Thank you all of who came... it meant a lot to me..
It wasnt about the place or food or anything else...
it was about Gopa coming despite bein unwell.. :kiss
about nihit and gupta being the first ones there :)
about PJ and Ashish ditching poltu hour ;;)
about arnav changing that horrible shirt :P
about deepak ditching that "guy" he was seeing :ha
about reddy being 'all alone' :P
about deepak's day of 'sin' :O
about sid and his stories ;)
about rohit 'being fine' with PJ :)
about raju's words of wisdom :D
about Khemka always being a pillar of support :)
about bhupi doing a Varinder :clap
about Monish and the unplayed DumbC :(
about Kartik and his 'maine abhi tak congrats nahi bola' :P
about Mayank's high :)
about Bipul's continuoussequenceofsongs :like
and about the best partner ever- Akshay!
Thanks guys! These are some memories I dont need a cam for :D
Dedicated to all those who couldnt make it, we missed you..really missed you..
Monday, March 15, 2010
Monday, March 23, 2009
A dead day
http://www.telegraphindia.com/1090323/jsp/frontpage/story_10710225.jsp
http://grassonfire.blogspot.com/
A day today has died. I can see it wasting itself. Not even the busiest soul is at work today. For a certain soul has left to peace.
The heavens have joined us in our protest. They shed the tears of rain on this black day of spring. In a silent manner, like the suppressed sobs of a heart wounded beyond repair. Isn't this scary now; this is just not the right place for a heart to be wounded in. Because it wont be treated here. But it will have to learn to not to protest against this. It shall quieten itself till it makes no noise in the end. It will stop beating.
Today it was heard. It was allowed to speak, and how it spoke. It drowned everything else in its tide. Everything has been swept in it. To the last tickle of an unbroken world. And yet, all the wishes of all the hearts can not restore us back to the state of apathy which the heart longs for now. It was unheard then, but at least it had not paid the price.
http://grassonfire.blogspot.com/
A day today has died. I can see it wasting itself. Not even the busiest soul is at work today. For a certain soul has left to peace.
The heavens have joined us in our protest. They shed the tears of rain on this black day of spring. In a silent manner, like the suppressed sobs of a heart wounded beyond repair. Isn't this scary now; this is just not the right place for a heart to be wounded in. Because it wont be treated here. But it will have to learn to not to protest against this. It shall quieten itself till it makes no noise in the end. It will stop beating.
Today it was heard. It was allowed to speak, and how it spoke. It drowned everything else in its tide. Everything has been swept in it. To the last tickle of an unbroken world. And yet, all the wishes of all the hearts can not restore us back to the state of apathy which the heart longs for now. It was unheard then, but at least it had not paid the price.
Saturday, January 24, 2009
To cut a long story short
I just happened to be gifted a book of the same name by Jeffrey Archer. My favourite short story from this collection was titled "Death Speaks", which shows a short story well told. Here is it for you.
There was a merchant in Bagdad who sent his servant to market to buy provisions and in a little while the servant came back, white and trembling, and said, Master, just now when I was in the market-place I was jostled by a woman in the crowd and when I turned I saw it was death that jostled me. She looked at me and made a threatening gesture; now, lend me your horse, and I will ride away from this city and avoid my fate. I will go to Samarra and there death will not find me. The merchant lent him his horse, and the servant mounted it, and he dug his spurs in its flanks and as fast as the horse could gallop he went. Then the merchant went down to the market-place and he saw me standing in the crowd and he came to me and said, Why did you make a threatening gesture to my servant when you saw him this morning? That was not a threatening gesture, I said, it was only a start of surprise. I was astonished to see him in Bagdadm for I had an appointment with him tonight in Samarra.
On those lines, I have attempted to model my plot exercise in the British Council Creative Writing Workshop and my first blog-
I was on the train to Rio de Janeiro, when the well-dressed man came and sat beside me. He put a cigar to his mouth and requested me for a lighter.
"Gold plated!"
"Yeah,"I proudly remarked with a smirk."The university gave to me along with a cash prize at the felicitation. I wrote a book on Quantum Physics."
"Oh. That's a coincidence!" He, I was surprised to know, was a writer too. Albeit fiction. And an unsuccessful one at that, sadly. He went on to describe the plot that got rejected by twenty publishers. It was a pretty interesting story actually, about a young orphaned boy with magical powers who goes to a school of witchcraft and wizardry, and grows up to destroy villains. Well, I never read fiction I am afraid, but I enjoyed the story.
I wished him luck as he got off at the next station. "I really hope he becomes famous one day." I said to the person opposite me. This gentleman looked at me incredulously. " You honestly didn't realise he was taking you for a ride!? That was not his story; that's J. K. Rowling's Harry Potter!"
I did not truly believe the gentleman opposite me till I reached Rio de Janeiro and realised the wallet and cash prize was gone.
Yesterday a guy asked me if I blog; Not yet, I said. No inspiration.
That goes to prove how fickle the mind is.
There was a merchant in Bagdad who sent his servant to market to buy provisions and in a little while the servant came back, white and trembling, and said, Master, just now when I was in the market-place I was jostled by a woman in the crowd and when I turned I saw it was death that jostled me. She looked at me and made a threatening gesture; now, lend me your horse, and I will ride away from this city and avoid my fate. I will go to Samarra and there death will not find me. The merchant lent him his horse, and the servant mounted it, and he dug his spurs in its flanks and as fast as the horse could gallop he went. Then the merchant went down to the market-place and he saw me standing in the crowd and he came to me and said, Why did you make a threatening gesture to my servant when you saw him this morning? That was not a threatening gesture, I said, it was only a start of surprise. I was astonished to see him in Bagdadm for I had an appointment with him tonight in Samarra.
On those lines, I have attempted to model my plot exercise in the British Council Creative Writing Workshop and my first blog-
I was on the train to Rio de Janeiro, when the well-dressed man came and sat beside me. He put a cigar to his mouth and requested me for a lighter.
"Gold plated!"
"Yeah,"I proudly remarked with a smirk."The university gave to me along with a cash prize at the felicitation. I wrote a book on Quantum Physics."
"Oh. That's a coincidence!" He, I was surprised to know, was a writer too. Albeit fiction. And an unsuccessful one at that, sadly. He went on to describe the plot that got rejected by twenty publishers. It was a pretty interesting story actually, about a young orphaned boy with magical powers who goes to a school of witchcraft and wizardry, and grows up to destroy villains. Well, I never read fiction I am afraid, but I enjoyed the story.
I wished him luck as he got off at the next station. "I really hope he becomes famous one day." I said to the person opposite me. This gentleman looked at me incredulously. " You honestly didn't realise he was taking you for a ride!? That was not his story; that's J. K. Rowling's Harry Potter!"
I did not truly believe the gentleman opposite me till I reached Rio de Janeiro and realised the wallet and cash prize was gone.
Yesterday a guy asked me if I blog; Not yet, I said. No inspiration.
That goes to prove how fickle the mind is.
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