<?xml version='1.0' encoding='UTF-8'?><?xml-stylesheet href="http://www.blogger.com/styles/atom.css" type="text/css"?><feed xmlns='http://www.w3.org/2005/Atom' xmlns:openSearch='http://a9.com/-/spec/opensearchrss/1.0/' xmlns:georss='http://www.georss.org/georss' xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4441717881897857879</id><updated>2012-02-16T20:22:32.057+05:30</updated><title type='text'>Scribbles</title><subtitle type='html'></subtitle><link rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#feed' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://scribbles-vp.blogspot.com/feeds/posts/default'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4441717881897857879/posts/default?max-results=100'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://scribbles-vp.blogspot.com/'/><link rel='hub' href='http://pubsubhubbub.appspot.com/'/><author><name>Pavil</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10101956425144957746</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><generator version='7.00' uri='http://www.blogger.com'>Blogger</generator><openSearch:totalResults>12</openSearch:totalResults><openSearch:startIndex>1</openSearch:startIndex><openSearch:itemsPerPage>100</openSearch:itemsPerPage><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4441717881897857879.post-8609522618295919482</id><published>2011-07-23T11:23:00.003+05:30</published><updated>2011-07-23T11:41:12.913+05:30</updated><title type='text'>Revenge</title><content type='html'>&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;blockquote&gt;&lt;br /&gt;This post has been published by me as a part of the &lt;b&gt;Blog-a-Ton 22&lt;/b&gt;; the twenty-second edition of the online marathon of Bloggers; where we decide and we write. To be part of the next edition, visit and start following &lt;a href="http://blogaton.in/"&gt;&lt;b&gt;Blog-a-Ton&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/a&gt;.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/blockquote&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Hey Man close the door, its raining. You have the right to other plans but I want to sleep" the person trying to sleep in the birth no. 72 snapped at Vijay. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The man's anguish was understandable for It was 3 AM in the morning &amp; the train was dashing towards its destination. "As you like it sir,So many doors have already been closed on me" Vijay murmured to himself &amp; got back to his seat.&lt;br /&gt;He was moving back to his home town, where his mother was waiting for him. She had never given up on her infant terrible. He hoped his little daughter &amp; estranged wife too must be waiting to hear from him. At least he was hoping so. They had separated some years back &amp; Lilian took simona with her. They too were supposed to be in the same town not far away from Vi jay's home.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Vijay finally reached home to a warm hug by his mother,that's the way she would always welcome her youngest son. No questions, no justifications, no explanations. She would communicate just everything with her silence. That comforted Vijay &amp; he was ready to face life once again.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"So tell me Mr. Vijay what do you bring to the table, why should we offer you a this job" the burly person seated in front of Vijay almost shouted. Before he could utter a word the other member of the panel added, " We are the best business school in the town &amp; we are not your run of the mill business school churning out a crop of MBAs. We always look for innovations, new ways of things in all that we do".&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Vijay took a deep breath &amp; almost whispered, "Sir, that's why I am here. I know what this school is all about. I have always admired this institution. I know how unique &amp; innovative this institute is and that's why I have selected this over others. I am so sure this school is not going to fail me."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The panel was surprised &amp; shocked at the selection of words by Vijay. One of them snapped back, "Fail you ? what are you talking about. Your resume suggests you have failed in almost everything that you have done. 10 jobs in 15 years. 2 years of doing nothing. You are a failed journalist, a failed business man, a failed writer, a failed engineer."&lt;br /&gt;The other panelist added, "Your personal record also suggests you are a failed husband &amp; a failed father". &lt;br /&gt;"Sir let me add to the list" Vijay added "I am also a failed Naxalite &amp; a failed robber." &lt;br /&gt;The panel was completely taken aback. They had never met such a person in their life. The atmosphere outside the room was interesting. The other waiting candidates were tired of waiting for the interview to be over. But the things were different in the interview room. The discussion was getting interesting.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Vijay had to explain all his so called failures. It was no mean job but he passionately explained all that he did in his life till then. He continued his monologue, "My failures is what I have with me to offer. It has given me new perspectives &amp; a whole new understanding of life. I certainly know how I failed in all things that I have done. I can impart this knowledge to my prospective proteges at the institute. These failures have told me how to achieve success in life. I am sure, I would be a successful lecturer and the students would find my talks interesting."&lt;br /&gt;By the end of his monologue he has won them over. It was awe inspiring for them. &lt;br /&gt;For Vijay all his so called failures were very dear but he knew the world would not understand his way of looking at things. He had to borrow the words of the world to make his point.But all said &amp; done he had done the job he had set out for himself.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Vijay was back at life with a new zeal. Now there was a spring in his walk,his confidence knew no bounds. He was going to do interesting work with a world class business school &amp; that too in his home town. His hopes of winning back his wife were live again.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;He had had his revenge with the so called SUCCESS. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;blockquote&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The &lt;b&gt;fellow Blog-a-Tonics&lt;/b&gt; who took part in this Blog-a-Ton and links to their respective &lt;b&gt;posts&lt;/b&gt; can be checked &lt;a href="http://blogaton.in/2011/07/rules-and-reminder-for-blog-ton-22.html#comments"&gt;&lt;b&gt;here&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/a&gt;. To be part of the next edition, visit and start following &lt;b&gt;&lt;a href="http://blogaton.in/"&gt;Blog-a-Ton&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/b&gt;.&lt;/blockquote&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4441717881897857879-8609522618295919482?l=scribbles-vp.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://scribbles-vp.blogspot.com/feeds/8609522618295919482/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://scribbles-vp.blogspot.com/2011/07/revenge.html#comment-form' title='14 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4441717881897857879/posts/default/8609522618295919482'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4441717881897857879/posts/default/8609522618295919482'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://scribbles-vp.blogspot.com/2011/07/revenge.html' title='Revenge'/><author><name>Pavil</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10101956425144957746</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>14</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4441717881897857879.post-8512881619091312304</id><published>2011-04-03T23:53:00.000+05:30</published><updated>2011-04-03T23:55:42.466+05:30</updated><title type='text'>The Journey</title><content type='html'>&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;blockquote&gt;&lt;br /&gt;This post has been published by me as a part of the &lt;b&gt;Blog-a-Ton 19&lt;/b&gt;; the nineteenth edition of the online marathon of Bloggers; where we decide and we write. To be part of the next edition, visit and start following &lt;a href="http://blogaton.in/"&gt;&lt;b&gt;Blog-a-Ton&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/a&gt;.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/blockquote&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/DIV&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Gagan rued his luck. He was at the wrong place at a very wrong time. Everything seemed so wrong. 12 hours at the airport &amp; still no announcement about the likely departure of the Newyork flight. The pilots were on strike &amp; the solution was not in the viscinity. He had no where to go in the megapolis so it seemed the best way to get parked at the airport &amp; watch the proceedings.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;He had fought with his dad for this journey. His dad was not very keen to send him abroad for this Masters degree but in the end he had had his way. And here he was waiting for that long journey to start. It was the starting point of his dream which had just started taking shape of reality. A masters degree &amp; then a job in a big company &amp; eventually that green card. The plan was in place, there was no plan B. But he did not know what was in store for him.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Gagan got bored of the monotony &amp; just looked around. There were lot of people seated around just like him. A man seated next to him was glancing through the news paper. As always, a newspapers sounds very interesting when somebody else is reading. Gagan turned to the person &amp; asked him if he could share the remaining pages of news paper. The man smiled at him &amp; gave him the whole bunch. "Take it son, happy reading, read it all,you are not going to find this news paper in newyork". It was Gagan's favourite newspaper &amp; it dawned upon him that his mornings were going to be different without "Deshonnati" the regional news paper.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Once ice was broken they got talking &amp; the discussion turned to the imminent topic of strikes. Gagan was asked, " what do you think ? are these pilots right to agitate that they want only the local language speaking pilots on all flights departing from the airport". Till then gagan had no clue about the strike. He was so engrossed in his own dream that he hardly had time to look at things around. Gagan started wondering what the fuss was about. He wondered how could people get so worked up against fellow citizens. The man suggested him, "Son dont worry the earth is round &amp; the people are same everywhere.I have spent half of my life in newyork but still I feel like an outsider. people interact with you, you get a feeling of acceptance but for them you remain Indian. At first you dont feel it but slowly you start to read the signs. Every thing around shouts at you, telling ou that you are an outsider".&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Gagan had hardly looked at this side of the dream. Their discussion continued the late night &amp; without realizing something had changed in Gagan. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Morning arrived &amp; with that also the news of end of the strike. But now. gagan seemed dis-interested. He picked up his luggage &amp; walked out of the Airport. The journey had given him the courage to look at things in a new light.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;blockquote&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The &lt;b&gt;fellow Blog-a-Tonics&lt;/b&gt; who took part in this Blog-a-Ton and links to their respective &lt;b&gt;posts&lt;/b&gt; can be checked &lt;a href="http://blogaton.in/2011/04/rules-and-reminder-for-blog-ton-19.html#comments"&gt;&lt;b&gt;here&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/a&gt;. To be part of the next edition, visit and start following &lt;b&gt;&lt;a href="http://blogaton.in/"&gt;Blog-a-Ton&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/b&gt;.&lt;/blockquote&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4441717881897857879-8512881619091312304?l=scribbles-vp.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://scribbles-vp.blogspot.com/feeds/8512881619091312304/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://scribbles-vp.blogspot.com/2011/04/journey.html#comment-form' title='7 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4441717881897857879/posts/default/8512881619091312304'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4441717881897857879/posts/default/8512881619091312304'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://scribbles-vp.blogspot.com/2011/04/journey.html' title='The Journey'/><author><name>Pavil</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10101956425144957746</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>7</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4441717881897857879.post-8162156864046991853</id><published>2011-03-05T22:33:00.004+05:30</published><updated>2011-03-06T10:40:34.802+05:30</updated><title type='text'>Change</title><content type='html'>&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;blockquote&gt;&lt;br /&gt;This post has been published by me as a part of the &lt;b&gt;Blog-a-Ton Season 2 edition 18&lt;/b&gt;; the eighteenth edition of the online marathon of Bloggers; where we decide and we write. To be part of the next edition, visit and start following &lt;a href="http://blogaton.in/"&gt;&lt;b&gt;Blog-a-Ton&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/a&gt;.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/blockquote&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Rohitash ran to his mother, crying. His mother, Neela had to leave everything &amp; rush for him. He seemed inconsolable. Following him was the whole gang of the society's little ones. Rohitash was the Bhaichung Bhutia of the society. He used to like football &amp; was good at it. His father had brought him the best football. It had the FIFA emblem on it along with snaps of many a football heroes. Presently he started explaining Neela what had happened. &lt;br /&gt;Hitler uncle had once again confiscated their football. Whenever an opportunity would present he would do a thing or two which would annoy the kids in the society. The name Hitler, was coined for him by the kiddos themselves. He would always scold the kids for breaking the silence around his flat. His Flat was on the first floor right in front of the only open area in the society. The kids had no other option. They would try to control the noise but soon they would forget it &amp; would get noisy. With kids even Chess would be a noisy game. :-) To his dis-credit, in the past, Hitler uncle had even confiscated their chess boards &amp; carom boards. The kids would complain to the elders in the society about Hitler uncle but nobody would dare talk to him. He was a known as a highly volatile, attacking person. He could get very abusive at times. Everybody would keep a distance from him &amp; prefer not to cross ways with him. The only person who could talk to him &amp; get things done was Kelkar uncle. He was friends with him &amp; would often get back the things confiscated by him. In fact Mr. kelkar was like his link with the surroundings. Last 2 years Mr. kelkar had not been around, he was out of country on a 2 years long assignment. Rohitash &amp; team knew that only kelkar uncle could get them their football back. But having learnt about his absence they were so sure of not seeing the football again. That's why the team had joined Rohitash for the complaining. episode. Neela consoled Rohitash &amp; patiently listened out the boys. She knew she was hardly of any help. But she promised to get them a new football the next day. That changed the mood of the gang. Moreover she also got some good chocolates for each one of them. The kiddos gang was happy again, Hitler uncle was forgotten for the moment.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Satish Khandekar was a well known advocate in the high court. He was working with the Mudholkars, a very well known legal advisor firm in the city. Being amongst the best, he was a busy man. Apart from being volatile people were wary of his being an advocate. They knew he would talk himself out of any situations. But there would be times when he would not be out of home for days. Nobody knew much about them apart from Mr. kelkar. There would be hush-hush talks around about the family. The couple was a lonely one &amp; things were not going smooth with them. There would often be quarrels between the two. At times his wife would be gone to her parents for long. Mr. Kelkar was a regular visitor &amp; would often try to spend time with his volatile friend during the crisis situations. On the face of it, Hitler would seem such an apt tag for the man. In reality he was not much of a Hitler. The only thing was people had not seen that side of him. His acquired loneliness, the dis-figured family life had taken a toll on the man. The hitlersque persona was like the rust formed on a fine metal pot. Unless the rust is gone one can't see the reality.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Soon the exams were on and the kids &amp; the parents got engrossed in their own world. It was time to forget &amp; forgive the Uncle Hitler. Books, studies, schools, teachers, child care etc. were the priorities now. Most of the kids would find it difficult to get to the playing fields &amp; away from the burgeoning parents. For many, the pressure of the parents was the real thing than the exams themselves. The society premises would become a no man's land during the exam times. For, the premises would ware such a quietness as would be seen in the breeze less jungles.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Eventually The exams got over. Suddenly, the quietness was gone like the steam gets off from the pressure cooker. The premises again became a busy happening place. Cycling, football, cricket were again the flavour of the season. As it often happens with children, they are quick to forgive &amp; forget. Uncle Hitler would be forgotten during the off-exam times. He was any ways always there &amp; the kids had found their own ways of working around the problem. &lt;br /&gt;The game of chess was on &amp; it seemed an interesting battle. It would often be difficult to get the gang around chess board. But never the less, some of the kids would get on with it. and Chess being the brainy game the gang would want to show off their brainy side. Although Chess was a rarity, whenever it would be played, there sure would be a crowd around. Soon the gang took sides on the board. The suggestions started pouring in. &lt;br /&gt;"Chimmo, move that rook &amp; take that pawn".&lt;br /&gt; "Swaral, get out your queen &amp; Kill that white Bishop". &lt;br /&gt;Suddenly there were 20 kids playing on the chess board. The noise had reached a crescendo. It was time for Mr. Hitler to arrive on the scene.  It was time for Mr. Hitler to arrive on the scene. and he arrived without delay. There he was watching over their game. The kids were astonished to see hitler uncle. Having Known him, they were afraid. In a hurry somebody just took up the chess board &amp; collected the pieces in their bag. They thought he would scold them &amp; just pick up their chess board. But the kids were pleasantly surprised, there was a marked change in hitler uncle's ways. He was smiling. By wearing a smile you can be friends with any kid in the world. What was happening was a testimony of that. Soon he brought out a bag of some American chocolates &amp; distributed those among them. He stayed there for a while &amp; then invited all the kids to his home. They hesitated but never the less followed him up to his home. He took them in a room &amp; the kids were surprised to see all their confiscated things there. Everything was properly kept. The footballs, the bats, the cricket balls, the chess boards, all was put in a glass cupboard. He handed over everything to the kids &amp; again some more chocolates. They could not believe their luck. They had got back all that was theirs. The best part was, they were now sure he was no more Hitler uncle. It had now changed to Satya uncle. The transformation was sudden but so complete, from hitler uncle to satya uncle. The kids returned to their homes &amp; soon it became talk of the housing society. Everyone was wondering what was wrong.&lt;br /&gt;Satish Khandekar was seated in his chair looking at the television screen but his mind was beyond it. Clearly,He was thinking about the future. He was overwhelmed with the umpteen positive possibilities the phone call had brought to his life. The phone call in the morning had changed his life. His wife had called up in the morning to inform that he was going to be a father. The news they had been waiting for, since 10 years had finally come. &amp; it was just about the right time. Everything in his life had got so stretched, he was on the edge. The news was just the thread which would save him. The past just went through his mind. Those umpteen visits to those fertility clinics, those never ending enquiries from the relatives about the absence of a child in their lives. &lt;br /&gt;"Sorry, it did not worked out. better luck next time."&lt;br /&gt;"We tried our best, I think we must go for another laproscopy"&lt;br /&gt;"There are 70 percent chances but we are not sure. Its just statistics"&lt;br /&gt;"We have a 30 percent success rate &amp; there is no way this would fail"&lt;br /&gt;He was very fond of kids &amp; would always talk to them whenever they would be seen. But there would be some people who would say "Okay !!!!! that's why he always makes it a point to talk to kids.That consoles the absence of kids in his life.". They were so wrong. Kids or no kids of his own he was so good with children. They would become his friends in no time. Such were his ways. But those caustic comments had changed him forever.&lt;br /&gt;They had listened to so many doctors over the years &amp; had finally stopped the treatments. These treatments would make big holes not just on their pockets but it would also throw the couple on the edge. It were no less that an emotional breakdown. &lt;br /&gt;Sometimes the relatives would be so blunt about it. Whenever they had been to a family function people would often enquire about their treatment.They would just ask why it was not happening. Some would just  throw  Over the suggestions albeit with the concerns. The prime suggestion would be visiting a particular shrine. Satish was not much of a believer but still the suggestions of different shrines would not stop. Finally there came a time when they stopped meeting their friends &amp; relatives. They would hardly be seen in those family functions. It was no wonder, Over the years this all had drew the couple apart from each other. The domestic life became a mess. It was to their credit that in spite of all that they had been through, they remained a couple.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But now, things had taken a different turn. The news had come just out of no where. He did not know what to do ? what to feel ?. He was so confused. That was when he heard that noise. Generally it would annoy him but today was a different day. he suddenly knew what he should be doing. He just walked over to the children &amp; did what his heart told him. He was no more the hated Uncle Hitler. He was now satya Uncle. The rust was off the pot now. It was shining with lustre. The world had just become a better place.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;blockquote&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The &lt;b&gt;fellow Blog-a-Tonics&lt;/b&gt; who took part in this Blog-a-Ton and links to their respective &lt;b&gt;posts&lt;/b&gt; can be checked &lt;a href="http://www.blogaton.in/2011/03/rules-and-reminder-for-blog-ton-18.html#comments"&gt;&lt;b&gt;here&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/a&gt;. To be part of the next edition, visit and start following &lt;b&gt;&lt;a href="http://blogaton.in/"&gt;Blog-a-Ton&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/b&gt;.&lt;/blockquote&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4441717881897857879-8162156864046991853?l=scribbles-vp.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://scribbles-vp.blogspot.com/feeds/8162156864046991853/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://scribbles-vp.blogspot.com/2011/03/change.html#comment-form' title='11 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4441717881897857879/posts/default/8162156864046991853'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4441717881897857879/posts/default/8162156864046991853'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://scribbles-vp.blogspot.com/2011/03/change.html' title='Change'/><author><name>Pavil</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10101956425144957746</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>11</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4441717881897857879.post-1288273867592501033</id><published>2010-12-04T22:27:00.005+05:30</published><updated>2010-12-06T22:11:07.746+05:30</updated><title type='text'>The Mystery</title><content type='html'>&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;blockquote&gt;&lt;br /&gt;This post has been published by me as a part of the &lt;b&gt;Blog-a-Ton 17&lt;/b&gt;; the seventeenth edition of the online marathon of Bloggers; where we decide and we write. To be part of the next edition, visit and start following &lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://blogaton.in/"&gt;&lt;b&gt;Blog-a-Ton&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/a&gt;.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/blockquote&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"This is a real story. The names in the story are real.The three of us had gone to watch a Rugby match in Marseilles, France over the week end. While returning we discovered that the Public transport was not available till our hostel hence we decided to walk &amp; lost our way. I have tried to re-visit the scare of that night."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_heOnLRK97WA/TPyadWzWLFI/AAAAAAAAAKY/52iWeDj-8GE/s1600/Chateu.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 143px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_heOnLRK97WA/TPyadWzWLFI/AAAAAAAAAKY/52iWeDj-8GE/s200/Chateu.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5547478670141434962" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Shobhan was vehemently thumping on the glass pane with his both hands but there was no reaction in the room. It seemed like; the sound was not reaching any ears. He continued it for a while but in vain. He stood on the staircase for a while, holding the sidebars &amp; then returned to the other two. His face wore a sad but determined look; he had not given up yet.&lt;br /&gt;Shashwat looked at his wristwatch but it was so dark it was an effort to see the time. He exclaimed, "Abbe!!! Its 01:00 AM it’s almost 45 minutes since we jumped over those gates. Let's sleep on these staircases, we have no option now. We would see that old man tomorrow morning when the door opens. I would give him two slaps below his ears". He said so but his face was communicating something else. There was fear on his face but it was good to talk. Talking somehow was reducing the fear. &lt;br /&gt;Vithal asked him, "Can you translate this in French, Three Indians found dead outside a French chateau. Apparently they were trying to enter the castle. Further investigation is on" Hearing that Shobhan got angry. He shouted,"That’s a real possibility if you guys don’t shut up. Think guys!!!! Think". &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Suddenly he saw some movement inside the room right at the end of the stair case. A shadow was moving around &amp; then another coming closer to the window. Shashwat said, “Let’s run, it looks like a ghost". None of them believed in ghosts but the whole thing was quite scary.&lt;br /&gt;It was a dark European night. Although it was September, it was too cold for the Indian trio. They were inside the courtyard of a French chateau. It was a big second empire style castle built on a hill. It was quite an imposing structure. It was surrounded by a big park at the back, which was going downhill. It would give a panoramic view of the city. On the two sides there were huge open plots which had started to look like jungles because of the shrubs &amp; huge boulders lying around. &lt;br /&gt;There were some big old trees in the garden in the courtyard. The shadows of which were adding to the darkness of the night.&lt;br /&gt;The castle was a three story structure. The gothic style with those paired columns, boxy mansard roofs had made it look scarier. The front side had four round staircases going right to the top. They were all made of wrought iron. The only light which was on in the courtyard was to the right most corner of the building. The light &amp; the Stair cases added to the look &amp; made it scarier, almost like a scene from any hitchcockan movie. The more they were looking around; it would feel more &amp; more scary. Suddenly the wind started blowing. The tree leaves fallen in the courtyard started moving around making that typical hissing sound. Shashwat now also realized that they had not noticed the noise of the night bugs, the crickets. He joked, "The sound of the night bugs is ditto like of those back home". He received another scold from Shobhan for this untimely joke.&lt;br /&gt;Since they were already noticing the noises around that made them more skeptical. Shobhan suspected of hearing some noises from the close by buildings. He thought these sounds like the noise of the rowdy boys encountered by Vithal while going to &lt;br /&gt;the castle. He turned to Vithal &amp; enquired what had actually happened. The noise had become clearer now &amp; they became fearful if the gang was coming towards the palace. After all they were in a port city &amp; they all had heard about the gangs in a port city.&lt;br /&gt;The trio was at Grenoble in France on an official assignment. Somebody at office drew their attention to the ongoing Rugby world Cup in France &amp; they decided to watch a match. That had brought them in Marseilles. It was a late evening match. They had already been through lot of trouble for getting an accommodation in the unknown city. This castle was away from the city centre but never the less they had a place to return to. The manager had told them that, the castle would be closed by 10:30 &amp; gates would be locked after that but especially for them he would open the gates if they return by mid-night. All they had to do was, make a telephone call. With the city maps at their disposal they made elaborate plans to return to the castle after the match. They had become confident of returning in time.&lt;br /&gt;After enjoying the wonderful game of rugby they started towards the Castle. The suburban metro was on till a particular station, from where they had to walk to the castle. They disembarked at the right station but lost their way after that. After a long walk in the unknown city they had finally got to the palace, the youth hostel. But they had missed the deadline &amp; the old man, the manager would not respond to any phone calls. They had made umpteen calls but none was responded to. They had given up on him &amp; hence jumped in from the tall gate of the palace.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Presently, watching the shadows at the window Shobhan thought of giving it another try &amp; he rushed to the window. He started talking to the shadow in the window. For the first time he got a response. The man was clearly terrified. Naturally so, it was unexpected to talk to a stranger in the middle of the night &amp; that too, through the window.&lt;br /&gt;Shobhan requested him if he could open the window &amp; let them in. The man refused it. He said his girlfriend was afraid of the sight of total strangers at the window. He instead, asked Shobhan to keep away from the window or else he would call others of his group. It looked like a hopeless situation but shobhan was adamant. He continued his discussion unbothered. He had become more confident now. His urges turned into kind orders. After a while the man gave up on shobhan &amp; decided to help. He came out &amp; opened the door which was attached to the staircase. The moment he opened the door there was an alarm. The man got fearful &amp; suddenly closed the door. The trio was still out. Clearly, they had missed the moment. But they now knew, somebody must have heard the alarm &amp; there was scope. They gathered at the door, waiting for that somebody to come for the rescue. To their delight, the door got opened. Somebody just shouted to get in &amp; close the door. The alarm had hardly blown &amp; they all got in. That somebody was disappeared. He must have been afraid of an encounter with total strangers in the middle of the night. The trio rushed to their room &amp; threw themselves on their beds. Nobody was in a mood to talk. Sleep came very easily &amp; soon engulfed them to its world. The ordeal was finally over. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;In the morning the old man came to their room for his reguler survey visit. He was shocked to see the boys sleeping calmly in the room. His face wore a mystical look. He threw some French words at them; they didn't know what that meant. Those were surely some French expletives.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;blockquote&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The &lt;b&gt;fellow Blog-a-Tonics&lt;/b&gt; who took part in this Blog-a-Ton and links to their respective &lt;b&gt;posts&lt;/b&gt; can be checked &lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://blogaton.in/2010/12/rules-and-reminder-for-blog-ton-17.html#comments"&gt;&lt;b&gt;here&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/a&gt;. To be part of the next edition, visit and start following &lt;b&gt;&lt;a href="http://blogaton.in/"&gt;Blog-a-Ton&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/b&gt;.&lt;/blockquote&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4441717881897857879-1288273867592501033?l=scribbles-vp.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://scribbles-vp.blogspot.com/feeds/1288273867592501033/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://scribbles-vp.blogspot.com/2010/12/mystery.html#comment-form' title='11 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4441717881897857879/posts/default/1288273867592501033'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4441717881897857879/posts/default/1288273867592501033'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://scribbles-vp.blogspot.com/2010/12/mystery.html' title='The Mystery'/><author><name>Pavil</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10101956425144957746</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_heOnLRK97WA/TPyadWzWLFI/AAAAAAAAAKY/52iWeDj-8GE/s72-c/Chateu.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>11</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4441717881897857879.post-7438676325833458141</id><published>2010-11-07T21:33:00.008+05:30</published><updated>2010-11-09T20:21:47.305+05:30</updated><title type='text'>Celebrations</title><content type='html'>&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;blockquote&gt;&lt;br /&gt;This post has been published by me as a part of the &lt;b&gt;Blog-a-Ton 16&lt;/b&gt;; the sixteenth edition of the online marathon of Bloggers; where we decide and we write. To be part of the next edition, visit and start following &lt;a href="http://blogaton.in/"&gt;&lt;b&gt;Blog-a-Ton&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/a&gt;.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/blockquote&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Where he goes every day? He knows where my school is. He also knows where my friends stay, almost all of them. But I know nothing about him. Every day he dresses himself like that man who shows up on that big hoarding across the corner. I observe that hoarding every day. There is also a little boy on that hoarding. Someday I also want to dress up like him. The complete little Man.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;He leaves home before I wake up &amp; when he is back I would already be fast asleep. I would only get to see him on Sundays. So there is no way to find out where he goes. Every day I observe from the window of my room, all big people leaving from the gate of the society. I wonder where they all go. I wonder if they all go to school just like us. I would like to see them getting scolded by teachers just like it happens to us. Do they fight like us? Do they play like us? Could they be afraid of their teachers?&lt;br /&gt;Shrey's little mind was working up big time about big people.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Shrey was still lying in the bed, thinking to himself. Nila went to him &amp; cuddled him up. These were holiday times &amp; she wanted to spend as much time as possible with the little one. She was at her pampering best now; for the holidays were about to be over.&lt;br /&gt;"Mamma I want to see where daddy goes every day, please ask him to take me along tomorrow". Like all kids shrey knew when to ask the question. Nila made the promise to him. Shrey happily came out of the bed &amp; started his day. Nila could see that there was a spring in his little walk. The kid was surely more than happy.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The next day, Nila forgot her promise. When Shrey got out of bed, daddy was already out of home. The moment he realized it; he started crying. Nila had a hard time to console him. She made him another promise, "I would take you to the chocolate factory tomorrow. &amp; you would love to be there. You would also get to eat all your favorite chocolates there"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Shrey had stopped crying but he had not given up on his quest for daddy's day out. He made a promise to himself to find out about daddy's school.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Next morning Shrey was up early but he did not get out o the bed. From the sides of the pillow he kept observing his daddy. When daddy was out of home Shrey hurriedly got out of the bed &amp; silently went out of the door. He started following Daddy.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The watchman at the society stopped Shrey but he had already worked out his plan. He told the watchman, how mom had asked him to buy chocolates from the store at the corner. He did not object, as it was normal for the society kids to go to that groceries store which was just besides the society. The staff at the store knew all kids from the society.&lt;br /&gt;Soon Shrey was out on the main road. He had kept his eyes on daddy. Daddy was walking with a brisk speed. Shrey had to run to keep up pace with daddy. It was tough but the little mind was adamant. He had marked the blue shirt; his daddy had worn that day. For a while he was right behind his daddy but soon the blue shirt was lost in the crowd of legs. &lt;br /&gt;Now it was a problem. He was at the big square &amp; the blue shirt was not in the vicinity. Although, he was still unafraid he was a little confused as the blue shirt was not in sight. His instincts told him he had to cross the road. He started looking around &amp; suddenly he could see a blue shirt right across. The moment he saw it, he started running towards the other side. There was a big scratching sound on the roads. A big bus had to apply emergency brakes to avoid hitting him. The driver shouted at Shrey. He had made it to the other corner but now he was afraid. The noise of the brakes &amp; the shout of the driver were too much for him. He started crying now. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Suddenly there was a commotion. The policeman at the square took hold of him. Shrey was taken to a corner. The policeman realized that the kid was lost. He queried Shrey about his home, his daddy &amp; mummy. The only thing he could gather was that he was following up his dad. Instead of wasting time, he decided to take him to the police head quarters, which was his reporting police station. Also there was no other way, he could not think of leaving the lost little boy. The boy was still crying. The policeman made him the false promise of knowing his dad &amp; that consoled him. The crying was now gone &amp; he was calm. After a little while they stared getting along quite well.&lt;br /&gt;When they reached at the head quarters, it was the time for police pared. The new recruits had all gathered at the headquarters. The view brought an instant smile on the face of the kid. He could see the big people standing in rows &amp; listening to the orders given by somebody. They started with the prayer, and then they started running. The voice on the mike was shouting instructions. Saawdhaaan !!!!!!! Vishraaam !!!!!!!!! Pichhe Mood !!!!!!! Left Turn !!!! Right turn !!!!&lt;br /&gt;Soon Shrey realized it was a school for the big people.&lt;br /&gt;His smile became bigger, it had turned into a big grin now. He now knew for sure where his daddy &amp; all the big people go every day. It was a triumphant smile. In his mind, he was sure that his dad must be there in that crowd.&lt;br /&gt;The policeman let him be; for he was smiling &amp; looking happy now. The policeman knew, it was easier to talk to a smiling kid rather than a crying one. He too was now more confident of talking to him &amp; trying to find his home.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Shrey had forgotten that he was lost. For him, it was celebration time; He was successful in his quest.&lt;br /&gt; &lt;br /&gt;&lt;blockquote&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The &lt;b&gt;fellow Blog-a-Tonics&lt;/b&gt; who took part in this Blog-a-Ton and links to their respective &lt;b&gt;posts&lt;/b&gt; can be checked &lt;a href="http://blogaton.in/2010/11/rules-and-reminder-for-blog-ton-16.html#comments"&gt;&lt;b&gt;here&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/a&gt;. To be part of the next edition, visit and start following &lt;b&gt;&lt;a href="http://blogaton.in/"&gt;Blog-a-Ton&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/b&gt;.&lt;/blockquote&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4441717881897857879-7438676325833458141?l=scribbles-vp.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://scribbles-vp.blogspot.com/feeds/7438676325833458141/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://scribbles-vp.blogspot.com/2010/11/celebrations.html#comment-form' title='12 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4441717881897857879/posts/default/7438676325833458141'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4441717881897857879/posts/default/7438676325833458141'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://scribbles-vp.blogspot.com/2010/11/celebrations.html' title='Celebrations'/><author><name>Pavil</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10101956425144957746</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>12</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4441717881897857879.post-4009921230476866753</id><published>2010-10-02T23:56:00.003+05:30</published><updated>2010-10-04T23:48:37.908+05:30</updated><title type='text'>GoodBye @ the Station</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_heOnLRK97WA/TKd-h4S2h2I/AAAAAAAAAJ0/PXM9-aBx5No/s1600/Alston_Station_by_wandereringsoul.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 133px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_heOnLRK97WA/TKd-h4S2h2I/AAAAAAAAAJ0/PXM9-aBx5No/s200/Alston_Station_by_wandereringsoul.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5523522588505442146" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;blockquote&gt;&lt;br /&gt;This post has been published by me as a part of the &lt;b&gt;Blog-a-Ton 15&lt;/b&gt;; the fifteenth edition of the online marathon of Bloggers; where we decide and we write. To be part of the next edition, visit and start following &lt;a href="http://blogaton.in/"&gt;&lt;b&gt;Blog-a-Ton&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/a&gt;.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/blockquote&gt;&lt;br /&gt; &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I wish I could have returned to say Goodbye. But I could never bring myself to do that. It was tough for me. I could not stand the idea to say good bye to her. &lt;br /&gt;To separate was an amicable decision. We did not even discuss that but the so called destiny took us right there &amp; made us part ways. It was inevitable. He dad was against our marriage, our efforts to convince him did not work. He was not ready to part ways with his beliefs. It sounds strange now but then we were firm that we would get married only if the parents agree. We both had decided this together. When her dad said no my heart had rebelled but deep within I knew it was a barren rebel abreast of any results.&lt;br /&gt;She took up a new job in a different city soon after &amp; I came to this foreign land. I had to run; run away from the past, the future &amp; the present. I left everything behind, almost everything till I came to visit this railway station. One look at the building &amp; tears started rolling off my eyes. The past was back to the present. The architecture of this station is exactly like the one in our city. It reminded me of the day when I saw her one last time. She did not know I was watching her leaving the city. I was scared to say good bye but from one corner of the station I watched her leave. She was in the bogey no. 7 at seat no. 31.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Now it’s a routine for me. I go to this station every Sunday. I wait for this train. I go to the person in the bogey no. 7 at seat no. 31 and say Goodbye. I wait for the train to leave &amp; wave to the person till the train crosses the boundries of vision.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;blockquote&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The &lt;b&gt;fellow Blog-a-Tonics&lt;/b&gt; who took part in this Blog-a-Ton and links to their respective &lt;b&gt;posts&lt;/b&gt; can be checked &lt;a href="http://blogaton.in/2010/10/rules-and-reminder-for-blog-ton-15.html#comments"&gt;&lt;b&gt;here&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/a&gt;. To be part of the next edition, visit and start following &lt;b&gt;&lt;a href="http://blogaton.in/"&gt;Blog-a-Ton&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/b&gt;.&lt;/blockquote&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;b&gt;Credits &lt;/b&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Image - &lt;i&gt;&lt;a href="http://wandereringsoul.deviantart.com/art/Alston-Station-113965977"&gt;Alston Station&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/i&gt; by &lt;i&gt;&lt;a href="http://wandereringsoul.deviantart.com/"&gt;Wandering Soul&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/i&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Courtesy - &lt;i&gt;&lt;a href="http://www.deviantart.com/"&gt;www.deviantart.com&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/i&gt; via &lt;i&gt;&lt;a href="http://www.blogaton.in/"&gt;www.blogaton.in&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4441717881897857879-4009921230476866753?l=scribbles-vp.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://scribbles-vp.blogspot.com/feeds/4009921230476866753/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://scribbles-vp.blogspot.com/2010/10/goodbye-station.html#comment-form' title='5 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4441717881897857879/posts/default/4009921230476866753'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4441717881897857879/posts/default/4009921230476866753'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://scribbles-vp.blogspot.com/2010/10/goodbye-station.html' title='GoodBye @ the Station'/><author><name>Pavil</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10101956425144957746</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_heOnLRK97WA/TKd-h4S2h2I/AAAAAAAAAJ0/PXM9-aBx5No/s72-c/Alston_Station_by_wandereringsoul.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>5</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4441717881897857879.post-3962100037856806360</id><published>2010-09-04T16:28:00.009+05:30</published><updated>2010-09-10T13:47:04.497+05:30</updated><title type='text'>Return</title><content type='html'>&lt;div style="TEXT-ALIGN: justify"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;blockquote&gt;&lt;br /&gt;This post has been published by me as a part of the &lt;b&gt;Blog-a-Ton 14&lt;/b&gt;; the fourteenth edition of the online marathon of Bloggers; where we decide and we write. To be part of the next edition, visit and start following &lt;a href="http://blog-a-ton.blogspot.com/"&gt;&lt;b&gt;Blog-a-Ton&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/a&gt;.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/blockquote&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;P&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It's getting too much now. You would wonder how I could say this for being the one who is believed to have created the whole thing. &lt;br /&gt;Let me explain you; let me try to be transparent as you say in your world. &lt;br /&gt;When I made this world I had a general idea about what I wanted to do. But I had never intended it to be run as per the whims &amp; fancies of one creature. I wanted to create a self sufficient world which would have a place for every creature I had made. Which would run on its own. Once created it would go on &amp; on forever, uninterrupted. It would create &amp; pro-create itself.  &lt;br /&gt; &lt;br /&gt;I had to my service, the PanchaMahaBhutas, the earth, The Fire, The water, the Wind &amp; the Sky. I went to my laboratory &amp; thought for a long time before starting. &lt;br /&gt;First I made Trees of all kinds tiny, small, big, medium all sizes. I made many species of them. Then put them across the Earth. Now don't ask me why I chose Earth of all those billions of stars. This Tree thing was a wonderful design; I gave it leaves, flowers, fruits &amp; then branches, trunks &amp; stems to hold the whole structure. I also gave it roots &amp; let it make a living. It would live &amp; stop living. Most of all I gave it the will to go on. In your words it was like an intelligent computer program which had its own life. But I did not give them names for; they all were same to me. You gave them names &amp; started making use of them for your benefits. &lt;br /&gt;Then I made the water bodies, the ponds, the Rivers, the streams. I asked Wind to flow around &amp; have a blast. It was calm since nobody knew when. I relieved it of its forced calmness &amp; asked it to be on its own. That created a flow in the rivers. They all went to wherever the flow took them &amp; the earth allowed. That created the seas. &lt;br /&gt;The Earth was so happy to see all this. She had started like it. She loved it. That made me think to do more. I went back to my Lab, thought some more &amp; then designed the creatures. I made many species of them too. I threw them all over the earth. That made a huge impact. They made my idea look so good that I became ecstatic. I felt happy about myself. I was enthused with these creatures. They gave a new meaning to my Idea. These were different designs than trees; I gave them the ability to move around. Some could even live in water. Some of them could even fly using the wind. The earth could not believe it when she saw the creatures. The world, my idea had certainly become a better place. She was now greening with pride. She came to me &amp; gave me a Big Thank you. It made my day. With contentedness I went for a long sleep. I was exhausted with my work &amp; needed a break. &lt;br /&gt; &lt;br /&gt;When I was back, one day I went to my lab. I realized that there were some leftovers in my lab. I must have missed that because of my Ecstasy over my creations, my last designs. With those leftovers I made two new creatures. I thought of doing something different &amp; gave them some more intelligence; a little more than my last design. I spent some more time on them as I had lot of energy &amp; was full of new ideas &amp; enthusiasm especially because of the break. &lt;br /&gt;I threw them in a specially located corner of the earth. The earth was surprised to see this strange creature. She was surprised as she was not aware of its creation. She was wondering, why at all it was made. But nevertheless she let the new creatures be &amp; accepted both of them like all others.  &lt;br /&gt;This is how you came into being. But now you have become a dangerous creature for all others. The earth keeps complaining about you. But even I can't stop you. My design does not allow me to do so. &lt;br /&gt;I made land &amp; you made the boundaries. I gave you emotions &amp; you invented war. I gave you rivers &amp; you invented dams. I made you &amp; you discovered &amp; re-discovered me for your own benefits. You even started differentiating your fellow creatures. Not just that, you keep discovering new ways of doing that. The list would go on &amp; on. &lt;br /&gt;No doubt, I did admire many of your doings. I had given you sound &amp; when you discovered language, I was happy, very happy to see the interesting invention giving a new meaning to my idea. But look at it now; you started using it as a tool of differentiation.  &lt;br /&gt;And then Money, that most awful invention of yours. But what do I say, I created you &amp; you created money. Do you remember, you created money to help you but now it is controlling you, your actions, your emotions &amp; your motives?  &lt;br /&gt; &lt;br /&gt;You discovered the so called metals, gases &amp; liquids. Then you started painful ways of hurting the earth to find more of those. Leave apart the earth; you don't even care for your fellow creatures when you do that. &lt;br /&gt;While doing this all you even pushed me inside the four walls of a prayer house, your own discovery of honoring me. It’s another story that you even differentiate among those prayer houses. Many of you use that prayer like a bargain. What do you think? Am I a shopkeeper, like those in your world?  &lt;br /&gt;There are some in your ilk who don't even believe me, my very existence but I believe them, I love them some more. At least they don't lie to me, they don't bargain with me. They do not burden me with their life. &lt;br /&gt; &lt;br /&gt;I am sad &amp; unhappy with you. I am fed up with you. I am returning to my abode &amp; leaving this earth. Do not worry about the Earth; my design is simple but robust. It would not break. You worry about yourself, your being, your very existence. You break the balance in my design &amp; it would break you. It would wipe you out. But still the world would continue, with you or without you. That's the way I have made it, designed it. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;blockquote&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The &lt;b&gt;fellow Blog-a-Tonics&lt;/b&gt; who took part in this Blog-a-Ton and links to their respective &lt;b&gt;posts&lt;/b&gt; can be checked &lt;a href="http://blog-a-ton.blogspot.com/2010/09/rules-and-reminder-for-blog-ton-14.html#comments"&gt;&lt;b&gt;here&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/a&gt;. To be part of the next edition, visit and start following &lt;b&gt;&lt;a href="http://blogaton.in/"&gt;Blog-a-Ton&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/b&gt;.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/blockquote&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4441717881897857879-3962100037856806360?l=scribbles-vp.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://scribbles-vp.blogspot.com/feeds/3962100037856806360/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://scribbles-vp.blogspot.com/2010/09/return.html#comment-form' title='11 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4441717881897857879/posts/default/3962100037856806360'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4441717881897857879/posts/default/3962100037856806360'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://scribbles-vp.blogspot.com/2010/09/return.html' title='Return'/><author><name>Pavil</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10101956425144957746</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>11</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4441717881897857879.post-3680724317290965808</id><published>2010-08-07T10:42:00.000+05:30</published><updated>2010-08-07T10:43:12.986+05:30</updated><title type='text'>Goodbye</title><content type='html'>&lt;div style="TEXT-ALIGN: justify"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;blockquote&gt;&lt;br /&gt;This post has been published by me as a part of the &lt;b&gt;Blog-a-Ton 13&lt;/b&gt;; the thirteenth edition of the online marathon of Bloggers; where we decide and we write. To be part of the next edition, visit and start following &lt;a href="http://blog-a-ton.blogspot.com/"&gt;&lt;b&gt;Blog-a-Ton&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/a&gt;.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/blockquote&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;P&gt;&lt;br /&gt;They all were having a wonderful time. Neelisha was watching from a distance, seated idly in her chair walking through the pages of some film magazine. It didn't matter to her what was written on the pages she was turning. Her eyes were looking at the horizon. Deep within, She was contemplating about something. Her face was calm &amp;amp; cool but there was something going on in her mind. She seemed to be in a different world completely oblivious of the surroundings. Even the noise the group was making in the Swimming pool didn't seem to bother her. Suketu had tried to get her involved but she wanted some time with herself &amp;amp; he had let her be.&lt;br /&gt;She had been on lots of office picnics before but this group was definitely different. It was an interesting group. Hari,Soniya, Rakesh, Meeta, Mayoor &amp;amp; all others each one of them were a character. That had made the group so lively. The kids were enjoying every moment of the picnic. Generally the group would not leave anybody alone &amp;amp; would make sure everybody gets their share of the smiles. But presently they left Neelisha alone &amp;amp; let her be in her own world.&lt;br /&gt;Suddenly there was a big shout of somebody scolding. Which broke Nileesha's daydream or whatever. It forced her to turn her gaze towards the shout. The shout of scolding was coming from a little girl. It was a wonderful sight. The little one was standing on the chair &amp;amp; most of the group were sitting in front of her on ground. Some of them had not even changed their swimming costumes. It being summer time they seem to be looking for an occasion to get wet &amp;amp; remain wetter.&lt;br /&gt;She was scolding them, screaming at them with sweet instructions. She had turned into a teacher &amp;amp; the group were her students.&lt;br /&gt;She was saying,'Just follow my instructions &amp;amp; if you behave properly each one of you would get a chocolate. I don't want to hear any noise. It should be pin-drop silence.'&lt;br /&gt;Then she started calling them by names. &amp;amp; that brought an instant smile on Neelisha's face. Those were all new names, Mayoor was now Shubh, Nadir was Shaurya, Meeta was ChunMun, Sanjay the teacher's daddy was Shrivatsa Then she started reading a story from her imaginary book. The group was only supposed to listen to the story without making any noise. &amp;amp; they all seemed to be enjoying it. &amp;amp; anyway, they needed to be silent for a while since they had already made enough noise the whole day.&lt;br /&gt;Neelisha got up from her cocoon &amp;amp; sat with the group. The teacher went to her &amp;amp; made her stand, why are you so late Gauri. Now the group couldn't take it anymore. Their smiles\laughs which were held for a long time, suddenly escaped. The group burst into a lively laughter. The little angel wondered what the fuss was about. Her scolding became bigger but now, nobody would listen to her. The teacher started crying. She could not understand that the students were back from their childhood. Shubh was back to mayoor, Shaurya was back as Nadir. They all were now back to being what they were........&lt;br /&gt;Sanjay went to RimZim, the teacher &amp;amp; consoled her. Within no time he brought his daughter to cheerful ways. She went to the other kiddos, with the group. Soon they all got immersed in their own discussion of what game to play next.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The group of biggies had become nostalgic &amp;amp; started discussing the good old school days. Neelisha seemed to be with them but it was so obvious from her face, she was not there. She was still looking at Rimzim, her eyes were moist. It was so clear,there was some unspoken sadness on her face. Some old wound buried deep inside her had opened up. Her face had become so palpable, one look at her &amp;amp; one could not have escaped the goings on. After a while Neelisha started crying &amp;amp; rushed to their Room. Suketu who was just watching Neelisha till then had a word with Sanjay &amp;amp; calmly followed her with Surin, their little son. Others couldn't understand what had happened &amp;amp; started wondering. Sanjay normalized their wondering,'People do not worry, take it cool, they need some time with themselves'.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;He was so right. Neelisha, Suketu &amp;amp; their little son Surin needed some time with themselves. For, they had to calm down Neelisha, who was trying to come to terms with the past. The uncompromising past which had compelled her to do things, to make choices which she would have never made.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;*****************************************************************************&lt;br /&gt;It was rush hour at the Family court. Court wallahs were having a busy time. People waiting for Advocates moving around with the black blazers &amp;amp; the typical tie around their necks. It was summer time &amp;amp; really brave of them wearing those black blazers. Some of them standing outside the court building, looking for prospective clients, right below the sign board which read, "Please do not solicit customers here, it's against the ethos of the noble profession, Advocates doing so might be reported".&lt;br /&gt;The courtroom was full of faces, one could observe around &amp;amp; make a list of different possible expressions, like those lists of smileys used in the Internet language. In the corner of the Bench Neelisha was seated huddled with her two children, accompanied by her old mother. The Judge arrived right at 11:00 AM, everybody stood up to greet the wise man, bestowed with the powers to decide the lives of other people.&lt;br /&gt;Neelisha &amp;amp; Satish were a lovely couple, parents to cute twins. But somehow things had gone wrong. The possessiveness of satish which she used to love so much, was difficult to take now. He would not allow her to meet her parents. Even the lovely twins would not be able to meet the grandparents. It was a major bone of contention. Neelisha had made attempts to explain him but he would fail to see the point. For him, all relations had ended the day the families broke the ties. The rebel in him would not let the bygones be bygones. He would apply the same rule for his own parents too.&lt;br /&gt;They would not see eye to eye. Small arguments would turn into fights &amp;amp; fights into uncompromising days &amp;amp; nights spent away from each other. It was a clash of personalities. Lately Satish had turned into an Alcoholic. Workoholic to Alcoholic, the transformation was seamless &amp;amp; fast.&lt;br /&gt;There was nobody to blame. They had married against the wishes of both families. They had come together to give shape to their love, their long courtship &amp;amp; how sadly, life had taken a difficult turn, courtship culminated in a battle at court.&lt;br /&gt;Presently, the judge was ready to pass on his judgement on the custody battle. Counseling had not worked for the couple,hence it was necessary to make a decision. The wise man had to make a difficult decision. He had to apply a simple rule of mathematics. 2 divided by 2 is equal to 1. But where would the two 1's go. Mathematics had no answer for that. The wise man had decided, the 1's would decide where they would go. Gauri &amp;amp; Surin had to make a difficult choice. It was a complex decision for the kids, so beyond their understanding, so much beyond their heart. For the courts it was a simple routine process. The counseller took the kids to a room &amp;amp; made an attempt to explain them what they needed to do &amp;amp; what was in store for them. The kids gave each other a peck on the cheek &amp;amp; whispered in each other's ear. Surin went to Satish &amp;amp; Gauri went to Neelisha. Satish was seemingly calm, atleast, whatever was going on in his mind was not visible on his face. Neelisha was inconsolable. The dam of tears had burst from within her eyes. It was a telling blow for her. Her world had fallen apart. She took Gauri in her arms &amp;amp; would not leave her.&lt;br /&gt;The kids were meeting their parents one last time, for, after this day, Gauri would be with satish &amp;amp; Surin with Neelisha. The choices were made. It was clear,that's what the kids had decided when they whispered in each other's ears.&lt;br /&gt;It was time to say Goodbye.............&lt;br /&gt;Gauri was pulled away from Neelisha and after that day, she could never see or meet Gauri again. Satish had left the city the same day to some undisclosed location, nobody knew where they had gone. &lt;/P&gt; &lt;br /&gt;&lt;blockquote&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The &lt;b&gt;fellow Blog-a-Tonics&lt;/b&gt; who took part in this Blog-a-Ton and links to their respective &lt;b&gt;posts&lt;/b&gt; can be checked &lt;a href="http://blog-a-ton.blogspot.com/2010/08/rules-and-reminder-for-blog-ton-13.html#comments"&gt;&lt;b&gt;here&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/a&gt;. To be part of the next edition, visit and start following &lt;b&gt;&lt;a href="http://blog-a-ton.blogspot.com/"&gt;Blog-a-Ton&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/b&gt;.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/blockquote&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4441717881897857879-3680724317290965808?l=scribbles-vp.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://scribbles-vp.blogspot.com/feeds/3680724317290965808/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://scribbles-vp.blogspot.com/2010/08/goodbye_07.html#comment-form' title='7 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4441717881897857879/posts/default/3680724317290965808'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4441717881897857879/posts/default/3680724317290965808'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://scribbles-vp.blogspot.com/2010/08/goodbye_07.html' title='Goodbye'/><author><name>Pavil</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10101956425144957746</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>7</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4441717881897857879.post-5520986069865473951</id><published>2010-07-10T20:43:00.001+05:30</published><updated>2010-07-10T21:00:49.108+05:30</updated><title type='text'>Wish</title><content type='html'>&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;blockquote&gt;&lt;br /&gt;This post has been published by me as a part of the &lt;b&gt;Blog-a-Ton 12&lt;/b&gt;; the twelfth edition of the online marathon of Bloggers; where we decide and we write. To be part of the next edition, visit and start following &lt;a href="http://blog-a-ton.blogspot.com/"&gt;&lt;b&gt;Blog-a-Ton&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/a&gt;.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/blockquote&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I wish, If wishes were horses, but then I wonder what would happen to the horses. If that would happen the world would really become a crazy place. Since everybody would be happy &amp; kind of content, there could be a danger that just nobody would want to work. The Jig-saw puzzle would break. Nobody would have the drive to do things &amp; who knows the world may stop to function.&lt;br /&gt;Wish,everyone wishes for something or other and keeps longing for it,waiting for it to happen. In a way wish is the engine which drives the world. When the sun rises and a new day begins ,a new wish takes shape in every heart. A wish to discover life,to learn &amp; relearn &amp; unlearn the ways of the world. A wish makes the day bearable and in a way helps one carry the burden of life. Imagine a day when one have no wishes to look forward to &amp; you would start wondering what you are up to. You are because you wish. &lt;br /&gt;The homosapiens in the stone age wished for a better life &amp; in a way made us what we are. They discovered new ways of living, new ways of understanding the surroundings &amp; new ways to get adapted to the world. &lt;br /&gt; I am sure the creator must have made a wish for a rainbow world,a rainbow of people, a rainbow of emotions, a rainbow of landscapes, a rainbow of seasons, a rainbow of unknown umpteen possibilities &amp; above all a rainbow of wishes to go on &amp; on for a lifetime of lifetimes and here we are. We are the world because the creator wished for one.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It all begin with a Wish...........&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;blockquote&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The &lt;b&gt;fellow Blog-a-Tonics&lt;/b&gt; who took part in this Blog-a-Ton and links to their respective &lt;b&gt;posts&lt;/b&gt; can be checked &lt;a href="http://blog-a-ton.blogspot.com/2010/07/rules-and-reminder-for-blog-ton-12.html#comments"&gt;&lt;b&gt;here&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/a&gt;. To be part of the next edition, visit and start following &lt;b&gt;&lt;a href="http://blog-a-ton.blogspot.com/"&gt;Blog-a-Ton&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/b&gt;.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/blockquote&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4441717881897857879-5520986069865473951?l=scribbles-vp.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://scribbles-vp.blogspot.com/feeds/5520986069865473951/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://scribbles-vp.blogspot.com/2010/07/wish.html#comment-form' title='11 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4441717881897857879/posts/default/5520986069865473951'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4441717881897857879/posts/default/5520986069865473951'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://scribbles-vp.blogspot.com/2010/07/wish.html' title='Wish'/><author><name>Pavil</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10101956425144957746</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>11</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4441717881897857879.post-4147331123682012564</id><published>2009-11-14T12:13:00.000+05:30</published><updated>2009-12-16T20:14:10.064+05:30</updated><title type='text'>Blood &amp; Tears in the Kashmir Valley</title><content type='html'>अ़ब कोई आँसू बहता नही हैं आँखोंसे&lt;br /&gt;सूख गए हैं सारे आँसू जाने कबसे&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span class=""&gt;&lt;span class=""&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span class=""&gt;फ़िर कही गोली चली हैं कल शायद&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span class=""&gt;दिन भी आजकल डरने लगे है रातोंसे &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span class=""&gt;चाँद भी आजकल रक्तिमसा हैं कुछ कुछ यहाँ&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span class=""&gt;छलनी हैं उसका भी सिना गोलियों की बौछारोसे&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span class=""&gt;बाते न करना मुझसे अ़ब कोई इतिहास की&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span class=""&gt;फ़िर कोई नौजवाँ बिछड़ गया हैं राहोंसे&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4441717881897857879-4147331123682012564?l=scribbles-vp.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://scribbles-vp.blogspot.com/feeds/4147331123682012564/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://scribbles-vp.blogspot.com/2009/11/blood-tears-in-kashmir-valley.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4441717881897857879/posts/default/4147331123682012564'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4441717881897857879/posts/default/4147331123682012564'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://scribbles-vp.blogspot.com/2009/11/blood-tears-in-kashmir-valley.html' title='Blood &amp; Tears in the Kashmir Valley'/><author><name>Pavil</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10101956425144957746</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4441717881897857879.post-5979727177306892476</id><published>2009-08-14T19:25:00.001+05:30</published><updated>2009-08-15T19:58:06.249+05:30</updated><title type='text'>Lonavala Picnic with the Schneider team</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_heOnLRK97WA/Soa3MIGt6UI/AAAAAAAAAD0/4RgoooXYMTI/s1600-h/TheTeam.JPG"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5370181024647866690" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 200px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 150px" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_heOnLRK97WA/Soa3MIGt6UI/AAAAAAAAAD0/4RgoooXYMTI/s200/TheTeam.JPG" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt; We were planning for a Getaway picnic since long but somehow it was not working out. The project never took off &amp;amp; always remained a mere plan waiting to be executed, no matter how we planned. But this time we were adamant it happens. During the Lunch discussions we discussed about it &amp;amp; made sure the buzz is on. Deciding the location was easy, within no time we zeroed in on Lonavala, Mumbaikar’s favourite spot for rainy trips. The team was given an ultimatum that no drop outs would be allowed. The likely drop outs were bought in by zealous follow ups by everybody. They were told what they were to miss if they drop out. The planned date was adjusted to make sure it suits everybody. We asked people to bring in the spouses too, to chuck out another excuse for opting out. We decided the date to be 11 July Saturday for obvious reasons. Thinking that it would allow people to relax on Sunday 12 July. But it was not to be, Maggie was not available on Saturday hence she requested to make it to Sunday. Nobody objected hence Sunday 12 July was decided to be the final date. The likely budget was decided &amp;amp; likewise the expenses per participant. Everybody was informed about their pickup points &amp;amp; that ended the planning phase. We did found a couple of bugs in the planning phase. We still had drop-outs. Imran had to attend to some urgent business at home &amp;amp; that left him out along with his spouse. Finally we were a team of 11 people. Another bug was contribution was not received from all. Some jokingly said the contribution would be paid proportionate with the enjoyment.&lt;br /&gt;The planning was over &amp;amp; the D day arrived. We started at exactly 7:00 AM from my home in Kores nakshatra society, Thane. Shabbir, Mildred &amp;amp; Maggie were to be picked up from Teen hath naka square in Thane, on reaching there we realized they were holding a marathon race &amp;amp; as a result the square was swarming with people. But it’s difficult to miss Shabbir even in a crowd &amp;amp; with a couple of calls Shabbir &amp;amp; Maggie were in the Bus. Mildred was also easy to find because of her distinct wind cheater. One pick up point was done with; we started on our planned route. But you can always count on Shobhan for surprises. He called up Shabbir &amp;amp; informed he would be reaching Airoli fly over which was not at all on the planned route. There was no option, we changed the route &amp;amp; started towards Airoli fly over, and that would mean two additional toll booths. The team unanimously decided Shobhan would have to pay the toll at all the toll booths on the way. When we reached the Airoli fly over we had our morning cup of tea. We were receiving anxious calls from Shashwat &amp;amp; Prakash. Poor Shashwat was waiting at his pickup point since more than 45 minutes &amp;amp; Prakash was waiting at home only which was just 10 minutes away. We called up Shobhan to know his where abouts. He claimed he was near a fly over &amp;amp; could see the fly over from where he was. Now we were not sure which fly over he was talking about. There are so many of them in Mumbai. Finally, Shobhan arrived after a good 10-15 minutes. And with him also arrived the rains. It was the first rain of the day &amp;amp; it made us all happy, rains being the important part of the Trip. Later there were no hiccups about delay &amp;amp; when Shashwat got in we were 11 in a 17 seater bus. It was better as the last row was taking care of all the baggage.&lt;br /&gt;In the Bus it was a fun-tastic scene. Some were playing the good old antakshari with all gusto. Some were pulling legs of each other &amp;amp; some were munching whatever they could lay their hands on. In all the melly Suyash spotted the Sun which was hiding behind the clouds all this while &amp;amp; yelled out in Hindi “dekho Dhoop”. The moment he said that the team was after him because pointing out the Sun shine was politically incorrect on a rainy trip. It was time for Suyash to learn his lesson. In no time we were out of Panvel. It was time for some snacks. We caught some Vadapavs at the famous Datta snacks. We took the old Pune highway via the criss-crossing Borghat. Borghat was in a different world today. The bus was plying through the clouds. There were waterfalls everywhere. We got through the old tunnel &amp;amp; the Milky Kune falls was right there in the valley on the left side of the highway. &lt;a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_heOnLRK97WA/Soa_l_dQ4PI/AAAAAAAAAEE/6x8U3vOuK34/s1600-h/KuneFalls.JPG"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5370190265096134898" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 200px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 150px" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_heOnLRK97WA/Soa_l_dQ4PI/AAAAAAAAAEE/6x8U3vOuK34/s200/KuneFalls.JPG" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;The highway is a bit wider at this particular spot. We stopped the Bus &amp;amp; got out to please our eye balls. The scenic sahyadri was wearing its best greens today. The cameras were out &amp;amp; with some clicks we resumed our journey to Bhushi dam, our final destination in Lonavala. In a short while we crossed the Lonavala Bus stop &amp;amp; turned towards Bhushi dam. The climate was very good. There was no sun shine &amp;amp; it was all cloudy. The tatas dam was a wonderful site. Every time a water fall would be spotted, the team would cry their Lungs out yelling “water fall”. Finally we reached near the Bhushi dam. It was all crowded &amp;amp; there was no space for parking. While looking for a parking space we went a bit away &amp;amp; decided to go towards the Tiger hills instead. Bhushi dam was pushed away on the priority list. The road to tiger hills was a steep one but it was worth the efforts. We reached the Tiger hills &amp;amp; got out of the Bus. We were welcome by a rush of heavy rains &amp;amp; everybody got wet. Prakash was worried for his spouse &amp;amp; opened the Umbrellas. The rain slowed down &amp;amp; finally we could get a viewing. We were on the upper side of a waterfall &amp;amp; could see the stream which was the source of that waterfall. The clouds were everywhere around us the visibility was not more than 2 meters. It was a scene straight out of dreams. We were actually among the clouds &amp;amp; could touch them. Everybody got into the water for some time &amp;amp; suddenly Mildred had a brain wave. She suggested, let’s walk in the clouds to Bhushi dam. It sounded like a crazy idea &amp;amp; Prakash thought it was not a good idea at all. Never the less we instructed the Bus driver to follow after a while &amp;amp; started walking towards Bhushi dam. It was literally a Walk in the Clouds. The happiness was &lt;a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_heOnLRK97WA/Soa4ZqlHtxI/AAAAAAAAAD8/YySUQQq1-6k/s1600-h/Smilys-1.JPG"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5370182356752119570" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 200px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 150px" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_heOnLRK97WA/Soa4ZqlHtxI/AAAAAAAAAD8/YySUQQq1-6k/s200/Smilys-1.JPG" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;telling on everybody’s face. I had never seen so many talking smilys at one place. The team did a good beat of advertising for the new Movie Kamine. The title song of the movie was quite a hit with the team. The team was yelling out "Dhan Te Na" with full use of their vocal cords. Even some of the passers- by picked up the yelling &amp;amp; responded with the same. I recorded some of those yelling sessions; they are good memorabilia of the trip.&lt;object width="320" height="266" class="BLOG_video_class" id="BLOG_video-91f2ee7d4caa8f97" classid="clsid:D27CDB6E-AE6D-11cf-96B8-444553540000" codebase="http://download.macromedia.com/pub/shockwave/cabs/flash/swflash.cab#version=6,0,40,0"&gt;&lt;param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/get_player"&gt;&lt;param name="bgcolor" value="#FFFFFF"&gt;&lt;param name="allowfullscreen" value="true"&gt;&lt;param name="flashvars" value="flvurl=http://v23.nonxt6.googlevideo.com/videoplayback?id%3D91f2ee7d4caa8f97%26itag%3D5%26app%3Dblogger%26ip%3D0.0.0.0%26ipbits%3D0%26expire%3D1333606822%26sparams%3Did,itag,ip,ipbits,expire%26signature%3D604B41514B10FA203DAF89259B55DFF30BE9EA32.4D6870377F7302B0C679450F86B5E7408DFFCD1%26key%3Dck1&amp;amp;iurl=http://video.google.com/ThumbnailServer2?app%3Dblogger%26contentid%3D91f2ee7d4caa8f97%26offsetms%3D5000%26itag%3Dw160%26sigh%3DUNQh-CjFE4iv_mDHP9UCXgx6HsI&amp;amp;autoplay=0&amp;amp;ps=blogger"&gt;&lt;embed src="http://www.youtube.com/get_player" type="application/x-shockwave-flash"width="320" height="266" bgcolor="#FFFFFF"flashvars="flvurl=http://v23.nonxt6.googlevideo.com/videoplayback?id%3D91f2ee7d4caa8f97%26itag%3D5%26app%3Dblogger%26ip%3D0.0.0.0%26ipbits%3D0%26expire%3D1333606822%26sparams%3Did,itag,ip,ipbits,expire%26signature%3D604B41514B10FA203DAF89259B55DFF30BE9EA32.4D6870377F7302B0C679450F86B5E7408DFFCD1%26key%3Dck1&amp;iurl=http://video.google.com/ThumbnailServer2?app%3Dblogger%26contentid%3D91f2ee7d4caa8f97%26offsetms%3D5000%26itag%3Dw160%26sigh%3DUNQh-CjFE4iv_mDHP9UCXgx6HsI&amp;autoplay=0&amp;ps=blogger"allowFullScreen="true" /&gt;&lt;/object&gt;Prakash &amp;amp; Ranu were walking hand in hand; some even suspected they were whispering sweet nothings to each other. &lt;a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_heOnLRK97WA/Soazh-uNirI/AAAAAAAAADk/Zd4yjBkFSXA/s1600-h/PrakRanu2.JPG"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5370177002039773874" style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; WIDTH: 200px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 150px" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_heOnLRK97WA/Soazh-uNirI/AAAAAAAAADk/Zd4yjBkFSXA/s200/PrakRanu2.JPG" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;They were nicknamed a Honeymoon couple. On our way we spotted an old Car lying by the road side. The only remains of the Car were its body. It wore an antique look.&lt;a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_heOnLRK97WA/Soa_mwGLYFI/AAAAAAAAAEU/u7xTgYOR0-w/s1600-h/TheCar.JPG"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5370190278152642642" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 200px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 150px" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_heOnLRK97WA/Soa_mwGLYFI/AAAAAAAAAEU/u7xTgYOR0-w/s200/TheCar.JPG" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt; The team took some snaps around the car as if they were on a movie shooting schedule. With the old car in the background, some of the snaps really look as if they were from a movie shoot. By that time the Bus caught up with us &amp;amp; we all hopped on to the Bus. At the Bhushi dam parking rates was sky rocketing. Somehow we found a parking space. We all got out &amp;amp; started towards the Bhushi dam. The Bhushi dam Overflow is the high point of a rainy trip but it was not overflowing. Hence we decided to go to the sources of Bhushi dam. We could see some big waterfalls at a distance not more than half a mile. We took a detour from the Bhushi dam &amp;amp; wend behind the dam. In another 5-10 minutes we were in a stream of water. This stream was the output of a big waterfall. Except Ranu &amp;amp; Shabbir everybody got wet. We all played water games in the stream. Shobhan got himself immersed in &lt;a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_heOnLRK97WA/Soa_niy6viI/AAAAAAAAAEc/aBGAW1YYhRA/s1600-h/WaterBodies.JPG"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5370190291762069026" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 200px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 150px" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_heOnLRK97WA/Soa_niy6viI/AAAAAAAAAEc/aBGAW1YYhRA/s200/WaterBodies.JPG" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;water multiple times. It seems he was taking a bath of the lifetime. Shashwat was playing a water sadhu trying to meditate in water. &lt;a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_heOnLRK97WA/Soa1aZP4lDI/AAAAAAAAADs/x9MCDXOSfW8/s1600-h/ShashSadhu.JPG"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5370179070744630322" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 200px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 150px" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_heOnLRK97WA/Soa1aZP4lDI/AAAAAAAAADs/x9MCDXOSfW8/s200/ShashSadhu.JPG" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Suchitra &amp;amp; Shabbir gave some wonderful poses for snaps. Prakash was making sure everybody gets wet. Turn by turn each one was thrown in water. After a while, it was time to catch some snacks. We had some snacks &amp;amp; tea at the stall near the fall. With stomachs full it was time again for the waterfalls. This one was a bit crowded but still we managed to make place for the team under the milky waterfall. It was wonderful to get the water currents on head. Some of us climbed the waterfall from a side &amp;amp; went beyond the waterfall. There was another bigger waterfall, which was not crowded. The way leading to the waterfall was through a stream, which was a source for the waterfall we had just climbed. &lt;a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_heOnLRK97WA/Soa_mFlqilI/AAAAAAAAAEM/e4tpbFcjTfQ/s1600-h/BigWaterfall.JPG"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5370190266741983826" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 150px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 200px" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_heOnLRK97WA/Soa_mFlqilI/AAAAAAAAAEM/e4tpbFcjTfQ/s200/BigWaterfall.JPG" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;We had to carefully negotiate the stream to reach the waterfall. When we reached there we realized it was worth the effort. With some more clicks we returned to the earlier waterfall where the other team members were waiting. It was time to go back to Mumbai.&lt;br /&gt;Everybody was still ecstatic from the experience. All cameramen were instructed to bring the snaps to office the very next day. The road back home was so crowded that a 2 hours journey almost took 4 hours. But thanks to the team the journey was bearable. The singing never stopped. The journey sounded quicker thanks to the spirit of the team. On the way back people were dropped off the way they were picked up. By 9:30 PM everybody was back to home. It was the end of a day well spent.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4441717881897857879-5979727177306892476?l=scribbles-vp.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='enclosure' type='video/mp4' href='http://www.blogger.com/video-play.mp4?contentId=91f2ee7d4caa8f97&amp;type=video%2Fmp4' length='0'/><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://scribbles-vp.blogspot.com/feeds/5979727177306892476/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://scribbles-vp.blogspot.com/2009/08/lonavala-picnic-with-schneider-team.html#comment-form' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4441717881897857879/posts/default/5979727177306892476'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4441717881897857879/posts/default/5979727177306892476'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://scribbles-vp.blogspot.com/2009/08/lonavala-picnic-with-schneider-team.html' title='Lonavala Picnic with the Schneider team'/><author><name>Pavil</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10101956425144957746</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_heOnLRK97WA/Soa3MIGt6UI/AAAAAAAAAD0/4RgoooXYMTI/s72-c/TheTeam.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4441717881897857879.post-1066309817327403192</id><published>2009-08-01T00:28:00.000+05:30</published><updated>2009-08-01T10:57:35.250+05:30</updated><title type='text'>तमन्ना</title><content type='html'>नाम तुम्हारे लिखनी हैं ग़ज़ल&lt;br /&gt;पर लब्ज हमारे साथ नही हैं&lt;br /&gt;जानना हैं के कौन हो तूम ?&lt;br /&gt;पर राह हमारे पास नही हैं&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span class=""&gt;पाना तो हैं साथ तुम्हारा&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span class=""&gt;पर कोई नुस्खा पास नही हैं&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span class=""&gt;खोने नही हैं ख्वाब तुम्हारे&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span class=""&gt;पर नींद हमें अब आती नही हैं &lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4441717881897857879-1066309817327403192?l=scribbles-vp.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://scribbles-vp.blogspot.com/feeds/1066309817327403192/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://scribbles-vp.blogspot.com/2009/07/blog-post.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4441717881897857879/posts/default/1066309817327403192'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4441717881897857879/posts/default/1066309817327403192'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://scribbles-vp.blogspot.com/2009/07/blog-post.html' title='तमन्ना'/><author><name>Pavil</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10101956425144957746</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry></feed>
