tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-45784654915122049302024-03-13T10:58:16.146+05:30Rima KaurRima Kaurhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13115722893268903641noreply@blogger.comBlogger59125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4578465491512204930.post-65330399701116853752015-07-15T16:11:00.000+05:302015-07-21T12:15:33.060+05:30एक कविता माँ के नाम<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<a href="http://d2ouvy59p0dg6k.cloudfront.net/img/scr_47780_370353.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://d2ouvy59p0dg6k.cloudfront.net/img/scr_47780_370353.jpg" /></a></div>
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<span lang="HI" style="color: #141823; font-family: "Mangal","serif"; mso-ascii-font-family: Helvetica; mso-hansi-font-family: Helvetica;"><a href="http://wwf.panda.org/about_our_earth/species/species_pictures/moms/" target="_blank">Image</a></span></div>
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<span lang="HI" style="color: #141823; font-family: "Mangal","serif"; mso-ascii-font-family: Helvetica; mso-hansi-font-family: Helvetica;">जब
आँख खुली</span><span style="color: #141823; font-family: "Helvetica","sans-serif";"><br />
</span><span lang="HI" style="color: #141823; font-family: "Mangal","serif"; mso-ascii-font-family: Helvetica; mso-hansi-font-family: Helvetica;">भुने मसाले की खुशबू</span><span style="color: #141823; font-family: "Helvetica","sans-serif";"><br />
</span><span lang="HI" style="color: #141823; font-family: "Mangal","serif"; mso-ascii-font-family: Helvetica; mso-hansi-font-family: Helvetica;">और मेरी माँ</span><span style="color: #141823; font-family: "Helvetica","sans-serif";"><br />
</span><span lang="HI" style="color: #141823; font-family: "Mangal","serif"; mso-ascii-font-family: Helvetica; mso-hansi-font-family: Helvetica;">मुझसे कह बैठे</span><span style="color: #141823; font-family: "Helvetica","sans-serif";"><br />
</span><span lang="HI" style="color: #141823; font-family: "Mangal","serif"; mso-ascii-font-family: Helvetica; mso-hansi-font-family: Helvetica;">सो जाओ</span><span style="color: #141823; font-family: "Helvetica","sans-serif";"><br />
</span><span class="textexposedshow"><span lang="HI" style="color: #141823; font-family: "Mangal","serif"; mso-ascii-font-family: Helvetica; mso-hansi-font-family: Helvetica;">अभी
दोपहर ही है ।</span></span><span style="color: #141823; font-family: "Helvetica","sans-serif";"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="HI" style="color: #141823; font-family: "Mangal","serif"; mso-ascii-font-family: Helvetica; mso-hansi-font-family: Helvetica;"><br /></span>
<span lang="HI" style="color: #141823; font-family: "Mangal","serif"; mso-ascii-font-family: Helvetica; mso-hansi-font-family: Helvetica;">चश्मा
नहीं था</span><span style="color: #141823; font-family: "Helvetica","sans-serif";"><br />
</span><span lang="HI" style="color: #141823; font-family: "Mangal","serif"; mso-ascii-font-family: Helvetica; mso-hansi-font-family: Helvetica;">पर नज़र आया वही</span><span style="color: #141823; font-family: "Helvetica","sans-serif";">,<br />
</span><span lang="HI" style="color: #141823; font-family: "Mangal","serif"; mso-ascii-font-family: Helvetica; mso-hansi-font-family: Helvetica;">जैसे बचपन में कहीं सो
जाने पर</span><span style="color: #141823; font-family: "Helvetica","sans-serif";"><br />
</span><span lang="HI" style="color: #141823; font-family: "Mangal","serif"; mso-ascii-font-family: Helvetica; mso-hansi-font-family: Helvetica;">खुद को मैं बिस्तर पर
ही पाती थी ।</span><span style="color: #141823; font-family: "Helvetica","sans-serif";"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="HI" style="color: #141823; font-family: "Mangal","serif"; mso-ascii-font-family: Helvetica; mso-hansi-font-family: Helvetica;">एहसास
तेज़ हुआ</span><span style="color: #141823; font-family: "Helvetica","sans-serif";"><br />
</span><span lang="HI" style="color: #141823; font-family: "Mangal","serif"; mso-ascii-font-family: Helvetica; mso-hansi-font-family: Helvetica;">माँ धुंधली ही रह गई</span><span style="color: #141823; font-family: "Helvetica","sans-serif";"><br />
</span><span lang="HI" style="color: #141823; font-family: "Mangal","serif"; mso-ascii-font-family: Helvetica; mso-hansi-font-family: Helvetica;">अब यहाँ से फिर लौट
जाने को</span><span style="color: #141823; font-family: "Helvetica","sans-serif";"><br />
</span><span lang="HI" style="color: #141823; font-family: "Mangal","serif"; mso-ascii-font-family: Helvetica; mso-hansi-font-family: Helvetica;">जी नहीं करता ।</span><span style="color: #141823; font-family: "Helvetica","sans-serif"; mso-bidi-font-family: Mangal;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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Rima Kaurhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13115722893268903641noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4578465491512204930.post-47535267387818033402015-02-16T12:54:00.000+05:302015-02-16T13:02:08.320+05:30Untitled<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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Fluctuating every bit<o:p></o:p></div>
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Like that old, dusty bulb<o:p></o:p></div>
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In the corner of a shed<o:p></o:p></div>
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Or an overused, smelly toilet<o:p></o:p></div>
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Like the schizophrenic<o:p></o:p></div>
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In fleeting clarity<o:p></o:p></div>
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Like momentary hope<o:p></o:p></div>
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In her only child.<o:p></o:p></div>
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Like sunlight passing<o:p></o:p></div>
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Through cloudy skies<o:p></o:p></div>
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Like sobs underneath<o:p></o:p></div>
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An infant’s smiles<o:p></o:p></div>
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Like a river of blood<o:p></o:p></div>
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Dark and rosy in parts<o:p></o:p></div>
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Undulating and flowering<o:p></o:p></div>
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Flowing on<o:p></o:p></div>
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Like that spasm of pain<o:p></o:p></div>
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In love’s embrace<o:p></o:p></div>
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Like opportunity<o:p></o:p></div>
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For a desperate case<o:p></o:p></div>
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Fluctuating every bit<o:p></o:p></div>
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Like that now dying bulb<o:p></o:p></div>
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In the corner of a shed</div>
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Or an overused, smelly toilet<o:p></o:p></div>
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Rima Kaurhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13115722893268903641noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4578465491512204930.post-47767387901637598382015-02-06T11:37:00.002+05:302015-02-06T11:38:05.892+05:30Seven Poems - Day Seven of Seven<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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Black and pink<o:p></o:p></div>
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Green and blue,<o:p></o:p></div>
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Tiny little flags<o:p></o:p></div>
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Shiny and new.<o:p></o:p></div>
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Peeping out<o:p></o:p></div>
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So darn cute!<o:p></o:p></div>
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Dazzling away<o:p></o:p></div>
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Pew! Pew! Pew!<o:p></o:p></div>
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For being away<o:p></o:p></div>
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This is in lieu,<o:p></o:p></div>
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Unseen by all</div>
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Except for you!<o:p></o:p></div>
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Rima Kaurhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13115722893268903641noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4578465491512204930.post-30151376103819417222015-02-02T09:45:00.002+05:302015-02-02T09:46:00.578+05:30Seven Poems - Day Six of Seven<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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Poetry’s not a distant star<o:p></o:p></div>
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You’ll catch what all I’m feeling<o:p></o:p></div>
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So I’ll plod on<o:p></o:p></div>
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And write this song<o:p></o:p></div>
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You’re sure to grasp its meaning<o:p></o:p></div>
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The first among these many days<o:p></o:p></div>
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Was frankly very strange<o:p></o:p></div>
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You turned around<o:p></o:p></div>
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Then sweat your crown<o:p></o:p></div>
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I thought you were deranged<o:p></o:p></div>
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But soon in time I came to see<o:p></o:p></div>
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The wonder in your stare<o:p></o:p></div>
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You listen well<o:p></o:p></div>
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Grin as I yell<o:p></o:p></div>
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My silly beary bear<o:p></o:p></div>
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The only unsmooth kink right now<o:p></o:p></div>
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Is effing distance, ew!<o:p></o:p></div>
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Quite high in price<o:p></o:p></div>
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Does this suffice?<o:p></o:p></div>
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My brimming, living love for you?<o:p></o:p></div>
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Rima Kaurhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13115722893268903641noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4578465491512204930.post-4985854557138931802015-01-31T17:26:00.002+05:302015-01-31T17:35:58.639+05:30Seven Poems - Day Five of Seven<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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I won’t say that I didn’t <o:p></o:p></div>
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Think of you<o:p></o:p></div>
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I’ll also not say that I did<o:p></o:p></div>
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But it was said<o:p></o:p></div>
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I glassy-eyed<o:p></o:p></div>
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And the glass blushed too.<o:p></o:p></div>
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As the world whirled<o:p></o:p></div>
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You sat there<o:p></o:p></div>
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And I here<o:p></o:p></div>
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It’ll come soon, I promise</div>
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The glass blushed too.<o:p></o:p></div>
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Rima Kaurhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13115722893268903641noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4578465491512204930.post-48972896337282306422015-01-30T12:58:00.001+05:302015-01-30T12:59:06.849+05:30Seven Poems - Day Four<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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A spoilt little big one<o:p></o:p></div>
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Hidden in a nook<o:p></o:p></div>
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Wrapped in a blanket<o:p></o:p></div>
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Look how he shook!<o:p></o:p></div>
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Green tea, gray tea<o:p></o:p></div>
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A pot of soup<o:p></o:p></div>
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Nighty night bear</div>
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I love you too!<o:p></o:p></div>
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Rima Kaurhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13115722893268903641noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4578465491512204930.post-35488970611723275812015-01-29T12:12:00.000+05:302015-01-30T12:59:15.765+05:30Seven Poems - Day Three<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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Another’s arms are a good place<o:p></o:p></div>
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To start<o:p></o:p></div>
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To know<o:p></o:p></div>
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There are none better<o:p></o:p></div>
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Whether to dance<o:p></o:p></div>
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Or to embrace<o:p></o:p></div>
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Or run up and tip over</div>
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There are none better<o:p></o:p></div>
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Rima Kaurhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13115722893268903641noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4578465491512204930.post-24042776539672749452015-01-18T13:41:00.002+05:302015-01-29T12:13:00.319+05:30Seven Poems - Day Two<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-rf04fR3e8V0/VLtqUNaalqI/AAAAAAAABiM/-KzC_XLFAfA/s1600/16100030852_0d74dc9793.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-rf04fR3e8V0/VLtqUNaalqI/AAAAAAAABiM/-KzC_XLFAfA/s1600/16100030852_0d74dc9793.jpg" height="640" width="480" /></a></div>
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Image courtesy <a href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/128550717@N08/16100030852/in/photolist-aoPhCw-qwGSfQ-9qyheT-geUC3f-4xvvje-6mF6XG-9wT82q-9kp5Dg-9kp6bp-bucyKs-9yFzaF-8dUFNQ-5z5R3T-uFYtq-71YoMT-9kH5uA-LgeZB-hEuKZN-4hmzrs-pJtDP5-9ATgY-4GRmtk-oK7rhi-2noQmH-kw4SEH-nAGpDR-ci4VcU-ojvo9N-9x66Sm-qgR6SB-nKGevx-4bCGca-61sAp3-7d63af-9EJbaV-bt83hr-m7KtUv-2pqWB8-cCKd75-m7Ksyz-4ph4Kv-fubZPL-5WWepb-925mdg-g5g9tV-4mAZu4-oKTPWn-qjcDXw-m7LtQP-m7LrQB" target="_blank">Dhanuka Thilakarathna via Flickr</a></div>
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That one time I missed a turn<o:p></o:p></div>
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Forgot to stop, went on<o:p></o:p></div>
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You, oh jumpy, jaunty you<o:p></o:p></div>
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Flooded with a smile.<o:p></o:p></div>
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Turn, turn, turn I did<o:p></o:p></div>
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Every single time<o:p></o:p></div>
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Adding a moment. Who knew?</div>
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You made goodbye a smile!<o:p></o:p></div>
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Rima Kaurhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13115722893268903641noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4578465491512204930.post-71075050592500678952015-01-17T14:58:00.000+05:302015-01-17T14:58:26.007+05:30Seven Poems - Day One<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-jnZz1KllUlA/VLopl6E6uaI/AAAAAAAABhk/91WKwv0kDHE/s1600/3968483058_410f4f3def.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-jnZz1KllUlA/VLopl6E6uaI/AAAAAAAABhk/91WKwv0kDHE/s1600/3968483058_410f4f3def.jpg" height="458" width="640" /></a></div>
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Image courtesy <a href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/childish/3968483058/in/photostream/" target="_blank">David via Flickr</a></div>
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Even the white of her dress</div>
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<o:p></o:p></div>
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Could not conceal<o:p></o:p></div>
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Her nakedness.<o:p></o:p></div>
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It went from<o:p></o:p></div>
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“Why don’t you speak?”<o:p></o:p></div>
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To “I love how you talk”.<o:p></o:p></div>
The day she said she loves him too.<br />
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<o:p></o:p></div>
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Rima Kaurhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13115722893268903641noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4578465491512204930.post-76450986143787793852015-01-14T16:37:00.001+05:302015-01-14T16:38:48.643+05:30Life Will End Before it Begins<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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Why does it feel like my life will end before it begins? That I will slog day after day, every single day till that moment when in a flash, or perhaps a second or two, it'll be snuffed out. And in its wait I remain suspended in something I have been told is reality. And no I don't think I'll be a deer caught in headlights but that person who turns to see that speeding truck in slow-motion where there is just enough time to say well this sucked because the endless wait was never worth it.<br />
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Rima Kaurhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13115722893268903641noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4578465491512204930.post-77891541442817218162014-12-19T16:20:00.002+05:302014-12-19T16:22:27.005+05:30लकीरें - A poem<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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Ranadi, a small village in Reodar, Sirohi District , Rajasthan. The home of 186 families; predominantly SC. A small classroom in the village upper primary school. Little ones, six or seven years old, are busy opening their books and notebooks for the English period. The teacher writes down the names of fruits and vegetables on the board. She writes their Hindi counterparts too. The class resounds with the names of fruits and vegetables. The teacher now checks the copies of students one by
one.</div>
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I cannot help but notice how tiny the notebooks are. Each page can hardly accommodate more than a few words. The large, disjointed letters cram themselves between the lines. One child in particular has trouble writing the
letter S in his ‘four lined copy’. The topmost line is filled in by the teacher
in red ink; several scarlet Ss in a row. The child comes time and again after
filling the page using his pencil; his Ss leaking all over, but perfect, so
perfect in form. The teacher patiently erases them and says each time, ‘<i>Jao phirse karke lao</i>’ (Trans. Go and
write this again). I think of Padma Sarangapani, of the aspirations of a
rural, tribal community, and of the child. My heart fills with an uncontrolled
desire to write, and finding no paper I write in my mind. The first
time ever I write in Hindi, and a rather long time since I write at all –</div>
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<o:p></o:p></div>
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Rima Kaurhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13115722893268903641noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4578465491512204930.post-69066313795907800772014-09-03T20:20:00.001+05:302014-09-03T20:22:44.967+05:30Writing My First Will and Testament<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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Image courtesy <a href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/britishlibrary/11006893563/in/photostream/" target="_blank">The British Library</a> </div>
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Children do not ordinarily think of death. It could reside in the way we wish to shield them from an inevitability that usually causes pain and grief. It could be because of the average man's own fear of death. It could also be because of the sheer newness of life the dwells in each child's body that almost separates them from this reality. One would of course have to be quite heartless to think of a child leaving the world so soon. King Theoden in a moving scene from the Lord of the Rings (the movie) is overcome with emotion at the grave of his son Theodred, where he laments, "No parent should have to bury their child".<br />
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For children of my generation however, death for once came really close when several of their beloved characters died in the Harry Potter series by J. K. Rowling. The books frequently reference the departed Potters who die a sudden but miserable death, leaving behind their only child Harry who continues to experience its wrath all through his years at Hogwarts. The end of Cedric, Sirius, Dumbledore, Dobby, Fred (perhaps most heartbreaking in my opinion, though each death was sorrowful for its own reasons), Tonks, Lupin, and many more solidify Rowling's claim that there is more to life than mortality. Indeed, there is more to mortality than death. Sure, by the time the series became popular, we had already seen Mufasa's horrific plunge in The Lion King, feeling just as helpless as little Simba. We had also cried silently for Bambi's separation from his hunted mother. Death was in those moments a painful knot that rose in our hearts, marking the sudden absence of love that had fed us for so long. The knot loosened significantly with each happy turn (and there were always happy turns). But Rowling perhaps for the first time showed us the intricacies of loss. She never consoled Harry, that is, she never consoled us. As children we processed the build up, shock, denial, anger, guilt, and acceptance of various separations in a way that mirrored Harry's own struggle through them.<br />
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It is in one of those moments of finality when the Minister of Magic reads The Last Will and Testament of Albus Dumbledore to Harry, Ron, and Hermione, that I realized how death can be simple yet be surrounded by affairs as mundane as leaving behind possessions to the world. For the first time in my life, I really thought of death. And so, I thought of life. I thought of all those tangibles that I would leave and whether their distribution would provide some relief, some solace to those who loved me. Could this distribution be an exercise in coping? More importantly, why hoard assets in the deceased's home when they will certainly be of use (or at least be of sentimental value) to some close friend or family? And then I realized how one can also be selfish in death! Does one truly think of the other in such fanciful flights? Undoubtedly there will be a part of us that would always fear, always care for the well-being of those who mourn us, but we also momentarily revel in the loss that our demise would create. A thought as natural as who would attend my funeral? Am I really cared and loved for?<br />
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What if you were to drop dead this very instant? The fall would be tremendous. If in the measure of years you are a novice, you will be mourned for all that did not come to pass. A recent health scare pushed me to re-evaluate the 25 or so odd years of my existence, and I struggled with this very question. And so I planned to write my First Will and Testament, that may also be considered my last, should lightning strike. The document would be neither complete nor legal (and before you get your hopes up, it will not be published here for the world to see!). Now that I think about it, I wonder whether all my worldly possessions are even mine to give away? All those books neatly arranged and worshipped, each piece of jewellery added over the years, every cloth that graced my back... Not to mention folders overflowing with cards and letters, research notes, virtual intellectual property...! The list is endless, and painfully materialistic. But in humouring the thought of leaving for my heavenly abode, whether there exists such a place (or am I eternally damned?), I encourage others to embrace death "as an old friend" (cue The Tale of the Three Brothers). Making a Will, irrespective of your age, would be a good start. And while <i>my</i> Will would be nowhere near a "preparation" for death, there is a conscious realization that it will be an eventuality. I will die. Others will die. Close friends and family will die. They would all be different deaths, but they would be - deaths!</div>
Rima Kaurhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13115722893268903641noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4578465491512204930.post-69449240077430586672013-05-21T20:47:00.000+05:302013-05-21T20:48:24.134+05:30Why the Indian Beauty Blogging world kinda sucks!<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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Image courtesy <a href="http://www.weddingbee.com/">Wedding Bee</a></div>
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Without sounding (too) whiny, I would like to talk about an issue that has concerned many of us bloggers in the past. I would specifically like to address the beauty blogging world in India. Recent forums like "Beauty Bloggers' Confessions" on Facebook have become yet another place for nasty comments to fester. What was discussed in bitchy detail within the confines of private messaging is now out in the open, so I hope that what I write in the following paragraphs is an acid-free, honest, and heartfelt expression of what I have felt for a long, long time.</div>
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What I am saying is through my own personal experience, and this does not necessarily mean that you must agree with me. It is perfectly alright for you to have a completely opposite take on the entire issue at hand.</div>
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I began blogging many years ago because of two reasons. The first was my intent of writing things that might be of interest to the world. When I say "the world", I do not mean millions of readers who would make me an online celebrity. Even if my thoughts resonated with one solitary person, I would consider myself to be of some consequence as a writer. As I'm beginning to sound like a rather sad school teacher now, I would like to move on to the next reason.<br />
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The second reason is perhaps more important because it does not involve being a narcissistic snob. I blogged to <i>read</i> more. There was a time when I was an avid reader of books, and there were people who told me how useless that was. My interest in books waned over time, and I panicked at my lack of reading. One fine day however I chanced upon the blogging world. I was slightly taken aback. It seemed like an intrusion, almost like you're reading someone's personal diary or journal. The frequent updates were exciting and thrilling, and it gave a strange, voyeuristic pleasure to trace and follow what someone else was doing. So, I began to read.</div>
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The earliest blogs I read were by teenager girls not unlike myself. Half of them wrote about their friends, where they vacationed in summer, their crushes, their long list of problems that certainly meant the world was ending... Then there were the serious ones who blogged about more real problems that really <i>did</i> mean the world was ending. But both got old and depressing after a while, and I began looking for a sunnier place. There were food blogs, mommy blogs, blogs about travel and photography, and... and... and then I saw heaven! Right there, in its infancy, was the tiny world of beauty blogging! The photos were blurry, posts erratic, and reviews uninformed. But there they were, these handful of people who were talking about makeup and skincare, posting about products available locally, posting for the definitive "Indian woman". I began to spend a lot of time online reading these posts and leaving comments, and the small circle of bloggers and readers soon began to grow.</div>
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As the numbers increased, the content on the blogs became infinitely richer. People began meeting up, contests and giveaways were organised, and lengthy, friendly discussions began occupying the comments section. It became every bit of the cliched "happy family", just that we never realized how some things really are too good to be true.</div>
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I sensed some discomfort within myself when there emerged apparent groups within the beauty blogging world. Some of the readers were loyal, fiercely so, and any slight on the part of any rival blogger began to be taken very seriously. Snide comments and personal jokes became a regular feature, and even readers with whom I spoke expressed how weary it was all getting. Bloggers began competing for high-end products and often I wondered whether this left any space for the ubiquitous "Indian woman". Competition was rife, and while some blogs became brands in themselves, some of the smaller ones who were in it for some fun began to suffer from undue pressure.</div>
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Several other problems emerged as things took a sour turn. I can only speak for myself, what I saw. I began to notice how the quality of posts on some blogs deteriorated significantly. There seemed to be a complete dearth of novel ideas. Writing became shoddier, and I wondered whether there was any editing involved at all. The posts began to look like they were uploaded straight from the drafting stage. I also noticed how uncritical the comments were, praising <i>every</i> damn thing that the beauty blogger would say. And that is when I saw past the smokescreen. There were no genuine friendships there! In fact, it would be completely naive to believe so in the first place. What was happening was nothing short of a full-fledged business, I scratch your back and you scratch mine. All this and more, until the seemingly cold-war among beauty bloggers burst forth in the most grotesque manner possible. I began to lose heart, and soon stopped commenting. My doubts were reconfirmed when beauty bloggers stopped commenting on my blog as soon as I stopped commenting on theirs! So very sad! All in all, I could not commit myself to one clique, and felt sorry for the beautiful beauty blogging scene as it once was.</div>
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This left a bad taste in my mouth. The bad taste turned awful when I approached a trusted blogger friend. I requested her to publish a few articles written by a close friend of mine who was in need of some money. The blogger in question asked me to email the content, which my friend did. There was no response from said blogger. I called her repeatedly, but she stopped answering my calls altogether and has till date never got back in touch. All this after we spoke so often over the phone and even met each other on several occasions! Very disappointing indeed!</div>
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At least for me, beauty blogging was now officially a massive bitch-fest, and I hated it with a vengeance. I withdrew into a shell, not wanting to have anything to do with <i>anyone</i> from that glittery world. I deleted all bloggers and readers from my Facebook page, and stopped interacting with them everywhere. The disgust I had was so intense that I could not bring myself about to even log in to my own account and write! You can see how sporadic I have been!</div>
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Much time has passed since all this happened. I don't religiously follow any blog. If there is something I wish to look up, I use trusty Google. I don't really care what blog it leads me to. Perhaps the beauty blogging world is too big for me now. I do not associate with it at all. There are a few people whom I still think about, and I wonder what they are up to now. There are some who continue to write well, who do it for the pure joy it gives them. They have an established and steady fan following. I sneak up on them sometime, like a ghost, not leaving any mark. But it is a long lost love!</div>
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I'll remember beauty blogging for the happier times, when it was more real. When I could write for whomever I wanted, and post my pictures without breaking into a sweat.</div>
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With this I end my eulogy. A mourning for what once was, and what it sadly became!</div>
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Rima Kaurhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13115722893268903641noreply@blogger.com22tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4578465491512204930.post-80423472010085865182012-08-04T15:03:00.005+05:302012-08-04T15:09:03.200+05:30Sad Tears, Happy Tears<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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Yesterday, I could have given some serious competition to Cheshire Cat. My incessant grinning caused a lot of amusement to all, and every person I ran into could not help but exclaim how happy I looked. Yes, I was so uncontrollably happy! It felt like I had downed an entire vial of Felix Felicis!<br />
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However, yesterday was also the day I experienced a singular profound moment that left me with intense and perhaps irreparable grief.</div>
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A close friend and I were meeting after a few days. Not a long time, but long enough for several things to have happened (if that is the kind of chaotic life you have!). I hugged her tight. "I'm so happy! I'm so very happy!". Then with a blink, my lashes turned wet and I swooned like a drunk. I was <i>so</i> happy!</div>
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Over time, the two of us had led ourselves to believe that our lives ran parallel. The similarity was uncanny and on some occasions, also very eerie. She smiled at my giddy state. Being surrounded by people, we found no opportunity to have a heart to heart. When it was time to leave, I gave her another tight hug and grinned all the way home.</div>
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Later that night, we spoke for a while. "I broke down many times today. That's why I kept going out of the room", she said. And then with the passing of each second, the twisted cruelty of it all stabbed me repeatedly.</div>
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I no longer believe that being similar is important. Or that finding these similarities is of any consequence.</div>
</div>Rima Kaurhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13115722893268903641noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4578465491512204930.post-20258855045658692042012-02-13T23:27:00.000+05:302012-02-13T23:27:11.510+05:30What To Choose?<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">It was a small school with not many children. They were all bound by something primitive, but no one could explain what it was. The lonely topper met a companion. The misunderstood prefect found an agreeable friend. Even the ruthless sports captain glimpsed into the long repressed tenderness within.<div><br />
</div><div>Then, on the first day of the new session, she enrolled. Curiously though, there wasn't a tremor of excitement in the air. Her addition was as inconspicuous as a drop of water falling into sand. The week passed by rather dully.</div><div><br />
</div><div>It was only after she had memorized the labyrinthine corridors and location of classes that she became more aware of her living surroundings- her classmates. Why were they all in pairs? Not alone, not in groups of three or more, but in pairs. She looked to her left and saw two girls digging into a small bowl of fruit. A few swift steps would have led her to them but barely had she taken the first one when the bell rang.</div><div><br />
</div><div>Her next attempt was later that day. The class was standing beside the basketball court, waiting to be sorted into teams by the coach. He called out a boy's name, who stepped out with a girl by his side. They both walked to the right of the court. A pair of boys walked to the left. With the calling of every name came forward not one child, but two. And so the teams were made. She went unnoticed.</div><div><br />
</div><div>Her back was wet with cold sweat and something fell very rapidly within her. It felt like she was thrown off a cliff into a deep abyss. She mustered the strength to lightly touch her coach's shoulder. As he turned and she opened her mouth to speak, something large hit her left ear, and everything merged together in a deafening silence.</div><div><br />
</div><div>There was darkness everywhere when she opened her eyes. Someone has turned off the lights. She heard nothing either. Was she safe at home now, resting till she felt better? Her lips moved to call out to her mother, but not a sound came out. Her back responded to her desire of getting up, but she still felt like she was lying down. Her arms flailed aimlessly on the side. Every step she took planted her right back where she was. Hot tears brimmed over until her head ached, and as she closed her eyes to soothe the pain, she saw a vivid flash of green. Her eyes flung open and she was surrounded by darkness once more. She let her lids drop again, and this time she heard the sound of a fresh chalk writing across a board.</div><div><br />
</div><div>Every moment awake was inky black. Every moment shut away was unnaturally vivid, and yet she chose to lie there in that nucleus of nothingness, eyelids forced open, except when they fell shut on their own accord, too tired to bear the weight.</div></div>Rima Kaurhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13115722893268903641noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4578465491512204930.post-25870430213253117872011-07-14T16:19:00.001+05:302011-07-14T16:20:54.697+05:30Oral Pleasures<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://farm4.static.flickr.com/3426/3198550869_3c7f848aa6.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="311px" m$="true" src="http://farm4.static.flickr.com/3426/3198550869_3c7f848aa6.jpg" width="320px" /></a></div><br />
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Freud said that the mouth is an errogenous zone; and being "obsessed" with lip biting, lipsticks and kissing, who am I to disagree? (I'm leaving out certain things here!)<br />
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A couple of months back, I had this strong urge to light up a ciggie. There were some issues in my life that just wouldn't resolve and I was pretty much on tenterhooks. As much as I despised the horrible smelling grey smoke, I was drawn to it more and more. I would swoon whenever a friend lit up around me. Remember those old Disney cartoons where delicious smells wafted out of the oven and hypnotised the hungry? That's exactly what was happening to me! I had a <em>sutta</em> or two and allowed my throat to scratch up..<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Thanks to the horrible fear I have of wrecking my skin, I gave up smoking without really giving it much of a shot.</div>And what would I do without certain people who threatened to kill me if I became addicted?<br />
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Image via <a href="http://www.flickr.com/">Flickr</a>Rima Kaurhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13115722893268903641noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4578465491512204930.post-29563433225201833552011-06-12T15:36:00.002+05:302013-12-04T20:11:49.690+05:30Sitting Alone, Thinking About Companionship!<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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My friends have always complained that I think too much. It can't be helped, thoughts consume me! When I'm not introspecting, I'm wondering about other people, their behaviour, what motivates them to act the way they do...</div>
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Is that why I've always been comfortable being alone? I have never felt <i>lonely</i>. To me, solitude equals solace.</div>
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In the past few weeks, however, my thoughts have largely hovered around companionship. I'll squarely blame my friends for this! All of a sudden, they seem to be marrying or at least getting engaged. Now how is that supposed to make a single girl feel?</div>
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Like a pendulum, I fluctuate.</div>
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While I feel relieved for still having many years ahead of me that are <i>mine</i>, I also crave someone who I can chew off in times of need. (Statement open to all forms of interpretation!).</div>
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But, it's only natural. Remember how as kids we were taught that human beings are "social animals"? We just aren't meant to live alone. Unlike tigers, who only mingle with their kind in the mating season, humans find it absolutely comforting to be surrounded by loving, caring friends and family. Now, I do have all of that, but the I need more; and I'm pretty sure when I <i>do</i> have more, I'll wish for something else!</div>
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Help!</div>
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Rima Kaurhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13115722893268903641noreply@blogger.com20tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4578465491512204930.post-61404441677375641232010-12-21T19:27:00.004+05:302010-12-25T15:05:37.480+05:30Gym-Shym!I sort people into categories. Over the past seven months, new ones have been created all thanks to my work-out sessions at the gym.<br />
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</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_k-wpOnZghRM/TRCvVNN8OKI/AAAAAAAAAuA/a33RKjPFH8I/s1600/581px-Protein_shake.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_k-wpOnZghRM/TRCvVNN8OKI/AAAAAAAAAuA/a33RKjPFH8I/s320/581px-Protein_shake.jpg" width="308" /></a><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_k-wpOnZghRM/TRCvXqdbvnI/AAAAAAAAAuE/tl0xj2T5TDA/s1600/Luk%25C3%25A1%25C5%25A1_Osladil.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_k-wpOnZghRM/TRCvXqdbvnI/AAAAAAAAAuE/tl0xj2T5TDA/s320/Luk%25C3%25A1%25C5%25A1_Osladil.jpg" width="256" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;">Gimme my medicine! *snort* *snort*</div><div><b><br />
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</b></div><div><b>The Gorillas </b></div><div>You know you've spotted a gorilla when you see someone with short legs and huge, muscular arms that stick out on the sides. Said arms remain stationary and move only to make that bottle of protein shake after the usual two hour work out. They have the ability to flex muscles in front of the mirror all day. Will go to any lengths to make others feel their biceps. Also known as The Frogs.</div><div><br />
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</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"> <a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_k-wpOnZghRM/TRCvaecZSeI/AAAAAAAAAuI/bv_riM5id0U/s1600/EarlyBarbell.gif" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_k-wpOnZghRM/TRCvaecZSeI/AAAAAAAAAuI/bv_riM5id0U/s320/EarlyBarbell.gif" width="241" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;">More! More!</div><div><br />
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</div><div><b>The Screamers</b></div><div>The Screamers lift weights that are a hundred kilos too heavy for them. As a result, the gym resonates with their raucous grunts and snorts at regular intervals. You'll always find them bossing around the little helpers at the gym. They are never seen on treadmills, cycles or elliptical trainers but always found in the heavy weights section where regular mortals don't usually dare to venture.</div><div><br />
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</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_k-wpOnZghRM/TRCvdRBkVEI/AAAAAAAAAuM/6__Edq9Af-c/s1600/Man_Sweating_MIN.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_k-wpOnZghRM/TRCvdRBkVEI/AAAAAAAAAuM/6__Edq9Af-c/s320/Man_Sweating_MIN.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;">Can you tell that I just worked out?!</div><div><br />
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</div><div><b>The Sweaters</b></div><div>No, these aren't your regular woollen sweaters. These sweaters leave gigantic watery puddles all over the place. Equipment used by them is forever submerged in litres of salty sweat. Their clothes are wet, translucent and capable of putting at least one fully grown skunk to shame. Ironically, they never carry a towel.</div><div><br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_k-wpOnZghRM/TRCvgGYL1rI/AAAAAAAAAuQ/24AvPDm2KrI/s1600/475px-The_Scream.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_k-wpOnZghRM/TRCvgGYL1rI/AAAAAAAAAuQ/24AvPDm2KrI/s320/475px-The_Scream.jpg" width="253" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;">Aah! Yeah!</div><br />
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</div><div><b>The Moaners</b></div><div>This category is exclusively for the most out-of-shape members of the female species. They stick around the gym instructors like flies to a honey pot. When made to do the simplest of exercises, they bite their lips and contort their faces. Orgasmic moans follow. Innocent people outside the gym usually wonder what shady work goes on inside.</div><div><br />
</div><div><b>MAMPTWO</b></div><div><b>M</b>iddle <b>A</b>ged <b>M</b>en <b>P</b>retending <b>T</b>o <b>W</b>ork <b>O</b>ut.. They're usually retired and balding. They walk at 4 kmph but their real interest lies elsewhere. With eyes wandering all over the place, they glance frequently at the mirrors to check out that cute chick with the tight ass in the other corner of the gym. Relatively harmless.</div><div><br />
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</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_k-wpOnZghRM/TRCvis2KpeI/AAAAAAAAAuU/xvm72ZBj-Xs/s1600/450px-Man_in_A_shirt_at_the_Brooklyn_Book_Festival.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_k-wpOnZghRM/TRCvis2KpeI/AAAAAAAAAuU/xvm72ZBj-Xs/s320/450px-Man_in_A_shirt_at_the_Brooklyn_Book_Festival.jpg" width="240" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;">What you starin' at?</div><div><br />
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</div><div><b>The Starer</b></div><div>There is usually only one such person per gym. He goggles at others (usually with a startled expression) as if it's going out of fashion. Leaves no stone unturned in making you feel like you've got a giant worm coming out of your nose.</div><div>Then there is the <b><i>other</i> starer</b>. He's usually the horniest guy in the gym and wants to ask you out before you can say "rape". He follows you around and wants to use the cycle just as you begin pedalling. Also known as the Gym Stalker.</div><div><br />
</div><div><b>Land Grabbers</b></div><div>You know squatters? They build homes on government property and refuse to relocate. Same is the case with Land Grabbers. They sprawl themselves over yoga mats in any free corner of the gym and spread their paraphernalia around them. Then you know they aren't gonna move for at least a couple of weeks.</div><div><br />
</div><div><b>The Slackers</b></div><div>Slackers roam around aimlessly in the gym with a distant expression on their face. Their clothes are crisp and devoid of sweat and their towels still reek of fabric softener. They sigh excessively and work out for not more than three minutes per machine. Any motivation to linger on is met with self-doubt and then some more sighing.</div><div><br />
</div><div><b>Blue Moons</b></div><div>Every gym has not one, but multiple Blue Moons. They usually show up only to renew their horribly expensive yearly membership. No instructor knows their names and even the receptionist greets them with, "So would you like to enroll in our gym?".</div><div><br />
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</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_k-wpOnZghRM/TRCvkUEa-JI/AAAAAAAAAuY/FtYCiWgdhBc/s1600/402px-La_monstrua_desnuda_%25281680%2529%252C_de_Juan_Carre%25C3%25B1o_de_Miranda..jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_k-wpOnZghRM/TRCvkUEa-JI/AAAAAAAAAuY/FtYCiWgdhBc/s320/402px-La_monstrua_desnuda_%25281680%2529%252C_de_Juan_Carre%25C3%25B1o_de_Miranda..jpg" width="214" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;">Mama says I'm pretty</div><div><br />
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</div><div><b>Desperate Strugglers</b></div><div>The Desperate Struggler is either an obese woman trying to lose weight or a spindly man trying to gain muscle. Both religiously follow their routine, in vain. Eventually, they join the category of Blue Moons.</div><div><br />
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</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_k-wpOnZghRM/TRCvm3SW41I/AAAAAAAAAuc/vQCumYUAt6Q/s1600/Blkspxdiscojns.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_k-wpOnZghRM/TRCvm3SW41I/AAAAAAAAAuc/vQCumYUAt6Q/s320/Blkspxdiscojns.jpg" width="310" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;">I just lost five kgs!</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
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</div><div><b>The Attention Seekers</b></div><div>Their necklines are a little too low and shorts a little too high. With clothes so tight, it's possible to make out the contours of organs. The slightest stretching means free porn for everybody.</div><div><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div>Which category do you belong to?<br />
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Images via <a href="http://www.wikipedia.org/">Wikipedia</a></div></div>Rima Kaurhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13115722893268903641noreply@blogger.com34tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4578465491512204930.post-76822545989631511932010-12-18T21:41:00.002+05:302012-09-26T00:32:57.303+05:30Sometimes I Wish It Never Happened<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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You haven't truly learnt anything until you share your knowledge and experiences with others.<br />
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So I share.</div>
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Yesterday night I was chatting with a friend of mine and he asked me a rather uncomfortable question. Well, the question itself wasn't as uncomfortable as the answer.</div>
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He asked me whether there was anything I wanted to erase from my life. A question that I have always answered with a boring, "There's always something to learn from unpleasantness"; but this time, I paused and thought.</div>
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It did not take me long to figure out exactly what it was that I wanted to discard from my life like an unwanted weed.</div>
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I was about eight years old and not very different from other girls my age.</div>
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I was also a victim of sexual abuse.</div>
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It lasted a couple of years.</div>
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Now, you might be having a rather sorry image of mine in your head where I'm little, scared and crying. Thankfully though, that wasn't the case. My age came to my advantage. When you're that young, you don't fully comprehend what's happening to you. I happily sailed through my life and apart from those few tense moments, I was a content, smiling child who laughed the loudest among her friends. </div>
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The real problems arose many years later, when I was in my mid teens. There was a growing awareness within me that I had been sexually abused. My unconscious was always buzzing with what had happened and that resulted in many behavioural and psychological problems. I became a bitter, rude and condescending person. I would frequently get into fights with boys and often went to the extent of beating them up. I was unsympathetic to the needs of others and often made cruel jokes at their expense. I felt disconnected with the other girls. Their supposed emotional and physical weakness disgusted me no end. I ridiculed them for not being able to handle their stupid problems and wondered how they could dwell for so long over insignificant matters.</div>
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Of course, with time I realized that I just couldn't continue with such behaviour and thoughts. I tried my best to become more emphatic, developed a softer attitude towards others and worked towards developing a calmer and more mature disposition. After all that hard work, I began to see that my anger had subsided and I had become a more pleasing person to be with. By the end of my teens, I was once again like any other person my age.</div>
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However, I was still troubled deep inside. I decided that the best way to get rid of all these teeming thoughts would be to share them with someone. I decided to confide in my closest friend. We talked a lot and came to the conclusion that I would only feel at ease once I revealed everything to my mother.</div>
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So, travelling in an autorickshaw one cold winter night, I decided to tell her everything. I started at the very beginning and poured my heart out. By the end of it, I finally felt at peace. From that day forth, I have never had a single unpleasant thought in my head regarding my abuse. It is done and in my past. I do not carry it forward with me.</div>
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Of course, I did confront the person in question about his actions. He broke down, apologised and wished he could take it all back.</div>
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Well, he can't.</div>
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And that is why I sometimes wish this never happened. It would have been a different life.. a different me..</div>
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Rima Kaurhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13115722893268903641noreply@blogger.com51tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4578465491512204930.post-55965661479444815942010-08-25T12:20:00.003+05:302010-08-25T19:37:51.991+05:30Oh! To Be Little Again!<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_k-wpOnZghRM/THS6yk4gN_I/AAAAAAAAAs0/SdV52rdrW3w/s1600/lolcats-funny-pictures-hey-dad.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_k-wpOnZghRM/THS6yk4gN_I/AAAAAAAAAs0/SdV52rdrW3w/s320/lolcats-funny-pictures-hey-dad.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://icanhascheezburger.com/2007/11/01/dad-hey-dad-dad-dad-hey-dad/">Image via I Can Haz Cheezburger</a></div><br />
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(Most) children are innocent and with each day spent at the school teaching children, my belief is reinforced.<br />
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</div><div>"You're little now, so you're called a girl and he's called a boy. What will you be called when you grow up?"</div><div>"Human!"</div><div>"Err... Aren't you a human now?"</div><div>"No! I'm a kid."<br />
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In another incident, a rather feisty boy from class III came up to me and said, "Ma'am, you know what Aditya told a group of girls from class IV?"<br />
"No.... What did he say?"<br />
"He said, 'Girrrrrls! Come here!'" (Saying so, he roared with laughter and poor Aditya flushed a deep shade of crimson.)<br />
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So you see. While we stand scratching our heads wondering what happened, almost anything makes a little kid laugh!<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_k-wpOnZghRM/THS61fLd-BI/AAAAAAAAAs8/9Sdk5MJO2oc/s1600/128935348227189266.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_k-wpOnZghRM/THS61fLd-BI/AAAAAAAAAs8/9Sdk5MJO2oc/s320/128935348227189266.jpg" width="269" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://icanhascheezburger.com/2010/05/09/funny-pictures-mom-loves-you/">Image via I Can Haz Cheezburger</a></div><br />
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The youngest children I teach always love looking at colourful photographs and pictures. This always felicitates interesting conversation, which is basically the prime motive of my classes, so the other day I borrowed a book from the library. It was about the circus and had large photographs of trapeze artists, lions, the ringmaster, flame throwers etc.. When I opened the first page of the book and showed it to the class, they let out a collective gasp. Sensing that something was wrong, I turned the book towards myself and had a long hard look at the page.<br />
"What's wrong guys? It's just a couple of lions!"<br />
"Oh Ma'am! Can't you see? They're all running around in a circle and a couple of them are standing on stools! Waaaooow!"<br />
Hmm.. I saw nothing spectacular in a couple of lions running around on their hind legs, but they did. Why's that?<br />
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The main reason for our lack of enthusiasm at the simple things of life is because we've been there, done that. We've all let out our gasps and had our share of wows. A tiny earthworm splitting into two tinier ones does not excite us. We don't hoot with laughter when we see someone wearing a foil hat. A puppy scratching its head off is mundane. Uninteresting.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_k-wpOnZghRM/THS8YSWqJqI/AAAAAAAAAtE/sugdAoHNNwU/s1600/funny-pictures-cat-is-excited-about-ribbons.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="214" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_k-wpOnZghRM/THS8YSWqJqI/AAAAAAAAAtE/sugdAoHNNwU/s320/funny-pictures-cat-is-excited-about-ribbons.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://icanhascheezburger.com/2009/07/09/funny-pictures-omg-omg/">Image via I Can Haz Cheezburger</a></div><br />
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When was the last time we asked an interesting question? Children do that all the time. They're full of queries. No answer completely quenches their curiosity. Some of their favourite words are "what" and "why". Why are your nails green today? What is in your bag? Why is that boy crying? What do you mean? Why are you so short? Why are your feet so small? Why are you shouting? So on and so forth. You'll get tired of answering but the questions just won't stop coming! That's the beauty of childhood.<br />
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Now the problem arises when these children grow up and turn into.. well.. us! Grumpy old adults sans enthusiasm. We hem and haw over how much we know, how much we've seen. I personally believe that the day we stop being curious and enthusiastic, we lead a pointless existence. Blessed are those who realize this! A couple of days back I got a beautiful message from one of the sweetest persons I've meet in life. Having recently acquired a job, he has little time for himself and those around him. The message goes like this (ignore the errors that are typical of forwarded messages)-<br />
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<b>One day we will all be sitting and thinking hard about life...</b><br />
<b>How it changed from a simple college life to the strict professional life...</b><br />
<b>How pocket money changed to huge monthly pay cheques, but gives less happiness..</b><br />
<b>How a few local jeans changed to a new, branded wardrobe, but less occasions left to wear them to...</b><br />
<b>How a single plate of samosa changed to a full pizza, but the hunger is less...</b><br />
<b>How a bike always in reserve changed to a car always full of petrol, but less places to go to...</b><br />
<b>How a tea by the roadside changed to CCD, Barista; but no friends for gossiping...</b><br />
<b>How a general class journey changed to travelling by flight; but less vacations for enjoyment...</b><br />
<b>Maybe this is the truth of the journey called "life"...</b><br />
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I'm sure we'll all associate with these words (even if just a bit!). Hidden behind this message is a desperate need to be little again; to be untroubled and carefree again! We all desire to go back to that stage of life where stress meant an exam; a decision meant choosing the right subjects and sorrow meant getting over a crush! An extremely popular Facebook page with over one lakh "fans" is very appropriately titled- "I wish I was little again, when the hardest choice was picking a crayon".<br />
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Sigh... To be little again!<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_k-wpOnZghRM/THS9DoaeELI/AAAAAAAAAtM/beYzr3cqn_c/s1600/funny-pictures-soldier-and-cat.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_k-wpOnZghRM/THS9DoaeELI/AAAAAAAAAtM/beYzr3cqn_c/s320/funny-pictures-soldier-and-cat.jpg" width="284" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://icanhascheezburger.com/2008/01/01/funny-pictures-no-fite-just-rubs/">Image via I Can Haz Cheezburger</a></div></div>Rima Kaurhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13115722893268903641noreply@blogger.com34tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4578465491512204930.post-88532966872139361982010-06-12T22:23:00.005+05:302010-06-12T22:28:42.870+05:30Beneath The Smiles<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 13px;">You set off to earn your bread and butter, leaving a bonny baby and smiling wife behind. Driving through the chaos, you realize how everything you ever wanted from life is there for you, giving you a reason to go on and be happy. The usual grind at work does nothing to dampen your spirits because you know you're going to be home in a few hours. You just can't wait...</span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 13px;"><i>She says she wants to lie down. Pretty unusual for her at this time of the day. She's smiling though, so it means she's all right. Just tired perhaps. L</i></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 13px;"><i>et her rest, she needs it. It's difficult to raise a child without any help.</i></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 13px;">You enter the room and find her on the bed with her eyes open. She's smiling still. It's hot, but she's all covered up. Looks like her body's aching.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 13px;"><i>Are you all right? Why don't you get up now? It's been a long time, let's grab something to eat.</i></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 13px;">She doesn't reply. Her eyes are now shut. Has she gone to sleep? Maybe you should come back later and let her rest a little while longer. But what's this? There's water on the floor. You better wipe it or she'll slip and fall. Switch on the lights.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 13px;"><i>What's all this?? Get up, get up!</i></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 13px;">It's not water, it's blood. There's blood everywhere. On the floor, on the sheets.. She should have gone to the doctor for a proper abortion.</span><br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_k-wpOnZghRM/TBO69LcqMBI/AAAAAAAAAss/hKfFzeMB44I/s1600/132647819_25c241c99d.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_k-wpOnZghRM/TBO69LcqMBI/AAAAAAAAAss/hKfFzeMB44I/s320/132647819_25c241c99d.jpg" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 13px;"><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/noeltanner/132647819/sizes/m/">Image by Noel A. Tanner via Flickr</a></span></span></div>Rima Kaurhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13115722893268903641noreply@blogger.com34tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4578465491512204930.post-59902116102366520962010-05-14T15:22:00.002+05:302010-05-14T22:53:43.146+05:30Big Ass Thunder Thighs!<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_k-wpOnZghRM/S-0c7KvQKMI/AAAAAAAAAsc/r3_VVc1IPEw/s1600/224292547_2aa5f18f70.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_k-wpOnZghRM/S-0c7KvQKMI/AAAAAAAAAsc/r3_VVc1IPEw/s320/224292547_2aa5f18f70.jpg" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/sollang/224292547/sizes/m/">Image by Sol Lang via Flickr</a></div><div><br />
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</div>If thighs could speak, here's what mine would say-<br />
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I was born chubby and soft. Then I was pounded to perfection by the deft hands of the <i>maalish</i> lady. In the comforting warmth of the winter sun, I shone like polished brass.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div>As time passed by, I realized there was something different about me. I was slightly bent and even though I was slim, I really wasn't. Still, at that age and time, it didn't really matter.</div><div>A few more years passed by and I ballooned out of proportion. I jiggled and wiggled in a manner that can scarcely be called attractive. Oh, what a low point that was!</div><div>But something happened! Like clay moulded into shape, I took form. I went in and curved out at the right places. I could see that even though I was still different, I looked better than most. I <i>still</i> jiggle and <i>still</i> wiggle, but God! I've arrived!</div>Rima Kaurhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13115722893268903641noreply@blogger.com26tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4578465491512204930.post-45535084733113652752010-03-15T00:55:00.003+05:302012-09-29T16:18:39.817+05:30Invoking God's blessings!<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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Before beginning I would like to thank Rima for letting me spill out my thoughts on her blog! This is my first attempt so excuse me for not being as articulate and expressive as the owner of this blog is..!!!<br />
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In life I have learnt (through very hard lessons) to accept my limitations as a person in this world and not push those limits to enter someone else's territory. Yet there are a few things that still distress me and force me to leave my usual composure which I try so hard to maintain. One of those things is "ANDHVISHWAAS". I would have used the English word "superstition", but no, I don't think that word captures what I am trying to pry into. "Andhvishwaas", I would rather translate as blind and often foolish faith in some people or the "higher power" as we refer to. Here, let me make it clear that I AM NOT AN ATHEIST. I however fail to understand why people place their inner locus of control into the hands of others. These days news channels are full of babas-cum-conmen who fool people so easily, playing on this very faith. This really makes me think. Are we so unprepared to face life and its consequences that we find contentment in being blindly led by others?<br />
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I recently visited a famous temple in Vrindavan. Instead of coming out blissful and blessed, I was thankful for managing to come out safely without hurting myself or others. I'll give a brief description of what I saw there... atop a platform stood Radha-Krishna, surrounded by at least four or five pujaris. They allowed us lesser mortals to catch a glimpse of the deities for barely five minutes, only to hide them again. They claimed that an evil eye would be cast on the Gods if they were exposed to the crowds for too long. How that is possible, I don't know. What resulted was utter chaos. People pushed, shoved and even hit each other in order to "purify" their souls by having just one look at the deities. I actually witnessed two men in the crowd getting violent with each other. The pujaris, while standing next to Radha-Krishna, smirked at their control over the mad public. It is instances like these, when I hear about people either walking barefoot on stony paths or cutting themselves to prove to the Lord how faithful they are to him, that I realize the enormity of people's blind faith. It amazes me and depresses me at the same time to see people disrespecting the greatest instrument that they possess - their bodies.<br />
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I don't know why people don't realize that the very God's they are praying to have all once walked the earth we inhabit today; be it Ram, Krishna, Prophet Mohammad, Guru Nanak or Jesus Christ. They were all humans; the only difference was that they realized their full potential before "attaining" the status of God. It is in the hands of people to become God, but only when they become fully human. It has been proven time and again how the most ordinary human beings later do great things in life. Yet people, instead of focussing on their inner growth and development; delve deeper into this web of superstition and waste their precious gift of life. I don't know what others think, but I personally feel that life holds an opportunity for everyone to become God. How you utilize this opportunity is ultimately your choice and hence its repercussions are yours too. Stop looking above at the sky to find hidden meanings. Stop looking at the invisible God. Look within. In the end you will find everything there.<br />
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<i><b>- Asmita Sharma is a 20 year old Psychology student from Lady Shri Ram College for Women. She is also my dear friend. She agreed to furnish the 100th post for this blog at my request. As stated earlier- she is not an atheist.</b></i><br />
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EDIT : I have since then deleted a lot of unnecessary posts, so while this may no longer be the 100th post, it is still special!</div>
Rima Kaurhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13115722893268903641noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4578465491512204930.post-27199805087573584452010-02-26T00:20:00.003+05:302012-09-29T16:26:59.293+05:30Bird Stalking<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">Here is something sinister I did about a year ago. I followed a bird around till it gave me one dirty, lethal look. I had to flee.</span></div>
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THE EVIL LOOK!</div>
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Rima Kaurhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13115722893268903641noreply@blogger.com13tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4578465491512204930.post-37953629549895068032010-02-19T23:22:00.004+05:302010-02-20T22:27:43.494+05:30(Anti)Social Networking<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_k-wpOnZghRM/S37PUXa0ZjI/AAAAAAAAAgw/rkBtoSqzKzo/s1600-h/4046382019_9c192ee5d2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_k-wpOnZghRM/S37PUXa0ZjI/AAAAAAAAAgw/rkBtoSqzKzo/s320/4046382019_9c192ee5d2.jpg" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.blogger.com/goog_1266598636150">Image by </a><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 2px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 2px; color: #666666; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 11px;"><b><a href="http://www.blogger.com/goog_1266598636150">° ρЯίтΛм ° [busy] </a><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 0px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 0px; color: black; font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: medium; font-weight: normal;"><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/xanxhor/4046382019/sizes/o/">via Flickr</a></span></b></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
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A former classmate of mine who is on the verge of completing her Journalism degree (that I too had joined but later left, as regulars to my blog might know) recently uploaded a questionnaire to her Facebook account and requested everyone to take time off and fill it up. All for research purposes. Well, this is exactly the kind of thing I love doing.. filling up forms and all that! So I quickly clicked a few buttons and reached the questionnaire. All about social networking sites, how much time I spend online, <i>what</i> I do online etc. Pretty interesting, eh?<br />
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</div><div>Now after answering sixty odd questions, my mind was buzzing with Facebook, Blogger and Youtube. My mind went back to the times when internet was more like a distant reality. Then I thought about the day I got my first computer (class III), the day that computer got an internet connection (class V), the day I created my first email address (again in class V, not to mention the long hours I took to cook up a funky name so that I could appear ten times cooler in front of my friends that I actually was!), the day I joined my first social networking site (Hi5) and so on and so forth. Since then, I have come a long way and so has the internet.</div><div><br />
</div><div>From Hi5, I graduated to Orkut. Hi5 became a thing of the past and it started being looked upon as a site for <i>bacchas</i>. Now, I kinda felt sorry for it. I would imagine a tiny person with "Hi5" instead of a head, sulking away in a corner, sniffing and shedding tears (I have this thing of feeling very sorry for inanimate things. When I was little, I would pick up a spoon to eat with and feel really sorry for the rest, imagining that they would become sad and lonely, and thinking, "Sorry guys, I'll definitely pick you up next time.").</div><div><br />
</div><div>Orkut became all the rage for quite some time. Soon, everybody was battling a silent war, an unspoken war. Everyone wanted more "fans" than their friends, people were obsessed with who visited their profiles, there was competition to be the proud owner of thirty thousand scraps. Of course, I too was taken in by this madness. Luckily, I regained composure quite soon and quit the site the moment reality hit me. Orkut drove many people to their virtual nervous breakdowns.</div><div><br />
</div><div>Life was beautiful after that. I could bask in the sunshine once more and smell the fragrant flowers. The world appeared to be much more pleasant with much less pretence. But BAM! Good things don't last forever! Requests from friends filled my mailbox, asking me to join this "Facebook". I got tired of deleting these godforsaken mails and finally decided to check out the site. A few awkward moments of signing in later (the site was at that time too full of itself, asking totally pointless questions and giving too much importance to all kinds of years like year of birth, year of graduation blah blah..), I was in! Well, I didn't really use the so called "book" for a long time, not until it was amended to become more friendly, warm and approachable (words that were till now used only to describe people!). What do I say now? I am hooked! Yes, I took to "farming" for a while, but then my "plants" died and I started getting withdrawal symptoms (for those of you who have no idea what I am talking about, all I can say is you're better off not knowing!). But now I think I have finally found my grey cells and learnt to maintain a delicate balance between real and virtual.</div><div><br />
</div><div>But hey, there are times when the scale tips just a little...</div>Rima Kaurhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13115722893268903641noreply@blogger.com6