Category Archives: General

Hey There! You Idiot!!


Team This post has been published by me as a team member of Tiger Trails Team for the SUPER 5 round of Bloggers Premier League (BPL) โ€“ The first ever unique, elite team blogging event in the history of blogging world. To catch the BPL action and also be part of future editions and other contests, visit and register at Cafe GingerChai

“Hey there, you Idiot”, shouted the Big, Fat, Guy.
“I hope you’re happy with the pain you’ve caused?”
“Who me? What did I do?” asked that skinny, grinning Creature.
Who was busy spewing smoke around, before he paused.

“Oh nothing much, dear friend,” said the Big, Fat, Guy.
“Except you’ve put a mighty big hole in my underwear.
And I know for sure, you wouldn’t know how much it hurts.
Till you are fried in the summer sun, with your bottoms bare.”

“Hey, you haven’t been too kind either”, he argued with him.
“You’ve made all of us suffer a lot with your mood swings.
Hope you remember the times when you spit acid at us.
And your severe gas problem lately, that clipped our wings.”

“I stay mute, when you shamelessly steal from my pockets.
When your deadly farts give me a fever that never ends.
With the dirt you rub at me with each passing day.
I’ll have to take the occasional shower to make amends.”

“I’ve built you shelter, with the threads from my coat.
Hey I’ve been giving you free meals for all your life.
You’ve never thanked, but have stripped and disrobed me instead.
If only you could learn to control your insatiable appetite.”

“You feed me stuff that my body cannot digest.
You never know the worth of water till the well is dry.
You pour poison into my veins and look the other way.
Smear oil in my eyes, and expect me not to cry?”

“I trusted you with my precious pets, but you’ve killed them all.
And the woods are devoid of the beautiful creatures few.
When will you realize you are in the eye of this storm?
Not just a passenger of this relationSHIP, you are my crew.”

“I’m not your past inheritance; I’m borrowed from your future.
I’m a tiny part of a vast family of millions, be warned.
You are killing a million dreams, and spitting on God’s face.
My family has many dead, some living, and millions unborn.”

“I’m getting pretty old, dear boy, I can’t bear your weight.
And multiplying at this rate, you aren’t being too kind.
And then when I give up, don’t blame me in the future.
Don’t blow this one, good homes are hard to find.”

“I do understand”, solemnly, mankind reasoned with him.
“We sit together sometimes and talk of reducing flatulence.
All our Leaders plead support, and fight it out.
Some dress in green, and speak in tones intense.

“Once a year? Your talks are only filled with hot air.
And you fight for your right for passing gas.
That gives you a right to fight amongst you again.
If only you could think of eating right, alas.”

There is a limit to the suffering that I can take
Hope you realize it soon, its kind of getting late,
Mend you idiocy, or I’ll have to fix it for you.
My health, fitness and well-being decides your fate.

The gentle evening breeze, the sweet smell of wet earth,
This beautiful life, imagine if it disappeared, God forbid,
You are too dumb to think of you, but think of your children,
I might not be around long enough to play with your kids,

A young, innocent voice, chipped into the somber chat.
“I won’t let it happen again”, a little kid did cry.
“I apologize for mankind. You know, how big a moron he’s been.
I promise to take care of you, give me another try.”

And then the aging big guy, looked up, nodded and smiled,
Looked at the future, in the little blue eyes of his new, little fan.
A better tomorrow rested on his tender, little shoulders,
And he hoped that hope survives, within the Father of the Man.

— x —

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Filed under Complaint, Current Affairs, General, Humor, Poetry

The UniverCell Chennai Indiblogger Meet


I may be speaking for a few fellow bloggers out there when I say that I am not that comfortable with rules and things about blogging that are way too organized. And when I walked into the GRT Convention Center in Tnagar, this hot, sultry, Saturday afternoon, to attend the UniverCell Chennai Indiblogger Meet, and I saw a crowd queueing up for Registration, and a bunch of already ย registered bloggers sitting there looking at the big screen, my first thought was, “Damn these guys are so organized. I’m at the wrong place.”

And boy, was it organized well or what? We queued up at the Registration desk in front of a laptop where we typed in our Indiblogger logon id. As each person got registered, his/her Indiblogger profile pic, along with his/her name got listed on that big screen under ‘Arrivals‘. Nifty little thing if you ask me. The big screen was the highlight IMHO. Tweets tagged with #indichn were streaming there, and all the bloggers armed with their mobiles, netbooks, laptops and any other wi-fi device known to man, got busy tweeting. Brave, Indiblogger Team, very brave. ๐Ÿ™‚ There would have been close to 200 bloggers there, along with the sponsors, the media and the hosts – The Indiblogger team. And we were pretty soon, underway.

Hitler a Blogger?

The Meet kickstarted with this Video. I’m sure you have seen this on YouTube, but not with this ‘translation’ certainly. ๐Ÿ™‚ Enough said, I’ll let Mr. Hitler do the talking. ๐Ÿ™‚

30 Seconds of Fame?

I dreaded this… I sure did. But it was indeed neccessary if you had to know who you had in that room. And so it began. 200 odd bloggers, taking turns introducing themselves, with almost no one sticking to the actual ’30 seconds’. To be frank, a few bloggers were indeed funny and crisp. While a few, well, made us sleepy. I discovered my long lost schoolmate, now entrepreneur extraordinaireย – @balajil there in the introductions. And I was delighted. I now had a known face to go with a lot of known Twitter handles there. But what delighted me most, was when I stood up and introduced myself and said I blog at Idlivadasambar.wordpress.com, I heard some cheering around which surprised the sanity out of me, and I went ‘What? Really?” ๐Ÿ˜€ Was delighted guys. You are rockstars. Made my day. And there was still more left.

Bloggers and Backscratching?

And then came the fun part. Socializing. Well, to be frank, I find chatting up in real world a wee bit odd. This was no different. But @balajil, helped me get started and I kinda tagged along. It was a fun little thing. We were ‘Chart-Men’ with a sheet of paper danging in place of a cape, for people to identify us, and leave their urls/twitter handles/and anything else they wanted to say, behind. I had quite a few people who walked up to me and said that they loved my posts. I was surprised, and totally blown away. Those who didn’t know me really wanted to check my blog out. And I honestly think, the title had something to do with it. ๐Ÿ˜€ This was perhaps the highlight of the evening. The bloggers, and their backscratching. My sheet was decently filled, but my enthusiasm, overflowing. ๐Ÿ˜€

Sponsor Speak.

UniverCell were sponsoring the event and used the opportunity to launch their own blog. They passed around a few mobile phones for people to feel and touch, and then go home and blog about it. The best blogger would get to work full-time as a blogger with UniverCell. Neato. I did want to try out the Touch Diamond, but sadly the phone never reached me. ๐Ÿ™‚

Discussion or Pattimanram?

Ok. I’ll be frank. This was my least favourite part of the evening. It was supposed to be a Traditional Media Vs Blogging, kind of a ‘discussion’. Turned out to be a one to one pattimanram kind of an event with a strong Tamil flavour, and irritating a lot of non-Tamil bloggers as well. The highlight of this particular segment however, was the large screenon the background, that was ticking away with tweets from bored bloggers, venting out their frustration, which ended up as a funny, delightful reminder of why you shouldn’t really irritate, a bunch of bloggers armed with free wifi. ๐Ÿ˜€ @shilparathnam anchored it with Bala Bharathy from Zee and another gentleman doing the majority of the talking. Could have been a lot better.

Show Me the Food.

And then, the moment everyone was waiting for. FREE FOOD. On the Menu, were delicious Chicken Sandwiches, Paneer Cutlets, Rasmalais, and Mango Ice Cream, to be washed down with a BIG bowl of Coffee. I will not embarass myself by saying how much I ate. But trust me when I say, I was HUNGRY. ๐Ÿ˜€ Super Food. Loved it.

Tea on My Shirt?

Well… That too. ๐Ÿ˜‰ But when the Indiblogger team announced that t-shirts were going to be distributed, a queue sprang up, faster than you could say ‘me too’. And in the queue, new friends were being made, cards and urls were exchanged, photos were clicked and a solid 3 hours of fun, thus came to an end.

Overall?

Brilliantly done Indiblogger. Organized well, and executed in super fashion. Would love to be back when it is back in Chennai.

A few things I took away from the meet.

1. The Chennai Blogger Crowd is alive and kicking.

2. Tamil Bloggers are in awesome number here. Alright!

3. My blog’s USP is its title. ๐Ÿ˜€

4. Never irritate someone who is on Twitter.

5. Its a pretty, god-damn, small world.

6. A Rasmalai when in contact with tomato sauce, tastes funny. ๐Ÿ™‚

7. When you are talking to a blogger, you better keep it crisp.

8. A full tummy

9. A super tshirt

10. Anything related to blogs, needn’t always be unorganized. ๐Ÿ˜‰

Here are a few pics I clicked on my phone

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Filed under Current Affairs, General, Review

Reservation Road


Hey there. Happy Women’s Day Ladies. Hope you enjoyed the day. All of you are Rock Stars. Period. Did you read my tiny, little tribute to you guys on your day. I know it was the 8th of March yesterday, but honestly, I was more excited about the Oscars than about Women’s Day. ๐Ÿ˜‰ But then even the Oscars turned out celebrating Women’s Day with Kathryn Bigelow becoming the first woman in the history of the Academy to win the coveted Best Director trophy. Though, I have my reservations about the winners of the Oscars this year, I think that could be reserved for a separate post. We are here to discuss ‘Reservation’ of a different kind.

photo courtesy: manjul.com

If you’ve seen the news channels, you would have guessed where I am coming to. Yes the 33% Women’s Reservation Bill, that led to some unruly scenes at the floor of the house where it was tabled yesterday, and which has been passed successfully in Rajya Sabha today. A landmark move, no doubt, for a bill that has been a topic of debate in the country for some time now.

Lets face it, we’ve grown up with this bill as part of our lives someway or the other. I remember debate competitions held in school and college on this very bill. It has had a staunch number of supporters and an equal number of opposers from the time our former Prime Minister Deve Gowda proposed it to Parliament way back in 1996. It has been brought to the floor several times earlier as well, but has never been passed. It passed its first test today in RS.

All right, so what does the Bill seek to provide? Well quite simply what it says. The Bill, if passed, would reserve one third, of the total seats in national, state, local Governments exclusively for Women. This would aim to involve Women where it truly natters. In the matters of running the country.

But then comes the most important question. Is this Bill really necessary? Before I present my argument, let me state, that I have immense respect for women and think they are no less than men . And perhaps, that is the main reason that I find this bill utterly unnecessary. Women have excelled in various spheres of life. They run huge corporate houses, run political parties, excel in every field imaginable, fight battles on the field, do everything that a man can do. But they have not done that with reservation backing them. They’ve done it on their own, on their own merrit, their own hard-work, which is why I respect them and celebrate their success. But when they have a quota backing them, my respect diminishes almost immediately.

The 33% quota is already in effect in Panchayats. And how many times have we seen a famous ex minister or local bigwig, run the show, making his wife/daughter as a puppet Panchayat Chief. There may be exceptions, but the general scenario is the same. And like some parties argue against the bill, it has potential to be misused. They argue that reservation would only help women of the elitist groups to gain seats, therefore causing further discrimination and under-representation to the poor and backward classes. Valid point if you ask me.

We are a far more open society now, which does not see women as weak or those who require a man’s support to excel. Why then insult them with a ‘reservation’ Bill when they are much more capable to function without one. My honest opinion would be to provide more platform for women to compete with men on equal grounds. Because ‘Reservation’ in my opinion, does nothing to liberate women. It just gives another excuse, to portray women as the weaker sex, which needs a quota system to keep them in the race. Believe me, women are much more powerful than this bill makes them out to. Reservation in any form is anti-democratic in my opinion. Why have a reservation at all? Why not ask the parties to field women candidates in equal measures and ask them to contest elections like an equal? That would make more sense to me.

But before you dismiss me as an anti-feminist, this, of course, is only my humble opinion. I would love to hear your views on it as well. Perhaps someone can convince me otherwise.

But inspite of all that, today is a landmark day indeed. Historic, no doubt. But necessary? I really don’t know. ๐Ÿ™‚

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God!


I wrote this post yesterday night, when the ย Little Master slammed the first ever ODI double ton, in unbelievable excitement and pride in my heart. But I was just too excited to post it then. So here is my solemn, little, tribute, to the best cricketer the planet’s ever seen.


Some years ago, perhaps some time in the early nineties, in the beautiful island town of Port Blair, a young school kid was being reprimanded by his angry father, for his low marks in his Maths exam. His father, a cricket fanatic himself, pointed to an old, black & white ‘Solidaire’ TV and told the boy, pointing his finger to his hero on the tiny screen and told him – “Look at that boy. Look at his guts. You know he was probably a little older than you when people were bowling at him with murderous pace and he stood there unfazed. And you cannot handle a few maths problems?”

I will not say that that comparison was a turning point in the boy’s life. The boy grew up to be me, and I am still scared of numbers. ๐Ÿ™‚ But me and my father, have grown to realize, that the comparison he made, to get me studying Math, was very very unfair. Dad, you would have been better comparing me to the next door Sathish, or your friend’s daughter Swetha, or anyone else for that matter.

You see Dad… I am no God.

Now before you dismiss this as a sheer glorification of a cricket player who has been hitting cricket balls with a piece of wood, all his lifetime, let me tell you, perhaps, it is. ๐Ÿ™‚ You may even call it a piece of madness and euphoria that the entire country seems to be engulfed tonight, given the ocassion. But I choose to call this, a very personal, very emotional tribute, to a man I’ve worshipped as a hero from childhood. A man, they call Sachin Ramesh Tendulkar. A man, I’ve grown up with. A passion, I’ll never grow out of.

Every child needs a hero, and having fed a staple diet of superhero comics and animated cartoons on TV, I did have a few of them alright. Caped crusaders, masked outlaws, muscled he-men, there were scores of them. But Sachin Tendulkar was as real, as real could get. I’ve spent a lot of my afternoons, watching the guy bat on TV, and then tie a tennis ball to a string suspended to the roof and imitate that straight drive, time after time. I have painted my cricket bat, and have written MRF in bold on its face, just to imitate him. I’ve spent a lot of time, standing in front of a mirror, raised my bat and acknowledged the crowd, just like Sachin did. I bet, lots of you guys like me, would have even tried adjusting that Ab guard, like he does. ๐Ÿ˜€ I’ve cheered every century he has hit as if I had scored one. I’ve shouted on top of my voice (and woken up the neighbourhood sometimes) whenever I’ve seen him oblige the crowd and look towards the sky.

I’ve seen the rise and fall of the man. I’ve seen so much, that sometimes statistics seem irrelevant. I’ve seen him punishing Henry Olonga, first ball for six. I’ve seen Operation Desert Storm, and Shane warne’s expression of utter disbelief. I’ve seen him face unrealistic pressure in his short stint as Captain. I remember vividly, the last over he bowled against SA in the Hero Cup, and the boyish expression of joy when India won by 3 runs. I’ve googled all about ‘Tennis Elbow’ when he was down with his injury. I’ve sweared at all those bowlers who’ve sledged at Sachin, and have gone berserk when he let his bat do the talking in retaliation. ๐Ÿ™‚ I’ve got into arguments, which have grown into fights, whenever someone would remark that Sachin was past his prime, or that he was not a team player. I’ve switched off the TV many a times when Sachin got out. I’ve skipped many dinners, when Sachin got out in the nineties. I remember playing Chumba Wumba’s ‘Tubthumpin’ number, that ESPN-STAR put together as a montage for Sachin’s shots (most would remember it as the ‘I get knocked down’ song) over and over again on my tape recorder. Simply put. I am a FAN. And even after so many years, I am still in awe.

And all this good, will come to an end some day. One day, the little master would take pity on the bowlers of ODI and Test cricket, and will decide to hang up his boots and retire into sunset with the entire world wanting to watch him one more time. And like every cricket lover anywhere in the world, I dread that day, and wish, like a little kid, that it does not come, atleast for the next five years. The man deserves a World Cup, and I hope his team does that for him. I sure do wish in my heart, that the next generation gets to see him play, and watch God on earth, with a piece of willow in his hand.

A lot of wonderful, and overtly brilliant pieces have been written in glory of the man. This does not come within even miles of those. But this immensely personal tribute is just a release of outrageous excitement, that has somehow found an outlet through the keyboard. I must confess, I am so excited tonight, that I honestly don’t know what to write. I can go on and on and on, but I know, that this already cheesy, fanaticism filled post would turn even cheesier if I go on. I know, that a man’s passionate obsession for his hero, can make for quite some funny reading at times. But for a legend like Sachin Tendulkar, I am more than willing to take that. ๐Ÿ˜‰ For every time he raises his bat to thank the crowd, he resembles a magician waving a wand, and dispatches a sense of joy, that would be immensely difficult to put in words. And today, when he has boldly gone, where no man has gone before, only reaffirms the fact, that he is, truly, the God of all things.

I’ve seen God, he currently opens for the Indian Cricket Team. ๐Ÿ˜€

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Swift and the Art of Eating a Buffet


Yours Truly is a hardcore foodie. A shameless, careless, ‘I don’t give a damn when I’m eating’ kind of passionate foodie. Doesn’t even my blog title reflect that? ๐Ÿ˜‰ Recently, thanks to a friend who’s flying to ‘Chiggago’ (Thanks da Loga ;)) this week, we had a king sized treat last Wednesday at Barbeque Nation’s Live grill. We are sure, the restaurant would surely have us in their black-list, and would turn us down the next time, any of us visits them, fearing bankruptcy.

Economics drives our lives. And a simple rule of Economics, is to get back maximum returns for every paisa spent. Buffets are a similar story as well. No matter how much of a ‘propah’, gentleman type socialite you are, lets face it, when it comes to food, most of us get as ‘local’ as possible. We need our ‘kudutha kaasu ku soru’ don’t we? ๐Ÿ˜€ That aside, there is a certain art of eating at a Buffet, to maximise returns, that not everyone knows. ๐Ÿ˜€ And today, I am going to let you into that little secret.

Leave decency at home

There may be a lot of cute guys and girls around you. But trust me, they don’t give a damn about what you are eating. They have more important things to take care of. Like the food on their plate. Remember, everyone at a buffet is there to eat as much as they can. So throw away your inhibitions, get your plates loaded, and your mouth stuffed. ๐Ÿ˜€

Go scouting

Scout the lineup and make a mental plan of how you want to go about it. Give weightage to the starters, and then proceed to go for the main course/deserts.

Have a tasting round

Take small, bite sized portions of the menu on that you wish to eat, before actually heaping it up. That way you’ll know what’s delicious out there, and what you can pass. After you’ve decided on what you want to eat, then go and attack the lineup.

Don’t eat something that you don’t want to eat

Feel free to not eat those what you don’t feel like eating. Leave it, it’ll do more harm than good.

Change those plates

The plates at buffets are usually small. This has been designed specifically to keep you from eating a lot. So go ahead, discard those plates after each helping. Start fresh everytime, I say. ๐Ÿ˜›

Tissues are your friends

And ditch those forks and spoons when eating. Sure it gets messy, but then that’s why tissues were invented. ๐Ÿ˜‰

Never end those Starters

Starters are usually the most tastiest on the menu, and most times not too heavy on the tummy. So go ahead and stuff ’em in.

Only sip water

But don’t overdo it. Water is to wash down those dry crumbs down that may have been stuck in your oesophagus. Too much water will fill your tummy and the buffet will not seem that inviting with a full tummy. Go easy on the drinks.

Don’t get initimidated

You’ll see a sea of food laid out in front of you. You will be blown away by the choices, and just looking at it will fill your tummy. But remember, that is there specifically to intimidate you. Don’t be. Keep telling yourself that their selection is really small, and you’ll be amazed at the gastronomical feast that you’ll achieve.

Less carb, more food

Cut those carbs out of your buffet menu. Carbs fill you up pretty fast. So try and minimize the rice items, rotis, naans and other carbs in the food.

Remember the Desserts

People are usually so full by the time they reach the desserts that it ends up as a mere formality than something to savour. Check out the desserts pretty early on. If they are worth it, reserve some space for them at the end. But remember, too much sweets can be bad for you.

And that’s some of the points that I can think of right now. I’ll add when I can think of anything new. I am already hungry talking of food. Dinner time baby. ๐Ÿ˜€

Alrighty, I know what you are thinking. Ok boss, all this gyan on food is perfectly OK, and we thank you for it. But why the bloody hell, does the title of the post say ‘Swift and the Art of Eating a Buffet’? Well… You see, I don’t exactly like the new, egg-like Zen. Swift is my love, my car. And I love it as much as my food.

๐Ÿ˜€ Bon Appรฉtit. ๐Ÿ˜€

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Love Thy (English) Neighbor!


It was the usual, cold evening in London in the first week of May when the protagonist of the story – Maks and his friends were swinging to some Tamil gaana songs in an up-market suburban flat in the outskirts of London. Now the British are generally very sweet people. They will go from 60 to 0 in their shiny new cars in under 6 seconds flat, just to let you cross the road even before you think about doing so (Now wouldnโ€™t we do just the opposite here). Like I said – sweet. But, beware. Any disturbance to their daily schedule could get them as angry asโ€ฆ wellโ€ฆ as not having their cup of tea in the morning. The flavor of which, some of us savored in that cold, May evening in London.

Our abode was a 2 bed room flat on the first floor, sandwiched between a rich (his large screen plasma TV and the brand new PlayStation3 confirmed this adjective for me), bachelor, Pakistani student (who had an eccentric taste for loud, heavy metal music) in the ground floor, and a middle-aged British couple in the second floor. The apartment had wooden floors, which meant that you could wake up the entire building if someone sneezed a bit loud in the night. But, we realized all this late, as we were used to our sound proof, concrete flats, back in Chennai.

โ€˜Loudโ€™ is a word which is, perhaps, as subjective as the word โ€˜musicโ€™. And that was precisely what was playing that night. We had a big amplifier connected to a couple of huge speakers in our flat which, had they been in India, would have found excellent use in any of the marriage ceremonies back in Chennai. The volume was miniscule by our standards, as we were grooving to some popular Tamil hits, when we heard a knock at our door. Initially it was drowned in the percussion coming out of speakers, lost in those thumping beats of A.R.Rehman. But then, when we realized that the vibration on the walls was not because of the music, but because somebody was trying to break the door, we muted the volume wondering who the visitor was.

Maks went on to answer the door, as we were getting our ears adjusted to that unusual noiselessness. In that silence we could hear a sleepy, unhappy, angry British voice, in a tone that sounded similar to an employee complaining after his appraisals. He sounded distraught and fed-up, and we already knew why. Then we heard our John Doe saying in the politest way possible โ€“ “Mates, whatโ€™s happening here? Do you know what the bloody time is now?”

There was a sudden rush of footsteps and a huge commotion that followed, before Maks rushed inside the room like a raging bull. He was searching the room like a man searching for a weapon to defend himself from a gang of thugs. We were under the impression that Maks was getting beaten and rushed to the door to save him.

We found a middle-aged man, in his thirties, standing at our door in his night-pants. I recognized him to be our neighbor from the second floor, as I had caught him looking at me several times, as if I was from another planet, whenever I passed by him in the stairs. His unkempt hair and reddish eyes clearly showed that he was trying to get some sleep with little success. Seeing so many of us standing there, his anger changed to more of an appeal, as he again said the same thing โ€“ “Do you guys know what time it is?”

I was about to say โ€“ “We are really sorry Sir. We promise to keep the music down. This will not happen again”, when suddenly, Maks rushed in, pushing us behind, with the enthusiasm of a kid who had just found a bag of chocolates. In his hand was a digital alarm clock that he had found in one of the drawers. Before we could realize what was happening, Maks thrust the digital clock on his face and said, with a tone of achievement and absolute innocence โ€“ “Nine Thirty!”…

We tried our best to control our laughter, but couldnโ€™t hold back. We were rolling on the floor with laughter, as the poor guy walked back to his flat with utmost disgust, murmuring that he had to get up at 4 AM the next day, with Maks standing at the door, clock in hand, this time shouting “Nine Thirty-one”… ๐Ÿ˜€

———————————————————————————————————————————–

P.S: This is one of my very old posts. But I repost it here for my dear friend Mahesh, who’s leaving office next week to start fresh in yet another IT ‘factory’. Remembered this, thanks to his latest goodbye-post. This one almost made a mini celebrity out of him. The major part of it is indeed true, but a couple of lines, may have been manufactured out of pure ‘creative liberties’. ๐Ÿ˜› Will miss writing about your adventures Maks. You Rock dude. ๐Ÿ˜€

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I am an Indian, And I am sick of Terrorism


Tonight’s terror attack in Pune, has made me angry. Very very angry. And I’m sure the entire country echoes the same sentiment.

What happened was atrocious, and inhuman. But, like every other Indian, I am getting sick and tired of these dastardly acts of cowards. I can almost see the chain of events that will be played out now. News channels with expensive graphics and sombre music, will run the cover story for some days, non-stop. A few channels will claim “we told you first”. The police will tell the Home Ministry, that “we warned you earlier”. Government will say they did not. They will find a Pakistani hand. Pakistan will look the other way. Soon we will have a comission set up to investigate the blasts. They will find clear evidence of the Pakistani hand. Pakistan will say, its not a hand at all. There will be heated debates in TV. US will say that it will support the War on Terror totally, but will still supply arms to Pakistan which it will use against India. After a few months, tension will simmer down. Pakistan will Invite us to dialog, and cry as to why we won’t have their team play in India. Some media company will launch an ‘Aman ki Aashaa’ Campaign. India will say, “Okay boss. Lets think of dialog.”

Dialog? What dialog. Its about time we acted. And I’m sure everyone will speak the same tone, for some time atleast. And then finally, we’ll forget everything, until the next bomb goes off somewhere. Will we act only when these maniacs blast us to smitthereens. We’re stuck in a bloody loop. A bloody loop of Terrorism, Politics and Fear. Its time to break free, or die trying. Because if we don’t, we are going to be killed by the next bomb anyway.

But what’s the use. No one’s listening.

I am an Indian, And I'm sick of Terrorisn

I'm an Indian, And I'm sick of Terrorism

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Hello world!


Its been some time since I really blogged on my external blog. I had some time on my hands today, and I did not want to go back to my old blog again. I had always wanted to try out WordPress as well, and this was a perfect excuse. And so, I’ve started this new blog today.

I always wanted something that was more than Twitter, but less than the long blogs, that I’m used to writing. Guess this will serve the purpose.

So here goes nothing… ๐Ÿ˜€

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