tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-37099041457668813662024-03-12T23:22:11.800-07:00Alok Chandra blogging.....Alok Chandrahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15019891881267476742noreply@blogger.comBlogger8125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3709904145766881366.post-46280312493807508562012-09-03T04:14:00.001-07:002012-09-03T09:02:37.147-07:00Friends to FB to friends again.<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Would not love to hide that I have never hated work as much as I hate not having any. With my organisation not being able to provide me even mundane excel jobs, I can fathom the disappointments of IT people on bench. Lack of work, I have begun to feel, can either kill all your aspirations or frustrate to you to the extent where you start seeing meaning of your life. I am still to make out which phase I have reached. </div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Past two years have not been really easy on me particularly on my ability to connect with people. I excel in connecting with people through sports, through my likes and dislikes and through my ability to listen and respect. I have befriended people on the TT table, in cricket fields, on tennis court, in swimming pools, in DTC buses, in metros - everywhere. Somehow I was losing that ability. My present organisation seems to have robbed me of every such opportunity. Despite adding 800 people to my friend list on the Facebook in little less than 2 years, I have been feeling guilty of letting go of 400 others already on my list. From friends they were beginning to become a facebook friend. I wasn't exactly too happy with this. As if our lives are already not too virtual that you would want to have virtual or so called FB friends. </div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br />
<div>
Some of my friends have grown away from me physically, others mentally as well. Some I do not disturb, others prefer not to disturb me. Some have persistently kept following me despite my shameless ignores and I really seek their forgiveness for once and ever. Others, I have pursued with little success. Tit for tat, I believe. Some are just birthday friends. I call them on their birthday and they call me on mine with little interaction in between. With still others, I have been able to strike just the right chords. </div>
<br />
Never been a very huge fan of social networking sites. I mostly work on it in read-only mode with very little modification rights. I do stealthily frequent it, but mostly to have a peep into others' lives rather than share my own. But what I do admire about Facebook and other networking sites is their ability to provide a platform to help people re-connect. Networking is an overemphasized word in management. Plain meaningless networking. But RECONNECTING is what I was looking for.<br />
<br />
<br />
This brief stretch of worklessness had a sliver lining though. It brought along TIME - huge swathes of uninterrupted free time to sit back and connect - once again. Time aplenty to feel lost and savor moments and relationships. My old memories needed some cleaning to be done and I was game for it. </div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
With plenty of free time (and internet connection ) and a deliberate attempt to mellow down some of my more abusive and complaining friends, I have taken a fancy for Facebook. I have been able to connect with friends across the globe belonging to different stages of my life. I have talked to and chatted with people I never thought I would on this side of the grave at least. Importantly, I felt friendship once again create ripples in my heart. Pretty nice feeling that is, I tell you. </div>
<br />
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Only the last day I met a friend belonging to the most memorable phase of my life. 15 years, it has been since I saw him. 15 hours, I thought, it would take us to start treating each other as friends once again. 15 minutes, I believed, would be required for ice-breaking. Seconds it took us. 15 in all. Not an Hi, not a wave of hands, not a hand-shake, just a hug and we had already reconnected. There was no need to ask anything. There was no need to speak anything. He resonated feelings I associated with him and I could palpably walk on the bridge being constructed backwards. There was so much we had missed in each others' lives but not a moment was wasted complaining. The memories of moments we had lived together were too sweet too be soured by complaints of inaction. We chatted away as if these fifteen years never existed and no water, not even a drop, had passed under the bridge. Secrets were slipping out of my tongue and settling somewhere else. I could talk to him things I would hide to myself. We had started learning TT together. We were doubles partners in TT and it was only befitting that we met on the TT table. The ping-pong ball was symbolic of the turnings of a time machine which had once again catapulted us to the world we could not ever stop living. </div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Contented, I feel today but I am far from done. I hope to reach out to all the people who have made my life the way it is today. I do not just want to look back and enjoy, I want to re-live those moments once again with the people who had made those moments. </div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
All the best Amigos.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
</div>
Alok Chandrahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15019891881267476742noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3709904145766881366.post-37031905395638676292012-08-20T00:51:00.003-07:002012-08-20T02:20:48.435-07:00It was a woman<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<br />
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Calibri","sans-serif"; font-size: 11.0pt; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;">In
the quiet of Sunday’s afternoon, we were perhaps the only people who had nothing meaningful to do. As the lazy afternoon dripped still lazily into
a listless evening, we </span><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 15px;">(my friend and flatmate and I)</span><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt;"> were getting too bored of our virtual
world. So we set out to take a stock of the world and headed
to the only worldly place in our home – our balcony. It overlooks a society
road and doesn’t seem too satisfied having been a mute spectator to Delhi's
changing landscape both physically and morally. Now it does have three more
people to share its grief with, at least occasionally.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Calibri","sans-serif"; font-size: 11.0pt; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;"> <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Calibri","sans-serif"; font-size: 11.0pt; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;">Looking
at close to 60-70 cars parked in front of less than 20 houses on a rather deserted
road but for a couple, we wondered if having an underground multi-level parking
for each road in a residential society made any business sense. We agreed on
the contrary though, thinking more parking space would mean more cars on the
road and far quicker our ultimate destruction. That is how most of our
discussions end. We love status quo. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Calibri","sans-serif"; font-size: 11.0pt; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;">Closer
home from the far lands of dreams, idealism and laptops, a story was unfolding
right beneath our noses to which, intentionally or unintentionally, we were to
become a part of. It did not attract our attention at first for there isn't a
day when C-block Malviya Nagar does not wake up seeing two of its beloved sons
entangled in a fight about something none of them own – a parking space. It would
be tough to find a house in Delhi with proper parking facilities. Roads, hai
na? They believe just hanging a board saying “No parking” or “Reserved Parking
Space” gives them the right to (mis)appropriate government property and treat
it as their own fiefdom. Delhi government would do well to act upon its
notification of not registering a vehicle unless the owner showed a permanent
parking space.<u1:p></u1:p> But this couple standing near their car on the road
looked in a spot of bother.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Calibri","sans-serif"; font-size: 11.0pt; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;">Apparently,
they were waiting for someone and talked in hushed tone. They looked in their
late twenties and were, perhaps, unmarried. We were perched right in front
of them and they did, intermittently, look at what we were looking at. They, we
felt, were stuck and needed some help. Not gathering enough courage to talk to
us the boy got into his car and was trying to steer his way through two other
parked cars. One, a red Maruti swift, was parked rather appropriately while
the other, a silver Maruti Ritz, had been callously abandoned in the middle, yes in the
middle, of the road. The sun was not being kind to them either. The girl, clad
in a light pink suit, looked pretty and traditionally-modern. She was trying to
help navigate their car through a slight opening but quickly gave up. She did
not look comfortable a wee bit perhaps mindful of two sets of prying eyes and
muted chuckles. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Calibri","sans-serif"; font-size: 11.0pt; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;">Honestly
though, she had not been a part of our discussion till then and definitely not
from a “save a damsel in distress” point of view. What amused us more was the
foolhardiness even to attempt getting out of that narrow opening in reverse
gear. For a moment I thought, Aman could do this but then I thought of the
Great Greater Noida Expressway and I quickly dispelled the thought. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Calibri","sans-serif"; font-size: 11.0pt; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "Calibri","sans-serif"; font-size: 11.0pt; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;">He, on the
other hand, kept trying and he would have succeeded if Maruti Altos were to
come six inches thinner. A bright idea for Maruti to latch on to. Irritated he came out and tried pushing the Ritz but the it would not leave its ground. Either it was still in gear or had its hand brakes on. He looked up to us rather expectantly; his eyes seeking help this time. But he
decided against it perhaps looking at the company he had and scared by our broadening
grins. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Calibri","sans-serif"; font-size: 11.0pt; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "Calibri","sans-serif"; font-size: 11.0pt; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;">Meanwhile as shameless Delhi citizens we fixed our stare on to them looking indifferent. My friend said…”help to hum das bar kar de…per koi
bole to sahi. Age badh kar leader ban ne ka shaukh nahi hai hame”. </span><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt;">They
did seem to be in some hurry and all we had was abundant time. He once again started
frantically walking across the road while the girl chose to stand facing away
from us, a little perturbed and embarrassed with all the unwanted attention she
was being showered with.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Calibri","sans-serif"; font-size: 11.0pt; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;">As
my friend and I chatted away on their plight, we let out a generous dose of
expletives for the Ritz’s owner who had thought that the only appropriate place
to park a vehicle is right in the center of the road. We could see his point
though as all parking spaces had already been taken. He could have thought, we
thought, that it would not take him more than a minute and he would be back
before it even gets noticed. Else, we thought, the owner may not at all be a “He”.
This definitely looked more probable. Our sympathy for the couple was intensifying. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Calibri","sans-serif"; font-size: 11.0pt; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;">Indeed,
the owner did turn out to be a woman eventually but you need to bear with me till I
pull down the curtains on it. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Calibri","sans-serif"; font-size: 11.0pt; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;">He
returned a couple of minutes later and saw us transfixed to our position and
still staring in their direction and smiling. He went ahead to whisper something
into his (girl) friend’s ears and off she headed towards the car. Wow, we
thought, now the girl was going to try her hand at the steering wheel. Instead,
to our utter surprise, she took the navigator’s seat and did not come out till they finally found their way out. We reasoned out that it made sense for a
caring boyfriend to keep evil eyes off her girlfriend and a heeding girl in tacit consent chose to oblige. Perfect for Huma
Qureshi, I believe. She was right in indicating that dekhne se pahle hamein
permison lena chahiye tha na. Only God and we know what we were looking at.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Calibri","sans-serif"; font-size: 11.0pt; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;">The distrust shown further fortified our shamelessness and we decided against budging an inch. Our
hearts which had begun to show pity on their plight deep froze once again. He once again looked at us but the stern and unapproachable look on
our face dissuaded him from making any further advances. He kept walking around
and ultimately caught hold of a person who seemed to dwell in the same locality.
After listening to his saga, he, the new entrant, took it as his moral
responsibility to help them. He came right to us and asked, “Yeh red swift
aapki hai?”. Had it been a Honda Civic, I might have said yes. I have grown quite combative these days and taken
a liking to arguing with auto drivers. I was so peeved at the idiotic question
that I was about to say Yes. Could not these people realize, I thought, that I
would have helped them long ago if that were to be my car. I quickly rectified
my answer to reply in negative. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Calibri","sans-serif"; font-size: 11.0pt; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;">Remember that silver colored Maruti Ritz! It is still regally perched on the center of the road. It has
been at least 25 minutes since and we still had no information whatsoever about
its rightful owner. My friend suggested that a terrorist could have wantonly planted
it there. We had a fleeting thought about calling the police. That would have given
an interesting twist to the story, wouldn’t it? But it was not to be. A couple of
more people joined the melee on the road and it promised an interesting showdown.
But as it normally happens people were happier to recount their own tales rather
than look for a solution. Growing restless I yelled from the balcony, “aap log 5 log ho, Ritz
ko aage se utha kar side mein kar do”. My friend concurred saying that is how
vehicles are towed away. But they never heeded to it. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Calibri","sans-serif"; font-size: 11.0pt; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;">Finally,
the newcomer was able to locate the owner of the red swift. He turned out
to be living right above our flat. He walked on to his balcony and casually
leant against it without any intention or urgency to get down on to the road. I
do not what he was thinking but we thought it to be the height of callousness. The
boy expectantly looked at the man above our balcony with a pleading face and
imploring eyes. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Calibri","sans-serif"; font-size: 11.0pt; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;">Tailor
made for a hero to make entry, right? Just that our Hero is a she. Pat came Her Highness walking in all her propriety and regal candor in measured steps; the Queen and the owner of Maruti Ritz. My
friend and I had a hearty laugh on our prediction getting correct. We thought,
this lady is going to get a mouthful today. We were all ears as the discussion
turned into a heady altercation. The crowd yelled in unison at sheer dumbness. A sardar ji also trudged along to provide some
comic relief. We were definitely on the edge as the tense climax drew near.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Calibri","sans-serif"; font-size: 11.0pt; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;">I
saw the boy get animated but his voice soon fizzled out like a damp squib. Did
we hear them right? We could not believe our ears. Her royal highness was making her point gently and slowly the crowd concurred and began to find more sense in her words. The
lady was pointing out that that she had strategically placed her car on the
road so as to block his exit. This guy, she was saying, had been parking his
car on a daily basis on her main exit. And would you believe it, this lady, even had
some space in her home earmarked for parking. She did not claim the space
outside her house as rightfully hers but complained of being denied what was
legally hers. The boy appeared dumbstruck. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Calibri","sans-serif"; font-size: 11.0pt; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;">I
do not know about that boy and the girl but we were definitely ashamed thinking
that in Delhi you do not have people with right scruples and definitely not a
parking space at their place. We were delighted to think that she did that just to teach
someone a lesson. I definitely grew more and more appreciative of her and felt
guilty at heart at my prejudices.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Calibri","sans-serif"; font-size: 11.0pt; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;"> <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Calibri","sans-serif"; font-size: 11.0pt; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;">Standing
on the balcony, I have witnessed many an incidents which have ranged from being
mundane to hilarious but none like this which sent all my prediction abilities
and my pride in doing so for a toss. In the melting pot of Delhi’s belly where
two extreme societies merge and thrive, such incidents unfold with elan every
day. I was just lucky to be a part of one. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Calibri","sans-serif"; font-size: 11.0pt; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;">Till
we meet, Hasta la vista.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-align: justify;">
<o:p></o:p></div>
</div>
Alok Chandrahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15019891881267476742noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3709904145766881366.post-23001820481004426182009-04-26T10:21:00.000-07:002009-10-12T13:36:42.619-07:00My "Hi-friend"<p class="MsoNormal">It is 9:50 early in the morning and I am all decked up to leave for office. With laptop hanging by my side, I set out for my destination. The bus stop where I take a cab to my office is some 8-9 minutes walk from my balcony-less abode. Getting down the flight of stairs I fish for my mobile in my pocket. Finding it, I take it out and excitedly dial a number. Traveling some 1000 <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">kms</span> my call finally rings a bell which my mother has been earnestly waiting for. In no time a very normal mother-son interaction ensues. By that time I have covered some 300 meters in close to 3 minutes. The <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">autowalahs</span>, the <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2">ricksahwalahs</span>, the <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3">thelawalas</span> all seem busy catering to their customers. The morning sun is spreading its pleasant warmth. I look at the Sun, the way <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4">Sachin</span> does before beginning his innings and after completing a milestone and seek his blessings. Yes even I cross a milestone everyday, the one erected along the roads. In fact I cross two of them daily. Since <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5">Sachin's</span> name has surfaced, let me wish him many many happy returns of the day from all the people who would have the pleasure of reading this blog. Honks, horns, cries, whimpers, yells, and bells; I can hear them all. Head-butting against the stairs of the two temples on my way, I think of the just one thing. Why this rush at the temples? Aren't we supposed to have taken the path to moral decadence with gay abandon? There is only one explanation I give myself. Either the world is reclaiming the path to righteousness or the people throng there to seek forgiveness in advance for the evils they are likely to perpetrate in the hours to follow. Someone there says "<span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_6">Sai</span> Ram", I ignore him for he is seemingly all too capable to be sitting there and expecting alms. As I take a few more steps, I reach a T-point to the left of which is a 500 meter long stretch and which, arguably, is the most enjoyable part of my journey. To the left is a <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_7">confectionery</span> shop where I buy my morning breakfast; a sandwich. The frail looking uncle sitting there once told me, "beta <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_8">khud</span> <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_9">aakar</span> <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_10">wahan</span> <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_11">se</span> sandwich <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_12">le</span> lo". And these days, I just enter the shop, get to the other side of the counter, pick up a sandwich and hand over the money to the uncle. Everyone else there have their eyes popping out in surprise.<br /><br />My mother has the whole world to talk about. I do not know where does she get so much to speak about day after day. In close to 9 minutes conversation that we have, my airtime is at most a minutes. And I tend to expend the entire airtime allotted to me in the first 2 minutes of our conversation. So when I am on this stretch, I am usually just doing "<span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_13">haan</span>, <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_14">haan</span>". Listening. <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_15">Hearning</span> to be precise. But nothing beats the pleasure of listening to your mother even if she is talking about what she talked to the maid of a neighbour who only recently moved in and about whom you have no inkling at all. In the meantime I say "Hi" to a girl. I call her the "Hi girl". We have a strange kind of relation. I do not know her. She doesn't know me either. But we HI each other with a broad smile on our faces. All I know about her is that she is always clad in a suit, preferably a pink or a blue one. She is a beautiful girl in her early twenties and a very attractive one at that. There is one similarity that we share and that is what made us "HI friends". Whenever we meet we are always busy on our phones.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">Just like me she is deep into her conversation for the entire stretch. She is usually not all laughter but an innocently cute smile keeps playing on her face. We unfailing meet in this stretch and as we draw closer to each other a muted HI with a restrained waving of hands greets me. My smile broadens as I say HI and wave my hands. We move forward. That is not all. There is just a little more to our Hi-friendship. I turn back to find her turning back as well. We share another round of smiles and proceed ahead. And that is all for the day. The best thing about our friendship is that I do not think about her. Out of sight and out of mind she is. I never ever encounter her when I return from my office for I return at odd hours. But whenever I find myself alone on that stretch of the road, she crosses my mind and thinking of her smile I smile to myself. Meanwhile I haven’t heard anything my mother has had to say. But her stories are like <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_16">Bollywood</span> movies, you can understand everything even if you miss everything. <span style=""> </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">As I was walking down the same stretch of road at around 7: 50 this Sunday evening, I heard a “Hi”. It was her. In a pink suit again but looking refreshingly beautiful. I dedicate this blog to my Hi-friend. It is only her inspiration that I sat down to write this blog.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <span style="">Have a happy time my friend, ALWAYS</span>Alok Chandrahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15019891881267476742noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3709904145766881366.post-71592395982675731782008-08-05T06:28:00.000-07:002013-09-24T01:09:00.559-07:00An ode!!!!!<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<a href="http://www.blogger.com/blogger.g?blogID=3709904145766881366" name="OLE_LINK3"></a><a href="http://www.blogger.com/blogger.g?blogID=3709904145766881366" name="OLE_LINK2"></a>When loneliness accompanies you to dreamland,</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
To a star less sky in the midst of sand.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Where the moon stands sentry, all bright and gold,</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Therein resides in repose, the beauty to behold.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Where the breeze rushes to seek her presence,</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Where the rain beats down to wet her essence.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Where the flowers sway craving for her fold,</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Therein resides in repose, the beauty to behold.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Where the birds chirp drunk on her fragrance,</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Where the milieu smells heavy of her innocence.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Where the heart frequents stories unheard, untold,</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Therein resides in repose, the beauty to behold.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
With bated breath I wait, skipping countless beats,</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Another moment, another life, I live through deaths,</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
The wind has her, the trees have her, even the sky, the ground,</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
But nowhere is she to be seen, nowhere is she to be found.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
In a blitz, dark goes the robe of night,</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Magically rises the mist with darker insight,</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
The moon plays truant, hiding out of sight,</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Gushes in the breeze, mocking at my plight.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Through the haze, The SUN shimmers in the moon's reflection,</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
The stars twinkle beneath those hazel ocean.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Serenely she stands, staring, a reality mired in illusion,</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Untrammeled, unrivalled, an epitome of perfection.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
A thick rich auburn adorns her mane,</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Teasing the cloud, flowing insane.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Brighter she shines like the yellow of bloom,</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
The moon turns pale, wearing a halo of gloom.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Ensnared I stand, feasting on the divine delight,</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
With enraptured vision, filling in my craving sight.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Her countenance a home to countless expressions,</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Some piercing, some probing others unbridled emotions …</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
For once she turns to find me staring,</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Coyly she looks, her smile flickering.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
She looks for a while then retreats gently,</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Blushing behind the veneers of modesty.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
My senses benumbed, my mind conquered,</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
My heart pounding, my feet foundered.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Rain danced, the wind stood testimony,</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Time froze, in the sweetest moment of agony,</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
In a moment I had lost my life's treasure,</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
letting in, in turn, the pangs of pleasure,</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="color: red;">Dream moments ago, desire a few later,</span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="color: red;">Destination moments ago, destiny a few later.</span></div>
<span style="color: red;">
</span></div>
Alok Chandrahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15019891881267476742noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3709904145766881366.post-68030244058766941992008-06-09T03:17:00.000-07:002008-10-23T10:33:54.938-07:00Repeated song syndrome....<div align="justify">"Music is zenith", so says the Orkut profile of a dear friend of mine. I could not have agreed more. I would go to the extent of admitting that they are as animate as our own selves. Is it not the shoulders u cry on when u heart is full and absolutely choked??? Is it not the embrace u snuggle up to when ecstasy strikes you big and hard??? From the days of DD and its immensely popular and eagerly awaited bi-weekly Chitrahar and weekly Rangoli, it’s been a long journey to the days of MTV and B4U music. And not to mention the ubiquitous youTube and MetaCafe. It’s been a mushroom growth for music industry. Change is good. But then not all things change.<br /><br />And one thing that has stood the test of time has been my love-hate relationship with music. Love, I it, with all my heart, but hatred it has always brought for me. I of course love music for all it has to offer, but there is one more strange reason I love it for. I simply never ever could come close to learning any musical instrument, how so ever hard I have tried. And let me shamelessly admit that I m too bad a singer even for bathrooms. There are two types of bad singers. One who think they are the Gulzars and Javed Akhtars in their own right and put all the fanciful words they can think about every time they open their mouth. Thankfully they tend to get the tune right. The second category has those people who render different tunes with the same lyrics everytime they start crooning. Meet Mr Rahman! That is how masterful they are with creating new tunes. There is something worse still, those who are bad at both. And I m the proud member of the last. In a nutshell, I m a hopeless singer. And I genuinely regret that. Next life and I would want to be born as Shreya Ghosal. I simply adore her. I do not know how many times “suna suna lamha lamha” has taken me to endless joyrides in its own magical world.<br /><br />What might surprise u, it unfailing surprises me every time, is the fact that I tend to develop fancy for those songs all the more which I cannot sing a word of. It is rather common to ask someone their favorite song. When faced with this question, tone-deafs like me tend to mutter some incoherent words in some out of the world tune. Reading a prose would have sounded better. It's a predicament in its own embarrasing way. The audience claps merrrily. Happy at the realisation that there is someon who is worse off than him/her. </div><div align="justify">On a serious note it is a gift of expression I have been left bereft of. Just imagine the helplessness of a guy who has heard a song tens of thousands of times and not a word of it he can sing. But I have found smarter ways to ward off such predicaments. Make an Adnan or a Reshammiya song your favourite one.<br /><br />The kind of music I develop taste for is another thing I have always been ridiculed for. I tend to develop particular liking for songs others would just give passing ears and never care to waste energy wanting an encore. Not that I hate this, and still not that I wish to change that, but if only friends could understand that. But I wish things stopped here. I have this habit of listening to any particular song of my choice in an infinite loop. Whether i do it intentionally or it just happens with me is something I have never been able for figure out, but that is incosequential here. But that habit of mine has not gone well some of my friends and has flared many a nerve. At least, definitely, of one colleague of mine. Right from my college days I have been taken to task for this habit of mine. Even by my close friends who had likings pretty similar to mine. But I never seem to be giving up this habit. Nor do I plan to. In fact I believe I have some solid reason not to relinquish this habit of mine.<br /><br />It is impossible for me to work without songs playing in the background and at the same time songs can be a huge distraction when you need to concentrate hard. So that is when the tried and test repeated song syndrome lends a helping hand. No grey cells get exercised in teasing out the meaning of a song heard a thousand times. Its meaning and lyrics are clearly registered in your heart and mind. No extra grey cells get exercised to interpret its meaning. At the same time it, by virtue of being your favourite song, soothes your disturbed psyche. My college friends hardly found any substance in my arguments, just because they were my college friends.And why would they let go of a chance to push me against the wall. Not that they had no other issues to pull my leg, but then an extra one was always welcome. But I believe the highly erudite bloggers would find some salt in my arguments.<br /><br /><br /></div>Alok Chandrahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15019891881267476742noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3709904145766881366.post-8483630184044637252008-06-08T20:13:00.000-07:002008-06-08T23:40:43.050-07:00The New Princess of Roland Garros...<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjkmKoCniMwqR4uz7kXwfksIP6c7AWh-5ZU4GnfzNzQXt-GBsVcVDJuPHsDtveYcW35adAJyvzI2mBDUqxIYWk9nbFDkezvL84x7m-Tt6ca-e-wsVgR9u6dqs6XwxkxHaWq7XcO9QUtKKQ/s1600-h/ana.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5209767849788830194" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjkmKoCniMwqR4uz7kXwfksIP6c7AWh-5ZU4GnfzNzQXt-GBsVcVDJuPHsDtveYcW35adAJyvzI2mBDUqxIYWk9nbFDkezvL84x7m-Tt6ca-e-wsVgR9u6dqs6XwxkxHaWq7XcO9QUtKKQ/s320/ana.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><div></div><br /><div>Many a fairy-tales have been staged on the Phillipe Chatrier court. Some relegated to a corner of history books, others imprinted indelibly on innumerable hearts. History was once again waiting to be re-written, one way or the other, for at its door steps stood two immensely talented tennis-pros, both in their early twenties, competing for their first Grand Slam title. A befitting finale it may not have been. Nevertheless, it was definitely one for the heart.<br /><br />What would you say about a girl who looks stunningly beautiful in her bright pink outfit?<br /><br />That she is exceptional in her shot making with that near perfect forehand cross court. That she plays that impeccable double handed backhand down the line, leaving her opponent breathless. That, she at 6’1”, stands taller with her sheer grit and attitude. That she goes for her winners whether it is a break point she is facing or a match point she is going for. That she has that child-like innocence that belies her temperament beyond her age. That she has that impish tint about her grey eyes that keeps you glued to the screen for hours. That she has this compelling simplicity to write home about. That she is the new queen of Roland Garros. That she’s been the princess of many a hearts before Roland Garros crowned her the QUEEN.<br /><br />That, she wins you over with that cute, heart rendering smile which brightens up her face every time she comes up with winners. That she amazes you with the sameness of expression that remains constant on her visage, be she in whatever stage of the game. That she genuinely feels sorry for her opponent if a shot of hers grazes the net-chord and spills right over, when many others prefer pumping their chest on similar occasions. That she neither throws starry tantrums on unforced errors nor does she speak a mouthful at incredible winners. That she has her own graceful way of egging herself on and pumping her fist. That she leaves u gaping with the sheer femininity of the manner in which she goes about doing her job. That, she is honest to the extent that she ruled a ball in favor of her opponent when the chair umpire had ruled against the ball landing in service court. And that too in a grand slam final. She lost that final but won my unconditional and unflinching support, for ever. That I have remained loyal in my support for her is a mere testimony to her abilities rather than of my standing on my words.</div>Alok Chandrahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15019891881267476742noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3709904145766881366.post-83605513634127862472008-05-21T09:45:00.000-07:002012-09-03T06:49:09.411-07:00The morning rain, the evening rain....!!!<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
Temperamental, they are, aren't they, the Rains; wet they would someone deep down while leave others high and dry. When millions go cloth-less with frenzied excitement seeing the first cloud hover, from million others it(rain) mericilessly takes away the only piece of clothing they have had for ages.When the firmament opens up in all its splendour to wet down the essence of earth, it is blissfully unaware of what would come back. Brickbats and boquets bundled together is what they get back. That's how it's been for them, almost always. Fate, all one can say!!! It would be too gory a tale to delve deeper...let it be a story untold.<br /><br />The recent spurt of non-seasonal rains in Delhi have hit me hard, though with a stupid question. Is there a difference between an "evening" shower and a "morning" drizzle. A year back, and I would have said rains are always fun, what morning, what evening. I do want to say that now as well, but can I, with the same conviction. Perhaps not. Actually not.<br /><br />The rain is beating down hard and strong in the late evening and there I stand in my balcony with my colleague, sipping some hot coffee. Leaning against the wall, we talk of all the good times, remembering all the beautiful seasons we spent together in our college days. Hours later we retreat back to our bed, to be up in time for office next morning and with child like innocence he says, "Alok, let's keep all the windows and the door open, it is such a beautiful weather." I am only too willing to accept. An "aah" erupts and rainy dreams take us over. <br />
<br />Mornings never came before 9 and 9 was never too early on office days. And it is raining still. "Hey, Bhagwan, even the raincoats haven't dried up" I scream and the rains, it is raining as if it were never to stop. The is perhaps the agony of being rain. No natural phenomenon ever elicited such juxtaposed emotions and such widely varied one at that. If in the evening those tiny inncouous droplets of water falling off the leaves took us on a ride to the sylvan greens of our college campus, they grow monsterous by the morning clogging roads and overflowing the sewage. Negotiating a heavly clogged stretch with a wide frown on my face, I asked, "How would Delhi ever become a world class city?" Not at least with rains playing havoc in the "morning".<br /><br />The evening air seems all pleasant and soothing. Intoxicated by the presence of water droplets in their fold, it blows ubridled, caressing the trees and temple-tops on its way to its unison with the clouds. Swing it plays to the tightly held hands of two lovers in tow enjoying their first rain of togetherness. Come morning and the breeze has all gone heavy and dustful hitting hard against your raincoats and still searching for something more non-plastic to wet. These morning rains, they never did anyone any good, did they? <br />
<br />There can hardly be few things more fulfilling than savouring the enchating aroma emanting from the soil in the evening. It fills up ur senses with contenment, leaving an indelible mark on your heart. The morning rain leaves a mark too, of a different kind though, on ur shoes, ur clothers as u make ur way through the dirty, stinking rivulents left as a testimony; A testimony to the wonderful time the "evening" rain had brought about; A testimony to the ill-designs of the morning rain; A testimony to my ever so increasing hatred for the morning rain..............!!!!</div>
Alok Chandrahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15019891881267476742noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3709904145766881366.post-2745710502922621492008-05-17T02:31:00.000-07:002012-09-03T06:49:42.748-07:00Dream Debut<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhj23hUdn5IEQb2CIH9ihRnKmQuss94vBHqp8TQLIdLEGAdpAOeNLUWuqc0D8k7N-BSuHH_jFrIHGL_kvbzVR9DtPDHkM_O-n1-BhxWMF26AmLpIDfF56kv43Zav_RiNxd2zq9MY3O93x4/s1600-h/30042008542.jpg"><span style="color: #33cc00;"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5201450427602724146" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhj23hUdn5IEQb2CIH9ihRnKmQuss94vBHqp8TQLIdLEGAdpAOeNLUWuqc0D8k7N-BSuHH_jFrIHGL_kvbzVR9DtPDHkM_O-n1-BhxWMF26AmLpIDfF56kv43Zav_RiNxd2zq9MY3O93x4/s320/30042008542.jpg" style="cursor: hand; display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center;" /></span></a><span style="color: #33cc00;"><br /></span><br />
<div>
<br />
<div>
<span style="font-size: 180%;">C</span>ricket's been just a game for me, but <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">Sachin</span>, He's all I have gained by wasting those innumerable hrs in front of TV, and perhaps many more singing his praises. The kind of satisfaction I get when he reaches a milestone can be compared to any I have had at my own achievements. Nothing more would I want out of cricket if I get to get a glimpse of His majestic self in flesh and blood.<br />
<div>
<br />
<div align="justify">
<span style="font-size: 180%;">A</span> non-<span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">descript</span> day brought with itself an irresistible pass to fulfillment of a long lost desire. A desire, which had always bred itself in the corner of my heart without ever forcing itself to the fore. A desire, which I knew would get fulfilled someday, but that the Day had come calling on me so suddenly utterly swept me off my feet. A stroke of luck all I can say. This opportunity had fallen from heaven directly into my lap. Only a fool would have let that go. And when it comes to Cricket, I am no fool. Thanks to <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2">Abhinav</span>, off I was with four colleagues(<span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3">Akash</span>, <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4">Chaya</span>, <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5">Sandip</span> and <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_6">Namrata</span>) to watch a D/N <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_7">IPL</span> encounter between Royal Challengers, Bangalore and Delhi <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_8">DareDevils</span>, the debut match for me. The kind of excitement it brought along on our faces was something words cannot express. It was a fairytale for me. And the princess awaited me. To meet the Princess, the Prince had to cross “the seven seas”. We too had to. A sea, it literally was, of people, all waiting to get their share of the Princess. Pushing and shoving would not deter us nor would the canes of security personnel. Time was running out and the match could get underway any moment. <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_9">Pre</span>-match events were already nearing completion. Colorful confetti flowing all around, sparkling crackers brightening up the sky, deafening music flowing from all over the place and incessant huge roars coming from inside the stadium made us more aware of what we were missing. And there we were, stuck in a blind alley, standing in the middle of a non-ending serpentine queue, unaware of what fate held for us. A match or no-match. We were steadily losing hope. Things sped up, we do not how, as we inched closer to the main entry .We did manage finally, but not without great discomfort, in hindsight I should say. But then, if dreams materialized so easily, would they be worth their salt??? Through with the security check in a flash, flying, we were all inside the stadium in a moment. Few stairs and there we were……. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div align="justify">
</div>
<div align="justify">
<span style="font-size: 180%;">I</span>t was a different world altogether. How was I to believe what stood in front of me? A world more pristine than any of my mundane thoughts could ever carve. It was all too perfect to be true. With <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_10">unflustered</span> gaze, I stood there filling in my ever-craving senses, but the visual splendors on exhibition were too many to be ingested in one go. To remain unfazed with what lay in front of me was beyond me. Beautifully lit stadium, outfield all bright and green, rocking <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_11">Bhangra</span>, cheerleaders, maverick fans screaming atop their voice, who would not love this sight???? I would be belying my true feelings, if I do not admit how mesmerizing and fulfilling the first glance was. There was this unabated surge of excitement oozing out which literally had my body and heart swaying and swirling. Dumbstruck we all were to speak and perhaps we all wanted to say the same thing as one could read out from our palpably excited faces.</div>
</div>
<div>
<div align="justify">
<span style="font-size: 180%;"></span></div>
<div align="justify">
<span style="font-size: 180%;">I</span> had been stumped before a ball could be bowled and so were my colleagues. How amazing it was to be with people all united by the passion they held for the game and equally intoxicated by the mirth and fervour it had brought along. It was a moment when I, of all the people I, was going to be a part of the history making. When people would ask me, did u see the match between Royal Challengers and Delhi Daredevils, how proud I would feel to say, I was there in the stadium itself watching it unfold. Suddenly it dawned on me that those watching live feeds, with all the comforts of their rooms, actually had a cast-off experience, being fed on things discarded by the stadium-spectators. After all the stadium-spectators had the unwritten right to first use. They, I thought, were mere passive spectators incapable of scripting a twist in the tale. And those present in the stadium, yelling despite their parched throat, could very well dictate the course of the match. I had heard of ‘standing ovation’ being given to players. It proved out to be so true, and why not when people would not rest their back even for a second for the entire duration. There can be endless arguments about which cricketer the world loves the most. I love <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_12">Sachin</span>, let there be no bones about it, come what may. But what do u have to say when for every shot a <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_13">Dravid</span> or a <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_14">Kallis</span> played, people merrily swayed and chanted <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_15">Sachin</span>’s name. What more would a die-hard Sachin fan want. <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_16">Sachin</span>….<span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_17">Sachin</span>…<span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_18">Sachin</span>, all one could hear. It started with our group leading the way but gradually caught with, arguably, the whole of East Stand. To be standing in a 10 meter proximity to an international cricketer is a celebrated achievement in its own right, so what if the player happened to be <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_19">Wasim</span> <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_20">Jaffer</span>. <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_21">Wouldn</span>’t have I fainted had it been <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_22">Sachin</span>? How dearly I wish it were Him, the little maestro.</div>
<div>
<span style="color: #33cc00;"><br /></span></div>
<div align="justify">
<span style="color: #33cc00;"></span></div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
Alok Chandrahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15019891881267476742noreply@blogger.com3