-family: Calibri; font-size: 18.0pt; language: fr-FR; mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: +mn-cs; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi; mso-color-index: 1; mso-fareast-font-family: +mn-ea; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-fareast; mso-font-kerning: 12.0pt; mso-style-textfill-fill-alpha: 100.0%; mso-style-textfill-fill-color: black; mso-style-textfill-fill-themecolor: text1; mso-style-textfill-type: solid;">’</span><span style="color: black; font-family: Calibri; font-size: 18.0pt; language: en-US; mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: +mn-cs; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi; mso-color-index: 1; mso-fareast-font-family: +mn-ea; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-fareast; mso-font-kerning: 12.0pt; mso-style-textfill-fill-alpha: 100.0%; mso-style-textfill-fill-color: black; mso-style-textfill-fill-themecolor: text1; mso-style-textfill-type: solid;">s a
story about a 9 year old girl waking up to a loud bang which she hears in her
backyard. As she investigates what it was she discovers that it was an alien
and which can only be seen by her and no one else.</span></div>
<div style="direction: ltr; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-top: 0pt; mso-line-break-override: none; punctuation-wrap: hanging; text-align: left; unicode-bidi: embed; word-break: normal;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: Calibri; font-size: 18.0pt; language: en-US; mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: +mn-cs; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi; mso-color-index: 1; mso-fareast-font-family: +mn-ea; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-fareast; mso-font-kerning: 12.0pt; mso-style-textfill-fill-alpha: 100.0%; mso-style-textfill-fill-color: black; mso-style-textfill-fill-themecolor: text1; mso-style-textfill-type: solid;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span><span style="color: black; font-family: Calibri; font-size: 18.0pt; language: en-US; mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: +mn-cs; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi; mso-color-index: 1; mso-fareast-font-family: +mn-ea; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-fareast; mso-font-kerning: 12.0pt; mso-style-textfill-fill-alpha: 100.0%; mso-style-textfill-fill-color: black; mso-style-textfill-fill-themecolor: text1; mso-style-textfill-type: solid;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>It was quiet interesting working on it as it was my first time making a
pop up as well as a 3D book. </span></div>
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<br /></div>Anonymousnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5914250411539207986.post-43057583046028160322012-04-26T06:30:00.000-07:002012-04-26T06:31:33.943-07:00<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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</div>sasha guptahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15101270583687326775noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5914250411539207986.post-72702046176640494782012-04-17T02:42:00.001-07:002012-04-17T02:42:55.269-07:00Project123.pdf (narendraraghunath.onceuponatime@blogger.com)<div style="background-color: #d1e4f0; max-width: 650px; font-family: Arial, sans-serif; color: #000; padding: 5px;"><div style="height: 36px; font-size: 14px; font-weight: bold; padding-bottom: 4px;"><table style="display: inline;width: 100%;"><tbody><tr><td width="32px" style="padding: 0;"><img src="https://ssl.gstatic.com/docs/documents/share/images/services/docs_pdf-1.png" style="height: 32px; margin-right: 5px;" alt="PDF"></td> <td valign="middle" height="32px" style="padding: 0;">I've shared <a href='https://docs.google.com/open?id=0B5LsSxNoFV9rSzM3eEUwTjNVVkE&invite=CInEr5QM'>Project123.pdf</a></td></tr></tbody></table></div> <div style="font-size: 13px; background-color: #FFF; padding: 10px 7px 7px 7px;"> Click to open: <ul style="list-style-type: none; padding: 0; margin: 0;"><li style="margin: 0;"><a href="https://docs.google.com/open?id=0B5LsSxNoFV9rSzM3eEUwTjNVVkE&invite=CInEr5QM">Project123.pdf</a></li></ul> <br> <span style="color: #898989;">Google Docs makes it easy to create, store and share online documents, spreadsheets and presentations.</span> <div style="text-align: right;"><a href="https://docs.google.com"><img style="border: 0;margin-top: 10px;" src="https://ssl.gstatic.com/docs/documents/share/images/services/docs_logo-1.gif" alt="Logo for Google Docs"></a></div></div></div>Narendra Raghunathhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02375172095721894566noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5914250411539207986.post-30758693464806969512012-04-07T08:40:00.000-07:002012-04-07T08:41:19.091-07:00ONCE UPON A TIME- Shaun Machado<div dir='ltr'> <br>Sorry for the late submission.<div><br></div><div><br><b><font face="Verdana" color="#808080">Thank you,</font></b><div><b><font face="Verdana" color="#808080">Shaun Machado</font></b></div></div> </div>Narendra Raghunathhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02375172095721894566noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5914250411539207986.post-24519425332989082832012-04-05T04:19:00.001-07:002012-04-05T04:19:59.788-07:00Book in Hindi<p style="TEXT-JUSTIFY:inter-ideograph;TEXT-ALIGN:justify;MARGIN:0cm 0cm 10pt" class="MsoNormal"><b style><span style="LINE-HEIGHT:115%;FONT-FAMILY:'Kruti Dev 120';FONT-SIZE:22pt">ßbdVw fcV~Vw <a href="http://xf.kr">xf.kr</a> le>rkÞ</span></b><span style="LINE-HEIGHT:115%;FONT-FAMILY:'Cambria','serif';FONT-SIZE:22pt"> </span></p> <p style="TEXT-JUSTIFY:inter-ideograph;TEXT-ALIGN:justify;MARGIN:0cm 0cm 10pt" class="MsoNormal"><b style><span style="LINE-HEIGHT:115%;FONT-FAMILY:'Kruti Dev 120';FONT-SIZE:18pt">vkHkkj</span></b></p> <p style="TEXT-JUSTIFY:inter-ideograph;TEXT-ALIGN:justify;MARGIN:0cm 0cm 10pt" class="MsoNormal"><span style="LINE-HEIGHT:115%;FONT-FAMILY:'Kruti Dev 120';FONT-SIZE:16pt">eSa bl ikB~;dze esa ekxZn'kZu ds fy, Jh ujsUnz dks] vuqokn esa enn gsrq Jh /khjsUnz flag dks vkSj ikB~;dze ds </span><span style="LINE-HEIGHT:115%;FONT-FAMILY:'Kruti Dev 120';FONT-SIZE:16pt">'kh"kZd</span><span style="LINE-HEIGHT:115%;FONT-FAMILY:'Kruti Dev 120';FONT-SIZE:16pt"> ,oa fdrkc dks fgUnh esa fy[kus gsrq izsfjr djus ds fy, dq0 vuqd`fr dsfM;k ,oa dq0 fiz;k vkj0 xkWa/kh dks /kU;okn nsrh gwWaA</span></p> <p style="TEXT-JUSTIFY:inter-ideograph;TEXT-ALIGN:justify;MARGIN:0cm 0cm 10pt" class="MsoNormal"><span style="LINE-HEIGHT:115%;FONT-FAMILY:'Cambria','serif';FONT-SIZE:16pt">Page 1</span></p> <p style="TEXT-JUSTIFY:inter-ideograph;TEXT-ALIGN:justify;MARGIN:0cm 0cm 10pt" class="MsoNormal"><span style="LINE-HEIGHT:115%;FONT-FAMILY:'Kruti Dev 120';FONT-SIZE:16pt">fcV~Vw ,d ckjg o</span><span style="LINE-HEIGHT:115%;FONT-FAMILY:'Kruti Dev 120';FONT-SIZE:16pt">"kZ dk yM+dk gSA<span style> </span>og gWaleq[k vkSj fouksnh LoHkko dk gS vkSj mlds dbZ fe= gSaA<span style> </span>lHkh mls ilan djrs gSaA<span style> </span>og O;fDr tks mls cgqr ilan djrk gS] os gSa mlds nknkthA<span style> </span>mlds nknkth mlds f'k{kd Hkh gSaA<span style> </span>os mls <a href="http://xf.kr">xf.kr</a> i<+krs gSaA<span style> </span><a href="http://xf.kr">xf.kr</a> esa mldh :fp mRiUu djus ds fy, mlds nknkth izk;% NksVs&NksVs [ksyksa dk iz;ksx djrs gSaA<span style> </span>bl ckj dk [ksy Fkk& <b style>[ktkus dh [kkst</b>] fcV~Vw dks lw= le>kus ds fy,A [ksy rS;kj djus esa nknkth dks iwjk fnu yx x;kA<span style> </span></span></p> <p style="TEXT-JUSTIFY:inter-ideograph;TEXT-ALIGN:justify;MARGIN:0cm 0cm 10pt" class="MsoNormal"><span style="LINE-HEIGHT:115%;FONT-SIZE:16pt"><font face="Calibri">Page 2</font></span></p> <p style="TEXT-JUSTIFY:inter-ideograph;TEXT-ALIGN:justify;MARGIN:0cm 0cm 10pt" class="MsoNormal"><span style="LINE-HEIGHT:115%;FONT-FAMILY:'Kruti Dev 120';FONT-SIZE:16pt">nknkth fcV~Vw dks u;k lw= le>kus ds fy, cgqr gh mRlkfgr FksA<span style> </span>tc fcV~Vw fo|ky; ls okil ykSVk] nknkth us mls fcBk;k vkSj [ksy 'kq: dj fn;kA<span style> </span>fcV~Vw dks [ksy esa dksbZ etk ugha vk jgk FkkA<span style> </span>,slk ns[kdj nknkth igys rks nq%[kh gq, vkSj fQj ijs'kku gksdj fcV~Vw ij fpYyk iM+sA<span style> </span>fcV~Vw vkWa[kksa esa vkWalw fy, dejs ls ckgj nkSM+ x;kA<span style> </span></span></p> <p style="TEXT-JUSTIFY:inter-ideograph;TEXT-ALIGN:justify;MARGIN:0cm 0cm 10pt" class="MsoNormal"><span style="LINE-HEIGHT:115%;FONT-SIZE:16pt"><font face="Calibri">Page 3</font></span></p> <p style="TEXT-JUSTIFY:inter-ideograph;TEXT-ALIGN:justify;MARGIN:0cm 0cm 10pt" class="MsoNormal"><span style="LINE-HEIGHT:115%;FONT-FAMILY:'Kruti Dev 120';FONT-SIZE:16pt">fcV~Vw jksrs gq, lks x;kA<span style> </span>lksrs gq, mlus eglwl fd;k fd dksbZ mls mBk jgk FkkA<span style> </span>mls yxk fd os mlds nknkth gSaA<span style> </span>fcV~Vw iyVk vkSj cksyk& "ikWap feuV vkSj nknkthA"<span style> </span>rc fdlh us dgk& "rqe fdls nknkth cqyk jgs gks\"<span style> </span>blls pkSaddj fcV~Vw rqjUr lh/ks cSB x;kA<span style> </span>mlus vius nknkth dks vaxoL= vkSj /kksrh esa ns[kkA<span style> </span></span></p> <p style="TEXT-JUSTIFY:inter-ideograph;TEXT-ALIGN:justify;MARGIN:0cm 0cm 10pt" class="MsoNormal"><span style="LINE-HEIGHT:115%;FONT-SIZE:16pt"><font face="Calibri">Page 4</font></span></p> <p style="TEXT-JUSTIFY:inter-ideograph;TEXT-ALIGN:justify;MARGIN:0cm 0cm 10pt" class="MsoNormal"><span style="LINE-HEIGHT:115%;FONT-FAMILY:'Kruti Dev 120';FONT-SIZE:16pt">fcV~Vw vk'p;Z esa Fkk og ugha tkurk Fkk fd D;k gqvk FkkA og ,d vatku txg ij mBk Fkk tgkWa ij mlds nknkth mls ugha igpku jgs FksA<span style> </span>mlus ml cw<+s vkneh ls iwNk& "rqe dkSu gks vkSj eSa dgkWa gwWa\"<span style> </span>vkneh us dgk& "cs'kd] rqe Hkkjr esa gksA"<span style> </span>ml vkneh us fcV~Vw ds gkykr vkSj eu%fLFkfr dks le>rs gq, crZu ls ,d fxykl ikuh fn;kA </span></p> <p style="TEXT-JUSTIFY:inter-ideograph;TEXT-ALIGN:justify;MARGIN:0cm 0cm 10pt" class="MsoNormal"><span style="LINE-HEIGHT:115%;FONT-SIZE:16pt"><font face="Calibri">page 5</font></span></p> <p style="TEXT-JUSTIFY:inter-ideograph;TEXT-ALIGN:justify;MARGIN:0cm 0cm 10pt" class="MsoNormal"><span style="LINE-HEIGHT:115%;FONT-FAMILY:'Kruti Dev 120';FONT-SIZE:16pt">fcV~Vw mBdj f[kM+dh ls ckgj ns[kus yxkA bekjrksa vkSj okguksa ds ctk; mlus Hkkjrh; xkWao dh >yd ns[kh] ,d cgqr gh iqjkuk Hkkjrh; xkWaoA<span style> </span>og vkneh mlds lkeus vk;k vkSj viuk ifjp; fn;k& "eSa vk;ZHkV~V gWwa] ,d xf.krKA"<span style> </span>fcV~Vw tSls [kks x;k] ,d vkneh tks mlds nknk tSlk fn[k jgk Fkk] vius vkidks vk;ZHkV~V crk jgk FkkA </span></p> <p style="TEXT-JUSTIFY:inter-ideograph;TEXT-ALIGN:justify;MARGIN:0cm 0cm 10pt" class="MsoNormal"><span style="LINE-HEIGHT:115%;FONT-SIZE:16pt"><font face="Calibri">Page 6</font></span></p> <p style="TEXT-JUSTIFY:inter-ideograph;TEXT-ALIGN:justify;MARGIN:0cm 0cm 10pt" class="MsoNormal"><span style="LINE-HEIGHT:115%;FONT-FAMILY:'Kruti Dev 120';FONT-SIZE:16pt">fcV~Vw us vkneh ls iwNk&"D;k rqe ogh vk;ZHkV~V gks ftlus <b style>ikb</b>Z dh [kkst dh\"<span style> </span>izfrfdz;k eas vk;ZHkV~V us cl gkWa esa viuk flj fgyk;kA<span style> </span>rc mlus Åij ns[kk vkSj fcV~Vw ls iwNk fd og ;g dSls tkurk gS D;ksafd <b style>ikbZ</b> ml le; Hkh<span style> </span>iz;ksxkRed LVst ij FkhA<span style> </span>rc fcV~Vw us vk;ZHkV~V dks viuh dgkuh crkbZA<span style> </span></span></p> <p style="TEXT-JUSTIFY:inter-ideograph;TEXT-ALIGN:justify;MARGIN:0cm 0cm 10pt" class="MsoNormal"><span style="LINE-HEIGHT:115%;FONT-SIZE:16pt"><font face="Calibri">Page 7</font></span></p> <p style="TEXT-JUSTIFY:inter-ideograph;TEXT-ALIGN:justify;MARGIN:0cm 0cm 10pt" class="MsoNormal"><span style="LINE-HEIGHT:115%;FONT-FAMILY:'Kruti Dev 120';FONT-SIZE:16pt">fcV~Vw dh dgkuh lqu dj vk;ZHkV~V dejs ds dksus ij x;s vkSj ,d ckWDl mBk;kA<span style> </span>mUgksaus mls fcV~Vw dks nsdj [kksyus dks dgkA<span style> </span>fcV~Vw us vk;ZHkV~V ls ckWDl ysdj ,dne ls [kksy fn;kA ckWDl [kkyh Fkk] mlesa nwljs lkeku j[kus ds fy, [kkWaps cus gq, FksA vk;ZHkV~V us mls vlgk; ns[kdj mldh dqN enn djus ds fy, mlls dgk& "eSa rqEgkjh enn dj ldrk gWawA"<span style> </span>fcV~Vw us flj ?kqek;kA<span style> </span>vk;ZHkV~V us dgk & "eSa ml O;fDr dks tkurk gwWa tks rqEgsa rqEgkjh nqfu;k esa ys tkus esa enn dj ldrk gSA ;g ckWDl cgqr gh egRoiw.kZ gSA"<span style> </span></span></p> <p style="TEXT-JUSTIFY:inter-ideograph;TEXT-ALIGN:justify;MARGIN:0cm 0cm 10pt" class="MsoNormal"><span style="LINE-HEIGHT:115%;FONT-SIZE:16pt"><font face="Calibri">Page 8</font></span></p> <p style="TEXT-JUSTIFY:inter-ideograph;TEXT-ALIGN:justify;MARGIN:0cm 0cm 10pt" class="MsoNormal"><span style="LINE-HEIGHT:115%;FONT-FAMILY:'Kruti Dev 120';FONT-SIZE:16pt">vk;ZHkV~V us fcV~Vw dks crk;k fd ;g ckWDl mldks ,d LFkku ls nwljs LFkku ys tk;sxkA<span style> </span>vk;ZHkV~V us fcV~Vw dks viuk <b style>ikb</b>Z fn;k vkSj dgk & "eq>s vk'kk gS blls rqEgsa enn feysxhA"<span style> </span>ueLrksijkar fcV~Vw us ckWDl [kksyk vkSj xk;c gks x;kA </span></p> <p style="TEXT-JUSTIFY:inter-ideograph;TEXT-ALIGN:justify;MARGIN:0cm 0cm 10pt" class="MsoNormal"><span style="LINE-HEIGHT:115%;FONT-FAMILY:'Kruti Dev 120';FONT-SIZE:16pt"><span style> </span></span></p> <p style="TEXT-JUSTIFY:inter-ideograph;TEXT-ALIGN:justify;MARGIN:0cm 0cm 10pt" class="MsoNormal"><span style="LINE-HEIGHT:115%;FONT-SIZE:16pt"><font face="Calibri">Page 9</font></span></p> <p style="TEXT-JUSTIFY:inter-ideograph;TEXT-ALIGN:justify;MARGIN:0cm 0cm 10pt" class="MsoNormal"><span style="LINE-HEIGHT:115%;FONT-FAMILY:'Kruti Dev 120';FONT-SIZE:16pt">fcV~Vw tehu ij ysVk gqvk FkkA<span style> </span>mls T;knk dqN ;kn ugha Fkk fd D;k gqvk Fkk rHkh rhu vkneh vk;s vkSj mlds lkeus [kM+s gks x;sA<span style> </span>vkSj rc] fdlh us ddZ'k vkokt esa iwNk& ";g yM+dk dkSu gS\"<span style> </span>fcV~Vw fgy ugha ldkA<span style> </span>"bls njckj esa dkSu yk;k\" cyoku O;fDr ds ihNs ls vkrs gq, ,d vkneh us dgkA<span style> </span></span></p> <p style="TEXT-JUSTIFY:inter-ideograph;TEXT-ALIGN:justify;MARGIN:0cm 0cm 10pt" class="MsoNormal"><span style="LINE-HEIGHT:115%;FONT-SIZE:16pt"><font face="Calibri">Page 10</font></span></p> <p style="TEXT-JUSTIFY:inter-ideograph;TEXT-ALIGN:justify;MARGIN:0cm 0cm 10pt" class="MsoNormal"><span style="LINE-HEIGHT:115%;FONT-FAMILY:'Kruti Dev 120';FONT-SIZE:16pt">fcV~Vw dks njckj esa ?klhVrs gq, yk;k x;kA<span style> </span>fcV~Vw us viuh vkWa[ksa [kksyha vkSj ,d vkneh dks flagklu ij cSBs gq, ns[kkA og mls dqN ifjfpr lk yxkA<span style> </span>og flagklu dh rjQ dqN dne vkxs c<+k ftl ij og vkneh cSBk FkkA<span style> </span>rc mls Kkr gqvk fd flagklu ij cSBk gqvk vkneh fcYdqy mlds nknkth vkSj vk;ZHkV~V tSlk fn[krk FkkA<span style> </span>flagklu ij cSBs gq, vkneh us mls crk;k fd og cschyksu dk jktk ukcksuklkj gSA<span style> </span>jktk us mlls iwNk fd og ;gkWa D;k dj jgk gSA<span style> </span>fcV~Vw us mls crk;k fd og fdlh pht dh [kkst esa vk;k Fkk fdarq og ugha tkurk fd og D;k gSA<span style> </span>ml vkneh us ;g tkurs gq, fd ml dSnh ls ckr djuk csdkj gS mls dkjkxkj esa Mkyus dk vkns'k fn;kA </span></p> <p style="TEXT-JUSTIFY:inter-ideograph;TEXT-ALIGN:justify;MARGIN:0cm 0cm 10pt" class="MsoNormal"><span style="LINE-HEIGHT:115%;FONT-SIZE:16pt"><font face="Calibri">page 11</font></span></p> <p style="TEXT-JUSTIFY:inter-ideograph;TEXT-ALIGN:justify;MARGIN:0cm 0cm 10pt" class="MsoNormal"><span style="LINE-HEIGHT:115%;FONT-FAMILY:'Kruti Dev 120';FONT-SIZE:16pt">fcV~Vw dkjkxkj esa ,d csap ij cSBk gqvk Fkk rHkh mlus dqN inpki lquhA<span style> </span>jktk ukcksuklkj vk jgk FkkA<span style> </span>jktk vk;k vkSj dkjkxkj ds lkeus mlls ,d gkFk dh nwjh ij [kM+k gks x;kA<span style> </span>rc og cksyk & "vk;ZHkV~V us eq>s rqEgkjs vkus ds ckjs esa crk;k Fkk ij eSaus ;g dHkh ugha lkspk Fkk fd rqe brus NksVs gksxsA"<span style> </span>rc jktk us fcV~Vw dks crk;k fd og mls vxyk lw= nsxkA<span style> </span></span></p> <p style="TEXT-JUSTIFY:inter-ideograph;TEXT-ALIGN:justify;MARGIN:0cm 0cm 10pt" class="MsoNormal"><span style="LINE-HEIGHT:115%;FONT-SIZE:16pt"><font face="Calibri">Riddle 1</font></span></p> <p style="TEXT-JUSTIFY:inter-ideograph;TEXT-ALIGN:justify;MARGIN:0cm 0cm 10pt" class="MsoNormal"><span style="LINE-HEIGHT:115%;FONT-FAMILY:'Kruti Dev 120';FONT-SIZE:16pt">foHkktu dk fpUg crkvks\</span></p> <p style="TEXT-JUSTIFY:inter-ideograph;TEXT-ALIGN:justify;MARGIN:0cm 0cm 10pt" class="MsoNormal"><span style="LINE-HEIGHT:115%;FONT-SIZE:16pt"><font face="Calibri">Page 12</font></span></p> <p style="TEXT-JUSTIFY:inter-ideograph;TEXT-ALIGN:justify;MARGIN:0cm 0cm 10pt" class="MsoNormal"><span style="LINE-HEIGHT:115%;FONT-FAMILY:'Kruti Dev 120';FONT-SIZE:16pt">fcV~Vw us lkspk fd mRrj fdruk vklku gSA<span style> </span>mls mlds nknkth }kjk yh gqbZ cWkMekWl d{kkvksa dh ;kn vkbZA<span style> </span>foHkktu ds flEcy esa ,d MS'k ;k LyS'k gksrk gS ftlds<span style> </span>Åij vkSj uhps fcUnh gksrh gSA ckWDl pedus yxkA<span style> </span>mls :yj tks fd mlus Hkkjr NksM+rs le; izkIr fd;k Fkk ds cxy esa ,d dEikl feykA<span style> </span>ckWDl esa vc nks phtsa FkhaA<span style> </span>fcV~Vw us jktk ls feyus ls igys dqN le; lksus dk fu'p; fd;kA</span></p> <p style="TEXT-JUSTIFY:inter-ideograph;TEXT-ALIGN:justify;MARGIN:0cm 0cm 10pt" class="MsoNormal"><span style="LINE-HEIGHT:115%;FONT-SIZE:16pt"><font face="Calibri">Page 13</font></span></p> <p style="TEXT-JUSTIFY:inter-ideograph;TEXT-ALIGN:justify;MARGIN:0cm 0cm 10pt" class="MsoNormal"><span style="LINE-HEIGHT:115%;FONT-FAMILY:'Kruti Dev 120';FONT-SIZE:16pt">lqcg tc fcV~Vw lksdj mBk mlus ns[kk fd jktk ckgj mldh izrh{kk dj jgk gSA<span style> </span>jktk ds psgjs ij ,d eqLdku FkhA<span style> </span>rc jktk us mu lHkh lokyksa ds tokc fn;s tks fcV~Vw iwNuk pkgrk FkkA<span style> </span>mlus fcV~Vw dks crk;k fd tSls&tSls og igsfy;ksa dks gy djrk tk;sxk ckWDl esa phtsa c<+rh tk;saxhA<span style> </span>ubZ phtksa ds tqM+us dk eryc mldh okilh vkSj djhc gks x;h gSA<span style> </span>izR;sd txg tgkWa og tk;sxk mls de ls de ,d pht tksM+uh gksxh tks ml ckWDl esa tkuh Fkh vU;Fkk og vxys ns'k esa ugha tk ldrk FkkA jktk us mls ;g Hkh crk;k fd le; vkus ij og [kqn tku tk;sxk fd mu flEcYl dk D;k djuk gSA <span style> </span>jktk dks /kU;okn nsrs gq, fcV~Vw us vxys LFkku ij tkus ds fy, ckWDl dks [kksykA<span style> </span></span></p> <p style="TEXT-JUSTIFY:inter-ideograph;TEXT-ALIGN:justify;MARGIN:0cm 0cm 10pt" class="MsoNormal"><span style="LINE-HEIGHT:115%;FONT-SIZE:16pt"><font face="Calibri">page 14</font></span></p> <p style="TEXT-JUSTIFY:inter-ideograph;TEXT-ALIGN:justify;MARGIN:0cm 0cm 10pt" class="MsoNormal"><span style="LINE-HEIGHT:115%;FONT-FAMILY:'Kruti Dev 120';FONT-SIZE:16pt">fcV~Vw ,d jsfxLrku esa igqWap x;kA<span style> </span>ogkWa ij dqN Hkh ugha Fkk vkSj dksbZ O;fDr Hkh ugha fn[k jgk FkkA<span style> </span>og D;k djs bldk mlds ikl dksbZ ladsr ugha FkkA<span style> </span>fcV~Vw us Nk;k dh ryk'k esa pyuk 'kq# dj fn;kA<span style> </span>?kaVksa pyus ds ckn varr% fcV~Vw dks ,d fijkfeM fn[kkbZ fn;kA<span style> </span>mlus [kq'kh ls rst&rst pyuk 'kq# dj fn;k vkSj jkgr dh lkWal yh fd varr% mls ,d txg fey x;hA<span style> </span></span></p> <p style="TEXT-JUSTIFY:inter-ideograph;TEXT-ALIGN:justify;MARGIN:0cm 0cm 10pt" class="MsoNormal"><span style="LINE-HEIGHT:115%;FONT-SIZE:16pt"><font face="Calibri">Page 15</font></span></p> <p style="TEXT-JUSTIFY:inter-ideograph;TEXT-ALIGN:justify;MARGIN:0cm 0cm 10pt" class="MsoNormal"><span style="LINE-HEIGHT:115%;FONT-FAMILY:'Kruti Dev 120';FONT-SIZE:16pt">blls igys fd fcV~Vw dqN dg ikrk] vkneh us mlls iwNk&"D;k rqe fcV~Vw gks\"<span style> </span>fcV~Vw us gkWa esa viuk flj fgyk;kA<span style> </span>"ge dgkWa gSa\" fcV~Vw us iwNk\ ml vkneh us crk;k fd ge bftIV esa gSaA<span style> </span>mlus ;g Hkh crk;k fd mldk vxyk ladsr fijkfeM esa gS vkSj fijkfeM ds vanj tkus ls igys fcV~Vw dks dqN igsfy;kWa gy djuk FkhaA<span style> </span>bruk<span style> </span>dgdj og okil eqM+k A </span></p> <p style="TEXT-JUSTIFY:inter-ideograph;TEXT-ALIGN:justify;MARGIN:0cm 0cm 10pt" class="MsoNormal"><span style="LINE-HEIGHT:115%;FONT-FAMILY:'Kruti Dev 120';FONT-SIZE:16pt"> </span></p> <p style="TEXT-JUSTIFY:inter-ideograph;TEXT-ALIGN:justify;MARGIN:0cm 0cm 10pt" class="MsoNormal"><span style="LINE-HEIGHT:115%;FONT-SIZE:16pt"><font face="Calibri">Riddle 2</font></span></p> <p style="TEXT-JUSTIFY:inter-ideograph;TEXT-ALIGN:justify;MARGIN:0cm 0cm 10pt" class="MsoNormal"><span style="LINE-HEIGHT:115%;FONT-FAMILY:'Kruti Dev 120';FONT-SIZE:16pt">eSa uhps ls QSyk vkSj Åij ls tqM+k gwWaA</span></p> <p style="TEXT-JUSTIFY:inter-ideograph;TEXT-ALIGN:justify;MARGIN:0cm 0cm 10pt" class="MsoNormal"><span style="LINE-HEIGHT:115%;FONT-FAMILY:'Kruti Dev 120';FONT-SIZE:16pt">eSa gj rjQ ls ,d tSlk gwWaA</span></p> <p style="TEXT-JUSTIFY:inter-ideograph;TEXT-ALIGN:justify;MARGIN:0cm 0cm 10pt" class="MsoNormal"><span style="LINE-HEIGHT:115%;FONT-FAMILY:'Kruti Dev 120';FONT-SIZE:16pt">esjs nks rjQ ,d tSls gSaA</span></p> <p style="TEXT-JUSTIFY:inter-ideograph;TEXT-ALIGN:justify;MARGIN:0cm 0cm 10pt" class="MsoNormal"><span style="LINE-HEIGHT:115%;FONT-FAMILY:'Kruti Dev 120';FONT-SIZE:16pt">esjk ,d gkFk ysVk vkSj nwljk gkFk [kM+k gSA</span></p> <p style="TEXT-JUSTIFY:inter-ideograph;TEXT-ALIGN:justify;MARGIN:0cm 0cm 10pt" class="MsoNormal"><span style="LINE-HEIGHT:115%;FONT-SIZE:16pt"><font face="Calibri">Page 16</font></span></p> <p style="TEXT-JUSTIFY:inter-ideograph;TEXT-ALIGN:justify;MARGIN:0cm 0cm 10pt" class="MsoNormal"><span style="LINE-HEIGHT:115%;FONT-FAMILY:'Kruti Dev 120';FONT-SIZE:16pt">fcV~Vw dk ckWDl pedus yxkA<span style> </span>bldk eryc Fkk fd ;g ns[kus dk le; vk x;k gS fd vc mlus D;k vftZr fd;k gSA<span style> </span>mlus ckWDl [kksyk vkSj ns[kk fd ckWDl dk lHkh lkeku viuh&viuh txg ij<span style> </span>iw.kZ FkkA<span style> </span>ogkWa ij fMokbMj] izksVsDVj vkSj isfUly Hkh FksA<span style> </span></span></p> <p style="TEXT-JUSTIFY:inter-ideograph;TEXT-ALIGN:justify;MARGIN:0cm 0cm 10pt" class="MsoNormal"><span style="LINE-HEIGHT:115%;FONT-FAMILY:'Kruti Dev 120';FONT-SIZE:16pt"> </span></p> <p style="TEXT-JUSTIFY:inter-ideograph;TEXT-ALIGN:justify;MARGIN:0cm 0cm 10pt" class="MsoNormal"><span style="LINE-HEIGHT:115%;FONT-FAMILY:'Kruti Dev 120';FONT-SIZE:16pt"> </span></p> <p style="TEXT-JUSTIFY:inter-ideograph;TEXT-ALIGN:justify;MARGIN:0cm 0cm 10pt" class="MsoNormal"><span style="LINE-HEIGHT:115%;FONT-SIZE:16pt"><font face="Calibri">Page 17</font></span></p> <p style="TEXT-JUSTIFY:inter-ideograph;TEXT-ALIGN:justify;MARGIN:0cm 0cm 10pt" class="MsoNormal"><span style="LINE-HEIGHT:115%;FONT-FAMILY:'Kruti Dev 120';FONT-SIZE:16pt">fcV~Vw us fijkfeM ds vanj izos'k fd;k vkSj ml vkneh dks iqu% ns[kkA<span style> </span>ml vkneh us vxyk loky djus ls igys fcV~Vw dks tjk Hkh le; ugha fn;kA</span></p> <p style="TEXT-JUSTIFY:inter-ideograph;TEXT-ALIGN:justify;MARGIN:0cm 0cm 10pt" class="MsoNormal"><span style="LINE-HEIGHT:115%;FONT-FAMILY:'Kruti Dev 120';FONT-SIZE:16pt">gkfFk;ksa ds vkB iSj dc gksrs gSa\</span></p> <p style="TEXT-JUSTIFY:inter-ideograph;TEXT-ALIGN:justify;MARGIN:0cm 0cm 10pt" class="MsoNormal"><span style="LINE-HEIGHT:115%;FONT-FAMILY:'Kruti Dev 120';FONT-SIZE:16pt"> </span></p> <p style="TEXT-JUSTIFY:inter-ideograph;TEXT-ALIGN:justify;MARGIN:0cm 0cm 10pt" class="MsoNormal"><span style="LINE-HEIGHT:115%;FONT-SIZE:16pt"><font face="Calibri">Page 18</font></span></p> <p style="TEXT-JUSTIFY:inter-ideograph;TEXT-ALIGN:justify;MARGIN:0cm 0cm 10pt" class="MsoNormal"><span style="LINE-HEIGHT:115%;FONT-FAMILY:'Kruti Dev 120';FONT-SIZE:16pt">fcV~Vw bl igsyh dk mRrj cgqr vPNh rjg tkurk FkkA <span style> </span>,d pht ftlij mls xoZ Fkk og Fkh mldh vadxf.krh; ;ksX;rkA<span style> </span>mls vadksa ds lkFk [ksyus esa cgqr etk vkrk FkkA<span style> </span>mlus mRrj fn;k& nksA<span style> </span>bftIV;u mlds 'kh?kz mRrj ls izlUu gqvk vkSj mldk vfHkoknu fd;kA<span style> </span>fcV~Vw us ckWDl fudkyk ;g ns[kus ds fy, fd vc mlesa D;k vk;k gS\ ckWDl vc iw.kZ Fkk ftldk eryc Fkk fd vc mls dsoy ,d LFkku ij tkuk Fkk vkSj lcdqN Bhd gks tk;sxkA<span style> </span>fcV~Vw us bftIV;u dks ueLdkj fd;k vkSj pyk x;kA</span></p> <p style="TEXT-JUSTIFY:inter-ideograph;TEXT-ALIGN:justify;MARGIN:0cm 0cm 10pt" class="MsoNormal"><span style="LINE-HEIGHT:115%;FONT-SIZE:16pt"><font face="Calibri">Page 19</font></span></p> <p style="TEXT-JUSTIFY:inter-ideograph;TEXT-ALIGN:justify;MARGIN:0cm 0cm 10pt" class="MsoNormal"><span style="LINE-HEIGHT:115%;FONT-FAMILY:'Kruti Dev 120';FONT-SIZE:16pt">tSls gh og vius vxys LFkku ij igqWapk fcV~Vw us vius vkidks fxjrs gq;s ik;k vkSj varr% ,d LVkWy ij vkdj :dkA<span style> </span>ogkWa fHkUu&fHkUu LVkWYl dh ykbusa Fkha] diM+ksa ls jRuksa rd] Hkkstu ls f[kykSuksa rdA<span style> </span>;|fi] ftl LVkWy ij og :dk Fkk og f[kykSuksa dk FkkA<span style> </span>LVkWy dk ekfyd tks fd vius lhus ij vius nksuksa gkFkksa dks ckWa/ks gq, [kM+k Fkk] fcV~Vw dks vkSj mlls mRiUu [krjs dks ns[k jgk FkkA<span style> </span>fcV~Vw {kek ekWaxus ds fy, [kM+k gqvk ysfdu rHkh ,d vkneh vk;k vkSj mls ?klhVrs gq, ,d xqQk esa ys x;kA<span style> </span></span></p> <p style="TEXT-JUSTIFY:inter-ideograph;TEXT-ALIGN:justify;MARGIN:0cm 0cm 10pt" class="MsoNormal"><span style="LINE-HEIGHT:115%;FONT-SIZE:16pt"><font face="Calibri">Page 20</font></span></p> <p style="TEXT-JUSTIFY:inter-ideograph;TEXT-ALIGN:justify;MARGIN:0cm 0cm 10pt" class="MsoNormal"><span style="LINE-HEIGHT:115%;FONT-FAMILY:'Kruti Dev 120';FONT-SIZE:16pt">;g vkneh Hkh fcYdqy mlds nknkth dh rjg fn[krk FkkA<span style> </span>vr% fcV~Vw tku x;k fd ;g vkneh mls vxyk lw+= nsxkA<span style> </span>,d ladjs jkLrs ls ikWap feuV pyus ds ckn og ,d [kqys LFkku ij igqWapkA<span style> </span>fcV~Vw us tks Hkh vanj ns[kk mlls og HkkSapDdk jg x;kA</span></p> <p style="TEXT-JUSTIFY:inter-ideograph;TEXT-ALIGN:justify;MARGIN:0cm 0cm 10pt" class="MsoNormal"><span style="LINE-HEIGHT:115%;FONT-SIZE:16pt"><font face="Calibri">Page 21</font></span></p> <p style="TEXT-JUSTIFY:inter-ideograph;TEXT-ALIGN:justify;MARGIN:0cm 0cm 10pt" class="MsoNormal"><span style="LINE-HEIGHT:115%;FONT-FAMILY:'Kruti Dev 120';FONT-SIZE:16pt">;g ,d iz;ksx'kkyk dh rjg FkkA<span style> </span>ogkWa ij vkneh vkSj vkSjrsa CySdcksM~lZ ij] viuh VscYl ij ,csdl vkSj :fcDlD;wc ds lkFk dk;Z dj jgs FksA<span style> </span>fcV~Vw ds vxys iz'u dks tkurs gq, vkneh us dgk fd ;s yksx ftUgsa rqe dke djrs ns[k jgs gks] bl le; lw=ksa ij vkSj lehdj.kksa ij iz;ksx dj jgs gSa fd muls D;k&D;k gks ldrk gSA<span style> </span>ftKklk ;gkWa cgqr egRoiw.kZ gSA<span style> </span>rqEgkjk vkf[kjh lw= Hkh rqEgsa ;gha fn;k tk;sxkA mlus mls ,d fpV nh tSlk fd mlus dgk FkkA </span></p> <p style="TEXT-JUSTIFY:inter-ideograph;TEXT-ALIGN:justify;MARGIN:0cm 0cm 10pt" class="MsoNormal"><span style="LINE-HEIGHT:115%;FONT-SIZE:16pt"><font face="Calibri">Riddle 3</font></span></p> <p style="TEXT-JUSTIFY:inter-ideograph;TEXT-ALIGN:justify;MARGIN:0cm 0cm 10pt" class="MsoNormal"><span style="LINE-HEIGHT:115%;FONT-FAMILY:'Kruti Dev 120';FONT-SIZE:16pt">xzhd o.kZekyk dk vkBokWa v{kj crkb;sA</span></p> <p style="TEXT-JUSTIFY:inter-ideograph;TEXT-ALIGN:justify;MARGIN:0cm 0cm 10pt" class="MsoNormal"><span style="LINE-HEIGHT:115%;FONT-FAMILY:'Kruti Dev 120';FONT-SIZE:16pt"> </span></p> <p style="TEXT-JUSTIFY:inter-ideograph;TEXT-ALIGN:justify;MARGIN:0cm 0cm 10pt" class="MsoNormal"><span style="LINE-HEIGHT:115%;FONT-SIZE:16pt"><font face="Calibri">Page<span style> </span>22</font></span></p> <p style="TEXT-JUSTIFY:inter-ideograph;TEXT-ALIGN:justify;MARGIN:0cm 0cm 10pt" class="MsoNormal"><span style="LINE-HEIGHT:115%;FONT-FAMILY:'Kruti Dev 120';FONT-SIZE:16pt">fcV~Vw us iwNk fd og mUgsa tkurk gS ysfdu ;g le; dqN vyx Fkk] mls dqN vuqeku ugha Fkk fd mRrj D;k gks ldrk FkkA<span style> </span>vr% mlus dqN nsj vkjke ls Vgyus dk fu'p; fd;kA<span style> </span>og ,d ;qorh ds lkeus vk;k tks fd pkWdcksMZ ds lkeus fopkjksa esa xqe Fkh] og ml ij dke dj jgh FkhA<span style> </span>iwjs cksMZ ij ikbFkkxksjl izes; fy[kh gqbZ FkhA<span style> </span>mlus vuqeku yxk;k fd og ;qorh muls 'kk;n vkSj vf/kd lehdj.k gy djus ij dke dj jgh FkhA<span style> </span>;qorh dks vkHkkl gqvk fd fcV~Vw mls ns[k jgk gSA fcV~Vw us mldks viuk ifjp; fn;kA mlus ;qorh dks vius ckjs esa vkSj viuh ftKklk ds ckjs esa crk;kA<span style> </span>;qorh mldh dgkuh ls izHkkfor gqbZA<span style> </span>fcV~Vw us mls vius orZeku ladsr ds ckjs esa Hkh crk;kA<span style> </span>;qorh us mls crk;k fd ;|fi mldk mRrj crkdj og mldh enn dj ldrh Fkh fdarq ;g dqN ,slk gS tks mls [kqn izkIr djuk gksxkA blds ctk; mlus mldks ,d vfrfjDr ladsr fn;k ;g dgdj fd og pht ,d flEcy gS tks fd ikbFkkxksjl izes; esa iz;ksx gksrk gS vkSj </span><span style="LINE-HEIGHT:115%;FONT-FAMILY:'Kruti Dev 120';FONT-SIZE:16pt">'kwU; ls feyrk&tqyrk gSA<span style> </span>fcV~Vw us mu lHkh flEcYl dks fxuuk 'kq: dj fn;k tks fd ikbFkkxksjl izes; esa vk ldrs Fks] ßvYQkW] chVk] xkWek] MsYVkWÞ vkSj rHkh mlds eu esa [;ky vk;k vkSj og tksj ls mRrj fpYyk iM+k <b style>"FkhVk"</b>A<span style> </span>blesa mls dksbZ lansg ugha FkkA<span style> </span>ckWDl pedus yxk] mldh jksekapd ;k=k ds var ds ladsr esaA<span style> </span>mlus ckWDl [kksyk vkSj FkhVk flEcy mlesa ik;kA<span style> </span></span></p> <p style="TEXT-JUSTIFY:inter-ideograph;TEXT-ALIGN:justify;MARGIN:0cm 0cm 10pt" class="MsoNormal"><span style="LINE-HEIGHT:115%;FONT-FAMILY:'Kruti Dev 120';FONT-SIZE:16pt"> </span></p> <p style="TEXT-JUSTIFY:inter-ideograph;TEXT-ALIGN:justify;MARGIN:0cm 0cm 10pt" class="MsoNormal"><span style="LINE-HEIGHT:115%;FONT-SIZE:16pt"><font face="Calibri">Page 23</font></span></p> <p style="TEXT-JUSTIFY:inter-ideograph;TEXT-ALIGN:justify;MARGIN:0cm 0cm 10pt" class="MsoNormal"><span style="LINE-HEIGHT:115%;FONT-FAMILY:'Kruti Dev 120';FONT-SIZE:16pt">fcV~Vw dks vkf[kjh loky dk tokc fey x;kA<span style> </span>og [kq'kh ls mNyus yxk tc lHkh Hkkjr] cschyksu] bftIV vkSj xzhl ds yksx ogkWa vk x;sA<span style> </span>rc vk;ZHkV~V us dgk& "fcV~Vw bruk 'kh?kz ughaA<span style> </span>okil tkus ls igys rqEgsa vHkh Hkh ,d igsyh gy djuh gSA<span style> </span>ckWDl dk lkeku ckgj fudkyksA"<span style> </span>fcV~Vw us rqjar gh ckWDl ls lkjh phtsa ckgj fudky nhaA<span style> </span>mlus lkuku ls flEcYl dks vyx dj fy;kA<span style> </span>jktk ukcksuklkj us dgk fd rqEgkjk vafre dk;Z ;g gS fd rqEgs bu flEcYl dks lgh dze esa yxkuk gSA</span></p> <p style="TEXT-JUSTIFY:inter-ideograph;TEXT-ALIGN:justify;MARGIN:0cm 0cm 10pt" class="MsoNormal"><span style="LINE-HEIGHT:115%;FONT-SIZE:16pt"><font face="Calibri">Riddle 4</font></span></p> <p style="TEXT-JUSTIFY:inter-ideograph;TEXT-ALIGN:justify;MARGIN:0cm 0cm 10pt" class="MsoNormal"><span style="LINE-HEIGHT:115%;FONT-FAMILY:'Kruti Dev 120';FONT-SIZE:16pt">,d fpUg vkSj yxkdj lw= cukvksA</span></p> <p style="TEXT-JUSTIFY:inter-ideograph;TEXT-ALIGN:justify;MARGIN:0cm 0cm 10pt" class="MsoNormal"><span style="LINE-HEIGHT:115%;FONT-SIZE:16pt"><font face="Calibri">Page 24</font></span></p> <p style="TEXT-JUSTIFY:inter-ideograph;TEXT-ALIGN:justify;MARGIN:0cm 0cm 10pt" class="MsoNormal"><span style="LINE-HEIGHT:115%;FONT-FAMILY:'Kruti Dev 120';FONT-SIZE:16pt">fcV~Vw us lw= cuk fy;kA<span style> </span>og tku x;k fd bls dSls djuk gSA<span style> </span>flEcYl leku fn[krs FksA<span style> </span>mlds nknkth dkQh le; ls mls ;g fl[kkus dh dksf'k'k dj jgs FksA<span style> </span>ckWDl iqu% pedus yxkA<span style> </span>fcV~Vw vius ihNs [kM+s gq, yksxksa dks ns[kus ds fy, ?kwekA<span style> </span>lHkh Bhd oSls gh eqLdqjk jgs Fks tSls fd mlds nknkth mlds }kjk fdlh iz'u ds gy gksus ij eqLdqjkrs FksA<span style> </span>fcV~Vw us mu lHkh dks mldh enn djus ds fy, /kU;okn fn;kA<span style> </span>mlus ?kj okil tkus dh bPNk ds lkFk ckWDl dh vksj ns[kk vkSj og izdk'k esa xk;c gks x;kA</span><span style="LINE-HEIGHT:115%;FONT-FAMILY:'Kruti Dev 120';FONT-SIZE:16pt"></span></p> <p style="TEXT-JUSTIFY:inter-ideograph;TEXT-ALIGN:justify;MARGIN:0cm 0cm 10pt" class="MsoNormal"><span style="LINE-HEIGHT:115%;FONT-FAMILY:'Kruti Dev 120';FONT-SIZE:16pt"> </span></p> <p style="TEXT-JUSTIFY:inter-ideograph;TEXT-ALIGN:justify;MARGIN:0cm 0cm 10pt" class="MsoNormal"><span style="LINE-HEIGHT:115%;FONT-FAMILY:'Kruti Dev 120';FONT-SIZE:16pt"><span style> </span></span></p> <p style="TEXT-JUSTIFY:inter-ideograph;TEXT-ALIGN:justify;MARGIN:0cm 0cm 10pt" class="MsoNormal"><span style="LINE-HEIGHT:115%;FONT-SIZE:16pt"><font face="Calibri">Page 25</font></span></p> <p style="TEXT-JUSTIFY:inter-ideograph;TEXT-ALIGN:justify;MARGIN:0cm 0cm 10pt" class="MsoNormal"><span style="LINE-HEIGHT:115%;FONT-FAMILY:'Kruti Dev 120';FONT-SIZE:16pt">vc tSlk fd mlus lkspk Fkk mRrj Li"V fn[k jgk FkkA<span style> </span>fcV~Vw dks var esa viuk mRrj fey x;kA lHkh cqtqxZ O;fDr ,d ykbu esa [kM+s gq, Fks vkSj muds psgjs ij ,d larks"k FkkA<span style> </span>fcV~Vw dks ,d njoktk fn[kkbZ fn;k tks fd ped jgk Fkk] bldk eryc Fkk fd mlds ogkWa ls tkus dk le; vk x;k FkkA<span style> </span>fcV~Vw vius nknkth dks ;kn dj jgk Fkk vkSj mUgsa ;g crkus ds fy, cgqr mRlqd Fkk fd mlds lkFk D;k&D;k gqvk Fkk vkSj dSls mlus ,d ubZ pht lh[khA </span></p> <p style="TEXT-JUSTIFY:inter-ideograph;TEXT-ALIGN:justify;MARGIN:0cm 0cm 10pt" class="MsoNormal"><span style="LINE-HEIGHT:115%;FONT-FAMILY:'Kruti Dev 120';FONT-SIZE:16pt"> </span></p> <p style="TEXT-JUSTIFY:inter-ideograph;TEXT-ALIGN:justify;MARGIN:0cm 0cm 10pt" class="MsoNormal"><span style="LINE-HEIGHT:115%;FONT-FAMILY:'Kruti Dev 120';FONT-SIZE:16pt"> <font face="tahoma,sans-serif">Anukriti Arora</font></span></p> <p style="MARGIN:0cm 0cm 10pt" class="MsoNormal"><span style="LINE-HEIGHT:115%;FONT-FAMILY:'Kruti Dev 120';FONT-SIZE:16pt"> </span></p> <p style="MARGIN:0cm 0cm 10pt" class="MsoNormal"><span style="LINE-HEIGHT:115%;FONT-FAMILY:'Kruti Dev 120';FONT-SIZE:16pt"> </span></p> <p style="MARGIN:0cm 0cm 10pt" class="MsoNormal"><span style="LINE-HEIGHT:115%;FONT-FAMILY:'Kruti Dev 120';FONT-SIZE:16pt"> </span></p> <p style="MARGIN:0cm 0cm 10pt" class="MsoNormal"><span style="LINE-HEIGHT:115%;FONT-FAMILY:'Kruti Dev 120';FONT-SIZE:16pt"> </span></p> <p style="MARGIN:0cm 0cm 10pt" class="MsoNormal"><span style="LINE-HEIGHT:115%;FONT-FAMILY:'Kruti Dev 120';FONT-SIZE:16pt"> </span></p> Narendra Raghunathhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02375172095721894566noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5914250411539207986.post-2632977373044905462012-03-31T19:04:00.005-07:002012-04-16T05:07:39.636-07:00Eenie Meanie Minnie<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjXqDDcJrww4rr5ozTq0PdymyRcZ1G9GNvNZRMOb0iAD41YRuxvWR9EXhpd49TrjlLwkvLMyZwcAuoMKhuEf8P-cEEfZuF3JU-4tfN6psSEXG8KESLmMPsU7Z5MVAvIHTxG3zepgqNvPMY/s1600/DSCN2380.JPG" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjXqDDcJrww4rr5ozTq0PdymyRcZ1G9GNvNZRMOb0iAD41YRuxvWR9EXhpd49TrjlLwkvLMyZwcAuoMKhuEf8P-cEEfZuF3JU-4tfN6psSEXG8KESLmMPsU7Z5MVAvIHTxG3zepgqNvPMY/s400/DSCN2380.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5731968877864994930" /></a><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_XQ4TrNVa5SJj4Ct0zDA9qLHAO1tW0kyNuM5mtrMFNYB6Zr5RftzxqrsEARJcRolfCgBGMnBiJ11qqlJyvfUbMQn3hWRJs6BEqVi3kFi8XtWdw1beOVUMHAnrGlnARnEPXUm7RCAUEGg/s1600/DSCN2376.JPG" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_XQ4TrNVa5SJj4Ct0zDA9qLHAO1tW0kyNuM5mtrMFNYB6Zr5RftzxqrsEARJcRolfCgBGMnBiJ11qqlJyvfUbMQn3hWRJs6BEqVi3kFi8XtWdw1beOVUMHAnrGlnARnEPXUm7RCAUEGg/s400/DSCN2376.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5731968869945342082" /></a><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLVdFRYPF-9P4f-agaPp8BFZlmFggiu7FygvLLIGds-biOm2Agn4BxCYUbZ9gYg4EM2hXfR8DwHlhDtofQkZb-4hrsyjB-srfZFXggeuQANJjji0BoRgryBP2vnDBwtZURYDmMQQuz7ZY/s1600/DSCN2375.JPG" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLVdFRYPF-9P4f-agaPp8BFZlmFggiu7FygvLLIGds-biOm2Agn4BxCYUbZ9gYg4EM2hXfR8DwHlhDtofQkZb-4hrsyjB-srfZFXggeuQANJjji0BoRgryBP2vnDBwtZURYDmMQQuz7ZY/s400/DSCN2375.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5731968855499108882" /></a><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj1LZfIYVWtoHnBIb_ZYEGOwOKMRQzcyOONjeUXCebh8HwZ1BYz_QfQZyGNw_1REzZcvZ4BwiWzxbHtiJGs-lPcM7a59sqJTWhBVP2G6vOjOh5AjsPYL0jc8NEOxIYpr3GN_graJfOM7qU/s1600/DSCN2378.JPG" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj1LZfIYVWtoHnBIb_ZYEGOwOKMRQzcyOONjeUXCebh8HwZ1BYz_QfQZyGNw_1REzZcvZ4BwiWzxbHtiJGs-lPcM7a59sqJTWhBVP2G6vOjOh5AjsPYL0jc8NEOxIYpr3GN_graJfOM7qU/s400/DSCN2378.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5731968843131245986" /></a><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj1hdQaZmI51tXv3_1HaXL9T4evqzodmA8KO9g0t36gcYw3740w-KhoW7ryhqPbeMrgAgAtVQRdrMQdCuyloGKSVICZhYmiatJI1dUU86IWJ6xea0sQyT4e9siUfG28gUcHNLlWYQ9YpSo/s1600/DSCN2373.JPG" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj1hdQaZmI51tXv3_1HaXL9T4evqzodmA8KO9g0t36gcYw3740w-KhoW7ryhqPbeMrgAgAtVQRdrMQdCuyloGKSVICZhYmiatJI1dUU86IWJ6xea0sQyT4e9siUfG28gUcHNLlWYQ9YpSo/s400/DSCN2373.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5731967283581079906" /></a><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div><p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px">The premise of this book is to look at the same set of events through a series of characters through the narrative. Every event is viewed differently by the viewer of that event. </span></p><p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px">The title of the book comes from the childhood game ,'Eenie, Meanie, Miny, Mo....' because of the structure that the story can be approached through any of the characters of the book.</span></p><p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"><br /></span></p><p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px">The inspiration of the whole story, especially that of Mini comes from the Greek tale of King Minos and the Minotaur. One of the protagonists of the story abandons his family and arranges a complex labyrinth for them to find out the truth.</span></p><p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica">The handmade elements of the book are that it is an old art book that has three 14 page booklets embedded inside it with an adjoining page having book elements that are reflective of the stories in the books.</p><p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica"><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" ;font-family:Arial;font-size:medium;"><br /></span></p><p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica"><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" ;font-family:Arial;font-size:medium;">The fonts used for the body text throughout the book is a sans serif font, Century Gotham and the cover fonts include Rockwell, Ashby Medium and Kingthings Knobson.</span></p><p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:Arial;"><br /></span></p><p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:Arial;">Documentation based on the guidelines discussed in class.</span></p></div><div><br /></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" ;font-family:Arial;font-size:medium;"> </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" ;font-family:Arial;font-size:medium;">Plot</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" ;font-family:Arial;font-size:medium;">The basic principle I followed was to write an overall umbrella story and divide individual stories into the following pattern</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" ;font-family:Arial;font-size:medium;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" ;font-family:Arial;font-size:medium;">Main Plot- Sub plot- Plot- Sub Plot- Plot</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">The sub-plots were my favorite tools as each of the characters could have their internal personal stories outside the narrative structure. </span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" ;font-family:Arial;font-size:medium;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" ;font-family:Arial;font-size:medium;">Structure</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" ;font-family:Arial;font-size:medium;">The structure of the book was that you could start reading any of the three separate stories in any order, and end with the same story.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" ;font-family:Arial;font-size:medium;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" ;font-family:Arial;font-size:medium;">Words</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" ;font-family:Arial;font-size:medium;">I intended an adult audience for the book. The distinguishing factor was that Miny's story was written in first-person while the two others were written in third person. </span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" ;font-family:Arial;font-size:medium;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" ;font-family:Arial;font-size:medium;">Subject</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" ;font-family:Arial;font-size:medium;">The subject is a family story that deals with the issues of death, abandonment and the hero stereotype that we hold on to in our lives.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" ;font-family:Arial;font-size:medium;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" ;font-family:Arial;font-size:medium;">Style</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" ;font-family:Arial;font-size:medium;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" ;font-family:Arial;font-size:medium;">I wrote the three stories which were characterized by 3 ways of observation; thinking/feeling, intuition and sensory.</span></div><div>Books and Movies that were an inspiration.</div><div><br /></div>The Lilac Bus, by author Maeve Binchy.<div>Roshomon</div><div>Vantage Point</div><div>12 Angry Men</div>Vidur Conrad Moitrahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07672364273114070495noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5914250411539207986.post-66023482304484608022012-03-30T12:24:00.001-07:002012-03-30T12:24:56.318-07:00process<div style="color:#000; background-color:#fff; font-family:times new roman, new york, times, serif;font-size:12pt"><div>vibhuti kanitkar fst202</div><div>onceupon a time.steps nd process</div></div>Narendra Raghunathhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02375172095721894566noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5914250411539207986.post-36140615517191322722012-03-24T22:29:00.000-07:002012-03-24T22:30:14.672-07:00story line.<div style="color:#000; background-color:#fff; font-family:times new roman, new york, times, serif;font-size:12pt"><div>please have a look before its uploaded on the website. m not very sure of it or confident as its my first attempt at writing for children. </div></div>Narendra Raghunathhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02375172095721894566noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5914250411539207986.post-49608365287699267692012-03-23T21:27:00.001-07:002012-03-23T21:27:18.331-07:00<p class="MsoNormal"><u>Front or back of the book</u></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Welcome. You are now, the proud owner of the diary that was once mine. </p> <p class="MsoNormal"><u>Chapter one</u></p> <p class="MsoNormal">A year from now, I will be dead. However uncanny, this is a fact. I know every little detail about my violent death as I have the ability to foretell the future and alter it. Unfortunately, while I have the power to transform the lives of others I cannot do the same for myself. This power is not a gift as one might think. It is a family business. Father, grandpa, great grandfather and his father before him have all delved in altering lives. We <b>Fiddlers</b>, could control our own lives at one point. However some fifty years ago, a greedy uncle chose to kill everyone in his village indiscriminately which changed everything. We lost our power to control our lives with the condition that if we misuse our powers we would be sent to another world with infinite hours of labour.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">Grandpa, the best <b>Fiddler</b> in the village, once told me "One should learn to detach oneself from the lives one alters. A "<b>Fiddler</b>" modifies ones fate to benefit others not oneself. That is a sign of a true <b>Fiddler</b>."</p> <p class="MsoNormal">It has been over ten years and I can proudly say that I have never been tempted by the power I can very easily misuse and exercise…</p> <p class="MsoNormal"> </p> <p class="MsoNormal"><u>Chapter two</u></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Cannot wait to tell you what happened! While I was sitting on my bed winding by clock as usual, a letter painted in gold, landed on my window sill. Receiving letters every morning was not new as many approach me in this manner when change is required in their lives.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"> But the gold paint? Was this a special task, I wondered. So I jumped out of bed and rushed to read it. </p> <p class="MsoNormal">"Wind your clock and alter the lives of the following beautiful women.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">They are: Snow White, Cinderella and Lady Mermaid from Neverland. </p> <p class="MsoNormal">The almighty needs them urgently. Remember, you have to do this quietly. They should be unaware of your plans. If you complete this mission successfully then you will gain the power to control your own life."</p> <p class="MsoNormal">A chance, to control my own life? </p> <p class="MsoNormal">I could not believe it! On winding it, the usual option of learning about their current life cropped up. . <b>Snow White</b>, was the daughter of a very famous king. After her mother's death, her father married another woman. Her step mother was obsessed with beauty therefore, when she saw Snow White, it gave her great happiness as she did not like associating with unattractive people.<b> Cinderella</b> was a beautiful girl with two younger step sisters, stepmother and her own father. Her stepmother always wanted a pretty daughter as she felt beauty was the key to climbing the social ladder. <b>Lady Mermaid,</b> the princess of the sea was known for her beauty and her swimming prowess. The whole kingdom loved her for her kindness .She despised humans that lived on the shore after her dearest uncle lost his life during one of those excavations. </p> <p class="MsoNormal"><u>Key words:</u></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Snow white –daughter of famous king-step mother-beauty</p> <p class="MsoNormal">Cinderella- stepmother- step sisters-social ladder.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">Lady Mermaid- Princess-strokes as swimmer- kingdom- humans</p> <p class="MsoNormal"> </p> <p class="MsoNormal"><u>Torn pages</u><b>- </b>to show irritation on not knowing what to do.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><u>Chapter three</u></p> <p class="MsoNormal">This is frustrating. </p> <p class="MsoNormal">I know how to alter lives but to alter it to cause death? How can I bring them closer to death?</p> <p class="MsoNormal">DEATH DEATH DEATH .All I can think of is this apple I am eating.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">APPLE (smudged half way)</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><u>Chapter Four</u></p> <p class="MsoNormal"> Sorry for not having written. But the unexpected has happened! Cousin Anne has married a Normal!</p> <p class="MsoNormal">How could she? The Book of Laws clearly states that "if a Fiddler challenges society by marrying a Normal (a man who cannot claim or prove to alter lives), then he or she will cease to exercise any of their powers as a Fiddler.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">She was so good at it and she has given it all up for a Normal. On top of that, with her departure the designation of Executive Fiddler for our Generation is open. She gave that up. It just doesn't seem to make any sense.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><u>Letter</u></p> <p class="MsoNormal">"Do not brood over Cousin Anne. If you choose to ignore the task at hand , then you will have to bear the following consequences. Firstly, you will lose your power to control your life. Secondly, you will not be allowed to apply for the position of Executive Fiddler. Lastly, the Fiddler that succeeds Anne will gain the power to manipulate his or her life.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">P.S: Before you make any asinine comment attach this to your diary as a constant reminder of what is at stake."</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><u>Chapter Five</u></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Mindmap of the apple-leading to Snow white's death.(unclear)</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><u>Chapter Six</u></p> <p class="MsoNormal">The relief of finally figuring out one of the ends is indescribable! So here goes Snow White's end.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">After much thought, I decided to take the idea of beauty forward.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"> Since the Queen is obsessed with her appearance, I decided to tamper with that and make her insecure of Snow White's beauty. This jealousy is taken to a whole new level when the queen decides to hire a hunter to kill her however after that fails, she decides to take the matter into her own hands and visit her in a disguise and poison her with an apple .(sketch)</p> <p class="MsoNormal">The end result seems closer. I know I will struggle with the other two but having completed one has given me hope.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><u>Chapter Seven</u></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Mindmap of Cinderella.(circling the point of the climbing the Social ladder)</p> <p class="MsoNormal">Greed is a great element to play with! I never knew I could come up with these changes.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">This scenario seems too serene. I have to manipulate the relationship the stepmother has with her. In this version, I am going to ruin their relationship and alter the step mother's feelings towards Cinderella by slowing converting her already unattractive children into ghastly looking monsters. Thereby, increasing the animosity between the sisters. All these events will in effect ruin their chances to climb the social ladder as no prince will choose the stepsisters. After seeing these atrocities, a fairy god mother decides to take matters into her own hands and rescue Cinderella. She helps her go to the annual Ball. However along the way, the carriage loses wheel, and goes off the road causing a fatal accident and Cinderalla is kaput.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><u>Chapter eight</u></p> <p class="MsoNormal">On the way back from Church, I saw Jane and Mathew playing with each other in the lake. It made me think of Lady Mermaid. </p> <p class="MsoNormal">How about a love story? Got an idea!</p> <p class="MsoNormal">A mission to save a dolphin from human capture leads Lady Mermaid to charge towards the crawler -however on doing so she is almost killed by one of the metal shafts. But Prince Norman comes to her rescue . Instead of thanking him, she starts reprimanding him for all the ill they have caused for the sea world down below. However, fate makes brings them together repeatedly and love blooms. A cryptic message is sent to her saying that "any contact with a human" will lead to her death. The minute they kiss she disintegrates and dies.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">DONE.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><u>Chapter Nine:</u></p> <p class="MsoNormal">I have finally completed the task. I received one more letter.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><u>Letter</u></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Congratulations on having completed the task successfully. Wait for the next letter. On receiving the latter, you will gain the power to control your own life.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">P.S:You cannot take any other mission till you receive the aforementioned letter.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"> </p> <p class="MsoNormal"><u>Chapter Ten</u></p> <p class="MsoNormal">The unthinkable has happened!</p> <p class="MsoNormal">While cleaning my watch, an owl visited me. This has always proved to be a bad omen.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">What am I to make of this?</p> <p class="MsoNormal">I cannot even tell my family about this as it would mean disclosing the whole mission</p> <p class="MsoNormal">(</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><u>Letter</u></p> <p class="MsoNormal">You have been tricked. This was not a test to let you control your life but to test your greed for power and you failed. Shame on you. The ladies were informed of the untimely death the minute they reached heaven. They have been given the opportunity to seek revenge provided they work together.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">How am I to react to this? I am scared. I apologize for being greedy but I do not want to die…</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><u>Letter</u></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Stick this letter into your journal at once.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">The ladies have decided to avenge their own deaths by working together. In fact , they must be on their way to your house! Don't stop reading the letter as that would put you in further danger. The ladies will take a (weapon) to kill you.I am told, you have always feared being killed by a(weapon)….It only seemed appropriate</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><br> Towards the end of the letter,a part of it, as you can see is folded. Open it. </p> <p class="MsoNormal">AHA! Having opened it,you have given me the power to control your fate and the minute you finish reading this letter you will be hammered to death.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><u>Chapter Eleven</u></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Having killed the Fiddler, the ladies lived happily ever after by going back to their own happy lives.</p> Narendra Raghunathhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02375172095721894566noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5914250411539207986.post-18219765569648479392012-03-23T21:26:00.001-07:002012-03-23T21:26:22.548-07:00The Story and flow of the book.<br> Narendra Raghunathhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02375172095721894566noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5914250411539207986.post-5104367951084750142012-03-23T07:21:00.001-07:002012-03-23T07:21:54.279-07:00text and cover.<p class="mobile-photo"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtIrdcGRokPnWv2Q01blcgxrS_t3OTRmpgZa4jX8psU7pF1dTIYIWaFMvxniH73SDU_jMpY6f7vnad6PEgZi_uidaYTi2QNgcBlQAMWgGNr_lIYt8RWY8UuJ1_Sav11puCkwExIJPBi2CY/s1600/FINAL+COVER+lowres-714280.jpg"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtIrdcGRokPnWv2Q01blcgxrS_t3OTRmpgZa4jX8psU7pF1dTIYIWaFMvxniH73SDU_jMpY6f7vnad6PEgZi_uidaYTi2QNgcBlQAMWgGNr_lIYt8RWY8UuJ1_Sav11puCkwExIJPBi2CY/s320/FINAL+COVER+lowres-714280.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5723097671790940994" /></a></p><p class="mobile-photo"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJQRHUE0iqhygfNeywWh3FCJkOWKAWUVSr-lWqlsT4ypVa9DRT0Z9FL9t59rDG9YFH4lzv-qMEDjsnAFd1_KoTIsX8449TyRg4HKJQar5CaJ_dHj3sJLLndLl_mlLY6GVjSmJ2_mT9RILN/s1600/BOX+OUTside-715917.jpg"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJQRHUE0iqhygfNeywWh3FCJkOWKAWUVSr-lWqlsT4ypVa9DRT0Z9FL9t59rDG9YFH4lzv-qMEDjsnAFd1_KoTIsX8449TyRg4HKJQar5CaJ_dHj3sJLLndLl_mlLY6GVjSmJ2_mT9RILN/s320/BOX+OUTside-715917.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5723097681475814738" /></a></p><p class="mobile-photo"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjt3wtgMaDDCE0zE6gnKOib7ZUiYgx8abx9ezc6kqcP9K3CnxQoyLnvWcC-coFnVSGRs1M8_b7Mu1UuOXcJbMyB7c3NNEXfRkEj1yxwY2gE5ZmAP6_ONUwBWTfex80MutMtAE7ieU5hlx8-/s1600/Box+1+elisa-717505.jpg"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjt3wtgMaDDCE0zE6gnKOib7ZUiYgx8abx9ezc6kqcP9K3CnxQoyLnvWcC-coFnVSGRs1M8_b7Mu1UuOXcJbMyB7c3NNEXfRkEj1yxwY2gE5ZmAP6_ONUwBWTfex80MutMtAE7ieU5hlx8-/s320/Box+1+elisa-717505.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5723097686225448546" /></a></p><div dir='ltr'> I have included my cover box, full text, and example of inside box.<div><br></div> </div>Narendra Raghunathhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02375172095721894566noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5914250411539207986.post-18073921633128850892012-03-20T11:15:00.001-07:002012-03-20T11:15:41.405-07:00final story<p class="MsoNormal">Solving a problem</p> <p class="MsoNormal">Z, is a twelve year old boy. He is the wittiest of all his friends. He plays pranks at his friends but at the same time he is very helpful. There is no one who is not fond of him; he has many fans right from the age of his little sister to grandparents. But his biggest fan is his grandfather. His grandfather is also is best friend and teacher. Being his best friend and teacher, it is needless to say that his grandfather is the person who knows him best. One thing that his grandfather knows is that even though Z is witty and sharp, mathematics is something that even he runs away from. No matter how interesting or fun his grandfather makes it for him he just can't be bothered with it. This worried his grandfather a lot. "How should I make him memorize all these formulae?" wondered his grandfather once. Just then grandpa realized that if Z remembers one formula he will be able to figure out the others as well. That day Grandpa sat down making a game on the formulas and equations so that it becomes easier for Z to understand. After all it was the big day tomorrow. It was the day of the test.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">After Z came back from school grandpa made him sit down and play the game. Z was tired from being in school and then coming back home to endure this torture. He didn't show any interest in the game. Grandpa was a little disappointed at Z's lack of enthusiasm, which made him angrier at Z. Z's inability in understanding made grandpa snap at Z. Z upset with his grandpa's sudden change in behavior ran out of the room straight into in his bedroom and onto his bed. With tears of frustration stinging his eyes Z drifted into a deep slumber. </p> <p class="MsoNormal">Someone was shaking Z awake. He didn't want to wake up, scared of what might await him. Then somebody said, "Wake up lad, how long do you plan on sleeping?"</p> <p class="MsoNormal">Z winked one of his eyes open slightly to see who it was. He could see his grandpa's face. Z turned around and shut his eyes again saying "Five more minutes' grandpa."</p> <p class="MsoNormal">"Who are you calling grandpa?" said his grandpa. Worried that his grandpa is still annoyed with him Z sat up straight ready to apologize for being so incompetent. And in place of his usual grandpa he saw a man with the exact same features as his grandpa wearing a dhoti and angavastaram. It couldn't be his grandpa thought Z. His grandpa was a thorough pant shirt person. Why would he be in this attire? Now when Z looked around him something was not right, he was lying on a bed made out of hay. Z didn't know what to make of it. Again the man said, "Wake up boy." "Where is this place?" asked Z ignoring the man. "You are in India of course", said the man in a tone as if the most ridiculous question was asked to him. "What part of India is this?" asked Z scrutinizing the mud house with leaves for windows. It was the man's turn to ignore Z's question this time. He got off the bed and walked towards the other side of the room where a huge terracotta pot was kept with a lid on top. He picked up the lid and poured some water into a cup made of leaf. He gave the cup to Z and gestured him to drink the water. After what seemed like an eternity the man spoke and said, "I am Aryabhatta, a mathematician by profession." The cup was about fall from Z's hands but he managed to retain his grip. For a second he thought he was dreaming. He was sitting in front of the great Aryabhatta. Z couldn't contain his excitement and asked, "Are you really that Aryabhatta that invented the pi?"</p> <p class="MsoNormal">"Ai, ai my boy I have yet to make it public. It is still in the testing stage", said Aryabhatta with a slight nod of his head. "But wait a minute how do you know about it? It is not out yet', said Aryabhatta with a skeptical look. Z was in a fix he didn't know what to say. He was doubtful if Mr. Aryabhatta would believe him or not. Then he thought the better of it and started, " I know all of this because maybe I am from the future." Z explained his story to Aryabhatta while the latter listened patiently. Aryabhatta could see the confusion and desperation in Z's eyes. After Z finished relating his story Aryabhatta spoke, "Friend I know how you came to this world. I was outside doing my daily chores when I was this blinding light and a bam. When everything cleared up you were lying on the ground with this box tightly clutched in your hands."Aryabhatta then took out the box from under the bed. It was no extraordinary box just a plain simple geometry box. Z took the box from Aryabhatta and flipped it open. The box was empty there were just grooves in there for the other material to rest. Aryabhatta seeing Z all helpless decided to help him a little more and said, "I can help you." Z's head jerked up. Aryabhatta said, I know people who can help you go back to your world. This box is very important." When Z gave him a questioning look embarrassed Aryabhatta told him that while Z was asleep Aryabhatta had taken the liberty to examine the box. "This, my friend", said Aryabhatta pointing at the box "will act as your transportation device." </p> <p class="MsoNormal">"For starters I can only give you this", Aryabhatta went to his desk and brought something clasped between his hands. Aryabhatta gestures Z to open his hands and put the pi in them. Then he said, "I can only help you right now by giving you this. It will come in use at some point of time." Z got excited as it meant the beginning of his new adventure. He thanked Aryabhatta for helping him through his quest. Then as instructed by Aryabhatta, Z opened the box ready to be swallowed by the whirlpool of light. </p> <p class="MsoNormal">Z could feel himself lying on grass and sand. He was about to get up when he heard noise. Then a sturdy looking man came and stood in front of him. And then in a rough voice he asked "Who is this boy?" Z didn't dare move a muscle. "Whoever it is take him to the court", said a man coming from behind the sturdy man. </p> <p class="MsoNormal">Z was been dragged by the sturdy guy, suddenly the man stopped and pushed Z to the front. Z could no longer pretend to be unconscious now. He opened his eyes. Z was surprised at what he saw. He felt like he was in a movie with royal sittings on both sides of the corridor and a stage sort of a structure where a man was sitting. Z's attention was at the man sitting on the throne. He somehow seemed familiar. Z took a few steps towards the stage where the man was sitting and then he realized. The man on the throne had an uncanny resemblance to his grandfather and Aryabhatta. Before Z could grasp the situation he blurted out, "Who are you?" Judging by the reaction of the people sitting around the court Z immediately knew it was not a much appreciated question. Almost instantly he was nudged by the sturdy man to keep quiet. The man said, "We found him lurking outside the castle my lord, he looked a little suspicious so we took him in."</p> <p class="MsoNormal">Z shot the man an irritating look. The man on the throne noticed it and said, "I am King Nabonassar and this is the kingdom of Babylon", spreading his hands as a gesture. "Now, tell me, who are you?"</p> <p class="MsoNormal">"I…um I am Z", said Z. "And where are you from?" asked the king. "From the future, said Z in an unsure voice. As soon as these words left his mouth, the whole court burst into cackles of laughter. Even the king gave a smirk, then he asked, "May I ask what you are doing here then?" Z irritated with the initial humiliation said, "I come here in search of something", reluctantly. The king's demeanor changed immediately. "What are you searching for boy?" asked the king. "I don't know", said the boy. There was another round of loud murmurs in the courtroom. "You can't possibly believe him your highness. He could easily be a spy from the neighboring country", said a stout looking man beside the king. Z scared of the unknown allegations screamed, "I am no spy. I don't even know what you are talking about." The king ignored him and ordered for him to be put into the dungeons. He said that Z's punishment would be decided by the council the next morning. No matter how much Z shouted or begged no one paid any heed to it. He was thrown in to the dungeon by the sturdy man. In the dungeon there was only a cemented bed and a candle. Z sat on the bench venting out his anger tossing the pi from one hand to another, when he heard footsteps coming down the stairs. Z, wondering who it was, stood close to the bars. The source of light became visible and so did the person carrying the light. It was King Nabonassar. The king came to stand in front of the dungeon, at an arm's length from Z. Then he spoke, "Aryabhatta informed me of your arrival, but I never thought that you would be so young." Angry at the King's denial of awareness about his arrival Z said, "If you had known of my visit then why did you refuse to acknowledge me?" The king conveniently ignored Z and said, "My task here is to give a riddle to solve. This the only way I can help you in your quest to go back to your world."</p> <p class="MsoNormal">"What is the alternate of the dot, which if shifted between numbers has the power to change their values?" </p> <p class="MsoNormal">"The only dot that is there between numbers is decimal. Is the answer decimal?" asked Z.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">"Decimal", said the King "is the dot. But the question says alternate of a decimal." Z started running his brain trying to figure out the riddle. All of a sudden there was glow in his pocket. The box was glowing. Z opened up the box and found something in there. He waited for the glow to diminish before picking up the object. It was a ruler. Perplexed at the new addition to his box, Z turned around to face the king with questions ready to be asked only to see the King walking back up. "Hey wait", shouted out Z behind him. Without looking back the king said, "Don't push yourself over it. You have the whole night to think about it. I will come in the morning to see if you have the answer ready and also to answer some of your questions" and left.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">Z lay down on the bench struggling to find the meaning of the riddle. He also remembered his grandpa. His ever so patient grandpa but the last time his grandpa had seriously lost it. He remembered the good times spent with his grandpa. How they used to play and how easy and fun his grandpa used to make it for him to understand math. Every new thing was like a game. His grandpa taught him how to do BODMAS and how to convert division into decimal. It was a lock clicking. It all made sense to Z now. The system of writing something upon something can also be converted to decimal. Again the box started glowing. Z opened the box and found a compass lying next to the ruler along with a upon/by sign. Relieved upon finding out the answer Z decided to catch up on some sleep. </p> <p class="MsoNormal">Chirping of the birds woke up Z. He propped himself up on his elbows shaking the sleep away from his eyes. "I take it you have found the answer", said somebody. Z tilted his head toward the bars to see the King sprawled across the floor right outside the dungeon. "Uhuh", replied Z. "The answer is the division symbol by", said Z. "Correct", said the king. "I presume you have a lot of questions that need be answered?" said the king. "Yes", replied Z looking at the box. King Nabonassar knew what Z wanted to ask and told him that the contents of the box will keep increasing as he keeps solving the puzzles. The addition of new things means that he is closer to returning back. Every place he goes he needs to collect at least one item that goes into the box otherwise he won't be able proceed to the next country. </p> <p class="MsoNormal">"And what about these?" asked Z pointing at the pi and by symbols. "You will know what to do with them when the time comes", said the king in a calm voice. It almost seemed like his grandpa's. Z could feel his eyes tearing up. With everything known he was ready to leave for his next destination. Z opened the box before the light could suck him up he waved a hand at the king and thanked him for all his help. Before his departure the king warned him to be a little conspicuous of what you say. With that Z disappeared.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">Z's next stop was a desert. The temperature was hot enough to melt him. He started walking in hopes of finding a shade. Z walked for what seemed like hours without being able to find any relief from the scorching heat of the desert. Finally he spotted something. Only the top pointed part of the structure was visible which meant he still had to walk a lot in order to reach that place. But now, which each step he seemed to be getting closer to the pyramid. At last, he reached the pyramid. There was a person standing at the top of the stairs right outside the entrance of the pyramid. Z had been to two countries and saw different styles of attires but he never saw a man wearing a dress. The man standing outside was wearing that. As Z approached the man to ask him about the clues for his next task the man spoke, "You are Z, I assume?" Again the man was a replica was his grandfather.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">"Yes, I am", Z replied. "You took your time arriving here", said the man. "Where are we?" asked Z. The man told him that they are in Egypt. He also told Z that he has Z's next clue which was in the pyramid and Z has to draw out a pyramid in order to enter the pyramid. After saying that, he turned around to leave. Z was about to ask him about the material, and just then his box started glowing. Z opened his box to find a paper, pencil and protractor. "Where did they come from?" asked an astounded Z. The Egyptian man gave him an all knowing look and said "This is a magical world my friend. You just have to know what you want and you will get it" after that he went inside the pyramid and the doors shut behind him. Z remembered his grandpa's classes. He sat down on the floor to make the pyramid, he never thought that his grandpa's lessons will come so much in use. He marked the angles and drew the lines, everything that he was taught and with the precision he was always asked to take care of. Z finished making the pyramid. It was the first time he made a correct pyramid in one go. The minute he finished making it the paper vanished and in place of that was a cut out of a triangle. Z picked up the triangle and made his way towards the door. The door opened itself and welcomed Z in. Z saw the Egyptian man again, this time he was standing in front of a tomb. "Congratulations", said the man as Z came nearer. "My grandpa taught me this, so I knew", said Z. "Very well", said the Egyptian, "This is your final clue before you go to the last destination of your quest, </p> <p class="MsoNormal">A prime number that is a double of one step after the number that is neither prime nor composite. The number, which comes in between positive and negative integers."</p> <p class="MsoNormal">Z knew the answer to this riddle very well. One thing that Z was proud of, were his arithmetic skills. He had most fun playing with numbers. Z said out the answer "Two". The Egyptian impresses at his quick answer smiled at him and gave him a nod. Z took out the box to have a look at his latest acquisition. It was a number two lying on top of everything else in the box. "You just have one more location to go to before you can return back", the man said to Z. "How will I know, how to get back?" asked Z in a scared tone. Yet again Z was told to wait for the correct time. Z left for his final country where everything will be over. </p> <p class="MsoNormal">Z fell on top of a stall when he arrived. The area where he landed was pretty crowded. There were rows of different stalls from cloth to gems to food to toys. In fact the stall he landed on was a toy stall. The owner of the stall was standing with his hands crossed over his chest glaring at Z and the menace that he had caused. Z got up to apologize but right then a man came charging towards him and dragged him into a cave. Before Z could ask anything the man said, "You are in Greece, my friend", removing his head. This time the man in this alternate world was a younger version of his grandpa. Z knew that he is the person who will eventually help him find answers to the final clue. "So, you are the boy everyone has been talking about", said the man. "Do you know all of them?" inquired Z. Of course I know them. All of us are men with similar interests", replied the man in an astonished tone, as if the possibility of otherwise was ridiculous. </p> <p class="MsoNormal">"Will you give me my next clue?" asked Z. The man nodded in response. "Just show a little patience my friend" said the man and started walking deeper into the cave. Z followed him inside. They reached a fork; the man took left with Z one step behind him. After walking for five minutes the narrow path opened into an open space. Z was taken aback by what he saw inside. It looked like a laboratory. There were man and women busy working on the blackboards, on their tables with abacus and Rubix cube. Aware of Z's next question the man said, "These people that you see at work are currently experimenting with formulae and equations, trying out their feasibility. Curiosity is highly valued here. Also, you will be given your last clue here." He gave Z a chit that said –</p> <p class="MsoNormal"> What is the eighth letter of the Greek alphabet?</p> <p class="MsoNormal">Z didn't know what the answer was. He couldn't even make guesses. Earlier everything that he was asked, he knew about them but this time was different, he had no idea what the answer could be. As he was thinking over it, the man left him alone and went his way. Z decided to take a stroll; he thought it might just help him open his mind. The first person he came across was a short man wearing a frock, his eyebrows creased and eyes focused on the slate lying in front of him, his hands moving at the speed of lightning on the calculator. He was clearly too busy to be bothered with a person hovering over him, so Z moved on. Next he came across a lady. The lady was lost in thought in front of the chalk board she was working on. The board was full of Pythagoras Theorems. Z guessed that the lady was probably working on solving more equations with them. The lady seemed to have noticed Z looking at her. She raised an eyebrow at him. Z introduced himself to her and told her about his quest. The lady appeared to be fascinated with his story. Z also told her about his latest clue. The lady told him that even though she would like to help him by telling him the answer, it is something that he should find out on his own. Instead she gave him an additional hint saying that the thing he is looking for is a symbol that is used in Pythagoras Theorems which resembles a zero. Z began counting all the symbols that could possibly come in Pythagoras theorems, "Alpha, beta, gamma, delta" and it clicked to him. He said out the answer aloud, "Theta". He didn't need a confirmation. The box started glowing, marking the end of his eventful journey. He opened the box and the symbol of theta there. The box was finally full. Z jumped with joy. </p> <p class="MsoNormal">"Not so fast Z", said a voice, "You still have to solve a puzzle before you can go back." The man came into view, but this time he was not alone. There were others coming close behind him. Now that all of them in sight Z saw Aryabhatta, King Nabonassar and the Egyptian man along with the man. "Take out the contents of the box Z", said Aryabhatta. Z quickly removed everything that was inside the box. He separated the symbols from the rest of the materials. "Your last tack is to arrange them in the correct way", said King Nabonassar. Z spread the symbols on the ground and got on with his work. It seemed familiar to him all the symbols. He had seen it many times before. </p> Narendra Raghunathhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02375172095721894566noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5914250411539207986.post-42399185692257040172012-03-16T23:51:00.001-07:002012-03-16T23:51:39.006-07:00Final StoryHi Narendra,<div>This is the story for my book.</div><div><br></div><div>Regards,</div><div>Anukriti Arora</div> Narendra Raghunathhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02375172095721894566noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5914250411539207986.post-33030494002114468242012-03-16T22:50:00.000-07:002012-03-16T22:51:27.624-07:00Story-Aakash Doshi<!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <o:officedocumentsettings> <o:allowpng/> </o:OfficeDocumentSettings> </xml><![endif]--> <!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:worddocument> <w:view>Normal</w:View> <w:zoom>0</w:Zoom> <w:trackmoves/> <w:trackformatting/> <w:punctuationkerning/> <w:validateagainstschemas/> <w:saveifxmlinvalid>false</w:SaveIfXMLInvalid> <w:ignoremixedcontent>false</w:IgnoreMixedContent> 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priority="39" qformat="true" name="TOC Heading"> </w:LatentStyles> </xml><![endif]--> <!--[if gte mso 10]> <style> /* Style Definitions */ table.MsoNormalTable {mso-style-name:"Table Normal"; mso-tstyle-rowband-size:0; mso-tstyle-colband-size:0; mso-style-noshow:yes; mso-style-priority:99; mso-style-parent:""; mso-padding-alt:0cm 5.4pt 0cm 5.4pt; mso-para-margin:0cm; mso-para-margin-bottom:.0001pt; mso-pagination:widow-orphan; font-size:12.0pt; font-family:Cambria; mso-ascii-font-family:Cambria; mso-ascii-theme-font:minor-latin; mso-hansi-font-family:Cambria; mso-hansi-theme-font:minor-latin;} </style> <![endif]--> <!--StartFragment--> <p class="MsoNormal" align="right" style="text-align:right">Written by Aakash Doshi<o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">How clear the skies were on that beautiful summer night! The trees swayed over the toy-like houses and a shooting star streaked through the sky. It seemed to be moving closer, growing bigger, getting brighter until suddenly it was a great big ball of fire. It crashed into the ground with a tremendous noise, temporarily blinding the area in a white hot light. <o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Tara Kumar was a ten-year-old girl who lived in the neighborhood. She rubbed her eyes sleepily, startled by the loud noise and the rapidly fading light outside. She peered out her window into the backyard. The grass was scorched black, and wisps of gray smoke were fading into the night sky. <o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Tara was scared but like most young children, her curiosity was insatiable. She reached for her stuffed bunny, Roger Rabbi, off her bed and went down the stairs, and out the back door. She walked over to the burnt patch of grass, and right in the middle was a spherical object made of what appeared to be metal. She got down on her knees to take a closer look, coughing a little from the smoke. As the smoke cleared, she realized that the metal sphere had what appeared to be a seat in the centre, surrounded by colourful little lights and buttons. <o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Tara reached out for the sphere, eager to take a closer look, when she heard a rustling in the bushes behind her. She stood up, and holding Roger Rabbi closer, she inched towards the bushes.<o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Something glittered behind the dense leaves. She parted the leaves with her free hand to find a little creature looking up at her from the grass. It was nothing like any animal she had ever seen in the picture books her mother read to her every night before bed. The creature appeared frightened, but it did not run away. <o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">She dropped Roger Rabbit and moved closer. The creature, whatever it was, moved back in fright until it backed up against the garden fence. <o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">“Don’t be scared. I’m Tara,” she said with a smile, stretching her hand out towards the little thing. It reached forward hesitantly, its paw like hand still shivering slightly. Tara took the paw in her hand and led it into the house, chatting the whole time. <o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Once they were in her room, Tara reached under her bed and pulled out a little cane basket. She folded a blanket into the basket and gestured to the little creature. “Come sleep in your little bed,” she said, climbing into her own bed. “You must be so tired,” she murmured as she fell into a deep and dreamless sleep.<o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">The next morning, Tara woke up earlier than usual. She peeked over her blanket to see the little creature fast asleep in the basket. She tip toed out of her room, and then rushed into the kitchen. Her father is reading the morning paper with a cup of coffee, and her mother is frying eggs for breakfast. <o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">“Good morning!” she sang, as she pushed a chair against the kitchen counter and climbed up on it. She pulled down a box of cereal and poured it into a bowl. “Tara, put that cereal away, I’m frying eggs for breakfast,” her mother said.<o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">“These aren’t for me! They’re for my new friend,” Tara cried, as she ran out of the kitchen and up the stairs to her bedroom. <o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Mrs Kumar gives her husband a curious look as she left the kitchen. She walked into Tara’s bedroom to find Tara crouched over the cane basket on the floor, talking cheerful to thin air. “What are you doing Tara? Wash your face and get ready for school,” she said sternly, as she left the room, closing the door behind her.<o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">In school that morning, Tara chattered away to her new friend constantly. Twice her teacher interrupted the lesson to ask her who she was talking to, because the desk next to Tara’s was empty. <o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">On her way home after school, Tara spotted some older boys from her neighbourhood playing basketball in the park. She makes her way over to them and introduces her new friend. They laugh and tell her to stop bothering them, because they did not know what she was pointing at. <o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Meanwhile, Mr Kumar had come home early from work. He picked up the newspaper off the kitchen table, and opened the back door, envisioning a quiet evening relaxing in the backyard with his newspaper. He is astonished to find his beautifully maintained lawn scorched black, and a crater in the center. He drops his newspaper and gets down on his knees to inspect the damage. He finds Roger Rabbit stuck in the bushes, and takes it back inside, puzzled over what happened to his backyard.<o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Mrs Kumar goes upstairs to check if Tara had finished her homework. She opens the door to find her daughter sitting on the floor, deep in conversation, even though there is no one else in the room. She tells Tara that it is dinnertime, and then goes down stairs to talk to her husband. <o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Tara’s teacher had called her from school to tell her about Tara’s strange behavior in class that day, and she feels worried. “She’s too old to have imaginary friends now. We have to do something about this,” she told her husband as she set the table for dinner. <o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Over dinner that evening, Mr and Mrs Kumar ask their daughter why her new friend hasn’t joined them for dinner. “He’s fixing his spaceship,” she said seriously, “It broke when it crashed here last night,” Her parents exchange worried looks, and go back to their meal.<o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">The next morning at breakfast, Mrs Kumar asks Tara what she was going to do about her new friend, as after school they would be taking Tara to see someone. Mr Kumar has booked an appointment for Tara at the psychiatrist’s office. Tara solemnly tells her mother that her friend has gone back home, but not <o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">The next morning she wakes up and gets ready for school. As tara goes to the kitchen and sees her parent sitting and having breakfast. She sits down as her plate is kept ready for her and starts enjoying her breakfast. Her parents had set an appointment with a psychiatrist after school. The mother then asks her what is she going to do with her new friend, as she would not be there the whole day, to this she replies that it had gone away from where it had come from but had promised her that it will be back.<o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>So once in a while she goes to her backyard in the nights looking up in the sky wondering if it will every come back.<o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span><o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <!--EndFragment-->Anonymousnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5914250411539207986.post-65833611491964819492012-03-16T13:27:00.001-07:002012-03-16T13:27:14.486-07:00Cover page- shaun<p class="mobile-photo"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqR_W86AXne2Bkzrs6yK3uctLMnVwiIlVVvaCHyCt24aAXWJ4Gy-KN2cSlAVADnIVaL2kaAoQMzq5EuaUAVzDvH2pD8Vrzl05R7GmG9o9wIumJ9Ap79Hhu_WJZC0zU_LNFgr36iUGQqxgn/s1600/cover-734487.jpg"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqR_W86AXne2Bkzrs6yK3uctLMnVwiIlVVvaCHyCt24aAXWJ4Gy-KN2cSlAVADnIVaL2kaAoQMzq5EuaUAVzDvH2pD8Vrzl05R7GmG9o9wIumJ9Ap79Hhu_WJZC0zU_LNFgr36iUGQqxgn/s320/cover-734487.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5720594225739181346" /></a></p><div dir='ltr'> Hi, <div>This is my cover page for my book/ Chocolate box.</div><div><br></div><div>'And that's when knew...' By Shaun Machado.</div><div><br></div><div><br></div> </div>Narendra Raghunathhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02375172095721894566noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5914250411539207986.post-60400917296445774422012-03-15T04:34:00.001-07:002012-03-15T04:34:15.092-07:00<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB">The Division Wall<br>Nihar Apte</span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><br></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB">It was one hot summer Sunday morning in the month of May. The war between India and China was going strong. It had been two months since Dan had graduated from College. He lay on his bed thinking what he should do with his life and wishing he had been a better student in college. Now he lives in a small apartment with a broken bed, fridge, T.V and a few tube lights and flickering bulbs. The only things that were in one piece were his toilet and his own body. He worked as a part time salesman at 4000 rupees a month and didn't even have enough money to feed himself. As much as he wanted to meet his parents, he knew it was a farfetched thought to even think about. He moved out of his parents' house 5 years ago to join college in a big city. His decision to move out also included his decision to be independent and not rely on his parents anymore for financial support. So even the option of borrowing money from his parents was out of question as Dan was a man of principles and he wouldn't deviate from them. He put his hands in back pocket to check his wallet. All he could find is a few rupees and his visiting card which was his only hope for survival. Hopeless, he lay down on his bed stared at the ceiling with the hot sun hitting his face and the sound of gunshots and a creaking fan enter his ears. Just then someone knocked at the door very hard. Dan yelled out frustration, "KYA HAI? KYA CHAHIYE?". It was the newspaper man Charan Singh who replied, "Bhaiya jee! Teen din se paper nahi uthaye ho aap! Aaj ka paper utha lo aur mere paise mujhe aaj de do". Dan rolled his eyes and got up to open the door. he said to charan," arrey charan sorry yaar tujhpe chillaya mai. Bohot dimaag kharab ho raha hai aaj kal. Ma baap se milne tak ke paise nahi hai mere paas. Bol kitne dene hai maine tujhe". "Is mahine ke sau rupay hai aur pichle mahine ke eksau bees". Dan looked into his wallet saw that he only had 300 rupees for the next three days till he got his salary with increment. With a half pleading and promising expression he said "Yaar ek hafte mein meri salary badh rahi hai, tu please mujhse paise agle sunday le ja yaar. PLEASE!". Charan said "Kya bhaiya jee? Pichle mahine bhi aapne yahi baat kahi thi. aap haina ek achhi naukri kyu nahi dhoond lete jaha aapko achhe paise mile?". Dan said to him "yaar sorry yaar. tu khush rehne ke liye kya lega? Chal yeh le, mehengi Cigarette pee le aaj tu. Meri bandi ne diya thaa mujhe!" With that Charan Singh took the cigarette and went away. Dan took the Newspapers of the last few days and went back inside slamming the door shut. He goes back to his bed and opens the newspaper and scans through the classified advertisement section to look for some jobs. A big advertisement issued by the government caught his eye. The advertisement was offering all the citizens of the city a job of building a wall around the border of the city with a pay of 8000 rupees a month. Dan got excited looking at the salary and nature of the job and immediately circled on to the advertisement. He noted down the number in his phonebook and gave the office a ring. He called them up, fixed a time for his interview in the office and left his house.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB">Dan waited outside the office on a bench four times as long as the length of his house. The Bench was full and he was standing next to the last person on the bench. Restless, he looked around the run down and worn out office, he watched the clock ticking and observed each and every tiny movement on the clock. Next he counted the number of flies around him and then watched them do their thing. He amused himself by watching two flies fight and the third fly excrete on the bench. Then he stared at a lizard in the office crawling around the walls eating insects of different shapes and sizes. Finally after one and a half hours, it was time for him to go for the interview and the medical test. First came the medical test where they asked him to lift a few weights and run on the tread mill. He was also questioned about his medical history. After that came the interview where he was questioned about his family, skill based training and financial status. After the whole process, it was decided that Dan would have to go through three months of training before he could actually start with work since he did have enough skill for construction work. His training was going to start in two weeks' time. He thanked the officer and walked out with his appointment letters and a smile on his face. As soon as he reached home, he kept his letters safely and went to the PCO to make a phone call. He dialled the number and waited for someone to answer. A girl answered the call. As soon the she said 'Hello', Dan yell 'Sweetheart jaldi ghar aaja. I have some really exciting news to tell you'. Anushka his girlfriend asked 'Par hua kya? Tell me na'. <br> 'Nai nai, Not like this. You come home as fast as you can'.<br> 'Yeah ok. Chill. Abhi nikalti hu mai ghar se'<br> Anushka was a tall and skinny girl who went to college with Dan. They both were in the same class for two subjects. She came from a very rich family but at the same time was very humble and focussed. That's the reason Dans financial status didn't matter to her one bit and even Dan didn't take advantage of her wealth. They both truly loved each other for who they were. <br> While anushka was on her way, Dan was in his kitchen preparing a quick evening snack and a drink for anushka and himself. He refrigerated the sandwiches and the iced tea and waited for anushka while strumming his guitar. <br> The doorbell rang and Dan rushed to open the door. He opened the door, lifted anushka in the air and swung her around. He asked her to sit on his bed while he got the sandwiches and the iced tea. He told her everything that happened at the interview and the job he had got. She congratulated him and told him that she was really proud of him. After they had their sandwiches and their iced tea, she asked him, "Dan, what about our dream of becoming the biggest music duo? When will we focus of that if you are going to take up this construction work"?<br> "We'll work something out anushka! At this point of time, I really need the money that they are offering so I can go meet my parents once at least. I haven't seen them in ages! Besides if I keep saving out of this money, I might be able to buy ourselves some better audio equipment. Just don't worry about it. I promise we'll figure something out". With that he gave her a big hug and kissed her. They then spent the rest of the evening playing guitar and sing songs that they wrote togeather.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB">3 months later, Dan started with work. He had completed his training and had become an expert at construction work. At the same time, there was a protest which went against the construction cause they thought it would affect the trade and transport from one city to another very badly. The wall was supposed to be constructed along the border of the city. Around more than half the city's population had applied for the job and consisted of all the lower middle class and lower class people who lived in and around the city. Everyone was asked to gather around in a hall so the head engineer, divisional engineers and the supervisors could divide the workers according to the different areas where the work was being done. After the division, every group was addressed separately by their sub engineers and supervisors instructing them what was the goal they were supposed to reach on a per day basis and the perquisites they were going to get. The groups were further divided into smaller groups according the work they were supposed to do. Work started from day one. The workers turned out to be pretty efficient and effective indeed. The wall was progressing faster than expected. The head engineer and the board of the construction company were so impressed by the workers that they decided to raise the salary of the workers by a thousand five hundred rupees. Worked continued with a constant high energy from all the workers and the wall was progressing really fast. To the company's surprise, the wall was completed within 6 months which was 3 months before the enemy could attack the city.<br> By the end of the project, Dan had much more money than he had earlier. He had earned fifty thousand rupees including all his bonuses and savings. Dan hadn't changed his lifestyle one bit just so that he could save up on money. He kept aside fifteen thousand rupees to buy new audio equipment for anushka and his music project; he kept ten thousand rupees for his travel to meet his parents and to give them some of the amount he had earned. The remaining twenty-five thousand he left for himself for his daily expenditures. Dan at that point of time was so happy that he felt he had attained nirvana. To celebrate his wellbeing, he called anushka and went out for lunch with her to a nice restaurant. That day he had had good food after a very long time. After a while, Dan went to the cities central bus stand to book tickets to his parent's village. The officer at the bus stand told him that before getting the ticket, he'd have to get a transit permit from the town hall to go in and out of the city. That's when he realised that he might have made the wrong choice by supporting and working towards building the wall but right now he was just happy that he had managed to earn a lot more money than what he used to earn about a year back. Dan headed straight for the Town Hall where he applied for the transit permit. There they asked him several questions about the purpose of his travel, how long he was going to go away for and also about his identity to make sure that he isn't an enemy informer, a terrorist or an illegal dealer of arms and ammunitions. After the hour long interrogation, they told him to come after two weeks to get his permit. He begged and pleaded them to try to get the permit earlier than that but they refused. He came back after two weeks and they again pushed the dated by another two weeks. Frustrated, he created a huge scene in the town hall and left. Next when he came to the office they said that he'd have to apply again because his application got lost in transit. This was when Dan really lost his cool and he fired each and every single officer in the town hall. He also asked the other applicants to leave and told that there is no chance they would get their permit and that they'd rather jump across the wall or drill a hole in it so they could get out of the city illegally. With that, he stormed out of the office. </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB">When he got home, he regretted his decision of joining the wall construction project and thought how he should have joined the few organisations who were protesting against the construction of the wall. He realised that he has blinded himself from his main objective of earning the money. He got blinded by his greed for more money and a better lifestyle.</span></p> Narendra Raghunathhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02375172095721894566noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5914250411539207986.post-81354435158588487592012-03-09T21:17:00.001-08:002012-03-13T04:02:28.027-07:00Chapter 4<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">Written by : Vinayak Nagesh </span></b></div>
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<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">CHAPTER 1: A COUPLE OF YEARS BACK</span></b></div>
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<span style="font-family: "\0022serif\0022"; font-size: 12.0pt;">A couple of years back,
school was an extended time slot that you somehow managed to fit amongst all
your other meaningless plans for the day. You had to worry about exams only in
March; by some strange stroke of obedience, homework was always complete and you
could top your class by reading a couple of pages from your 'class-work'
notebooks and by pretending to pay attention in class. <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Holi </i>was perpetually falling on a day before my Mathematics exam
and the Air Force <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Junta</i> used to
celebrate it with complete enthusiasm-coke, ice cream and mud in hair et al in
the Officer's Mess. I tried half-heartedly each time to resisa temptation but I
always ended up sitting at the dining table, late into the night with my dad,
trying to comprehend the life-moulding concepts of Seventh Grade Geometry,
hours before the session ending exam.<br />
<br />
Late night was of course, 10.30 p.m.<br />
<br />
The afternoons constituted an optimum range; when going to school the next day
still seemed ages away and the world of entertainment had just begun to unfold
itself with a hundred T.V shows that melted your heart and 'Tinkle Comics' that
you spent eons on. You even used to read the 'Anu Clubs', which you found
terribly boring but had too much time to kill so you read them anyway. And
enveloping this overwhelming Neverland of comfort, forming the basis of all the
personality development that you were unconsciously inflicting upon yourself,
was music.<br />
<br />
Listening to music was this well planned, perfectly timed, awe inspiring
activity that you pursued when you weren't discussing high school gossip with
your friends or designing an imaginary request for all the request shows that
you watched on every music channel possible; the one request that would win
request of the month and then you could get that Bryan Adams goodie bag that
would make you the most envied kid in the entire neighbourhood. But since those
requests were never really sent, there were no goodie bags and all the kids
satisfied themselves by fighting about who had a bigger cassette collection.<br />
<br />
Buying a cassette was an extremely big deal. Starting from all the effort that
I put into collecting those 125 bucks, to that one trip to the small shop near
Dollar's Colony where the Telugu-speaking man would make it out like he had
been saving the tape just for me. I would come back home, head to the living
room where our old deck was placed, spend about forty five minutes on carefully
removing the plastic sheet covering the tape, spend another half an hour
studying the tape cover, dance around if it had lyrics and finally put the tape
inside and listen to it at a stretch. Simultaneously, I would also be making
mental notes of the songs that I liked so by the time the tape went through its
fourth listening I knew how much to fast forward or rewind.<br />
<br />
I was completely unfamiliar with the concept of having multiple favourites so I
spent all my energy, time and imagination worshipping one band. I made it my
life's purpose to collect all the cassettes that had ever been brought out by
the favourite-band-of-the-moment. Bryan Adams had some twelve albums, most of
which were those hideous- plastic boxes with a picture of the artist for a
cover so it took me a lot of time to find them. But I eventually found them
rotting away in some corner of Music World, in Indira Nagar, with the help of
an attendant who couldn't understand how any teenager in his senses such as
myself could not be even remotely interested in Iron Maiden. I made sure I
bought all of Metallica's tapes and was half way through Floyd, Maiden,
Megadeth and Sepultra when I guess the one thing that had been threatening to
happen for months, happened. I grew up.<br />
<br />
The old deck is long gone, replaced by an awesome Sony music system that just
collects dust till an odd Sunday when one of us feels a little guilty and
hurriedly digs out a cassette from the cupboard-below-the-table. And then,
there are mp3 players. I would spend most of my free time planning out the
number of folders that the 1 gb on my mp3 player could accommodate, about the
sequence that they should be in and making sure that the music is recycled on a
weekly basis. "Music is constantly in my ears and in my eyes, everywhere
beneath the blue suburban skies." – Penny Lane, The Beatles<br />
<br />
Mp3 players drown out unwanted conversations on busy-rides home, from clubbing
nights and unpleasant dialogues by shady looking hooligans in K.R Market. You
can listen to 'Blood' by Just Jack any time you want, look extremely unbothered
while you walk the long walk to the Market Bus Stand, taking long strides just
like Richard Ashcroft in 'Bittersweet Symphony's' music video. You can even
sport huge grins on your face when you listen to 'These Boots Are Made for
Walkin' by Nancy Sinatra while looking resolutely out of the jammed window in
the G9; a convenient bus ride.<br />
<br />
I think about the biting, inexplicable disappointment that I felt when my
father recently told me, had I paid more attention to my writing skills at an
earlier age, my writing would be tenfold better. I think about the aching
realization that he was right, that I had only let my hopes rise because a lot
of people fancied my way of expressing subjective emotions. I know for certain
that storming about with livid expressions on my face in the college campus,
while my batch mates just think I'm pissed off because we aren't fulfilling our
respective visions of 'growing-out of adolescence' is one of the highest
rated things on the 'Juvenile Behavior' list. I know it doesn't matter, that we
get over all the unpleasantness that life has to offer in due time, whether we
want to or not and that I should be a little more graceful when it comes to
accepting reality. But despite all the experience, it still takes one listening
of the 'heavy' folder on the player to lift my spirits up. After all the
growing up that I pride myself on having done, enveloping my entire world,
forming the basis of most of the personality development that I now consciously
inflict upon myself, is still music.<br style="mso-special-character: line-break;" />
<br style="mso-special-character: line-break;" />
</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .1pt; margin-left: 0cm; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: .1pt;">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">Written by : Vinayak Nagesh </span></b></div>
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<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .1pt; margin-left: 0cm; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: .1pt;">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">CHAPTER 1: A COUPLE OF YEARS BACK</span></b></div>
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<span style="font-family: "\0022serif\0022"; font-size: 12.0pt;">A couple of years back,
school was an extended time slot that you somehow managed to fit amongst all
your other meaningless plans for the day. You had to worry about exams only in
March; by some strange stroke of obedience, homework was always complete and
you could top your class by reading a couple of pages from your 'class-work'
notebooks and by pretending to pay attention in class. <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Holi </i>was perpetually falling on a day before my Mathematics exam
and the Air Force <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Junta</i> used to
celebrate it with complete enthusiasm-coke, ice cream and mud in hair et al in
the Officer's Mess. I tried half-heartedly each time to resisa temptation but I
always ended up sitting at the dining table, late into the night with my dad,
trying to comprehend the life-moulding concepts of Seventh Grade Geometry,
hours before the session ending exam.<br />
<br />
Late night was of course, 10.30 p.m.<br />
<br />
The afternoons constituted an optimum range; when going to school the next day
still seemed ages away and the world of entertainment had just begun to unfold
itself with a hundred T.V shows that melted your heart and 'Tinkle Comics' that
you spent eons on. You even used to read the 'Anu Clubs', which you found
terribly boring but had too much time to kill so you read them anyway. And
enveloping this overwhelming Neverland of comfort, forming the basis of all the
personality development that you were unconsciously inflicting upon yourself,
was music.<br />
<br />
Listening to music was this well planned, perfectly timed, awe inspiring
activity that you pursued when you weren't discussing high school gossip with
your friends or designing an imaginary request for all the request shows that
you watched on every music channel possible; the one request that would win
request of the month and then you could get that Bryan Adams goodie bag that
would make you the most envied kid in the entire neighbourhood. But since those
requests were never really sent, there were no goodie bags and all the kids
satisfied themselves by fighting about who had a bigger cassette collection.<br />
<br />
Buying a cassette was an extremely big deal. Starting from all the effort that
I put into collecting those 125 bucks, to that one trip to the small shop near
Dollar's Colony where the Telugu-speaking man would make it out like he had
been saving the tape just for me. I would come back home, head to the living
room where our old deck was placed, spend about forty five minutes on carefully
removing the plastic sheet covering the tape, spend another half an hour
studying the tape cover, dance around if it had lyrics and finally put the tape
inside and listen to it at a stretch. Simultaneously, I would also be making
mental notes of the songs that I liked so by the time the tape went through its
fourth listening I knew how much to fast forward or rewind.<br />
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I was completely unfamiliar with the concept of having multiple favourites so I
spent all my energy, time and imagination worshipping one band. I made it my
life's purpose to collect all the cassettes that had ever been brought out by
the favourite-band-of-the-moment. Bryan Adams had some twelve albums, most of
which were those hideous- plastic boxes with a picture of the artist for a cover
so it took me a lot of time to find them. But I eventually found them rotting
away in some corner of Music World, in Indira Nagar, with the help of an
attendant who couldn't understand how any teenager in his senses such as myself
could not be even remotely interested in Iron Maiden. I made sure I bought all
of Metallica's tapes and was half way through Floyd, Maiden, Megadeth and
Sepultra when I guess the one thing that had been threatening to happen for
months, happened. I grew up.<br />
<br />
The old deck is long gone, replaced by an awesome Sony music system that just
collects dust till an odd Sunday when one of us feels a little guilty and
hurriedly digs out a cassette from the cupboard-below-the-table. And then,
there are mp3 players. I would spend most of my free time planning out the
number of folders that the 1 gb on my mp3 player could accommodate, about the
sequence that they should be in and making sure that the music is recycled on a
weekly basis. "Music is constantly in my ears and in my eyes, everywhere beneath
the blue suburban skies." – Penny Lane, The Beatles<br />
<br />
Mp3 players drown out unwanted conversations on busy-rides home, from clubbing
nights and unpleasant dialogues by shady looking hooligans in K.R Market. You
can listen to 'Blood' by Just Jack any time you want, look extremely unbothered
while you walk the long walk to the Market Bus Stand, taking long strides just
like Richard Ashcroft in 'Bittersweet Symphony's' music video. You can even
sport huge grins on your face when you listen to 'These Boots Are Made for
Walkin' by Nancy Sinatra while looking resolutely out of the jammed window in
the G9; a convenient bus ride.<br />
<br />
I think about the biting, inexplicable disappointment that I felt when my
father recently told me, had I paid more attention to my writing skills at an
earlier age, my writing would be tenfold better. I think about the aching
realization that he was right, that I had only let my hopes rise because a lot
of people fancied my way of expressing subjective emotions. I know for certain
that storming about with livid expressions on my face in the college campus,
while my batch mates just think I'm pissed off because we aren't fulfilling our
respective visions of 'growing-out of adolescence' is one of the highest
rated things on the 'Juvenile Behavior' list. I know it doesn't matter, that we
get over all the unpleasantness that life has to offer in due time, whether we
want to or not and that I should be a little more graceful when it comes to
accepting reality. But despite all the experience, it still takes one listening
of the 'heavy' folder on the player to lift my spirits up. After all the
growing up that I pride myself on having done, enveloping my entire world,
forming the basis of most of the personality development that I now consciously
inflict upon myself, is still music.<br />
<br />
My parents occasionally narrate the stories of their lives to us and there
comes a point when I can almost smell the Jasmine Flowers in the garden of my
mum's house or the petrol leaking from the first scooter that my dad ever drove
after sneaking it out in someone's marriage. There never really is a wistful
look in their eyes, a saddening realization that those times are not going to
come back. They merely tell us their tales, hoping that we would derive some
sort of pleasure from their narratives, the way they were, just by remembering
those incidents.<br />
<br />
I opened the cupboard-below-the-table today and looked at all the cassettes
that were once-upon-a- time, arranged lovingly in alphabetical order. Amongst
the Metallica collection (I think we threw out Backstreet Boys and Bryan Adams
– two artists, my sister had the greatest affiliation towards) I found a
recorded cassette- an assorted tape full of dance-tracks and remixes. I
remember listening to it in the living room, prancing around the room, bursting
with happiness and I listened to it today, feeling the exact, same sequence of
emotions. I think for once, Kevin Arnold, from "The Wonder years" got
it wrong. Growing up never does happen in a heartbeat.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "\0022serif\0022"; font-size: 12.0pt;">My parents occasionally
narrate the stories of their lives to us and there comes a point when I can
almost smell the Jasmine Flowers in the garden of my mum's house or the petrol
leaking from the first scooter that my dad ever drove after sneaking it out in
someone's marriage. There never really is a wistful look in their eyes, a
saddening realization that those times are not going to come back. They merely
tell us their tales, hoping that we would derive some sort of pleasure from
their narratives, the way they were, just by remembering those incidents.<br />
<br />
I opened the cupboard-below-the-table today and looked at all the cassettes
that were once-upon-a- time, arranged lovingly in alphabetical order. Amongst
the Metallica collection (I think we threw out Backstreet Boys and Bryan Adams
– two artists, my sister had the greatest affiliation towards) I found a
recorded cassette- an assorted tape full of dance-tracks and remixes. I
remember listening to it in the living room, prancing around the room, bursting
with happiness and I listened to it today, feeling the exact, same sequence of
emotions. I think for once, Kevin Arnold, from "The Wonder years" got
it wrong. Growing up never does happen in a heartbeat.</span></div>
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<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">CHAPTER 2: HOW MUCH DOES THE TRUTH MATTER?
(Paris, France)</b></div>
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<span style="font-family: "\0022serif\0022"; font-size: 12.0pt;">A year ago, on a
reflective-walk-session through </span><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "\0022serif\0022"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">the rue de l'egalite,
Paris</span><span style="font-family: "\0022serif\0022"; font-size: 12.0pt;">, I
was on a street full of unusual shops - wedding dresses for very tall women,
personalized tailors for very rich men, exotic Indian instruments for very
bored Europeans. Walking past all these with the glazed-over-curious-eye that I
reserve for such occasions, I came across a small saxophone shop. The streets
of Paris have always overwhelmed me.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "\0022serif\0022"; font-size: 12.0pt;">It was a particularly
windy day with post-autumn-fallen leaves flying around everywhere. A strong
whirring sound was muffling all other sounds. Amidst this chaotic environment,
the shop stood still and shiny, almost as though it was placed there in
defiance to the weather. Behind a large glass window were several saxophones
hung on display in ascending order of size. Behind these, perched on a tall
stool, was a young man with a beard, playing the sax for a small audience that
was assembled around him. He seemed to be showcasing his wares to his
customers.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "\0022serif\0022"; font-size: 12.0pt;">Standing outside in the
blustering wind with discarded worlds around me, I couldn't hear a single note.
Instead, I found myself developing a small pang at the thought that the young
shopkeeper would probably never have to impress me with his instruments. As
much as I enjoy jazz, a venture into the world of saxophones seemed to be a
highly unlikely one for me.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "\0022serif\0022"; font-size: 12.0pt;">This thought provoked a
familiar feeling - that of being slightly alienated from every club I ever
belonged to from my childhood into adulthood. I have always been interested in
many things and I seem to have found a certain level of happiness in just
dipping in and out of stamp/stone/pencil/pen/coin collections, drawing,
guitars, basketball, tennis, graphic novels, French, Football, writing,
song-writing, hiking, trekking... etcetera.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "\0022serif\0022"; font-size: 12.0pt;">Being in the school
football team was great for a few months and then I found that the team was
full of veterans, who all seemed to love everything that came with playing for
the school like missed classes and team-gossip. I had no inclination towards
such things and then it was time to try something else.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "\0022serif\0022"; font-size: 12.0pt;">Each of my interests
still gives me some amount of pleasure but rarely in a strong, consuming way
that will make me want to get really good at it.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "\0022serif\0022"; font-size: 12.0pt;">Living in a place like
Paris only catalyzes this process of going around broadening one's horizons.
The city itself is a confused one, each area almost separate from the other,
constantly strengthening its own culture, shape, and voice. It overflows with
several different kinds of people who come and go as they please, and several
different kinds of experiences, both sets of which spark several different
kinds of thought processes.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "\0022serif\0022"; font-size: 12.0pt;">Most of the times, I
tell myself that I'm growing as a person, gaining - all - this - diverse- knowledge.
What I find increasingly difficult, however, is to absorb and make sense of all
this information. I seem to have developed a sort of wide-eyed fascination for
everything everyone has to say just because it might be different to what I
know and because being interested in many things makes conversations more fun,
and because every unique experience feels necessary if I were to die tomorrow
and all that sort of thing and now I feel like a very convincing and glowing
amateur.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "\0022serif\0022"; font-size: 12.0pt;">My sister used to work
at an online advertising centre. Working in online advertising with reams of
readily available information has elucidated some valuable and at times,
difficult things. One of the things I have come to learn is that although we
have access to such huge amounts of data, ultimately, all that matters is what
we choose to present from that data and how we choose to do it. Even with that
selected, special data, each person interprets it quite differently and there
are hardly ever any discrete truths.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "\0022serif\0022"; font-size: 12.0pt;">I think it's going to be
difficult for me to stop dipping in and out of things because at the moment at
least, I have to accept that it makes me who I am. But for whatever
unfathomable reason, the truth is important to me and sitting in a lovely room
full of books in the French countryside over Christmas, reading some Zen
poetry, I came to the conclusion that in order to stay a little more focused, I
would devote at least an hour every day to pursuing something that gave me some
serious, true, happiness. Perhaps if I'm lucky, that will lead me to a
singular, all-encompassing passion that always leaves me craving more,
something like the theory of hybridisation or the production of beer or the
promotion of children's books. Or not. But it wouldn't have ever been for the
lack of trying.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "\0022serif\0022"; font-size: 12.0pt;">I also decided that as a
small experiment for whatever duration of time, I would also try to keep a
small encyclopaedia of sorts, detailing the answers to all the burning
questions I have and discuss with others, then Wikipedia it and remember the
answer in a very vague, false way. A world I always wanted to belong to but
never did, was to understand things right from the basics and I'm finally going
to attempt this in my own random, meandering way. At least the method will be
my very own and just the prospect of that is very, very, very exciting.</span></div>
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<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: serif; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";">CHAPTER 3:
LESSONS IN THE FLUIDITY OF THOUGHT (ON A RAINY DAY IN BANGALORE, KARNATAKA,
INDIA)</span></b><span style="font-family: Times; font-size: 10.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";"></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "\0022serif\0022"; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";">It rained today. Not the sort of
constant semi-drizzle that Bangalore normally receives but large, big slanting
rain that makes a homogeneous 'whooooshhh' sound, combines forces with the wind
and gives everything a good, strong, rinse.</span><span style="font-family: Times; font-size: 10.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";"></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "\0022serif\0022"; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";">I sat by my window for half an hour to
enjoy this rare spectacle. As I watched, the rain got heavier till a sort of
hazy layer of mist settled down on top of all the trees around my house and I
could only just about spot the freight train that passes by in the distance
every day.</span><span style="font-family: Times; font-size: 10.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";"></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "\0022serif\0022"; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";">The train normally has a muddy
appearance but today it looked the tiniest amount of shiny and this compelled
me to channel the forces outside to my own private space.</span><span style="font-family: Times; font-size: 10.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";"></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "\0022serif\0022"; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";">I started with the bed sheets.</span><span style="font-family: Times; font-size: 10.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";"></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "\0022serif\0022"; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Credits:</span><span style="font-family: Times; font-size: 10.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";"></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "\0022serif\0022"; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Videocon Washing Machine, Surf Excel
Detergent Powder +Ecover Fabric softener, 40 degrees, short wash + drying, 2h
03 minutes.</span><span style="font-family: Times; font-size: 10.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";"></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "\0022serif\0022"; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Next I cleaned my bathroom.</span><span style="font-family: Times; font-size: 10.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";"></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "\0022serif\0022"; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Credits:</span><span style="font-family: Times; font-size: 10.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";"></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "\0022serif\0022"; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Special rainy day playlist - a
combination of Elliott Smith, Nick Drake and Badly Drawn Boy with background
vocals by the 'whooooshhh' outside that crept in through my open window.</span><span style="font-family: Times; font-size: 10.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";"></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "\0022serif\0022"; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Harpic, toilet brush, Dettol
Multi-action Cleaning Spray, Scotch-brite sponge cloth, Mr Muscle Bathroom
Cleaner.</span><span style="font-family: Times; font-size: 10.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";"></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "\0022serif\0022"; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Then I had a shower.</span><span style="font-family: Times; font-size: 10.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";"></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "\0022serif\0022"; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Credits:</span><span style="font-family: Times; font-size: 10.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";"></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "\0022serif\0022"; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Palmolive Almond flavoured Body Wash,
Turkey towel, Vaseline Aloe Vera Moisturizing Lotion.</span><span style="font-family: Times; font-size: 10.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";"></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "\0022serif\0022"; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";">All of the above (except the shower
which I try and indulge in every day without fail), normally stowed away to the
lower most rung of my things-I-must-do list, put me in a meditative state of
pleasure today.</span><span style="font-family: Times; font-size: 10.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";"></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "\0022serif\0022"; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";">There is an indescribable peace in the
thought of your head touching a clean pillow cover that night, in seeing a clear
reflection of yourself (post-shower) in a sparkling mirror, and in your room
smelling almost like the freshness outside.</span><span style="font-family: Times; font-size: 10.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";"></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "\0022serif\0022"; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";">When I came out of the shower, the rain
had stopped, the mist had cleared and the sky had turned a bright shade of
blue. As a reward to myself for having been so good, I went for a small walk in
the park next to my house.</span><span style="font-family: Times; font-size: 10.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";"></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "\0022serif\0022"; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";">The sun had set and my mouth (for no
fault or conscious decision on my part) hung slightly open. The park was empty
except for a couple, holding hands, conversing softly. Our paths crossed and
the three of us gave each other a brief glance, then continued to walk without
changing our previous states – them continuing to hold hands and converse
softly, me continuing to walk with my mouth open in wonder at the colour of the
sky.</span><span style="font-family: Times; font-size: 10.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";"></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "\0022serif\0022"; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";">The sky turned from blue to orange to
purple to purple-orange to dark blue and I walked without really thinking about
anything at all, tracing the shapes of the trees around, noticing the dark
outline of the couple, now stationary on top of the highest point of the path
they chose with the almost-pretentious-BDA lake-Old Madras Road-skyline as
their backdrop.</span><span style="font-family: Times; font-size: 10.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";"></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "\0022serif\0022"; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";">I looked away as they started to
cuddle, then continued walking, stopping only to listen to a blackbird sing,
watch stars become visible to my eye and then try and distinguish between them
and passing aeroplanes.</span><span style="font-family: Times; font-size: 10.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";"></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "\0022serif\0022"; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Content and calm, I started walking
back home, when the hoot of an owl sliced up the air. For the next quarter of
an hour, he continued to call out again and again. My immediate thought was
that he sounded lonely and was aching for the company of another owl. But then
I had another thought - perhaps he was just announcing himself so that no one
else came near him. Can owls get lonely in the way humans do? I don't know, do
you?</span><span style="font-family: Times; font-size: 10.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";"></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "\0022serif\0022"; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";">If today's exercise of cleaning and how
pleasurable it can be has taught me anything, it is that I need to be a little
more open about how I define and connect things and emotive states.</span><span style="font-family: Times; font-size: 10.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";"></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "\0022serif\0022"; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";">'Lonely' is now a part of my
'strong-words-that-I-need-to-be-careful-about-using' list.</span><span style="font-family: Times; font-size: 10.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";"></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "\0022serif\0022"; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Thank you, Saturday Rain and Goodnight,
dear Owl. I hope we meet again.</span><span style="font-family: Times; font-size: 10.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";"></span></div>
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<b><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">Written by Vinayak Nagesh<br /><br />CHAPTER 4: RED LIGHTS ARE NICE IF THEY DON'T ANGER YOU</span></b></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">Driving a scooter is a lot like watching a bad play. Scenes of moderate brilliance are placed carelessly among piles of rubbish and overdone coolness. You don't get to play the cynical but hermit-like-faceless-audience that you used to with such reckless pleasure in your blessed public bus anymore.<br /> <br /> Now, you actually have to be in the goddamn play.<br /> <br /> I have been using a beautiful, silver-grey Honda Activa to commute for the last couple of months now; (my parents' grandest, most expensive birthday gift to me, till date. My parents are so cool, you wish they were yours so bad I can taste it and all that) albeit rather sneakily because apparently, people with LLs aren't supposed to ride without an accompanying D.L holder and I have already been caught by the cops twice (Or maybe a thousand times, but for reasons beyond comprehension).<br /> <br /> I actually failed the learner's license test four times, till the attendant at the ghastly R.T.O felt sorry for me and sent me for the oral test. My LL expired a few days ago and I went to take the D.L, where I promptly failed again. What can I say? So much failure in one so young; I'm scarred for life.<br /> <br /> Motorcycles are like ants on the road. They move in long lines. No other vehicle moves so easily and sinuously. "Put whatever obstacles you want in our way", cry the triumphant motorcyclists, "footpaths, pedestrians, cows, stray dogs, rats, BMTC buses, cops, college buses, autos-without-fucking-brake-lights, indicators or horns, whatever you want, man. But whatever you do, we have got to and will keep-on-moving."<br /> <br /> And so we move; worm-like, through sluggishly slow traffic. Even if it means a gain of one centimetre, we celebrate because we are that much closer to the traffic light. 'Nananana'-stupid-vehicles-that-aren't-motorcycles or scooters. Especially autos. We hate you. Honk honk.<br /> <br /> Initially, I failed to understand this nerve wrecking rulebook that I was supposed to adhere to. Why in the world was everyone, eternally, in such a bleeding hurry? Like my Dad says, you have to stop at the next red light anyway. But with Bangalore traffic being as insufferable as it is (and me being scared of being run over by angry lorry drivers, honking at me with their piercing, shrill, multi-tone horns when I refuse to budge from my spot at a red light) I found myself being a part of the same herd.<br /> <br /> Of course all the heavy braking and avoiding-stupid-autos ends up giving you, what my friend David and I, refer to as an ass-fracture. But, you know, you win some and you get an ass-fracture. It's almost the same thing.<br /> <br /> Unfortunately, owners of other vehicles feel like they have been left out of this massively fun game and seem to harbour the same, impractical feeling of compulsively wanting to be on-the-move and so we have blood pressure rising, horns being sounded till kingdom come, extremely frustrating traffic jams that last forever and bucketfuls of intense, road-rage. So, obviously when the signal turns green, it is as if we are in the Beat-the-traffic 400m dash at the Olympics and we have just heard the gun shot.<br /> <br /> On October 25th, a cloudy, gloomy day, Alanah (A friend from Italy who'd come over to do a study visit to Bangalore) and I were heading one such race, (we had spent two hours in traffic jams on Mysore road and were in a hurry to go home and clean my horribly unkept place at least superficially because my folks were arriving from Paris that night) when we actually overheard an exchange between two typical <i>maapleys</i>.<br /> <br /> ((Must-resist-temptation-to-write-a-note-within-a-note because oh! what a gloriously life-changing topic but you must allow me a parenthesis because only a slightly longwinded explanation could do this any justice.) While Vachan has happily been dividing the higher classes of our society into nasty segments-apparently the middle class and upper class are all full of : - </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"> "<a href="http://wokay.in/2008/10/14/the-rich-are-not-like-each-other"><span style="color: windowtext; text-decoration: none;">lalas, yuppies, and hippies</span></a>"- some of my cousins and me have a nomenclature for the 'poorer' classes; <i>viz maapleys</i>(bridegrooms in Tamil), heroes, and MPs (<i>mattuponnes</i>-brides in Tam. We grudgingly admit that they might be considered as a subset of the species <i>behenjis</i>). <i>Maapleys</i> are the kings of this tiny clique. They are basically Tamil-type-rowdies-found-in-Government-buses whose life's purpose is to eve tease. They proceed to do so, on most occasions, in Tamil. They are always found in groups of three or four. My sister and I were once frightened out of our wits in a Government bus in Goa by a bunch of <i>maaps</i> from some Arts college in Coimbatore who thought we didn't know Tamil and kept asking each other, "<i>Eeeenaa maapley, kalyanon pannikriya</i>?" (whaaattt bridegroom, want to marry?) The Heroes are mostly harmless-general-Indian-wannabe<i>maapleys</i>. Mostly because they are too chicken to actually do anything rowdy like eve tease and restrict themselves to wide-gaping and making out secretly with the MPs in public parks like Lal Bagh.)<br /> <br /> So, Alanah and I are on my lovely Honda Activa, speeding away, when we see a <i>maapley</i> trying to stop another <i>maapley</i> from crossing the road in a hurry and then he says to him, "Parva <i>ilai, udu da, iva alla rombo konathala irruka</i>." (Never mind, leave it da, these people and all are in too much anger.)<br /> <br /> I can't decide which the memorable event was; this (who knew <i>maapleys</i> were capable of such depth) or my folks coming back from Paris.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /> Alanah and I are waiting at the Indiranagar Volvo bus stop at ten in the night. We have already been here an hour. The Volvo bus which is supposed to take us to the airport is nowhere in sight.<br /> <br /> We are a strange sight; a very beautiful Italian girl and a very dark-skinned-'<i>tambrahm</i>'-boy, standing around on a deserted road at night, extremely sombre one moment and clutching their stomachs as they break into peals of laughter, the next. We are lost in our conversation, completely overwhelmed by the occasional profundity and the regular immaturity of our own thoughts and I have almost forgotten why we were here in the first place, when the bright, red Volvo, finally arrives.<br /> <br /> I have been anticipating this day for over a month now. My Dad had plans for coming in October even before they left. The October page in my calendar, with a pleasant painting called Villas à Bordighera(Monet), looks diseased with my impulsively drawn crosses. But now, when the day is finally upon me, I feel oddly detached. What can I say to them that I haven't already explained in great detail on 'gtalk' or the phone, aided by slow photo transfers?<br /> <br /> I do a quick recap of the last couple of months.<br /> <br /> My brain screams at me to stop. Nope. This won't do at all. The memories melt away in my head before I can even begin to prod them. They start seeming unimportant and irrelevant. I didn't document these memories when I should have and I have probably missed the chance to give them the honest, fair chance they deserve outside my head forever. I am disgusted at myself.<br /> <br /> This recapitulating business is depressing the shit out of me and I am suddenly afraid to dishonour my pride at having had one of the most eventful, emotional, and fun-filled semesters ever so I shut my thoughts out and lose myself in conversation with Alanah once again.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /> We finally arrive at the airport. It's almost eleven thirty now. Air France is scheduled to arrive at 12:30 a.m.<br /> <br /> For Alanah and I this is an adventure, something we have never even imagined doing before. We roam around the airport, looking at everything with wonder. She's been here before so she shows me around the airport like it was a tourist spot. We walk around a little and the charm begins to fade away slowly. The food is ridiculously overpriced. The toilets are dirty. The hilly mound that you can stand on and gape at the odd aeroplane landing or taking off turns out to be a big bore.<br /> <br /> So we end up standing at the railing near the arrival gate and indulging in people-watching.<br /> <br /> The excitement finally begins to sink in. I tell Alanah and she congratulates me on showing signs of being human. We stand there, passing silly but funny comments on all the people passing by. We spare no one. The sweet little girl with her mother, a bouquet of flowers in her tiny hands, the noisy brat in the corner, strutting around like a queen to get her doting mum's attention, the large groups of Muslims on their way back from Mecca, the heart-aching goodbyes, the joyful reunions. At this point, I lose interest in all the metaphors and start getting incredibly jumpy. A little, private orchestra starts playing soothingly in my head. My jumpiness is so infectious that Alanah catches it too and we are soon being subjected to odd looks by the old couple next to us who are, from what we gather, awaiting the arrival of their son from France. The orchestra is getting louder. We cackle, we scream, we go crazy and now the old couple have given up on us and are doing their own version of our hysterical fit. "My parents don't know I'm going to be here!!!!!!". I scream joyfully and Alanah nods like mad. And then in the middle of a film-style slow-run practice, when the crescendo is at its highest in my head, I see them.<br /> <br /> Alanah and I run to the taxi counter and stand there. My parents rush outside and there are hugs everywhere. The music in my head finally slows down and turns into a background score. No one says anything for a long time. We walk, as though in a trance, to the taxi. We actually make small talk. We actually talk about the fucking weather, standing close, feeling the kind of warmth I have never, ever, felt before.<br /> <br /> Then we get into the taxi, tired, unbelievably happy, and full of small talk because there is simply so much to say that we don't know where to start. My parents and I remain silent. We have heard these stories before many, many times. But we are grateful. The conversation will flow in the days to come, as my Dad and I go on our morning walks and have our beautiful conversations, as my mum and I talk in the kitchen making copious amounts of filter-coffee, as my sister and I talk late into the night. We will even fit in a full-fledged family fight over something as silly as music in the car just to feel normal again.<br /> <br /> But right now, we are silent and I beat myself mentally, feeling sheer disbelief at how I even dared to think that I won't have anything to say.<br /> <br /> I begin asking myself if I overdid the anticipation of this day, this one breathtaking moment of intense happiness, and my brain tells me to get a life and stop asking it questions I knew the answer to a couple of months ago.</span></div>
</div>Narendra Raghunathhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02375172095721894566noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5914250411539207986.post-82510116549723616812012-03-09T20:30:00.001-08:002012-03-09T20:30:43.408-08:00Ruchika Nambiar - Final Story<div style="text-align:center"><b>The Adventures of Time & Circumstance</b></div><div style="text-align:center"><b><br></b></div><div style="text-align:center"><u>Chapter 1</u></div><div style="text-align:center"><u>Circumstance and the Potato Problem</u></div> <div style="text-align:center"><u><br></u></div><div>Time and Circumstance sat atop their twisted tree stumps, playing their favorite game for no reason besides boredom. They were oblivious to the havoc they caused in the lives of the unsuspecting humans. Between them was a depthless marble bowl and inside, swirled a never ending mass of events yet to take place.</div> <div>"Which year do we visit?" asked Circumstance excitedly. Her voice shrill and her ringlets danced about her dimpled face. Circumstance was made up of a million threads – like nerves – interweaving to form her body. These were the uncountable, infinite strands of life – one for every circumstance of every moment and an infinite more for all the other undiscovered possibilities of every moment. </div> <div>Time was many people seen as one – one for each second of each person's life. The opposite of how a drunk man would see many of one person, humans were taught to see all these different people as one for the sake of convenience. Like many different transparent images of a person blurring into one, splitting again when you look too closely, and coming back together once you've blinked.</div> <div>These reckless children of the universe sat across from each other, like parallel mirrors, causing each other to multiply infinitely, each holding the image of the other within itself. They each held within them, all the parallel universes that existed in the world.</div> <div>"Circumstance, why must you worry your pretty little head when the dice can make the decision for us?" he asked condescendingly. He held out his hand and a small dice slowly materialized in his palm. It was a curious little object. Curious because its faces were constantly changing. Each face had numbers changing between zero and nine, the numbers pausing just long enough to read. </div> <div>"How many times, Circumstance?"</div><div>"Four!" she clapped her hands in delight.</div><div>And Time rolled the dice four times. The dice landed on 1. He rolled it again. It gave him an 8. And then a 4. And finally a 5. And with that, like moving chess pieces on a board, Time stood up and moved away, and another Time took his place. Time had looped back to the year 1845. </div> <div>"Say, sister. Why is it that you enjoy A.D. so much?" Time asked.</div><div>"Oh come now, Time. It's a lot more fun when the humans believe they're getting smarter. When they believe they're recording their 'history' and 'progressing' and all those other funny words they use. I believe the later the year -- or rather the later they believe the year is -- the better."</div> <div>"Well, I must admit their concept of 'history' is quite amusing."</div><div>"Quiet now brother, let us get back to our game. Pick a place." She rested her elbows on the edge of the bowl and waited for him to decide. </div> <div>"Ireland?" he asked after a moment of thought. Circumstance wrinkled her nose in response.</div><div>"I don't like the Irish. They eat too many potatoes." </div><div>Time laughed. "And what problem have you with potatoes now, sister?"</div> <div>"They're boring. And shapeless." Suddenly her eyes lit up. "Let's make the potatoes in Ireland disappear!" She looked back at him with sparkling, eager eyes. Time shook his head reproachfully. </div> <div>"Now, now, Circumstance. You know the rules of The Bowl. You can't just make things disappear." Her face fell. She really wanted to make potatoes disappear. But she soon cheered up as a new idea struck her. Without wasting any more time, she reached out with one hand into the bowl. She quickly rummaged around in Mexico until she found what she was looking for. She picked up a glowing bead and looked at it with a wide grin on her face. It pulsed with a soft even rhythm between her fingers. </div> <div>"And what might that be?" Time asked, staring curiously at the bead. </div><div>"You'll see," she responded, pulling out a strand from her little finger and stringing it through the bead. Placing the bead back in its place, she took the other end of the thread and stretched it all the way out to Ireland. She quickly strung it through the first potato bead she saw. </div> <div>"Now watch it grow." The two children leaned over the bowl, watching with glee as the little bead flattened and then proceeded to expand, its bluish glow engulfing the whole of Ireland.</div><div style="text-align:center"> * * *</div><div style="text-align:center"><br></div><div><i>The proximate cause of The Great Famine of Ireland was a potato disease commonly known as potato blight. How and when the blight Phytophthora infestans arrived in Europe is still uncertain. The origin of the fungus has been traced to Toluca Valley of Mexico, from whence it spread first to North America and then to Europe. The famine was a watershed in the history of Ireland. Its effects permanently changed the island's demographic, political and cultural landscape. </i></div> <div><i>During the famine approximately 1 million people died and a million more emigrated from Ireland, causing the island's population to fall by between 20% and 25%. Although blight ravaged potato crops throughout Europe during the 1840s, the impact and human cost in Ireland – where one-third of the population was entirely dependent on the potato for food – was exacerbated by a host of political, social and economic factors which remain the subject of historical debate.</i></div> <div style="text-align:center"><br></div><div style="text-align:center">* * *</div><div style="text-align:center"><br></div><div>Circumstance yawned a few hours later. "I'm bored," she announced. "Too many bodies lying all around."</div> <div>"One more before we call it a day?" Time asked. This was his favorite game and he loved watching how the little humans ran around on their tiny feet. His favorites were the ones who tried to figure out life. It was even more fun when they thought they were succeeding at it. "Let's make it a quick one. No far-reaching consequences this time; I'm hungry and I want to go inside too." </div> <div>"Oh alright alright. Pick a time and make it quick," she groaned.</div><div>Time stood up and quickly chose a year at random. </div><div>"What year is it?" asked Circumstance, her voice bored and sleepy. She slowly lifted her head to look into the bowl in front of her. </div> <div>"Don't know," replied Time impatiently. "Late 17th century or so. Does it matter?"</div><div>"S'pose not," she replied and yawned again. "She peered into the bowl more closely. Her eyes finally focused on something.</div> <div>"Time!" she wailed, annoyed. "There's nothing going on here! It's just a boy sitting under a tree." </div><div>"It'll make for a quick game, won't it?" he defended.</div> <div>"Oh alright." She brightened up at the prospect of a quick prank. Bending down into the bowl, she blew at the tree under which the boy was sitting. The tree and its branches shook and an apple fell out of the tree. It fell right on the boy's head with a low thud. </div> <div>The children giggled in delight. </div><div>"Nice aim, sister." Time complimented her. They both stood up laughing and started walking towards their cottage. </div><div>"Told you there wouldn't be any far-reaching consequences on that one," Time boasted, as they skipped back home, hand in hand, for a slice of pie. </div> <div><br></div><div style="text-align:center">_________________________________________________________</div><div><br></div><div style="text-align:center"><u>Chapter 2</u></div><div style="text-align:center"><u>Time Changes The World</u></div> <div style="text-align:center"><u><br></u></div><div>"I'm in the mood for something drastic," announced Time one afternoon. It was a sleepy day, a feeble light filtering through the clouds. </div><div>Circumstance clapped her hands together in delight. "Let's put them all to sleep and switch all their places! What fun it'll be when they wake up!"</div> <div>Time clicked his tongue. "Must you always be so reckless, my dear sister? Besides, that's against the rules. In any case," he continued, ignoring her frown, "I was thinking of something a little more...calculated." He smiled diabollically. </div> <div>"Like what?" She demanded.</div><div>"Well..." he gazed into the bowl thoughtfully. "Let's change the shape of the earth."</div><div>Her eyes widened. "But that's against the rules!" She stuttered.</div> <div>"What did I mean by drastic?" smirked Time. "All you need to know is how to get around the rules, sister. Anything the humans might detect as physically impossible is against the rules."</div><div> "Gee, you think they wouldn't notice?" she asked sarcastically. She flipped her hair arrogantly, savoring the opportunity to behave condescendingly towards her know-it-all brother. She wished they could just do something fun and easy instead of Time's carefully calculated plans. </div> <div>"But what if," he continued as if she hadn't spoken, "we picked a time when they hadn't quite decided most their laws of physics yet?"</div><div>She looked at him quizzically.</div><div>"Think, Circumstanse, think! What if..." his eyes lit up as the idea took shape in his head. "What if the earth didn't change in any immediately perceptible way? And one fine day, someone comes along with the theory that the earth might not be flat, but was instead round, and he goes ahead and proves it too and the humans fall for it. Imagine what an upheaval that would cause!"</div> <div>"But then they'll think the earth was always round! What fun is there in that?" she pouted. </div><div>"Circumstance, Circumstance, Circumstance." He shook his head sadly. She couldn't comprehend exactly why he was still so condescending about his idea. She, for one, thought it was mighty silly. What good would it do to make the earth round?</div> <div>"Don't you ever fancy the prospect of making fools out of those silly humans? Make them believe something exists, when it never did? That something never existed, when at some point in time, it did? Especially when they delude themselves into thinking they're 'figuring the world out'?"</div> <div>She sighed. </div><div>"Well never you mind then, Circumstance." He gave up on her. "I'll do it myself." He got up and switched to the year 1519.</div><div>He reached deep into the bowl and lifted the disc-shaped earth out. Circumstance watched with growing enthusiasm, a small smile growing on her cherubic face. </div> <div>"Would you mind putting them to sleep, sister?" </div><div>She picked up a delicate little snuffbox lying on the grass near her feet. Opening it carefully, she pinched a bit of glittering dust between three fingers. She proceeded to sprinkle it lightly over the earth and they both watched as the humans fell asleep one by one. The powder made humans </div> <div>"And how exactly do you plan to overcome the problem of humans falling off the underside of a spherical earth? They're not going to be asleep forever, you know? And if they wake up to find themselves floating around in outer space, we'll have broken the rules and mother will have to clean up after us. You know how she hates that," she said with a touch of smugness.</div> <div>"A little thing that the humans will call 'gravity'. The sphere will be so big that a human foot couldn't possibly perceive the curvature. Hold this for a minute, will you Circumstance?" he asked, handing her the disc-earth.</div> <div>When his hands were free, he started rolling the air in front of him with his hands, heating it up, turning it into a solid ball of hot molten lava. He layered it on with a hardened layer of the lava and finally rocks and soil to top it off. He made the solid brown ball float in mid air, in front of his face, as he took the disc back from his sister. He brought it close to the ball and almost immediately, he felt the resistance. The disc was getting attracted to the ball and he had to hold it tight to keep them apart. He smiled at the earth's newly found magnetism.</div> <div>Giving one edge of the disc to Circumstance, they both began wrapping the disc around the sphere. Nothing fell or slid off the curves of the sphere. Finally, it was complete. The earth was now round.</div><div>"Now to plant the idea in someone's head." They scanned the sleeping humans and found one in Portugal who looked promising. He must have been around 40 years old and had thick lips and a greying beard.</div> <div>"Shall we give it to him in a dream? Will you do the honors, sister?" Time asked.</div><div>Circumstance fashioned a glowing bead out of thin air and carefully let it drop onto the man's forehead. It spread with a yellowish glow, seeping slowly into his skin.</div> <div>"Why don't we give it some kind of historical credibility too?" Time wondered, and pulled out a little black record book from his pocket and flipped the pages until he landed on 6th century BC.</div><div> "Are we going back and changing things, brother?"</div><div>"No no, that'll take too long. I'll just change it in the records." He picked up a little eraser and smudged off a bit of text. In its place, he wrote, 'Pythagoras proposes spherical earth theory; not very popular'. He flips to 330 BC and writes, 'Aristotle: observational evidence of spherical earth; theory still does not spread.' He made a few more changes of this nature before finally shutting the book.</div> <div>They placed the earth back in the bowl. The humans were starting to wake.</div><div style="text-align:center"><br></div><div style="text-align:center">* * *</div><div style="text-align:center"><br></div><div> <i>The Flat Earth model is a belief that the Earth's shape is a plane or disk. Most ancient cultures have had conceptions of a flat Earth, including Greece until the classical period, the Bronze Age and Iron Age civilizations of the Near East until the Hellenistic period, India until the Gupta period (early centuries AD) and China until the 17th century. It was also typically held in the aboriginal cultures of the Americas, and a flat Earth domed by the firmament in the shape of an inverted bowl is common in pre-scientific societies.</i></div> <div><i>The paradigm of a spherical Earth was developed in Greek astronomy, beginning with Pythagoras (6th century BC), although most Pre-Socratics retained the flat Earth model. Aristotle accepted the spherical shape of the Earth on empirical grounds around 330 BC, and knowledge of the spherical Earth gradually began to spread beyond the Hellenistic world from then on.</i></div> <div><i>In the year 1519, Ferdinand Magellan, a Portuguese explorer, set out on a voyage to circumnavigate the earth.</i></div><div><i><br></i></div><div style="text-align:center">* * *</div><div style="text-align:center"> <br></div><div>"Hey Time! This time let's switch the earth and the sun and put the sun at the centre of the universe!"</div><div><br></div><div style="text-align:center">_________________________________________________________</div> <div><br></div><div style="text-align:center"><u>Chapter 3</u></div><div style="text-align:center"><u>One Too Many</u></div><div style="text-align:center"><u><br></u></div><div>Circumstance stealthily tiptoed up to the bowl. Mother and Time were not home and she was bored. It was time for some fun. Without Time, she couldn't choose a specific year to play with, so she'd have to settle for whatever year the bowl had naturally progressed to. </div> <div>For a while, she pondered over what to do with her freedom. She knew for certain she wanted to break some rules. And this was the perfect opportunity. Mother would never let her and Time was too much of a stickler for rules. He'd tell on her. </div> <div>She scanned the surface of the earth, lazily rotating it with her chubby index finger, waiting for inspiration to strike. </div><div>She was hovering over the Atlantic Ocean when she saw an airplane approaching. She smiled in anticipation. If Time were here, he'd have caused a hurricane. Or really bad weather. Or a sleepy pilot. But Time wasn't here, smiled Circumstance. And she could skip right over all the silly reasons. </div> <div>As the plane approached, she held her hand a few thousand feet above it. She imagined the plane finding itself under a huge ominous shadow and she giggled at that thought in delight. Slowly she started pressing downwards with her hand. She could feel the air compressing under her palm and she knew the aircraft would soon start sensing it. The aircraft slowly started moving downwards under the pressure. Circumstance could feel a slight resistance, the weight of the air, but nothing close enough to stop her. She kept going until the aircraft was completely submerged in water, ignoring the passengers' feeble screams.</div> <div>During the next four hours (and 50 earth years), Circumstance drowned 3 more aircrafts and 7 surface vessels in the area. She even picked up two lighthouse keepers from a nearby shore while they were asleep and dropped them into the sea.</div> <div>She found this a lot more fun. She had just picked up a sleeping sailor when suddenly -</div><div>"Circumstance!"</div><div>She dropped the little sailor in fright. He woke up with a start, but Circumstance was too distracted to be bothered. Her mother rushed to The Bowl, her satin gown billowing around her tall, willowy form. Time followed close behind, staring suspiciously at his terrified sister. </div> <div>"Circumstance, what have you done?" her mother asked, quickly waving a hand over the frightened sailor and putting him to sleep. She picked him up carefully and returned him to his bed. Without wasting anymore time, she quickly rewinded through all the events of the last four hours. The children's mother could control both situation and time. </div> <div>"I don't have the time to correct this, Circumstance." She exhaled angrily.</div><div>"Now look what you did!" Time chided his sister. She frowned at him, not wanting to receive a scolding from her brother too. "Mother has to clean up your mess! I told you not to break the rules."</div> <div>Circumstance whimpered quietly, without an answer to give them. She was just having so much fun, she never kept track of the time. Swiftly her mother fast forwarded a few years, drowning many aircrafts and vessels in many different places along the way.</div> <div>"There," she said with a huff. "Now let's hope there are enough accidents around the world that the humans won't notice this."</div><div><br></div><div style="text-align:center">* * *</div> <div style="text-align:center"><br></div><div><i>The Bermuda Triangle, also known as the Devil's Triangle, is a region in the western part of the North Atlantic Ocean where a number of aircraft and surface vessels reportedly disappeared under mysterious circumstances.</i></div> <div><i>Popular culture has attributed these disappearances to the paranormal or activity by extraterrestrial beings. Documented evidence indicates that a significant percentage of the incidents were inaccurately reported or embellished by later authors, and numerous official agencies have stated that the number and nature of disappearances in the region is similar to that in any other area of ocean.</i></div> <div><i><br></i></div><div style="text-align:center">_________________________________________________________</div><div><br></div><div style="text-align:center"><u>Chapter 4</u></div><div style="text-align:center"><u>Fire in the House</u></div> <div style="text-align:center"><u><br></u></div><div style="text-align:center"><u><br></u></div><div>"Let's go do something in the prehistoric times, Circumstance."</div><div>"Must we?" She pouted, her expression almost disgusted. "The more modern times are so much more fun. So many more...objects to play with."</div> <div>"Humor me," he said dryly. He got up and Time from the Lower Paleolithic age took his place. "How about we change something big? In a plausible way, of course," he ammended, reminded of Circumstance's eagerness to break rules.</div> <div>"Like what?" she asked, uninterested.</div><div>"How about we let the humans see in the dark?"</div><div>She waved her hand dismissively. "I'm not moving the sun around again," she announced.</div> <div>"No no we don't have to. That's what I'm trying to tell you." He was being unusually patient with her today. "We'll give them something that helps them see in the dark."</div><div> "And how do you plan to do that?" She instantly regretted speaking to him arrogantly like that, seeing how nice he was being to her today.</div><div>He stroked his little chin thoughtfully. "I'll tell you what," he finally said. "The next random thing the humans do that they haven't done before will bring light."</div> <div>"Hmm...Alright," she agreed easily, wanting to make up for her rudeness. "Do we pick a place?"</div><div>"We could use one to begin with, I suppose. Why don't you pick?"</div><div>She promptly closed her eyes and placed her right index finger on the globe. After making sure she wasn't peeking, Time spun the globe with one swift flick of his finger. Circumstance finally felt the globe slowing down. She opened her eyes to find her finger on Israel.</div> <div>"Israel it is," chirped her brother. "Perfect. It's nighttime already."</div><div>They chose a group of humans at random and settled down to watch them. There were three males, one female and one male child, perhaps around three years old. The humans were only eating berries from a stash of fruits they had gathered. Nothing out of the ordinary.</div> <div>"Say, Time," Circumstance asked, to while away the time, "how do you suppose we'll give them light?"</div><div>"Well..." he thought over it a moment. "I suppose it has to be similar to the way the sun gives out light. It'd only be plausible that way. Meaning it also has to give out heat."</div> <div>"Or it could be like lightning," she suggested.</div><div>"...Or maybe both."</div><div>"What are you tal --" but suddenly she was distracted by something the child was doing. He had picked up two stones that had been lying next to his feet. He first tried putting them in his mouth.</div> <div>"Humans have already tried that, sister." The female took the stones out of the boy's hand and placed them back on the ground. Time and Circumstance watched as he picked them up again. This time, he didn't put them in his mouth. He instead held them against each other.</div> <div>"Get ready for it, Time," Circumstance warned him.</div><div>Time leaned forward, waiting. "Circumstance, cause lightning between the rocks."</div><div>She did as she was told. As the boy rubbed the rocks together, sparks flew out from them. The boy jumped back, dropping the stones onto the ground.</div> <div>"Not so strong, sister!"</div><div>The other humans had noticed too. Cautiously, one of the males picked the stones up. After a moment's hesitation, he slowly rubbed them together. This time the sparks were lesser. He continued doing this, increasing his speed as he went until the the stones got hotter and hotter. And finally, hot enough for a flame.</div> <div>Time and Circumstance high-fived each other over the bowl.</div><div style="text-align:center"><br></div><div style="text-align:center">* * *</div><div style="text-align:center"><br></div><div><i>All evidence of control of fire during the Lower Paleolithic is uncertain and has at best limited scholarly support. In fact, definitive evidence of controlled use of fire is one of the factors characteristic of the transition from the Lower to the Middle Paleolithic in the period of 400,000 to 200,000 BP.</i></div> <div><i>A site at Bnot Ya'akov Bridge, Israel, has been claimed to show that H. erectus or H. ergaster made fires between 790,000 and 690,000 BP.</i></div><div><i>The control of fire by early humans was a turning point in the cultural aspect of human evolution that allowed humans to cook food and obtain warmth and protection. Making fire also allowed the expansion of human activity into the colder hours of the night, and provided protection from predators and insects.</i></div> <div style="text-align:center">_________________________________________________________</div><div><br></div><div style="text-align:center"><u>Chapter 5</u></div><div style="text-align:center"><u>Circumstance's Man with the Moustache</u></div> <div style="text-align:center"><u><br></u></div><div style="text-align:center"><u><br></u></div><div>"Do you want to choose a child and raise him, Circumstance? He might become famous." Time asked his sister.</div> <div>"Alright," she agreed quickly. She wasn't all too opposed to the idea though this was an idea more suited to Time than it was to her. "But what about his parents? Do we choose an orphan?"</div> <div>Time shook his head, a small smile on his angelic face.</div><div>"Not necessary. Sister, you of all people should know that it is not mothers and fathers who really raise their children. It's chance. Circumstance. Situation. In other words, you."</div> <div>"I suppose that's true enough," she admitted.</div><div>After some deliberation, they both agreed to visit Austria to choose a child. They finally chose a boy who had just been born. It was the year 1889. They chose him because they found his name amusing. Surely Adolf was a funny name. </div> <div style="text-align:center">_____</div><div style="text-align:center"><br></div><div>Adolf was a few years old when Circumstance found him in his father's study. He'd been looking for his father. He wasn't usually allowed in here. But now that he was here, he began scanning the books on the shelf. Circumstance suddenly made him trip over the rug at his feet. He bumped into the bookshelf. In those few milliseconds in which the books on the shelf teetered precariously, threatening to fall, Circumstance quickly chose a book that would fall at the boy's feet. It was a picture book on the Franco-Prussian war.</div> <div style="text-align:center">_____</div><div style="text-align:center"><br></div><div>When Adolf was 8 years old, Circumstance destroyed all of his father's crops, causing him to give up his attempts at farming and move to Lambach. She chose the school Adolf would go to too, by subtle, circumstantial persuasion of his parents, of course. Hitler attended a Catholic school in an 11th-century Benedictine cloister, the walls of which bore engravings and crests that contained the swastika symbol.</div> <div style="text-align:center">_____</div><div style="text-align:center"><br></div><div>When Adolf was 11, she gave his younger brother measles. Soon after, his brother died. Adolf became sullen and rebellious towards his parents.</div> <div style="text-align:center">_____</div><div style="text-align:center"><br></div><div>"Nice going, Circumstance. I like how Adolf is turning out. Tell me though, how do you pick and choose the events that take place in his life?"</div> <div>"Oh at random," she shrugged. "I'm not you, brother. As if I have the patience to give it that much thought. Now give me some ideas. I'm sending him to art school in Vienna. What do you think should happen to him?"</div> <div><br></div><div>"Before that, how about we give him a funny moustache?"</div><div style="text-align:center"><br></div><div style="text-align:center">* * *</div><div style="text-align:center"><br></div> <div><i>Adolf Hitler (1889-1945) was the founder and leader of the Nazi Party and the most influential voice in the organization, implementation and execution of the Holocaust, the systematic extermination and ethnic cleansing of six million European Jews and millions of other non-aryans.</i></div> <div><i>Hitler was the Head of State, Supreme Commander of the Armed Forces and guiding spirit, or fuhrer, of Germany's Third Reich from 1933 to 1945.</i></div><div><i><br></i></div><div style="text-align:center">_________________________________________________________</div> <div style="text-align:center"> </div><div style="text-align:center"><b>The End</b></div><div><br></div> Narendra Raghunathhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02375172095721894566noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5914250411539207986.post-45277783759517213892012-03-09T20:17:00.001-08:002012-03-09T20:56:55.260-08:00<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
Written by :Madhul <br />
<br />
Days on end she sat and cried,<br />
All the while thinking how the goddess had lied,<br />
Now she hated the word love more than ever before,<br />
Her heart bore the bitterness as her soul had, therefore –<br />
Now not one soul could convince her of a different life,<br />
She gave up desperately wishing she could hold a knife.<br />
One morning as mournful as she had been,<br />
She went to the window to see what she had already seen,<br />
The village sat nestled more of a town now,<br />
From the corner of her eye she saw something else,<br />
Something strange, as if in the wrong place,<br />
Neatly folded on her porch was a piece of paper,<br />
White in contrast to the house's old yellow,<br />
Knowing it couldn't be coincidence she approached nearer.<br />
Now banish your misguided views about ghosts,<br />
she could full well walk in the sun if she pleased,<br />
the only reason she avoided doing so,<br />
was because men were scared of her then even more.<br />
But she went out anyway,<br />
Far too curious to allow this opportunity to pass away,<br />
As she stooped down to pick the letter,<br />
It slid away from her leaving her in awe.<br />
What filthy magic was this?<br />
Was this a trap for her to be seized?<br />
As she realized it could be,<br />
she turned around in an awful hurry,<br />
and she ran for the door, she would have made in too,<br />
if a voice hadn't spoken, a voice she knew,<br />
she pivoted around her body frozen in shock,<br />
there stood the same boy who had gone running into the dark.<br />
<br />She fought all urge to flee from the scene again,<br />An air of smug confidence surrounded his frame,<br />She looked him square in face,<br />done with the hassle and the chase,<br />"what do you want?", she asked him quite coldly.<br />"and you can talk", he exclaimed in mockery.<br />Not once had she met someone unafraid of her presence,<br />Though wanting exactly this he pricked her patience,<br />For some reason she lashed out pretty unflatteringly,<br />"you do remember how scared you were of me the other night?"<br />With a smirk she looked for the fear she expected,<br />But the boy's face was devoid of fright,<br />He talked softly in his slow drawling pace<br />Whipping the smirk off eli's face.<br />"If I do then so would you,<br />I quite remember not one shriek but two."</div>Narendra Raghunathhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02375172095721894566noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5914250411539207986.post-1156683878260215292012-03-08T03:10:00.001-08:002012-03-09T20:59:20.389-08:00Fashion Thought<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
Written by : Koshy Brahmatmaj <br />
<br />
It's always the darkest before dawn.<br />
<div>
Warrior queen, you're looking fierce.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
<b>The Girl Who Lost Her Soul</b></div>
<div>
<b><br /></b></div>
<div>
Hi! I am Iha</div>
<div>
Pass me that device</div>
<div>
Only in exchange of a gossip.</div>
<div>
Gossip? I just have one.</div>
<div>
And,</div>
<div>
is about you.</div>
<div>
About me?</div>
<div>
Shut up!!</div>
<div>
stop talking. please. stop talking.</div>
<div>
[5 marks question] find the out one out:</div>
<div>
Ha Ha Ha</div>
<div>
[I am being watched]</div>
<div>
Every day</div>
<div>
I hear them</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
<b>The issue</b></div>
<div>
<b><br /></b></div>
<div>
Every day, these voices</div>
<div>
i can't see them</div>
<div>
just hear them</div>
<div>
every day</div>
<div>
maybe they look like</div>
<div>
one of them</div>
<div>
or maybe they are</div>
<div>
faceless</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
<b>Looking for home sweet home</b></div>
<div>
<b><br /></b></div>
<div>
I feel my dream of buying a house and having a oving hubby and a bunch of bouncing babies is pretty much the suburban manifesto. But in uncertain times, I have to find alternative.</div>
<div>
I shut my eyes.</div>
<div>
<div>
<br /></div>
-- <br />
<div>
<span style="color: #333333;">Koshy Brahmatmaj</span></div>
<div>
<span style="color: #333333;"><a href="http://koshybrahmatmaj.wordpress.com/" target="_blank">koshybrahmatmaj.wordpress.com</a></span></div>
<br /></div>
</div>Narendra Raghunathhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02375172095721894566noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5914250411539207986.post-76412281130282208712012-03-06T06:50:00.001-08:002012-03-06T06:50:28.963-08:00Siddhanth Shetty - Once upon a time<div>My subject for the 'book'.<br><br>Till now.<br><br>Besottedness<br><br>I change, with every entry and exit</div><div>I try to figure, as the dice is rolled in transit</div><div>What to say, what not; hell with that</div> <div>It's just natural to be</div><div><br></div><div>So unnatural, she taps a dormant petal</div><div>So extreme, from non to visceral</div><div>Like the all encompassed Shallow Hal</div><div>Absence. Titilate; Presence. Simulate </div> <div><br></div><div>Can't it be fair? Like equal looting. </div><div>Can't keep returning, juggling and posing. </div><div>Interaction confirms constancy's fears</div><div>Deflate. Grounds; Inflate. Surrounds.</div> <div><br></div> Narendra Raghunathhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02375172095721894566noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5914250411539207986.post-68330632841400427832012-03-02T21:06:00.001-08:002012-03-09T20:59:58.798-08:00Concept note and 2 stories<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<span style="font-family: "Helvetica LT Std","sans-serif";"> </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Helvetica LT Std","sans-serif";">'And that's when I knew'- Concept note for a 'Book of chocolates'- By Shaun Machado</span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Helvetica LT Std","sans-serif";"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Helvetica LT Std","sans-serif";">This will be an ideal Valentine's Day gift for someone you love. From the outside it will look like a regular box of</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Helvetica LT Std","sans-serif";">chocolates. </span><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica LT Std',sans-serif; font-size: 10pt;">Once you open it there will be six chocolates packed in separate boxes.</span><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica LT Std',sans-serif; font-size: 10pt;">Each one of the </span><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica LT Std',sans-serif; font-size: 10pt;"> </span><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica LT Std',sans-serif; font-size: 10pt;">chocolate </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Helvetica LT Std',sans-serif; font-size: 10pt;">wrappers will have a </span><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica LT Std',sans-serif; font-size: 10pt;">different story about the moment when two people realise that they wanted to spend the rest </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Helvetica LT Std',sans-serif; font-size: 10pt;">of their lives together. </span><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica LT Std',sans-serif; font-size: 10pt;">After you are done eating the six chocolates, you will have to take the partition tray out and</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Helvetica LT Std',sans-serif; font-size: 10pt;">at thee bottom of the box</span><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica LT Std',sans-serif; font-size: 10pt;"> you will find the recipe, ingredients, wrapper and pen. So that you can write in your own </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Helvetica LT Std',sans-serif; font-size: 10pt;">story about when you knew you were in love.</span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Helvetica LT Std","sans-serif";">Here are two of the six stories<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Helvetica LT Std","sans-serif";">#1<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Helvetica LT Std","sans-serif";">A friend invited me over for lunch one afternoon. That's when I saw her across the room. Her light brown eyes convinced me to stay back after lunch although I was extremely tired. A group of us ended up going to a local flea market. She dragged me along to go shopping with her, and I couldn't help but follow her around. Our hands accidently touched while walking side by side, and we looked awkwardly at each other. And that's when I knew that she was the one I wanted to be with for the rest of my life.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Helvetica LT Std","sans-serif";">#2<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Helvetica LT Std","sans-serif";">It was only two weeks into our relationship when we planned our first short holiday together. I tried my best to convince her that it was too early for her to trust a guy enough to go on a holiday with alone; she didn't listen and came along anyway. We planned to drive up to a hill station nearby to watch the sunrise hoping for a romantic moment to arise. We almost ran out of fuel on the way there, but luckily we found a shop that sold petrol. We fuelled up and also had breakfast there, we missed the hilltop view of the sunrise, but we shared a magical moment as we sipped on our coffees and watched the sun rise through the trees. And that's when I realised that I was going to spend the rest of my life with her.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Helvetica LT Std","sans-serif";"><br /> <br /> <o:p></o:p></span></div>
</div>Narendra Raghunathhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02375172095721894566noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5914250411539207986.post-63588190517409734002012-03-02T20:50:00.001-08:002012-03-02T20:50:48.612-08:00<p class="mobile-photo"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi8cFcWp6vlJRQr_U6M1KmOQl36QrAzfdlaEiJ4_roMV7DjHbxRgqkyjEScrsRd1tfuFAt4qaLiU1mAzqYiOJSZx5HUbnGQuk9y-82zOGeazJYQQ147xdQO_wbPnpj-FsIRw_Ce0hVm8-yy/s1600/2nd-748612.jpg"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi8cFcWp6vlJRQr_U6M1KmOQl36QrAzfdlaEiJ4_roMV7DjHbxRgqkyjEScrsRd1tfuFAt4qaLiU1mAzqYiOJSZx5HUbnGQuk9y-82zOGeazJYQQ147xdQO_wbPnpj-FsIRw_Ce0hVm8-yy/s320/2nd-748612.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5715528802335635186" /></a></p>- Madhul Narendra Raghunathhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02375172095721894566noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5914250411539207986.post-77009823347316351592012-03-02T20:46:00.001-08:002012-03-09T21:01:07.570-08:00<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<span style="line-height: 115%;">Written by : Madhul </span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="line-height: 115%;">None of the villagers went to the house, </span></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 2.0pt; text-align: center;">
<span style="line-height: 115%;">They didn't like it now as they didn't like it before,</span></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 2.0pt; text-align: center;">
<span style="line-height: 115%;">And then the night came that with fear doused, </span></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 2.0pt; text-align: center;">
<span style="line-height: 115%;">The villagers haunted by an old folklore. </span></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 2.0pt; text-align: center;">
<span style="line-height: 115%;">If a pure maiden's heart gets swallowed by the earth, </span></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 2.0pt; text-align: center;">
<span style="line-height: 115%;">She will wander around till she regain's her soul-rebirth, </span></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 2.0pt; text-align: center;">
<span style="line-height: 115%;">With pain her transparent form will roam, </span></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 2.0pt; text-align: center;">
<span style="line-height: 115%;">To haunt all who couldn't save her from her doom. </span></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 2.0pt; text-align: center;">
<span style="line-height: 115%;">What the villagers didn't realize was that the folklore was false,</span></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 2.0pt; text-align: center;">
<span style="line-height: 115%;">Not completely but the ghost it stated was not there to haunt. </span></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 2.0pt; text-align: center;">
<span style="line-height: 115%;">The stars were clouded, </span></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 2.0pt; text-align: center;">
<span style="line-height: 115%;">The sky an angry grey, </span></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 2.0pt; text-align: center;">
<span style="line-height: 115%;">The wind howled as if it almost said, </span></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 2.0pt; text-align: center;">
<span style="line-height: 115%;">Only Eli's young body is dead. </span></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 2.0pt; text-align: center;">
<span style="line-height: 115%;">The villagers locked their doors in the first time in years, </span></div>
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<span style="line-height: 115%;">Chills crept up and down their spine, </span></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 2.0pt; text-align: center;">
<span style="line-height: 115%;">The village dog let out a mournful whine, </span></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 2.0pt; text-align: center;">
<span style="line-height: 115%;">Little children screamed as they let out their tears. </span></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 2.0pt; text-align: center;">
<span style="line-height: 115%;"> One little boy a little too brave as one must say, </span></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 2.0pt; text-align: center;">
<span style="line-height: 115%;">Just had to prove to the other kids that he wasn't scared, </span></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 2.0pt; text-align: center;">
<span style="line-height: 115%;">By walking to the trees just a touch away, </span></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 2.0pt; text-align: center;">
<span style="line-height: 115%;">He turned around to see how foolishly they prayed. </span></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 2.0pt; text-align: center;">
<span style="line-height: 115%;">To his astonishment they just stared, </span></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 2.0pt; text-align: center;">
<span style="line-height: 115%;">Behind his back he felt someone was there, </span></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 2.0pt; text-align: center;">
<span style="line-height: 115%;">In a moment of panic he swiveled around, </span></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 2.0pt; text-align: center;">
<span style="line-height: 115%;">Smack in front of his face was Eli in her white gown. </span></div>
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<span style="line-height: 115%;">One sincere smile was all it took, </span></div>
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<span style="line-height: 115%;">Little Jonah was off running back along the brook,</span></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 2.0pt; text-align: center;">
<span style="line-height: 115%;">This saddened Eli to no bounds,</span></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 2.0pt; text-align: center;">
<span style="line-height: 115%;">That's when the villagers brought their torches and hounds.</span></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 2.0pt; text-align: center;">
<span style="line-height: 115%;">Now Eli ghost or not,</span></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 2.0pt; text-align: center;">
<span style="line-height: 115%;">Was still a girl alone, now a scared one!</span></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 2.0pt; text-align: center;">
<span style="line-height: 115%;">She hid along the trees, felt hunted,</span></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 2.0pt; text-align: center;">
<span style="line-height: 115%;">Soon insecure she went to the one place the villagers hated.</span></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 2.0pt; text-align: center;">
<span style="line-height: 115%;">From the window of her room she watched,</span></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 2.0pt; text-align: center;">
<span style="line-height: 115%;">As two burly men argued whether the house was to be torched,</span></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 2.0pt; text-align: center;">
<span style="line-height: 115%;">Silently she looked a tear trickling down her eye,</span></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 2.0pt; text-align: center;">
<span style="line-height: 115%;">She looked down at her hand and realized this is how you feel when you die.</span></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 2.0pt; text-align: center;">
<span style="line-height: 115%;">There she stayed for years on end,</span></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 2.0pt; text-align: center;">
<span style="line-height: 115%;">Throughout the generations the villager's mindset didn't bend,</span></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 2.0pt; text-align: center;">
<span style="line-height: 115%;">Every attempt at friendship failed miserably,</span></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 2.0pt; text-align: center;">
<span style="line-height: 115%;">Leaving her as she had been before sad and lonely.</span></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 2.0pt; text-align: center;">
<span style="line-height: 115%;">Soon she realized she had no friends,</span></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 2.0pt; text-align: center;">
<span style="line-height: 115%;">The ones she had while alive now belonged to the land of the peaceful dead,</span></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 2.0pt; text-align: center;">
<span style="line-height: 115%;">Even though she tried to make amends,</span></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 2.0pt; text-align: center;">
<span style="line-height: 115%;">She was shot down it was as if their hearts were carved out of lead.</span></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 2.0pt; text-align: center;">
<span style="line-height: 115%;">Soon enough as it were bound to happen,</span></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 2.0pt; text-align: center;">
<span style="line-height: 115%;">Though her heart no more her soul faltered,</span></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 2.0pt; text-align: center;">
<span style="line-height: 115%;">Believing there was no way to be out of this cage,</span></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 2.0pt; text-align: center;">
<span style="line-height: 115%;">She turned on hope her soul was bitter.</span></div>
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<span style="line-height: 115%;">Quietly she spent the majority of her immortal days,</span></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 2.0pt; text-align: center;">
<span style="line-height: 115%;">She saw it all through the ages,</span></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 2.0pt; text-align: center;">
<span style="line-height: 115%;">The village changed so did the hills,</span></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 2.0pt; text-align: center;">
<span style="line-height: 115%;">Children grew up and became old men,</span></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 2.0pt; text-align: center;">
<span style="line-height: 115%;">All of them looked towards the house in fear,</span></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 2.0pt; text-align: center;">
<span style="line-height: 115%;">Not one soul dared to come near.</span></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 2.0pt; text-align: center;">
<span style="line-height: 115%;">Only one story was recited over and over,</span></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 2.0pt; text-align: center;">
<span style="line-height: 115%;">The one of maiden Eli who died so young,</span></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 2.0pt; text-align: center;">
<span style="line-height: 115%;">Whose ghost still haunted the broken mansion atop the hill,</span></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 2.0pt; text-align: center;">
<span style="line-height: 115%;">Around which even the wind remained still.</span></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 2.0pt; text-align: center;">
<span style="line-height: 115%;">With reluctance and hate she passed her days,</span></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 2.0pt; text-align: center;">
<span style="line-height: 115%;">Every crevice of the house she did examine,</span></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 2.0pt; text-align: center;">
<span style="line-height: 115%;">Thousands of centuries went slowly by,</span></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 2.0pt; text-align: center;">
<span style="line-height: 115%;">Somewhere in the wood her body still lays.</span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 2.0pt; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
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<br /></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 2.0pt; text-align: center;">
<span style="line-height: 115%;"> </span><span style="line-height: 115%;">One solemn evening it so happened when the stars twinkled,</span></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 2.0pt; text-align: center;">
<span style="line-height: 115%;">Someone, earth it seemed spoke to her,</span></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 2.0pt; text-align: center;">
<span style="line-height: 115%;">Somewhere within hope flickered,</span></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 2.0pt; text-align: center;">
<span style="line-height: 115%;">She looked around, vision a blur.</span></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 2.0pt; text-align: center;">
<span style="line-height: 115%;">There in the middle of the room a willowy mist took form,</span></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 2.0pt; text-align: center;">
<span style="line-height: 115%;">A beautiful lady with a face crunched up with scorn,</span></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 2.0pt; text-align: center;">
<span style="line-height: 115%;">She beckoned tto eli, "come here my child,</span></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 2.0pt; text-align: center;">
<span style="line-height: 115%;">Its not you its the villagers I mind".</span></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 2.0pt; text-align: center;">
<span style="line-height: 115%;">Coy and scared she drifted over,</span></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 2.0pt; text-align: center;">
<span style="line-height: 115%;">In the goddess' eyes she saw fire,</span></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 2.0pt; text-align: center;">
<span style="line-height: 115%;">These men know not what they do,</span></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 2.0pt; text-align: center;">
<span style="line-height: 115%;">Every little thing they can't explain is evil.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 2pt; text-align: center;">
<span style="line-height: 115%;">Worry naught little one,</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 2pt; text-align: center;">
<span style="line-height: 115%;"> </span><span style="line-height: 115%;">I know answers is what you seek,</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 2pt; text-align: center;">
<span style="line-height: 115%;"> I shall not tell you who brought this upon you,</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 2pt; text-align: center;">
<span style="line-height: 115%;">To you who committed this evil deed, </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 2pt; text-align: center;">
<span style="line-height: 115%;">But instead I shall grant you this one gift,</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 2pt; text-align: center;">
<span style="line-height: 115%;">You may have the power to find,</span></div>
<blockquote style="border: none; margin: 0 0 0 40px; padding: 0px;">
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 80%; text-align: center;">
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 80%; text-align: center;">
<span style="line-height: 80%;">A boy a love a one who will not mind,</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 80%; text-align: center;">
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 80%; text-align: center;">
<span style="line-height: 80%;">The sight of your bodice more transparent than mine,</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 80%; text-align: center;">
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 80%; text-align: center;">
<span style="line-height: 80%;">Find him and you will find your answer,</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 80%; text-align: center;">
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 80%; text-align: center;">
<span style="line-height: 80%;">Due to him the truth will surface,</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 80%; text-align: center;">
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 80%; text-align: center;">
<span style="line-height: 80%;">After I shall tell you your fate,</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 80%; text-align: center;">
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 80%; text-align: center;">
<span style="line-height: 80%;">From destiny your escape.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 80%; text-align: center;">
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 80%; text-align: center;">
<span style="line-height: 80%;">What may happen or not is not in my hands,</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 80%; text-align: center;">
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 80%; text-align: center;">
<span style="line-height: 80%;">All that fate told me is that you shall find love in this very land,</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 80%; text-align: center;">
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 80%; text-align: center;">
<span style="line-height: 80%;">The rest is a mystery that even I have no insight upon.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 80%; text-align: center;">
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 80%; text-align: center;">
<span style="line-height: 80%;">Be brave my little child as you have been,</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 80%; text-align: center;">
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 80%; text-align: center;">
<span style="line-height: 80%;">Your lonely days are at an end."</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 80%; text-align: center;">
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 80%; text-align: center;">
<span style="line-height: 80%;">Saying thus the mist broke and splintered,</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 80%; text-align: center;">
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 80%; text-align: center;">
<span style="line-height: 80%;">In a sudden gust of wind It completely disappeared,</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 80%; text-align: center;">
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 80%; text-align: center;">
<span style="line-height: 80%;">eli wondered whether it could be her imagination,</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 80%; text-align: center;">
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 80%; text-align: center;">
<span style="line-height: 80%;">the result of days of wanting a miracle to happen.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 80%; text-align: center;">
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 80%; text-align: center;">
<span style="line-height: 80%;">She looked around, not sighting a trace of their exchange,</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 80%; text-align: center;">
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 80%; text-align: center;">
<span style="line-height: 80%;">She sat down heavily a burden lifted or placed? </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 80%; text-align: center;">
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 80%; text-align: center;">
<span style="line-height: 80%;">More and more days passed by,</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 80%; text-align: center;">
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 80%; text-align: center;">
<span style="line-height: 80%;">The prophecy in no way even remotely taking shape,</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 80%; text-align: center;">
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 80%; text-align: center;">
<span style="line-height: 80%;">Disheartened eli tried to bring her hopes down,</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 80%; text-align: center;">
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 80%; text-align: center;">
<span style="line-height: 80%;">But once embedded in her mind as it were, </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 80%; text-align: center;">
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 80%; text-align: center;">
<span style="line-height: 80%;">she could not think even once of letting go.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 80%; text-align: center;">
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 80%; text-align: center;">
<span style="line-height: 80%;">One evening same as all the others -</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 80%; text-align: center;">
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 80%; text-align: center;">
<span style="line-height: 80%;"> the village bathed in the glow of the drowning sun;</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 80%; text-align: center;">
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 80%; text-align: center;">
<span style="line-height: 80%;">she looked from the broken window down below.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 80%; text-align: center;">
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 80%; text-align: center;">
<span style="line-height: 80%;">Engaged in thought, distracted with an open eyed dream, </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 80%; text-align: center;">
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 80%; text-align: center;">
<span style="line-height: 80%;">She failed to hear the shout, one shout,</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 80%; text-align: center;">
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 80%; text-align: center;">
<span style="line-height: 80%;"> a scramble of footsteps and then a scream.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 80%; text-align: center;">
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 80%; text-align: center;">
<span style="line-height: 80%;">Silently flitting through the house,</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 80%; text-align: center;">
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 80%; text-align: center;">
<span style="line-height: 80%;">She finally reached the dilapidated hall,</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 80%; text-align: center;">
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 80%; text-align: center;">
<span style="line-height: 80%;">She looked around in tense expectation,</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 80%; text-align: center;">
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 80%; text-align: center;">
<span style="line-height: 80%;">Nothing moved, she stood with apt attention.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 80%; text-align: center;">
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 80%; text-align: center;">
<span style="line-height: 80%;">A scuffle behind her back,</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 80%; text-align: center;">
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 80%; text-align: center;">
<span style="line-height: 80%;">A gasp and heavy breathing.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 80%; text-align: center;">
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 80%; text-align: center;">
<span style="line-height: 80%;">Hearing thus she swiveled around</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 80%; text-align: center;">
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 80%; text-align: center;">
<span style="line-height: 80%;">A boy about the same age as her</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 80%; text-align: center;">
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 80%; text-align: center;">
<span style="line-height: 80%;">Was crouching down upon the ground,</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 80%; text-align: center;">
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 80%; text-align: center;">
<span style="line-height: 80%;">He was in pain it was clear to her,</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 80%; text-align: center;">
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 80%; text-align: center;">
<span style="line-height: 80%;">But as she bent to help he screamed in fear,</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 80%; text-align: center;">
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 80%; text-align: center;">
<span style="line-height: 80%;">What could she say? she had not spoken in years.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 80%; text-align: center;">
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 80%; text-align: center;">
<span style="line-height: 80%;">She flew from the room in complete terror,</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 80%; text-align: center;">
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 80%; text-align: center;">
<span style="line-height: 80%;">Angrily wiping away stray tears.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 80%; text-align: center;">
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 80%; text-align: center;">
<span style="line-height: 80%;">She sat on her musty bed,</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 80%; text-align: center;">
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 80%; text-align: center;">
<span style="line-height: 80%;">She looked around at the broken walls,</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 80%; text-align: center;">
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 80%; text-align: center;">
<span style="line-height: 80%;">And her heart filled with dread,</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 80%; text-align: center;">
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 80%; text-align: center;">
<span style="line-height: 80%;">Not much younger than those walls was she,</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 80%; text-align: center;">
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 80%; text-align: center;">
<span style="line-height: 80%;">And she wondered, "Who in the world would love me?"</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 80%; text-align: center;">
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 80%; text-align: center;">
<span style="line-height: 80%;">Now tears came along with the wrath of the gods,</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 80%; text-align: center;">
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 80%; text-align: center;">
<span style="line-height: 80%;">Burning her as if she was being branded with hot rods.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 80%; text-align: center;">
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 80%; text-align: center;">
<span style="line-height: 80%;">She sobbed and sobbed again missing the sound,</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 80%; text-align: center;">
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 80%; text-align: center;">
<span style="line-height: 80%;">The sound of the front door opening,</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 80%; text-align: center;">
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 80%; text-align: center;">
<span style="line-height: 80%;">Followed by the patter of feet hitting the hard ground.</span></div>
</blockquote>
</div>Narendra Raghunathhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02375172095721894566noreply@blogger.com1