tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-74891297461543826062024-03-13T22:36:39.777+05:30YOUNGANDBEAUTIFUL Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16249524158244781278noreply@blogger.comBlogger4125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7489129746154382606.post-58567181636017419102014-07-19T19:56:00.002+05:302014-07-19T20:00:09.028+05:30INSTA-SPECT : Living For Likes.<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="color: purple;">Instagram</span></span><span style="color: #5f497a; line-height: 115%;">, </span><span style="line-height: 115%;">snapchat, whatsapp, viber, hike,
facebook.</span></div>
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<o:p></o:p><br />
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<span style="line-height: 115%;">You’ve got
to be on at least one of them to validate the proof of your existence. Social
media is no longer just a medium to communicate and neither are our
“cellhphones”; but we hardly use cellhphones these
days it’s all about the Smartphone generation! The tablets, the I-pads, the
laptops and god know what else is to come.
These gadgets are such an integral part of our lives that living without
them even for a day seems like an impossible scenario. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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My family
loves eating out and it just so happened that we were at this fancy restaurant,
you know the kind where they decorate your cloth napkins into ducks and swans?
Yeah, that kind. I was enjoying the ambience, soaking it all in. The rich tapestry,
the deep blue Turkish centre pieces. It was living larger than life, elegantly.
I scanned the room, drooling over the exquisite looking food contemplating if I
should stick to the cuisines I know or be bold and try something different,
something rather strange like squid or sea urchins when I saw a small family
celebrating the birthday<span style="color: #5f497a; mso-themecolor: accent4; mso-themeshade: 191;"> </span>of their son at the centre table. The kid had just turned
five as the candle on his expensive looking dark chocolate cake with chocolate
ganache suggested and even more expensive was the jacket that his mother had
casually draped over her chair. It was Gucci.<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="line-height: 115%;">I
was fascinated by everything about the family and their lavish celebration for
a tiny little child. I noticed the mother more carefully, she had an I phone (of
course) which was connected to a portable charger and the father who had a
pleasant smile on his face was busy ordering more food , tipping the waiter
more than he earned and then he went back to his blackberry probably typing an
email which would earn him millions. And then it struck twelve; the kid was so
eager to cut the cake he could barely contain himself. Holding the steel knife
upside down, butchering the cake he giggled in glee and soft but audible claps
could be heard which surprisingly came only from the waiter. The mother was
busy tweeting her son’s birthday update and uploading his birthday cake’s
photos on <span style="color: purple;">Instagram</span> with not so relevant hash tags. The kid took a piece and
instinctively looked at his mom to take a bite from him but mum was busy so he
turned to his father. His father looked at him, ruffled his curly hair and received
a call on his phone. The kid didn’t wait; he just had the piece instead. And another
one after that. It was good about fifteen minutes when his mother finally
looked up from her phone and gave him a kiss on the cheek while the father was
still busy on his phone. I am sure the kid didn’t really feel bad about it or
even understand that this isn’t how he was supposed to have a birthday. It was
normal for him. He had seen his father on the phone daily, his mother on the
laptop uploading photos of her as well as him. But was he going to remember
this day? His <span style="color: purple;">Instagram</span> photo? I don’t think so. The only memory he would
probably have is of well, nothing. 15 years from now his fifth birthday,
although expensive and lavish is not going to be one of his favourite childhood
memories and it could easily have been!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="line-height: 115%;">“Hey
mum, don’t put chocolate on my face, ewww!”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="line-height: 115%;">“Hey
dad! Don’t make a mucchi out of chocolate!”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="line-height: 115%;">THIS.
This would have stuck in his mind for a very long time but his<span style="color: purple;"> Instagram</span> photo?
I’m not so sure. It’ll just be one of the many pictures his mother uploaded.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="line-height: 115%;">We
see it every day, people sitting across each other busy checking the number of
likes their photo got instead of making memories. We are so busy trying to be
popular in the virtual world that we’ve forgotten how to feel; how to live, to
experience the memory. To be a part of the photograph we take.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="line-height: 115%;">The
internet is a part of our lives and we cannot do away with it; it’s a boon for
the twenty first century but a bane if we let it become our life. Our facebook
account is OUR profile and not the way around. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="line-height: 115%;">So
let’s put those gadgets away, have a meal with our loved ones and for once not
post a picture on <span style="color: purple;">Instagram</span>? Let’s cleanse ourselves of this infectious disease,
free our minds of the internet please.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16249524158244781278noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7489129746154382606.post-3123770172403149952014-07-05T23:41:00.000+05:302014-07-29T00:19:33.198+05:30DADDYYY !<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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I’ve got some great feedback about my blog which on one hand
makes me very proud but also adds on to a certain amount of pressure to perform
, that’s just really me being me. It’s just a blog right? People read it, like
it (I would like to believe that) and then like everything else that matters we
forget it, even if does stay it’s in some cramped up little space in our brain.
So tiny that we can almost neglect its existence.</div>
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So what does REALLY matter? The economy? Your job? Your
dream? Your LIFE? Such a simple questions yet seldom thought about.</div>
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My father is in the Indian army, most of my childhood he’s
been away keeping the country safe. Keeping us safe. Keeping you safe. With him
it’s more like meeting him on vacations rather than not seeing him in
vacations. But its dad right? He’s always going to be around.</div>
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That’s what I think every time I don’t “whatsapp” him back
to his overprotective love for me.</div>
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But something happened and it made me miss him, I missed
getting scolded by him and that’s saying something. He’s a hard taskmaster so
to miss him for his scolding? Yeah, that’s how deep the incident touched me.</div>
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One lazy afternoon my mother told me we had guests coming
over for dinner, I made a face as usual because
now I would have to dress up, be proper while all I wanted to do was slump back
into the beanbag and watch some television. </div>
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I heard the bell ring and before I could reach the door my
mother pulled my hand and whispered "uncle passed away in a helicopter crash recently" and just looked at me for a fraction of a second longer than usual eye contact
to make sure that I had absorbed what I had heard. I had. This wasn’t something strange or unusual for me,
I had seen it and heard about it one too many times but hadn’t ever interacted
with anyone directly affected by such a tragedy.</div>
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Aunty came in, she was stunning. Pretty, poised and
confident but you could see the pain in her eyes. The overdone kajal to
disguise the previous night’s teary eyes. She came in and with her was her 4
year old son. Probably the cutest kid you would ever see and also the smartest
kid in town. He could have real meaningful conversations about why Noddy
shouldn’t ever listen to Big Ears.</div>
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I took him to the Television room and we watched some
cartoons and suddenly he stood up, startled, almost worried and then a smile
broke onto his face. It was like watching fireworks. When you light them you don’t know if they’ll
burst into a sky full of sparkles or just vanish into smoke. I looked at the direction he was staring at
and I saw my father’s flying shoes (pilots have special combat flying boots)</div>
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He went up to them, examined them. With such seriousness
that it made me wonder why he was so interested in these gigantic boots. Before
I knew it he ran to the drawing room and stopped just a few steps away from
aunty. He looked at my mother then at aunty with such beautiful beaming eyes
that it instantly made everyone in the room happy. Little did we know what he said next was the
most painful innocent truth. He looks up at aunty and says “ mummmmmaaaaaa,
appa ( dad) is here !!!!!!! You were wrong mummmaaaa he’s not gone anywhere !
appa is here mumma”</div>
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It didn’t even take a minute for aunty to burst into a flood
of tears, I could see her hold back for her son’s sake but it only made it
worse. </div>
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I took him inside to the Tv room. I wanted to hug him, console
him but how could I? he didn't know the
truth. He didn’t know he wasn't going to have his father to teach him how to
ride a bike, to force him to watch the discovery channel, to give him “the talk”.</div>
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He wasn’t ever getting his father back.</div>
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Four years old and he didn’t have his ol’ man anymore. It
was torturous to pretend it was alright, to laugh with him, to watch cartoons
with him. </div>
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That night, I called dad and told him I scored A+ in one of
my exams which really didn't exist. I just wanted to hear him say “well done
beta”. And he did.</div>
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Parents love you no matter what. They’ll always hold your hand,
sometimes tighter than we want them too but they’ll do it anyway. </div>
<br />
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Go hug them. TODAY. It's these little things that make a huge difference in our lives.<br />
Just stop for a minute and give back some of the love we've been showered with from the day we set foot on this planet. </div>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16249524158244781278noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7489129746154382606.post-38307884723648817072014-06-11T11:48:00.000+05:302014-06-11T12:23:24.536+05:30THE BALLOON WAALA <div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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Hot and humid, crowded and polluted yet charming- welcome to
the national capital of the 1.2 billion nation –(New delhi, India) where traffic
jams are an everyday affair and our ears are accustomed to the sound of honking
horns .</div>
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On just another hot day in the capital, I happened to be
caught in one of the famous dwarka flyover jams, luckily for me I was in the
comfort of an AC car and the only way I felt the heat was through the heated
argument cum road fight that was taking place in front of me and surprisingly
not been stopped or mitigated by any of the by standers .Well how can I be
blaming them when I myself was just enjoying the show. That’s the problem with
PEOPLE you know, we blame, we smirk yet we do nothing about what we know is wrong
and immoral. We are mute spectators in this world of chaos, BUT every now and
then there is this one person who changes the way we think, who forces us to
introspect and ask ourselves “what are we really doing? Merely blaming or
offering solutions? Am I a part of the solution?” This brings me back to the traffic jam which
was caused by rash drivers and our very “effective “ traffic signals which stop working at the
slightest change in weather but oh well a tree fell 100km from here bhai so it’s all forgiven. </div>
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While I sat and observed the road fight my attention was
caught by this huge red balloon and as I
traced the owner of this balloon I realized it was a <span style="color: #00b050;">BALLOON
WAALA</span> !and before I knew it I saw
him approach the two men fighting and have an animated conversation with both
of them. Within no time the two Bruce Lee(s) were back in their automobiles and
the <span style="color: #00b050;">BALLOON WAALA BHAIYA</span> was standing in the
middle of the traffic in this scorching heat and what I saw next changed my
perception about not only him but everyone we take for granted and look down
upon. He used his red balloon as a stop
sign like traffic policemen do (who of course were going to arrive at the scene
only after everything was sorted out just like in the movies) and started
controlling the traffic. Letting cars from one side go while stopping the other
sides, precisely managing the heavy incoming traffic and he did all this with a
blissful smile on his face. It was as if he enjoyed it. And then it struck me –this
was probably the only time in his life that he had some sort of control over
people, the power he had right now made him feel almost ,as if, invincible.
People were listening to him, doing as he directed .A simple <span style="color: #00b050;">BALLOON WAALA</span> was now the king of the traffic! Standing
in that unbearable heat -something that most people would loathe made him
happy. </div>
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And honestly I felt inspired. </div>
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We need to be inspired; we need to look up to people. We
need to know that the world is a wonderful place with wonderful people at every
corner of the street and when we look we are sure to find <span style="color: #00b050;">magic!</span></div>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16249524158244781278noreply@blogger.com17tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7489129746154382606.post-68365814166970546632014-05-29T19:21:00.000+05:302014-05-31T18:49:16.205+05:30PADHLO BETA <div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
It's my first blog and following the social protocol, I'll start with a self intro.<br />
I'm not a writer or someone famous I am merely a girl expressing her thoughts so feel free to criticize and close the page if you think it's not worth it BUT it is my first attempt so ,well, be nice okay?<br />
Let's start with the basics. I am 18, female,residing in India , a designer..well..err..soon to be.<br />
so let's get started.!<br />
CBSE BOARD RESULTS CLASS XII. The terrified look on all our faces upon hearing this, not knowing the outcome, living in the uncertainty is painful. We somehow gather our courage and with trembling hands, racing heartbeat type in our roll number.We then see our marks and immediately all of us, you, me ,the guy I sat next to during my boards, the guy trying to cheat from my paper, the girl who prayed everyday before her exam WE all get divided into two groups. The ones who are satisfied and the ones who aren't .<br />
Some cry, some jump with joy while some see the disappointing look on their parents' faces.<br />
In one instant the people around us either become our companions in the following misery or our partners in happiness.<br />
People say marks aren't a judge of intelligence, I agree YET I judge a person when he/she says I scored a mere 70. 'How? it was so easy ? Are you stupid or what?" ...Don't deny it , we all do it.<br />
It's engraved in our brains.We have been brought up with it .." padhlo beta , XYZ ke toh itne aa rahe hai ".<br />
I got into NIFT , my board marks had no relevance to my college or my future. I had got what I had dreamed of, I had achieved my sole goal in life and I still cried my eyes out when I calculated that I had just managed 88%, I cried so much that my mum thought I might go into depression. All I could think of was, people will judge me and I wasn't wrong, people will judge, they always will. There is a certain amount of satisfaction humans get from 1) having gotten hold of some hot gossip 2) see yourself do better than the rest.And it's natural. You can't blame them for the lack of sensitivity or being a little "mean".<br />
Falling down doesn't matter but getting back up with your head held high..that's what matters. that's what defines you as a person, as an individual .<br />
I won't give examples of oh well Bill Gates didn't finish college.Because the ratio of people who make it big with a college degree to the people who do WITHOUT a college degree is well, rather discouraging to say the least. What I will say is, It's alright. Find your calling, cry, feel bad, pity yourself, loathe yourself, don't take a bath , do whatever you have to make yourself better but once you do, GET BACK OUT THERE.<br />
The world is our oyster and all of us, no matter what our marks reflect are pearls.<br />
How often do we ask our parents what they scored in their boards?<br />
How often do you ask your teachers what they scored ?<br />
We don't. So the next time someone asks you how much did you score beta? GOOD OR NOT SO GOOD, say it with a smile. Don't let marks deter your confidence, Life's too short and marks too many to let it affect us.<br />
<br />
PS: I might or might not continue the blog, so ADIOS ! :D<br />
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16249524158244781278noreply@blogger.com19