tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-56628130305962324472024-03-13T07:50:41.774-07:00New BlossomsManjari Shuklahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00230266319531711538noreply@blogger.comBlogger71125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5662813030596232447.post-17104316636930838912014-02-20T19:22:00.002-08:002014-02-20T19:22:55.282-08:00The morning puzzle...<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<span style="background: white; color: #222222; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";">The morning itself was a
puzzle. A puzzle, may be known to me, but difficult to be solved. What was this
exactly, the mind was trying to decipher. The puzzle entered the psyche slowly
when I was about to sleep at night, and when in the morning I woke up, it was standing
on my Mind’s door, waiting to be unlocked and sorted. I wanted that before
solving it out completely, let me try all those things which can answer the
query of this puzzle, but to no avail, it was as strong as before and finally
decided to be sorted out only with my indulgence and involvement in it. Like
the dry leaves of a twig, it appeared, which try getting solace after falling
from tree to the land; their final abode. The puzzle was silent, and was not
giving any hint to me, so that I can solve it soon, I was fed up after a while,
and it continued looking at me with forlorn eyes. The day was passing at its
swift rate and I was puzzled by this “puzzle”, neither I was getting a way out,
nor anything else, I tried my best to solve this, but to no avail again. The
mind’s entrance was occupied by this, and no other thought was trying to enter,
as if, all were patiently with the puzzle, waiting…once it gets solved, then
we’ll enter the zone was their mantra for the day…but…I was feeling uneasy now,
one thought, that too a puzzle, about which
I don’t know is standing and waiting; finally Mom brought breakfast for
me, and I thought maybe this will help, the first sip of tea started removing
the image of puzzle from my psyche, what was it actually, a hangover may be or
something which only required a mom-made tea and breakfast, finally I realized,
I was at home and Not in hostel, and hence this big question mark of morning
tea was standing on the mind’s door and finally I got rid of it. The waiting
thoughts entered the mind and then finally I had a good day. <b><o:p></o:p></b></span></div>
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Manjari Shuklahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00230266319531711538noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5662813030596232447.post-51721692829849633292014-02-19T19:22:00.001-08:002014-02-19T19:22:42.758-08:00HOUSE OF CARDS<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<span style="background: white; color: #222222; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";"><b>HOUSE
OF CARDS</b> by Sudha Murthy, presents a simple straightforward story with which
one can connect so justly. Mridula, the female protagonist from a small village
takes us to her world with so much love and admiration. The feelings and
emotions which she undergoes, never appears to be exaggerated or made up, they
are so real and worldly. Sanjay, her husband, who once showed tremendous faith
on her and believed in her being, gradually loses all hope in her, and gets
himself so much engrossed in the world of wealth. Their child Shishir, on the
track of his dad, starts neglecting and taking for granted the woman, because
of whom he has a being, in this world. Mridula becomes a constant sufferer at the
hands of husband, son and relatives; and to top it all, she one day realises
that she is being financially cheated by the one, she has given her entire life
to. She is heartbroken, and decides to leave the place, leaving everything
behind, and going to Aladahalli, the birth place of hers, far from the madding
crowd of Banglore, where she spent almost 25 years of her life , with her
husband and son. The heartbreak of hers soon starts to heal when she being in
an optimistic note starts living her life in Aladahalli, and one day, when
realisation dawns on Shishir in England about what a woman is, and how she
should be treated, the child calls up the father, to make him realise the fault
he is committing, no matter whatever be the reason. Sanjay realises the
shortcomings, with which he met Mridula, an able- woman in all respects twenty
five years ago, and still she accepted him with no expectations. He feels
ashamed of himself and decides to apologise to her leaving behind his ego,
which was always bragging about this or that. The novel ends on a
reconcialiatory note where Sanjay realises the fault he has committed towards
the woman who actually made everything for him and their life together, leaving
aside all her personal aspirations. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="background: white; color: #222222; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";">The significance
of the title can be interpreted in such a way that, life is more or less like a
house of cards, so delicate that it can be blown to pieces, just with a spurt
of air. The relations we make in life are like threads which should be well
protected and taken care of; any relation, if taken for granted collapses like
a house of cards. What Mridula built with utmost love reached a point in her
life where her Self was being questioned, there was no way out, but to leave
the abode which she made with so much affection and care, but what is said, that
good deeds never go in vain; in the end, the realisation dawns on Sanjay, that
how much Mridula is important for him and his family. The novel ends when he
comes back to her in Aladahalli, so as to reconcile and mend everything, which
broke because of his negligence and “taken-for-granted” attitude.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="background: white; color: #222222; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";">A
wonderful read, and something with which one can connect effortlessly.</span></div>
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Manjari Shuklahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00230266319531711538noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5662813030596232447.post-35775592711589330152014-02-17T19:59:00.000-08:002014-02-17T19:59:00.953-08:00<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<span style="background-color: white; font-family: arial;"><span style="font-size: large;">The replacement is not possible, because it can never be. The nature you are a part of, and the expectation I hold on to are nothing but a desire to be a part of you. The simplicity you carry with your being and the craziness, I hold on are very different, still the essence of being together never lessens. The moments captured drift slowly into numbness, but this state of being numb is equally alive like the heart beats and breathing of a common man. The reason to be with you is known to me, still the strangeness and newness at the same time, takes me off from my real "Me". All this is needed for articulation, to make you understand that the replacement is not possible, it depends now on you , what you think of the whole issue....</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhTawo8yJr4HcWMLIftadeIc7yS2Cfq2-7SyjyiS8ISaq_bA3Lv0wr2CDVYa3_v5UJwMEvESKByQ9fRbougXUEg-nI5pf8QSFez_QzjCJrnp3HBVHaCDWHqHYVq7ZQEgJ0JJoV41c-NSGM/s1600/images+this.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhTawo8yJr4HcWMLIftadeIc7yS2Cfq2-7SyjyiS8ISaq_bA3Lv0wr2CDVYa3_v5UJwMEvESKByQ9fRbougXUEg-nI5pf8QSFez_QzjCJrnp3HBVHaCDWHqHYVq7ZQEgJ0JJoV41c-NSGM/s1600/images+this.jpg" /></a></span></div>
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Manjari Shuklahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00230266319531711538noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5662813030596232447.post-39576225724698054692014-02-11T07:18:00.001-08:002014-02-11T07:18:54.516-08:00<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<span style="background: white; color: #222222; font-family: "Mangal","serif"; font-size: 9.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">The randomness to be,is
taking me to heights, unachieved and not even thought of, by anyone, it is all
pleasure and pleasure, but the inner spirit is feeling a turmoil from within,
what is it actually, the randomness is so dynamic ,that it is taking me out of
my senses to a land unknown, unseen, unreached and at the same time utmost satisfaction is
lingering around, the sentence is loosing the control, and the focus is
shifting too, still it is going on and on and on, and still so much is left to
be said, how to hold my flow, is the question, I am unaware of, still the flow
is maintained, all rubbish, still making atleast some sense. . . .<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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Manjari Shuklahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00230266319531711538noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5662813030596232447.post-19877850835408639972013-06-05T11:32:00.002-07:002013-06-05T11:32:53.385-07:00Photographs<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Photographs are <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">memories in concrete form,<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">capturing the abstract moments, and<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">emotions.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">The moments really<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Lose the ephemerality,<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">And<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Get a lifetime of eternity.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">What we feel<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">To be momentary<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">In a moment,<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Is made eternal<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Once<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">We click.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<o:p><span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></o:p></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Some memories transform into<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Photographs,<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">And some photographs transmogrify into<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Memories.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">There so much<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">In every moment,<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">And there is so much<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">In every click.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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Manjari Shuklahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00230266319531711538noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5662813030596232447.post-59826625089451345262013-05-30T20:38:00.001-07:002013-05-30T20:38:16.755-07:00Rain... :)<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">The scorching heat of the month
of May in India suddenly got removed by a wonderful shower of rain, the breeze
which was too very hot and painful, suddenly became, soothing and perfect in
every sense. The weather was unraveling its best mood, and trying to mesmerize everyone
with its magical spell of rain. I stood by the window, and kept gazing at the
sky, from which raindrops trickled down continuously, as if celebrating
something, and outpouring happiness, more happiness. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Each raindrop was having a whole
store of happiness within itself, the moment it fell on my window sill, it
actually filled me with the happiness, which it was holding in itself. Slowly,
the drops created a small pool of happiness, and suddenly a small sparrow came
from somewhere, sat near the pool, and had a gulp of water for its thirsty
neck, it too was glad. While it was having the gulp of happiness from the rain
water pool, I was hiding beside the window sill, observing it, but not making
it aware of my presence. It was lovely, to see the small sparrow quench its
thirst. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It rested for a while, to keep
itself dry from the rain, and when the showers stopped for a while, it flew to its
nest, which was on a nearby tree.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">All was so good, and really an
oft quoted statement came to my mind, that if one really hunts for happiness,
it can be felt in the most common things, at times even those things, which are
beyond our visualization when we are not in a mood to look for happiness and
contentment, but if we actually look for happiness, it holds our hands, and
shows us what was lying in front of us…. and then really every little aspect of
life bestows on us a full bag of happiness, sheer happiness.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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Manjari Shuklahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00230266319531711538noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5662813030596232447.post-32478016793308159522013-05-20T20:35:00.001-07:002013-05-20T20:35:43.138-07:00Those Best Times...<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<br />
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<span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">The breeze blowing near the sea shore, reminded me of the
wonderful tides, on which we rode our steamer, when we were kids. Everything was
mesmerizing, beautiful and just the way we thought it to be, now after so many
years, when my brother and I am married, we have family; often when we meet our
mom and dad in the summer breaks, I long to visit those times, once again which
we treaded so very happily in the company of one another. Our mom and dad, are
now staying with each other, and we two working and staying with our family a
bit away from them, we talk on phone every day, and even visit them at small
intervals, to have lunch and dinner, with our better halves and kids, but those
get togethers are momentary, and when we leave, they both are again left only
with each other. The walk, I often take near the sea shore reminds me of all
those times which passed like a wink of an eye… and now after so many years, we
have only memories to cherish and nothing else. If I had a time machine, I would
have taken a trip down to the memory lane, and would have stayed as long as
possible with my family, and would have stretched all the favourite moments to
eternity, but I guess, that is quite impossible, still I long to have a time
machine… No doubt, I am happy with my husband and family, still those moments
spent with my family were I guess, the best ever in the whole life time.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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Manjari Shuklahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00230266319531711538noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5662813030596232447.post-26494206264871185522013-05-18T08:43:00.000-07:002013-05-18T08:43:10.337-07:00Painter’s Soul in a Writer <div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 10pt; text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-IN" style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;">With
a pen in hand, as if compared to a painter’s brush, I decided to write
something, compared as an art piece of a painter…this is something too close to
my soul, just like a painting close to an artist’s soul…something which defines
myself, my attributes, my concerns, and my choices… . The canvas was the paper
on which I decided to write…I think scribbling will be<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>a better word… just like a painter, I picked
up the pen, which in an artist’s case will be a painting brush…I saw the white
sheet in front of me…thought what to write, compose, indite … then waited for a
while… rose from the chair on which I was sitting… decided to go near the
window, and felt the monsoon like weather all over me… it was raining outside….
I came back to my writing space, and once again thought to continue with my
scribbling, hoping this time a new concept might emerge… as an artist, I once
again dipped the brush of my writing into the tub of a conscious colour, decided
to add some water… that is something fluid, or more adaptable to my thought
process… . To enhance the painting I decided to add bright colours… (please
follow that this is something which I am writing, not something which a painter
might paint)…one can interpret this as… a photograph of writing, taken from a
painter’s camera… the colours here will be the conscious and unconscious
thoughts, the brush will be the pen with which I am scribbling, waiting to make
an art piece… in this case it will be a write-up, probably a poem, or a prose…
once again I joined hands with my writing companion(i.e. pen)… and the
scribbling finally came out to be a prose piece, which you are reading now… I
truly enjoyed this small journey, realised myself to be in a painter’s shoe as
well as a writer’s garb… truly liked it… how about you…?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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Manjari Shuklahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00230266319531711538noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5662813030596232447.post-24641474176853407562013-05-11T23:38:00.002-07:002013-05-11T23:38:53.648-07:00Mother…<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Mother… is in my opinion, more than a human being, she is
truly a face, or extension of God…As it is said, since God cannot be everywhere
with his children, he made mothers… they are beyond definition, explanation,
anything… an epitome of love, care, understanding, hope, joy, advice…etc…etc…
They are a shelter, a place of solace, a tree’s shade, a feeling without
explanation, a gesture, so pristine… since the day we are here in this world,
we are because of our parents, and our mother has truly been a companion all
the while… though many a time, differences of opinion lead to a break in any
human relation, but a relation with a our mother, is beyond all these
dimensions… even though many a time, we hurt her by our behavior, still she is
the only one by our side, no matter whatever happens… A friend, a guide, a
teacher… and the list is ad infintum… Our mother is one such being, for whom,
whatever is said, is always less… She is a Giver, throughout, no matter whether
we care or not. She is always with us, in presence or in absentia, she traces
our emotions very nicely, even if we do not say anything to her… She knows us
best… and no one can ever know us more than Her…<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">She is a blessing to be cherished forever…<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Happy Mother’s Day to All Mothers<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEig-QCO16XLJ-ufgvxs5Zbiyzymyty_5QZrigDtA-WtvRJoEc9YviPT0XwBbKW_F3H5RvEvoLVtN-sPLlOXuFSzhf9dNC-2KT_YcljMbR3t-ENE8EHzfRa9J4QHMCxZoPYGwAaB9hCOtpI/s1600/mother-holding-baby-child_67639567-660x400.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="193" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEig-QCO16XLJ-ufgvxs5Zbiyzymyty_5QZrigDtA-WtvRJoEc9YviPT0XwBbKW_F3H5RvEvoLVtN-sPLlOXuFSzhf9dNC-2KT_YcljMbR3t-ENE8EHzfRa9J4QHMCxZoPYGwAaB9hCOtpI/s320/mother-holding-baby-child_67639567-660x400.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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Manjari Shuklahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00230266319531711538noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5662813030596232447.post-49799231493003026262013-05-10T07:04:00.000-07:002013-05-10T07:04:57.450-07:00Standing by the mirror...<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Standing by the mirror, I came
across a flood of memories, which engulfed me for a while in such a way, that I
was not able to believe, that what I actually am now, is someone, who has
undergone a sea change in the last many, many years… the one standing in front
of the mirror, is a collection of many individual selves, which has been
transformed in the course of time… and the transformation has been so very
gradual, and slow, that my individual self was not able to interpret the
change, but yes… the change today, in a sudden flash of moment, came to be
visible to me, when I was combing my hair, to go to a party… the way I used to
comb my hair in childhood, the way I dressed and got ready for school, my
college days, my marriage, and after the kids… all came alive to me, in a
sudden chain of events, and finally when I draped in a blue chiffon sari,
looked at myself, dressed in the mirror, I realised, truly time’s winged
chariot has taken me, from a land of childhood, to the present place, and
everything in the journey had been worthwhile, ups and downs are very much a
part of every existence, but what I am today is someone, I really adore and
revere, and this journey is only made worthwhile, because of the people, who
have been my constant companions, and those who left in the journey, taught me
lessons, I should never ever forget… altogether, it was a worthy voyage… I was
still appreciating and enjoying, each strand of those memories, which suddenly
took me to a long lost land, but… was interrupted by a voice… it was my
husband, calling me to come downstairs for the party. Just like a dream,
dissolving itself into unconscious, once we are suddenly awake, I too, was
brought to the present time, the memories, vanished somewhere near the corner
of mirror… I hope, someday again they will meet me… and I would love to
remember every small moment, which life has given me.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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Manjari Shuklahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00230266319531711538noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5662813030596232447.post-58140314833573933052013-05-05T07:16:00.001-07:002013-05-05T07:16:49.180-07:00Glimpse of Love in Indian Cinema<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Love as reiterated in movies, specially Indian movies, almost every time takes the viewers to a fantastical, make believe world… a world, so full of love, that every dimension of it is overflowing with nothing, but love. Love is the guiding principle, love is the air, love… love… love is everywhere…. And nothing else… the boy is in love, the girl is in love, and the environment too is supporting by putting forward the love. No doubt, the Indian cinema shows, obstacles, problems, and unwanted situations in the life of both the protagonists, but the power of love is beyond any measures… it acts as a healing principle, acts as a powerful weapon, removing all the obstacles coming in its way. The songs too are full of the lovey-dovey kind, and all of them present love with a different edge...The final reconciliation happens, and the viewers are happy to leave the theatre, with an ephemeral happiness, which seems to be eternal for a while. The new cinema trends are changing and many a time, the reconciliation is not with the hero and heroine getting married, and marching forth to a land of Happily Ever After… but these days a number of movies show, how love as a power is conquering every dimension of not only body but soul of the lover. Even death is involved in the narrative, so as to make the impact of love as an emotion more powerful, rather than, just getting married, and being in the family way. The trends have changed, the dimensions modified, but still the charm of presenting love in Indian Cinema, is as good as new.
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7Uu7tBhWX7xj6ojSVSREjjknoQnMXHxkLYywg3dft0XuwsFDaxm55IbLcU9cFyXXsYLz3pRsM1Q5hqSgINVzwpsJY2qI4Sz5msWwWJftRjtaSAbzlOYYJzzTnCibSH8wVkRRCfuPxHos/s1600/love2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" lua="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7Uu7tBhWX7xj6ojSVSREjjknoQnMXHxkLYywg3dft0XuwsFDaxm55IbLcU9cFyXXsYLz3pRsM1Q5hqSgINVzwpsJY2qI4Sz5msWwWJftRjtaSAbzlOYYJzzTnCibSH8wVkRRCfuPxHos/s320/love2.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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Manjari Shuklahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00230266319531711538noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5662813030596232447.post-88137572664990385552013-04-20T08:32:00.000-07:002013-04-20T08:32:32.315-07:00Literature<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Literature in itself is like a sea, so full of choicest and best gifts. The pearls are scattered throughout the vastness of this great sea. The pearls, of different shapes, sizes, volumes, and what not. Reading literature leaves a great impact on the readers, and if not read, they are capable of influencing or motivating people, even if they are narrated, and heard from someone. It appears to be of great worth, that whether one is, or one is not a student of literature, literature is very much the “breath and finer spirit” of all existence. In one or the other way, literature appears in front of us, and we are more or less, either affected by it, or guided by it. Its strands are various, and each strand is so complete in itself, that at times, it appears, each means in literature, leads to its own ends. Whether it is the Charm of Classics, epistolary novels, Fiction, Pulp Fiction, Comics, fan fiction, Poetry, Drama etc…etc… All are so complete in their forms, that it really makes one believe in the existence of another world through literature. It is even said, what is once lost, can be relived through literature. The world of literature is truly like a vast sea, with enormous waves of appealing aspects. It is so very soothing to travel through this sea, which always lands us in an unknown, unexplored land. The impact of it is so very powerful, that no matter what phase of life we are going through, it is always going to leave on us, such an impression, that for a while, we surely feel relaxed, and motivated. The literary world has magical charms, and each time our visit into this scintillating area, very much like a vast sea, makes us spellbound, probably because a fairy with her literary wand, each time touches us, and makes us, know of ourselves more, and that too in a better light.
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Manjari Shuklahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00230266319531711538noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5662813030596232447.post-33907598679341395622013-04-19T08:13:00.002-07:002013-04-19T08:34:27.534-07:00Dickens Revisited<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">It’s a <b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Tale of Two Cities</i></b>, where two boys lived, <b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">David Copperfield</i></b> and <b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Oliver Twist</i></b>. They were the best of friends and worked from the two cities for the same company named <b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Pickwick Papers</i></b>. They first met each other in a <b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Christmas Carol</i></b> at <b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Bleak House</i></b>, where the owner of the company gave the party. The host was a noble man and had <b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Great Expectations</i></b> from himself to please all his guests, his son was <b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Little Dorrit</i></b>, who engaged himself in studies throughout the day. He had a big library where all his favourite books were lined up, the favourite was an incomplete work of a great writer, entitled <b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">The Mystery of Edwin Drood</i>. <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">David Copperfield</i></b> and <b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Oliver Twist</i></b> came to know each other in the party, and a lifelong friendship was started in them. One day they planned to visit the famous bookshop in town, <b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">The Old Curiosity Shop</i></b>, to buy something for <b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Little Dorrit</i></b>. To their astonishment they met Charles Dickens, who was present there for the release of his new book.
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Manjari Shuklahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00230266319531711538noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5662813030596232447.post-18679212069668458242013-04-17T23:29:00.001-07:002013-04-17T23:29:48.100-07:00Literary Theory : My Way<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
Literary theory has always been a terrain, unexplored for me, the more I want to know about it, the more secrets it reveals to me. Many strands of theory and theoretical discourses often make me think and ponder about so many facets of a single idea, or view. We have so many glasses on our eyes, and I think theory gives us a freedom to choose any one of the glasses, and thereby allow us to give our views and opinions. Truly, it is having the power to make us realise the timelessness of a work of art. As many angles, as many interpretations. We are free enough to choose more than one glass for our eyes to make us believe on various ideologies and interpretations at a single moment of time. Reading a text is the first step towards analysis, the second reading gives us an insight, and how a text is unfolding itself starts appearing to us on our mental horizon, a brief knowledge of theories, help us to locate the text on that level, which seems perfect to us. Theory gives us a freedom, to interpret. We don’t need any yardstick to prove our point, a singular text can have infinite observations, by a singular reader, and it also gives us a choice to stick to one or more than one ideas at the same time. The world of theories is unique in itself, it’s a path where one can tread for as long as one wants, no barriers are there, a freedom of spirit, to articulate and express oneself, as the way one wants.<br />
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Manjari Shuklahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00230266319531711538noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5662813030596232447.post-56261985059015712622013-04-17T07:38:00.000-07:002013-04-17T07:38:07.937-07:00So simple ...<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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So simple and delicate it was, fresh as the first ray of the morning and so beautiful that no image in the world can be compared to it. I was thrilled to have it in my bare palms, it was so very soft, and appeared to be alive with its own liveliness and spark. I was mesmerized by its beauty, and the moment for me appeared to freeze, when it landed on my palm, from somewhere above. I wanted to hold it, but its delicateness, held me from imprisoning it, even for a small while, I continuously looked at it, so pristine in appearance it was, slowly a gush of wind came and it took the small tiny feather with itself to a far unknown land. I was held back by the moment for a while, when the whole thing happened with me. I still remember the softness, the pristinity of the delicate small feather, which eventually gave me a moment worth cherishing forever.<br />
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Manjari Shuklahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00230266319531711538noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5662813030596232447.post-42699950145105802013-04-12T21:26:00.002-07:002013-04-12T21:26:42.122-07:00Rain drops on a broken column...<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Rain drops on a broken column<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Made me remember about my childhood plays…<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Making paper boats,<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Dancing madly in the rain,<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Getting drenched in water,<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Mom’s calling us to come back,<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Our return,<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">For the Bhajjias and tea…<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">And a homely get together.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">At a far distance,<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Clouds were seen,<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Accumulating themselves for the next shower,<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Slowly and steadily,<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">The group of clouds<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Started their drifting journey,<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Towards the town, and<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Lo!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">It started raining again, <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Few drops first appear,<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">On the window column of my house,<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Then a full bag<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Of raindrops,<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Let themselves loose…<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">And once again,<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Its rain, rain everywhere…<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGk1t1MSCckh-8u9Uu0lFWr4yrAhhBiYMFoMPMQu3GXvz8jrELpvQgeIIo_LShccQqGY7Yxiav_Wo91w4d7orrZzfESjJTNmXt-jMy2FkZTjEiifvC-XpURMP-XMWUBFyLcaWNRcFmJ4c/s1600/boat.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" bua="true" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGk1t1MSCckh-8u9Uu0lFWr4yrAhhBiYMFoMPMQu3GXvz8jrELpvQgeIIo_LShccQqGY7Yxiav_Wo91w4d7orrZzfESjJTNmXt-jMy2FkZTjEiifvC-XpURMP-XMWUBFyLcaWNRcFmJ4c/s320/boat.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
</div>
Manjari Shuklahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00230266319531711538noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5662813030596232447.post-45752341503058771422013-04-11T22:55:00.000-07:002013-04-11T22:55:35.829-07:00but Happy I am…<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Throbbing with life, bubbling with joy, they are my feelings, which are making me, feel so very happy and contented, that I am forced to articulate them in words. They are appearing to me, from within as dancing sylphs, beautiful are they… Merry making, inside me, and making me smile… even though I am alone, and by myself, talking to no one, nor sharing anything worth smiling… slowly they are engaging themselves, probably to the happiness vein in my body, and making me feel elated and gratified… this happiness is probably beyond definition, but Happy I am… and will be, I guess forever…
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjUMa7BxjBDCBrV6lRiXn3Qsk5XnVbj3we_8-xxK3Q0MrO90w6pMY_4acTkaaD5_aCPtCRyAJJfplmeFOfo1CanvBcK_Q1sPqsPWAeUMuzpVd9C_deAu-ONR5_n_gvYG67uqiL5eHgCMZU/s1600/HAPPYALONE.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" bua="true" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjUMa7BxjBDCBrV6lRiXn3Qsk5XnVbj3we_8-xxK3Q0MrO90w6pMY_4acTkaaD5_aCPtCRyAJJfplmeFOfo1CanvBcK_Q1sPqsPWAeUMuzpVd9C_deAu-ONR5_n_gvYG67uqiL5eHgCMZU/s320/HAPPYALONE.jpg" width="217" /></a></div>
<o:p></o:p></span></div>
</div>
Manjari Shuklahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00230266319531711538noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5662813030596232447.post-6402186730314339552013-04-11T08:27:00.001-07:002013-04-11T08:27:12.697-07:00The spirit left the body ...<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
The spirit left the body quietly, peacefully, when the body was relishing a sound sleep, after a night full of pain and turmoil. It saw, itself in the mirror, no form, just a formless presence, a bit weird, but still present. The body was lying lifeless. No movements, nothing…just lying… like a log of wood. The spirit, looked at it… the place where it existed for so many years. The frame has now made itself, so very pathetic, it thought. The body appears to be weak in appearance, because of the prolonged disease. The cravings, crying, moaning at nights, all are now silent… so strange, it appears, one moment back, everything was trying itself inside the body, to keep the spirit with itself, and one moment after everything is so very calmly silent, that this silence appears to be more soothing.<br />
<br />
<br />
Suddenly, there is creaking of the door, a boy comes in, sees the body thinking it to be still alive, calling slowly, “Grandma, how are you feeling now?” The spirit is very much there, standing and staring, trying to figure out, what is happening? Since after the spirit has left the body, it is failing to recognize any bonds associated to the mortal frame. The boy is trying to decipher the silence of the body, but to no avail. He cries for the Doctor, a woman, along with a man, enters the cabin (the Doctor and a nurse). They examine the frame, and declare it to be dead. The boy starts weeping, holding the frame. The spirit is watching everything, but is not able to figure out the reason, probably because all bonds are lost after entering this new zone, DEATH; about which the spirit itself is unaware, it leaves the place in a confused state, but is unknowingly calm from within.<br />
<br />
</div>
Manjari Shuklahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00230266319531711538noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5662813030596232447.post-61366919104516280512013-04-09T21:52:00.002-07:002013-04-09T21:52:42.056-07:00Words have melted ...<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<div style="line-height: 200%; text-align: justify;">
<span style="color: #222222; font-family: 'Helvetica','sans-serif'; font-size: 10.5pt; line-height: 200%;">Words have melted themselves into an ocean of feelings, appearing as if they were always meant to be there only. Pristine were they, in their appearance, and made me ponder about how they actually emerged through me, out of a nowhere... no doubt, they were full of different shades, and each shade was pure, clear, and extremely beautiful, I was thrilled, when they started appearing on the surface of my consciousness, but suddenly when they realised that there is no outlet, because of some unavoidable conditions, they decided among themselves to melt themselves in the ocean of feelings... slowly and steadily they melted, and dissolved in the ocean... and the entire surface was now silent, the consciousness forgot their existence; but in the subconscious, they were present, hiding, and blinking even after being <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>melted... and I decided to give them a form, though many emotions are still unraveled, probably all of them, but their emergence on my mental horizon forced me to articulate them, though hidden, but present in their absence from consciousness.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
</div>
Manjari Shuklahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00230266319531711538noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5662813030596232447.post-1838028812410502172013-04-08T10:01:00.000-07:002013-04-08T10:01:09.204-07:00Is existence there...<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
At times, what we feel is actually partially true, and we feel it to be the whole truth, the fact is that probably at times, we are only aware of one side of the coin, and are sure of the other half, but, we never know, that probably a twist lies on the other half. Many a time, situations in life, make us realize, how much we are required in a particular place, how much we are capable enough to accomplish any task, but if suddenly something happens and we are brought back to reality that it is not we, who are doing a particular task, but the tasks are unraveling themselves on their own, and we who claimed to be a part of the task, are actually not at all, a single element in the whole story, then we actually come across the whole idea of our existence.<br />
<br />
<br />
So, is existence there, or its just a twist in the tale??<br />
<br />
</div>
Manjari Shuklahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00230266319531711538noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5662813030596232447.post-60393287688215884772012-10-18T02:14:00.000-07:002012-10-18T02:14:27.126-07:00The Dewed Twigs<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-IN;">The dewed
twigs<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-IN;">were
dangling in the breeze,<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-IN;"><o:p> </o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-IN;">When the
sunlight fell on them<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-IN;">It
appeared as if they are<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-IN;">gleaming
with golden gold like hues...<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-IN;"><o:p> </o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-IN;"><o:p> </o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-IN;">Beautiful
were they...<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-IN;">So
fresh...<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-IN;">So
soothing to look at..<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-IN;"><o:p> </o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-IN;">I felt
like<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-IN;">Standing
by them...<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-IN;">for <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-IN;">eternity...<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-IN;"><o:p> </o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-IN;"><o:p> </o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-IN;">Slowly
the time<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-IN;">started
travelling on his winged chariot...<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-IN;">as it
always does...<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-IN;"><o:p> </o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-IN;">The
morning started converting itself<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-IN;">Into
day...<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-IN;">Making
the twigs<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-IN;">devoid of
those dew drops,<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-IN;">which
were embellishments<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-IN;">for them
in the morning...<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-IN;"><o:p> </o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-IN;">Painful
was it…<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-IN;">But as
elders say,<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-IN;">“Time
changes everything”…<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-IN;">So it was
like this…<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-IN;"><o:p> </o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-IN;">The dewed
twigs got transformed,<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-IN;">But it
was sure, the next day will add a new hue <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-IN;">To them.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<o:p><span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></o:p></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgwWp0X9NEpCsXCyQfwL1i8IlyMAxuhPG_sSzG5XL4M74Qh-i7az8oFRGlVkn8w_xCRyXCxCHsyM0kW2avJGuMy_pwb5aNAfaqHXdu7wZ96A6lOAnBv7tTIdwF6D69vpj-pV1UqrCl7OoY/s1600/leaf-macro-dew.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgwWp0X9NEpCsXCyQfwL1i8IlyMAxuhPG_sSzG5XL4M74Qh-i7az8oFRGlVkn8w_xCRyXCxCHsyM0kW2avJGuMy_pwb5aNAfaqHXdu7wZ96A6lOAnBv7tTIdwF6D69vpj-pV1UqrCl7OoY/s320/leaf-macro-dew.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
</div>
Manjari Shuklahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00230266319531711538noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5662813030596232447.post-56371753955757104222012-06-02T06:16:00.002-07:002012-06-02T06:16:24.779-07:00<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt; vertical-align: top;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 10.5pt; line-height: 115%;">Rolling
down from the valley, the boulder finally fell into the nearby lake, was the
fate of the boulder this?? Or was it something else…no one knows, but still it
lost its original position in the valley just to fall in the lake, which was at
the end of the valley. Dripping dew was wetting everything around and the wetty
atmosphere was adding new hues to my deplorable condition. The rays of the sun
were trying to penetrate the walls of the castle just to get a glance of the
situation what was going on inside….tumbling down the hill they fell with a
pale of water…what is going on????...hey…I am asking you….yes…you…if nothing is
happening what is this which you have written……….stream of my scattered
thoughts which came to my mind right now and I jotted them down….still
thinking…no…not you….but You….yes You…You are still thinking….carry on………..<o:p></o:p></span></div>
</div>Manjari Shuklahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00230266319531711538noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5662813030596232447.post-14489698236820562892012-05-19T08:44:00.002-07:002013-10-20T21:37:04.560-07:00Lost in the maze of thoughts…<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="-ms-text-justify: inter-ideograph; margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Lost
in the maze of thoughts, my mind found a thought which was lying in a corner of
my conscience, it was an old one, and hence, the dust of memories have covered
it from top to toe, I found it while I was brushing the shelves of my
conscience. It was silent and did not move, as I tried coming close to it..
</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Suddenly a sound penetrated my conscience, the silent thought regained itself, and a
slight movement was observed, I thought and realised, this was not dead, but
was dormant for a while, or was dormant for past many ages, its this cleaning
of the shelves of my conscience, which has brought it out in daylight, slowly
and steadily, this memory too got its own conscience, and then what happened
was really painful, I found it was one of the worst memories which I had, had
since my childhood, no matter how hard I tried, I was not able to cope up with
the aspects, it started once again unfolding, I cursed myself for the cleaning
job of my conscience, as the time went by, this memory started getting more and
more prominent, in my current memory status…I was trying my level best to once
again shut this corner of my mind forever, but nothing was working out, each
time I tried relegating it to the back doors, it came with a new bang…I
am still trying to send it to the place from where it emerged,but to no avail…</span></div>
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Manjari Shuklahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00230266319531711538noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5662813030596232447.post-52696917515963471992012-05-18T09:09:00.002-07:002012-05-18T09:09:23.212-07:00<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Today,
at a far off place, near an attic..I found a small corner, where I found a
number of things, small, big, medium…all were talking with each other, these
things were the things which were lost by their owners in one way or the other,
some were deliberately lost, and some where made to be lost and some were just
lost…the corner of the attic had a book, a watch, a mirror, a color box, a
drawing book, a photograph of a lady, small earrings and many more……these lost
things, as I said were in a talkative session, each narrating their plight, and
how they happened to be there, slowly I entered that corner of the attic and
started listening to their conversation, some of them were sad, because they
were happy being with their owners,and were missing their place and some were
too happy by being part of the club…yes… Club of Lost Things….the things which
were happy, were trying to make others happy….coz this was the fate of all the
members to be part of the club forever, once they entered it, in one or the
other way… the conversation was goin on when some more lost articles, came and
joined the session, the best part about the club was that there was no typical
hierarchy maintained here, no one was big, nor was anyone small, every thing
had its say, and every other thing/things were listening…all were equal…the
next interesting thing which I realised is that, now I know, what happens to
the things which gets lost, and I will keep it a secret with myself, because if
I will be talking to people about this place, the only place where equality is
maintained will be LOST…and…hence I will be silent about this place…though I have
talked about it, but I will not tell the address, coz Loss of the Club of Lost
Things will be a big issue….</span></div>
</div>Manjari Shuklahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00230266319531711538noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5662813030596232447.post-67236929642803267592012-03-30T04:23:00.002-07:002012-03-30T04:23:50.581-07:00<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">What should I think? Is it necessary to think? Why? Is thinking the be all andend all, as said by Descartes I think therefore I am…or should certain things remain out of this thinking domain… can’t we ascribe certain things in the domain of feeling… can’t we say I feel, therefore I am…thinking , I think in some way or the other is restricted to a set group of people who are sound intellectually in some way or the other, but feeling is something which is bound to everyone…it comes effortlessly, without any prior knowledge of anything or everything, but thinking, yes it needs atleast some effort.</span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">This write up is what…? A thinking effort or an effort of my suppressed feelings.</span></span></div>
</div>Manjari Shuklahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00230266319531711538noreply@blogger.com2