tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-30565132051104568052024-03-13T21:37:54.045+05:30Misthi's Junction“Watch your thoughts, for they become words.Watch your words, for they become actions.Watch your actions, for they become habits.Watch your habits, for they become character.Watch your character, for it becomes your destiny.”Sharmisthahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04438457905651250261noreply@blogger.comBlogger25125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3056513205110456805.post-25309024353987110722014-06-18T17:52:00.001+05:302014-06-18T17:52:03.782+05:30Not mine yet mine<p dir="ltr">From this day on I live. Died in love from its ashes I rose. </p>
<p dir="ltr">When I knew not what love was, I loved. It was just an urge to see you and talk to you. Didn't know why I needed to just look at you for once. Hated being addressed differently but loved the way you nicknamed me. Never had such a happy feeling to fight with someone but believed you enjoyed the way I did.&nbsp; Your smiles made my day and your indifference wasted me. The day seemed longer without you and with you seemed shorter. Knew not what love was yet I loved.</p>
<p dir="ltr">The day I was hit the very thought of you being my lifeline I realized you think otherwise. Couldn't say anything. Just watched you fall for a bestie. Realized my ailing has no cure. Cried into my pillow and promised to be a friend and stand by you. And I did stand. Fell hard and it hurt like hell. But I did stand by you. I knew love pains yet I loved.</p>
<p dir="ltr">Then came a day you said bye and I knew not it was forever. You vanished and I had a gaping hole where once was heart. Vengeance overpowered me but all I could think of was self destruction. Looked for love not knowing that I ain't capable of any anymore. Couldn't fill the hole and I shattered more. Into a thousand pieces then I broke. When I couldn't love, I loved.</p>
<p dir="ltr">Years passed but never passed without a thought of you. Your presence in me kept me breathing. Then again we talked and I started living. Each day became a reason to celebrate. But soon I found my dreams were just another mirage. And again I had to be a friend. Stood by you watching and listening. Killing all my dreams I died then. I died but still I loved.</p>
<p dir="ltr">Years passed. Friction increased. Sometimes you ran away, sometimes I shut up. But again when I saw you I felt pity for myself. Got the same lump in the throat. Waited desperately to meet you. And then realization struck that you are still the essence of my life. Tried to hide. Tried to run away. Tried to break all ties. But when you called I went. It was killing me. It killed me. And I died again. I died yet again for I loved.</p>
<p dir="ltr">Daggered my heart. Bled quietly. Couldn't carry the load. You asked and I said all. Relieved I was. Words flowed and emotions drenched. But when you said the words I so wanted to hear I found my essence back. I know you don't feel the way I do. And never can be mine to call. I live again for love. </p>
<p dir="ltr">You are not mine yet I realized you have been mine from the beginning.</p>
Sharmisthahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04438457905651250261noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3056513205110456805.post-3075366382501527302014-01-18T06:36:00.001+05:302014-01-18T06:36:37.001+05:30Emotions Unleashed<p dir="ltr">Time in and time out emotions <u>unleash</u> themselves in the worst possible manner. You just can't seem to control them then. It just keeps on flowing taking a toll on everything that comes your way; things you like and person you love. Sometimes the damage done is huge. And then you feel helpless and more mad at yourself for letting your emotions out of control.</p>
<p dir="ltr">This time I screwed up majorly. Things I said and the way I acted can't be undone. Thought of apologizing but then again thought I didn't even have a face to do so. </p>
<p dir="ltr">I knew always better than expressing myself; then why now? May be because the person I so trusted on and cared for hurt me yet again. But shouldn't I be seasoned to all this by now? If not by now then how much is it going to take to season me up? Because I don't think I can handle any more blame game or any more attack on my self respect.</p>
<p dir="ltr">None of this would have happened if like always I would have locked myself in the bathroom and cried my heart out. Then there would have been no questions asked nor there would have been the drama and no emotional vent out. But 'me being me' the foolish woman that I am had to sit on my bed and let my emotions drain out through my eyes and later verbally.</p>
<p dir="ltr">When will I learn? And moreover,  when will I learn to shut up? </p>
Sharmisthahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04438457905651250261noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3056513205110456805.post-17518448758297281872011-12-13T05:53:00.001+05:302011-12-13T11:37:55.274+05:30R.I.P<div><p>What do you do when one of your best buddies ask you, "Lemme R.I.P"?</p>
<p>Sometimes back me and my best buddy had some major differences. This isn't the first time that we had a difference but eventually we figure it out that one can not ever run from one's mirror image so we always used to reconcile. But this time when we had our yet another tsunami difference we went into our shells rather than confronting each other and swearing at each other.</p>
<p>Let me give you how similarly different we are. Ya, you read it right my dear friends, the only words that can ever describe us together is 'similarly different '. To begin with our similarities we both are single child, we both are kinda funny. We both enjoy good books, we both are coffee addicts, we both enjoy playing pranks, we both criticize each other to the point of insanity and we drive each other crazy. Different because he hides his loneliness and sadness in his arrogance and I am a cry baby in that manner. Moreover, I try to get him out of his shell and he avoids me when I do that. I guess now you understand how we are 'similarly different'</p>
<p>Now back to the original topic. So, a few days I had enough and we had a huge indifference again. But this time we did not confront each other rather we went to our protective shells. I fought myself crazy against picking up the phone to call him and he being himself did not call me. This time it was enough running after for me. I said to myself that this is it and if I do not mean anything to him then why should I always take the pains to understand his feelings and act accordingly. Now, thinking about it I really should have done this years ago. But 'me being me' had to track him down from oblivion to see this day.</p>
<p>The silence lasted a couple of weeks. I saw his Facebook updates and controlled my urge to send some of his sarcasm back to him. But I could not control my urge much longer at lastly failing in my attempt I poured all the sarcasm unto a comment and posted it officially starting the cold war of words. So for a time I was hurling the sarcasm and criticism unto him and he accepted all that. I was surprised how could a arrogant person like him take in all this so modestly without being defensive. But I did not stop as I wanted to know when is he going to turn the table arround. </p>
<p>So one day I had left a post on one of our common friend's wall in Facebook and he replied. I again did the lashing but this time he sent me a email with a subject line 'R.I.P' asking me to let him rest in peace.</p>
<p>Intentionally or unintentionally I had once again taken the inciative to break the ice between us but it turned out that my good friend, my best buddy has washed his hands off me living me high and dry.</p>
<p>I really don't know how should you react when your best bud tells you, "Lemme R.I.P". Do you leave them to rest in peace or do you kick their butt and get them back on track to lose them to another episode.</p>
</div>Sharmisthahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04438457905651250261noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3056513205110456805.post-32624785711492254382011-10-17T22:35:00.000+05:302011-10-17T22:35:45.083+05:30Not-so-friends<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">I am quite sure why I am choosing this topic but it would be very hard to justify my point. This post is not aimed at any person at particular, I just wanted to vent out my feelings and beware all.<br />
<br />
Sometimes when I sit back I wonder what I have done to deserve such adverse attitudes and treatments for people who sometimes had bonded with me as friends. When they enter my life they seem to be so welcoming and so smiley and oh-so-adorable that in no time I bond with them leaving all reservations. But as time passes the oh-so-adorable attitude dies and then I become the nosy somebody in their lives, leaving a gaping wound on my side.<br />
<br />
The bosom friends soon turn out to be friends in need, only when they need of course. This is not just a recent occurring incident of my life but this picture has been attached to me since my childhood. Initially, when friend starts being not-so-friendly, then I used to run after them trying my best in befriending them. But, now when I think of those days, I just think to myself that I was a complete idiot then. But, being a single child and left with no sibling of my own, I used to cling them for support until I learned the hard fact they are the ones that are not my own after-all. The fact was heart breaking but that didn't take me off track in befriending total strangers. It felt like I loved the words friend and friendship so much that I just can't live without it.<br />
<br />
Years later now when I am just left with a few handfuls to call as friends, I just try not to get too involved with them. But me-being-me, the way I am, I get emotionally attached to them, and get a good share of bitterness when they ignore me altogether. I don't know exactly how I tend to offend them so much that they just have to break away from me. I always thought myself as a affectionate and true person but I guess I am wrong as the ones that have a run away from me must have seen the dark side of me otherwise they wouldn't have run. Coming to think of the dark side of me, is it so dark that they just can't stand beside me.<br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: blue; font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace; font-weight: bold;"><i><br />
</i></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: blue; font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace; font-weight: bold;"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><u>Left alone in the past by Brande</u></span></i></span><br />
<table class="poemtext PoemTextLeft " style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; margin-top: 0px; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: blue;"><i>Left alone in the past<br />
Forgotten friendships buried, never meant to last<br />
She walked away from me<br />
Why couldn't I foresee?<br />
Time standing still<br />
Another way to deal, another pill<br />
The sky is gray with hate<br />
One thing tore us apart, your fate<br />
Now what will you do?<br />
Who will confide in you?<br />
Remember the times we shared?<br />
Remember how well we paired?<br />
The consequences are tough<br />
You only knew how to treat me rough<br />
Who is next in line?<br />
Will you, too, break their spine?<br />
Look at what you've done<br />
This time I will stand in front of you, I won't run<br />
Don't bother me anymore<br />
All you touch, you tore<br />
What you wanted, you took<br />
Now I glance back, I take one last look<br />
You left me alone in your past<br />
Forgotten friendships buried, never meant to last</i></span></td></tr>
</tbody></table><br />
<br />
Lesson learnt and facts believed.<br />
<br />
Before I used to stress out at the moments when I lost trust of a friend or the friend itself, unintentionally though. But, now (Thank Heavens!!!) I don't have to deal with the emotional trauma and stress, as I don't have any friends to loose. Oh! how happy I am to at last find solace in myself. There is now no one with whom I can discuss my frustrations, no shoulder for me to cry on, no one to share my accomplishments and happiness, no one to play pranks one, no one to call up in the middle of the night without anything to say but talking into the dead of the night, and no mirror to show me some hard facts about life. Oh! how happy I am.<br />
<br />
<br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"></span><br />
<table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" id="table21"><tbody>
<tr><td style="font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 10pt; width: 528px;"><table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0"><tbody>
<tr><td style="width: 523px;" valign="top"><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: blue; font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace; font-size: large;"><i><u>To Solitude by John Keats</u></i></span></b></td></tr>
</tbody></table></td><td rowspan="2" valign="top" width="100"><div align="left"></div></td></tr>
<tr><td valign="top"><table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" id="table23"><tbody>
<tr><td valign="top" width="30"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: blue; font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;"><i> </i></span></td><td style="width: 523px;" valign="top"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: blue; font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;"><i><br />
O Solitude! if I must with thee dwell,<br />
Let it not be among the jumbled heap<br />
Of murky buildings; climb with me the steep, --<br />
Nature's observatory -- whence the dell,<br />
Its flowery slopes, its river's crystal swell,<br />
May seem a span; let me thy vigils keep<br />
'Mongst boughs pavilion'd, where the deer's swift leap<br />
Startles the wild bee from the foxglove bell.<br />
But though I'll gladly trace these scenes with thee,<br />
Yet the sweet converse of an innocent mind,<br />
Whose words are images of thoughts refin'd,<br />
Is my soul's pleasure; and it sure must be<br />
Almost the highest bliss of human-kind,<br />
When to thy haunts two kindred spirits flee. </i></span></td></tr>
</tbody></table></td></tr>
</tbody></table><br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
</div>Sharmisthahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04438457905651250261noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3056513205110456805.post-69260945579130154422011-04-25T06:29:00.000+05:302011-04-25T06:29:35.090+05:30Prolonged Wait<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><br />
<div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span"></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 27px;"><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #0b5394; font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">'सबर का फल मीठा होता है' पर क्या सब लोग मीठे फल की चाहत मैं खुसी खुसी सबर करते है</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #0b5394; font-family: 'Bradley Hand ITC';"> </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #0b5394; font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">?</span></b></span></span></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 115%; text-align: center;"></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 115%;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span style="line-height: 115%;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: "Bradley Hand ITC"; font-size: 18.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-fareast-font-family: Constantia; mso-fareast-language: EN-US;"><br />
</span></b></span></span></span></div><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 115%;">Waiting as such is an irritating, time-consuming and frustrating activity. In this entire world there must be a exceptional few who are amused by the act of waiting but for all the rest of us the word itself terrifies us lest the act of it. If someone makes us to wait for him/her our tempers rise with each passing second and sometimes it just gets into our nerves as we vent them openly. Time in and time out almost everyone has his/her share of waiting to do in life; it maybe for commuting purpose, or for a special somebody or for something we have aspired in our lives or may be for the dreaded performance results. Initially waiting increases our enthusiasm but if done for long duration it not only kills our excitement but also makes us gloomy and depressed.<o:p></o:p></span></span></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 18px;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhOaxexgDM3ulbYvtSoOBdwIjIn0GHStrYw7oTgKsIUsTdZ-dHnj0t1g3BRvtMRFydbhp5oq-mj5m4GEqh8G72ERJYQlSHzJPiMve5cRlOFikkThyAeY0wmMdEmGKrLRHZFIFu0UgKGdrQ/s1600/13479758-waiting-for-baby.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; display: inline !important; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhOaxexgDM3ulbYvtSoOBdwIjIn0GHStrYw7oTgKsIUsTdZ-dHnj0t1g3BRvtMRFydbhp5oq-mj5m4GEqh8G72ERJYQlSHzJPiMve5cRlOFikkThyAeY0wmMdEmGKrLRHZFIFu0UgKGdrQ/s1600/13479758-waiting-for-baby.jpg" /></a><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 18px;">I am now in the 39<sup>th</sup> week of my pregnancy i.e., almost 10 months. Whoever said that the gestational period of humans is 9 months is a male chauvinist figure of this society and believe me if ever I meet him I am going to kill him at that very moment.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><b><span style="line-height: 115%;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br />
</span></span></b></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="line-height: 115%;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">I won’t say that I didn’t enjoy being pregnant, I did by all means. Despite of my previous ‘happily ever-after mood’ of being pregnant, now the waiting spree is getting me all wound up with agitation. From the very start of gaining consciousness I hated waiting but customarily in every sphere of my 28 years I have been left to wait for my turn by life itself; and this time also it was just the same as I am practically wait for my baby’s grand arrival. Initially I enjoyed the wait part and was quite excited with each passing moment. But now as I am drawing to the end of my journey I am getting more impatient.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><b><span style="line-height: 115%;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br />
</span></span></b></div><div class="MsoNormal"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLnUvf5kFkL2An02s6RWq8v_YUe1O-3h76g2n65bQN2LI-S_HNZYYJqQzKqxikyIP0QfiysV0Ogl-5Ji5KYONaLX-3qqcY1147pw6HFgZnxETwQYat5LsMenkWlk8G7Q9KQEx3DoT9aPo/s1600/11622419-pregnant-woman-with-baby-boy-room.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLnUvf5kFkL2An02s6RWq8v_YUe1O-3h76g2n65bQN2LI-S_HNZYYJqQzKqxikyIP0QfiysV0Ogl-5Ji5KYONaLX-3qqcY1147pw6HFgZnxETwQYat5LsMenkWlk8G7Q9KQEx3DoT9aPo/s1600/11622419-pregnant-woman-with-baby-boy-room.jpg" /></a><span style="line-height: 115%;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">In India, normally all first child are born 2-3 weeks before the estimated date, so we were quite sure that my baby would arrive sometime around the 3<sup>rd</sup> week of April. But there was no sign of pain and the week passed off normally. In my visit with my GYN when my mom raised the question about being late in delivery she said that in America the first child generally comes after the due date. To this my mom promptly said, “But she (i.e., me) is an Indian”. The GYN then replied with a smile, “She might be an Indian but her baby is an American and American babies arrive late”. Mark the irony, now the baby and the mother have two different nationalities. My unborn baby is an American while he is still inside the womb of his Indian mother. <b><o:p></o:p></b></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><b><span style="line-height: 115%;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br />
</span></span></b></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 115%;">So, according to the American Medical Bible I have to wait for another one week after my due date and all my Indian </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 18px;">ancestry has no implication anymore</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 115%;">. The paradox here is that when I am unable to wait for my due date, and now I am made to wait later than that. It isn’t that I am in terrible pain and the baby isn’t buzzing. My American baby is having an ultimate time rolling happily and enjoying the delicacies inside me while I crib about my numb senses and overstretched abdomen. The dreadful anticipated pain is no where around the corner but instead of that I have all sorts of cramps in all odd parts of my body. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><b><span style="line-height: 115%;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br />
</span></span></b></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="line-height: 115%;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">I remember one day I screamed out to my mom owing to an awful cramp and a sudden heightened pain, but my mom laughed with excitement as she thought that my contraction at last started but it was just a mirage.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><b><span style="line-height: 115%;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br />
</span></span></b></div><div class="MsoNormal"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEibeoGq-YbpOr-IJ3BYvGSoc13gpXi37-owMZjkSJ5JAP5JQbqH1KGTVhSDenW-3L2Vbx-l2UQ3i9zDNKsEY0d2IYBDRbTXNta4G1gqGFKrgcd3kpaCfO_wDrpKjQVDofhsouek-M8O_YE/s1600/10919481-pregnant-woman-with-a-pair-of-shoes.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEibeoGq-YbpOr-IJ3BYvGSoc13gpXi37-owMZjkSJ5JAP5JQbqH1KGTVhSDenW-3L2Vbx-l2UQ3i9zDNKsEY0d2IYBDRbTXNta4G1gqGFKrgcd3kpaCfO_wDrpKjQVDofhsouek-M8O_YE/s1600/10919481-pregnant-woman-with-a-pair-of-shoes.jpg" /></a><span style="line-height: 115%;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">So, here I am in my 39<sup>th</sup> week of pregnancy daily praying to the Almighty to bless me with contraction pains so that I can deliver my baby and get over with the anticipation. But again ‘me being me’, I think that if the prelude to the motherhood is so mind boggling then what it would be to actually face motherhood. Facing motherhood is yet another challenge that would require a completely different set of attributes with patience being in the top of the list. Now, just think me and patience, can we ever coincide? That is a hell of a question and </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 18px;">I will come to it when I come to it and that would make another post but for now I wait. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 18px;"><br />
</span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 18px;">For all those who would advice me on having a patient attitude at this point of my pregnancy the below lines are for them.</span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 18px;"><br />
</span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 18px;"></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: blue; font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"><i><span style="line-height: 115%;">“If men were equally at risk from this condition—if they knew their bellies might swell as if they were suffering from end-stage cirrhosis, that they would have to go nearly a year without a stiff drink, a cigarette, or even an aspirin, that they would be subject to fainting spells and unable to fight their way onto commuter trains—then I am sure that pregnancy would be classified as a sexually transmitted disease and abortions would be no more controversial than emergency appendectomies.</span>”</i><o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><u><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: blue; font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"><span class="apple-style-span"><span style="line-height: 115%;">-</span></span><span class="apple-style-span"><span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="line-height: 115%;"><a href="http://quotes.dictionary.com/author/Barbara+Ehrenreich">Barbara Ehrenreich</a></span></span></span></span></i></u><b style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span style="font-family: "Bradley Hand ITC"; font-size: 18.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><o:p></o:p></span></b></div><div class="MsoNormal"><u><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: blue; font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="apple-style-span"><span style="font-size: 9pt; line-height: 115%;"><br />
</span></span></span></i></u></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: blue; font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="apple-style-span"><span style="line-height: 115%;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: normal;">"If pregnancy were a book they would cut the last two chapters." - </span></span></span></span></i><a class="au" href="http://quotes.dictionary.com/author/Nora+Ephron" style="font: italic normal normal 16px/normal arial; outline-color: initial; outline-style: none; outline-width: initial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: blue; font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;">Nora Ephron</span></a></span></div><br />
</div>Sharmisthahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04438457905651250261noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3056513205110456805.post-52261215943818083192011-04-21T22:11:00.000+05:302011-04-21T22:11:25.472+05:30The ultimate restroom fiasco :s<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><br />
<div class="MsoNormal"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjqziNDL4j7Go9iI4akiMtm-bKhSurAFj2uqoU8ZWlt_KPnmQL-ZsgZukp-qlBqAkaXTsGOrdWzUQnzEhTioB1C5iumxF5Y2Py1BfGLzZq4Px0X7kDgnEjX5evhIZ59IV__pbd9GbJ3cBM/s1600/12473237-accessibility-signs.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><b><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjqziNDL4j7Go9iI4akiMtm-bKhSurAFj2uqoU8ZWlt_KPnmQL-ZsgZukp-qlBqAkaXTsGOrdWzUQnzEhTioB1C5iumxF5Y2Py1BfGLzZq4Px0X7kDgnEjX5evhIZ59IV__pbd9GbJ3cBM/s200/12473237-accessibility-signs.jpg" width="200" /></b></span></a><b><span style="line-height: 115%;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Just imagine you are in the last month of your pregnancy with an overactive bladder and your restroom is practically inaccessible. It’s a nightmare believe me and I had my share of it just recently. It must be hilarious for you guys :X but for me that was pathetic and torturous. <o:p></o:p></span></span></b></div><div class="MsoNormal"><b><span style="line-height: 115%;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br />
</span></span></b></div><div class="MsoNormal"><b><span style="line-height: 115%;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">I am 38 weeks pregnant now (and for those who don’t have the least idea); at this time the baby’s head is pressed to the urinary bladder as a result pregnant ladies tend to have an overactive urinary bladder. So, when you have got the anatomic picture, you can better understand my misery.<o:p></o:p></span></span></b></div><div class="MsoNormal"><b><span style="line-height: 115%;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br />
</span></span></b></div><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 115%;">It was just the other day and a sleepy me was just drifting into the world of dreams when my mom called me and said the bathroom door is not opening. Sanjeev went to investigate and found out that somehow the bathroom door had been locked from inside but we </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 18px;">couldn't</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 115%;"> understand till date the how of it as all three of us were outside. That’s when the havoc began. Sanjeev used his (what I call) ‘engineering dimag’ to open the door but it didn’t buzz a little.</span></span></b><br />
<div class="MsoNormal"><b><span style="line-height: 115%;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br />
</span></span></b></div><div class="MsoNormal"><b><span style="line-height: 115%;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">OMG!!! What the ****? That’s was just the expression that crossed my mind. I got into a frenzy mood thinking what the hell I am going to do the whole night. I go to the loo every hour or so and just the thought of not able to use the restroom for the whole night was a blow (that too in the very wrong place).<o:p></o:p></span></span></b></div><div class="MsoNormal"><b><span style="line-height: 115%;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br />
</span></span></b></div><div class="MsoNormal"><b><span style="line-height: 115%;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Sanjeev’s attempts were futile and in his weary he went to call our neighbor Deepak Bhaiya (his colleague and a good friend) for help. They both then spent the next hour trying to break the lock but to no use. Suddenly Deepak Bhaiya remembered a 24x7 service where we can seek assistance. So, the call was made but they provided locksmith assistance only to privileged members and neither Sanjeev nor Bhaiya were one of them. But the kind lady at the service centre provided us numbers of two locksmiths, God bless her. Next Sanjeev tried to call those guys but neither of them picked up. :X @###@###@##$%<o:p></o:p></span></span></b></div><div class="MsoNormal"><b><span style="line-height: 115%;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br />
</span></span></b></div><div class="MsoNormal"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMq1ivfESwDPdRiSbX7-0c2_z0foJilh7eJXib8T5gyiFSHVvJQ79wx8u5Ai1GapZdDCi6TYlDibMHlMPFCo7LLEfGqrRRNwKVIPqgzH-I23Z3FWf5EvQOga3novg2jiuqhLe6o8sv2vI/s1600/9523727-anxiety.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><b><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMq1ivfESwDPdRiSbX7-0c2_z0foJilh7eJXib8T5gyiFSHVvJQ79wx8u5Ai1GapZdDCi6TYlDibMHlMPFCo7LLEfGqrRRNwKVIPqgzH-I23Z3FWf5EvQOga3novg2jiuqhLe6o8sv2vI/s1600/9523727-anxiety.jpg" /></b></span></a><b><span style="line-height: 115%;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Now, in this whole madness I was getting agitated (blame my pregnancy hormones for that) and tensed at the same time. And a worried I sat in a corner chair praying to God to start off my contractions so that we could go to the hospital and I could use the restroom there. When I said this to Sanjeev and my mom the next day, we had a hearty laugh over it but at that time restroom was all I could think of. <o:p></o:p></span></span></b></div><div class="MsoNormal"><b><span style="line-height: 115%;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br />
</span></span></b></div><div class="MsoNormal"><b><span style="line-height: 115%;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">A helpful Deepak Bhaiya suggested us to keep a key of his house and use his restroom whenever required. That was some kind of assurance for the three of us. But, ‘me being me’ a hesitant fool that I am, couldn’t really digest the idea of entering someone else’s house to use the restroom in the dead hours of the night when his entire family would be in the arms of slumber. But considering the advancement of my pregnancy and the long night ahead we accepted Deepak Bhaiya’s kind offer. <o:p></o:p></span></span></b></div><div class="MsoNormal"><b><span style="line-height: 115%;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br />
</span></span></b></div><div class="MsoNormal"><b><span style="line-height: 115%;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">With the keys at our disposal, Sanjeev (being the most relaxed one among the three of us) drifted off to sleep soon, but sleep seemed to have deserted me altogether as I twisted and turned in the bed with a heavy heart. My mom who knew me very well came to check on me and found me wide awake. She asked me to come out of the room to sit and talk as tension is not a good friend in pregnancy. So, it was in years that I and my mom had a one-on-one chat late into the night. That was one and only one good thing in the whole restroom fiasco.<o:p></o:p></span></span></b></div><div class="MsoNormal"><b><span style="line-height: 115%;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br />
</span></span></b></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><b><span style="line-height: 115%;">Though we had the key to Bhaiya’s house and his permission to use his restroom whenever required but ‘me being me’, I was quite skeptical about the whole idea. But soon I realized I had to keep my reluctant attitude aside and better use the restroom otherwise I would face the consequences later. So, I dragged myself to Bhaiya’s house to freshen myself before something bad happened. That was just the push or courage I needed as I used the loo for another 3-4 times that night (thanks to my pregnant overactive bladder :(</span></b></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><b><span style="line-height: 115%;"> ).</span></b></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjIwBeqYRXzCpa1US0WJ05QPtjsK5z2h5JuA80Hwmh-wEOgIatWMLk1L3ZGais92OVOlEMJB7txbKvb7LeMsHFWpp60maTCOR0l0CADNgGpLjX_Iv1OKlPgVFei_Yk4X2WI7E6weSuLsqo/s1600/11304164-beautiful-woman-on-the-toilet-commode.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><b><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjIwBeqYRXzCpa1US0WJ05QPtjsK5z2h5JuA80Hwmh-wEOgIatWMLk1L3ZGais92OVOlEMJB7txbKvb7LeMsHFWpp60maTCOR0l0CADNgGpLjX_Iv1OKlPgVFei_Yk4X2WI7E6weSuLsqo/s1600/11304164-beautiful-woman-on-the-toilet-commode.jpg" /></b></span></a><b><span style="line-height: 115%;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br />
</span></span></b></div><div class="MsoNormal"><b><span style="line-height: 115%;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">First thing in the morning Sanjeev went to our club house to get hold of our maintenance guy and it just took him 2 seconds to open the door. As soon as the door clicked open I sighed with relief and joy.<o:p></o:p></span></span></b></div><div class="MsoNormal"><b><span style="line-height: 115%;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br />
</span></span></b></div><div class="MsoNormal"><b><span style="line-height: 115%;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">You guys must have rolled with laughter at my expense but for me that night was quite tormenting and agonizing. I will remember it for years to come. </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Bradley Hand ITC'; font-size: large;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></b></div></div>Sharmisthahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04438457905651250261noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3056513205110456805.post-74755040210097626352011-03-31T02:13:00.000+05:302011-03-31T02:13:01.110+05:30My Pregnancy Journal<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 16px; line-height: 22px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: purple; font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">From the day I learn't I was pregnant, I am often being asked my family, friends and (you won't believe) in fact total strangers 'how I am feeling?'. I always smile back and reply that I am fine or good or awesome but that isn't one-tenth of the emotions and sensations that I feel.<br />
<span class="Apple-style-span"></span><br />
I had often thought of penning down my feelings in the last few months but believe me words and expressions have deserted me when I need them the most. And thats not all, because even these days tiredness as well as laziness have got better of me and my urge to sit back and write has gone down. But as I am nearing the end of my pregnancy I am wondering if I might lose all those wonderful feelings that I have felt in these 9 months. I know I am nuts as no woman in this world can forget those special sensations and feeling. But me being me, I had to get a grab on my vocab and find back my urge to sit up and pen down those wonderful and special moments.<br />
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But frankly speaking it wasn't only me who wanted this moments journalized but even my hubby Sanjeev wanted the same from me. He had been nagging me forever now to get to writing but again me being me, didn't do anything about that. But thanks Sanjeev, I owe you this and I love you for always being there for me. I also thank my friends Kajal and Tushar for extending their expectation of me to write these sensational moments. Even I can feel my baby kicking with excitement as I am typing now. :)</span></span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: purple; font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 16px; line-height: 22px;">Please visit : </span><a href="http://www.misthipregnbabyjournal.blogspot.com/">http://www.misthipregnbabyjournal.blogspot.com/</a> </span></div>Sharmisthahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04438457905651250261noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3056513205110456805.post-40284471130081479592011-03-09T00:06:00.009+05:302011-03-11T00:59:45.125+05:30एक नया एहसाश<span style="font-size:130%;"><span style="font-family:verdana;">एक नया एहसाश है ये<br />प्यार से भरा<br />संजोग से मिला<br />अन्कही नासा सा है ये<br /><br />आशाओं की एक लेहेर सी है<br />उमीदों की एक किरण सी है<br />ये दौर कुछ ऐसा है<br />की हर तरफ एक खुसी सी है<br /><br />ना जाना था इशे कभी<br />ना समझा था इशे कभी<br />ये एहसाश नया है<br />जो हो रहा है मुझे अभी<br /><br />हर दर्द मैं मज़ा आने लगा है<br />हर दिन अब नया लगने लगा है<br />अब कुछ होश नहीं है<br />ना जाने मुझे क्या होने लगा है<br /><br />ख्वाबों मैं दिन काटने लगी हूँ<br />रातों को करवटें बदलने लगी हूँ<br />नींद खोके भी<br />सपननो मैं खोने लगी हूँ<br /><br />जन्नत की एक झलक सी है<br />रूह मैं जैसे सुकून सी है<br />ये दौर कुछ ऐसा है<br />की हर तरफ खुसी सी है<br /><br />एक नया एहसाश है ये</span></span>Sharmisthahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04438457905651250261noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3056513205110456805.post-31235739457814524052010-08-07T13:36:00.003+05:302010-08-07T13:41:34.301+05:30Emotional Fool Or Full of Emotions<p class="MsoNormal">Girls are always commented to be emotional fools but are they?</p> <p class="MsoNormal">Before coming to any conclusion we must first try to understand what emotions are?<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>If I try to define the term emotion then my comment box herein will be filled with co</p><p class="MsoNormal">mments like “why are you being so emotional?” and similar comments. But I guess someone sometime have to draw a line between being an emotional fool and full of emotions. So, here</p><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh7ev164n109-v6feL3iKf6mHwYCTtLQD97qcVNpjD4W5fqIBvJzceTzyZ-NXGkbqp7ytnnkXFUbi85aS0FuqO5iDM7odWanlR0yHRCde23nhqluTsSqpQp_4Bjd3AYoRw_lQjyhrj8Ei8/s400/ist1_9206862-smiley-face-icons-cut-out-on-white.jpg" style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 110px; height: 78px;" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5502577003183282370" /><p class="MsoNormal"> I am to prove my side of the story.</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops:390.0pt">I know girls react very openly to a lot of matters and discussions but that doesn’t mean they are emotional fools. If a guy reacts then it is said that they are giving statements and of freedom of speech. But then why the same explanation not considered for girls? We too have the freedom of speech. Isn’t it so? Or the rule makers were biased male figures of our society? I know none of this is true and our law makers were geniuses who never have differentiated any right between a girl and a guy. But, as girls disposition has always been tender and attitude brittle we can’t just claim them being emotional fool but I would say they are full of emotions.</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops:390.0pt">If this is not enough then can I have the liberty of saying that guys lack emotions as they never ever try to understand a girl’s sentiments and always are on a spree of making fun of them and</p><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEil-2ujj27mAsNjLvIdlwtDpVulpqj-6NRSP1inH_YJjGJMJo56gNsUGLcSrPFlWMPBIdHtigJBvmCuo7nMMPDQyHDPAswKZ4O2WawVoZpnKUnrQgnN9s1qItftHEFYdOchY08V6Z1XLxM/s400/ist1_11858977-smiley-ball.jpg" style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 110px; height: 110px;" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5502576741901755826" /><p class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops:390.0pt"> their softheartedness.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>Now, please don’t give me the damn excuse of saying that guys are practical; because I can count ‘n’ number of instances where guys prove of not only being less practical then girls but also have shown more childish attitude than girls. Now what do you have to say?</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops:390.0pt">I know this is a very controversial topic and no guy in this world will agree definitely because of their so-called male-ego; what a joke. Now when we are talking about emotion and male ego, then don’t you think that ego is an emotion? LOL. Guys do have a heightened male-ego that urges them to prove themselves always right, so now I won’t be wrong to dare and call guys as emotional fools. Am I right?</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops:390.0pt">Now I am actually enjoying writing this blog. OMG. </p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops:390.0pt">So, guys what do you have to say? Pen in your comments but I know guys will have an upper hand as mostly my blogs are read by my guy friends. But still I enjoyed writing this. ;)</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops:390.0pt"><o:p> </o:p></p>Sharmisthahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04438457905651250261noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3056513205110456805.post-1184096644768312442010-05-21T19:10:00.001+05:302010-05-21T19:13:05.284+05:30Feeling Lost<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_RHYPUe8bAjGIkfrW5F9ZztiYKC9VUKu7dF6U2T3hpCZVrCqt7v5CTounBACRJucZ17aZkJK-mj4w_3Z9s4dZfOf4cYS6WDajpf8BgOn8XyyBCjM0Zu841Wm662xlFJg2zWGUlvWAfp8/s1600/ist1_11977738-mature-woman-sitting-looking-depressed.jpg"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 73px; height: 110px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_RHYPUe8bAjGIkfrW5F9ZztiYKC9VUKu7dF6U2T3hpCZVrCqt7v5CTounBACRJucZ17aZkJK-mj4w_3Z9s4dZfOf4cYS6WDajpf8BgOn8XyyBCjM0Zu841Wm662xlFJg2zWGUlvWAfp8/s400/ist1_11977738-mature-woman-sitting-looking-depressed.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5473718281254357202" /></a><br />Feeling lost. Eyes blurred with tears, tears that flow down unleashing the emotions trapped in the heart. Tears trail down their age old path but even their descent does not cool off the heated emotions of my tumultuous heart. Now, smile seems like a long lost friend who often visits but for limited time and when it leaves, it erases its mark and creates a crater of hopelessness.<div> <br />From the very beginning of my so-called life (I hate to call it life though, but I don’t have any other word to define it... so life), I have craved for few things that till date I am deprived of i.e., time and understanding of my loved ones. But call it my misfortune or whatever, as time and time again I am left alone b y people I love, to fight my tears and ailing. It’s not that they are never there, rather it’s that they never have enough time to see through me to find that my heart is filled with hurt and that my eyes are watery.</div><div><br />Day in and day out I am left alone with my solitude, solitude that makes me feel like a loser. Now when I look into the mirror I don’t see myself but see someone with sad watery eyes crying out for someone to wipe their tears with affection and understanding. It isn’t that no one has come forward rather the ones that have come forward have been always either snatched away from me by oh-so-called luck (good for them but bad for me) or they just are wise enough to walk out on a cry baby like me or they just don’t have enough time to hear my heart out. In any case, I am left alone to tackle my raging heart and hurt emotions.</div><div><br />Sometimes, when I sit back and think about this, I feel that I am lacking in the skill to make other realize my sentiments. I may be portraying the wrong picture of me being at the best of my moods and making everyone takes me for granted. Is it just my bad luck or am I destined to feel like a destitute.<br /><br /></div>Sharmisthahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04438457905651250261noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3056513205110456805.post-49154675170144092392010-04-25T09:02:00.004+05:302010-04-25T11:18:48.000+05:30Poker Face<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh9hNYDhpvmmn8bgp_nvka0gjiwMHgs_UFVVGp-J4_1Sv_swxLHYwZIJVRYYR9CosRB6gqOz-L_ml2qTLoUMkjlMhye1d9gNpSXJYfUqkDI-S0RjNoPmTcbKUaFtehGfR4XRPBYqjoIMcg/s1600/ist1_10535718-two-mask.jpg"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 110px; height: 74px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh9hNYDhpvmmn8bgp_nvka0gjiwMHgs_UFVVGp-J4_1Sv_swxLHYwZIJVRYYR9CosRB6gqOz-L_ml2qTLoUMkjlMhye1d9gNpSXJYfUqkDI-S0RjNoPmTcbKUaFtehGfR4XRPBYqjoIMcg/s400/ist1_10535718-two-mask.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5463913203993905234" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_n_afW5GDARKLGeZOxNqEJdvbHwwa_ObWvBOp2D1LlUk-zuuQANvuVkc7BnEyFhMSfQRvQyMhnau1w5J9i-cy0ndQV6v_ayLzdW7DG2gg4qFNr-slyBAtyBWH-SupPyKTrf6rR7IXHys/s1600/ist1_12581524-daughter-of-man.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 76px; height: 110px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_n_afW5GDARKLGeZOxNqEJdvbHwwa_ObWvBOp2D1LlUk-zuuQANvuVkc7BnEyFhMSfQRvQyMhnau1w5J9i-cy0ndQV6v_ayLzdW7DG2gg4qFNr-slyBAtyBWH-SupPyKTrf6rR7IXHys/s400/ist1_12581524-daughter-of-man.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5463913052066799346" /></a><br /><p class="MsoNormal">Life is so self-consuming; at every step you find a new hurdle. The moment you cross a hurdle, there stands another hurdle jeering at you. If you try to find solace in someone close then life will disappoint you with the realization that the person who are standing around you trying to give you comfort with their soothing words are actually sneering at you from inside and waiting for the moment you get entrapped by the hurdle and fall; fall hard on your face; and that will be their victory. Victory of what even they are not aware of but still they do feel victorious. Such is the irony set by life itself and you don’t have anything to do with it but just tolerate the turmoil with a poker face. Poker face to hide your emotions and sentiment of feeling hurt; poker face to prove that world that you give a damn to everything else while you bleed to death from within.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">But can a poker face always help you in hiding your true emotions. May be for some people who have mastered the act of presenting a poker face over the years; but for novices it’s a matter of luck. As keeping up a poker face requires a great effort and mental strength to overcome the volcano of feeling rising on the surface of your heart to present the world a damn look of the poker face.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">The treacherous motive of the world around us and the betrayal of our wishes by life itself have led to the intervention of poker face in everyone’s life. Poker face is the ultimate weapon against the deceitful senses of others that tend to traumatize our mind and the very existence of us. Most of us have misled by our innocent instincts to be surrounded by perfidious minds that leave an open and unattended wound to haunt us for the rest of our lives. These incidents not only snatch away our innocence but also make us either indifferent to the world bearing a poker face or lose ourselves emotionally trying to be indifferent.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">Ironies of life have outstretched themselves to such an extent that has left its mark as well as its trail, and we are left to deal this torture with a poker face. But Why???</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p>Sharmisthahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04438457905651250261noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3056513205110456805.post-27766836681249410882009-12-23T12:07:00.002+05:302009-12-23T12:43:04.523+05:30A Flick from the past<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiFFwMDZaeoV3dHgyncPfE72ZaOA5zMPyG9KLtrxo73t4UJWysJbLXAZwSeHrPoo9KwEWRxxsEUjm63bNV1Zyei09Wa1KtPuHASENEbXs_lhKQt4806cyF298R087Di2b7Aet66xaRLauQ/s1600-h/ist1_10601075-passionate-couple.jpg"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 110px; height: 110px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiFFwMDZaeoV3dHgyncPfE72ZaOA5zMPyG9KLtrxo73t4UJWysJbLXAZwSeHrPoo9KwEWRxxsEUjm63bNV1Zyei09Wa1KtPuHASENEbXs_lhKQt4806cyF298R087Di2b7Aet66xaRLauQ/s400/ist1_10601075-passionate-couple.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5418323543740644274" /></a>A flick from the past..<div><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"> </span>is a feeling long last..</div><div>Chirping and smiling..</div><div><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"> </span>the time just flies fast.</div><div><br /></div><div>Cuddling in together..</div><div><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"> </span>in the warmth of each other..</div><div>Drifting and melting ..</div><div><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"> </span>moments that were sweeter.</div><div><br /></div><div>Glistening moments in the dark..</div><div><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"> </span>full of impish spark..</div><div>Moaning and sighing..</div><div><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"> </span>with love making its own mark.</div><div><br /></div><div>Sweet as nectar..</div><div><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"> </span>were those heartfelt emotions..</div><div>Craving and longing..</div><div><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"> </span>for wild and untold sensations.</div><div><br /></div><div>A flick from the past..</div><div><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"> </span>is a feeling long last..</div>Sharmisthahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04438457905651250261noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3056513205110456805.post-72856417166797900942009-12-03T08:48:00.004+05:302009-12-03T09:30:09.392+05:30On 2nd Marriage Anniversary<span class="Apple-style-span" style=" color: rgb(255, 255, 255); font-family:Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;font-size:x-large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#000000;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><br /><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></span></span></span><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" color: rgb(255, 255, 255); font-family:Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;font-size:x-large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#000000;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-large;">Strange was the day..When we met for the very first time,</span></span></span><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#000000;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-large;">Strange was how we..Clicked from the beginning</span></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#000000;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-large;">Strange was how being..Poles apart we fell in love</span></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#000000;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-large;">Strange was how often..People said we are 'Made for each other'</span></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#000000;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-large;">Strange was how we used to.. Fight over trifle matters and later felt bad</span></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#000000;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-large;">Strange was how we used to.. Tackle worst times hand in hand</span></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#000000;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-large;">Strange was how we laughed.. And cried in each others' arms</span></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#000000;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-large;">Strange is how distance.. Couldn't overcome the depth of our love</span></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#000000;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#000000;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-large;">Strange moments brought us closer with each passing day;</span></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#000000;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-large;">And strangely fighting, loving and laughing we reached our 2nd Anniversary</span></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#000000;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#000000;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-large;">Love you Dear... Happy Anniversary</span></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#000000;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#000000;"><br /></span></div></span></div>Sharmisthahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04438457905651250261noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3056513205110456805.post-13614439709499410372009-11-18T16:26:00.002+05:302009-11-18T18:59:05.480+05:30Spending time without you my Dear<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLklfnzc-I3T8JS8QQXIHVTQKoihwkzfl-MmWlxFI_wuwtaPAGizbF5WHT7SbAKM2ONIxNTLfA1G6MmOwzOZhn7Nf-hten0ebyiBbu5XMAqckids16ebB5NzMQb-GwN2ziezGxJrPGJNY/s1600/ist1_5851532-3d-man-with-heart.jpg"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 110px; height: 110px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLklfnzc-I3T8JS8QQXIHVTQKoihwkzfl-MmWlxFI_wuwtaPAGizbF5WHT7SbAKM2ONIxNTLfA1G6MmOwzOZhn7Nf-hten0ebyiBbu5XMAqckids16ebB5NzMQb-GwN2ziezGxJrPGJNY/s400/ist1_5851532-3d-man-with-heart.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5405434821316820482" /></a><br />Spending time without you is similar to draught..,<br />Dried feelings and sighs wrought..<br />Sparing thoughts full of pain..,<br />Making eyes sore as tears drain..<br />Spending time without you is so sore..,<br />With sunken senses in heart core..<br />Brittle emotions lay unattended..,<br />With your love alone that can be tended..<br />Spending time without you is dour..,<br />Void of dreams and desires sour..<br />Aching heart aches more..,<br />As unison it just hopes for..<br />Spending time without you is a lesson..,<br />Forbidding me of your affection..<br />As I wait here thinking of you..,<br />I just want to say “I Love you”.Sharmisthahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04438457905651250261noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3056513205110456805.post-42030583481519630222009-09-07T17:59:00.003+05:302009-09-07T18:12:42.657+05:30Dil ki aawaz..<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi6fMJRCmYrOToTFDbCV3QzKCgl5bk5KwbvMQ7WWzpF6c47Gpv-IEMUsftwb-9zRF7JWj9x-BwhJlh2pJgFZuj-EK7M8RfA_UDjggdG_PRlaT3WMzXdU0PSt7XaG_9Yl_C9MjEDwakRjD8/s1600-h/ist1_9404525-little-girl-looking-into-window.jpg"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 110px; height: 73px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi6fMJRCmYrOToTFDbCV3QzKCgl5bk5KwbvMQ7WWzpF6c47Gpv-IEMUsftwb-9zRF7JWj9x-BwhJlh2pJgFZuj-EK7M8RfA_UDjggdG_PRlaT3WMzXdU0PSt7XaG_9Yl_C9MjEDwakRjD8/s400/ist1_9404525-little-girl-looking-into-window.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5378703510648840466" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgvjP4f4uacfHTTu_a-BlW3D5LbVOKFf03eAgd29YABhy70-s_dd8DePgXyTWtEDITbziXdZIHPvQLPEThjrKRryn1zEw_t4XmnP-rEFdxZuN423_MTCgfmVRT_qBA2Ih4A_tmi7l5q6PE/s1600-h/ist1_9404525-little-girl-looking-into-window.jpg"><br /></a><br /><p class="MsoNormal">Kuch khwaish unkahe se..</p> <p class="MsoNormal">Kuch aarmaan dabe hue se..</p> <p class="MsoNormal">Dil ki halat kaise bayan karun..</p> <p class="MsoNormal">Jab labz hi hai khamosh se..</p><p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Khud se hi ab naraz rehne lagi..</p> <p class="MsoNormal">Aanshuon ke saath ab toh jeene lagi..</p> <p class="MsoNormal">Samna hua ish kadar khud ke saath..</p> <p class="MsoNormal">Ki main ab tut ke bikharne lagi..</p><p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Bewajah khud se ladne lagi..</p> <p class="MsoNormal">Har tamana meri yun mitne lagi..</p> <p class="MsoNormal">Aashon ne bhi saath na diya..</p> <p class="MsoNormal">Ki yunhi main toh sishakne lagi..</p><p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Tanhayion main raatein katne lagi..</p> <p class="MsoNormal">Beeti saari baatein jab yaad aane lagi..</p> <p class="MsoNormal">Leke aa gayi zindegi kis mod pe..</p> <p class="MsoNormal">Ki <span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>yaadon se ab main bhagne lagi..</p><p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Khwabon main bhi ghabrane lagi..</p> <p class="MsoNormal">Haqiqat se jab main harne lagi..</p> <p class="MsoNormal">Ab raha na kuch baaki mere paas..</p> <p class="MsoNormal">Jab main khud se bhi <span style="mso-spacerun:yes"></span>durr jaane lagi..</p><p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal"></p><p class="MsoNormal">Kuch khwaish unkahe se..</p><p class="MsoNormal">Kuch aarmaan dabe hue se..</p><p class="MsoNormal">Dil ki halat kaise bayan karun..</p><p class="MsoNormal">Jab labz hi hai khamosh se..</p><p></p>Sharmisthahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04438457905651250261noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3056513205110456805.post-88121994839310015782009-02-09T11:39:00.006+05:302009-02-09T13:07:44.112+05:30Thought Stream<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjb8r4f27MQ3FejU4AwycOn21CtCAScx3EjleDgZLnPpWL6MdrPDvxea0LO8XTtXXeFaCZkgWpLe9vUnL2iSNM0q_981RpD8BAFx49HiUYd5mj55isuBWbRVxFSuWZrbU4bCxFlo4dmUxs/s1600-h/ist1_4897888-comics-word-and-thought-bubbles.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5300686845611550370" style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; WIDTH: 145px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 156px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjb8r4f27MQ3FejU4AwycOn21CtCAScx3EjleDgZLnPpWL6MdrPDvxea0LO8XTtXXeFaCZkgWpLe9vUnL2iSNM0q_981RpD8BAFx49HiUYd5mj55isuBWbRVxFSuWZrbU4bCxFlo4dmUxs/s320/ist1_4897888-comics-word-and-thought-bubbles.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><div align="justify">Have you anytime imagined how lucid and fluid our thoughts can be? They seem to flow in every possible direction as they don't bother about any hurdles like the free flowing rivers which don't care about the boundaries or territories in which they flow.</div><div align="justify"><br /></div><div align="justify"></div><div align="justify"><br /></div><div align="justify">Sometimes I get surprised on my fluctuating thoughts. At one time I am thinking something and suddenly there comes a cascade and the flow of my thought takes a twist and changes its direction and then I am suddenly thinking something totally different which has absolutely no relation with my previous thoughts.</div><div align="justify"><br /></div><div align="justify"></div><div align="justify"><br /></div><div align="justify">But at some other times some thoughts just tend to cling to the back of my mind and whatever I try to do in order to change their flow they just stick in there and try to dominate all my expertise in free thinking. And believe me all my self-control and self-resistance is a joke then.</div><div align="justify"><br /></div><div align="justify"></div><div align="justify"><br /></div><div align="justify">Other times... when I really want to reason out things then all of a sudden I realize I am devoid of thoughts and that just my mind is blank. That's when I feel sorry for myself and at the same time I get very confused. And that's not a very good situation.</div><div align="justify"><br /></div><div align="justify"></div><div align="justify"><br /></div><div align="justify">Some thoughts make me nervous racing my palpitation, some tensed making my brows curl, some tired asking me to just stop, some logical making me feel intelligent for the time, some naughty and mischievous, some are tempting enough to explore, some sinuous making me feel devils' own, some boil up my anger, some make me jump with joy, some are crystal clear like a placid lake, some torments like the violent surf and some just have their own way. </div><div align="justify"><br /></div><div align="justify"></div><div align="justify"><br /></div><div align="justify">Sometimes I go such a long way with my thoughts that I forget what I was initially thinking and how all my thoughts reached the present note... then what I do must sound a little comical and I know you will have a hearty laugh on it but in that case I usually track down my thought stream and reach my initial point. Oh ho!!! you must be thinking why the hell I think and then why do I have to track it down. But I too don't know why the heck I do it even..but I do it every time my thought stream takes a new twist and turn. I know a few of you who read my blogs will conclude either I am out of my wits or that I have too much free time in my hands to handle. But believe me neither is the case and whatever I have written so far is just one of my thought stream.</div>Sharmisthahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04438457905651250261noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3056513205110456805.post-17224433188025730412009-01-29T19:57:00.005+05:302009-01-29T20:30:02.178+05:30I am no poet my dear<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgSR0kYUEJfrUs4QXq7MXza8aBYTOEoA4yDWYWL8PEkh1pSstValJp43rWLiHIlDrjRPe_X6B-j5AIeNSgP9LSSELrMm868JGvu64ERGCBmPEAtMaFsi-AI5by1uC9XNmHO_POiqt6yUrI/s1600-h/ist1_6320417-joven-escribiendo.jpg"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 94px; height: 110px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgSR0kYUEJfrUs4QXq7MXza8aBYTOEoA4yDWYWL8PEkh1pSstValJp43rWLiHIlDrjRPe_X6B-j5AIeNSgP9LSSELrMm868JGvu64ERGCBmPEAtMaFsi-AI5by1uC9XNmHO_POiqt6yUrI/s200/ist1_6320417-joven-escribiendo.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5296724219722856434" /></a><br />Sometimes my intellect challenges me<div>To quote my heart's desire </div><div>But I am no poet my dear</div><div><br /></div><div>Sometimes my feelings form words</div><div>To describe them as harsh swords</div><div>But I am no poet my dear</div><div><br /></div><div>Sometimes my thoughts are raw</div><div>To lessen a bit of my sorrow</div><div>But I am no poet my dear</div><div><br /></div><div>Sometimes my emotions are murky</div><div>To vent out the clouds that are smoky</div><div>But I am no poet my dear </div><div><br /></div><div>Sometimes my sentiments are lucid</div><div>To erase the sore that are acid</div><div>But I am no poet my dear</div><div><br /></div><div>Sometimes my heart just vocalizes</div><div>To nurse the hurt that scandalizes</div><div>But I am no poet my dear</div><div><br /></div><div>Sometimes my senses voice </div><div>To degrade the loathe and have my choice</div><div>But I am no poet my dear</div><div><br /></div><div>Sometimes my soul inks away</div><div>To record the vibes in its full sway</div><div>But I am no poet my dear</div><div><br /></div><div>Words and byword mumble</div><div>Into a meaningful rumble</div><div>But I am no poet my dear</div><div><br /></div>Sharmisthahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04438457905651250261noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3056513205110456805.post-34000070082239579262009-01-14T23:52:00.000+05:302009-01-15T00:31:28.731+05:30I often wonder why I am this way..I often wonder why I am this way<div>Why do I enjoy the setting sun<div>Why do I appreciate the moon rise</div><div>Why do I get calm by the swift wind</div><div>Why why???</div><div><br /></div><div>I often wonder why I am this way<br /></div><div>Why do I like to watch the violent surf</div><div>Why do I cherish the view of the patient lake</div><div>Why do I love the sound of cascading stream</div><div>Why why???</div><div><br /></div><div>I often wonder why I am this way<br /></div><div>Why do I adore the snow peaked mountains</div><div>Why do I fall for the green landscape</div><div>Why do I appraise the picturesque nature</div><div>Why why???</div><div><br /></div><div>I often wonder why I am this way<br /></div><div>Why do I freek out when I am lonely</div><div>Why do I crave for lonliness when I am in crowd</div><div>Why do I always have to deal with these mood swings</div><div>Why why???</div><div><br /></div><div>I often wonder why I am this way<br /></div><div>Why do I sometimes ask silly questions</div><div>Why do I sometimes act like a crazy fool</div><div>Why do I sometimes behave a bit clumsy</div><div>Why why???</div><div><br /></div><div>I often wonder why I am this way<br /></div><div>Why do I often regret my decisions</div><div>Why do I generally lack self-confidence</div><div>Why do I rarely trust my judgement</div><div>Why why???</div><div><br /></div><div>I often wonder why I am this way<br /></div><div>Why do I not savor the blissful moments</div><div>Why do I crib over the woebegone days</div><div>Why do I sometimes remain so sore</div><div>Why why???</div><div><br /></div><div>I often wonder why I am this way</div><div>Why do I always try to escape from love</div><div>Why do I not relsih the magic of life</div><div>Why do I still wish for more and more</div><div>Why why???</div><div><br /></div><div>This is the way I am from the start</div><div>A little determined and a lot more confused</div><div>A little naughty and a lot more charming</div><div>A little emotional and a lot more crazy</div><div>But my inquisition remains unanswered </div><div>As still I often wonder why I am this way..</div><div>Why why???</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div></div>Sharmisthahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04438457905651250261noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3056513205110456805.post-71307416695603208582009-01-11T22:44:00.000+05:302009-01-12T17:20:55.412+05:30Sometimes & Othertimes<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjbsbW9aAEk4yvmRW2kddaf7msrvRuOW1-rON4dUOg7nt7D5obwK1wljvk9xShN18uZ1l-yqvDLEH1P1XVvZn1447RDvaLZACg1Bt-vtlcQl-f7BNFh9rQbeewH-ucgn7hRPhuLh_8CCcY/s1600-h/ist1_4815696-time.jpg"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 110px; height: 76px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjbsbW9aAEk4yvmRW2kddaf7msrvRuOW1-rON4dUOg7nt7D5obwK1wljvk9xShN18uZ1l-yqvDLEH1P1XVvZn1447RDvaLZACg1Bt-vtlcQl-f7BNFh9rQbeewH-ucgn7hRPhuLh_8CCcY/s320/ist1_4815696-time.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5290099841780341682" /></a>Sometimes I feel that I am in the top of this world<div>But othertimes I feel that I am the down trodden one</div><div><br /></div><div>Sometimes I feel that I am amidst joy and happiness</div><div>But othertimes I feel that I am the one with sorrow and sadness</div><div><br /></div><div>Sometimes I feel that I have the warmth of love in me</div><div>But othertimes I feel that I have been the one to be stone cold</div><div><br /></div><div>Sometimes I feel that I have been bestowed with heavenly blessings</div><div>But othertimes I feel that I am the one who has never been blessed ever</div><div><br /></div><div>Sometimes I feel that being myself has been the best thing in my life</div><div>But othertimes I feel that I am just one featherhead goofying around</div><div><br /></div><div>Sometimes I feel that me and my luck go hand in hand</div><div>But othertimes I feel that I am the one who is star-crossed from the start</div><div><br /></div><div>Sometimes I feel that I have the vigor, espirit and impulse of life</div><div>But othertimes I feel that my heart and soul are long gone so now I am better off dead</div><div><br /></div><div>Times change and so do feelings...</div><div>What remains is a blurr of happiness... </div><div>A weather-beaten open wound of sadness...</div><div>And a huge bulk of eroded emotions...</div><div><br /></div><div> </div>Sharmisthahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04438457905651250261noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3056513205110456805.post-23754608727019714842009-01-02T18:45:00.000+05:302009-01-11T23:56:30.495+05:30I just wanna...<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjyxIJUs3gZFEfs13Pb1nLtmzjiikn1G_Z_k30L2ih8PZYshFSY-x-7iliedukx1wZDa2H36p6DK_0A78gj1hVoM0Rf-Jhkokrf_ZheckZTh2nLMLUAEQdYfo5xI5qkVvdru1ptQCCEFn8/s1600-h/ist1_2056316-enlightenment.jpg"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 79px; height: 110px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjyxIJUs3gZFEfs13Pb1nLtmzjiikn1G_Z_k30L2ih8PZYshFSY-x-7iliedukx1wZDa2H36p6DK_0A78gj1hVoM0Rf-Jhkokrf_ZheckZTh2nLMLUAEQdYfo5xI5qkVvdru1ptQCCEFn8/s200/ist1_2056316-enlightenment.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5286694949789199026" /></a><br />I just wanna sing a song today<div>Rap a tune of life, love and happiness </div><div>Rock everyone with my medley and melody </div><div>And then to it add a bit of my sweetness</div><div><br /></div><div>I just wanna dance today</div><div>Stomp and caper, romp and hop</div><div>Dance to the tune of life and sway</div><div>And use life as my available prop</div><div><br /></div><div>I just wanna fly today</div><div>Open my wings and soar high</div><div>Touch the glazed horizon and milky way</div><div>And enjoy my flight without a sigh</div><div><br /></div><div>I just wanna laugh today</div><div>Crack jokes and make funny faces</div><div>Forget all my worries and laugh away</div><div>And add liveliness to my dull senses</div><div><br /></div><div>I just wanna be in love today</div><div>Live a moment of ecstacy and heavenly bliss</div><div>Be in my beloved's arms all day</div><div>And savour the passion in a exotic kiss</div><div><br /></div>Sharmisthahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04438457905651250261noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3056513205110456805.post-88692436709428831932009-01-02T12:10:00.000+05:302009-01-12T00:24:12.221+05:30Me Vs Reality<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjy0zx1ouQazrXyGHlXs1roitzX4rzzvuVQLrC_y_mMP_bAOz8JX83AI2RNey-J485ZHT2slVy0Uka2KrrVl7rBggAX7SVyqv0zNydd8zzM6cS-oojMJ-yH1eG0yT1SWdpV1SLI4JRDaQ/s1600-h/pling081100019.jpg"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 147px; height: 168px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjy0zx1ouQazrXyGHlXs1roitzX4rzzvuVQLrC_y_mMP_bAOz8JX83AI2RNey-J485ZHT2slVy0Uka2KrrVl7rBggAX7SVyqv0zNydd8zzM6cS-oojMJ-yH1eG0yT1SWdpV1SLI4JRDaQ/s320/pling081100019.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5286582875041441906" /></a><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; font-family:arial;font-size:13px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;">Why did the sunshine not reach me</span></span><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;"> When I was the one waking for it </span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;">Why did the moon not shine on me</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;"> When I was the one praising it</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;">Are they just ignoring me...</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;"> Or are they just enjoying it</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;">Why did the breeze not cool me</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;"> When I stood face to face with it</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;">Why did the fire not warm me </span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;"> When I wanted the warmth from it</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;">Are they just playing games with me...</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;"> Or are they just enjoying it</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;">Why did the snow not moist me </span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;"> When I like playing with it</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;">Why did the spring not brighten me</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;"> When I sang songs to glorify it</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;">Are they just jeering at me... </span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;"> Or are they just enjoying it</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;"><br /></span></span></div><div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;">Why did words abandon me</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;"> When I desired to stick to it</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;">Why did tears dampen me</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;"> When I never longed for it</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;">Are they just teasing me...</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;"> Or are they just enjoying it</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;">Why did melody not rock me </span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;"> When I wished to dance to it</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;">Why did poetry not charm me </span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;"> When I loved to flow with it</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;">Are they just mocking me...</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;"> Or are they just enjoying it</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;">Why did love not gratify me</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;"> When I had my heart on it</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;">Why did life not content me </span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;"> When I dreamt to subsist on it</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;">Are they just sneering at me...</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;"> Or are they just enjoying it</span></span></div><div><br /></div></div></span>Sharmisthahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04438457905651250261noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3056513205110456805.post-26734491003011822502009-01-02T11:59:00.000+05:302009-01-12T00:25:49.649+05:30I Don't Know Why<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgh5gyKpTZp3OeqzFveSIgM_XK7ZO8FMntCrWVqLgGmDClaK0zZvrFsYmIbY0zQ093FbZfIS2jmOYojR2f2nMTjchlTHnaQEirQC3O-8y-GIHljaKpW2h1vTFi1QBQ4RUfivtIeBZ8OrzY/s1600-h/why.jpg"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 158px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgh5gyKpTZp3OeqzFveSIgM_XK7ZO8FMntCrWVqLgGmDClaK0zZvrFsYmIbY0zQ093FbZfIS2jmOYojR2f2nMTjchlTHnaQEirQC3O-8y-GIHljaKpW2h1vTFi1QBQ4RUfivtIeBZ8OrzY/s200/why.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5290111793213920866" /></a><br /><div>I wished to fly like a bird</div><div>Spread my wings and touch the blue sky</div><div>But now the thought is just so weird</div><div>And believe me I don't know why</div><div><br /></div><div>I desired to swim like the ducks</div><div>Floating angelic in the exotic spray</div><div>But now the idea just sucks</div><div>And belive me I don't know why</div><div><br /></div><div>I longed to run as fast as a fawn</div><div>Feeling the breeze and to just run away</div><div>But now I am just another forlorn</div><div>And believe me I don't know why</div><div><br /></div><div>I enjoyed walking in the rain</div><div>Getting wet and smiling all way</div><div>But now I am wet with tears and pain</div><div>And believe me I don't know why</div><div><br /></div><div>I used to laugh like kids</div><div>Full of innocence and was once shy</div><div>But now I just cry for my deeds</div><div>And believe me I don't know why</div><div><br /></div><div>I thought growing up was great</div><div>Doing what I want and having my own way</div><div>But now growing old is another fret</div><div>And believe me I don't know why</div><div><br /></div><div>I believed to be loved</div><div>Is the most beautiful feeling full of ecsatcy</div><div>But now I am afraid of being loved</div><div>And believe me I don't know why</div><div><br /></div><div>I wanted to savour life throughout</div><div>Spreading happiness, fun and joy</div><div>But now the idea seems to be old n out</div><div>And believe me I don't why</div><div><br /></div>Sharmisthahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04438457905651250261noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3056513205110456805.post-46040696894772055802008-05-23T11:59:00.000+05:302008-12-09T15:21:31.569+05:30Ironies of life....<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEizzSG1cy-Hsbrmd1LF4wNvGM0f3rspE7cEgnFT11m0bLEJ2rFDe_DsNFx3opfPib-shru-jBWV9b0u2WasZAkfmdfxPJe0KdPMbB0oH0ar-Xs-5pEKX1GMoH4I0Em74pYI4eS2S2QOYTc/s1600-h/mei25001.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEizzSG1cy-Hsbrmd1LF4wNvGM0f3rspE7cEgnFT11m0bLEJ2rFDe_DsNFx3opfPib-shru-jBWV9b0u2WasZAkfmdfxPJe0KdPMbB0oH0ar-Xs-5pEKX1GMoH4I0Em74pYI4eS2S2QOYTc/s200/mei25001.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5203461119065277842" border="0" /></a>Sometimes when I sit back I wonder why is it me who has to face so amny problems in life. I know I am not that optimistic though my sun sign (Taurus) claims that I am a very optimistic person.<br /><br />I know most of us always think that way but why? Eveyone is destined to have his/her share of happiness and sorrows then why do we crib for little things? When we know that we are not capable of something then why do we cry when we don't achieve those? When we know all the odds of life then why do we blame other when we fail to do something?<br /><br />The answer is simple; in everything we do, whatever the case may be we always think of ourselves. Its always Me that matters and it will always be that way. We try to blame others and our luck for our failure coz we want someone else to be blamed so that we can escape the consequenses. But is it that? Do we really escape the consequenses? No, but still we tend to do the escaping part - and thats the irony of life.<br /><br />Ooops!!! I forgot I was talking about myself.... ya now a days I am feeling a bit low... those who know me must be wondering what has happened to me...So guys I am not getting crazy... but this is the my irony of life ;)Sharmisthahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04438457905651250261noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3056513205110456805.post-79199767178927632212007-10-27T07:00:00.000+05:302007-10-26T18:18:38.661+05:30Chak De!!!!!!!!Last saturday had the delight of watching Chak De. I liked the movie a lot. The spirit of unity is defined properly. <br /><br />The character Kabir Khan played by Sharukh Khan is someone with a vision and mission in life. He is the one who knows how to face the problems and not just run away from it. He had waited 7 long years to strike back and get honour back. His confidence in himself and his plan is the foundation to his success. This character teaches us to believe in ourself and to identify the key skills in us that will only lead to success.<br /><br />This movie as in whole teaches us : <br />- that the most difficult situation can be tackled by working as a team rather then trying to tackle it individually. <br />- time management<br />- to be ready for any situation that comes our way comes and to give our best shot always<br /><br />This is my interpretation of the movie, absolutely no offence to any one.Sharmisthahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04438457905651250261noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3056513205110456805.post-42568290046290381082007-06-28T12:04:00.000+05:302007-06-28T12:34:01.948+05:30Please Come Back SoonEvery now and then<br />In sunshine and in rain<br /><br />My thoughts fly to you<br />And I seem to forget all pain<br /><br />Of being so far from you<br />But in a second all seems so vain<br /><br />When i realize you are away<br />And my senses painfully regain<br /><br />To urge you to come back to me<br />And allow my ailing to drain<br /><br />Please Come Back Soon...Sharmisthahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04438457905651250261noreply@blogger.com1