<?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-6297677918278508139</id><updated>2011-07-30T16:36:51.553-07:00</updated><category term='house'/><category term='frustration'/><category term='Anger'/><category term='reality'/><category term='mistrust'/><category term='fear'/><category term='lost'/><category term='redemption'/><category term='love'/><category term='sorrow'/><category term='life'/><title type='text'>Confused, confounded and constipated</title><subtitle type='html'>As people come and go, I remain rooted to the same place. I see you all but for a moment, speeding away towards goals and a seemingly bright future. Am I alone in wanting to stand still just for a while, trying to take in every moment? People call it confusion, they say it's arrogance to not succumb to the rat race. It doesn't matter. I want to just be.</subtitle><link rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#feed' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://rukmani-s.blogspot.com/feeds/posts/default'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6297677918278508139/posts/default?max-results=100'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://rukmani-s.blogspot.com/'/><link rel='hub' href='http://pubsubhubbub.appspot.com/'/><author><name>Rukmani</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17770928378533351385</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_mMocZHFk16Y/R491WmFH49I/AAAAAAAAAAM/-30zjM69OXc/S220/olive.jpg'/></author><generator version='7.00' uri='http://www.blogger.com'>Blogger</generator><openSearch:totalResults>43</openSearch:totalResults><openSearch:startIndex>1</openSearch:startIndex><openSearch:itemsPerPage>100</openSearch:itemsPerPage><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6297677918278508139.post-3471335783918269446</id><published>2010-03-13T23:59:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2010-03-13T23:59:28.847-08:00</updated><title type='text'>How much pain before you break again?</title><content type='html'>Every time you wish to be&lt;br /&gt;a simple person with simple needs&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Every time you want to say&lt;br /&gt;things that go unheard anyway&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Every single teardrop shed&lt;br /&gt;as you think about the path you tread&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Every crackle of laughter shared&lt;br /&gt;&amp;nbsp;puts you in and out of repair&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Every silent moment broken&lt;br /&gt;to the sound of thoughts ever so often&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Every song of spring heard&lt;br /&gt;brings back a lost memory blurred&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&amp;nbsp;Every night spent awake&lt;br /&gt;wondering if it ever was yours to take&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Every light that breaks the dark&lt;br /&gt;fades away so soon there's no more a spark&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Every time you wish to hope&lt;br /&gt;you know there's no hope left to hope&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Every single time you feel&lt;br /&gt;there's nothing left to believe&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Every idea gone waste&lt;br /&gt;because of a mind so numb it can no longer taste&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Every time I see you fall&lt;br /&gt;I ask you cuz I don't know it all&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;How much pain before you break again?&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6297677918278508139-3471335783918269446?l=rukmani-s.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://rukmani-s.blogspot.com/feeds/3471335783918269446/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6297677918278508139&amp;postID=3471335783918269446' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6297677918278508139/posts/default/3471335783918269446'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6297677918278508139/posts/default/3471335783918269446'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://rukmani-s.blogspot.com/2010/03/how-much-pain-before-you-break-again.html' title='How much pain before you break again?'/><author><name>Rukmani</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17770928378533351385</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_mMocZHFk16Y/R491WmFH49I/AAAAAAAAAAM/-30zjM69OXc/S220/olive.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6297677918278508139.post-782631483156819068</id><published>2009-11-21T05:01:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2009-11-21T05:01:56.414-08:00</updated><title type='text'>CHICAGO</title><content type='html'>&lt;div style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"&gt;This is a song I came across when I was on a random playlist. I loved the lyrics. It's not a song, more of a recital.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"&gt;When all the laughter dies in sorrow&lt;br /&gt;And the tears have risen to a flood&lt;br /&gt;When all the wars have found a cause&lt;br /&gt;In human wisdom and in blood&lt;br /&gt;Do you think they'll cry in sadness&lt;br /&gt;Do you think the eye will blink&lt;br /&gt;Do you think they'll curse the madness&lt;br /&gt;Do you even think they'll think&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;When all the great galactic systems&lt;br /&gt;Sigh to a frozen halt in space&lt;br /&gt;Do you think there will be some remnant&lt;br /&gt;Of beauty of the human race&lt;br /&gt;Do you think there will be a vestige&lt;br /&gt;Or a sniffle or a cosmic tear&lt;br /&gt;Do you think a greater thinking thing&lt;br /&gt;Will give a damn that man was here&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/6297677918278508139-782631483156819068?l=rukmani-s.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://rukmani-s.blogspot.com/feeds/782631483156819068/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6297677918278508139&amp;postID=782631483156819068' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6297677918278508139/posts/default/782631483156819068'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6297677918278508139/posts/default/782631483156819068'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://rukmani-s.blogspot.com/2009/11/chicago.html' title='CHICAGO'/><author><name>Rukmani</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17770928378533351385</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_mMocZHFk16Y/R491WmFH49I/AAAAAAAAAAM/-30zjM69OXc/S220/olive.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6297677918278508139.post-7691225410761875069</id><published>2009-11-19T08:05:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2009-11-19T08:05:13.230-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Exams. Sigh</title><content type='html'>&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;Well, it's exam time and so I guess it's high time I posted something about many thoughts that have been running through my head since morning. Well thoughts don't really run, they just come and go, like flashes of words I want to incorporate or jokes I want to crack and include. Or incidents I want to recollect or people I want to quote. Write about what, one may ask. During exams, what does a normal engineering student have to write about? The usual woes and worries and late night coffees and night outs and attempted wake up calls and snooze alarms and finally - skipping bath, breakfast, lunch to study in those precious last few minutes. All for marks that don't matter even now, let alone matter a few years from now. I see people around me, in a trance - staring at their notes sometimes repeating what they're reading, sometimes going around frantically trying to look for that one person who understood that equation rather than mugging it, and I wonder. I wonder about those days in school when I actually used to enjoy what I was reading, trying to learn new concepts in physics, chemistry, biology and mathematics. Oh math- how I miss math. At university level we get more theory in a mathematics paper than problems. Where's the question of trying to apply what you've studied to solve new, challenging questions? No answer. Half the people here don't even know the meaning of applied knowledge, and half of the rest don't bother to apply their knowledge though they know they can. Unless a system demands &amp;nbsp;a thorough understanding of basic principles and its application to further one's knowledge in a particular subject, most students are going to give up trying to understand and resort to mugging. Never a great fan of mugging myself, and incapable of doing so even when I need to, I simply give up sometimes. Give up on things that don't matter anyway. Give up on things that should have never mattered.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp;It's funny. I've come to the stage where I'm so averse to what I'm reading because of the way the syllabus is framed or the way we've been &lt;em&gt;asked&lt;/em&gt;(rather instructed) to answer, I don't even bother to figure out if I like a subject anymore. I automatically resort to thinking that it's another paper I won't like. That threw me off track a few days back. I'm now at a stage when I'm not able to give my subjects more time than that, and I doubt I will even if I did. Anyway, here I am, and suddenly after more than a year there it is. A subject that is staring at me in the face and I actually feel like I like it. There are many things I read about that I like in the field of science, but most of it lies outside my 'academic' knowledge. It took me some time to accept that there was something, if I had probably given it more time, some potential subject that I could like. Well, I'm not blaming the system or anything, it IS after all my fault for not having started earlier, but I do hold the system one of the major causes for changing the course of my liking.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;Like I told a friend - people usually say "you either beat the system or join it". But what does one do when stuck in between? Unable to join it, but too insignificant to beat it!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;P.S - Due to lack of time (I have an exam tom, people!) and a stream of thoughts that flow faster than I can type, most of what I've said here may seem incoherent disconnected. It's been a long time since I attacked the keyboard with overflowing thoughts, so kindly adjust with spelling errors and the like.&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/6297677918278508139-7691225410761875069?l=rukmani-s.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://rukmani-s.blogspot.com/feeds/7691225410761875069/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6297677918278508139&amp;postID=7691225410761875069' title='5 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6297677918278508139/posts/default/7691225410761875069'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6297677918278508139/posts/default/7691225410761875069'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://rukmani-s.blogspot.com/2009/11/exams-sigh.html' title='Exams. Sigh'/><author><name>Rukmani</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17770928378533351385</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_mMocZHFk16Y/R491WmFH49I/AAAAAAAAAAM/-30zjM69OXc/S220/olive.jpg'/></author><thr:total>5</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6297677918278508139.post-6136669086262526566</id><published>2009-11-09T05:03:00.001-08:00</published><updated>2009-11-09T07:56:06.289-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Don't</title><content type='html'>Don't run behind me&lt;br /&gt;Just leave me alone &lt;br /&gt;I'm standing in the cold&lt;br /&gt;But I'll be fine without you&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Don't try to talk&lt;br /&gt;When there's nothing to say&lt;br /&gt;Don't be fake&lt;br /&gt;For heaven's sake!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Tears don't matter&lt;br /&gt;neither do you, most of you&lt;br /&gt;So don't cry for me, &lt;br /&gt;Cuz I won't for you&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Don't follow me&lt;br /&gt;I'm going to a dark place&lt;br /&gt;Cobwebs and blind bats&lt;br /&gt;I won't rescue you&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Don't come hug me&lt;br /&gt;I won't feel you&lt;br /&gt;Cuz I don't feel for you&lt;br /&gt;Oh but I do - I feel "nothing" for you.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6297677918278508139-6136669086262526566?l=rukmani-s.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://rukmani-s.blogspot.com/feeds/6136669086262526566/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6297677918278508139&amp;postID=6136669086262526566' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6297677918278508139/posts/default/6136669086262526566'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6297677918278508139/posts/default/6136669086262526566'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://rukmani-s.blogspot.com/2009/11/dont.html' title='Don&apos;t'/><author><name>Rukmani</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17770928378533351385</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_mMocZHFk16Y/R491WmFH49I/AAAAAAAAAAM/-30zjM69OXc/S220/olive.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6297677918278508139.post-4258984999498798122</id><published>2009-10-19T21:13:00.002-07:00</published><updated>2009-10-28T09:20:11.400-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Acceptance? Yeah right.</title><content type='html'>&lt;div align="justify"&gt;Look at her arrogance. She talks as though she has mastered the art of acceptance. She seems to portray through her writing that whatever is thrown at her – any new development that she doesn't want, any change that she has been dreading – whatever it is, she’ll get through it without too many bruises or scars. She says that it is okay- she smiles and consoles the people who feel bad for her, telling them that her life is going to be okay after all. Looks like she’s got a heart of steel or rock or whatever that never breaks. She’s got to be that strong, how can she be okay with her life otherwise? Going on as though nothing is ever wrong, as though nothing is ever too big to not shrug away casually like a feather resting on her shoulder. She takes whatever the world gives her, smiling - with a clenched fist and through gritted teeth, but she takes it nevertheless. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;For once, though, she finds that she is lost. During all those years of constant endurance – of pain, misery, disappointments, betrayal – not once did she feel that she would falter from what she thought was her way of living. Not once did she imagine that she would come to a stage where everything does seem as gloomy as many people paint it. She always looked at life as something that needed constant improvement, something that was worth fighting for, and something that did not have the time to give to heartbreaks and anguish. Now she finds herself questioning her ability to get over a minor setback. Her life couldn’t be better, one would say. She’s got everything that few people can only dream of at this stage. Supportive parents, academic life going places -what more does she want? She must be arrogant to assume that her life is miserable. What if she’s at a stage where she’s not able to cherish what she has? She feels empty and saturated at the same time. She feels like she doesn’t have anything or anybody to fall back on, and yet she’s saturated with all the attention that is being showered on her for various reasons. Saturated with all the premature experiences she has gathered, not regretting any of them, but saturated. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;She wants to go back in time. She almost repents having spoken about acceptance being the only way to get over change. She doesn’t know what she wants to go back to, though. There are many memories she would like to relive just for a moment, knowing that she had to give it up someday. Isn’t that much better than suddenly finding yourself in a situation where you can’t go back anymore? She knows what she wants. She doesn’t want anything to last indefinitely. She knows that’s asking for too much and she doesn’t believe in that anyway. But right now, in this moment of weakness that doesn’t come to her very often, she wants to go back in time and treasure the moment that she wants, understanding the true meaning of what it is to live that moment like it will never be hers again. She wants to consciously interpret the meaning of existence, though just for a moment. She knows this won’t last. She knows that when she reads this again she might consider herself stupid and shrug it away like she does so many other emotionally disturbing things. But for now, she knows what it is to lose something and feel for it. To feel the loss, to appreciate its beauty when it was there, to appreciate the pain it causes when it is gone.&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/6297677918278508139-4258984999498798122?l=rukmani-s.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://rukmani-s.blogspot.com/feeds/4258984999498798122/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6297677918278508139&amp;postID=4258984999498798122' title='5 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6297677918278508139/posts/default/4258984999498798122'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6297677918278508139/posts/default/4258984999498798122'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://rukmani-s.blogspot.com/2009/10/acceptance-yeah-right_19.html' title='Acceptance? Yeah right.'/><author><name>Rukmani</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17770928378533351385</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_mMocZHFk16Y/R491WmFH49I/AAAAAAAAAAM/-30zjM69OXc/S220/olive.jpg'/></author><thr:total>5</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6297677918278508139.post-9132292135055913064</id><published>2009-10-19T10:52:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-10-28T09:21:30.020-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Acceptance</title><content type='html'>&lt;div align="justify"&gt;How does one cope with change? When something changes to make things better, everybody is happy. It takes time to get used to it, but nobody complains. However, when things change for the worse - when you lose somebody or you give up something you don't want to, it hurts. To say it hurts is a very crude form of trying to put into words the oscillations in emotions one goes through when adapting to sudden change. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;I started reading a book titled "When everything changes, change everything". The title clearly indicates the kind of method suggested to get past a sudden change - move away from what happened and change everything around you. I do not believe in that, and I couldn't continue reading the book, but it triggered off a stream of thoughts on how one does actually deal with change. Does one read such "motivational books"? Or does one go on a holiday and look for better things? Quit one's job and move to a different place?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;To change everything when everything changes. Is it worth it? If you lose somebody and you can't stop feeling miserable when something reminds you of it, does it mean you move away? Or destroy those memories, just to move on? Aren't the memories worth more than the treatment you give it? It's worth all that and more, and the worst part is - you know it. Moving to a different place or making youself busier than usual might offer temporary help, might help you forget things till you cross the stage of utter shock and disbelief, but trust me, from personal experience I say that it doesn't work that way all the time. Not if you actually do want to move on and be happy again. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;The only way to truly get over something depressing is to accept the situation for what it is. Only when you let go of the restraints that hold you on to a life that no longer belongs to you will you be happy again. Change is necessary, change is the only thing that remains constant, like a lot of famous people claim. But what is most important is how you deal with change. There may be times when you feel lonely though you're surrounded by swarms of people, times when you cling on to somebody you barely know because you're scared to be alone. In the end, what matters is that you get there, not how you do. And when you do, you'll be a stronger person and won't regret the change. You'll embrace it and in a way thank it for making you a stronger person.&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/6297677918278508139-9132292135055913064?l=rukmani-s.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://rukmani-s.blogspot.com/feeds/9132292135055913064/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6297677918278508139&amp;postID=9132292135055913064' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6297677918278508139/posts/default/9132292135055913064'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6297677918278508139/posts/default/9132292135055913064'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://rukmani-s.blogspot.com/2009/10/acceptance.html' title='Acceptance'/><author><name>Rukmani</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17770928378533351385</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_mMocZHFk16Y/R491WmFH49I/AAAAAAAAAAM/-30zjM69OXc/S220/olive.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6297677918278508139.post-2236016491582938729</id><published>2009-10-19T10:13:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-10-19T10:51:33.774-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Something that was.</title><content type='html'>Nothing stays forever&lt;br /&gt;hold on to what you have while it lasts &lt;br /&gt;for tomorrow it might be gone&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Hold it close&lt;br /&gt;wish for another day&lt;br /&gt;but let it go when it should go away&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Memories left behind&lt;br /&gt;a trace of what was the past&lt;br /&gt;a past that will never happen again&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;A happy time&lt;br /&gt;brings tears when it's gone&lt;br /&gt;a sad recollection of what is no more yours&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Time changes everything &lt;br /&gt;what if you don't want it to?&lt;br /&gt;sometimes some time is all you need to move on&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;All you need&lt;br /&gt;but what about all you want?&lt;br /&gt;when what you want is not what you need to get better&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Want for worse?&lt;br /&gt;want for promises to remain unbroken&lt;br /&gt;things to fall in place, not into pieces&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Just another day&lt;br /&gt;searching for what you missed&lt;br /&gt;knowing it's not yours to look for anymore.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6297677918278508139-2236016491582938729?l=rukmani-s.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://rukmani-s.blogspot.com/feeds/2236016491582938729/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6297677918278508139&amp;postID=2236016491582938729' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6297677918278508139/posts/default/2236016491582938729'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6297677918278508139/posts/default/2236016491582938729'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://rukmani-s.blogspot.com/2009/10/something-that-was.html' title='Something that was.'/><author><name>Rukmani</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17770928378533351385</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_mMocZHFk16Y/R491WmFH49I/AAAAAAAAAAM/-30zjM69OXc/S220/olive.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6297677918278508139.post-3665157740637850539</id><published>2009-10-11T20:00:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-10-11T21:54:29.454-07:00</updated><title type='text'>It must have been..</title><content type='html'>Lay a whisper on my pillow &lt;br /&gt;Leave the winter on the ground &lt;br /&gt;I wake up lonely, is there a silence &lt;br /&gt;In the bedroom and all around &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Touch me now, I close my eyes &lt;br /&gt;And dream away... &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It must have been love, but it's over now &lt;br /&gt;It must have been good, but I lost it somehow &lt;br /&gt;It must have been love, but it's over now &lt;br /&gt;From the moment we touched till the time had run out &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Make believing we're together &lt;br /&gt;That I'm sheltered by your heart &lt;br /&gt;But in and outside I turn to water &lt;br /&gt;Like a teardrop in your palm &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And it's a hard winter's day &lt;br /&gt;I dream away... &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It must have been love, but it's over now &lt;br /&gt;It was all that I wanted, now I'm living without &lt;br /&gt;It must have been love, but it's over now &lt;br /&gt;It's where the water flows, it's where the wind blows &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It must have been love, but it's over now &lt;br /&gt;It must have been good, but I lost it somehow &lt;br /&gt;It must have been love, but it's over now &lt;br /&gt;From the moment we touched till the time had run out&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;P.S - This song reminds me of the perfect setting in which I heard it the last time. Rooftop facing the river, a slight drizzle and a sizzler in the rain, the wind blowing on my face, dim candles, not too crowded a place. There was romance in the air but none in my heart. It was one of the most perfect moments of my life, and I have no wish to recreate it or relive it.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6297677918278508139-3665157740637850539?l=rukmani-s.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://rukmani-s.blogspot.com/feeds/3665157740637850539/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6297677918278508139&amp;postID=3665157740637850539' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6297677918278508139/posts/default/3665157740637850539'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6297677918278508139/posts/default/3665157740637850539'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://rukmani-s.blogspot.com/2009/10/it-must-have-been.html' title='It must have been..'/><author><name>Rukmani</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17770928378533351385</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_mMocZHFk16Y/R491WmFH49I/AAAAAAAAAAM/-30zjM69OXc/S220/olive.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6297677918278508139.post-670278461219673841</id><published>2009-09-27T22:41:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-09-27T23:00:27.694-07:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Anger'/><title type='text'>Touch me not!</title><content type='html'>&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;There's a lot to say on this subject, many personal experiences apart from the horrifying stories I've heard from friends. The most recent experience of mine was just a few hours back, and yet I'm here, not knowing how to start writing on this issue. So many comments, so many diferent recollections of the same actions, so many acerbic curse words make their way through - but something stops me because the people whom I'm addressing are not worth even that much time of mine.&lt;br /&gt;    Here is a post my friend, dedicated to all you hip-pinchers and dress-pullers and leg-rubbers and butt-slappers. Here's a post just for you, all about you and your innumerable methods of making the best out of a situation where there is a woman sitting/standing in front/behind or next to you. You men set the rules don't you? You say you take advantage of a woman/girl only if you think they deserve it. Only if you think their dress is too vulgar. Even women (read mami's) agree that it's a girl's fault if she "attracts attention". I think you're forgetting this small point called freedom. India happens to be a free country, and it's any persons own choice to wear what they want. When you men can roam around in Lungis- revealing a bit more thigh than you should, and banyans- revealing a bit more chest than you should, I don't see why women cannot wear what they want. No girl in her right mind will wear clothes that she knows is vulgar, so I'm restricting this description to girls who have a decent dressing sense. Decent- defined the way they want. Anybody can carry off any dress or piece of cloth as long as they know and set their own limits. Then who are these unknown men setting the limits for us? Should I cover my heels?Oh I probably should. Since it was cold and early in the morning, I was covered from head to toe anyway, except for a small part of my heel that was not covered by my shoe. My bad, you say? Some people will, some usless good-for-nothing-goons actually might.&lt;br /&gt;     Men, pah. The guy who persistenly rubbed his leg against mine happened to be a second year from my college- beat that - a junior molesting a senior. Here he is, happily sitting behind me, slowly working his way up my leg. Sounds gross doesn't it? Feel it, its worse. Giving a nasty look didn't stop him, I was surprised at how determined the guy was to get his point across. He got more than just his point across, damnit. What can one do if there is no rowdy backup in college or no friends  to beat up this guy in case a fight crops up? What if one doesn't want to make a scene in the bus and get into trouble with a guy who has a "has gone to jail will go again" look? One just  moves her leg away and stop all the trouble and uneasiness. That's what I did, and I decided to forget the incident like all others and get some rest. But this guy has a lot of perseverence you see. He didn't give up that easily on anything, by the looks of it. He tried something yet again, but by then we had reached our destination and it was time to get up. Now as you would expect, rage builds up and a strong urge to beat the living shit out of him or to at least punch his nose and see some blood overcomes my fear of getting into deep trouble. Well, I wish I had done that, but all I could manage was "Do you want me to cut my leg off and give it to you? Maybe then you can feel it better" and a nasty look before I walked off. At least I noticed that his friends were next to him, so if even ONE of them was a bit decent, he will try to talk some sense into the *%&amp;amp;#.&lt;br /&gt;    I don't understand what it is with these people, who consider it their right to take advantage of any woman walking down the road. It's not rare to walk in a crowded place and have your butt slapped a few times; by the time you look to find who the culprit is - they're gone, dissolved into the rest of the crowd. Imagine the plight of the girls who travel by public bus - I have a friend who has to go through the unfortunate experience every single day. It just takes getting used to, some people say. They'll never change, why fret and spoil your day thinking about it? say others. What has brought these boys/men to a level where nobody thinks of punishing them anymore? I can think of good punishments - trust me. The images I have of that guy in my mind will make a few of you shrink away in horror. But this is just one face. How many men are there, with faces we don't remember, but leaving a lasting, disgusting impression in our minds anyway? Infinite number of men, without conscience or a sense of decency, leaving a mark in every single girl they touch inappropriately - though for them it's just another timepass in just another bus journey. The anger still hasn't gone away - not after the condescending look I gave him, not after the acrid post I've tried writing. It won't go away for a long time to come, because I know that right now, there are a few hundred women going through what I went through, maybe more. Don't these guys have sisters? Wives? Girlfriends? Mothers? Aunts? Cousins? Daughters? The saddest part is - they all do, but yet they decide to behave this way. which shines light on how cheap these people really are.&lt;br /&gt;    I'm not blaming all men, there are some very decent men out there in the world, and I'm honoured that I know so many of them, but I do know that each one of them knows at least one other person who behaves this way. That's the ratio between the number of decent men and the number of indecent men this country has. This is such a sad figure and it brings me to a point where I don't have anything more to say, because this blog post is in no way going to stop these BASTARDS (Sorry, bro - I meant not to swear, but these guys deserve it) from doing what they've always been doing.&lt;br /&gt;    This incident is not a first, definitely not. There have been many more occasions where various other methods than what have been described above have been tried. Listing each one is a tedious process, and unnecessary all the same. Becuase it doesn't matter how they do it, what matters is they do. Be it a slight brush against the hand or a deliberate pinch on the hip - indecency is still indecency.&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/6297677918278508139-670278461219673841?l=rukmani-s.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://rukmani-s.blogspot.com/feeds/670278461219673841/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6297677918278508139&amp;postID=670278461219673841' title='5 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6297677918278508139/posts/default/670278461219673841'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6297677918278508139/posts/default/670278461219673841'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://rukmani-s.blogspot.com/2009/09/touch-me-not.html' title='Touch me not!'/><author><name>Rukmani</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17770928378533351385</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_mMocZHFk16Y/R491WmFH49I/AAAAAAAAAAM/-30zjM69OXc/S220/olive.jpg'/></author><thr:total>5</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6297677918278508139.post-9196546928406958211</id><published>2009-09-18T07:01:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-10-28T09:22:21.355-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Very random.</title><content type='html'>&lt;div align="justify"&gt;"Why does she write sad stories and poems anyway? " , one may wonder. I strongly believe that the goal of one's life is the pursuit of happiness. It showed ever since I was a little girl. Though I never had a clear picture of where I would be in a few years, I always knew that I wanted to remain happy. That was and is my ultimate goal. Everybody says they want to be a "doctor" or a "journalist" or whatever they want to excel in, like it's the primary goal in one's life, and it just happens that happiness follows these professions. I, on the other hand, have always believed that the pursuit of happiness is the most important of all pursuits, and whatever leads me to it, is just a consequence of me wanting to be happy. Seems like there is a very thin line between the two and if you don't get it, it only means I'm not able to articulate it properly, but there it is - The pursuit of happiness is one's primary goal in life. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;There are so many different things I feel I can do. It's like pushing a child into a store full of candies he has never tasted before and asking him to pick one flavor that he has to eat for the rest of his life. You'd say it doesn't matter what he choses as he's never going to find out the true flavor and taste of any of the other candy's anyway. But it's left to him to wonder what it would be like if his choice were a bit different, maybe the candy on the rack next to the one he picked. Any person not open to such thoughts is called focussed, and is deeemed to be happy no matter what they are "given". But isn't it our decision to take whatever we want, so where does the question of "given" even come in? Serendipity and a lot of other factors like destiny (which is a whole new topic altogether) come into play, but we keep improving or modifying what we want according to what we get, and we can never really just sit down and be satisfied or content with what we are "given". &lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;I really admire those people who have wanted to pursue one particular field for as long as they can remember and continue doing so and discover new passion for it everyday. It's like what I see in people doing research, passion drives them to work harder and it never seems to die out. They may have a few lapses, every profession does, but in the end they still enjoy what they do. Or consider people into their own creative careers, taking up photography or art or cooking professionally. They enjoy what they do and earn a living too. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;What if you're that interested in everything and you see that you cannot make up your mind on what you do really want to stick with for the rest of your life? And what if you realize that it's not confusion about a career choice but that's how things have been working ever since you were a kid and it'll probably never change? What if you're at a stage where you know that though one particular career could sustain you and keep you happy forever, that's not what you seek? What if you want to be a photographer, a journalist, a researcher, a teacher, a counsellor, a psychiatrist, a criminal investigator, not all at the same time, but definitely one thing at one time, sometime in that short life of yours? What if you're supposedly at a junction where you HAVE to choose, because you're yet again in that path which bifurcates into so many different paths, all equally interesting and intriguing? People say I should examine my head. See a counselor. Take some time off and see what I'm good at. Take aptitude tests, personality tests. Take "which career is best for you? " tests. Consider your options (financially, keeping family in mind etc.). The list is endless and pointless, so I'm going to stop typing it. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;The point being, is it really that big a crime to not know what you're going to do tomorrow? I don't want to know. I'm going to take it as it comes,as I always have, not spend my time worrying about a wrong career choice, and it seems to work for me. I know i can give my best shot wherever I am, so it's not a question of survival. Is it a mistake to remain that starry eyed girl who wants everything she sees and saves up in her little piggy bank to get it? At the same time, is it wrong to want money? Isn't money just an exchange of talent? Those who have read Atlas Shrugged will know what I'm talking about. Nobody has ever portrayed the true meaning of money that beautifully or precisely as Ayn Rand has. I know the answer to these questions myself, it's not wrong to be that girl, it's not wrong to desire something this foolishly. But sometimes, just sometimes, it seems to me that the world is lost in an era where people fool themselves and continue living for the sake of being alive rather than trying to live every moment. These times, I feel like society throws these questions at me, and I'm not yet in a strong enough position to throw back my answers at them, proving them wrong. Instead, these questions keep coming back to me and I wonder if they could be right, bringing me to this situation, but when I try answering those questions, I realize how absurd the questions are and how ridiculous and unjustified the answers can get. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;Let's come back to why I write sad poems, or rather, why I'm better at it than writing happy ones( a proof of which is "A few of my everyday things"). For all you worried souls out there, I assure you, I'm not cringing in pain or misery when I write such poems. And I appreciate the fact that you worry about me, but don't, cuz I don't worry about you. I trust you to be fine without me worrying about you. It just happens that happiness doesn't come out as words, because that's the state I'm in most of the times, and it usually manifests itself as high pitched screaming or mad-PJ cracking spree or something else the world doesn't quite approve of :P. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;P.S - I realize this is a long post. Too long for me to proofread. So kindly put up with slight grammatical and blatant spelling errors :) And the justify option doesn't work. So I'm sorry if the formatting(or the lack of it) hurts your eye.&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/6297677918278508139-9196546928406958211?l=rukmani-s.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://rukmani-s.blogspot.com/feeds/9196546928406958211/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6297677918278508139&amp;postID=9196546928406958211' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6297677918278508139/posts/default/9196546928406958211'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6297677918278508139/posts/default/9196546928406958211'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://rukmani-s.blogspot.com/2009/09/very-random.html' title='Very random.'/><author><name>Rukmani</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17770928378533351385</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_mMocZHFk16Y/R491WmFH49I/AAAAAAAAAAM/-30zjM69OXc/S220/olive.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6297677918278508139.post-6852921657395650667</id><published>2009-09-16T19:16:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-09-16T19:37:51.907-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Alone or lonely?</title><content type='html'>As the world around me whizzes past at maddening speeds&lt;br /&gt;I'm standing rooted to a place, trying to move - but numb&lt;br /&gt;I see you come closer and move away at the same time&lt;br /&gt;am I alone or lonely?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;When life goes on without a break &lt;br /&gt;When I can't relate to anyone around&lt;br /&gt;When I hear what you say but don't get what you mean&lt;br /&gt;am I alone or lonely?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;In a crowd but yet so far away &lt;br /&gt;talking, listening - all just for a moment&lt;br /&gt;When nothing is significant enough to leave back a memory&lt;br /&gt;Am I alone or lonely?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Alone I am, lonely not. &lt;br /&gt;Such a dark shade of a (s)light difference&lt;br /&gt;Choice it is, to remain this way&lt;br /&gt;In a lonely place, but still, alone.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The fastest poem I've ever written. 10 minutes! The idea of alone/lonely came to me in class yesterday, and since then I've been hasty to get it done. It hasn't come out as well as I thought it would,not even close, but it's still an attempt.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6297677918278508139-6852921657395650667?l=rukmani-s.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://rukmani-s.blogspot.com/feeds/6852921657395650667/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6297677918278508139&amp;postID=6852921657395650667' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6297677918278508139/posts/default/6852921657395650667'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6297677918278508139/posts/default/6852921657395650667'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://rukmani-s.blogspot.com/2009/09/alone-or-lonely.html' title='Alone or lonely?'/><author><name>Rukmani</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17770928378533351385</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_mMocZHFk16Y/R491WmFH49I/AAAAAAAAAAM/-30zjM69OXc/S220/olive.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6297677918278508139.post-2837168370779204406</id><published>2009-09-10T10:53:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-09-10T11:24:20.935-07:00</updated><title type='text'>A few of my everyday things</title><content type='html'>A lot of people around me keep asking why I write sad poems that make them think about unhappy things. Why such a happy person who cracks many PJ's almost all the time, should show this seamy(?) side of hers. So here goes my first attempt to write something happy. But reading it doesn't make me happy. It just doesn't make me sad. Which is definitely a start. So here's the brand new me, making an effort to bring a bit more happiness into your lives. If you can't appreciate it(just how I wasn't able to), at least laugh at how pathetic an attempt this is! :)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Crayons and pencils and sketches of different colours&lt;br /&gt;They make me want to keep using them for hours&lt;br /&gt;To draw differnt patterns and beautiful figures&lt;br /&gt;But mostly to make random things that grow bigger!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My laptop and cellphone and music player - all useful gadgets&lt;br /&gt;help me survive when I have to do some projects&lt;br /&gt;They make me realize that electricity is indispensable&lt;br /&gt;And they're all connected with wires and cables!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My family and friends and roomies of different ages&lt;br /&gt;coming from such varied backgrounds and stages&lt;br /&gt;They make my mind and heart stick together&lt;br /&gt;And make problems seem as light as a feather!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My mokkaes and PJ's and the worst possible jokes&lt;br /&gt;They crack them up no matter how hard are these folks&lt;br /&gt;They're meant to somehow make things fall into place&lt;br /&gt;but instead it makes people get into a craze!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My dreams of big houses and the ocean and ship cruises &lt;br /&gt;They help me forget that I have mental bruises&lt;br /&gt;They take me to a happy place in parellel universes&lt;br /&gt;Where things are just perfect and rhyme like these verses!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6297677918278508139-2837168370779204406?l=rukmani-s.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://rukmani-s.blogspot.com/feeds/2837168370779204406/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6297677918278508139&amp;postID=2837168370779204406' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6297677918278508139/posts/default/2837168370779204406'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6297677918278508139/posts/default/2837168370779204406'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://rukmani-s.blogspot.com/2009/09/few-of-my-everyday-things.html' title='A few of my everyday things'/><author><name>Rukmani</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17770928378533351385</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_mMocZHFk16Y/R491WmFH49I/AAAAAAAAAAM/-30zjM69OXc/S220/olive.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6297677918278508139.post-7075012686545205006</id><published>2009-09-07T10:14:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-09-08T09:39:43.714-07:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='mistrust'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='sorrow'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='reality'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='lost'/><title type='text'>Giving up? Not yet.</title><content type='html'>As the world drowns yet again in sorrow,&lt;br /&gt;even as we try denying it, we know the truth&lt;br /&gt;that it's all going down and it's only going to harrow&lt;br /&gt;what's left of our battered souls. We bear the wrath&lt;br /&gt;of sins from the past, searching for a tomorrow&lt;br /&gt;that will be free from the binds of sloth.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;When happiness becomes a mere illusion&lt;br /&gt;leaving one to wonder if it was ever theirs to lose; &lt;br /&gt;"make" yourself happy, we think - to what end though?&lt;br /&gt;When what you stand for fails, or fails you - trepidation&lt;br /&gt;results, principles and faith we start to peruse,&lt;br /&gt;the outcome of which we may never know. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Isolation by choice ensues. The world gives up on you&lt;br /&gt;because when you give up on the world, on life - &lt;br /&gt;nothing out there is what you want anymore. &lt;br /&gt;It's as bad as this, or worse. If any of what you believed in is true, &lt;br /&gt;you'll know that this is not the end - but is the mind in strife &lt;br /&gt;with reality? Until you know, it's best to get back to what you were before.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6297677918278508139-7075012686545205006?l=rukmani-s.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://rukmani-s.blogspot.com/feeds/7075012686545205006/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6297677918278508139&amp;postID=7075012686545205006' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6297677918278508139/posts/default/7075012686545205006'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6297677918278508139/posts/default/7075012686545205006'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://rukmani-s.blogspot.com/2009/07/as-world-drowns-yet-again-in-sorrow.html' title='Giving up? Not yet.'/><author><name>Rukmani</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17770928378533351385</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_mMocZHFk16Y/R491WmFH49I/AAAAAAAAAAM/-30zjM69OXc/S220/olive.jpg'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6297677918278508139.post-3787497138514301114</id><published>2009-08-26T10:49:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-10-28T09:22:55.119-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Random</title><content type='html'>&lt;div align="justify"&gt;I don't care what you had for dinner. I don't care if your car broke down. I don't want to know how many times you saw that advertisement. It doesn't matter how many times you spoke to a person. It doesn't matter that you don't speak to me. All I'm asking for is this, and it hurts me to think that it's too much to ask of the world. Give me a meaningful conversation, and I'll give you my time.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;P.S - This is not a hint to anybody, I don't even know who I'm talking about. It's just frustrating to know that there are very few people left in the world who can even sustain a meaningful conversation for as long as it deserves.&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/6297677918278508139-3787497138514301114?l=rukmani-s.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://rukmani-s.blogspot.com/feeds/3787497138514301114/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6297677918278508139&amp;postID=3787497138514301114' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6297677918278508139/posts/default/3787497138514301114'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6297677918278508139/posts/default/3787497138514301114'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://rukmani-s.blogspot.com/2009/08/random.html' title='Random'/><author><name>Rukmani</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17770928378533351385</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_mMocZHFk16Y/R491WmFH49I/AAAAAAAAAAM/-30zjM69OXc/S220/olive.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6297677918278508139.post-7464818327104620177</id><published>2009-08-15T13:49:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-08-15T13:53:47.591-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Take me home.</title><content type='html'>Give me a meaningful conversation&lt;br /&gt;one that I'll cherish forever&lt;br /&gt;give me the twinkle in my eyes&lt;br /&gt;that I had as a child&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;give me a lifetime of happiness;&lt;br /&gt;one with no restraints&lt;br /&gt;give me a place in your life&lt;br /&gt;one that i know is mine&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;take me to a place far away&lt;br /&gt;away from mundane life and the miseries&lt;br /&gt;take me by my hand to time not bound&lt;br /&gt;by dimensions, or distance&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;carry me through the darkness&lt;br /&gt;and lead me to the sunrise&lt;br /&gt;I'll close my eyes and follow you&lt;br /&gt;Take me wherever you go,&lt;br /&gt;Oh why don't you take me home?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;P.S - Those looking for genuine poetry need not look here.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6297677918278508139-7464818327104620177?l=rukmani-s.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://rukmani-s.blogspot.com/feeds/7464818327104620177/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6297677918278508139&amp;postID=7464818327104620177' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6297677918278508139/posts/default/7464818327104620177'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6297677918278508139/posts/default/7464818327104620177'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://rukmani-s.blogspot.com/2009/08/take-me-home.html' title='Take me home.'/><author><name>Rukmani</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17770928378533351385</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_mMocZHFk16Y/R491WmFH49I/AAAAAAAAAAM/-30zjM69OXc/S220/olive.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6297677918278508139.post-8497823515800561883</id><published>2009-08-06T22:12:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-10-28T09:23:26.951-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Just another lazy day.</title><content type='html'>&lt;div align="justify"&gt;Cheerful "good morning" greetings, filter kaapi after brushing, THE HINDU ( I swear, it's a relief after reading the crappy Deccan Chronicle I used to get in Hyderabad), mom's suda suda soft idli's for breakfast followed by my all-time favorite fruit salad. Yes, I'm home! It doesn't matter that it's only for two days. I'm in chennai - my place, my area, my city. Hyderabad was lovely and the weather was just right almost all the time. In comparison, this place is humid, and if you go for a walk at 12 noon you'll probably come back with a hole through your head. But it's still my place, and I'm loving it. My beloved chaat-wala will be waiting for me outside Nilgiris, I never let him down when I come to chennai - his pani puri's lure me to his shop almost daily. It's not the best, and it's definitely not as big as the puri's I got at Dadu's, but it's definitely worth the 5 minute walk down to the place. And the best of it all, mom's cooking! I can almost smell the aroma of sweet nimbu rasam and vengaaya vethakozhambu with seppangazhangu fry :) Gawd, I love being here, and that's made me bunk two more exams. So that makes it six, if anybody is keeping count. And it also means I've to attend all six the next two mid-terms. Oh well, who cares, really? I loved the restaraunts and chaat shops in Hyderabad, people around me ensured that each time I went to a different place in a different part of the city. But now I'm going back to the good old Hotel Saravana Bhavan to meet a very unlikely friend. Anybody jealous? Please be. Those who know me will know I deserve this break. Long live Chennai! :)&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/6297677918278508139-8497823515800561883?l=rukmani-s.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://rukmani-s.blogspot.com/feeds/8497823515800561883/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6297677918278508139&amp;postID=8497823515800561883' title='5 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6297677918278508139/posts/default/8497823515800561883'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6297677918278508139/posts/default/8497823515800561883'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://rukmani-s.blogspot.com/2009/08/just-another-lazy-day.html' title='Just another lazy day.'/><author><name>Rukmani</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17770928378533351385</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_mMocZHFk16Y/R491WmFH49I/AAAAAAAAAAM/-30zjM69OXc/S220/olive.jpg'/></author><thr:total>5</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6297677918278508139.post-2844229367927551792</id><published>2009-08-04T10:33:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-08-06T07:48:52.714-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Blank</title><content type='html'>&lt;div align="justify"&gt;Did I actually go to Hyderabad? My blog says so. A few mails in my inbox say I've met new people, photos in my laptop indicate that I've had a lot of fun, but was it all true? Did it actually happen, or was it just a bad dream? I say bad, because it's now over. All good things come to an end they say. Pah. Like they know how good some things are and how it just shouldn't end. They say life isn't fair. That you never get what you want? Then how come I got what I needed the most, though I myself wasn't sure of what I wanted? I don't believe in anything being perfect. Things always go wrong - that's the way it's meant to be, I say. But I think I've to change my opinion because the last two months have proved me wrong. It doesn't matter where I was in my life, it doesn't matter how bad a shape I was in when I went there, all I do know is that sometimes "it" just happens. I refrain from using the word because I don't believe in it, though as a kid I used to desperately hope it was true. Magic. That's the word I use to describe my stay in Hyderabad. Pure, rare, unadulterated magic. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;p align="justify"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;I've been blank ever since I left lab two days back - clutching the NMR book that I got as a gift. It was a 45 minutes drive back to my relative's place, and that's what I was - blank. Throughout the journey. And that night. And the following morning. And on the flight back home. And now, only once I'm home, I'm able to think. It's all still a bit hazy but it's becoming clear now. What I was before I went there, and what I will be now that I'm going back to a place that has sworn to suck all the life out of me. Sigh. I'm going back to college, people. Don't get me wrong, I LOVE hostel life and I love my friends enough to say I'm waiting to see them. But you'll know what I'm talking about only if you're a part of what we are. Sid summed it up in the best possible way when we met. He said something close to this- "These two months made me feel like I was alive. Now we're going back to being zombies. ". That's the way it is, but it's the last year and we've now formed a group, you see. A group of zombies stuck in a place they don't understand - and this group has decided to help each other survive the inevitable proselytization of these pure souls to zombiness. Well, you get my point. If you don't, consider yourslef lucky that you don't belong to the same place that I do. That's that. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;Anyway, this was supposed to be a tribute to my life in Hyderabad, but see what it's become - another bunch of sad lines about THE place. So let's stop it right here, shall we?&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;What did Hyderabad mean to me? Everything.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;Why did I leave? Only because I had to. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;Will I go back again? The minute I get another opportunity. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;What will I do if I go there? Go to lab. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;Oh and I cannot resist the temptation to crack the worsht PJ that just crossed my mind. If I'm blank, I should just subtract myself from all the readings that I get, right? I know you're all staring at the screen saying, eh? Was that a joke or what? No, that's a somewhat scientific joke and people in lab might probably *hi fi* over it. Sigh. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;Call me crazy, that's who I am. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6297677918278508139-2844229367927551792?l=rukmani-s.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://rukmani-s.blogspot.com/feeds/2844229367927551792/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6297677918278508139&amp;postID=2844229367927551792' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6297677918278508139/posts/default/2844229367927551792'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6297677918278508139/posts/default/2844229367927551792'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://rukmani-s.blogspot.com/2009/08/blank.html' title='Blank'/><author><name>Rukmani</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17770928378533351385</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_mMocZHFk16Y/R491WmFH49I/AAAAAAAAAAM/-30zjM69OXc/S220/olive.jpg'/></author><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6297677918278508139.post-6306588234185079366</id><published>2009-07-23T08:57:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-07-23T08:59:04.069-07:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>When the tears come streaming down your face&lt;br /&gt;When you lose something you can't replace&lt;br /&gt;When you love someone but it goes to waste&lt;br /&gt;Could it be worse?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;-Fix you, Coldplay&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6297677918278508139-6306588234185079366?l=rukmani-s.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://rukmani-s.blogspot.com/feeds/6306588234185079366/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6297677918278508139&amp;postID=6306588234185079366' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6297677918278508139/posts/default/6306588234185079366'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6297677918278508139/posts/default/6306588234185079366'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://rukmani-s.blogspot.com/2009/07/when-tears-come-streaming-down-your.html' title=''/><author><name>Rukmani</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17770928378533351385</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_mMocZHFk16Y/R491WmFH49I/AAAAAAAAAAM/-30zjM69OXc/S220/olive.jpg'/></author><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6297677918278508139.post-8748699542670283486</id><published>2009-07-12T11:24:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-07-12T11:28:57.722-07:00</updated><title type='text'>The Hyderabad chapter 2</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;Work&lt;/span&gt;     : A well defined dream- hazy at times, but becoming clearer by the day.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;Fun      &lt;/span&gt;: A part of life. And work. Which makes it more fun.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;Labmates&lt;/span&gt; : Exceptional - Much more than what I expected.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;Climate&lt;/span&gt;  : Romantic.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;Romance&lt;/span&gt;  : Non-existent, so don't raise your eyebrows. Not yet.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;Passion&lt;/span&gt;  : Newly discovered,mind you. Bikes.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;Addiction&lt;/span&gt;: Caffiene. Cheese. Loads of it :)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;Song     &lt;/span&gt;: Iris.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;Movie(s)&lt;/span&gt; : Before sunrise, Before sunset.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;Food&lt;/span&gt;     : Cadbury's temptations - Rum and raisins :)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;Mood&lt;/span&gt;     : Strawberry swing. Swinging wildly as ever.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;Life&lt;/span&gt;     : work.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;What I want &lt;/span&gt;: A long bike ride in the rain.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;What I get&lt;/span&gt;  : A day-long baby sitting session. Two kids, all the more fun. No complaints :)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;What I miss &lt;/span&gt;: Quality time with family. Beex.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;Wishlist&lt;/span&gt;    : An extention of stay in CCMB. Or rephrasing it, anything to keep me away from college. Anybody who can get me that will be promptly rewarded.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;Biggest worry&lt;/span&gt;: Getting back to college.&lt;br /&gt;Looking forward to : My last few weeks in CCMB. Meeting my friends when I get back to hostel. Why can't I go to hostel without going to college? WHY? :|&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;Overall rating&lt;/span&gt; : An all time high. 8 on 10. :)&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6297677918278508139-8748699542670283486?l=rukmani-s.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://rukmani-s.blogspot.com/feeds/8748699542670283486/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6297677918278508139&amp;postID=8748699542670283486' title='6 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6297677918278508139/posts/default/8748699542670283486'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6297677918278508139/posts/default/8748699542670283486'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://rukmani-s.blogspot.com/2009/07/hyderabad-chapter-2.html' title='The Hyderabad chapter 2'/><author><name>Rukmani</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17770928378533351385</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_mMocZHFk16Y/R491WmFH49I/AAAAAAAAAAM/-30zjM69OXc/S220/olive.jpg'/></author><thr:total>6</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6297677918278508139.post-5116831721306743914</id><published>2009-07-10T11:22:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-07-17T08:59:31.385-07:00</updated><title type='text'>The one?</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-family: verdana;font-family:times new roman;" &gt;You are the one I want to be with&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: verdana;font-family:times new roman;" &gt;When I'm feeling low or high&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: verdana;font-family:times new roman;" &gt;You are the one I want to hold onto&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: verdana;font-family:times new roman;" &gt;When I feel the need to fly&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: verdana;font-family:times new roman;" &gt;You are the only one I can talk to&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: verdana;font-family:times new roman;" &gt;with no restraints, with you I'm me&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: verdana;font-family:times new roman;" &gt;You make me happy with a hint of a smile&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: verdana;font-family:times new roman;" &gt;You make me want to be free&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: verdana;font-family:times new roman;" &gt;I want to protect you&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: verdana;font-family:times new roman;" &gt;from the evils in the world&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: verdana;font-family:times new roman;" &gt;Your face, so calm and serene&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: verdana;font-family:times new roman;" &gt;a sight that is now seldom seen&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: verdana;font-family:times new roman;" &gt;So pure is your heart&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: verdana;font-family:times new roman;" &gt;untouched by the woes of hurt&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: verdana;font-family:times new roman;" &gt;I want to hold you close and tell you&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: verdana;font-family:times new roman;" &gt;that like you, there are very few&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: verdana;font-family:times new roman;" &gt;No complications,no twisted words&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: verdana;font-family:times new roman;" &gt;with inner meaning, no lies.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: verdana;font-family:times new roman;" &gt;So simple life seems with you&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: verdana;font-family:times new roman;" &gt;When you're around time flies. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: verdana;font-family:times new roman;" &gt;What makes you the only one&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: verdana;font-family:times new roman;" &gt;who knows how to make me laugh?&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: verdana;font-family:times new roman;" &gt;Who will make me face life again&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: verdana;font-family:times new roman;" &gt;If not for you? I ask.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: verdana;font-family:times new roman;" &gt;Your careless gesture&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: verdana;font-family:times new roman;" &gt;A cry for affection&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: verdana;font-family:times new roman;" &gt;Your tiny little fingers&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: verdana;font-family:times new roman;" &gt;Holding on, not letting go. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: verdana;font-family:times new roman;" &gt;What more do I want?&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: verdana;font-family:times new roman;" &gt;Just this. For you to know, &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: verdana;font-family:times new roman;" &gt;that &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: verdana;font-family:times new roman;" &gt;I love you more than I can show. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: verdana;font-family:times new roman;" &gt;Dedicated to my brother's 2 year old son. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6297677918278508139-5116831721306743914?l=rukmani-s.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://rukmani-s.blogspot.com/feeds/5116831721306743914/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6297677918278508139&amp;postID=5116831721306743914' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6297677918278508139/posts/default/5116831721306743914'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6297677918278508139/posts/default/5116831721306743914'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://rukmani-s.blogspot.com/2009/07/one.html' title='The one?'/><author><name>Rukmani</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17770928378533351385</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_mMocZHFk16Y/R491WmFH49I/AAAAAAAAAAM/-30zjM69OXc/S220/olive.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6297677918278508139.post-198214468152050660</id><published>2009-07-07T09:24:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-07-07T09:26:20.865-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Yet another sad set of lines. Sigh. This should stop</title><content type='html'>Life thrown away&lt;br /&gt;a world that refuses to show the way&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Tears held back&lt;br /&gt;how many times? can't keep track&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Jokes to avoid reality&lt;br /&gt;while wallowing in self pity&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Music hurts&lt;br /&gt;ideas get blurred&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;A smile to a friend&lt;br /&gt;it's so easy to pretend&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Mind-%$#^ed&lt;br /&gt;and running out of luck&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;A happy song&lt;br /&gt;a need to belong&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Days pass by&lt;br /&gt;seems like years, don't know why&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;A phone conversation&lt;br /&gt;solace,mind on vacation&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;A long bike ride&lt;br /&gt;just the wind,nothing to hide&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The rain on my face&lt;br /&gt;thoughts can you erase?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;legs itching to dance&lt;br /&gt;but mind still in a trance&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;An empty stare&lt;br /&gt;all beyond repair?&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6297677918278508139-198214468152050660?l=rukmani-s.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://rukmani-s.blogspot.com/feeds/198214468152050660/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6297677918278508139&amp;postID=198214468152050660' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6297677918278508139/posts/default/198214468152050660'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6297677918278508139/posts/default/198214468152050660'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://rukmani-s.blogspot.com/2009/07/yet-another-sad-set-of-lines-sigh-this.html' title='Yet another sad set of lines. Sigh. This should stop'/><author><name>Rukmani</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17770928378533351385</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_mMocZHFk16Y/R491WmFH49I/AAAAAAAAAAM/-30zjM69OXc/S220/olive.jpg'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6297677918278508139.post-3882823312659777227</id><published>2009-06-07T06:17:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-06-07T07:46:13.463-07:00</updated><title type='text'>The Hyderabad chapter 1</title><content type='html'>&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;I landed in hyderabad a couple of days back, and I took a flight after a really really long time, and to make it short, it was an exhilarating experience. For the first time, I could actually feel the change in pressure in my ears and appreciate the beauty of the Eustachian tube. Anyway, I started work the next day. Not WORK work, but those who know me will know that, so yeah, I like calling it work, cuz I'm paid for it! :) The whole environment is so serene and sanctimonious. Everybody's religion seems to be the result they're waiting for, the excitement in waiting to find out if what they theorized was true. And for someone for whom practical experience has been questionable till now, just seeing all those labs and people actually doing some important work is an experience by itself. That's pretty much what I've been doing the two days I was at work. Reading, learning, clearing doubts with knowledgable people, people whom I thought would be at a level where they wouldn't tolerate stupid questions from someone like me. It's amazing, the way everybody gels in a lab as big as the one I'm in. I actually went for lunch with two senior scientists and one junior scientist on my first day. I still can't believe how casual the whole thing was. Well, I now lunch with a different group, but the first day experience is something that's still not sunk in, and one I'll cherish for a long long time. The PhD and postdoc students are very friendly, all ready to help me out whenever they get the time. It's been amazing so far, and I hope it remains like this throughout. I don't know if I'm going to be doing what they're doing now in a few years, but I do know that these two months will probably help me decide. probably. sigh. Well, drastic mood change. So that's it for this post!&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6297677918278508139-3882823312659777227?l=rukmani-s.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://rukmani-s.blogspot.com/feeds/3882823312659777227/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6297677918278508139&amp;postID=3882823312659777227' title='4 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6297677918278508139/posts/default/3882823312659777227'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6297677918278508139/posts/default/3882823312659777227'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://rukmani-s.blogspot.com/2009/06/hyderabad-chapter-1.html' title='The Hyderabad chapter 1'/><author><name>Rukmani</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17770928378533351385</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_mMocZHFk16Y/R491WmFH49I/AAAAAAAAAAM/-30zjM69OXc/S220/olive.jpg'/></author><thr:total>4</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6297677918278508139.post-4236093595423455246</id><published>2009-05-15T08:17:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-05-15T08:29:19.764-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Iris and Irony</title><content type='html'>And I'd give up forever to touch you&lt;br /&gt;Cause i know that you feel me somehow&lt;br /&gt;You're the closest to heaven that I'll ever be&lt;br /&gt;And I don't want to go home right now&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And all I can taste is this moment&lt;br /&gt;And all I can breathe is your life&lt;br /&gt;Cause sooner or later it's over&lt;br /&gt;I just don't want to miss you tonight&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And I dont want the world to see me&lt;br /&gt;Cause I don't think that they'd understand&lt;br /&gt;When everything's made to be broken&lt;br /&gt;I just want you to know who I am&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And you cannot fight the tears that ain't coming&lt;br /&gt;Or the moment of truth in your lies&lt;br /&gt;When everything feels like the movies&lt;br /&gt;Yeah you bleed just to know you're alive&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And I dont want the world to see me&lt;br /&gt;Cause I don't think that they'd understand&lt;br /&gt;When everything's made to be broken&lt;br /&gt;I just want you to know who I am&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And I dont want the world to see me&lt;br /&gt;Cause I don't think that they'd understand&lt;br /&gt;When everything's made to be broken&lt;br /&gt;I just want you to know who I am&lt;br /&gt;I just want you to know who I am&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6297677918278508139-4236093595423455246?l=rukmani-s.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://rukmani-s.blogspot.com/feeds/4236093595423455246/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6297677918278508139&amp;postID=4236093595423455246' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6297677918278508139/posts/default/4236093595423455246'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6297677918278508139/posts/default/4236093595423455246'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://rukmani-s.blogspot.com/2009/05/iris-and-irony.html' title='Iris and Irony'/><author><name>Rukmani</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17770928378533351385</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_mMocZHFk16Y/R491WmFH49I/AAAAAAAAAAM/-30zjM69OXc/S220/olive.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6297677918278508139.post-7046463509857928535</id><published>2009-04-14T09:52:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-04-14T10:13:29.107-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Catharsis</title><content type='html'>Knowingly or unknowingly, a very unlikely person made me happy today. I rediscovered my ability to put mokka. To talk freely without any restrictions. To say lol and actually laugh out loud. Thought it got buried in all the emotional and psychological turmoil. If you ever read this, thank you. You know who you are. Or you might not. But i still think it's appropriate for me to thank you. You don't know how much it meant to me.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6297677918278508139-7046463509857928535?l=rukmani-s.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://rukmani-s.blogspot.com/feeds/7046463509857928535/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6297677918278508139&amp;postID=7046463509857928535' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6297677918278508139/posts/default/7046463509857928535'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6297677918278508139/posts/default/7046463509857928535'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://rukmani-s.blogspot.com/2009/04/catharsis.html' title='Catharsis'/><author><name>Rukmani</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17770928378533351385</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_mMocZHFk16Y/R491WmFH49I/AAAAAAAAAAM/-30zjM69OXc/S220/olive.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6297677918278508139.post-2237052786081741206</id><published>2009-04-13T23:40:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-04-14T00:30:06.793-07:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='house'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='redemption'/><title type='text'>Random</title><content type='html'>&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_mMocZHFk16Y/SeQ63KblL-I/AAAAAAAAACE/4EXAhJFeqT4/s1600-h/house5.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 280px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_mMocZHFk16Y/SeQ63KblL-I/AAAAAAAAACE/4EXAhJFeqT4/s400/house5.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5324445378826022882" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;In my life I don't mean much to anyone. I've lost my way cant go back anymore.Once I had everything now it's gone. Don't tell me again coz I've heard it all before. Some people say that I'm not worth it. I've made mistakes but nobody's perfect. Guess I'll give it a try. I've got one last chance to get myself together. I can't lose no more time, it's now or never and I'll try to remember who I used to be. I've got one last chance to get myself together and the time has come for me to change again. I can't carry on like this, I will lose my friends. Don't say that you've given up on me. Just give me the time and space to heal my head. I don't want to be misunderstood. Ive got to take this chance and take it into something good.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6297677918278508139-2237052786081741206?l=rukmani-s.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://rukmani-s.blogspot.com/feeds/2237052786081741206/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6297677918278508139&amp;postID=2237052786081741206' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6297677918278508139/posts/default/2237052786081741206'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6297677918278508139/posts/default/2237052786081741206'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://rukmani-s.blogspot.com/2009/04/random_13.html' title='Random'/><author><name>Rukmani</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17770928378533351385</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_mMocZHFk16Y/R491WmFH49I/AAAAAAAAAAM/-30zjM69OXc/S220/olive.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_mMocZHFk16Y/SeQ63KblL-I/AAAAAAAAACE/4EXAhJFeqT4/s72-c/house5.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6297677918278508139.post-7463562732690420618</id><published>2009-04-09T22:44:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-04-09T23:00:10.921-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Random</title><content type='html'>&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;It's summer. A time when I feel like living on buttermilk and watermelons. I do, most of the time.For the past two days, though, the clouds have slowly formed. It's getting darker, and I know that it's raining somewhere close because the smell of wet mud stimulates my senses.  That was two days back. Now the clouds have become darker than ever, you can almost reach up to the skies and scoop some of it and have it for dessert. They are moving, and the momentum is building up. As I finish lab and enter my classroom, the clouds burst with such a great force that one understands the beauty of nature, how the clouds accumulate water - similar to how we conceal our emotions till we can take it no more. Sigh, it's raining finally. The relief from the scorching heat is so great that I have been magically transported to a happy place. As I settle in my seat, sleep slowly creeps in and I start dreaming. A simple dream. No expectations. No worries. No doubts. No fear and definitely no sadness. A bay window, the rain, a cup of hot chocolate, and Iris in the background.  Bliss.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6297677918278508139-7463562732690420618?l=rukmani-s.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://rukmani-s.blogspot.com/feeds/7463562732690420618/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6297677918278508139&amp;postID=7463562732690420618' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6297677918278508139/posts/default/7463562732690420618'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6297677918278508139/posts/default/7463562732690420618'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://rukmani-s.blogspot.com/2009/04/random.html' title='Random'/><author><name>Rukmani</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17770928378533351385</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_mMocZHFk16Y/R491WmFH49I/AAAAAAAAAAM/-30zjM69OXc/S220/olive.jpg'/></author><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6297677918278508139.post-4316212796257542920</id><published>2009-04-06T21:56:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-04-12T06:30:02.170-07:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='fear'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='love'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='frustration'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='lost'/><title type='text'>The Grim Weeper</title><content type='html'>The throes of lost love cleaving to her heart&lt;br /&gt;Vivid memories,now a mere vestige of the past&lt;br /&gt;The butterflies and verdant meadows&lt;br /&gt;not appreciated for their beauty, shadowed.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The evanescent peace in sleep she finds is ruined by a nightmare,&lt;br /&gt;Tears glisten in her eyes, she knows life's beyond repair. `&lt;br /&gt;She's got work to do, she desperately tries&lt;br /&gt;but vagrant thoughts besiege her, she cries.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;She fakes happiness, her visage belies her true feelings&lt;br /&gt;She lives only for the world, forgets she's a human being&lt;br /&gt;Numbness overcomes her with an unbridled force&lt;br /&gt;She doesn't know where to turn, there's no recourse.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Does she have a choice? She comes to terms with reality&lt;br /&gt;She doesn't learn to move on, but she no longer believes in serendipity.&lt;br /&gt;She settles into monotony, life has lost the need for answers.`&lt;br /&gt;Her art, her dance,her life, her love -These things just don't matter.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;She knows she's strong enough to pull through this&lt;br /&gt;but does she want to try? For once she's remiss.&lt;br /&gt;She craves for the comfort in laughter, in tears&lt;br /&gt;that she once shared with someone who allayed her fears&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Someone she trusted to stay by her side, carry her&lt;br /&gt;through the darkest of times to a life together;&lt;br /&gt;How wrong she was! misled by her own illusions&lt;br /&gt;believing not, in life's evil collusions.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;She must rise, and she will&lt;br /&gt;for the next hit will be harder still&lt;br /&gt;Even if she denies it, she'll slowly regain&lt;br /&gt;her love for life- after all,it's familiar terrain.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;She may now seem like a grim weeper&lt;br /&gt;but how true! Time is the real healer&lt;br /&gt;She'll soon enough beat the pheonix,&lt;br /&gt;for there are many more problems to fix!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6297677918278508139-4316212796257542920?l=rukmani-s.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://rukmani-s.blogspot.com/feeds/4316212796257542920/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6297677918278508139&amp;postID=4316212796257542920' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6297677918278508139/posts/default/4316212796257542920'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6297677918278508139/posts/default/4316212796257542920'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://rukmani-s.blogspot.com/2009/04/grim-weeper.html' title='The Grim Weeper'/><author><name>Rukmani</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17770928378533351385</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_mMocZHFk16Y/R491WmFH49I/AAAAAAAAAAM/-30zjM69OXc/S220/olive.jpg'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6297677918278508139.post-4959546320884247239</id><published>2009-02-28T10:34:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2009-03-01T21:15:01.964-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Half empty??</title><content type='html'>When mistaken truths are taken for reality&lt;br /&gt;When shadows of the past crave for clarity&lt;br /&gt;when happiness is lost but not missed&lt;br /&gt;When we feel the need to be kissed&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;When tears of joy are shed with hesitation&lt;br /&gt;When death prevails over hopes of salvation&lt;br /&gt;When the sound of music is lost in commotion&lt;br /&gt;and the dance of the rain is mere precipitation&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;When the skies fall down and distance doesn't matter;&lt;br /&gt;when the virtuoso takes his turn to falter.&lt;br /&gt;When the sere flower is waiting to unfurl&lt;br /&gt;but despair is out to rule the world&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;When identities are effaced&lt;br /&gt;and the concept of hope, misplaced&lt;br /&gt;When the hero of the hour is craven&lt;br /&gt;though all we need now is one who is braver&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;This life deserves more than this&lt;br /&gt;not trust lost and verity amiss&lt;br /&gt;It's all just perception in the end&lt;br /&gt;Is it easier to run or to pretend?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Though life has reached the lowest low&lt;br /&gt;There's hope. The worst is over and truth begins to show&lt;br /&gt;The grass is still green, the baby still cute&lt;br /&gt;and if we try hard enough there is pleasure we can't refute.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;for all we can say is that the glass is half empty&lt;br /&gt;But taking a closer look we see how pretty&lt;br /&gt;the world looks with rose tinted spectacles&lt;br /&gt;and we realize that the glass is half full after all.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;P.S- For those of you who recognize this poem, no. This is not plagiarism. Contact me personally (this only applies to people who know me, not some random by-passer,though i do appreciate the fact that you visited my blog! ) for further details.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6297677918278508139-4959546320884247239?l=rukmani-s.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://rukmani-s.blogspot.com/feeds/4959546320884247239/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6297677918278508139&amp;postID=4959546320884247239' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6297677918278508139/posts/default/4959546320884247239'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6297677918278508139/posts/default/4959546320884247239'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://rukmani-s.blogspot.com/2009/02/half-empty.html' title='Half empty??'/><author><name>Rukmani</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17770928378533351385</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_mMocZHFk16Y/R491WmFH49I/AAAAAAAAAAM/-30zjM69OXc/S220/olive.jpg'/></author><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6297677918278508139.post-1885168723187807468</id><published>2009-02-22T21:10:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2009-02-22T21:51:41.636-08:00</updated><title type='text'>The bias towards anguish</title><content type='html'>When glimpses of the past threatens with a snigger,&lt;br /&gt;I can see the gruesome hand wagging it's menacing finger&lt;br /&gt;trying to warn me about an imminent future&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Immured by the walls closing in-by life,&lt;br /&gt;I stand here with what's left of hope.&lt;br /&gt;though life hits rock-bottom,&lt;br /&gt;and a pressing urge to succumb to despair prevails,&lt;br /&gt;tomorrow is yet to come&lt;br /&gt;and there lies a future that is brighter.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But what if all else fails?&lt;br /&gt;The nagging question with no answer.&lt;br /&gt;I let down all my defenses and hope.&lt;br /&gt;Living under the pretense of happiness&lt;br /&gt;Smiling to the world, for the world.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;One day i hope,&lt;br /&gt;someone learns the answer&lt;br /&gt;I have searched for in vain.&lt;br /&gt;With this hope i live,&lt;br /&gt;hoping for a better tomorrow.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6297677918278508139-1885168723187807468?l=rukmani-s.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://rukmani-s.blogspot.com/feeds/1885168723187807468/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6297677918278508139&amp;postID=1885168723187807468' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6297677918278508139/posts/default/1885168723187807468'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6297677918278508139/posts/default/1885168723187807468'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://rukmani-s.blogspot.com/2009/02/bias-towards-anguish.html' title='The bias towards anguish'/><author><name>Rukmani</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17770928378533351385</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_mMocZHFk16Y/R491WmFH49I/AAAAAAAAAAM/-30zjM69OXc/S220/olive.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6297677918278508139.post-8022825790417289461</id><published>2009-01-18T09:41:00.001-08:00</published><updated>2009-01-18T09:50:16.761-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Need</title><content type='html'>I want some peace,&lt;br /&gt;laughter with ease;&lt;br /&gt;I want happiness to flow&lt;br /&gt;and our inner souls to glow&lt;br /&gt;I want a new day, a new beginning&lt;br /&gt;one free from worries,without pain&lt;br /&gt;some time when the tears flow freely without restraints&lt;br /&gt;when shadows don't haunt us&lt;br /&gt;when normality is back&lt;br /&gt;when things aren't crazy as they seem to be.&lt;br /&gt;I want a life&lt;br /&gt;where things are certain&lt;br /&gt;where uncertainty cannot slowly destroy meaning.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6297677918278508139-8022825790417289461?l=rukmani-s.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://rukmani-s.blogspot.com/feeds/8022825790417289461/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6297677918278508139&amp;postID=8022825790417289461' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6297677918278508139/posts/default/8022825790417289461'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6297677918278508139/posts/default/8022825790417289461'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://rukmani-s.blogspot.com/2009/01/need.html' title='Need'/><author><name>Rukmani</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17770928378533351385</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_mMocZHFk16Y/R491WmFH49I/AAAAAAAAAAM/-30zjM69OXc/S220/olive.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6297677918278508139.post-3033787615568681994</id><published>2009-01-17T04:23:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2009-01-18T03:25:50.099-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Reminiscences</title><content type='html'>Gone are the days when conversations were easy. When careless whispers meant the world to me. When nothing was misconstrued, when words didn't carry an inner meaning. I miss the times when life was simple. When everything was laid out in front of me, when choices were not mine. I like the independence, yes. But i also miss the comfort of my mother's reassurances, my father's thoughtful rebuke, my brother's constant support. I miss the sweet innocence, the times when i thought there could be nothing worse than losing my slam book to my English teacher. I miss nush, gansa and shame. I miss all the secret codes and the innocuous banter. I miss the idea of jane, tuber and npwala. I miss the big crushes and obti and archie. I miss getting screamed at for not controlling my fringe from falling on my face. I miss those days of green skirts and white shirts, peeping into classes where girls wore 'salwars' and boys wore 'pants', trying to figure out what was written on the blackboard, wondering if we would ever grow up to understand all the 'trigonometry equations' and 'integration'. I miss the fights between boys and girls, the daily rush for break boxes. I miss paatu class. The days I spent singing love songs about baby krishna and blushing at having understood the meaning and trying to conceal my newly found knowledge cuz I always felt I was too young to actually know.  The times I felt so proud at having identified a raaga on my own. The times I tried singing an alaap and getting appreciated for it. The rare occasions during which it rained immediately after I sang &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;amruthavarshini, &lt;/span&gt;making me think that however ridiculous it sounded, it was raining because of me.&lt;br /&gt;          I miss the nights I spent crying because I didn't do well in a test. I miss sneaking out of class and buying samosas for friends. I miss the daily treats. Special samosa. I miss PT classes, throwball,volleyball and basketball. I miss trying to maintain a rally with volleyball sir and VK. I miss seeing the guys perform during adzap. I miss all the culturals we participated in, winning some, cribbing about how unfair it was to lose some. I remember the innumerable practice sessions. I miss the first time I felt proud, when I coached a junior dance team for intra school culturals and they won despite technical difficulties.&lt;br /&gt;        I cannot forget the excursions. The pain I went through on our way to Hyderabad. The support I got from my friends that made me understand who really stays with you till the end. The fight I had with gansa and lacku in Trivandrum over what now seems like such a petty issue. The dances, the songs, the fun. I remember everything now. I know I can't go back in time. So why am i thinking?&lt;br /&gt;       I miss the innocence in first year. Getting introduced to new people. Without knowing it, meeting the three people who would be friends forever. Who would stand by me through thick and thin. I miss those days we sat in the lawn, how we always had serious stuff to talk about only before midsems. Those nights we spent gazing at the stars. Those nights we ran away from the warden's room. Those days when we tried talking about ghost stories. Those days when we were there for each other. Those days when we fought over how many panneers each of us got.&lt;br /&gt;     I miss going to the canteen. It doesn't feel the same nowadays, I'm a visitor. A guest. Earlier it used to be my second hostel. I no longer go to meet people. Now it's just another place where I get better food than the mess. It doesn't have a special significance anymore. I miss clubs. I miss dumb-c throughout the night.&lt;br /&gt;     Life is good. I am happy with what I have now. Fe, soup, var, pri and rags, nush, gansa, shame.  They're all still there. And I think they will be. But something is missing. Guess what?&lt;br /&gt;*some text missing* :P (check out your nokia phones for more details)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;-I think this is the worst way to end a serious post. But what to do? Those who know me would have expected this. And those who don't. I don't care.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6297677918278508139-3033787615568681994?l=rukmani-s.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://rukmani-s.blogspot.com/feeds/3033787615568681994/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6297677918278508139&amp;postID=3033787615568681994' title='6 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6297677918278508139/posts/default/3033787615568681994'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6297677918278508139/posts/default/3033787615568681994'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://rukmani-s.blogspot.com/2009/01/some-text-missing.html' title='Reminiscences'/><author><name>Rukmani</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17770928378533351385</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_mMocZHFk16Y/R491WmFH49I/AAAAAAAAAAM/-30zjM69OXc/S220/olive.jpg'/></author><thr:total>6</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6297677918278508139.post-3361769528914070373</id><published>2009-01-17T02:22:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2009-01-17T07:01:23.365-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Jaded</title><content type='html'>&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;Very tired, I decided to indulge in a short siesta, though I haven’t started preparing for my exams starting Monday. I draw the curtains, clear my bed and lie down, knowing I’ll be asleep in a few minutes. Though I’m exhausted, I’m not able to sleep. Instead, I stare at the ceiling and observe the sun’s rays struggling to make it‘s way into my room, trying to thwart my sleep. But no, I say to myself. I’m so tired that some sunlight won’t matter. I close my eyes, and go to my happy place.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;Thud Thud.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I can hear my phone vibrating on my table. I wish I’d switched it off, but there’s nothing I could do now. I hastily reach for it with my lower half clinging to the bed and my upper half dangling from it. I press some button, and it stops. Peace again. Then &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;clunk&lt;/span&gt;. Phone splits and the already battered battery takes another beating. It at least won’t vibrate again methinks, and I happily tuck myself in again.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;Thud Thud.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Now is probably the time to tell you about the noisy people I have for neighbors. And I’m not living in a soundproof house, rather a room that’s barely the size of your bathroom. ‘Vaishnavi(V)! Can I borrow your PC notes?’ screams Aswini(A). Names don’t matter, because these people don’t matter anyway. But again, to complete the story, V screams back. ‘Inga vaa. I have it here’. And so I think it’s over, but how naïve of me to think that. They’re not done yet. A walks out of her room, slams her door, bangs on V’s door. V says ‘It’s open de’. A pushes the door so hard it hits the wall and I’m hoping it rebounded and hit her face. But as luck has it,no, she’s fine. And like any other two girls who have an exam in two days, they start chattering. Mind you, I can hear EVERY single word they utter. I didn’t want to eavesdrop, so I tried concentrating on things on my table. I finally get accustomed to all the jabbering, and despite the noise, I’m starting to fall asleep. I close my eyes and bang. I’m guessing A left V’s room, thereby repeating the same banging and slamming. Now I realize I have only half an hour to go before my alarm rings. THEN it struck me that my phone is dead on the floor and my alarm isn’t going to ring until I fix it. I reluctantly get up, fix my phone, reset the alarm, and get back into my comforter.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;Thud Thud.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I can hear fe’s chappals. And I know she’s not loud. So I theorize that I’m trying to spoil my sleep by listening to otherwise normal sounds. But I can’t ignore this. I hear her walk all the way to the common bathroom. To my surprise, I’m actually thinking if she’s going for a bath or to wash clothes. Then I think I can ask her to wake me up if my phone fails me and reach for my phone to send her a message. Bang. Phone falls down again. Sigh. I decide I’ve had enough and close my eyes yet again, not bothered about when I get up. All I want now is some sleep. But wait. I hear fe coming back. 70 steps. I counted.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;Thud Thud.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;All the way from ground floor, I can hear them clearing the mess. The plates are clumsily clanked together, the curd cups are poured into a bigger container. I can hear it, as I long for some sleep. Cleaning up the mess is by no means a long process, so this eats into most of the time I have left.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;Thud Thud&lt;/span&gt;.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;That dreaded knock on my door. At first I choose to ignore it, but it gets louder and louder and I’m losing my patience. I get up in one swift motion, and yank the door open.&lt;br /&gt;Person: Sorry to disturb you. Were you sleeping?&lt;br /&gt;Me: Uh huh. Tell me. What’s up?&lt;br /&gt;P: I wanted to know about the daksh blah blah…..&lt;br /&gt;M:*regrets volunteering for daksh*. More blah blah.&lt;br /&gt;P:Thanks and sorry to disturb once again.&lt;br /&gt;M:*Smiles and before thinking, says* No problem. Come if you have any more doubts.&lt;br /&gt;*closes door.shudders*.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Now I decide to stop trying. Everyone has their threshold. I reached mine. I woke up in such an irritated mood that I wanted to break somebody’s head. Maybe mine. Or maybe my ears for picking on every single sound.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;Thud Thud&lt;/span&gt;. My heart is beating louder than ever. I can hear it. I could, all the while when I was trying to sleep. I sit up and wonder. Two years back I used to sleep like a baby, without a care in the world, without anything disturbing me. I wish I could go back to that time when it didn’t matter if my dad was watching some action movie in the same room that I slept. I’m tired. More tired than I was when I wanted to sleep.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'm jaded.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;P.S- No offense to A or V or P. You are nice people.&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/6297677918278508139-3361769528914070373?l=rukmani-s.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://rukmani-s.blogspot.com/feeds/3361769528914070373/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6297677918278508139&amp;postID=3361769528914070373' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6297677918278508139/posts/default/3361769528914070373'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6297677918278508139/posts/default/3361769528914070373'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://rukmani-s.blogspot.com/2009/01/jaded.html' title='Jaded'/><author><name>Rukmani</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17770928378533351385</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_mMocZHFk16Y/R491WmFH49I/AAAAAAAAAAM/-30zjM69OXc/S220/olive.jpg'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6297677918278508139.post-4209182220793515694</id><published>2009-01-11T08:19:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2009-01-11T08:32:10.351-08:00</updated><title type='text'>If.</title><content type='html'>Uncertainty rules the world. And I don't like it. The uncertainty. Not the world.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6297677918278508139-4209182220793515694?l=rukmani-s.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://rukmani-s.blogspot.com/feeds/4209182220793515694/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6297677918278508139&amp;postID=4209182220793515694' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6297677918278508139/posts/default/4209182220793515694'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6297677918278508139/posts/default/4209182220793515694'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://rukmani-s.blogspot.com/2009/01/if.html' title='If.'/><author><name>Rukmani</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17770928378533351385</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_mMocZHFk16Y/R491WmFH49I/AAAAAAAAAAM/-30zjM69OXc/S220/olive.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6297677918278508139.post-6293179112358235818</id><published>2009-01-06T05:25:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2009-01-06T05:37:29.752-08:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>"And when your fear subsides&lt;br /&gt;and shadows still remain&lt;br /&gt;I know that you can love me&lt;br /&gt;when there's no one left to blame&lt;br /&gt;So never mind the darkness&lt;br /&gt;We still can find a way&lt;br /&gt;'cause nothing lasts forever&lt;br /&gt;Even cold November rain"&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6297677918278508139-6293179112358235818?l=rukmani-s.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://rukmani-s.blogspot.com/feeds/6293179112358235818/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6297677918278508139&amp;postID=6293179112358235818' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6297677918278508139/posts/default/6293179112358235818'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6297677918278508139/posts/default/6293179112358235818'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://rukmani-s.blogspot.com/2009/01/and-when-your-fear-subsides-and-shadows.html' title=''/><author><name>Rukmani</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17770928378533351385</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_mMocZHFk16Y/R491WmFH49I/AAAAAAAAAAM/-30zjM69OXc/S220/olive.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6297677918278508139.post-1097635834733954402</id><published>2008-11-21T07:45:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2008-11-21T09:08:53.896-08:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='life'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='lost'/><title type='text'>lost</title><content type='html'>&lt;style&gt; &lt;!--  /* Font Definitions */  @font-face  {font-family:"Cambria Math";  panose-1:2 4 5 3 5 4 6 3 2 4;  mso-font-charset:1;  mso-generic-font-family:roman;  mso-font-format:other;  mso-font-pitch:variable;  mso-font-signature:0 0 0 0 0 0;}  /* Style Definitions */  p.MsoNormal, li.MsoNormal, div.MsoNormal  {mso-style-unhide:no;  mso-style-qformat:yes;  mso-style-parent:"";  margin:0in;  margin-bottom:.0001pt;  mso-pagination:none;  mso-layout-grid-align:none;  punctuation-wrap:simple;  text-autospace:none;  font-size:10.0pt;  font-family:"Times New Roman","serif";  mso-fareast-font-family:"Times New Roman";  mso-fareast-theme-font:minor-fareast;  mso-font-kerning:14.0pt;} .MsoChpDefault  {mso-style-type:export-only;  mso-default-props:yes;  mso-ascii-font-family:Calibri;  mso-ascii-theme-font:minor-latin;  mso-fareast-font-family:"Times New Roman";  mso-fareast-theme-font:minor-fareast;  mso-hansi-font-family:Calibri;  mso-hansi-theme-font:minor-latin;  mso-bidi-font-family:"Times New Roman"; 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           &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:100%;"&gt;We had just finished writing an exam on algorithms and data structures. Somehow shwe and I got to talking about NUS during the one and a half hour break we got before our next paper, PERL. That’s when I realized for the first time that my life wasn’t the way I wanted it to be. I looked at the first question in the previous question paper again. “What is an algorithm? What is it used for”? That’s when I understood what it felt like to be answering questions meant for a 5&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;sup&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:100%;"&gt;th&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/sup&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:100%;"&gt; grader.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style=""&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:100%;"&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:100%;"&gt;I ended up bunking the next exam, because I was too depressed to live my life then. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:100%;"&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;p  style="font-family: arial;font-family:times new roman;" class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:100%;"&gt; &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:100%;"&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;p  style="font-family: arial;font-family:times new roman;" class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:100%;"&gt; &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:100%;"&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;p  style="font-family: arial;font-family:times new roman;" class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:100%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:100%;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p  style="font-family: arial;font-family:times new roman;" class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:100%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:100%;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p  style="font-family: arial;font-family:times new roman;" class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:100%;"&gt;Scenario 2: 5&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;sup&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:100%;"&gt;th&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/sup&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:100%;"&gt; sem, end semester. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:100%;"&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;p  style="font-family: arial;font-family:times new roman;" class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span style=""&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:100%;"&gt;            &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:100%;"&gt;This time it was artificial neural networks. But this was a slightly different situation. The paper was tough, no doubt about it. The teacher didn’t know anything, so she hardly took class. No material to study from, no proper guidance. No nothing. The list goes on. This is what I’ve been hearing ever since I came out of the hall, clutching the question paper with both hands, not knowing any of the answers. It’s not about not doing well. It’s not about the mark or the grade or my rank in class. It never was. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:100%;"&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;p  style="font-family: arial;font-family:times new roman;" class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:100%;"&gt; &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:100%;"&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;p  style="font-family: arial;font-family:times new roman;" class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:100%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:100%;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p  style="font-family: arial;font-family:times new roman;" class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:100%;"&gt;There have been times when I don’t want to accept my mistakes. Times when I take the easy way out by putting the blame on someone or something else. Times when I was arrogant enough to think my father was wrong. But now, I am finally starting to understand what he’s been trying to tell me for so long. What everybody around me tells me all the time. Study, aim big in life, have some goals, do SOMETHING. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:100%;"&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;p  style="font-family: arial;font-family:times new roman;" class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:100%;"&gt; &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:100%;"&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;p  style="font-family: arial;font-family:times new roman;" class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:100%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:100%;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p  style="font-family: arial;font-family:times new roman;" class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:100%;"&gt;I was disgusted with myself today. I’ve come to a situation where I’m complaining about a few questions that were not mentioned in the syllabus copy. I’ve never heard those terms before, but I could have, if I had bothered looking them up. If I had bothered looking up new things on the internet. If I had bothered about the subject at all. Basically, I’ve arrived at this situation where I’m cribbing about my life once again. But now I know it’s my fault. Today, for the first time, I feel debilitated. I’ve slowly settled into a life of mediocrity. I’ve succumbed to Indian education and it’s multitudinous ramifications. I didn’t think I would, but here I am, shamelessly accepting the fact. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:100%;"&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;p  style="font-family: arial;font-family:times new roman;" class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:100%;"&gt; &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:100%;"&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;p  style="font-family: arial;font-family:times new roman;" class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:100%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:100%;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p  style="font-family: arial;font-family:times new roman;" class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:100%;"&gt;It’s not just Indian education. People who want to do well really make an effort. It’s not the just-studying-for-the-exam bit, I went past that stage a few years back. Where’s the studying-because-I-want-to part? Sometimes, I study and read things because I really want to get to know more. But beyond a point, I know I don’t go that extra mile. I’ve turned into a lethargic, indolent teenager. Oh wait. I’m not a teenager anymore. So now I’m successfully an otiose adult. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:100%;"&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;p  style="font-family: arial;font-family:times new roman;" class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:100%;"&gt; &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:100%;"&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;p  style="font-family: arial;font-family:times new roman;" class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:100%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:100%;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p  style="font-family: arial;font-family:times new roman;" class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:100%;"&gt;I’m hoping that this realization that’s dawned upon me so late in life will have some effect on me. My lifestyle. My thought process. I’m hoping. I know this is not how I want things to be. But then, how do I want it???&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6297677918278508139-1097635834733954402?l=rukmani-s.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://rukmani-s.blogspot.com/feeds/1097635834733954402/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6297677918278508139&amp;postID=1097635834733954402' title='6 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6297677918278508139/posts/default/1097635834733954402'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6297677918278508139/posts/default/1097635834733954402'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://rukmani-s.blogspot.com/2008/11/lost.html' title='lost'/><author><name>Rukmani</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17770928378533351385</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_mMocZHFk16Y/R491WmFH49I/AAAAAAAAAAM/-30zjM69OXc/S220/olive.jpg'/></author><thr:total>6</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6297677918278508139.post-2647120436024864636</id><published>2008-09-05T23:54:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-09-05T23:54:01.300-07:00</updated><title type='text'>zest for life!</title><content type='html'>A long time obsession has come to an end. The fascination remains, that can never go away, considering how much you have given me. but you no more get special attention. I have lost interest in you. It's time to move on. You meant everything to me sometime back, but you have been replaced. I'm not sorry,it's not my fault. You just weren't good enough.There's competition out there, you know. I'm not saying i wont come back to you ever, just that i have better things to look forward to now.&lt;br /&gt;      Good bye garlic pickle. Thankkam mavadu is here, and i swear, it literally titillates my senses. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;              The minute one bites into the crunchy mango piece that is soaked in chilli water, a slight bitter taste sets in, that makes one wonder if it can be classified as pickle at all. The sudden rush of piquancy clears all doubts and makes this the best side dish I've tasted in a long time. The chilli powder, mixed with a bit of salt on the ripe mango gives it a spicy finish,and the taste lingers on for a long, long time. I personally feel kerala has done a great job. Hats off to thankkam mavudu. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;P.S- I'm not endorsing the thankkam brand.I didn't even know it existed until a few weeks back,when fe, being the blessed soul she is, brought this delight to my attention. :) &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;P.P.S- Those of you who love having pickles as much as i do, also try Mother's garlic pickle. :)&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6297677918278508139-2647120436024864636?l=rukmani-s.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://rukmani-s.blogspot.com/feeds/2647120436024864636/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6297677918278508139&amp;postID=2647120436024864636' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6297677918278508139/posts/default/2647120436024864636'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6297677918278508139/posts/default/2647120436024864636'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://rukmani-s.blogspot.com/2008/09/zest-for-life.html' title='zest for life!'/><author><name>Rukmani</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17770928378533351385</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_mMocZHFk16Y/R491WmFH49I/AAAAAAAAAAM/-30zjM69OXc/S220/olive.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6297677918278508139.post-5515397783890607756</id><published>2008-06-30T02:21:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-08-01T02:50:55.722-07:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>This is a list that has been compiled over many, many vetti lab sessions. No continuity whatsoever. It's just a collection of things i like to do, in a completely random order. Yes, i said 'random order'. I believe in chaos theory. :)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I love to&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;1. Go kwazeeeeeeeee!!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;2. Play Happyland adventures.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;3. Make weird posters for my room! Come visit, you'll see!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;4. Draw, though i know i can't.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;5. Watch the worsht chick flicks with my friends and then think about how jobless we are to be&lt;br /&gt;watching chick flicks.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;6. Watch good movies and pass comments on how the actor looks.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;7. Sit in the lawn, alone, drink tea and watch the sunset.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;8. make people laugh, even if it means making a fool of myself.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;9. Sit in the rain and drink hot chocolate.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;10. Jump on my bed.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;11. Make fat jokes. That will continue even if i lose weight.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;12.fight with friends over silly difference of opinions and then after a few months laugh abt it till we cry. I don't like the fighting part but i sure do love the part where we make fun of each other for fighting!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;13.try programming. I know I'm really bad, but executing even a simple program on my own gives me happiness beyond measure.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;14. *wink* :)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;15.have a long conversation with a friend after a long time&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;16.sing, croak, bark, bray, make pressure cooker sound, make weird faces,and anything and everything under the sun that could even slightly indicate that living in a single room is more of a necessity than an option.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;17.play pacman. best game ever, seriously.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;18.type the same thing again and again and again and again and again. Okay, this could go on forever. And by type, i don't mean ctrl+c and ctrl+v.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;19.forget about my blog. Again, the forgetting part is not great, but realizing after a long time  that i do own a blog where i can type anything i want to,is an amazing feeling. Seriously.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;20.drink barrels and barrels of buttermilk and feel so full that i need three people to carry me back to my room!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;21.make fun of random people on the road, includes imitation of the way they walk, talk, move their fingers etc.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;22. spend time with myself. i know i live alone and all, but i can't seem to get enough of myself. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;23.Watch friends. It's sort of an addiction.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;24.watch Hugh Laurie in House M.D. The show as such is good, but he makes it so good that i can even bunk exams to watch him all day.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;25.study. Sometimes, if the mood sets in,it's hard to stop.Really.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;26.Try out new things when i go out to eat. The latest was this visit to coffee world, where i had this drink called 'cloud nine'. The description said it'll make me turn blue and then purple, i guess for me it was the other way round!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;27.misspell words delibratly. I know it's not funny but who said i have a normal sense of humor? :D&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;28.Color like mad. I love crayons and i think they are best used when I randomly kirikkify.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;29.have intense discussions on any topic with a bunch of friends. It's fun to get to know others' opinions.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;30.talk to my brother. Miss you bro! :(&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;31.Listen to music. Dunno if i can live without my music collection. I guess i can, but i don't really want to.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;32.eat anything related to chocolate. Icecreams, cookies, cakes, pastries, ANYTHING.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;33.have maggi with kurkure. Fe came up with the combo and it's mindblowing!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;34. Irritate fe. :)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;35.Draw tattoos. My friends think I'm good at it :)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;36.chat with someone after a long time. Friend or not, just knowing that there's someone who used to study or play with you, is such a nice feeling.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;37.ride my cycle. Yes, I still go cycling. It feels soooo good to go down a slope at maddening  speeds!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;38.Wear my loose, dhola dhola white tee. *grin* :)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;39.just sit and think about the goooood times :)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;40.watch the stars.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;41. hold squirrels. This is something i discovered quite recently.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;42.eat my mom's food. I swear, noone can cook better than her!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;43.loosen up my limbs and move them in a completely random fashion. Can't call it dance, but can't call it anything else either!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;44.draw on myself.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;45.recover from setbacks. That's something that keeps me going.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;46.spend time choosing what to buy.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;47.go to an amusement park!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;48.play with my nephew.This definitely tops the list. But again, this list is in no specific order.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;49.Rest my tired limbs after a good deal of exhaustion.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;50.Be happy and content and cheerful and chirpy all the time!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6297677918278508139-5515397783890607756?l=rukmani-s.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://rukmani-s.blogspot.com/feeds/5515397783890607756/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6297677918278508139&amp;postID=5515397783890607756' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6297677918278508139/posts/default/5515397783890607756'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6297677918278508139/posts/default/5515397783890607756'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://rukmani-s.blogspot.com/2008/06/this-is-list-that-has-been-compiled.html' title=''/><author><name>Rukmani</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17770928378533351385</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_mMocZHFk16Y/R491WmFH49I/AAAAAAAAAAM/-30zjM69OXc/S220/olive.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6297677918278508139.post-291407207210941073</id><published>2008-06-20T07:46:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-06-23T09:11:35.705-07:00</updated><title type='text'>DASAVATHARAM</title><content type='html'>Well, this isn't what i call a review. As usual, since i only have a fuzzy idea in mind, i don't know what it's gonna shape up to be, so here goes. I watched the movie in Benglooru, (forgive my spelling). For one, the ticket prices are bloody expensive. But going into that is starting another story altogether about inflation and other technical subjects i dare not tread upon, so let me stick to the movie bit. Well, to put it in a nutshell, it was passable. But just that one comment on a movie so extravagant would not suffice, so I'll go into the details. The first part of the movie, where they portray a real life incident which took place like 5 centuries back, was impressive, sets and all. Kamalhaasan had a lot of showing off to do, and for once i felt he flaunted more skin than Mallika Sherawat. Napolean didn't act, or if he did, it was masked by his big larger-than-life beard.The music was surprisingly good. The minute i heard that Himesh Reshammiya was the music director, i swore not to watch the movie, but once i heard the soundtrack, it was quite decent and i changed my mind. The first song could have had amazing , but again, something was lacking. I guess acting. All i remember of the first song was Asin trying to cry, and Napolean trying to navigate the boats in a direction that only seemed to be the middle of the sea. Kamal, definitely, no doubt about his acting. But the rest of them could have at least tried to come up to half his level of acting.&lt;br /&gt; I won't give out the rest of the story here cuz otherwise my friends who haven't yet watched the movie will physically strangle me. Not that there exist non-physical mothods of strangulation, but still. Anyway, getting back to the movie, my favourite song was Mukunda Mukunda. Melodious and sweet. The makeup of the old lady was very well appreciated in reviews, but i kind of found it unbelievable. Maybe because i haven't seen a 90 year old woman. Ah, forgot to mention Christian Fletcher. He had nice stunts, and i thought it would be fun to watch the makeup slightly drip or fade as the action intensified, but thanks to Kamals perfection, i missed out on the fun. Many people found the telugu guy extremely funny. The jokes, if cracked by me in my hostel, would get me numerous stares and growls from my friends and they would instantly classify them under the mokkai category. But since the jokes were cracked in an A.C theatre in the midst of a considerably large crowd, it was well received. Then comes the chinese guy, who i think was there in the movie only for kamal to play yet another character. Then the extremely tall guy, whose innocence was overwhelming. Then the righteous guy, and hey, i assure you,only his voice sounded like kamal. He put up a very believable accent. How can i forget Avatar singh? Again there in the movie only to make it run for 3 hours. The bullet magically curing his throat cancer gave the audience their money's worth. They had after all come to see a tamil movie, and OBVIOUSLY,they had expectations. Well i guess that's about it. At least that's all i have to say about Kamal. Mallika, the usual. Too cheesy, and the dubbing was horrible. She only fit the role because she probably fit into size zero clothes as well. Jayapradha,the movie was definitely not a platform to show off her talent. Asin, wasted. She got quite irritating in the middle. Actually throughout the movie. The character she played was quite clearly for the romance factor. Not really contributing towards anything else. And ah, one thing i hated about the movie was the way they kept killing people. One second they were there, delivering a dialogue, and just as i thought their character had an important role to play, BAM! Shoot Shoot Shoot, AND he/she is dead.&lt;br /&gt;What really caught my attention was what Kamal said at the end of the movie. It was obviously in tamil, and it roughly translates to english as follows.&lt;br /&gt;Asin: Whatever you do, please don't say god isn't there.&lt;br /&gt;Kamal: I never said god isn't there. I only said it would be nice if he is.&lt;br /&gt;Actually speaking, i wanted to base my post on those two lines, but since this blog is long enough to bore you, I'll keep that more interesting topic for later. I at least don't have to sit in front of my comp and figure out what to write the next time.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;P.S- Didn't feel like i gave an apt conclusion. Overall, if you're a fan of Kamalhaasan,amazing makeup and a chase-me-all-around-the-world story, go watch dasavatharam! If you have seen it already, comment! Well, comment anyway! :D&lt;br /&gt;Ta.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6297677918278508139-291407207210941073?l=rukmani-s.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://rukmani-s.blogspot.com/feeds/291407207210941073/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6297677918278508139&amp;postID=291407207210941073' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6297677918278508139/posts/default/291407207210941073'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6297677918278508139/posts/default/291407207210941073'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://rukmani-s.blogspot.com/2008/06/dasavatharam.html' title='DASAVATHARAM'/><author><name>Rukmani</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17770928378533351385</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_mMocZHFk16Y/R491WmFH49I/AAAAAAAAAAM/-30zjM69OXc/S220/olive.jpg'/></author><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6297677918278508139.post-4243833197958358927</id><published>2008-06-08T06:37:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-06-08T06:50:55.549-07:00</updated><title type='text'>An easy way out</title><content type='html'>The look in your eyes says it all;&lt;br /&gt;You're all set to flee,&lt;br /&gt;not ready to think back, recall;&lt;br /&gt;that the fault, mistake, all lies on thee.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Just a moment won't you take?&lt;br /&gt;to realize, accept and move on?&lt;br /&gt;Instead, if you wish to put at stake&lt;br /&gt;our relationship, then all is gone.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The outcome of an argument&lt;br /&gt;should never be to part ways,&lt;br /&gt;cuz then, whatever we ever meant&lt;br /&gt;to each other, will just fade away.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;A difference of opinion - let it remain,&lt;br /&gt;We're different people- can't think the same!&lt;br /&gt;let's patch up - forget the pain,&lt;br /&gt;it's after all "US" - let there be none to blame.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Now how simple this is, you see?&lt;br /&gt;All it took was a few lines of poetry!&lt;br /&gt;I've resolved everything inside me,&lt;br /&gt;Now the question is, will you agree?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;P.S- As is quite obvious, this was written after a small fight. Not exactly a fight, more in my words, a difference of opinion. I know I've tried a lame rhyming technique, but hey! I'm not here to win a competition! &lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6297677918278508139-4243833197958358927?l=rukmani-s.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://rukmani-s.blogspot.com/feeds/4243833197958358927/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6297677918278508139&amp;postID=4243833197958358927' title='4 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6297677918278508139/posts/default/4243833197958358927'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6297677918278508139/posts/default/4243833197958358927'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://rukmani-s.blogspot.com/2008/06/easy-way-out.html' title='An easy way out'/><author><name>Rukmani</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17770928378533351385</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_mMocZHFk16Y/R491WmFH49I/AAAAAAAAAAM/-30zjM69OXc/S220/olive.jpg'/></author><thr:total>4</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6297677918278508139.post-6443578283882553045</id><published>2008-05-30T22:29:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-05-30T23:36:51.705-07:00</updated><title type='text'>The toughest thing i've ever done</title><content type='html'>You know how frustrating it is to mindlessly type something, read through it once and realize it's meaningful enough to post, read through it again and decide it's worth nothing and trash it,in like, half a millisecond? Well, if you don't, ask me, i know that feeling only too well. I'm not a regular blogger. People who visit my blog should know that. And if there is someone out there who's visiting my profile, hats off to you. I haven't exactly been blogging, so, WHY THE HELL ARE YOU HERE? No offence meant,if the kind observer is still reading on, you must know i'm frustrated. If you still don't, go back to line one. This isn't an infinite loop, yes i've learnt a bit of programming. IF you're reading through the whole thing again, HAIL WHOEVER, even I haven't been able to achieve that feat. Partly because i have no control over what i type. No, i don't mean someone is standing behind me forcing me to type all these things. It's more like, there's someone in my head, but well, there's someone in everyone's head, so why bother about my head? Well, it is my head, and my blog, and if I don't bother about my head, who will? So here i am, not really knowing what to say, but babbling once again, for want of better things to say. My point is, I've proved to myself that i can't blog. Well, not that i thought i could. OKAY i did. But doesn't everyone think they're capable of climbing the mount everest? The only thing stopping them is, well, they don't WANT to do it. But if they should, they could. Not that i SHOULD blog. Just that i thought i could and the surprising fact is, I'm not even disappointed, now that i know i can't. But blogging, right now, seems to be the toughest thing I've ever done. And am doing. Why i'm continuing to torture myself and the rest of you is beyond my comprehension. Oh joy, I've actually justified the title! Yipee! that does mean i can blog, can i? *wink* All i can say now is,&lt;br /&gt;GAWD HELP THOSE BLESSED SOULS WHO CALL THEMSELVES FRIENDS, UPON WHOM THE WEIGHT OF THIS ABSOLUTELY MEANINGLESS POST MUST BE THRUSTED. MAY HE REST IN PEACE.&lt;br /&gt;blah? :D&lt;br /&gt;P.S- A good friend of mine insisted that only if i post everything i type, i can improve my blogging capabilities, so, I disclaim all responsibilities for the pain i have inflicted.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6297677918278508139-6443578283882553045?l=rukmani-s.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://rukmani-s.blogspot.com/feeds/6443578283882553045/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6297677918278508139&amp;postID=6443578283882553045' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6297677918278508139/posts/default/6443578283882553045'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6297677918278508139/posts/default/6443578283882553045'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://rukmani-s.blogspot.com/2008/05/toughest-thing-ive-ever-done.html' title='The toughest thing i&apos;ve ever done'/><author><name>Rukmani</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17770928378533351385</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_mMocZHFk16Y/R491WmFH49I/AAAAAAAAAAM/-30zjM69OXc/S220/olive.jpg'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6297677918278508139.post-814561700957479635</id><published>2008-01-22T02:32:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2008-01-22T02:51:05.564-08:00</updated><title type='text'>lab time</title><content type='html'>No prizes for guessing where i am right now. yeah, stuck in lab. RDBMS lab. For those of you who don't know what that means, RDBMS stands for Relational Database Management Systems. Now please don't ask me to elaborate, i really don't know,(actually don't bother to know) anything about the subject. It's one of those labs where you mechanically type a lot of things, not really trying to understand what crap you have entered. I'm bugged. I'm very bugged right now. What is the point of having so much to do, and yet sit in a lab(I'm here ONLY for attendance,btw) where you do ABSOLUTELY nothing. Nothing useful at least. For example, this subject might teach me how to enter records into a database, but the lecturer doesn't even know how to correct an entry. i made ONE mistake, and here i am, asked to type the entire thing again. No manual to help, screwed up net connection which is so slow it takes ages to open even the Google homepage, and definitely none to guide me. I'm in a situation where i can only scream 'HELP',  though i know there will be no response. "HELP!!"&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6297677918278508139-814561700957479635?l=rukmani-s.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://rukmani-s.blogspot.com/feeds/814561700957479635/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6297677918278508139&amp;postID=814561700957479635' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6297677918278508139/posts/default/814561700957479635'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6297677918278508139/posts/default/814561700957479635'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://rukmani-s.blogspot.com/2008/01/lab-time.html' title='lab time'/><author><name>Rukmani</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17770928378533351385</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_mMocZHFk16Y/R491WmFH49I/AAAAAAAAAAM/-30zjM69OXc/S220/olive.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6297677918278508139.post-4038230078669936586</id><published>2008-01-17T07:13:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2008-01-22T02:52:03.818-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Pongal hols.</title><content type='html'>A city? Yes. SASTRA university. The advertisement i i fell for, almost a year and a half back. No regrets about joining the college. I'm unsure about what i want to do, don't know if i like my course, but that's my problem, not that of the college, so no regrets. But, the ad sure did fool me. A city? Puhleeeaase. Technically, a city should be well equipped. The college has given me much more than what my seniors ever dreamed of, so I'm not complaining about the facilities either. But the concept of taking permission to go home? That too, twice a semester, according to the rules of the great college. Excuse me, but i'm not the only one who finds that ridiculous. TWO permissions, that too only on weekends, read the notice put up just before we left for our so called "Pongal holidays". Let me remind you that, by taking one day off, I'm spending nine days at home, which is just 5 days short of what i got as a semester break. And to top it all, saturday's working. surprise! surprise! Yes, our college decides to keep college when they very well know no one is gonna bother attending. Only a couple of people i know changed their plans because of the announcement. That too i'm sure it's only for attendance. WHATEVER!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6297677918278508139-4038230078669936586?l=rukmani-s.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://rukmani-s.blogspot.com/feeds/4038230078669936586/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6297677918278508139&amp;postID=4038230078669936586' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6297677918278508139/posts/default/4038230078669936586'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6297677918278508139/posts/default/4038230078669936586'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://rukmani-s.blogspot.com/2008/01/pongal-hols.html' title='Pongal hols.'/><author><name>Rukmani</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17770928378533351385</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_mMocZHFk16Y/R491WmFH49I/AAAAAAAAAAM/-30zjM69OXc/S220/olive.jpg'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6297677918278508139.post-2434498163905944543</id><published>2008-01-17T06:50:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2008-01-17T07:01:21.765-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Here goes my first blog!</title><content type='html'>Hey everybody, or rather, hi, cuz i don't think many people will bother visiting. This is not the first time i'm starting a blog page. I've had many, many starts, where i'd just come,sign up,post enthusiastically, then forget that the ID exists, and eventually forget the password to my account. Hopefully, this won't be one of those attempts, cuz i think it's high time i start typing something meaningful out here, and make my own little contribution. I don't know what i'll write about, and this being my first attempt, i hope i don't drive away those of you who have decided to take a look. I'll be back with more!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6297677918278508139-2434498163905944543?l=rukmani-s.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://rukmani-s.blogspot.com/feeds/2434498163905944543/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6297677918278508139&amp;postID=2434498163905944543' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6297677918278508139/posts/default/2434498163905944543'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6297677918278508139/posts/default/2434498163905944543'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://rukmani-s.blogspot.com/2008/01/here-goes-my-first-blog.html' title='Here goes my first blog!'/><author><name>Rukmani</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17770928378533351385</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_mMocZHFk16Y/R491WmFH49I/AAAAAAAAAAM/-30zjM69OXc/S220/olive.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry></feed>
