tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17971188599657549172024-03-08T01:43:34.244-08:00the selfish mindUnknownnoreply@blogger.comBlogger13125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1797118859965754917.post-26195951553807414062009-12-07T00:55:00.000-08:002010-01-01T10:56:19.712-08:00I am a farmer, a cook, a gangster and a micro-bloggerWell, thanx to the social networking sites...I had become too busy some time back...busy, when I might have sat idle letting the devil get busier in his workshop..<br /><br />As i was saying, i was busy enough not to have time to spent on phone, not to have time to chat, or to even blog. thanks to facebook and twitter...I almost had changed my profession and became a micro-blogger, don, a cook and a farmer...much of my time was taken up by giving news updates(within 140 characters), cooking, farming and killing and looting people, looting banks and robbing pimps. I became the owner of several Italian restaurants, farm houses and a gang of mafia to help me kill others.I owned a farm where I cultivated different crops, fruits and vegetable. i enjoyed being a constant source of news, more so after klout.com stated myself a communicator... i was the most violent person and at the same time kind soul to adopt stray cats, cows and sheep who lost their ways...i would also do some cleaning job at my neighbour's farms...And trust mee i dont know half of the people who are my neighbours.. they are there only because they help mee earn points and climb up the levels of the game...more so in case of my mafia gang...of the 30 odd people in my gang i guess i know 7 of them... :P<br /><br />If not for anything else, I heartily thank Facebook and Twitter for turning us into a race of farmers, restaurant owners, dons and micro-bloggers. Now in case you have a raised eyebrow and are wondering how I managed to put in some time for my blog after such a long time, I’d like to inform you that the reason is not that my pumpkins, cotton, and watermelons will take some time to be ripe for harvest or my energy needs to be refilled before I am able to loot more banks or there is no news update to be tweeted... but more so because I thought, I might as well put down my thoughts on this page.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1797118859965754917.post-54646862391278499482009-07-21T11:10:00.000-07:002010-01-01T10:57:11.195-08:00<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_Yp1xCJdaM5Q/SmYGAUYuPgI/AAAAAAAADzw/bdQ-MXFvzBc/s1600-h/3274263798_30b0f7cd94.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 267px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_Yp1xCJdaM5Q/SmYGAUYuPgI/AAAAAAAADzw/bdQ-MXFvzBc/s400/3274263798_30b0f7cd94.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5360979008973323778" border="0" /></a><br /><div style="text-align: justify;">aj golir sheshe adho ondhokar e ekta odbhut nishobdo chhilo...lamp post er holde alo tar dik e takiye kichhukhon dariye thaklaam....mone pore gelo koto purono kotha....north calcutta r soru goli...shent shente dewal gulo...du ekta kukurer gheu gheu....neon er alo...jhimiye jawa bari gulo ki jeno bolte chaito...oli goli diye hente jetaam amra...ofuronto kotha charidik er nistobdhotar buk chire beriye jeto...<br /></div><br /><div style="text-align: justify;">aaj toh shei muhurto gulo nei arr...somoy koto taratari chole jaaye...jhapsha hoye ashe chokh...kono rokom e chokher jol muchhe dekhte chesta kori shei fele asha din gulo...aaj ker ei muhurto tao ekdin periye jaabe...tumi chole jabe onno kothao...ami hoitoh erom kono bristi mukhor shondhaye tomar kothai khali bhabbo...dhussor akasher dik e takiye tomar bondhhutter kotha mone porbe...<br /></div><br /><div style="text-align: justify;">moner modhye jom e thaka ek rash obhimaan miliye jabe ek nimeshe...hathat khuje pabo kobitar patay koto smriti...koto swopno...nibhrite katano muhurto...hoitoh tokhon amar khub jante ichha korbe tumi kothae achho?? kemon achho?? aaj o ki ager motto hasho shob kothaye?? aaj o ki paglamo koro sobar saathe?? aaj o ki kauke kache tene nao alto ekta chumu khete?? goli r shesher ondhokar e amader fele asha bondhutto dariye dekhbe amay...hasbe hoitoh amar osohayota dekhe... tokhon o amar mon thikana khujbe tomar....<br /></div><br /><div style="text-align: justify;">klanto shei jibon er bhar ami bohon kore jabo...roj...nitto noimitto kaaj e ga bhashiye....bok bok korbo sobar saathe...hasbo sarakhon....tobuo jibon thakbe amar tomar paraye...amar hariye jawa alo khujbe tomay sara jibon...kaaj sheshe majh raat e sobai jokhon ghumiye porbe ami opekhya korbo tomar ashar...kichhu muhurter ushno sporsher...sara jibon...jotodin e dhor e pran thakbe amar...<br /></div><br /><br /><br /><br /><input id="gwProxy" type="hidden"><!--Session data--><input onclick="jsCall();" id="jsProxy" type="hidden"><div id="refHTML"></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1797118859965754917.post-25213101327894866992009-07-20T15:51:00.001-07:002010-01-01T10:57:53.201-08:00<div style="text-align: justify;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_Yp1xCJdaM5Q/SmT1snOhviI/AAAAAAAADzo/oLo-VQtAX1M/s1600-h/z56062652.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 242px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_Yp1xCJdaM5Q/SmT1snOhviI/AAAAAAAADzo/oLo-VQtAX1M/s400/z56062652.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5360679603270696482" border="0" /></a>ektu age jhom jhomiye onek ta bristi hoye gelo...ek tana onek khon...nistobdho raat er buk chire....onorgol jhom jhom shobdo...ekhon theme gechhe...ba hoitoh jhir jhir kore pore cholechhe...raat ta ke aro ochena kore diye...ash tray te jom e othe deshlai kathi arr pora cigarette er tukro...rong er anki buki canvas e...samner barir tin er chal e ekhono tip tip shobo....kaan pete shune cholechhi ami...<br /></div><br /><div style="text-align: justify;">du chokh e jol....kar jonno janina...ei mon kharap...ei jom e thaka obhimaan...ek rash kalo megh....shob e hoitoh bishesh karur jonne...mon k oti koste shanto korechhi ami....karur kotha bhabteo bhoy korchhe amar....thot ta kenpe uthlo tir tir kore...du chokher jol gaal beye neme elo...<br /></div><br /><div style="text-align: justify;">khub druto palte jaye somoy...smriti gulo jhapsha lage chokhe r jol e...kichhu swopno...ghoduli r bristi bheja alo....du hath bariye ek mutho jol...ghasher opor halka rod uthle khali paaye hente berabo eka...mon e tokhon jotoi bristi neme ashuk....ami toh ekai...amar toh keu nei...<br /></div><br /><input id="gwProxy" type="hidden"><!--Session data--><input onclick="jsCall();" id="jsProxy" type="hidden"><div id="refHTML"></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1797118859965754917.post-2743107401177580652009-07-13T09:51:00.000-07:002010-01-01T10:58:46.854-08:00<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_Yp1xCJdaM5Q/SmYNceKqIqI/AAAAAAAADz4/A9sBEddErnw/s1600-h/Starry_Night_Over_the_Rhone.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 327px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_Yp1xCJdaM5Q/SmYNceKqIqI/AAAAAAAADz4/A9sBEddErnw/s400/Starry_Night_Over_the_Rhone.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5360987189216420514" border="0" /></a><br /><div style="text-align: justify;">i thot i wud escape to the stars with u...kintu akash er oi chotto tara gulo boddo kache chole esechhe...hath baralaei chhunte paari ami oder...aaj bhablaam tokek ek tukro shondhye debo ami...ek akash bhora bristi te mora ek tukro sondhye....arr tar saathe debo ek mutho tara...dekh na ekbaar akasher dik e takiye...kotto kache chole eshechhe tara gulo...chupi chupi bolchhe toke amar moner kotha...kaner kache phish phish shobde haschhe....aah jalio na amay...jao tomra...ami ektu eka boshe bhabte chai...tor chokhe neel akash er kotha...bhabte bhabte ghumiye porbo kono ek somoy...du ek fonta bristi r jol eshe porbe amar chokhe mukhe...jege uthe dekhbo tui haschhish amar paglamo dekhe...oi tara gulo r deshe boshe amay dekhchish arr haschish...khub raag hobe amar...mukh firiye nebo ami...tui hoitoh bolbi amay ekbar ti tor dik e mukh ferate...ekbaar chokh tule chaite...ekbar ektu haste...ami takabo naa...tui abar bolbi amay...tarpor amar chibuk dhore mukh ta tulbi...ektu opor e...ami chokh namiye thakbo...tui alto kore amar kopaler opor theke chul gulo soriye dibi...ami lajja pabo ektu...hasbo olpo kore...tara ra amader dekhe hasbe...arr ami mone mone shob theke shukhi bodh korbo....irsha hobe sobar...hoye hok...ami toh shukhi...shob theke beshi shukhi...<br /><br />ei shob e amar kolpona...ei choritro gulo o kalponic...fictional...tui o r ami o....amra sobai kalponic...khali sotti hobe ei muhurto ta....oi akasher tara gulo...dhussor kalo megh arr ek poshla bristi....e shob e sotti...arr toke j ami bhalobasi seta?? sotti?? naki kalponic??<br /></div><input id="gwProxy" type="hidden"><!--Session data--><input onclick="jsCall();" id="jsProxy" type="hidden"><div id="refHTML"></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1797118859965754917.post-23454466776276139522009-07-12T11:07:00.000-07:002010-01-01T10:59:04.441-08:00amar chotto ektu abdaar....<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_Yp1xCJdaM5Q/SlonysW3piI/AAAAAAAADyA/pGen_AdXKK8/s1600-h/sophie_shy_smile.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 244px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_Yp1xCJdaM5Q/SlonysW3piI/AAAAAAAADyA/pGen_AdXKK8/s400/sophie_shy_smile.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5357638458564650530" border="0" /></a><br /><div style="text-align: justify;">aaj tor kaache ekta abdaar korbo....ek soptaho r onador e ami j boroi jhimiye porechhi...aaj tai sara dupur janla diye bristi dekhechhi aar mone mone toke kache anar fondi entechhi....toke nasta nabud korar motto hajar o abdaar ekhon amar mone....sara din boshe boshe anki buki katlaam ekta purono khatar pataye...besuro gaan er sur gun gun...alosh dupur e bichhanaye epash opash....hathat uthe boshe baire jhunke dekhlaam....bristi porchhe....kokhon namlo bol toh?? tor chintaye attoi mogno j bujhtei parini?? khali paaye ek doure baire gelaam....ektu bhiji....du hath mele dhore...abar ek chhutte bhetor e...kajol ta sara mukhte lepte...hathat haslaam...lajja pelaam ektu...<br /></div><br /><div style="text-align: justify;">ekta chotto abdaar tor kachhe...boli ki kore?? khub j lajja korchhe amar ekhon....ekbaar ti asbi?? amar dupur ta boro oshompurno....olpoti bhalobashbi?? bhoriye dibi amay?ektu khani ador....?? ektu khani kache tene niye?? ektu khani ushno sporsho...alto ekta-duto-tinte chumu...??tor niswash er gorom bhap amar thik kaan er niche....ektu faank pele ami na hoye toke du chokh bhore toke dekhbo....arr khub kache tene nile lajjaye tor buk e mukh lukiye nebo...bhoy korbe naa amar ektuo....tobe jodi tui amar kache na ashish....na bhalobaste chash amay....raag korbo na ami....daabi o rakhbo naa kichu...kandbo na....mone mone kosto o pabo naa...khali hasbo...r tor kaache abdaar korbo amar ami ke firiye dite....<br /></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1797118859965754917.post-76001853677949420172009-07-11T12:10:00.000-07:002010-01-01T10:59:21.589-08:00akash ta aaj boroi nil..<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_Yp1xCJdaM5Q/SljkEjB460I/AAAAAAAADx4/4s4TSW3dny0/s1600-h/15.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 338px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_Yp1xCJdaM5Q/SljkEjB460I/AAAAAAAADx4/4s4TSW3dny0/s400/15.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5357282523530980162" border="0" /></a><br />akash ta aaj boroi nil..<br />aaj amay peechu deko naa...<br />je rong tomar chokhe shamil...<br />she chokh bhijiye dio naa...<br />bondhu tomar ami tai....<br />onno daabi rekho naa...<br />deko naa...<br />bondhutter hoyena podobi...<br />bondhu tumi kendo naa...<br />bondhu sobuj chirodeen...<br />bondhutter boyesh bare naa...<br />bondhu tomar ami tai....<br />antyiotaye bendho naa...<br />kendo naa...<br />hoitoh tomar alnaye...<br />thakbe na amar jama...<br />jhulbe na tomar barandaye....<br />amar punjabi pajama...<br />tobuo moner janalay....<br />obadh anagona....dujona....<br />hathat cha er sugondhe...<br />hathat kono boi er pataye...<br />hathat moner anonde...<br />apon mone kobitaye....<br />hathat khuje pawa sukh...<br />char dewale bendhonaa...<br />dhore rekho naa...<br />akash hoye jabe fekashe...<br />tobu amader ghuri...<br />urbe moner akashe...<br />ononto chelemanushi...<br />shei chelemanushi take...<br />onno naam e deko naa...<br />peechu deko naa...<br /><br /><a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-vvFTGLVcEY">listen to the song here</a>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1797118859965754917.post-84380168207319308172009-07-10T03:18:00.000-07:002010-01-01T10:59:33.166-08:00<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_Yp1xCJdaM5Q/SlcWggCs2vI/AAAAAAAADxI/pMTRDGkfGIQ/s1600-h/5690317-lg.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 241px; height: 400px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_Yp1xCJdaM5Q/SlcWggCs2vI/AAAAAAAADxI/pMTRDGkfGIQ/s400/5690317-lg.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5356775029393382130" border="0" /></a><br /><div style="text-align: justify;">what is so precious about u?? why i miss you so much...?? why do i think about u all the time?? why do i find reasons to talk to you once...?? and when we talk y do i find excuses to make the conversation longer and longer?? why do i always want to be with you?? y do i always keep thinking about the cozy moments we shared...?? why is there a spark my eyes when i see that green button glow beside your name in my gtalk?? why does it always feel happy to hear your voice??why do i think of you deep into the night of the moments when you have looked deep into my eyes??why does my heart always rises up to bless thee?? why do i always want to be where you are??why do i wake up from the dream with a smile on my face and then all of a sudden start crying??why do i want only you to hold me tight when i am feeling lonely?? why are you the reason for the tear drops in my eyes??<br /></div><br />coz you are someone WORTH it....<br /><br /><div style="text-align: justify;">i am not a princess of some fairytale....i am just a dreamer who keeps on dreaming bout u...i dont ask you to love mee in return....to wipe of my tears when i cry...to turn back and look at mee when u have already surpassed mee...to hold my hands and make me cross the hurdles of life....to lend me a short breath when i am ill...to soar high with mee in the middle of the night to the land of some unknown stars....to be a part of my musing...to walk bare feet on the grass after it had rained...to stand on the edge of the cliff with arms stretched when the sun goes down....<br /></div><br />all i am asking you to do is to wake up every morning to dream with mee....Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1797118859965754917.post-21617024190605180242009-07-07T11:39:00.000-07:002010-01-01T11:00:02.336-08:00home coming of maathe morning felt to special today after mom returned from guwahati after nearly a month...i was happy...as i opened the door i didnt have to flash one of those fake smiles that i generally do when one of those noisy relatives arrive...<br /><br />maa...there she was....my maa....i jumped into her arms and hugged her for long...until she got irritated and pushed mee off her...i tugged back again and that irritated her even more....but it was fun...moms back...finally...to mee...to her home...i hadnt realized it earlier....not atleast before i saw her this morning...how much i had missed her...how much the empty, lonely house needed her...<br /><br />i took her bags in...fetched some chilled water for her and arranged for some tea...maa is perhaps the only indispensable person of my life...she had kept on accepting all my mistakes over the years....and all that with a smile...and even today i feel the biggest support and security of my life come from my mom...Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1797118859965754917.post-85228183791247695102009-02-09T03:05:00.000-08:002010-01-01T11:00:30.011-08:00coffee.....i cant do without<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_Yp1xCJdaM5Q/SZAO8XjhpmI/AAAAAAAADTU/aGDTEelBgYU/s1600-h/7.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 357px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_Yp1xCJdaM5Q/SZAO8XjhpmI/AAAAAAAADTU/aGDTEelBgYU/s400/7.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5300753191693035106" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_Yp1xCJdaM5Q/SZAO8ZH_qOI/AAAAAAAADTM/TBCkffNH2ZU/s1600-h/6.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_Yp1xCJdaM5Q/SZAO8ZH_qOI/AAAAAAAADTM/TBCkffNH2ZU/s400/6.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5300753192114432226" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_Yp1xCJdaM5Q/SZAOqpy5NRI/AAAAAAAADTE/qcCeBV4lvds/s1600-h/5.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 395px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_Yp1xCJdaM5Q/SZAOqpy5NRI/AAAAAAAADTE/qcCeBV4lvds/s400/5.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5300752887351686418" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_Yp1xCJdaM5Q/SZAOqedEanI/AAAAAAAADS8/exERi-e5ALg/s1600-h/4.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 400px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_Yp1xCJdaM5Q/SZAOqedEanI/AAAAAAAADS8/exERi-e5ALg/s400/4.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5300752884307356274" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_Yp1xCJdaM5Q/SZAOqSIpXqI/AAAAAAAADS0/vfmgtrWqtTE/s1600-h/3.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 321px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_Yp1xCJdaM5Q/SZAOqSIpXqI/AAAAAAAADS0/vfmgtrWqtTE/s400/3.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5300752881000472226" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_Yp1xCJdaM5Q/SZAOqSllMyI/AAAAAAAADSs/RXm74AsYSzA/s1600-h/2.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 267px; height: 400px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_Yp1xCJdaM5Q/SZAOqSllMyI/AAAAAAAADSs/RXm74AsYSzA/s400/2.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5300752881121833762" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_Yp1xCJdaM5Q/SZAOqeXi0hI/AAAAAAAADSk/1ZDDBevpXyI/s1600-h/1.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 267px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_Yp1xCJdaM5Q/SZAOqeXi0hI/AAAAAAAADSk/1ZDDBevpXyI/s400/1.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5300752884284183058" border="0" /></a>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1797118859965754917.post-8702189130363538682009-02-09T03:03:00.000-08:002010-01-01T11:01:10.606-08:00young couples are often found sitting cozily in some silent corner of a coffee shop. only a few are caught around the trees in the lush gardens of city and hardly anyone is sighted walking hand in hand in a Plaza. Of late, the language of love seems to have changed and the chemistry seems to have developed into a new equation.<br /><br />Something like : "Foamy cappuccino + bubbly ambiance = chocolaty love" or “a cuppa fuming black coffee + sizzling browning = hot love” all credit to coffee parlors that dotted up the city map. "Let's talk it over a cuppa coffee," has become something like a signature tune among the young gen.<br /><br />My friend once said, “a lot can happen over a cuppa coffee”...and yes a lot did happen over a few dozen cups of coffee...all lazy Sunday afternoons, we had spend in coffee shops, talking endlessly over few rounds of coffee...our latest crush...the habit was taken up then only to have grown intenser now... we always had our own private corner at the CCDs where we cud exchange a few naughty glances and pretend to have not noticed it at all....hours were spent relaxing and talking over coffee...the brewing smell still brings back the memory afresh.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1797118859965754917.post-61398708575888388832008-08-06T01:05:00.000-07:002010-01-01T11:01:50.438-08:00<div style="color: rgb(51, 51, 51);" align="justify"><a href="http://sumanachakraborty.blogspot.com/2008/08/i-wish-i-could-remain-awake-for-some.html"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5231313065276977394" style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center;" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_Yp1xCJdaM5Q/SJlbhCSxsPI/AAAAAAAACHY/2auyL_Gr3fc/s320/2631720-lg.jpg" border="0" /><span style="color: rgb(255, 0, 0);"><strong>a continuation of:</strong></span> </a></div><div style="color: rgb(51, 51, 51);" align="justify"><br /><a href="http://sumanachakraborty.blogspot.com/2008/08/i-wish-i-could-remain-awake-for-some.html"><span style="color: rgb(255, 255, 153);"><span style="color: rgb(51, 51, 51);">I had stood at the confluence of two rivers a lot of times...compelled by the beauty and a feeling of togetherness….Mesmerizing…I had wished to lose myself in someone like the rivers…in the same way a river loses itself into another….After a point one cannot distinguish between the two and tell which is which…I stood spending hours catching the view of the water mingling into each other’s arm…there I stood and yearned…No, the rivers did not ask me to get a grip on it and move on….The yearning did…</span><br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(51, 51, 51);">These days the rain even hits a transparent glass cage around me and goes down...A cage I created out of the storms that passed mee and fires that smoldered in…And as I trip up the world in this fake invisible space suit, attracting the ridiculous mockery of the crowd around, I constantly keep seeking for that one eye, which will see the cage and open it…free me forever to let the rain drops fall on my face again…I cannot open this cage...I cannot even touch it nor touch anything outside…The only comfort being that it protects me – saves me – forever from the outside force...But you know what? I'd give it up forever to touch you.</span><br /><br /></span></a><a href="http://sumanachakraborty.blogspot.com/2008/08/i-wish-i-could-remain-awake-for-some.html"><span style="color: rgb(255, 255, 153);"><em><span style="color: rgb(51, 51, 51);">And I don't want the world to see me</span><br /><span style="color: rgb(51, 51, 51);">Cause I don't think that they'd understand</span><br /><span style="color: rgb(51, 51, 51);">When everything is made to be broken</span><br /><span style="color: rgb(51, 51, 51);">I just want you to know who I am.</span><br /></em><br /><span style="color: rgb(51, 51, 51);">These lines are not written by mee…I read it somewhere…it speaks my mind and it says all that I ever wanted to say…</span></span></a> </div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1797118859965754917.post-55094919639087824682008-07-13T23:58:00.000-07:002010-01-01T11:02:19.748-08:00widows of vrindavan<div style="text-align: justify;"><a href="http://bp0.blogger.com/_Yp1xCJdaM5Q/SHr7IpnGw5I/AAAAAAAAB0M/XK7NA_zIwdw/s1600-h/1.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5222762843916911506" style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center;" alt="" src="http://bp0.blogger.com/_Yp1xCJdaM5Q/SHr7IpnGw5I/AAAAAAAAB0M/XK7NA_zIwdw/s320/1.jpg" border="0" /></a> In many conservative Indian Hindu families, widows are turned away from the house because they’re considered as bringing bad luck. They are even blamed for their husband’s death by the superstitious relatives. The widows are regarded as a liability with no social standing, an unwanted mouth to feed. Often they’re thrown out of the family.<a href="http://bp0.blogger.com/_Yp1xCJdaM5Q/SHr7I1sVkBI/AAAAAAAAB0U/lVCZiRy4YT4/s1600-h/2.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5222762847160078354" style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center;" alt="" src="http://bp0.blogger.com/_Yp1xCJdaM5Q/SHr7I1sVkBI/AAAAAAAAB0U/lVCZiRy4YT4/s320/2.jpg" border="0" /></a> Vrindavan, a holy city of Hindus is regarded as the city of widows. One destination where these grief-stricken women would find solace... Dharmashastra, the sacred legal text of the Hindus, states that one the husband dies the wife will have to spend the rest of her life in memory of her husband sacrificing every desire of well being. She will have to renounce life’s luxuries and withdraw herself from the society. There was once the practice of “sati” where the widow was burnt alive on the dead husband’s funeral pyre. The practice is now outlawed.<br /><a href="http://bp1.blogger.com/_Yp1xCJdaM5Q/SHr61pVbrbI/AAAAAAAABz8/fiC9t8zW3vE/s1600-h/4.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5222762517425270194" style="margin: 0px 10px 10px 0px; float: left;" alt="" src="http://bp1.blogger.com/_Yp1xCJdaM5Q/SHr61pVbrbI/AAAAAAAABz8/fiC9t8zW3vE/s320/4.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><a href="http://bp1.blogger.com/_Yp1xCJdaM5Q/SHr61-3ybWI/AAAAAAAAB0E/rEnd-5AyNkY/s1600-h/3.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5222762523206511970" style="margin: 0px 10px 10px 0px; float: left;" alt="" src="http://bp1.blogger.com/_Yp1xCJdaM5Q/SHr61-3ybWI/AAAAAAAAB0E/rEnd-5AyNkY/s320/3.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><a href="http://bp3.blogger.com/_Yp1xCJdaM5Q/SHr6mdq2qQI/AAAAAAAABzU/ZVPxY9s1NQ8/s1600-h/9.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5222762256595855618" style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center;" alt="" src="http://bp3.blogger.com/_Yp1xCJdaM5Q/SHr6mdq2qQI/AAAAAAAABzU/ZVPxY9s1NQ8/s320/9.jpg" border="0" /></a> A large group of related gather to smash the bangles, wipe off the vermillion and shave the hair of the little girl who just lost her old husband. The child does not even feel the grief. She would then be forced to wear white saris and eat once in a day. The Hindu widows are often removed from their families and children – abandoned in a widow ashram in Vrindavan.<br /><a href="http://bp1.blogger.com/_Yp1xCJdaM5Q/SHr6mdeMdVI/AAAAAAAABzc/DqOzgSfNw6M/s1600-h/8.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5222762256542758226" style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center;" alt="" src="http://bp1.blogger.com/_Yp1xCJdaM5Q/SHr6mdeMdVI/AAAAAAAABzc/DqOzgSfNw6M/s320/8.jpg" border="0" /></a> The loss of a husband for these women becomes an upheaval beyond belief. It’s a way to isolation, poverty and despair. For thousands of women it is a journey towards the eternal truth - to a town considered divine in India called Vrindavan.<br /><a href="http://bp0.blogger.com/_Yp1xCJdaM5Q/SHr6mmqiekI/AAAAAAAABzk/PUzv2wjSch4/s1600-h/7.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5222762259010452034" style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center;" alt="" src="http://bp0.blogger.com/_Yp1xCJdaM5Q/SHr6mmqiekI/AAAAAAAABzk/PUzv2wjSch4/s320/7.jpg" border="0" /></a> The widows in Vrindavan today are found on the streets, in ashrams and other centers of the city. Vrindavan has over 4,000 temples today and many ashrams. The approximate number of widows living in the holy city today numbers over 20,000.<br /><a href="http://bp0.blogger.com/_Yp1xCJdaM5Q/SHr6mjMCUcI/AAAAAAAABzs/LqfAFFjhauE/s1600-h/6.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5222762258077209026" style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center;" alt="" src="http://bp0.blogger.com/_Yp1xCJdaM5Q/SHr6mjMCUcI/AAAAAAAABzs/LqfAFFjhauE/s320/6.jpg" border="0" /></a> The latest national census counts widows living in locations across India reach millions. The largest number of widows is currently found in Vrindavan.<br /><a href="http://bp0.blogger.com/_Yp1xCJdaM5Q/SHr6m1edn8I/AAAAAAAABz0/7MMuQbnAYDQ/s1600-h/5.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5222762262986334146" style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center;" alt="" src="http://bp0.blogger.com/_Yp1xCJdaM5Q/SHr6m1edn8I/AAAAAAAABz0/7MMuQbnAYDQ/s320/5.jpg" border="0" /></a> Conditions in most of these ashrams of Vrindavan are dreadful. From sexual use to trafficking of younger widows occur here regularly. At Mathura ashram in Vrindavan conditions are grave. The widows, dumped by their family on the death of their husbands, have no resources of their own.<br /><a href="http://bp0.blogger.com/_Yp1xCJdaM5Q/SHr6UsIC48I/AAAAAAAABys/peCCoyCTnT0/s1600-h/14.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5222761951238742978" style="margin: 0px 10px 10px 0px; float: left;" alt="" src="http://bp0.blogger.com/_Yp1xCJdaM5Q/SHr6UsIC48I/AAAAAAAABys/peCCoyCTnT0/s320/14.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><a href="http://bp3.blogger.com/_Yp1xCJdaM5Q/SHr6Uxb0_rI/AAAAAAAABy0/H_GXpcw9y54/s1600-h/13.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5222761952663895730" style="margin: 0px 10px 10px 0px; float: left;" alt="" src="http://bp3.blogger.com/_Yp1xCJdaM5Q/SHr6Uxb0_rI/AAAAAAAABy0/H_GXpcw9y54/s320/13.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><a href="http://bp2.blogger.com/_Yp1xCJdaM5Q/SHr6U5q3QDI/AAAAAAAABy8/Wj4RpjPA_iM/s1600-h/12.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5222761954874441778" style="margin: 0px 10px 10px 0px; float: left;" alt="" src="http://bp2.blogger.com/_Yp1xCJdaM5Q/SHr6U5q3QDI/AAAAAAAABy8/Wj4RpjPA_iM/s320/12.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><a href="http://bp2.blogger.com/_Yp1xCJdaM5Q/SHr6VJxSE-I/AAAAAAAABzE/_2SQzc4VJDc/s1600-h/11.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5222761959196333026" style="margin: 0px 10px 10px 0px; float: left;" alt="" src="http://bp2.blogger.com/_Yp1xCJdaM5Q/SHr6VJxSE-I/AAAAAAAABzE/_2SQzc4VJDc/s320/11.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><a href="http://bp2.blogger.com/_Yp1xCJdaM5Q/SHr6VBbS8YI/AAAAAAAABzM/cPGNReM9OLQ/s1600-h/10.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5222761956956631426" style="margin: 0px 10px 10px 0px; float: left;" alt="" src="http://bp2.blogger.com/_Yp1xCJdaM5Q/SHr6VBbS8YI/AAAAAAAABzM/cPGNReM9OLQ/s320/10.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><a href="http://bp1.blogger.com/_Yp1xCJdaM5Q/SHr59wiehDI/AAAAAAAAByM/mGTQ_ChUBws/s1600-h/18.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5222761557286356018" style="margin: 0px 10px 10px 0px; float: left;" alt="" src="http://bp1.blogger.com/_Yp1xCJdaM5Q/SHr59wiehDI/AAAAAAAAByM/mGTQ_ChUBws/s320/18.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><a href="http://bp3.blogger.com/_Yp1xCJdaM5Q/SHr592bY-sI/AAAAAAAAByU/6lhnauZTBc8/s1600-h/17.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5222761558867245762" style="margin: 0px 10px 10px 0px; float: left;" alt="" src="http://bp3.blogger.com/_Yp1xCJdaM5Q/SHr592bY-sI/AAAAAAAAByU/6lhnauZTBc8/s320/17.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><a href="http://bp2.blogger.com/_Yp1xCJdaM5Q/SHr5-AP6irI/AAAAAAAAByc/3GjSujvJNs4/s1600-h/16.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5222761561503468210" style="margin: 0px 10px 10px 0px; float: left;" alt="" src="http://bp2.blogger.com/_Yp1xCJdaM5Q/SHr5-AP6irI/AAAAAAAAByc/3GjSujvJNs4/s320/16.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><a href="http://bp1.blogger.com/_Yp1xCJdaM5Q/SHr5-PapCqI/AAAAAAAAByk/nj_fRGyYgIQ/s1600-h/15.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5222761565574990498" style="margin: 0px 10px 10px 0px; float: left;" alt="" src="http://bp1.blogger.com/_Yp1xCJdaM5Q/SHr5-PapCqI/AAAAAAAAByk/nj_fRGyYgIQ/s320/15.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><a href="http://bp2.blogger.com/_Yp1xCJdaM5Q/SHr5lb1FFoI/AAAAAAAABxk/1_hcSPLGbKM/s1600-h/23.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5222761139410376322" style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center;" alt="" src="http://bp2.blogger.com/_Yp1xCJdaM5Q/SHr5lb1FFoI/AAAAAAAABxk/1_hcSPLGbKM/s320/23.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><a href="http://bp2.blogger.com/_Yp1xCJdaM5Q/SHr5lkZAyMI/AAAAAAAABxs/xa_QndO0S-I/s1600-h/22.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5222761141708572866" style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center;" alt="" src="http://bp2.blogger.com/_Yp1xCJdaM5Q/SHr5lkZAyMI/AAAAAAAABxs/xa_QndO0S-I/s320/22.jpg" border="0" /></a> There appear no chance for education, no protection from possible rape and no hope for a better life. They face situations of hunger, starvation and negligence as they try to survive with only one small plate of food a day. Some of the ashrams today are also scattered with diseases like tuberculosis, dysentery and STDs. Most often, in the poorest ashrams medical help is virtually non-existent.<br /><a href="http://bp1.blogger.com/_Yp1xCJdaM5Q/SHr5lt4bPXI/AAAAAAAABx0/pnv1--kLzjc/s1600-h/21.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5222761144256249202" style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center;" alt="" src="http://bp1.blogger.com/_Yp1xCJdaM5Q/SHr5lt4bPXI/AAAAAAAABx0/pnv1--kLzjc/s320/21.jpg" border="0" /></a> “I came here with nothing. Even on the train, I had to sit on the floor and not on a bench,” said widow, who came to Vrindavan as a widow at the age of 33. “I had to sit by the toilet and slept under the bench on the floor. Since I came, I have never returned home. This is my only home now.”<br /><a href="http://bp1.blogger.com/_Yp1xCJdaM5Q/SHr5l_sq1_I/AAAAAAAABx8/X6n3DwLBZ-g/s1600-h/20.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5222761149038778354" style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center;" alt="" src="http://bp1.blogger.com/_Yp1xCJdaM5Q/SHr5l_sq1_I/AAAAAAAABx8/X6n3DwLBZ-g/s320/20.jpg" border="0" /></a> Very little, which is close to no-help, has so far arrived from the government. Few of the NGOs work independently for the betterment of the conditions of the widows in Vrindavan. Women activists like Dr. Giri and the Guild of Service have brought forward the need of proper health care for these mistreated women.<br /><a href="http://bp3.blogger.com/_Yp1xCJdaM5Q/SHr5lw8Q4oI/AAAAAAAAByE/bFbK5EfbRH0/s1600-h/19.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5222761145077654146" style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center;" alt="" src="http://bp3.blogger.com/_Yp1xCJdaM5Q/SHr5lw8Q4oI/AAAAAAAAByE/bFbK5EfbRH0/s320/19.jpg" border="0" /></a> <a href="http://bp0.blogger.com/_Yp1xCJdaM5Q/SHr5QuSOHRI/AAAAAAAABxU/_udq0zfHVyg/s1600-h/25.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5222760783587187986" style="margin: 0px 10px 10px 0px; float: left;" alt="" src="http://bp0.blogger.com/_Yp1xCJdaM5Q/SHr5QuSOHRI/AAAAAAAABxU/_udq0zfHVyg/s320/25.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><a href="http://bp3.blogger.com/_Yp1xCJdaM5Q/SHr5TG0vNMI/AAAAAAAABxc/-gXSttISLwU/s1600-h/24.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5222760824534152386" style="margin: 0px 10px 10px 0px; float: left;" alt="" src="http://bp3.blogger.com/_Yp1xCJdaM5Q/SHr5TG0vNMI/AAAAAAAABxc/-gXSttISLwU/s320/24.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1797118859965754917.post-49034291060991000602008-06-25T03:15:00.000-07:002010-01-01T11:02:29.262-08:00a true story......<div align="justify"><a href="http://bp2.blogger.com/_Yp1xCJdaM5Q/SGIcB3ML2qI/AAAAAAAABjY/YbtvRFqkrSk/s1600-h/_____Eye_Cry______by_halaquinn_arcadias.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5215762136768961186" style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center;" alt="" src="http://bp2.blogger.com/_Yp1xCJdaM5Q/SGIcB3ML2qI/AAAAAAAABjY/YbtvRFqkrSk/s400/_____Eye_Cry______by_halaquinn_arcadias.jpg" border="0" /></a> <span style="color: rgb(102, 204, 204);"><strong>there was this little girl who lived happily with her mom and dad....a day came when a beautiful lady walked into their house....she was much elder to her and much younger to her parents....the girl called her mashimoni as she was a friend of the girl's aunt....mashimoni soon became a great friend of the girl....</strong></span><br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(102, 204, 204);"><strong>she started taking her out for children's movies, circus shows, zoo etc etc...the girl got very attached to the lady....so did the lady to the girl....the girl wud often stay with this lady at her house and vice versa...</strong></span> </div><div align="justify"><span style="color: rgb(102, 204, 204);"><strong></strong></span> </div><div align="justify"><span style="color: rgb(102, 204, 204);"><strong>one day when this girl woke up in the middle of the night....to her horror she found her mom sitting outside the house and crying....she did not knw what to say....she had always seen her mom the most chirpy and happy lady....she slowly got back to her bed without even letting her mom realize tht someone has seen her...</strong></span><br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(102, 204, 204);"><strong>days passed by...the girl wud find her mom upset most of the time...she wud often sob and not take her dinner.....the girl was too small to understand what was going on in the house then.... </strong></span></div><span style="color: rgb(102, 204, 204);"><strong></strong><div align="justify"><strong><br />she kept silent and did not talk about it to anyone....</strong> </div><div align="justify"> </div><span style="color: rgb(102, 204, 204);"><strong></strong></span><div align="justify"><span style="color: rgb(102, 204, 204);"><strong>one day she found her parents fighting...soon it became a regular affair at her home....often she would hear loud noise, abusive words and cry of her mom....she wud take a book, sit in the corner of her room and read loudly so that the noise does not reach her....</strong></span><br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(102, 204, 204);"><strong>durga puja arrived....the much awaited festival of the bengalis....the girl waited for happiness to fly into their house....she went to shop with her parents and mashimoni....they shopped...her mom was smiling all the time...they shopped for everyone....grandparents...younger people....the mashimoni....the girl bought one beautiful dress....her mom bought a south indian silk....they bought the masimoni a lovely churidaar....they ate in a chinese restaurant before heading home....</strong></span><br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(102, 204, 204);"><strong>the girl was very tired and was dying to hit the bed....soon she fell asleep....after sometime loud noises woke her up...to her horror she found her parents were fighting again....she slowly got down from the bed...and went close to her parent's room....pressing her ear on the door she heard her mom question her dad....you did not tell mee that you bought her another piece of cloth...i didnt bother to...was what the dad replied....</strong></span><br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(102, 204, 204);"><strong>the girl did not knw what to do...she cried through the night...the durga puja was pale and mundane....she began going to school after the puja...she wud not speak to her friends...she became very quiet....</strong></span><br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(102, 204, 204);"><strong>after a month it was the time for diwali...a diwali the girl wud never forget....every diwali she wud go out with her dad to the para pujo pandal....she was scared of crackers....and wud dare not go out on the street alone....</strong></span><br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(102, 204, 204);"><strong>this diwali was different...she was waiting for her dad to come back from work....she was dressed in new clothes...it was getting late...and her dad had not come yet.... she was crying...and complaining to her mom....her mom was silent....</strong></span><br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(102, 204, 204);"><strong>she fell asleep after crying a lot....her dad came when it was late...the sound of the calling bell woke her up...she jumped down from her bed and rushed to the door....before she reached she heard her mom question her dad where he was...he said plainly he was out with sampa.....it the name of the masimoni....they had gone out for pandal hopping across kolkata....</strong></span><br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(102, 204, 204);"><strong>the coldness in her dad's voice is something the girl can never forget....</strong></span><br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(102, 204, 204);"><strong>she has grown up now....the masimoni has got married long time back....she became blind while giving birth to her child.....her parents stay together....happily or not the girl does not knw.... </strong></span></div><div align="justify"><span style="color: rgb(102, 204, 204);"><strong><br />she is trying to forgive her dad for what he did.....most of the time she fails to do so....<br /></strong></span></div><strong></strong></span>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0