tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-186888182024-03-13T12:09:33.505-07:00Single and SingularUnknownnoreply@blogger.comBlogger27125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18688818.post-31497258323346635602011-12-10T17:13:00.000-08:002012-09-26T20:50:44.072-07:00Colors - as we see themIt was fall; we were driving<br />
Through streets laced with trees<br />
Bursting with colors.<br />
And I was quietly smiling away<br />
At their immense loveliness.<br />
<br />
"What lovely colors!", he quipped<br />
Startling me -<br />
Not because he broke the silence.<br />
He was partially color-blind,<br />
Seeing colors differently.<br />
<br />
I looked again at the trees.<br />
Huh, maybe it would look even better<br />
With the reds replaced by purples<br />
And the greens with golden yellow.<br />
(Damn, what am I missing out on!)<br />
<br />
If beauty is in the eyes <br />
Of the beholder,<br />
Then I wish for more eyes - <br />
Of different kinds:<br />
A color-blind pair, of course.<br />
And one blind eye, please -<br />
How cool would it be<br />
If the air were multi-colored<br />
And all else was colorless.<br />
<br />
-------------------------------------<br />
<br />
[Inspired by Ilayaraja's:<br />
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]Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18688818.post-18532342977250451662011-12-10T13:59:00.000-08:002011-12-10T16:24:56.246-08:00A core of more than just 0 and 1sIf I have a heap of a thousand grains<br />And I take one by one and throw it down the drains<br />At what exact point a "heap" no longer remains?<br /><br />If I drive unsober, hit and hurt Mr. Chuck<br />Another drives unsober, not encountering a single schmuck<br />Should I be punished more than he, for my ill-luck?<br /><br />If I write a song, make a dress out of meat,<br />Trace a painting by Dali and cook pancakes from buckwheat<br />What rules define which ones are art which are no feat?<br /><br />If we want our lives equipped with better aides of actions<br />Is it time to tear down our digital curtains<br />And re-build it with a core of more than just 0 and 1s?Unknownnoreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18688818.post-69718287839568177152010-01-16T21:48:00.000-08:002010-01-17T11:13:30.688-08:00ChinaI have it as one of my 2010 new year resolutions to write a blog post about my trip to China. It behooves me to write this post for so many reasons - One: because it gives me something to revive my writing. Two: because after posting pictures from my trip on flickr and looking at them repeatedly to re-live my experiences, I realized those pictures did not manage to capture or convey the essence of the experience. There is something about words that can convey things that pictures can't. Or at least, that is what I want to try doing through this post. Three: China was my first international pleasure-travel. And what a dramatic first it was! So much so that sometimes I fear if it has set the "WOWie"-bar so high that it will be really hard for my future travel exploits to match up. Maybe they can't because what I believe to be the most important travel lesson was learnt here - that the best of it is never in the guide book. Four: This post will also be my memento - a keepsake of my best memories associated with the trip - in case my brain's own blog post starts fading out.<br /><br />I realize as I write this, how difficult writing a travelogue is. There are so many things to write about - the places I saw, the food I ate, the people I met, the culture I experienced, advise on what to do and what not to do... . It is hard not to write about all these - but I will try to keep out of this post anything that my flickr photos or a good guidebook can tell you.<br /><br />----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------<br /><br />The first thing most people ask me about my trip is how we managed to get around and get things done without knowing the language. I tell them how we got names of places and their addresses written down in Chinese by hotel receptionists which we then showed to cab drivers, and about how we learnt a few chinese words that we used now and then etc. And that would be the proper technical answer. But beneath and beyond the technical details, the real elemental answer is that humanness (which means such a multitude of complex things that the simple word 'humanness' would explain it better than a ten page article) transcends these language barriers. Here is the perfect anecdote to that - Sree and I decided to go to this particular restaurant for a dinner one day. We had the name of the restaurant and the address all written down in Chinese on a piece of paper. Got into a cab, showed the driver the paper and we were on our way. After about 10 minutes, the driver started speaking to us in Chinese pointing to the address on the paper. It was apparant that the driver did not exactly know where the place was and was trying to get more directions from us. But all we could say was "No Chinese" and grin sheepishly. Based on the tone of the "ohhh" that he let out on hearing that, I am pretty sure he understood what it meant. But he still kept talking. I was pretty pissed off - he should not have even started driving if he did not exactly know where the place was, especially when he should have expected that we wouldnt be able to clarify anything to him in Chinese - given how absolute-tourists and how non-Chinese we looked. Anyway, he finally decided to stop the cab somewhere and ask around for directions. He needed to do that twice before he ultimately got us to where we wanted to go. What should have taken 20 minutes to get to, took 45. But what happened after we reached the place was what was most unforseen - he checked the price indicated on his meter, started speaking in Chinese and kept pointing to the address we gave him and kept touching the temple of his forehead with his index finger as if to say something about brain or memory or intelligence. He then took out his wallet and gave us the money that his meter indicated! We were caught off-guard and stared at him for a minute or two, as he kept repeating his words and his finger-touching-temple action. And then we got it! - he was trying to say he wanted to pay us for the delay instead because giving up his money to a passenger would help him remember the location and address next time. We refused to accept the money, paid him instead and ran from the place.<br />But what a way to own up! And what genuineness it takes to want to do it inspite of it involving communicating this to people who absolutely dont get his language. I still feel guilty about being pissed off at him at one point.<br /><br />Another heart-warming experience was when we went to a local restaurant in Beijing. We were welcomed by every single waiter in the restaurant when we entered, who seemed quite enthusiastic about our arrival - maybe because we were one of the very few non-Chinese folks who have ever visited the restaurant. When we had looked at the menu and were ready to order, we called the waiter, showed him our <a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/harinisridharan/4217684899/">Chinese cheat sheet</a> and indicated that we wanted his help in figuring out if the dishes we picked were indeed vegetarian. He called another waiter who was passing by for help. And guess what - next minute, almost every waiter in the restaurant was at our table! It was slightly embarassing to have 10 strangers standing around our table and discussing our food choices - but it was also so cute that they cared enough to do that! When we were done with our meal, we told our waiter (in sign language) that we really enjoyed the food and he literally jumped around on hearing that! It felt so good!<br /><br />When you visit China, initially it could be frustrating that no one bothers enough about tourists or people from around the world to learn any small bit of the universal language - English. But then, they ultimately somehow make you feel welcome. Afterall, they did a stupendous job welcoming countries around the world for the 2009 Olympics, and they are doing it again with their <a href="http://en.expo2010.cn/">2010 Shanghai Expo</a>. Hats off to the Chinese people.<br /><br />----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------<br /><br />A friend told me this anecdote about herself: She once went out on a dinner date with a guy at a restaurant where the food was absolutely delicious. She thought the date went pretty well and decided to continue seeing him. It wasn't until after a few more dates with the guy that she realized that the reason she thought the first date went so well was because of the amazing food and not because of the guy!<br />That is how many of our pleasurable or painful experiences are - many times we go through them without trying (or wanting) to understand what it is that is causing the pleasure or the pain. Not that it is always necessary to understand either. Just like how you can enjoy driving a luxury car without trying or needing to understand what it is about the car's engine that makes the drive pleasurable. But when you do try to understand it, it gives you new insights.<br />A travel experience is like that too. Soon after I was back from China, when a relative asked me what it was about the trip that made it so enjoyable for me, I fumbled. I hadn't explicitly thought about it. I started making a conscious list of reasons and it included the nice food I ate, the great places I visited, the shopping et al. But all that didn't seem to add up to the sum total of the fun I had. Then I realized I had missed out the biggest reason of them all - an absolutely great travel companion. This is one of those <em>"of course! it is too obvious a reason to even bother to state"</em> reasons. But then it is not! Eating amazing food all by myself is not half as much fun as eating it with the person who is as foodie as I am to just talk about the food on our plates the entire hour that we are at the restaurant! Coming back home from shopping and realizing that the half-hour long bargaining session you just had is ultimately of no use because the dress you bought doesn't fit you, is painful, if not for the person who makes so much fun of the whole shopping experience that you end up feeling like the lost money was well worth the funny experience. Hats off.<br /><p></p>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18688818.post-64158240702069561462009-08-07T13:13:00.001-07:002010-01-17T03:40:55.331-08:00Life is...It was one of those days when nothing seemed to be going right. After a tough day, I was lying in bed thinking there is hell of a lot more crap in life than goodness. There is so much in life I can do better without.<br /><br />I started making a mental list of things in my life I could do better without, but somehow thoughts drifted off to doing just the opposite - making a counter-list of things that I just cannot give up. The list made me realize that the little goodness and beauty in life is worth it all. How on earth can I miss seeing my dog do something totally ridiculously funny <strong>;</strong> or watching a movie at night at home with good friends and oily chinese food <strong>;</strong> or that tiresome day-long journey to India, every minute of which is spent envisioning the moments when I would see mom and dad waiting at the airport <strong>;</strong> or seeing that hug emoticon from my man over a chat window exactly when I need it - the kind that makes me burst out crying in relief....<br /><br />... and I went to sleep, thinking life is good.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18688818.post-36597804493169334182008-11-02T12:29:00.000-08:002008-11-02T20:05:17.610-08:00My hued whiteThrown in, with throngs of others,<br />Of every hue and color,<br />She is a silken white,<br />And a starry-eyed newcomer.<br /><br />She picks herself up,<br />Looks around in wonder.<br />All is swank and grand, until<br />Things start to get damper.<br /><br />Sitting cold and crinkled,<br />She hopes for things to temper.<br />But a rumble erupts and she's taken for<br />A toss, a tumble and a twister.<br /><br />The ride seems never ending<br />With only tiny pauses for a breather.<br />She uses those to soak up<br />Hues from those that charm her.<br /><br />The ride and the rumble come to a still.<br />She rests in the flavor<br />Of her newfound self<br />Feeling like a proud fighter.<br /><br />To the tumble she is thankful<br />Although it brought with it some languor.<br />It is what made her fresh and clean,<br />And gave her a rare color.<br /><br />It amuses me to see<br />How much the laundering adventure<br />Of my little white piece<br />Is like my saga's sampler.<br /><br />A profound laundering experience<br />If you think this piece garners,<br />I must confess - I just needed to justify<br />The outcome of mixing my whites and my colors :-)Unknownnoreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18688818.post-57870039330901131972008-05-29T00:17:00.000-07:002008-06-02T20:59:50.133-07:00The Little Box - Part IV<em><span style="color:#cc6600;">[Story starts </span></em><a href="http://singleandsingular.blogspot.com/2008/04/little-box.html"><em><span style="color:#cc6600;">here</span></em></a><em><span style="color:#cc6600;">]</span></em><br /><br />Dan noticed Sarah was being very secretive about her little box. She would check on it every now and then and never let him touch it. She also managed to find a nice small lock for the box. He did not bother to give it much thought, brushing it away as a little girl's prerogative to little eccentricities. But it wasn't long after that he realized it was not just playful fancy that his daughter harbored for the box. He found out something about the box that Sarah seemed to have kept from telling him - The box moved. By itself!<br /><br />One day when Sarah was away at school, Dan was in her room, tidying it up while talking to himself, like he usually did (and like many of us do when there is no one around to judge us for being a madcap). He lifted the box off the desk it was on to wipe away some dust, when he thought he felt it move ever so slightly. He assumed he was just being delusional, but decided to humor himself by ensuring that boxes don't move by themselves. He straightened up and held out the box on his huge rugged palm, waiting for it to happen again. And it did! It was a pipsqueak of a move, but one that couldn't go unnoticed if it happened right on top of your palm. He wanted to open the box and see what was in it, but it was locked. He searched all nook and cranny for the key, but in no avail. He decided to wait until Sarah was back. Although his wait involved holding up the box on his palm every 10 minutes to check if it moved. It moved only once after that, of the two hundred and fifty times he tried.<br /><br />Once Sarah was back from school, Dan prodded her about the box, sounding phony-calm, fighting against his adrenaline's efforts to burst into an interrogative tirade. His hormones started pumping with even more ferocity when he learnt that the box belonged to a clairvoyant.<br /><br />"So, what is in the box?", Dan nudged.<br /><br />Sarah looked up from her sketching work and gave her dad an inspective-eyed, thin-lipped look. In under a wink, it turned into an angelic, unsuspecting semblance and she calmly replied, "Nothing".<br /><br />There are some ironical times in a parent's life when they feel their child has learnt too much of a thing they were once encouraged to learn. This was one such time for Dan. It was clear to him that Sarah was lying, but thanks to her pick pocketing adventures, she had learnt to do it with a slickness that averted any further drilling. "What do you plan to keep in it?"<br /><br />"Nothing. I lost the key", she said with the same serene poise, without looking up from her sketching.<br /><br />Dan sighed. Sarah wasn't going to tell him a thing. But he resolved to find out what the box was all about. Having belonged to a soothsayer, the box could infact be magical, he mused. And if the box were really magical, it might even help him get rich quick.<br /><br />And it did.<br /><br />[To be continued.]Unknownnoreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18688818.post-4096312156221816002008-05-11T18:36:00.000-07:002008-05-14T14:15:58.806-07:00Red Riding Hood Talks<em><span style="color:#cc6600;">[Spurred off by a writing prompt to re-write a fairy tale or re-tell it from the view point of one of the characters :). I picked 'Little Red Riding Hood'. Original tale <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Little_Red_Riding_Hood">here</a>.]</span></em><br />-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------<br /><br />This is the one advice I give to celebrities all around the world: <em>If you want people to know the truth, write your gossip columns yourself.</em><br /><em></em><br />In my early years, there were no 'gossip columnists'; there were just 'columnists' - the ones who did not indiscriminately conclude every red apple a celebrity carried to be poisonous; the ones who did not blow up a simple kiss to a pet frog into a torrid affair; the ones who do not exist anymore. And then the Grimm Brothers came along and brought an end to every strain of truth in journalism. Stories about me of the most preposterous nature were published and widely read. At that point, this did not bother me for two reasons - One, I was way too busy with my celebrity life and two, I hadn't been singled out as the victim in this horrendous connivance of words - Ms. Gretel, Mrs. Charming I, Mrs. Charming II, Ms. Locks were all subjected to the inequity as well. But now it bothers me to see that over the past many centuries, no one has ever succeeded in bringing back the element of truth to the written word. And what is worse - we have been forcing our children to read these fabricated versions and letting them draw morals from these that don't apply in real life because the stories are not real in the first place!<br /><br />In an attempt to lay things straight for all generations to come, I have decided to bring out the truth in the stories they read about me and urge every other celebrity to do the same. Here is my true story :-<br /><br />So yes, I did set off to granny Ann's place for my routine visit. Granny Ann was my dad's mother. My mom and she never really got along. My mom thought she was a bossy old lady and granny Ann thought my dad could have done better marrying someone who was a better cook than mom. The only reason mom even sent me to visit granny regularly was because everytime I visited, granny made these amazing pastries that she packed for me to take back home and mom secretly loved these pastries. (Now you know why I was made to carry that basket along during my visits).<br /><br />Anyway, getting back to the story, on that eventful day I met Mr. Jamie Wolfe on my way to granny Ann's place. Contrary to popular belief, he was no wolf. I have no clue how the Grimm brothers made you believe he was - wolves dont talk to humans! But... Mr. Wolfe was a werewolf. Now, here is something that we should all know, but don't: <em>Anyone whose name has the word 'wolf' embedded in it, is a werewolf</em>, like the composer 'Wolfgang Amadeus Mouse-Art' or the novelist 'Virgin-i-am Wolf'. The reason this fact does not feature in the "original" fake story and the reason you would not have acquired this piece of information from any other media source is because werewolves do not like us normal people to be aware of their whereabouts AND they happen to own the largest market share in the media industry. This of course is apart from the reason that the media industry has got nothing to do with facts anyway.<br /><br />I knew Jamie. He was once granny Ann's friend. I had seen him at a party in granny's place many months ago. That was the same day he became a werewolf. He cracked a joke that offended granny and she cursed him to be a werewolf for a whole year. He morphed into a werewolf that very night and so also had to change his name from Jamie Fox to Jamie Wolfe. It was well before dusk and Jamie was in his human form when he approached me that day on my way to granny's home. He said he had served his term of one year as werewolf and wanted to meet my granny to get the curse removed. I gave him her address. When I reached granny's place, he was already there. I could understand the urgency and totally empathized with him - being a werewolf is like having multiple personality disorder, split between being a human and a wolf, and it can be very irritating... to others.<br /><br />Granny was describing the curse removal process to Jamie. We had to wait until it was dusk when he transformed into a wolf. That moment, granny would cut open the wolf's stomach (while muttering some spells) and Jamie would emerge, cured from his curse.<br /><br />Dusk came, the wolf was cut open and Jamie was redeemed. As we stepped outside home to perform the final acts of the ritual - burning the wolf skin and getting Jamie a new last name - the paparazzi caught us in their flash lights. No points for guessing what story Mr. Grimm cooked up on seeing the photo featuring an irritated me, a tired granny Ann and Jamie with the wolf skin slung over his shoulders.<br /><br />That, readers, is The Truth, The Whole Truth, and Nothing But The Truth.<br /><br />Unlike the unrealistic morals of the 'original' fake story such as<br />- do not give out phone numbers and house addresses to wolves<br />- beware: wolves are capable of swallowing grandmothers whole<br />- if you cut open a wolf's stomach, you will get back all grandmothers it has ever eaten,<br /><br />the true story offers morals you can actually use in your life, like<br />- your mother and her mother-in-law (your grandmother) will likely not get along but all is fine as long as there are tasty pastries<br />- please do not let a person whose name has the word 'wolf' in it bite you.<br />- if you want people to know your version, don't let someone else tell your story.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18688818.post-51409384855715055202008-04-27T14:12:00.000-07:002008-06-02T00:43:55.732-07:00The Little Box - Part III<em><span style="color:#cc6600;">[Story starts </span></em><a href="http://singleandsingular.blogspot.com/2008/04/little-box.html"><em><span style="color:#cc6600;">here</span></em></a><em><span style="color:#cc6600;">]</span></em><br /><br />As she entered her home with a prance of triumph, Sarah found Dan setting the table for dinner. "Daddyyyyy", she shreiked running into his open arms that lifted her high into the air and swirled her around once before bringing her back to the mud floor of their small, neat home.<br /><br />He seated himself on a chair and lifted her onto his lap. "So, princess.. tell me", he began, "how was your day?".<br /><br />"Th-e-e-s is for youuuu", she drawled as she put her hands into her pocket, drawing out the dark, thin man's wallet and handing it over to him;<br />"th-e-e-s is for youuuu", she repeated with the exact measure of drawl she used the previous time, placing the other wallet also in his hands;<br />"th-e-e-s is for youuuu" - now placing the watch on the wallet.<br />"Aa-aa-aa-aa-nd", testing the elasticity of the word, "this's for me", she finished quickly bringing out the little box but this time not placing it in his hands.<br /><br />"Thank you, honey", he responded while quickly checking the contents of the two wallets. And then shifted his gaze to the box. "What is this box thing?"<br /><br />"I flicked it from some forture teller woman. I want to have it. I will use it to keep something."<br /><br />"What will you keep in it?"<br /><br />"Still thinking. Maybe I will use it as my pencil box and take it to school. Or I will keep my pocket money in it." "I want it, I will keep something.", she repeated, looking up at her dad, crinkling her forehead slightly and putting on her resolve face.<br /><br />"Of course you can keep it". He smiled and kissed her, amused at her young decisive look. His thoughts then drifted back to the wallets. "Good money, this" - he brought out the large wad of money from the blonde girl's wallet.<br /><br />"Do we have enough to keep a dog, a pet now?"<br /><br />"No, honey, we still can't afford that. Later. Come on, lets get started with dinner now."<br /><br />After dinner, Sarah went and sat on her bed with the box in her hand. She took off the lid and examined its insides in an effort to figure out what she would keep in it. It was too small and too square for her pencils to fit. She did'nt really need a box for her pocket money - she always kept it in the pocket of her school uniform and that was where it was convenient to have. She could'nt think of any other possession of hers that would fit neatly into the box.<br /><br />A little later that night, when she was doing her routine chores, it suddenly struck her - she knew what she would keep in the box. She ran to her room, and pulled out a bamboo basket from under her bed. She took out from it, the soft linen cloth that her grandma had given her that had Sarah's name embroidered on one corner. Her grandma's linen found its new home in Sarah's fancy lidded little box.<br /><br />The oval mirror that was in the little box found itself thrown into a rarely opened drawer in Sarah's room, that housed rarely used things.<br /><br />[Continued <a href="http://singleandsingular.blogspot.com/2008/05/little-box-part-iv.html">here</a>.]Unknownnoreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18688818.post-67436957148468819022008-04-23T00:34:00.000-07:002008-05-26T19:54:52.571-07:00The Little Box - Part II[Story starts <a href="http://singleandsingular.blogspot.com/2008/04/little-box.html">here</a>]<br /><br />There was a brightly colored tent with a board on it that read "Psychic Reading". Two women sat at a table right outside the tent, across from each other. One of them was a gypsy woman, her hair covered with a red cloth that was tied to a knot at the back of her head. She had her eyes closed, her palms locked and was muttering something that was too whispery to be comprehensible but yet had a tranquilizing effect. She was clearly the psychic in question. The woman seated across from her was resting her chin on one of her palms, with the little finger between her teeth. Her face was so plain that if you could fashion a face that represented an average over the faces of all the women in the country, you would end up with hers.<br /><br />Between the two women, at the centre of the table, was the little box. It was a square wooden box with the most splendid lid Sarah had ever seen. Along the four edges of the lid were intricate and colorful drawings of mythical and supernatural beings of all kinds from across cultures - from gargoyles to chinese dragons to cherubs. There was a neat 'Z' shaped crack in the middle that let a hairline-thin streak of sunlight into the box. Something on the inside seemed to reflect the sunlight back through the crack, making the 'Z' look like a strike of lightning. The wood itself had a very dusty look about it, making the box look even more enigmatic.<br /><br />The psychic opened her eyes slowly and smiled at the other woman. "Place both your palms on the box so your aura seeps in and then ask your questions", she said.<br /><br />The plain lady did as she was told. "Can you tell me about my previous birth? What was I?"<br /><br />The psychic placed her palms over the other lady's and again went into her muttering ritual. A few seconds later, she lifted her hands and asked the other lady to do the same. She then tenderly lifted the box's lid and took out an oval shaped mirror. She studied it closely for a few moments and then started talking in a slow, dragging tone. "A Roman woman", she said and paused a few seconds before she continued, "married off into an aristocratic family as a part of a political move. Your husband was a vicious man. You killed him. No one ever knew that it was you. "<br /><br />"What else? Did I have any children? Did I have a lover? What did I look like?"<br /><br />The psychic took on the questions, referring to her mirror every few minutes. But Sarah had stopped listening to the conversation. All her senses were focussed on the box. She decided to wait a little longer.<br /><br />A quarter of an hour passed. The plain lady's psychic reading session came to a close. She seemed visibly happy with what she had learnt of her past life from the psychic. She made her payment and left. The gypsy woman got up from her chair, smiling at Sarah as she went into the tent with her new earnings, leaving the box on the table. Next minute, the box was in Sarah's pocket and a minute after that, Sarah was a long way off from the tent.<br /><br />As she got close to home, she touched the little box in her pocket and smiled. Then she felt her other pocket and made sure the two wallets and the watch she picked were safe.<br /><br />[Continued <a href="http://singleandsingular.blogspot.com/2008/04/little-box-part-iii.html">here</a>.]Unknownnoreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18688818.post-89627414859754340502008-04-20T20:53:00.000-07:002008-05-26T13:39:15.125-07:00The Little Box - Part I<em><span style="color:#cc6600;">Outcome of another short story prompt - to write one that begins "She touched the little box in her pocket and smiled."</span></em><br />-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------<br /><br />She touched the little box in her pocket and smiled. Then she felt her other pocket and made sure the two wallets and the watch she picked were safe.<br /><br />Sarah was only nine but she was already adept at the art that her father had mastered a few decades ago. She went to school and she knew she was going to be a doctor some day. But picking pockets was something her father did for a profession and she, for a weekend hobby. When Sarah was seven, Dan had mulled over whether he should let his daughter know of his true vocation. He finally decided he would tell her - he wanted her to know the truth. He did not intend for her to take part in any of it, but she insisted. He resisted in the beginning, but ultimately gave in, justifying his decision with the reasoning that they could do with the extra money. And so began her weekend pick pocketing travails.<br /><br />That day her exploits had been at the Gypsy Fair that had come to town. It was pretty crowded at the fair grounds, as you would expect, and that made a perfect setting for Sarah's drill. Being only thirteen, she was struck by awe for what the fair had to offer. She decided to enjoy herself for a while in the web of excitement that engulfed the place, before she commenced on her stint. She walked around from one stall to another - there were craft stalls tended to by women in long flowy skirts and dangling earrings, there was a face painting stall for children, there were food stalls that wafted rich smells into the crisp air. Now and then some gypsy women would gather together to perform a dance for the onlookers, or some gypsy men performed tricks like swallowing fire or juggling knives. There were even pony rides and merry go rounds. Sarah let an hour pass by, ambling through the fair, cheerfully nibbling on a pink cotton candy.<br /><br />She then got on to work. Her first victim was a thin, dark man who walked with a quick-paced funny strut, always leaving his wife two steps behind him. At first he didnt seem a likely candidate, given his wife was constantly right behind him but Sarah decided to follow them nevertheless on grounds of her self-devised rule number 7: <em>People who acted all-knowing were almost always easy victims </em>- and the guy fitted the "act all-knowing" description to the T. She got her chance when he was trying on sunglasses while his wife was checking out earrings at the adjacent jewellery stall. She deftly slipped out his peeping wallet from his back pocket as she walked by. She never came to know when he noticed his missing wallet since he decided not to buy any sunglasses from the stall. He ushered his wife to walk on, as he declared "its all cheap stuff here". By that time, Sarah had moved on to looking for her second victim.<br /><br />It happened to be a blonde, fashionable girl with huge dark glasses, pointed heels and a small handbag with long handles. A rich dad's only-daughter, with an entourage of three fawning friends. She was walking alongside her friends with her handbag slung over her shoulder. The handbag had its mouth wide open since she was holding on to only one of its handles. Her small but florid wallet inside visibly had a large wad of money. As Sarah clasped the wallet and drew it out, she realized there was something else in the handbag that was coming along. She worried it might cause a tug at the handbag and alert attention, but that didnt happen. It - an ornate watch - came out effortlessly, along with the wallet.<br /><br />Satisfied with her spoils for the day, Sarah had just started to head home, when she spotted the box.<br /><br />[Continued <a href="http://singleandsingular.blogspot.com/2008/04/little-box-part-ii.html">here</a>.]Unknownnoreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18688818.post-3412035992747331072008-04-20T15:13:00.001-07:002008-04-20T15:23:18.219-07:00SynesthesiaA most interesting phenomenon I came across today: <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Synesthesia">Synesthesia</a><br /><br />Per wikipedia: "Synesthesia is a neurologically-based phenomenon in which stimulation of one sensory or cognitive pathway leads to automatic, involuntary experiences in a second sensory or cognitive pathway. In one common form of synesthesia, known as color synesthesia, letters or numbers are perceived as inherently colored, while in ordinal linguistic personification, numbers, days of the week and months of the year evoke personalities. In spatial-sequence, or number form synesthesia, numbers, months of the year, and/or days of the week elicit precise locations in space (for example, 1980 may be "farther away" than 1990), or may have a (three-dimensional) view of a year as a map (clockwise or counterclockwise)."<br /><br />I am in awe at the byzantine ways of the brain!Unknownnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18688818.post-87265087735808772732008-04-15T23:21:00.000-07:002008-05-26T13:34:03.374-07:00"It hit the house"<em><span style="color:#cc6600;">I came across a fiction writing exercise somewhere. The task was to write a piece based on or featuring or inspired by this sentence: "It hit the house". I took on the exercise and the story below is the outcome :)<br /></span></em>-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------<br /><br />Mrs Sobers shoved me out of the house.<br /><br />I had been with them for about 6 months. Her son brought me home one bright summer day and told Mrs Sobers I would be staying with them from then on. Mrs Sobers tried to sound enthusiastically welcoming. I could tell right then that she wasnt really excited about having me stay with them. But it wasnt until later that I realized that she actually detested me. I also figured why - she was jealous how attached her son was to me - we went out together every evening, I spent my nights by his side and just palming me brought a smile to his face every single time.<br /><br />During my first week at their house, she flashed a mechanical smile whenever she saw us nestled together. In a matter of weeks, the smile turned into a scrowl, a scorn or a scream. She was adept at finding some reason to blow off her top and scream everytime she spotted us being chummy. She did smile at me on rare occassions (only when her son was around to see) when she wanted to patch up a tiff with her son, but it was as affected a smile as smiles can get. She also tried to keep us away from each other by sending him off to run errands whenever she got a chance. I chose to endure and forgive - I was just happy to be with Gary.<br /><br />As things got worse still, in ways I dont wish to put to words, I should have expected it to happen. It did - on a cold and rainy October evening. She decided that was all she would have of me and forced me out of the house. I waited outside wishing her son would come running out to hoist me back in. He didnt. I dont blame him. Mrs Sobers had him pinned with her yells. They were more menacing than ever before. I could hear them from outside.<br /><br />No one came for me that entire night. I found shelter under a large shrub, and sat there wet, dirty and huddled up.<br /><br />Two more days in abandon. Long enough to unfold and inflate feelings of pent up anger against her. Painful enough to resolve to seek vengeance. Paulo Coelho, in his book, 'The Alchemist', said, "When you really want something, all the universe conspires in helping you to achieve it". I believe in it. I wanted to avenge my abuse and I only had to wait for the universe to work out the plan for me.<br /><br />Fate is merciful and the universe is fair - my journey to revenge started just a day later.<br /><br />Early in the morning of the third day, someone spotted me rundown and took me home. I went readily - I knew he was to be my tool for revenge. He was away most of morning that day, but he came back home in the evening. I tried to look my best - I needed to entice my tool into doing my job. He took me out the same evening to meet a friend of his.<br /><br />"Dude, look what I got", he said to his friend, referring to me.<br /><br />"Cool, dude! Nice ball! Where did you get it from?", his friend reacted.<br /><br />"I found it, man. Under some bushes near that foreigner people's house where my mom works."<br /><br />"Cool, lets use this ball then, its newer than the one we use."<br /><br />"Ya, has a nice seam, will swing better. I bat first. You batted first last time."<br /><br />"ok ok"<br /><br />I almost blushed in excitement that the moment was not too far away.<br /><br />The game of cricket began.<br /><br />Murali's first throw was an illegal delivery ('no-ball', as they call it). Sunil played defensive and blocked me on the second.<br /><br />Third time lucky, they say. The shot was a slog and I soared. Higher and higher every second... until I had cleared the tree tops... until I could see Mrs. Sobers' house.<br /><br />I hung there for a second. Just long enough for a glimpse at the two agape mouths below. Then I swooped towards my target. I gathered momentum as I recollected how she flung me out and let the rain slush gather on me.<br /><br />I plunged through the fiberglass bay window and shattered her most cherished possession in the house - her ultra expensive copper and white porcelain Ming vase.<br /><br />Revenge is sweet they say. So it is.<br />-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------Unknownnoreply@blogger.com11tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18688818.post-27696999634940064462008-04-14T00:04:00.000-07:002008-04-17T23:23:52.501-07:00Coming to terms with the real worldBeen a few years now since I stepped out of my parents' home and set foot into the "real world". And I am still teetering my way through it. The protective walls of pre-reality life's lessons I built around me are still crumbling as I scramble about clearing up the mess and trying to re-build the wall with new bricks of wisdom. Blocks of wisdom that give myriad shades of grey to my wall. Pieces of wisdom that sometimes dont exactly fit in with each other, leaving spaces in my wall.<br /><br />Building the wall is exhausting, especially when you want to build one that is pre-eminent. It gets to me sometimes and a slack sets in. Soon enough, the wall becomes brutally unstable. The wall that was almost undiscovered when steady is soon at the converging end of countless pointed fingers. But soon after is when I am usually thankful in life for the few who rush in, not to use their fingers to point but to use their hands to hold it up for me.<br /><br />Sometimes I climb up the wall, sit on it and look outside at other people's walls. Each time I find the world more labyrinthine than I could ever imagine it to be. I do this more often these days just to remind myself that my wall is more normal than I could ever imagine it to be.<br />-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------<br /><br />[This blog post was a resultant of practicing a writing exercise :)]Unknownnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18688818.post-72737628145855715522008-03-29T02:25:00.000-07:002008-03-31T10:36:30.168-07:00Creating a genius-- Driving my car one day, my friend sitting next to me... a sudden ramming into the breaks somehow set off a spirited discussion between us about kinetic friction and inertia and other mechanics of motion...<br /><br /><p>-- I watched the movie 300 recently. Hunk-watch-excitement aside, I was intrigued by the non-fantasized parts of the spartan lifestyle and the Battle of Thermopylae depicted in the movie. Soon after the movie, I caught up with the real, whole story of spartan history on wikipedia...</p><br /><p>(Apart from flaunting the tiny undercover geek in me) why are these of any significance? - Well, these are hand picked instances of how much excitement I have been getting oflate from learning and discussing such topics... which is interesting because these (physics and world history) were my least favorite subjects in school.<br /><br />Not that I did not bother to leaf through my physics or history textbooks in school - I did... and did it well. But the motivating factor was almost always scoring points in exams.<br /><br />But now, I could devour all my physics and history text books in zest... in an unrequitted love for knowledge.<br /><br />So, I have been wondering why this cognition-thristing-me did not happen 10-15 years ago... and in general about what it takes to impart this kind of a passion for knowledge in students early in their lifetime... what it takes to create a genius... what it takes to create many geniuses.<br /><br />Dont most of us remember that one teacher who imbued us with a profound passion for his/her subject? So does the answer lie in making more great teachers?<br /><br />I have stared at pages of laplace transforms or details on the second battle of panipat wondering what in "real life" anyone could possibly do learning all that. Is it about having us realize early-on how real they really are?<br /><br />If some kid did have the learning-lust, would he/she score as well in exams as would his textbook-cramming counterpart? Maybe not. In all probability, the learning-luster would have wandered off to realms beyond his/her textbooks, and fall behind on the kind of questions which you could answer only if you had read the 4th word on the 7th line of the 52nd page of the textbook. Should the evaluation system change to credit the avant-gardist?<br /><br />My recent interest was further piqued by books such as '<a href="http://www.amazon.com/Cartoon-History-Universe-Vol-1-7/dp/0385265204/ref=pd_bbs_7?ie=UTF8&s=books&qid=1206941283&sr=8-7">The Cartoon Guide to the History of the Universe</a>' and '<a href="http://www.amazon.com/Short-History-Nearly-Everything/dp/076790818X/ref=pd_bbs_sr_1?ie=UTF8&s=books&qid=1206941493&sr=1-1">A Short History of Nearly Everything</a>' that convey much the same principles and facts as did our school textbooks, but in a much more fun manner. Should textbooks be re-written to make them more engaging?<br /><br />I can ramble on and conjure up ten other ideas for spawning prodigies... but I would love to help.<br /><br /></p>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18688818.post-27939869833010213382007-07-02T00:50:00.000-07:002007-09-06T07:21:39.021-07:00Lesser BeingsUnalienable feelings tell me that right at this moment I should have been hanging upside down from a tree or licking myself clean or sleeping standing up or guarding eggs, instead of wasting my time wording this rant. God made a eleventh-hour decision to make me "civilized" and so here I am - inadept at climbing a tree, cringing at the thought of my own saliva on my own skin, able to day-dream but unable to sleep standing, unqualified to lay eggs..... but totally appreciative of our incessant use of grey cells for mindless inventions of unnecessary mechanisms to help us do even more pointless things. But once in a while, like now, lightning strikes and for a brief moment as I stand semi-dazed, I look at myself and think "This was not what was meant to be".<br /><br />Ironically, this time the lightning strike was induced by a creation by a few saner ones of the civilized kind: a movie called <em>'Animals are Beautiful People'</em> (a fantabulastic movie for an animal lover, but still makes for a good watch just by virtue of being hillarious). A flurry of feelings convince me that we are plumetting headlong down the evolution trench instead of moving up the ladder, as we claim it to be. While I wont deny that it is partly because I should have been born in a zoo, it sounds pretty rational to my constantly tornado-ing human mind too. I noodle over thoughts ...<br /><br /><ul><li>Isnt it all wrong that we need to be taught 'right' and 'wrong' all our lives, and right is not just instinctive like it is for every other creature?</li><li>Why do we have the need to seek meaning in things that are just intrinsically beautiful like love and life and happiness?</li><li>Which of God's beings but us are so tired of work that our ultimate dream is 'retirement'? </li><li>When you sit beside someone of your kind and dont have anything to say (and there is no idiot box around), so often the silence is "uncomfortable".</li><li>Being disloyal comes naturally, while no other creature can even be taught disloyality.</li><li>Suicide?</li><li>Every-day life is so bad that we all feel the need for regular vacations to "escape" from every-day life? We are one of the few creatures that can actually see the zillion bright and happy colors around us, but still are one of the unhappiest.</li></ul>.... even if only briefly, before I go back to my potato-couching.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com21tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18688818.post-76616082965735346692007-06-27T17:15:00.000-07:002008-04-20T22:45:06.493-07:00Apologies encompassedTo those who I hurt<br />But never wanted to:<br />I dint know any better then<br />What else could I do?<br />I had to learn somewhere,<br />I'm just sorry it was with you.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18688818.post-13940407854983492312007-06-25T09:23:00.000-07:002007-06-25T13:11:48.775-07:00Settled ScoresI tore up all the letters that I had tucked away neatly in that special nook in my cupboard. I threw the rubble into the drain and waited to see the words dissolve into a somber murk. It was over... finally over (- at least for now - somethings just keep coming back to haunt you).<br /><br /><br />It wasnt easy... parting with what you hold cherished never is. I had managed to put it off until then, convincing myself with puerile reasons. But ultimately, it had to be done - it was the "right" thing to do and the world seems to think that is reason enough to do it.<br /><br /><br />A week has passed since then. The bitterness of the parting has waned as if the emotions were never true. All that remains is a sense of relief - relief that I have paid my bills for the month, even if it meant parting with my cherished, hard-earned money. The nook in my cupboard starts filling up with unopened mail.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18688818.post-57877469318011525812007-06-03T11:31:00.000-07:002008-04-20T22:44:44.932-07:00Finding HomeI waited by my window<br />to see him walk by<br />Hoping one day<br />to catch his eye.<br /><br />My fingers curled<br />tight around the rail<br />As his familiar form<br />had my eyes trail.<br /><br />My heart beat<br />to the rhythm of his tread<br />As he walked unmindful<br />to my feelings unsaid.<br /><br />For weeks and months<br />I watched him from my window<br />Till one day he stopped coming<br />But never did my desire mellow.<br /><br />Sitting on my doorstep<br />one lovely morning<br />I was sipping at my cup<br />of coffee and whipping.<br /><br />It happened in a flash<br />And there he stood fine<br />with his eyes firmly locked<br />right onto mine.<br /><br />My eyes welled<br />I felt wetness on the brim<br />I knew he longed for me<br />Much as I yearned for him.<br /><br />He came sat by my side<br />His hands touched my skin<br />The thrill was boundless<br />Like it was almost sin.<br /><br />My heart pained in the pleasure<br />I left him and ran indoor<br />wholly unable to bear<br />feelings never felt before.<br /><br />He followed me in<br />Just as him I started to miss<br />Then I set supper for us<br />while he got set to make me his.<br /><br />As he lapped up his milk<br />and rubbed my leg against his neckline<br />I knew he was mine,<br />My very own pet feline.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com14tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18688818.post-46419104160814161422007-05-22T23:24:00.000-07:002008-04-20T22:44:26.387-07:00Veiled woundsA lovely evening, a charming hostess<br /><br />Glitterring guests, flush and famous.<br /><br />Sweet wine, sparkling crystal,<br /><br />Delightful music, airy and ageless.<br /><br />Satin on every shoulder, aroma in every breath,<br /><br />Flowers in baskets, of every color in the palette.<br /><br />Mirrors on walls, art on domes<br /><br /><em>And bloodstains under the carpet.</em>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18688818.post-1151823719658456512006-07-01T23:51:00.000-07:002008-04-20T22:47:06.408-07:00A fragrant fleetI have hardly ever had a friend or a foe who hasnt taught me a thing or two. But there are others still who I have hardly known but yet did not fail to leave a mark on me. These people have blown into my life and darted out of it as I only stood looking... but not without leaving their fragrance behind... forever. A tribute to them and to those moments.<br /><br />You may not remember me<br />I must be one of a thousand.<br />I cannot forget thee<br />The fragrance has not weakened.<br /><br />You stirred me, you swayed me,<br />But you will never know.<br />It is something I truly felt<br />But never told you so.<br /><br />My memories dont summon you often.<br />You dont make my everyday.<br />But you will make a story that<br />My children will know some day.<br /><br />You wont fly into me again,<br />For that I dont feel sorry.<br />I know you blew away for<br />You were never meant to be.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18688818.post-1151652313156394742006-06-29T23:50:00.000-07:002006-09-26T22:45:37.733-07:00Pinnacle of piousness!My friend's boyfriend's uncle was coming to visit them. So she scurried home several hours in advance to "purify" their home, in preparation. Here goes a true story from the famous uncle's legend: He was once visiting a family friend. While using their bathroom, he noticed a Victoria Secret catalog in one of their bathroom shelves. He promptly took it to the trash, feeling very honored to have helped a friend to become more "holy" and "virtuous"!<br /><br />Even funnier is when you let you imagination run wild and picture what people would do to "clean up" if he were visiting their home.. LOL! I hope my friend's home doesnt get incarcerated in a month-long purification ritual because he spotted pills on an old shopping bill or "carmen electra" in the search history on their PC :p<br /><br />What terror are tornados and thieves, when you have uncles like these :p<br /><br />The next day.<br /><br />Of course I did ask my friend how things turned out with the visit and what "scandalous" things he helped them renounce. "Hmm.. no.. no such happened", she said. Just as I was getting disappointed that all this hype was in vain and that I lost a good story, she continued: In an effort to find something to do that was far fetched from any controversy, my friend suggested that they all go see this documentary, "An Inconvinient Truth" (In case you havent heard, it is a documentary on Al Gore's efforts to raise awareness on the issues concerning global warming - a very informative and entertaining piece of work). The uncle promptly decided against the idea because he did not *believe* in global warming! According to his orthodox religious beliefs, nature is God and cannot be affected by any of human's activities.<br /><br />Howizdat for a story! Me likeyyyyyy :DUnknownnoreply@blogger.com13tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18688818.post-1143970794684195392006-04-02T01:19:00.000-08:002007-06-30T01:24:53.011-07:00"Oh so true..." s"I need help when I have a fake smile, not genuine tears..."<br /><br />"A human being should be able to change a diaper, plan an invasion, butcher a hog, conn a ship, design a building, write a sonnet, balance accounts, build a wall, set a bone, comfort the dying, take orders, give orders, cooperate, act alone, solve equations, analyze a new problem, pitch manure, program a computer, cook a tasty meal, fight efficiently, die gallantly. Specialization is for insects." -Robert A. Heinlein<br /><br />yake artha balige <span style="color:#ff6666;">(<em>Why should there be a meaning to life?)</em><br /></span>yake artha nalege <span style="color:#ff6666;">(<em>Why should there be a meaning to our tomorrows</em>)<br /></span>artha ondu yaake beku<br />arali naguva hoovige <span style="color:#ff6600;"><span style="color:#ff6666;">(<em>Why search for meaning in something implicitly beautiful - like a flower in bloom)</em></span> <span style="color:#000000;"><em>- Dr. N.S. Laksminarayana Bhatta</em></span></span>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18688818.post-1141718234041733702006-03-06T23:25:00.000-08:002008-04-20T22:44:07.643-07:00Behold the balloonsI wondered<br />All these people I see<br />Some known, some unknown<br />What do they think of me?<br /><br />I wished<br />White balloons of thoughts<br />Popped from their heads<br />And showed me what I wanted to see.<br /><br />I guessed<br />I would then inspect<br />How many people found me quirky<br />And how many found me pretty.<br /><br />I conceived<br />Darting out those thoughts<br />That I knew were misled or those<br />That portrayed my person untruly.<br /><br />I realized<br />I am me to noone but me<br />And it would take forever<br />Did I go on a balloon bursting spree.<br /><br />I poised<br />Content the balloons are nowhere<br />And that things are just fine<br />The way they were meant to be.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com12tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18688818.post-1140677739544631522006-02-22T22:49:00.000-08:002006-02-25T19:53:53.180-08:00Gold-plated problemsSomeone I know was cribbing to me about how it had been two months since he ordered his new BMW and it was yet to arrive. Meanwhile he had to make do with driving his poor old Honda. I voiced my most-concerned-sounding "oh that is bad" and dint voice my "Vaat ye peter" (translates to "Now that you have advertised your very depressing situation, I need to head back home in my second-hand bicycle" - with due apologies from singara chennai's lord labakdaas language to all he whose parents named him 'Peter'). Petering around, he was; but it got me thinking about how most of our problems are "gold-plated" at one level or the other. These are problems we have because we are well-off enough to have them.<br /><br />For the rest of this blog entry, I could give you a motivational talk about how to think positive and be grateful for one's <strike>second-hand bicycles</strike> problems. But I realize that in the time that I struggle and fish for words of inspiration to fill three sentences, Oprah would have dished out three talk shows on the topic and three volumes of "The 420 habits of highly problem-free people" would have been published. <br /><br />So.. I choose to play light and list all those high-end peterings-of-the-problemings that I have said/heard. Join in, readers :) <br /><br />1. "I am in this big fix as to which of my admit-offers I should accept - MIT, CMU or Stanford. "<br />(observer's inner voice: "Hmm.. so sad you dint get an admit offer from Aminjikarai Village Community College")<br />2. "Oh! Dont even ask my pathetic score - I missed a centum in Math by 1 point"<br />(observer's inner voice: "Shoot! And I was thinking I had a bad score when I've managed to pass the exam!")<br />3. Typical interview scenario.<br />Interviewer: "So, tell me - what would you say your one big weakness is?"<br />Interviewee: "I work too hard. I love my work so much that I dont take a second's break till I have completed the task at hand."<br />(observer's inner voice: "Sahi Jawaab! But sorry mister, but we only hire people who dont like to work at all.") <br />(Me: Cant blame the interviewee. What is the point of such questions in interviews anyways when all you can expect to hear is well-prepared, concealed boasting masquerading as self-denigration.)<br /><br />Finally, a mindful moral of a mindless blog-entry, to make up for the motivational talk that I did not give: While the BMW story is not true anyway (I made it up to give me a head-start on the writing), the rest were not quoted as a mockery (despite the seeming spite in the "observer's inner voice"). My reason for picking on these instances is to provide an exaggeration to put forth my point: To someone else, our genuine problems could sound as as frivolous as those. If we could read into the lives of people around us, we would realize that most of our own problems are gold-plated on a comparative scale.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18688818.post-1137970452321237152006-01-22T14:47:00.000-08:002006-01-22T18:57:37.286-08:00When life is listless and times are torturous....inspiration comes super-size in the form of south Indian cinema. For all those who have been struck by the great misfortune of not having had the opportunity of reveling in its resplendence, South Indian cinema abounds in...<br /><br />what technology is yet to see: Hypersonic positron emission triggered by the static generated due to triboelectric effect between the epithelial cells and the terminal hair follicles of <a href="http://media.putfile.com/MOUSTACHE">Namma Captain Sir!</a><br /><br />what Keats and P.B. Shelly died without hearing: <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch.php?v=KIcA4aV86Sg">http://www.youtube.com/watch.php?v=KIcA4aV86Sg</a>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0