tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-51964790790669875772024-03-14T11:39:21.007+05:30Yellow Roman CandlesThe only people for me are the mad ones, the ones who are mad to live, mad to talk, mad to be saved, desirous of everything at the same time, the ones who never yawn or say a commonplace thing, but burn, burn, burn like fabulous yellow roman candles exploding like spiders across the starsPGhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01295310436884812669noreply@blogger.comBlogger171125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5196479079066987577.post-18632145915490669252013-08-27T16:35:00.000+05:302013-08-27T16:49:56.445+05:30Is it a city, Is it a suburb, is it a giant mist, Or Is it the forest growing back?<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
I had only two reasons to visit Seattle. Cobain and a couple of my dear friends. And I was prepared to not really take to the city. After all Seattle is synonymous with rain. And I hate rain. I don't get how people can romanticise about rains and like it and love it and more. I'm not a rain-person. Let that be heard wide and clear.<br />
<br />
Then Seattle happened. The clear skied drizzle that the city engulfs you with is amazing. All those idiots have got it wrong, the best thing about Seattle is it's weather. And the quirks of a major city which hardly looks like a city. The green, the blue and the mist. I never expected to fall so hard for a city, but I did.<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-TJdAcMxrzpk/UhyGfVQyr_I/AAAAAAAAH58/yX1Izv8jjzY/s1600/2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-TJdAcMxrzpk/UhyGfVQyr_I/AAAAAAAAH58/yX1Izv8jjzY/s1600/2.jpg" height="320" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Seattle Space Needle - Look at the brilliant sky!</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/--4Pfd4np2qo/UhyGhpWkOyI/AAAAAAAAH6k/0ozloNUqYRA/s1600/8.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/--4Pfd4np2qo/UhyGhpWkOyI/AAAAAAAAH6k/0ozloNUqYRA/s1600/8.jpg" height="320" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Seattle's most famous quirk - Gum Wall</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-9bXMHjZOPCc/UhyGge6WqLI/AAAAAAAAH6I/krX6p8etGB4/s1600/5.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-9bXMHjZOPCc/UhyGge6WqLI/AAAAAAAAH6I/krX6p8etGB4/s1600/5.jpg" height="320" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Original Starbucks logo - The original shop had burned down a block away.</td></tr>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-q_8MI-ouygU/UhyGg7pynaI/AAAAAAAAH6U/pluiHhyUvZ4/s1600/6.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-q_8MI-ouygU/UhyGg7pynaI/AAAAAAAAH6U/pluiHhyUvZ4/s1600/6.jpg" height="320" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Never been more excited or happy to visit a Market.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-oQVyEENgMOQ/UhyGhGH_3CI/AAAAAAAAH6g/sCjYpWboeDE/s1600/7.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-oQVyEENgMOQ/UhyGhGH_3CI/AAAAAAAAH6g/sCjYpWboeDE/s1600/7.jpg" height="320" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Cheese making in progress</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-PfSNV92W0RQ/UhyGflYsV5I/AAAAAAAAH54/joMy5YZhAbo/s1600/3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-PfSNV92W0RQ/UhyGflYsV5I/AAAAAAAAH54/joMy5YZhAbo/s1600/3.jpg" height="320" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The house in the backyard of which Cobain shot himself .</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-1UmXNJ_Tkks/UhyGfXQGlFI/AAAAAAAAH50/yxtEsXhUYNc/s1600/1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-1UmXNJ_Tkks/UhyGfXQGlFI/AAAAAAAAH50/yxtEsXhUYNc/s1600/1.jpg" height="320" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Cobain/Nirvana fan bench near his place of residence (above)</td></tr>
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PGhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01295310436884812669noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5196479079066987577.post-78239765687586697062013-07-30T22:47:00.001+05:302013-07-30T22:47:49.438+05:30Signature Song.<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
I found my new song. My new morning song, going to work song, working song, i'm going to nail it song, getting married so...wait I already did it, anyway, having a baby song, my unwind song, my funeral song, my everything song.<br />
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<iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.youtube.com/embed/kosHCdqV3Dk?feature=player_embedded' frameborder='0'></iframe></div>
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PGhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01295310436884812669noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5196479079066987577.post-50251216812882362722013-07-30T05:32:00.001+05:302013-07-30T05:32:33.694+05:30Home Is Wherever I'm With You...<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<div class="MsoNormal">
The trip is almost coming to an end and although it’s been
Monday kind of crazy every day I find myself suddenly free for the next 30
minutes. Which is awesome, because I get to blog about how little time I’ve
spent in recreational activities, this work trip. There was and is so much to
cover that the office folks here decided to make us stay another week. Which is
all good because maybe then I get to see a little bit more of the city.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I mean don’t doubt me, even after a work day that felt like
numerous consecutive rounds of being boxed in the head I have dragged myself to
Chinatown to have my favorite tea in the world, Boba Tea. I have also compelled
myself to click an ungodly number of touristy pics in Fisherman’s Wharf. The
usual, you know. I have met the in laws, the ex-room-mate, the ex-team-mate,
the ex-pub-mates and had a good time somewhere between all the crazies. So as I
enter the home run of this trip, I’m dreaming about the sunny side up eggs I get
in bed every weekend or the cuddles or the pillow talk or the random whatsapp
conversation with sister. There is an exaggerated homesickness this time
because well, my little kid sister starts her brand new college life in whole new
city all by herself. This is making me feel nostalgic, emotional and happy all
at the same time and I’m having some major empty nest feeling even though I haven’t
lived with that bugger for 9 years. Yikes! I guess the baby of the family
always does remain the baby of the family.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
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<br />
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So, obviously, I can’t wait to be submerged by everything
that is home to me – But not before I walk on the ground that was home to my
favorite musician.<o:p></o:p></div>
</div>
PGhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01295310436884812669noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5196479079066987577.post-49627691892784329852013-07-17T04:56:00.001+05:302013-07-17T21:59:54.730+05:30Of Impromptu Travels.<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
In a matter of 48 hours I find my self leaving home to travel halfway across the world for a couple of weeks. Not that I'm the most organized or well planned out traveler ever but usually I'd like to get a little bit more notice than that. Anyhoo, since I'm already here in the beautiful city of San Francisco, I'm going to make full use of my time here. Maybe even write a bit, since I haven't for almost 2 months.<br />
<br />
And visit one of my favoritest married couples in Seattle. I swear I'm going to go total Grey's Anatomy on their ass, yo!</div>
PGhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01295310436884812669noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5196479079066987577.post-84290275184203302432013-05-23T18:23:00.002+05:302013-05-23T18:24:48.473+05:30Wedding Times - Proud Owner Of A Husband<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
I attended 2 weddings in a span of less than 3 weeks. Let me
tell you, it's brutal - mentally, physically & financially. Especially when
one of those weddings is <i>yours</i>.<div>
<br /><div class="MsoNormal">
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
My wedding was everything I just knew it would be – last minute
travels, too much alcohol, too many people going bonkers, super duper long
wedding day (owing to our insistence on get married according to both our
cultures), hungover morning, late late nights, family togetherness, shameless
flirting friends, meeting new people. And so much more!<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Here are a few of the wedding shots:<o:p></o:p></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-VYSy_Qn0k7s/UZ4QHLVAM0I/AAAAAAAAGyU/3IQA-ObgSr8/s1600/Rehaan-Pooja-2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="200" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-VYSy_Qn0k7s/UZ4QHLVAM0I/AAAAAAAAGyU/3IQA-ObgSr8/s200/Rehaan-Pooja-2.jpg" width="132" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Hindu Ceremony<br />cheezensnap.com</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-87eYnw4a5os/UZ4QIuQACeI/AAAAAAAAGyc/LPGNTxmbR74/s1600/Rehaan-Pooja-3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="132" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-87eYnw4a5os/UZ4QIuQACeI/AAAAAAAAGyc/LPGNTxmbR74/s200/Rehaan-Pooja-3.jpg" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Muslim Ceremony<br />cheezensnap.com</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-psRXr9jSXbk/UZ4QL4lllbI/AAAAAAAAGyo/0Pn6AgWjuRo/s1600/Rehaan-Pooja-5.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="132" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-psRXr9jSXbk/UZ4QL4lllbI/AAAAAAAAGyo/0Pn6AgWjuRo/s200/Rehaan-Pooja-5.jpg" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Tying the knot (literally!)<br />cheezensnap.com</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-mAdVpUDzA38/UZ4QLbap8NI/AAAAAAAAGyk/KUpZGX38ft8/s1600/Rehaan-Pooja-4.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="133" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-mAdVpUDzA38/UZ4QLbap8NI/AAAAAAAAGyk/KUpZGX38ft8/s200/Rehaan-Pooja-4.jpg" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">That is after lots of booze :)</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
My best part about weddings has always been the friendships
that form and the love that flows after copious amounts of alcohol. How can you
not love that? And the incurable flirting…what’s a wedding without people
trying to randomly hook up, right?<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
All in all, it was one of the most eventful days in our
lives. Now that we’ve settled into our normal lives again, I can’t say I’ll do
it all over again if I could – because let’s face it having your self weighed
down with tons of jewelry, makeup and clothes can only seem doable for a few
days.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Also, if, by chance, I was craving any more wedding my
friends P & U were getting married 3 weeks from our D day (that is a story for another post). Hungover, tired
and with aching feet when I finally slept in my bed on Monday, I thought - "that’s
it! I’m DONE with them weddings!" Who was I kidding? 2 of my lovelies gets married in
September, what’s more, this email that I received two hours ago comes with all
the dates and stuff. And so starts the Wedding mania again. Dear diet, here I
come (Which is good, because I’ve exploded after my wedding, thanks to enormous
amounts of food, alcohol and dinner parties). Also, booking tickets, getting
clothes ready…but but but…I have a husband now. I’ll make him work. He has to
right? It’s his job isn’t it?</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
Sometimes I wish I was less delusional.<o:p></o:p></div>
</div>
</div>
PGhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01295310436884812669noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5196479079066987577.post-27448953369388490752013-04-17T13:00:00.000+05:302013-04-17T13:00:04.988+05:30Changes<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-mKnhqiNWb_E/UW5PNNWp6fI/AAAAAAAAGL0/hce1n09qdGo/s1600/mono+no+aware.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="123" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-mKnhqiNWb_E/UW5PNNWp6fI/AAAAAAAAGL0/hce1n09qdGo/s640/mono+no+aware.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
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PGhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01295310436884812669noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5196479079066987577.post-13619486033734147312013-03-26T11:00:00.000+05:302013-03-26T11:00:04.371+05:30Quote-Love #4<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-G0PEj-eHuqU/UUyhfxgx7rI/AAAAAAAAF-w/xa4nNk8VTew/s1600/unmade.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="263" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-G0PEj-eHuqU/UUyhfxgx7rI/AAAAAAAAF-w/xa4nNk8VTew/s320/unmade.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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PGhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01295310436884812669noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5196479079066987577.post-69815648444764647562013-03-22T22:55:00.001+05:302013-03-22T22:55:12.153+05:30Keeping It Real<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
I have been having a lot (and I mean a LOT) of discussions about weddings lately. And if you're reading this and thinking - <i>Oh, can't she just shut up about it already!</i> - then I'll have you know that if I am going through this, then you are too. To add to the mix 2 of my bestest friends are getting married this year as well. Talk about wedding overload!<br />
<br />
I get a ping from one of them saying she knows this friend of a friend who got married 5 years back and they were wildly in love but now both of them are comfortable with the partner sleeping around. Now, before you think I'm being judgmental towards those who chose to go into open relationships let me assure you I'm not. It's just not my style. And it makes me super uncomfortable to think that would what my relationship could become. M says her better half and she are making lists that would help them live their own lives and be individuals.<br />
<br />
<i>Shit, maybe I should do some sort of list as well. I mean we make it a point to do different things, give each other enough breathing space and basically not become one entity - but what if it's not enough?</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
While I'm soaking all of this information in, Roy tells me that everytime she thinks the wedding is coming close she gets this uncontrollable urge to puke. She sleeps with a perfumed handkerchief at night to feel better.<br />
<br />
<i>Yes! that's what happens to me too. Now that the wedding is near I get these sudden urges to puke. With a fair amount of nausea and palpitations involved. And it'll strike me at the least expected hour.</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
How I goddam wish I was those perfect girls from the chick-flicks who have waited for their wedding their entire life, planned minute details and can't get enough of the preps. I mean I didn't even know what I wanted and how I wanted things till the wedding preps actually started and I was forced to think about it.<br />
<br />
The nausea, the palpitations, The I-have-never-thought-about-my-wedding scenario and the List making for living like individuals - Doesn't really conform to the whole romanticism involved in a wedding, right? But it's real. And I like to keep it real. So, that's good.<br />
<br />
Also, now that I think about it I never get those 'what-the-hell-is-happening' pangs when I sleep at night. Or right now, with Mr. B snoring away to glory. Or when he put the ring on my finger. I guess if this is how it's going to be forever - I'm fine with it. And this is real too.<br />
<br />
That doesn't mean I won't get that nauseas feeling and it's because I freeze when you put me in front of 10 people and I feel like I have to perform or speak which is exactly what weddings are about. But that's a story for another time.</div>
PGhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01295310436884812669noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5196479079066987577.post-72266263471285455682013-02-27T15:27:00.000+05:302013-02-27T15:27:09.858+05:30Save The Date<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">Someday, in the time that we don't expect, we'll just meet. And maybe, it'll be forever.</span></div>
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<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-y59gLWJrZMo/US3TsEx4H4I/AAAAAAAAF3k/m1HNcymI9bQ/s1600/IMG_4753+copy-002.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="252" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-y59gLWJrZMo/US3TsEx4H4I/AAAAAAAAF3k/m1HNcymI9bQ/s320/IMG_4753+copy-002.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-OwFUbBZy-EM/US3Tp_RUn_I/AAAAAAAAF3c/wJ5jjMeG9uQ/s1600/IMG_4757-001.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-OwFUbBZy-EM/US3Tp_RUn_I/AAAAAAAAF3c/wJ5jjMeG9uQ/s320/IMG_4757-001.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
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Sharing the save the date photos that one of friends took for us. She did such a wonderful job, and I cannot wait to use these photos for the cards. If you're in India and want to get a couple shoot or candid wedding photography done check these guys out at <a href="https://www.facebook.com/ShutterbugsWeddingPhotography" target="_blank">ShutterbugsWeddingPhotography</a>.</div>
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PGhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01295310436884812669noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5196479079066987577.post-63906016902662116142013-02-18T14:36:00.001+05:302013-02-18T14:39:22.482+05:30Battles<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
You know the D-day is approaching when your boyfriend/fiance/future-husband wakes you up at 5:50 AM and says "Baby, let's go. We have to go run.'<br />
<br />
I did. And played 'Fuck You' on repeat.<br />
<br />
Sometimes I think that 50 years down the line when I look back on my life - all I will see are battles with the cellulite/fat/etc.</div>
PGhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01295310436884812669noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5196479079066987577.post-72073045663203602942013-02-01T12:38:00.000+05:302013-02-01T12:38:46.336+05:30Tackle Later!<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
I'm glad for friends who understand when I can't make it for a night out or a party or just a lazy sleepover. Especially, since nowadays I'm drowned for all the wedding work. The last thing I need is someone breathing down my neck for some such silly thing. As it turns out not only am I taking care of my things, but heavily involved in what Mr. B has to take care of. Because let's be honest, all B has are lazy bones in his body. And with less that 3 months to go...i'm in a whirlwind of crazy right now.<br />
<br />
I mean I <i>love </i>writing. But I haven't, for over a month. There is no time. Hopefully, it is all worth it in the end. Because right now weekdays have merged into weekends and so on and so forth. Moreover, a couple of friends are in town who cant be there for the wedding...and I want to meet them and catch up. I feel my head is going to burst into a zillion pieces at any moment.<br />
<br />
<i>And for the ones who don't understand, I'm just trying to keep my calm with them. I'm just going to put all of them in a box labeled 'Tackle Later.' </i>Honestly, I want to have time for them, for chats in pub, for myself even. But I can't... not with 80 odd days left. It's like a time warp right now where minutes, hours and days have merged into one big ball of nothing.<br />
<br />
I miss URoy with her drive to finish things. Yes, she's a 'finisher'. Had she been here, between the 2 of us i would have finished with my wedding trousseau AND hers as well. Well, you can only hope for so much I guess.<br />
<br />
I'm ready to wage a war against time, schedules, tailors, clothes, unending clothes, air tickets, food, keeping fit, sleeplessness and work. Everything else that crosses my path, I will 'Tackle Later.'</div>
PGhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01295310436884812669noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5196479079066987577.post-36932312475695551422012-12-28T11:48:00.001+05:302013-05-23T18:53:10.951+05:30Find of the Year!<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">As I was sifting through the entire internet (which I'm thinking I should turn into a career soon) I found a website which is probably going to become my favorite website of all time.</span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">It's called Gizoogle.net. What does it do, you ask? Well it turns all search results and entire websites into Gangsta lingo. For real! So I went crazy over it and told every freaking person around me how cool, it was and shit. Just see what it does, I put an old post of mine and it translated it in gangsta language and I've been laughing like an hyena every time I read it...</span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-207V283-7sQ/UN05LC4rIFI/AAAAAAAAFyU/f2sRtM-UGyE/s1600/gangsta+style.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><img border="0" height="190" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-207V283-7sQ/UN05LC4rIFI/AAAAAAAAFyU/f2sRtM-UGyE/s320/gangsta+style.png" width="320" /></span></a></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">You have seriously got to check it out (I swear I'm not being payed by them)!</span></div>
</div>
PGhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01295310436884812669noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5196479079066987577.post-46464747370425289882012-12-27T18:41:00.001+05:302012-12-27T18:41:32.300+05:30No Country For Women & No Year For Analysis<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
So it’s time to wrap up the year. Christmas is over…New Year
is looming over our heads. It’s been while since I’ve even seen my freaking
blog, thanks to inhumane amounts of work that was lined up. But during the time
I did not write all hell broke loose around me…us. A Khap leader went on to say
that Fast food and Chinese food are the reasons that rape happens in our
country, but that’s not all, he said this on national television. A
fundamentalist leader who’s means and intentions have always been questionable
passed away, and so many were affected like you wouldn’t believe. Couple of
girls got arrested for just Facebooking about how his death should not be
affecting a city like Mumbai or some such thing. A pre-med student got beaten
to pulp and gang-raped in the Capital. In the middle of all the ruckus and
protests for a better life for women in this country my problems seemed too
vain and too trivial to start on.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
But I have to. At some point you know. With time speeding
towards my wedding I’m edging more towards the bridezilla zone. I’m nervous and
I feel like nothing is getting done. The thing about weddings is what you
happens and what you dream of might be VASTLY different. What’s common is in
both scenarios it’ll end up being perfect. So that’s what I’m hoping for. I
mean right off the top of my head I can atleast name 50 different things that
need being done and my problem is I just cannot for the love of God delegate. I
need to be involved in every minute detail. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i>Décor? What color?
Food? How many courses? Is there going to be enough fish? Guests? Where will
they stay and how? Wedding favors? <o:p></o:p></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I mean I can easily delegate these to SuperMom and SuperDad
and they’ll take care of it. But I just can’t. And I haven’t found the perfect
dress for the wedding reception and I’m losing sleep and hair over how I’ll
never find it. I expected weddings to be less stressful. God knows why.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
And I haven’t been able to shed even an ounce of weight
which is basically causing a lot of stress. So as you can imagine much to my
chagrin I discovered that stress actually causes excess abdominal fat. So now
not only do I need to obsessively be involved in all the planning but do it
with genuine happiness.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
All in all I’m just happy that this year is over. It was
such a cocktail of good, bad and ugly life events that I don’t have the energy
to actually analyze. I’m just gonna let it be.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
This country is no country for women and this year is no year for analysis.</div>
</div>
PGhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01295310436884812669noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5196479079066987577.post-60463555156489043182012-10-11T17:12:00.001+05:302012-10-12T09:07:35.238+05:30The Best & The Worst<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
I had a weird week. The best and worst.<br />
<br />
I had the best time because Boy is back. Also, last weekend I spent playing "Colorman, Colorman" with 4 grown-ass people in their late 20s. Wait...what? You don't know the game? It's where one person has their back towards everybody else and others shout "Colorman, Colorman, what color do you choose?". Now, colorman chooses a color, turns and starts running towards the others. If he catches you before you touch anything of the same mentioned color you become the colorman. It's fun but also potentially life threatening when you are playing it with 180 pound 6 feet guy.<br />
<br />
I discovered I shriek. A lot. Exactly what I did when I was way younger. Somethings really don't change. Uroy is mostly in denial, will hold on to a blue curtain and say "It's green!". Aruni is mostly letting us be crazy and tripping on air like her usual self. P... *insert side splitting laughter* thinks we are conning him because he knows only 10 colors.<br />
<br />
Also, I got my nose pierced.<a href="http://yellowromancandles.blogspot.com/2012/10/a-bottle-or-three.html" target="_blank"> A finally got me to do it</a>. Though I threatened to kill her if anything went wrong. She was unfazed. And the good thing is that I have an amazingly high threshold for pain. And I kind of like it now that it's done.<br />
<br />
The worst because URoy is leaving. She is the most unsocial, lazy, whiny, paranoid at time, sarcastic, mean girl I have ever met and she is my friend because of those very reasons. I love her and I hate goodbyes. Everything said and done no matter how much she changes, how many kids she has, how many times she gets married - she will always be the girl I can kick back with with a pint of beer and talk about things I probably wouldn't talk about with most people. I've always hated goodbyes and as I grow older I hate it more. Especially when it's saying goodbye to people you consider family. And P is going too...ofcourse, those stupid love birds. And you can't help but not miss that gentle giant of a guy. Here's to amazing beginnings!</div>
PGhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01295310436884812669noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5196479079066987577.post-80875832706118926812012-10-05T16:22:00.000+05:302012-10-05T16:22:32.459+05:30The Point.<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<i>I'm bigger than my body gives me credit for.</i><div>
<i><br /></i></div>
<div>
This is all I have been thinking about in an all consuming kind of way. I don't want to sit around work in an MNC and worry about carpal injuries from incessant typing and deteriorating eye sight from looking at my laptop 10 hours a day. Maybe I'm just tired of the routine, the monotony or casual listless-ness that life has seemingly taken on, maybe it's just a phase or maybe I'm serious.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
The great thing about being in your 20s is that you don't know. You can't figure it out. All you have is this stupid careless heart which will bully your brain into realizing what you want or don't want. Why can't the heart leave the brain alone?</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
What is it that I want? I want to volunteer, I want to teach, I want to travel, tell people what a wonderful gift travelling is, teach people to apply themselves, help them figure out who they are, tell them it's okay to be a misfit, tell kids that education is important, show them what they can do, that they have a choice, everybody has a choice. So why do I feel like I don't have a choice?</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
I want to learn. Learn about things I don't know. Keep an open mind and an open heart. I want to sit down and solve math problems because 10 years down the line I find solving them much easier than answering questions like "What to wear to work today?" or "Why is this happening to me?".</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
I want to see. See new cultures, new horizons, new places, new people. I want to hear. Hear about these new people, hear their opinions, hear their views. I want to believe. Believe that all of this will change me for the better, believe that I can do almost anything that I set my mind to.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
So what are you saying, you ask. I'll say, I'm at that Point. What point? THE point. The point in life when you realize that everything you've worked towards is not what you wanted or even care for at this moment. The point when you need to re-evaluate everything you've done. Redo everything you've spent your entire 20s working on and building. The point where in some weird way it all starts to make sense and make no sense all at the same time.</div>
</div>
PGhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01295310436884812669noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5196479079066987577.post-22240797114783113782012-10-02T11:21:00.002+05:302012-10-02T11:21:25.727+05:30A Bottle Or Three<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
Considering the last few days were all about the hospitals and running around and medicines for A, it was obviously time for a cheer-up-brunch for her. Now that I'm getting older I absolutely love day time drinking. Especially on a Sunday.<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Problem is A doesn't know how to do normal drinking or tone anything down. So by the time I was there a bottle of wine was ordered and rearing to go. 3 hours down we'd finished off 3 bottles of wine and saying things none of us even attempted to understand and asking for the 'best House wine' and having the waiters tell us 'Ma'am we have only ONE House wine'. And since we were not done and were not sure if we could finish a bottle we started ordering by the glass. Turns out we might as well have ordered a bottle and some more.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
After ridiculous conversation and enough amount of drunk dialing B we got literally hit by this idea which was beyond awesome. Thing is, drunk people get ideas. And they are adamant about them. Mainly because they think it's the best thing they have ever thought of. A and her friend thought it would be freaking awesome to finally get my nose pierced. And, man, were we a group of determined girls. We visited 5 jewelry shops none of which helped. At 9 in the night we reached a popular hospital's emergency ward and I said "I'm getting married tomorrow. I need my nose pierced. Otherwise I won't be able to get married. It's an emergency. <span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><i>Kind Of</i></span>."</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
So confused was the attending doctor that she called up the ENT specialist to find if they even did something like that. turns out they do. But not at 9PM on a Sunday. I'm still not sure why didn't</div>
<div>
think of going to Tattoo/Piercing places?!</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
I guess ideas that come after 3 bottles of wine don't always have the best execution plans.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
You'd think the story is over. But you haven't met a more determined person than A. So she's still trying to drag my ass to this piercing place and get it done. Maybe she's still drunk. We did have a lot to drink on Sunday.</div>
</div>
PGhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01295310436884812669noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5196479079066987577.post-17827957774584577862012-09-28T19:22:00.001+05:302012-09-28T19:24:11.804+05:30It's Manic, This Addiction.<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-koyla15JhsQ/UGWrbsoikzI/AAAAAAAAFxk/he2Aq8nmohI/s1600/It's+Manic.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="379" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-koyla15JhsQ/UGWrbsoikzI/AAAAAAAAFxk/he2Aq8nmohI/s640/It's+Manic.png" width="640" /></a></div>
<span id="goog_1721211409"></span><span id="goog_1721211410"></span><br />
Masterchef Finals Week - you are killing me!</div>
PGhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01295310436884812669noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5196479079066987577.post-79776490754889184272012-09-26T22:49:00.002+05:302012-09-26T22:49:42.519+05:30Long Distance Birthday & Being Alone...<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
... are both things that I apparently suck at. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
There's something very not fun about it being your
boyfriend's birthday when he's not in the country. But there is something
extremely exciting about knowing that he's living his dream! That’s how I’m
spending this September 26, the day the boyfee was born.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Speaking of birthdays, first time since I left home, which
is more than 8 years, I was at home for Dad’s birthday. This kind of turned out
well because we got to shop along with Dad and eat beautiful Bengali food.
However, this is the year where vacations to go home is nothing like,
well…vacations. This is the year when I spend ridiculous amounts on things I
usually wouldn’t invest in and not to mention the liberal dose of
how-to-save-money conversations with the folks.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
So with B living it up in the states and my mini-home-vacation
over I have the house all to myself. Which, funnily enough, I don’t like much.
I used to live by myself for almost 4 straight years. 2 years I stayed with
this girl who used to pull night shifts and we’d only meet on Sundays – which
obviously doesn’t count as staying with a person. It’s like meeting the woman
in the local salon every 2 weeks. Anyhow, I used to love living alone with a
vengeance. With all the things that I could possibly need on one side of my
double bed and me on the other. Amazing stuff, that! And I remember the
apprehension within me when I finally made the decision to properly move in
with Uroy and then B. I thought it was the <a href="http://yellowromancandles.blogspot.in/2011/02/end-of-era-heena-sharma-why-goodbyes.html">end
of an era</a>, which it kind of was. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Now with the entire house to myself I can’t get myself to do
it. To stay alone. So I’m running to URoy’s place. Not that it’s any better
because the bitch and a half made me watch Paranormal Activity 3 till 1:30 in
the morning and then to “erase the bad memory” as P puts it we talked about
past life regression analysis and how trauma of a previous life continue into
other lives and recurring nightmares and what they could mean. And because
talking about nightmares and past life regression never helped anybody sleep
well I’m trying not fall asleep on my keyboard by writing this post.<o:p></o:p></div>
</div>
PGhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01295310436884812669noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5196479079066987577.post-10674213976023979052012-09-12T17:37:00.000+05:302012-09-12T17:37:09.549+05:30Love-Hate<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<div style="text-align: center;">
Sometimes I'm not sure if I should be grateful for the technology.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-LmMYABJwHis/UFB6p3vxGAI/AAAAAAAAFxE/gUAD6Bp43rg/s1600/windows+fuck+up.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-LmMYABJwHis/UFB6p3vxGAI/AAAAAAAAFxE/gUAD6Bp43rg/s1600/windows+fuck+up.jpg" /></a></div>
<div>
<br /></div>
</div>
PGhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01295310436884812669noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5196479079066987577.post-62863170591333426372012-09-04T18:48:00.001+05:302012-09-04T18:48:18.315+05:30Doppelgangers<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><i>Well eventually, over time, we all become our own doppelgangers. These completely different people who just happen to look like us. Five years ago? That girl was pretty great. But doppelganger Robin? She's amazing</i>. - Ted Mosby, HIMYM</span></blockquote>
If you were me September would be a ka-razy month for you. In a good way. Almost 50% of the people in my life who are important have their birthdays on September. Mom, Dad, Mr. B, Mr B's dad, BFF,2 of my fav girls, 2 of my closest cousins, one childhood friend and the list goes on. And if the first birthday of the month is anything to go by...I can probably only rest when October hits.<br />
<br />
But with birthdays comes surprises. I think I like surprises even though I pretend to hate them. I mean I'm not sure. I haven't figured it out yet. You'd think at 26 I'd be able to tell if I like a certain thing or not. Turns out that's not how I roll. I mean some surprises you are bound to love. For example a surprise Katy Perry concert bang in the middle of Hollywood Boulevard on the day of my visit! <a href="http://losangeles.cbslocal.com/2012/06/27/katy-perry-shuts-down-hollywood-boulevard-to-promote-her-new-film/" target="_blank">True Story</a>.<br />
<br />
So I keep wondering if it's as difficult for other people to figure themselves out. It's fun, sometimes. But there are times when I could definitely do without the uncertainties. We are all looking to find ourselves through our travels, reading, adventures, work, friends, family etc. But by the time we find ourselves do we become a different person? Do we find someone we never were? Just doppelgangers who act, talk and walk like us?<br />
<br />
Doesn't make any sense? I know. Me too.</div>
PGhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01295310436884812669noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5196479079066987577.post-30994705089283092102012-08-14T13:10:00.000+05:302012-08-14T13:10:51.872+05:30Bake!<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">They say baking is a science. You’d never guess if you were
to ever visit my house on weekends in the 90’s or early 2000s. My mom made
baking look like a joke you’d crack at dinner parties. She was so good at it
that it wasn’t any surprise that I was a fat kid. She is a science teacher to
be fair. On weekends she’d be whipping up cakes like it was going out of
fashion the next day. And like I said, she was bloody good at it.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">During the week the super sleuth mother of mine would ask me
“D, what is the fruit you hate to eat?”. “Apple,” I’d say. That weekend we ate
the most amazing apple cakes. But soon I got the hang of it and one week I said
“Strawberries!”. Mom: “But you’ve never had strawberries!” Me: “but, maa, I am
convinced that strawberries can be disgusting.” I got a banana cake that
weekend. My mum, she’s smart like that.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">You know how famous cooks or in the movies they say “I
developed a passion for cooking/baking while watching my mother cook and
helping her out” ? Well, I always watched her bake. On my birthday, on sis’s
birthday, on Saturday, on Sunday…pretty much all of my growing up years. I’ve
smelled delicious chocolate cakes, bundt cakes, brownies, biscuits, muffins
come out of that battered oven we owned. I know the steps. Almost by heart. But
I never learned from her. I was just so content watching her and then packing
them away for my Sunday morning picnic with my best friend and her dog as our
caretaker. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">So Saturday I attempted baking. Because I was craving home
made cakes suddenly. Maybe it was because BFF went home and kept talking about
how awesome the town we grew up in was, and how she hates coming or maybe
because it’s been a bloody 5 months since I’ve seen the folks (which in my
world is hell of a lot of time) or maybe because I spent 5 days thinking I’m
going to die of viral fever. Needless to say it was a disaster. The kitchen
looked like a war site. Not one to give up I tried again on Sunday. This time I
put the boyfriend to work as well. This is time the kitchen was clean and cake
was good. Nowhere close to Mother’s cakes, not fluffy enough, not the right
texture but it tasted pretty good. Well, now I’ve at least made a little
headway into completing one of my <a href="http://yellowromancandles.blogspot.com/p/life-list.html" target="_blank">Life List</a> entries. I should be almost there
by end of year. Maybe.</span><o:p></o:p></div>
</div>
PGhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01295310436884812669noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5196479079066987577.post-77235509866646611842012-07-27T19:50:00.001+05:302012-07-27T19:51:02.874+05:30Benchmarks<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
It's Friday night, and I'm waiting for the cab to be here so I can leave work and go home...and drink. Also I'm finishing off my weekly status report to send to my manager. Yea, he kind of has trust issues. 9 points down I can't remember anything else and that's not good. I mean that's enough work but a list that has 9 points looks...weird. I mean it should have like even numbers...if the numbers are in fives or tens that's even better. It's like this pet peeve I can't get rid of. But then, I realised there is a 10th point in there.<br />
<br />
10. I cleaned up your mess!<br />
<br />
With the list complete , mentally of course, I was just looking at random things on Facebook. I just decided that I am GLAD I have benchmarks for certain things in my life. Yes, I do have a ridiculous number of benchmarks but at least it keeps me from turning into people I dont like, or lifestyle I'd rather not have.<br />
<ol style="text-align: left;">
<li>I'm never going to hold some one responsible for the mess I have created. Never. Even if I become the CEO or win the damned Noble Prize.</li>
<li>I know some friends who are SO married it just gets on my nerves. I also know friends who act like they are married couple celebrating their 25 years together, when they are only dating. I'm never going to be that married. I'm always going to have at least of couple of friends crashing my place, and I'm always going to do Thursday Ladies night with Pasta and some drinking session with the girls. I have a full proof plan. Pasta is allowed to bitch slap me into another galaxy if I become too married at any point in my life. I can do the same.</li>
<li>Have lazy Friday nights. Lazy weekends? Yes. Friday night? No, sir! I mean why in the world would I sit and laze at home when I'm perfectly healthy and capable of getting drunk and being a nuisance?! I'll act 50 when I'm really 50. No my ideal Friday night will never be drinking coffee and cooking food.</li>
<li>I will not a be a corporate slave or a brand whore. </li>
<li>I refuse to be an obese couple. This is why I'm waking B up at 6 in the morning to run. He probably hates me by now.</li>
</ol>
Rest are a little to detailed or personal. But what I;m saying is - Have Benchmarks. Super solid, non-vage, real benchmarks. You don't want to be 50 and be someone you never wanted to be.<br />
<br /></div>PGhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01295310436884812669noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5196479079066987577.post-54413655431291280892012-07-13T04:14:00.000+05:302012-07-20T15:00:20.984+05:30City Of Dreams?<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<div style="font-family: inherit;">
</div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><i><br /></i></span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><i>We have a million questions</i></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><i>All about our lives</i></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><i>And when I got to New York</i></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><i>Everything felt right</i></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><i>I wish you were here with me tonight</i></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><i>~FM Static (improv)</i></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">I always thought NYC would be special. I don't know why, but I knew. It's like looking at the new roommate and knowing you'd hit it off.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">The first time I saw the skyline appear I was in a shuttle
with 6 strangers. I drew in a sharp breath and thought “this is your moment, Mr
Life List, this is it.” And I made sure I carefully registered their faces.
Nothing about this moment should be lost on me. I was to be dropped off at Port
Authority an avenue/block away from Time Square and take a cab from there. I
had the details carefully written in a bright pink post-it. As I stepped out I
felt the warm clammy air …and bright lights. It was 1:41 AM and the city was
abuzz with people, cabs and noise. I looked around at the street names and on
impulse I decided I’d be walking to my sister/friend… sister-friend’s (?) place.
I remember her telling me that it wasn’t too far away. Later she told me almost
everybody she’s known has been utterly confused whenever they’ve been here for
the first time. I found their place nice and easy. I told you we were supposed
to fit. We did.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">And I took my time. I felt the place. I breathed that air.
You know just before you are about to cry that burning behind your eyes? That happened. I thought
why am I crying? Turns out it was overwhelming emotion. Walking in the City Of
Dreams. A HUGE check on my Life List. But that overwhelming emotion wasn’t for
that…</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">…It was the realization that this would not have been
possible had it not been for B in my life. At the end of the day that is who
you really need. Someone who cares so much about your dreams that they make it
happen for you. You’re very own dream-maker.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">Maybe it’s called the City Of Dreams not because it makes
your dreams come true. Maybe it’s called the City Of Dreams because it helps
you realize that for someone your dreams are as big a deal as it is for you.
That there’s someone who doesn’t read your life list and goes “Oh, cute!” but
actually makes it happen.</span></div>
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</div>PGhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01295310436884812669noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5196479079066987577.post-11369970908387334072012-07-06T23:00:00.000+05:302012-07-12T00:45:10.611+05:30Being Anonymous<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<span style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">I think </span>we've<span style="font-family: inherit;"> already established that I like travelling.
It’s mainly because I like how a new city feels. Anonymous. Yes, it feels
anonymous. You break away from your usual lifestyle and fall into this routine
that is mostly not you. I like it. Mostly for a few days before the I crave my
usual routine. But right before the craving for familiarity begins I like that
whole anonymous feeling. You could walk for miles and not see anything that you
know about. Typically I don’t like surprises. If you want to surprise me tell
me in advance. But the small surprises that comes with a stroll or a cab ride
in a new city is a different rush.</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">And then in the middle of the break I like to make routines
for myself. My life, you could say, is gigantic collage of life lists,
routines, weekend rituals, to-do lists. Without these I feel like my life’s
spinning out of control. Yea, I’m kinda crazy like that…<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-TdNYZ1wr5as/T_3PPIBaqjI/AAAAAAAAFv4/SvZo6gUcJnc/s1600/obsessive.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="color: black; font-family: inherit;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-TdNYZ1wr5as/T_3PPIBaqjI/AAAAAAAAFv4/SvZo6gUcJnc/s320/obsessive.jpg" width="320" /></span></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: small;"> I wasn’t kidding, see?!</span></span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="background-color: white;">So having these mini-routines while I’m away from my real
life is important. Very important. Like making coffee first thing in the
morning, or the small walk back to the hotel, or responding to my emails at
night. It’s funny because I’d never do ANY of those things back home. Walk back
home? Physically impossible. Respond to email at night? Sorry, dude, I don’t
take work back home.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">Also the best part about being here has been my counterpart
here who is a Foodie. Yes, with a capital F. He’s taken me around to eat weird Chinese
food and the best burger in town and cold tea with tapioca balls. Food is
always the best part of going to a new place. But the craving for home is kind of coming at me pretty fast and the euphoria will only last so much. But before that
happens, it’s going to be New York tonight. My Life List should be doing a
crazy victory dance right now</span><o:p></o:p></div>
</div>PGhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01295310436884812669noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5196479079066987577.post-57753843547337043372012-07-03T00:58:00.000+05:302012-07-03T01:08:26.565+05:30Music Monday #7<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Someday We'll Know</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;">New Radicals</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: #f4cccc; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.youtube.com/embed/bDmA8qQKhMY?feature=player_embedded' frameborder='0'></iframe></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">(slight improv)</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">Someday we'll know if love can move a mountain</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">Someday we'll know why the sky is blue</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">Someday we'll know why I was meant for you</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">Someday we'll know why Samson love Delilah</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">One day I'll go dancing on the moon</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">Someday you'll know that I was the one for you</span></div>
</div>PGhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01295310436884812669noreply@blogger.com0