1. A M R I T S A R- Vajje Vaala, 2. X I N I N G- "Aslaam Walekum", 3. Y U S H U- Thrangu Gomba, 4. T I B E T- MungXung- The head of the family, 5. M A D U R A I- Nagaraj, 6. T I B E T - JEYKUNDO, 7. Youth of MungXung, 8. A M R I T S A R- Mazdoor, 9. BTW Mag, 10. Sehbi, 11. Ram Ji, 12. Ex(h)uberence!, 13. GOL Maal, 14. Cigar and smile, 15. Tara Jala

Climate change

The green man in an orange church.

Far away in a galaxy, many light years away a green man enters the church of orange people. It was a pretty odd thing for the orange people. They all were told to love all and everyone is equal, where colour is no different as the soul has no colour. But the green man just wouldn’t be a very nice thing among the orange people so all of them looked from the sides of their eyes at their orange priest.

“Excuse me my dear friend”, said the orange priest to the tall strongly build green man

“This is a church for the people who have god living in their hearts. We will love you to come our church but you need to be pure at heart and have room for god.”

The green man looked the priest. He stepped backwards and left the church of orange people. Days passed by followed by weeks, the green guy never entered the church of the orange people. One day after many many months the green man was walking by the street in which the orange priest live. The priest looked at the green man and saw a light coming through his face. He felt the calmness of the oceans and the dynamics of a relaxed continuum. The green man walked slowly, just to walk and not to reach anywhere.

The orange priest could see that the green man is much more happier than him. He approached him “Excuse me there, Hello oh green man! How have you been?”. The gren man looked at him and smiled giving all the answers. “ You did not come to our church again?” The orange priest didn’t have anything else to ask, but tried to probe in.

“I did what you asked me oh orange priest. I did made room for god in my heart, I tried to move myself away and let him in. Then after a long time I saw him in the dream, I was delighted and asked him if now is the time for me to come to your church. God laughed at me and said that I will not be able to get in that church. It was disappointing and I asked him why. He said that he himself could not get in that church all this time, how can I an ordinary green man go in there”

I am glad that i dont live in that galaxy far away, but i want to meet the green man.

(inspired from Aghyat ki ore, Discourses by Osho.)

Where?

Just A Puff, Or Beautiful Simplicity.
Originally uploaded by Jean Albus.

Under the blue skies if I am alone, I do keep this in my mind that you are with me. On this earth with no promise, if I stand still, I do feel in my heart that if ever I call, you will come to me.

I know in these crazy clouds if I ever need an answer I will think of you and your thoughts will come to me, and I will find peace.

Your one smile, will cure the meanest of the pains, when one day I will be broken.

I know you are watching me …









but where are you?

Whats up democracy??

P3130934
Originally uploaded by Nav A..

My name is manu sharma, i killed jessica lal 10 years ago.. you know it .. you saw it on tv.. or must have heard it from those 100S of people sitting in that club in front of whom i shot her on point blank. I love democracy. it gives you rights and responsibilities. But the best part is that it gives you the option to BUY the law aswell. And i bought myself the respect even after being the murderer of jessica (heheheheh ... loosers)

My dad is a rich minister in the govt. and he has loads of money. So i dont need to goto school, or learn how to live a proper life. He will buy me what i want.. and with his money i will buy law, rights, and will disrespect the rest of the world ... Losers.. i might aswell call them.


The citizens of democracy should be afraid of me.
CUZ I CAN BUY FREEDOM AFTER KILLING JESSICA. I CAN DO THAT TO YOU ASWELL.
The first time your constitution couldnt do anything, and this time i will shit on it again.
I love democracy.

Chained Dreams

key dice
Originally uploaded by ananthy.

Whenever my dad said that one has to play with ones own cards, which he said very often, i instatnly thougt that we all must be getting the same cards, why would the creator be partial. Looking at people in grand cars with bad tempers, and joyful poor vegetable sellers was a very nice justification to my simple conclusions.


Cuba argued with me, showing that cards are not the same, or i heard it wrong.
The moment i landed in Cuba, i met a group of three very smart and bright ladies. 'Hola' the first authentic one that i heard. Talking in broken spanish that i acquired from LP, I found out that one of the younger ones liked talking to tourists. "I have never been out of Cuba all my life. I wanted to see the world" probably till she realised that outside world is a far off dream. There was nothing that i could say. If an orphan boy in Northern Khivu had told me that he wanted to see the world, i would have confidently said 'You will if you want. Just dont forget it.' For that lady there in the Cuban airport that answer would have been a lie. There is no way that a cuban today can come out of the country.

A young exhuberant tour guide wearing a crisp ironed white shirt with the company logo talkng in fluent german on the pay phone with occasional smile, paused and asked me time in american accent. He had seen the canadian flag on my jeans and assumed i spoke english. He later told me that like others, he is also making 500 cuban pesos a month, value of which is what they spend without thinking on a burger at mcdonalds in my chosen country of residence. His mother tongue was spanish, educated in Cuba, he didnt dream to ride the Audi he sees tourists drive anymore. He probably is much smarter than not only me but the millions of people living their dreams in the world outside.

The cards in Cuba are probably different. They dont seem to be very helpful. Cubans dont dream to play big now. Dreams i saw there were in chains.
Just becuase i was not born in the land 70 miles south of Miami, my cards are different. I am dreaming that Carlito Sardenias cant even dream of.

Looking back to ......

Looking back to learn...
Originally uploaded by Arpana.

and the mind would know that 'There is the limit'
and someone in the mind would ask...'why go there'
and everybody would cry out loud 'what is it'
and youd think 'behind me is where they are calling me'

But you hear him always. Always towards the limit. the values Just reaching there towards the reality's limit... as the interval is the infinity...

and you say in yourself 'I must see this'

and you say 'the base for my last jump'

and you say 'the three paths lead to him'

and you say 'Three. those are the only ways i can go on my feet, if not back'

and you say 'Three. those are the only ones in me if i am not tere. My creator. my preserver and my destroyer'

and you say 'I am you and you are me'

and you look towards east north and the west.

and you stop. but you stop???

And you look back.

and now again... It is a wierd world ... but same... simple. plain and smooth. but is it really?

By now you have forgotten the limits. The intervals of the infinity.

you say 'What was i thinking.'

You walk \ back on your feet.

Goodbye!.

She stood on the side of the ocean. Looking into it and tried to see her lost days, see her small hands holding her dolls. She looked at the waves coming towards her and disappearing into the sand before touching her toes, reminding her of her own wild mind, thinking of a million things and forgetting them before she could figure anything out of them. The crimson sun far away looked down at the ocean in which it was going to drown, she envied it since tomorrow it would come up again, unlike those days with the dolls. why she thought.


Ocean sang the songs, the ones she has been hearing all her life ... and always found a meaning out of those. People had told her laughingly that the sea doesnt sing, it roars, those sounds that the sea makes are just random splashes. How can one not hear these soft words. The so called reality was being imposed on her. But she hung on to the tunes and the stories she heard in those songs.

With her small dolls she had seen some dreams. She flew in those. In her dreams she talked and walked with flowers wherever she went. She spoke to everybody, hugged and kissed them. She knew her dolls actually lived in a world where everything is possible and everything should be done. She missed her dolls where are you my friends, I miss you.

From the side of the ocean, she held the beach sand in one hand, the past days in the other and little diamond tears in her black eyes. She was unable to hold the sand in her hand. She knew the harder she will try the faster the sand will fall off. She didnt want to think about the past days in the other. The idea had made her sad many times.

The reality She thought. The days of her past waited in her hand, waited to make a leave. May be with the wind or in the ocean. She held them and didn’t want them to go away.

The tear fell down.

While it was in the air, she saw her world and her dreams looking back at her in the tear.

It fell down on one of the waves.

She looked at it in surprise. What she saw almost killed her with amusement.

The tear didn’t fell in the ocean, the ocean fell back in the tear.

Dharma and the Wheels of Life, a Buddhist thought. (hardcover)

The shelves were lighted up with bulbs all over the roof, polished wooden slabs and all non fiction titles classified together on the author’s name. I stood there and read the names of the books and Cathy, whom I went out with for the first date, looked outside the window while she played with my hair. She had done that three times since morning. I guess it was her habit. I didn’t mind it so I let her roll her fingers in my hair. I looked at the Dharma and the Wheels of Life, a Buddhist thought, hardcover with a very attractive front photo.

“Looks interesting” I said while flipping the pages.

“I think its all fake” she said quickly from back and kept looking outside.

“What makes you think that” I continued reading the about the author page.

“I know it, I have seen it” she said busily.

She had stopped rolling her fingers in my hair and walked close to the window. I noticed the book was written by a Buddhist monk who had also done some post graduate work at Harvard. His photo was very deceiving. He had an orange robe on with no shoes, but under his name I could see three different degrees and a fellowship of many societies which I had only read and seen in the news. I wondered how Cathy knew about this author and why she said he was fake. I felt like buying the book and also get more information about the author.

I called Cathy and asked “What makes you think it is fake”

“You will have to see it for yourself” she said while looking outside. I looked at her. She was just nineteen. I saw the exuberance and the enthusiasm I had when I was nineteen. She wore blue jeans and colorful shirt, with a bandana and the necklace of wood and plastic turtles. I smiled at her colors. She did not at all looked like someone who would read Dharma and the Wheels of Life, a Buddhist thought.

I read the introduction of the book, and the last two pages of the first chapter, something I always do before buying an unrecommended book. I walked to the cashier to check out and looked for Cathy. She was nowhere near that window. I called her on her cell phone. She hung up. I called her again to find a busy signal.

I was a little surprised with her disappearance and hanging up the phone. I came out of the shop and saw there was a security guard sitting there. I asked him if he saw a girl wearing that colorful shirt walked out of the store.

He said “Yeah, that kid ran after the limping beggar. She said the beggar was faking a broken leg and she wanted to take a picture of him. She told me that she saw the beggar walk straight from inside the store. She went that way” he laughed and I looked at the security guard wondering what was outside the window.

Runner

Bang! He didn't have to think. Putting all the strength he had in his right leg he leaped forward. The timing was perfect to gain the balance and pull the left leg ahead. He stared down but didn’t see anything because all his mind was focused at something important. There was no need to see. Three years of early morning three hour and evening two hour practice had made his body so used to the sprint as an old lady knitting her sweater while doing a morning walk.
I have to beat the last time. His coach said a million times “Don’t worry about the darn medal, you run for yourself. Beat yourself to win yourself” The drops of the salty sweat didn’t fall down, the wind of his speed touched his face and took the sweat away along with it giving him the encouragement to beat himself. I have to beat the last time.

He looked ahead and ran. Jo and Alex were drunk when they came to visit him a night two weeks ago. They knew their best friend would be traveling away to run. They had brought him a medal saying “Run Runner”. Run runner he heard in his ears. “Yeah” his jaws were closed tighter than a crocodile’s whenever he had run along with other men on the striped ground. Run runner “yeah”. With his steps counting yards by the seconds he thought I have to beat the last time.

He saw the Italian wearing green and red was nearing by with the corner of his eye. He is fast. His nerves erected, and he showed his teeth. He had forgot his body. With all his power and strength he was in tune with a harmony of speed and the wind kissing his body. He remembered the last time he had finally ran with all his power and life. He smiled within himself. He is fast... but I have to beat my time.

All the shouting faces, the screaming throats and the bulging eyes were looking at the men who had lived for this run. They say the men on the ground running towards the line. But the men running on the tracks saw nothing but the line. He knew he was not alone. There were eight runners who were running behind him. He didn’t know what they were running for, but he knew they saw the same that he had been seeing all these years.
He didn’t care of what they saw or what they heard, he smiled I have to beat the last time.

Herenow

She looked at the road outside. Dark, still and patient. It lied there without caring who was passing. Knowing no direction, it did not care guide the travellers if they were going in the wrong or right direction... since it was their own choice maybe.

She saw people walking in different directions, with different speeds, different moods and different thaughts running in their minds. She saw the road, existing alone without knowing anybody. She wondered who the first person would have been to walk on it. Was the road made first, or the traveller walked through the ground and made it before its existence? Was the road a plan or was it an accident? But she thought the road would never ask this.

The road would never even think about this or anything else.

She kept on looking the road, thinking about it. A moment came when she lost her own thought. She got so lost in the road that she became the road herself. Her mind became the mind of a path, her mentality became the mentality of the direction, a viewpoint of the way, and her thought became the thought of the road.

She felt herself. She felt the calmness, the stillness she had never experienced before. She found herself everywhere. She was not existing between two ends. She had many ends and many beginings within herself. She found that she had not known anything simpler, so vast and quiet.

And when she closed her eyes she saw her own little face which was looking outside the window eye in eye with herself.

The visions and The sounds

Originally uploaded by aarthyr.

Rachel walked slowly in the door of the shop which read 'Montgomery Trading Co. Est. 1958' in red. Next to the door was a window with a few shelves and frames for eye opticals on them. Dusty and faded with the sunlight, the frames on the shelf gave the wrinkles to the old optician shop. She opened the door and stood there to be greeted. Where is the shopkeeper? she thought. She stepped in and felt the carpeted floor to find her way in the shop with her long plastic stick.
Rachel had not seen since she was five when she lost her eyesight completely without any reason that doctors could explain. Eventuallu she adapted and learned how to find her way. She was a good listener. I can listen my ways she had thought. Her ears were her best friend. She felt lucky that she was blind and not dumb and deaf How can they live.
The wall on the right side was having shelves having many frames of different sizes. She found the wall and like any other shop she located the shelves and started finding something she would wear. She touched almost every frame, but could not find the one she wanted. The shopkeeper was standing on the right side as she could hear him cleaning the shelves. “I want a rectangular frame, a little bigger than these ones here” she said loudly to get the shopkeeper’s attention. She heard the person standing right to her open a door and bring back something which was placed on the table loudly.
She moved towards the table and the shopkeeper held her hand and put the frame in her hand. A gentleman she thought. One by one he patiently handed her the frames. “Ah, I like this one”. She took her dark sunglasses off and while putting them on the table she dropped them. Oh no, I cannot afford that today. She was quick to place her stick against the table and bent down to find the fallen sunglasses. The shopkeeper, who was already there on his knees, placed the sunglasses in Rachel’s hand. “Thank you so much, … and thanks for the carpet as well”. She smiled and got up wondering how would he sound like.

“I think I like this one, what is the price?” She referred to the last frame she was shown.

The shopkeeper didn’t say anything.

“Sir?”

The shopkeeper held her hand and wrote ten dollars on Rachel’s arm.

Rachel stood there realizing that the shopkeeper was deaf and dumb.

Click!

click!
Originally uploaded by aarthyr.

He stared at me while I was focusing him on my camera. On a footpath, with white bandage on his left arm, and no finger longer than the knuckle except the thumb, he sat quietly. Click! His dark skin was dry and he had blisters on his neck and perhaps on his chest as well, he wore a grey robe. Click!. He smiled finally when he realized that I just captured him on my camera. He stood up. I saw he had trouble while standing up. His left leg was swollen. He was sitting on a bag which had everything he owned. Click!. He fetched a stick that stood against the wall he was sitting in front off. Click!. He bent down and took a cloth, tied a turban and looked at me. Click!. He looked around, perhaps he was looking for someone or something. Balancing on the stick, he moved fast towards his right. I was surprised where he was going. Click!. He shook a little boy sleeping on the pavement with his foot. ‘Camera, Camera’ he shouted. The little boy didn’t move, He came back where he was sitting. His movements showed excitement that he felt, he made a noise with every step he took. Click! He stood there like a military man standing. Attention. Click! I moved close to him, and felt that his smile was getting wider and wider. His lower lip trembled as his folded hands. Click! I forwarded my hand. He looked at my hand with a surprise, his smile started to disappear. He slowly looked me. Click! And finally at my camera. I kneeled and placed a ten rupees note in the dented aluminum bowl, which had a few coins of different value. Click!


I was sipping hot Darjeeling tea when I saw a tall dark shadow elongating in my direction. I turned back and saw the beggar coming to me. He handed me the money back I had dropped in his bowl and smiled. I never thanked him for posing and perhaps he came to thank me? He made a sound with his tongue ‘Click!’

Hands

Haath
Originally uploaded by amoleji.

This was not clicked by a camera. The background is not a dark room, rather a bright sunny day. The two right hands, hide a lot and reveal alot.

Age, Sex, Gender, Race one cannot guess so easily.

Past, Future and present, you never know. Any palmists here?

The three great things in existence

Life, Love and death. The three great things in existence. Life has already happened. Death is going to happen, it is a certainty. In a way, it has already happened with birth: you have already taken one step into the grave at the birth. The day you are born, half of the journey is complete; the remaining half will take a little time, or a little more. With life, death has also penetrated you. Now only one thing remains to be done that you can do. Something that depends on you, and that is love. And because it depends on you, there is every possibility that you may miss it.

Tsengu's illness.

.

The monk said “He was born when the clouds were coming from the east to old mountains and Saturn’s orbital tangent was parallel to the wind. You should keep a black dog for your new born son’s good health” thus the Janhint’s bought Jenji, black Labrador for Tsengu’s first birthday.

For the last six years Tsengu Janhint had been coughing. One could hear him breathing, since the spasm in his chest echoed his breath. It was a part of his life now. With time the inconvenience dilutes away to become simply a foul smell lingering in the air which you stop noticing eventually. Tsengu knew how to deal with his respiratory problem most of the time except while sleeping, when he got chest infection attacks, and on those nights he just spend hours coughing.

The rest of the family was as good as the kids running in the energy drink advertisement. Mom, Shalingy Janhint was worried about her son’s health. She bugged her husband everyday for not taking Tsengu to Brenkoos, the metropolitan up north to one of ‘the expensive doctors’. But Tsengu’s father, Arawsut Janhint, architect by profession, believed that the old traditional medicines of his country would cure his son, as his paternal cousin in Penking had a severe problem of the same sort, and was cured by the traditional pathy. Younger brother Philong Janhint never coughed in the last six years, since he was four. Though he coughed to get attention from his parents or to irritate his three year older brother. He was one active chap always running with Jenji. Even Jenji, the darling of the family, commonly referred as Jenji Janhint was healthy in his thirteen years in spite of the fact that he was never vaccinated fully. When Jenji’s booster vaccination was due, Arawsut had fallen down from a wooden slab on one of his sites and had broken a bone in his feet. The attention was diverted to the head of the family who laid for two months on the bed with right leg in plaster hung to the fan. Nobody took Jenji to Brenkoos for vaccination. At that time, it was thought that Jenji would get sick. Shalingy was betting on parvo and Arawsut on distemper. One week later, to their surprise Tsengu got a chest infection.

Initially, he was taken to many doctors nearby. But when his symptoms resembled to those of Arawsut’s paternal cousin’s, Arawsut felt that Tsengu will be cured on his own. But Shalingy felt that her son should be cured immediately since she didn’t like the way Arawsut’s paternal cousin coughed.

Tsengu loved when his parents argued over his illness. He thought everybody has an illness. His parents had the illness of arguing. Philong had an illness of sucking his thumb when sleeping. And Jenji had a sickness of barking.

When Tsengu turned thirteen, Arawsut suggested that he should be admitted to a boarding school in Brenkoos. Shalingy was not very excited about Tsengu leaving home, feeling he was too young to live alone and needed care for the chest infection. But the fact that he will be closer to ‘the expensive doctors’ and will be taken care by the school comforted her in the back of her mind. Philong was upset that Tsengu always gets to do new things and go to newer places. (He hated when his mother gave him Tsengu’s clothes to him to wear). Jenji barked.

Parents were not allowed to come and visit there kids for the first two months of the school year. Arawsut was cleaning his car while Shalingy was stuffing fruits, candies and clothes in the trunk. The family was excited to visit Tsengu in his boarding school after two months. Philong was sitting on the stair and was crying as his parents didn’t want Jenji to come along.

Tsengu was sitting in the waiting room. He heard the engine of his dad’s car and looked in the window. He ran out to greet his parents who were delighted to see there son after two months. They went out to a restaurant nearby to eat. Tsengu wanted spring roles with shrimp and coconut sauce. Shalingy said that it is not good for his throat and his chest. Tsengu felt a little disappointed as he was expecting a treat of his choice. His dad looked at him in a surprise. He got up came close to Tsengu and put his ear on his chest. He said to Shalingy that he is breathing without the chest creating any noise. Shalingy felt that too. Philong looked at them with his mouth open. Shalingy let him eat spring roll with shrimp and coconut sauce and told Arawsut that they should take him to a doctor to see if he is cured. Arawsut said that he knew that Philong is cured because his cousin in Penking got normal when he was thirteen.

In the winter break Tsengu returned home to spend the vacation. Shalingy was very happy that her son is mature enough to live alone and Arawsut was excited that if the chest infection was a hereditary defect in his family, it would pass with age. But in the middle of a night Tsengu got up coughing and struggling to breath. Jenji was sleeping next to him. He jumped up in shock waking everybody up. Shalingy felt helpless and Arawsut confused. Tsengu chest was swollen, but later he managed to sleep. Next morning Janhint family got up early, gathered some food in the car and went to Brenkoos to visit ‘an expensive doctor’.
By evening the results were collected from three different laboratories and it was found that Tsengu was allergic to canine dander. One of the least existing allergies caused by the fallen hair of dogs. But the allergens coming from a Labrador was even less probable.

Shalingy thought that they should give Jenji to Arawsut’s relatives in Penking as she didn’t want the allergens to cause any further inconvenience to Tsengu. Arawsut believed that they should keep Jenji as he might have helped Tsengu develop resistance to many other allergies and illnesses causing elements and will do so further in future. They argued while coming back in the car and Tsengu looked at them and giggled at their illness.

This can be me. Potentially!!

ME
Originally uploaded by amoleji.

This is just the beggining the best is yet to come.... to Omar:- inshalla? (Omar says put an H in the end so..) Inshallah. (ok omar?) (Omar didnt reply)

Find the links to the postings on the right.

I am at work right now, in a training room. Have no idea what this guy is saying. Obviously i am not paying attention.

And now i am thinking, Is blogging a tool to satisfy your ego... ? artistic ego maybe...? so might be possible that all the frequent bloggers think the same. Attention starvation..

Magazine and the free phone

“Thank you for calling incredible deals. How can I help you?”
"Oh, are you a real person or a … Mmm.. computer voice?”
“No Madam, I am a real person and you are speaking to the Incredible deals, how can I assist you?”
“Well, I want to get this free phone, that is in this advertisement.”
“And what add you are referring to madam?”
“Mmm…. Wait a sec.. this is a flyer, it is red in color and the phone is black. I want the black phone. The flyer says it is free.’
“Madam, it has to be free with something, We cant just send you a free phone, right? Please tell me what product code you are talking about?”
“Oh…, Jesus!…, do I have to buy something to get it? What do I have to buy? What if I don’t need it?”
“MAM, I will be very happy to inform you what you have to buy on order to get that free phone, but I need to know what product you are talking about. Please read out the serial number at the bottom of the page in fine print.”
“Fine print?”
“The small letters, at the bottom of the page, Fine print.”
“Oh!!. Let me get my glasses, can you hold son?”
“Yes madam, please go ahead”
“Yeah, hello?... are you there?. “
“Yes madam, I am here, Did you get the number?”
“No I got my glasses. Hold on, what did you asked me for?”
“Product number or an SKU number , at bottom of the page, in a fine print”
“Yeah, fine print… fine print. Here I have found the fine print. And you want what in the fine print?”
“The product number”
“Yeah …. Mmm… humble and Anderson ltd Chicago, all trademarks copyrighted. Offer not valid for employees of Humble and Anderson….”
“Excuse me madam, I am sorry to interrupt you, But I don’t want you to read the whole thing , it is very long, please give me the product number. … …. OK please tell me the make of the cordless black phone”
“Oh you don’t want the product number now?”
“No madam, please give me the make of the phone I might be able to find the deal for you?’
“Ok Mmm…. Where can I find that on the flyer?”
“It should be printed on the top or somewhere around the picture of the phone itself”
“Mmm it says ‘get one free pana son… panson… panas….”
“Panasonic?”
“Yes, Panasonic, that’s a big word, is it a good phone”
“Yes madam it is a very good phone, please give me a second, let me find out what the deal is with which you are getting the free phone… Hello? ”
“Yeas, I am here?
“Mam we are offering the free cordless phone with the purchase of the subscription of Gardening today, it is a very good magazine for gardening. Would you be interested?”
“Gardening?”
“Yes Mam”
“Gardening magazine?”
“yes mam”
“Well I live in a condominium. I don’t have a yard for gardening”
“Madam the magazine covers all the aspects of growing plants domestically, in pots, in balcony etc. So it can be a very use full thing for you, and its nice to have plants around your home.”
“Yeah but, I never get a lot of time, I have to go to my friends place and I end up spending a lot of time traveling in the bus. You know she lives in another building for the aged.”
“Then this thing can be just fantastic for you as it has botanical crosswords and games…nice way to pass time and also you can carry it along on the bus”
“Hmm. How much is the cost”
"The price of the three year subscription is $189.95 and you get the cordless phone free of cost”
“$189?”
“Yes madam. For 50 issues. And you get the free cordless phone. Also there is a two year warranty on the phone.”
“$189?”
“Yes madam $198.95 . and the free phone.”
“Isn’t it expensive”
“Madam you are certainly getting the value for your dollar. And you can pay it with your credit card.”
“Credit card?”
“Yes madam”
“Can I use my visa?”
“Oh definitely madam”
“When will I get the phone if I place the order now?”
“It will take two weeks for the phone to be delivered”
“OK”
“Can I have your address please?”
“Address?”
“Yes madam”
“244 Carin Drive”
“OK”
“Toronto, ON”
“Oh, Are you in Canada?”
“Yes I am in Ontario, Canada”
“Madam I am very sorry but this offer is valid only in the US, Thank you very much for your interest and have a good day.”
The telephone rep that was almost going to get a sale for the magazine hung up on the old lady who almost paid $189.95 for the free phone.

The smiling mountain

Toy Train, Shimla
Originally uploaded by .

The tall pine trees probably saw the sky more clearly that I could have ever imagined. The needle leaves were so dense that they looked like a cloud of greenness drawn on a green canvas of moss growing on the barks. The goats passed me by with the old lady dressed in all the colors I had seen on the rainbow. Wrinkles on the face hid the smile she wore while looking at me. But that smile, I could have seen even if she hadn't smile. In the mountains I have seen everything smiling silently. Everything lost in itself, high. Everything relating to each other, smiling, like having an invisible pipe sharing the same merry blood. The old sheppard dressed in rainbow, had that pipe somewhere running through her and then running through out the trees, the mountains, the rivers, the stones and the skies.

I was an outsider. I wasn't smiling. I wasn't in tune with the melody of the place. I wanted to stab that invisible pipe of the common blood in my stomach to experience the smile.

But I needed to find out how to get back to the camp, I had lost the group of trekkers I was with. 'Hello', I said to the old Sheppard. For some reason, I wanted to speak to her to know what she does, how she lives and not about the road I had sidetracked from. She stopped and waited me to come to her. Her goats smelled my backpack, she didn't hushed them away from me but stared and smiled. She had a stick in her hand, a colorful cap, and a multicolor Himalayan dress. I told her I was lost in the jungle. She didn't understand my words. She spoke a different language. And I am sure whatever language she spoke, it was very simpler and sweeter.

She said many things. She probably was giving me directions. She probably was making paths with her hand movements. I didn't understand anything. But she helped me. I nodded and thanked her with folded hands. She laughed, I saw few of the teeth still hanging in her jaw. I was alone again with the tall trees and the green clouds.

I like the mountains. I like the Himalayas. Overlapping each other. Coherent. And I wouldn't have mind at all to have got lost in the coherence of the green jungles. Through those jungles of tall dark trees, even the free wind gets trapped. May be that is why I liked them. I wanted to get trapped. I wanted the tall trees to trap me away from myself. I loved the rocks, so still and so calm, they say nothing to anybody. And if you look eye in eye they wouldn't even let you say anything either. The silence of the mountains spoke everything about the place. It asked me to be silent as well. May be I could have heard so many other things in the silence, but I couldn't stop myself from talking within. The walkie-talkie I had started beeping, 'Hey mate stay where you are, we can see you... We thought we lost you'.

'Haven't we always been lost?' I thought and looked on the ground which was smiling at me.

Do you have time?

I was walking down the platform with the phone on my ear. I heard her heels hitting the ground parallel to my shoes. The moment I looked at her she took her eyes off me.
The glimpse.
You bring your eyes to a face and you see that the eyes on that face just move the instantaneous stare you were getting from them. Sometimes in this situation I feel bad for the being late for that little fraction of second. All I could see she had long black hair. I still was on the phone and the bus arrived. People started getting in the bus and within a second the bus was crowded to the fullest.

She was sitting in front of me and there was no other seat. 'Wow', I felt and sat next to her. She smelled good. I didn’t want to turn my face and look at her to see how she looked. Took out the book I was in the middle of. But I couldn’t just get over the fact that a nice smelling girl with black hair was sitting next to me and I don’t even know how she looked like. I thought I should ask the time.
You know, asking the time is always the best ice breaker. Then I realised that she had seen me talking on my cell phone and would know that I need not to ask her time and it is phoney. Asking time has so many times helped me find how friendly and social the other person can be
or is. I have been asking time from strangers since many years. But it was not appropriate that night.

I was just looking at the words in the book I had opened in front of me. The people in the bus were making a lot of noise. I again thought it would be nice to speak to the girl next seat. Again, I started looking for reasons to start a conversation with her.

Her phone rang. She whispered in the phone. She laughed. Saw her smile, but from a side. Eventually heard her voice. 'Not bad' I thought when I heard her giggling. I thought by now she might have forgotten that I have a cell phone and have no ways to know time since it had been well over fifteen minutes. That obviously was my trump card and my comfortable zone. The moment she put the phone down, my phone rang. 'Shoot'. The ringer was on and loud, had to attend it.

My brother needed to know how exactly to cook rice. Out of all the days he had to ask me at that time how much water he is supposed to add in. And for some reasons he was finding it very hard to understand what exactly I meant.

Now there was no point of having conversation.

I put the phone down. Readjusted myself. My stop was moments away. I was thinking this is not the first time it is happening to me. I need to be a socially more confident to at least find a decent ice breaker. Twenty five minutes sitting next to a nice smelling girl, didn’t even say "Good day" or anything!!

My stop had come and somebody had pulled the chain.

Before I could got up she turned to me and asked "Do you have the time?". It was the most beautiful face with a charming smile looking at me that had asked that.

the first sale

"Pitanjali, Pitanjali", she said loudly to the old shopkeeper who was looking at her through his centimeter thick glasses. He had his nose lifted up to squeeze his eyes small so that he could look at her clearly. Not thinking that he needed to hear her better.
"Ok Ok", he said and slowly turned to the piles of the books. He wanted to look like he knew what he was doing. He could have been better a few years ago, but the body is not so dependable always. He came back with a few books and magazines. He knew this time the customer doesn’t want Gitanjali, though he didn’t have any idea what she was asking for. He felt restless internally but didn’t want to show his frustration to the young girl and scare her away from the stall to the other one across the street. He dropped the books and magazines in front of her and again lifted his nose and squeezed his eyes. He hoped to see an expression of approval.
That one little sale could have put ten rupees in his pocket that morning. And the old shopkeeper was doing his best to get that. Deep inside he knew that he needed more than one sale an hour to keep the things working. He knew the stall on the other side of the road was making many more sales than his stall, which made him more depressed. He didn’t know what he could do to make things work the way they used to be in the old days, when he knew each and every book he had in his stock, when he didn’t have to use a calculator.
He realized that the girl was leaving as he heard something she said which he couldn’t comprehend. The disappointment was not new to him. Now he had to put the books back. Picking up the books he heard the sound of dropping coins, He looked closely to find out the girl had bought the book and paid the amount he had written on the backside of the book on a little sticker. He picked the money, and didn’t bother to count it. It was the first sale of the day.

The weekend is gone.

I waited for this weekend since feb, a month from today. Three days off.

staright. starting off on a friday.

Its almost monday morning now... and the weekend has gone. It is past now.. and I am still the same... i can wait for it again and it will never come. But a few breaths before it was to...

Yet I am still the same...

Maybe a part of me has already started waiting for the next one.

I guess i will be the same after that aswell... i will be the present but the passer by is going to be past. Is the time which is passing by or me?

And with every going weekend, with every going second it is getting duller. The week is shrinking shorter and so is the year.

What if I remain the same and wait for that weekend.... and it never comes.

That wait will be amazing.

But, i dont want to die.