tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-358944602024-03-19T18:07:10.567+05:30A Bit of the RealMixed up with the unreal stuff we always thinkKaushalhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06982339663108170938noreply@blogger.comBlogger29125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-35894460.post-32838559180965695752023-05-25T14:24:00.001+05:302023-05-25T14:24:30.743+05:30Sometimes I feel like shit<p> Today is one of those days when I feel like shit. </p><p>I feel I have wasted my entire life. </p><p>I could have been better. I would have earned more. </p><p>I could have done a lot of things.</p><p>But right now I am just helpless. </p><p>I don't want to be helpless. Probably, I need a mentor but no mentor will guide me. I am a heavy kite that can go out of control in strong winds and lesser winds won't work for me. </p><p>I need to work on something.</p><p>Please tell me, do you have any idea?</p>Kaushalhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06982339663108170938noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-35894460.post-560862537097787882023-03-11T15:27:00.002+05:302023-03-11T15:27:32.255+05:30Update 11/03/2023<p> When a baby giraffe is born, the mother kicks it until it stands and starts walking. </p><p>A mother duck practically pushes a duckling into the water. </p><p>I am sure most animals resort to some sort of "cruelty" on their offspring. They want their babies to walk and even dash as they have a risk of survival. </p><p>However, humans have created a cozy community around their offspring, which induces protection until the child is fully developed. </p><p>A human child takes 12-18 months to just walk. Doing regular human things will take many years. </p><p>Following my post, we subjected our child to two more ordeals where his patience was tested. But now he can digest failure. Failure doesn't break him but pushes him to try harder next time. </p><p>We failed this time, but less severely than before. </p><p>Next time, we will win. </p>Kaushalhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06982339663108170938noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-35894460.post-10159051300056742342023-03-01T14:21:00.001+05:302023-03-01T14:21:18.684+05:30Failure as a parent - contd. <p> Following up on yesterday's post, I detected that my child falls in the "highly sensitive" category. </p><p>I will share more details of what it means to me and how I will tackle it. But more importantly. it feels that I have passed it on to him. </p><p>This could be a lifelong issue with my life partner and me. She accuses me of being responsible. </p><p>I understand it can be my fault. But did I have a choice? Or did I inherit from my parents (probably my mother?). </p><p>Anyway, that's not the root point of the discussion. Whatever it is, I need to face it and figure out a solution. </p><p><br /></p>Kaushalhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06982339663108170938noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-35894460.post-5300970498444339862023-02-27T00:10:00.001+05:302023-02-27T00:21:11.536+05:30Failure - as a parent<p> I have failed multiple times. </p><p><br /></p><p>In fact, I have lost count of it. </p><p><br /></p><p>But today, my child failed. And he cried. </p><p><br /></p><p>Actually, he cried a lot. I wanted to comfort him and explain him why losing is not a big deal.</p><p><br /></p><p>But he is too young to understand it. He does not know that failure is only going to make him tougher. </p><p>I am sure, he will learn in the coming days and years. </p><p><br /></p><p>But today he didn't know that, and he felt extremely sad. </p><p><br /></p><p>If it was a teenager or even a ten year old, my motivational pep talk could have worked. </p><p><br /></p><p>But it didn't work today. He is merely 5 (and will turn 6 soon!)</p><p><br /></p><p>When he is sick, I wish the illness transfers to me instead so that he doesn't have to bear the pain. </p><p>Today I wanted to cry on his behalf so that he doesn't. </p><p><br /></p><p>I don't want him to cry. May be I want him to lose, and fail occassionaly. Like a gym trainer hurts your muscles systematically only to make them stronger. </p><p><br /></p><p>But today it was too much. I have been the gym trainer who trained someone so hard they broke from the mind. </p><p><br /></p><p>Now, I am introspecting. I will share my results on this blog. </p>Kaushalhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06982339663108170938noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-35894460.post-74465775956688332892010-01-05T22:17:00.003+05:302010-01-05T22:31:49.696+05:30ChallengesNow, I have a challenge. I wouldn't call it tough. It is time-bound. <br /><br />Creating utopia is a both man's and woman's dream. The only difference is, the man starts thinking about the implying imperfections despite the fact that he, too is willing to give in his best for the perfect world. The woman, on the other hand, lives in the present tense and is constantly irritated by the alleged foresight of man. Whether this may or may not lead to a disruption, that only time can tell. But for man, there is nothing important than a woman who understands his dream and pushes him to go further and further. Such are relationships, and to give them a worldly name would be unjust.<br /><br />It's weird. The man, in constant effort of finishing the challenge, tries hard and hard and hard. Soon, the fear of failure creeps in. But what is he afraid of? Is he afraid of failure? Why would he be? Because he hurt his ego? Or because he lost? <br /><br />The reason of the fear cannot be known until the outcome of the effort and the time taken for the outcome are evaluated. It may be ego, love, fear, or a combination of all three. There is no way to get away from this fear, for the joy of a challenge is that there is a fear of loss, and when there is no fear of loss, it ain't worth a challenge. <br /><br />As I keep writing, seconds pass and turn into minutes, and then hours. Every clock tick tries to tell me that I am going to fail and that I will lose everything I have. But hey!!! Listen!!!<br />I've lost many times. And after each loss, I've gained more than I could ever have! <br /><br />Some winners might oppose my point. I don't care. I know I'm a winner because I can cover up my loss. Japan lost its two cities in the second world war, but that is the reason why it is what it is right now. <br /><br />Damn, let me get back to work :PKaushalhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06982339663108170938noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-35894460.post-75242399571545204002009-12-21T07:21:00.003+05:302009-12-21T07:43:03.455+05:30Untitled5th August -> 21st December.Four and a Half months since I wrote my last post.<br /><br />People (including me) consider that people blog when they feel lonely, and particularly bloggers are humans that feel an urge to express but can't freely do it in the real world. <br /><br />Anyway, there's always a reason for everything in life. It's just the curiosity of knowing the reason that kills an individual. If I get going to find out reasons to all things that I worry about, I'll be worried forever. The reason why I am writing today's post is because I need to express myself and I don't know whom to tell.<br /><br />I want to say a lot of things but I have promises to keep, which keeps my lips sealed. <br />Awkward, isn't it? I'm writing about my inability to write certain things. But no man is handicap enough to be unable to express: It's just self control. <br /><br />What is life without competition? And competition especially when you start feeling you're the only king of your dream world! What would you feel then? Dejected? Depressed? Demoralized? Sad? Is all the negativity just because you had considered that there was no obstacle between you and your target and then suddenly something came in between? Is it underconfidence that makes you feel you'll be unable to attain your dream? Or is it sadness?<br /><br />Come on, jerk!! Be a MAN! Anyone can hit an open target, and there's not much fun in it except for the narcissists. But here? In this world of obstacles? Well it give's me one reasons to believe I am man enough to fight it out. <br /><br />Suddenly, the single track racing road with just me on the road has been converted into a multilane grand prix, and I must go faster than the fastest... and boy, this is going to be fun!!!<br /><br />Seems I've been too hard over this, but I want to tell you one thing: I am ready for the game; Bring it on!! <br /><br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">P.S.</span> I don't know what title I should give to this post.Kaushalhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06982339663108170938noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-35894460.post-13952662319258754642009-08-05T22:46:00.003+05:302009-08-05T22:47:51.979+05:30About Me [05/08/2009]Hey!<br /><br />Did you ever know?<br /><br />It's just a pin-prick, and it feels just like you go to the doctor to kick your sickness away. Remember the long syringe and the needle tip lubricated by the inside fluids? It didn't take more than seconds to inject all the semi-transparent liquid into your veins. <br /><br />Aaaaah! you cried... <br />But the next day you were thankful. Because, the big pain was gone...<br /><br />Such is life... if you feel sad for a moment, just resist...Kaushalhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06982339663108170938noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-35894460.post-16439560035860891852009-07-23T21:25:00.000+05:302009-07-23T21:26:11.417+05:30About Me: 23/07/09“Life’s disappointments are harder to take when you don’t know any swear words.”<br /><br />It's so simple, shaking off the pressure - Just take the bottle, fill the glass, drink it, and then spit it away swearing for the last person you thought of before putting the glass to the mouth... [;)]<br /><br />Try this, you'd feel better...<br /><br />*[i]conditions apply[/i]<br /><br /><br /><br /><br />*[i]Bottle must not contain alcoholic drink.[/i]Kaushalhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06982339663108170938noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-35894460.post-32865947819827459322009-07-16T00:19:00.001+05:302009-07-16T00:19:09.063+05:30Lakshya<p><em> I saw this movie, <strong>Lakshya</strong> today.</em></p> <p><img src="http://www.planetbollywood.com/Pictures/Posters/lakshya11P.jpg" /> </p> <p>My friend recommended this film to me way back in 2005. I didn’t pay much heed. But I liked the songs, used to listen to them when I was low.</p> <p>However, following my urge to watch it, I finished the act today. </p> <p>It took 24 years for him to realise. Well, I am 24. And I just realised that same thing, and then the film showed me that what I realised <strike>was</strike> is correct.</p> <p>I don’t know if it is the film’s effect but I feel I am in a similar situation: I have a faint idea of my aim, I have made some decisions, and (don’t know how to write this, let’s put it straight…) the girl I like has told that she’s got no time to talk to me anymore. </p> <p>It’s high time that I act. People fall in love at all wrong times when they can not afford the comfort and love that their soul mates deserve. And then there’s a break up. </p> <p>I don’t know if I’d get to meet her after this, but I am working on a project that will take me to a great height. I just want to reach that place and call her and then say, “Hey, finally, I have learnt what you wanted to teach me. Finally, I have learnt to make decisions…”</p> <p><strong>लक्ष्य तो ... हर हाल में पाना हैं!</strong></p> <p>(In any circumstances, I have to reach my goal!)</p> Kaushalhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06982339663108170938noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-35894460.post-59523071152036864972009-07-14T18:49:00.001+05:302009-07-14T18:49:05.814+05:30Pleasure<p><em>Calvin:     I don’t understand it, Hobbes. The kids teased me when I wouldn’t play baseball. Then they yelled at <br />me when I did play. Then the teacher called me a “quitter” when I stopped playing. Unless you’re a <br />star you can’t please anyone. <br />Hobbes:   In that case, why not just please yourself? <br />Calvin:     Because Mom won’t let me move to Madagascar.</em></p> <p><em></em></p> <p>I don’t like what we are doing sometimes because I am forced to do so without a logical satisfaction. I pledge, I’ll never do this kinda’ stuff again!</p> Kaushalhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06982339663108170938noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-35894460.post-35482113788489298672009-07-02T01:02:00.001+05:302009-07-02T01:02:36.395+05:30Iterated!<p><img style="display: inline; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px" align="right" src="http://www.brendandawes.com/iteration/004.jpg" width="251" height="191" />Life seems like being caught in a Do While loop. </p> <p>The escape condition is not getting satisfied.</p> <p>Don’t know how many iterations left yet.</p> <p>Good if I had kept a “count++” in the “do” block.</p> <p> I return to this blog only when I don’t have any place to express my self.</p> <p>This may seem selfish. Who isn’t selfish, anyway?</p> <p>What has happened to the creative writer? He has lost his skills. </p> <p>Nah, he has just lost his concentration. He did what his mind told him to do. He lost control over his mind and let his body freely obey it.</p> <p>But now it’s over. From tonight, this geek is on a special diet: The diet for the brain. Just a bit of self control. No more throwing away actions. No more doing-as-I-like. Just me.</p> <p>Me, me and me.</p> <p>And me, too!</p> <p>Let the loop iterate. Let the world see a butterfly out of the pupae. Let there be light.</p> Kaushalhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06982339663108170938noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-35894460.post-47258429716045123062009-04-07T08:10:00.001+05:302009-04-07T08:10:23.528+05:30United We Stand<p>It was <img style="border-bottom: 0px; border-left: 0px; display: inline; margin-left: 0px; border-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; border-right: 0px" border="0" align="right" src="http://farm1.static.flickr.com/196/450146840_883dd26ec7.jpg" width="240" height="173" /> a winter night. There was no moon in the sky, but a broken streetlight was oscillating in the brisk wind. I looked around. Everyone in the houses around was asleep. Somewhere, I could hear the T.V. blaring a late-night show. The spectacled watchman Babu was trying to keep awake, striking his bamboo stick on the concrete floor, counting moments until sunrise, lest his bon-fire blows away.</p> <p>The wind was slow but it was cold, and my teeth started chattering. Whine looked at me, and then at Bisha who snuggled beside Bowwo. He then said, </p> <blockquote> <p>“<font color="#b6b6b6">Wow… what a peaceful sleep these guys are having… and look at us… staying awake all night just because some jackass warned us about the Outsiders…”</font></p> </blockquote> <blockquote> <p>“Whine, they watched the area all day… now we are replacing them in the night”, I replied.</p> <p>“Why only we have got to do the tough stuff every time? I can’t sleep in the daytime in all these noises, and in the night I have to freakin’ nightwatch! This is unfair… I need a change… And look at these two… their life is so easy!”. </p> <p>“You don’t want your younger brother and sister to stay awake all night in these dangerous times while you sleep peacefully, do you?” I replied.</p> <p>“Let me tell you one thing. If Blacky wouldn’t have left, that means, if You hadn’t driven him away from this place, we wouldn’t have faced This!” </p> </blockquote> <p>Whine was in a complaining mood tonight. I looked at him. His eyes were full of fear. May be he was afraid. Or may be he was nervous. Whatever it was, It made me feel he was unconfident about himself. And I also felt that he didn’t have trust on me. Being an elder is the biggest drawback – You have to make others feel confident about themselves, even though you don’t believe in yourself.</p> <p>We are four dogs (puppies, actually) living in this dingy street where the days are noisy, full of human-generated sounds, and the nights are creepy because creatures with a supremacy complex come to drive us out of this place, to grab our area, and to relish our food. Tonight, we got a message from a friend who lives outside the street:</p> <blockquote> <p>“<font color="#b6b6b6">Beware, for tonight the Outsiders are coming</font> this way!”</p> </blockquote> <p>Believing him was necessary, because we regretted once when we didn’t. We’ve got no relatives, no friends, no one, and since mom died, there is no one to protect us. All of a sudden things changed, and we didn’t know what to do. Finally, we learnt the trick. They can beat one of us, but not all of us. So, we face this challenge together, Bisha and Bowwo guarding during the day when our human friends are wide awake, and me and Whine, during the night, when the things are dark and uncertain. </p> <p>I hope this night ends soon… </p> Kaushalhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06982339663108170938noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-35894460.post-26287281466758863532009-02-16T06:31:00.003+05:302009-02-16T06:37:31.836+05:30Monday againToday is Monday. I just woke up with a strong desire of jogging. MY regular jogging track is 6 km straight and it takes 35-40 minutes. I'd leave in 10 minutes after this post gets published.<br /><br />I woke up from my bedding to find that I hadn't used the blanket. Frankly, I don't know how I slept, or rather who made me sleep.Usually I remove my specs and keep them beside my laptop after scheduling the downloads. My specs were at the usual place. But no downloads, yet the laptop was ON all night. <br /><br />May be someone put me to sleep, finding me sleeping in front of the laptop screen. I hope they haven't seen my chat history :PKaushalhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06982339663108170938noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-35894460.post-14994689970237354202009-02-15T07:39:00.002+05:302009-02-15T07:48:54.516+05:30BacK??November 15th -> January 14th :<br /><br />My duration of absence from the blogosphere.<br /><br />I bet I still love it.<br /><br />Many sunshines and showers have changed the way I look, touch, talk and walk. I don't recognise myself. Fighting-off expectations and working relentlessly to stop all the useless thoughts, I have stopped working with a plan. Now I never plan, I just make a list of things to be be done and execute them asynchronously irrespective of the order.<br />Try it. It is fun.<br /><br />Today I am feeling BLANK. BLANK means completely blank. All I remember is just a phone call. There was nothing extraordinary in the call, no. No Love You, no Miss You, nah... nothing. Just plain words. <br /><br />Still I remember it and it only. All night while multiple dreams came, it ran like a backgroundworker pestering me. There's something about the <span style="font-style:italic;">conversation </span>that gives me the creeps.<br /><br />Today's Sunday, no office, and I have decided to be hyper-active lest I fall in such a trap.<br /><br />Good day.Kaushalhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06982339663108170938noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-35894460.post-57968735159982146372008-11-14T22:34:00.003+05:302008-11-14T22:52:19.110+05:30Why blog?Mark Twain said, "I can live without food for [n] days, but I can't live a single day without praise."<br /><br />He lost lost wife and three daughters in a very short term. He was then alone. In loneliness, he wrote the darkest of his works, "The Mysterious Stranger" (unfinished).<br /><br />One of the quotes from it is:<br /><br />"<span style="font-style:italic;">In a little while you will be alone in shoreless space, to wander its limitless solitudes without friend or comrade forever--for you will remain a thought, the only existent thought, and by your nature inextinguishable, indestructible. But I, your poor servant, have revealed you to yourself and set you free. Dream other dreams, and better!...You perceive, now, that these things are all impossible except in a dream. You perceive that they are pure and puerile insanities, the silly creations of an imagination that is not conscious of its freaks - in a word, that they are a dream, and you the maker of it. The dream-marks are all present; you should have recognized them earlier. It is true, that which I have revealed to you; there is no God, no universe, no human race, no earthly life, no heaven, no hell. It is all a dream - a grotesque and foolish dream. Nothing exists but you. And you are but a thought - a vagrant thought, a useless thought, a homeless thought, wandering forlorn among the empty eternities! <br /></span>"<br /><br />In 1909, Twain is quoted as saying:<br /><br />“ I came in with Halley's Comet in 1835. It is coming again next year, and I expect to go out with it. It will be the greatest disappointment of my life if I don't go out with Halley's Comet. The Almighty has said, no doubt: 'Now here are these two unaccountable freaks; they came in together, they must go out together.' ”<br /><br />His prediction was accurate—Twain died of a heart attack on April 21, 1910 in Redding, Connecticut, one day after the comet's closest approach to Earth.<br /><br />I know what he never got. He never got appreciation of his ideas from anyone except his family, and after he lost it almost completely, his beauty of writing turned full of darkness. <br /><br />Moral: Comment on posts. Your comments are valuable to us.Kaushalhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06982339663108170938noreply@blogger.com28tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-35894460.post-90411621310376821532008-11-14T22:08:00.003+05:302008-11-14T22:29:22.580+05:30What a name?!!?I remember the first time I blogged. I thought I was doing it for fame. I was hoping to be a good writer, and wanted to be the most famous blogger in the blogosphere, just as every computer student wants to become Bill Gates, or Richard Stallman, or Steve Jobs, or Larry Page.<br /><br />I started with my poems. A few months later, I didn't like them. I started a story then. The name was: What a name?!!?. I wrote 6-7 posts and got impressive comments. Somehow, I failed to continue it. I forgot all about blogging.<br />Then suddenly, India Student Partner program started an "Every MSP must have a blog" scheme, and I felt I needed a rather tech blog. So I shifted to www.nicenotes.spaces.live.com. <br />As usual, I ran out of either ideas or time to blog each night. <br /><br />Today while writing this, I asked myself a question: Why do I blog? For fame? So that some cool (hot, actually) girl discovers my hidden talent and becomes a fan for real? So that I can boast about my creativity? <br /><br />The answer is: NO.<br /><br />I blog because I want to speak out. Enough of aliasing life. I want to speak out. I want to scream, shout... I want to express myself. <br /><br />Bill G said, "One night, while we are asleep, all that we have will turn against us, and we will wake up with nothing in our hands...."<br /><br />A man who has started from scratch won't take much time in starting it all over again. It will be speedier, and much more organized :PKaushalhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06982339663108170938noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-35894460.post-44084904599196373552008-09-18T19:20:00.001+05:302008-09-18T19:20:45.191+05:30The Guest from Deep Inside.<p>Sunrise.</p> <p>Birds chirp.</p> <p>Trees exhale oxygen.</p> <p>Suddenly I hear a scream.</p> <p>I woman was pointing at the ground.</p> <p>"A snake! A snake!", she frantically cried.</p> <p>It wasn't a snake. Snakes have removable foreskin.</p> <p>This creature was way too slimy and slippery to be a snake.</p> <p>I know what it was. It was an earthworm; disoriented earthworm.</p> <p>It dragged itself on the dry floor, leaving behind marks of its wet body.</p> <p> Someone said, "Kill it!". </p> <p>I didn't. </p> <p>I just waited until it coiled itself, and inserted a piece of paper beneath it.</p> <p>It was trying to escape off from the other side. A chill passed by my heart.</p> <p>I held the paper with shaky hands, and carried it away with the worm on it. I threw it in the bushes nearby and bid him good day.</p> <p>"It will come again!", my mother said.</p> <p>"Not on the dry land, mom, not again... ", I smirked.</p> <p>Things digging themselves out of deep-within can't panic me. </p> Kaushalhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06982339663108170938noreply@blogger.com19tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-35894460.post-13175701131470218332008-04-09T19:20:00.003+05:302008-04-09T21:13:47.659+05:30# 7 The last time we met..The red sun was smiling.<br /><br />So was the silver moon.<br /><br />The stars winked.<br /><br />The rain drops fell from clouds.<br /><br />A rainbow passed from within.<br /><br />The tree swaying in the wind.<br /><br />"Kaushal!!" came a voice...<br /><br />The paper sheet was perfectly placed under the bed. The pencil, rubber, and the colour sticks went back to their residence. The light was OFF. <br /><br />KC could hear the TV blaring. He was trying to listen to footsteps. It was mom; she was coming to his room. He pulled over the blanket, though it wasn't winter and he wasn't ill.<br /><br />"Mom..." he groaned.."Turn off the lights!". She just wanted to have a look at his room.<br /><br />"You weren't sleeping?"<br /><br />"I was arranging my bag for tomorrow..."<br /><br />"Tomorrow is your first day..."<br /><br />It is tough to make moms leave our rooms. Specially at times when you want to be alone.<br /><br />Now he couldn't turn ON the lights: She'd be back. He thought he'd continue his drawing later.<br /><br />He shut his eyes.But he didn't close them. <br /><br />It seemed a bad day when it started. Mom refused to drop him at the first day of school. "You aren't a small kid anymore.." She told. <br /><br />"What's a kid, anyway?" He murmured.<br /><br />Joy was singing a song. Nick was playing drums on the bench. All others were listening, cheering. KC went there.<br /><br />"Why did you come here?" Nick said.<br /><br />"Ya.. you're still a kid..!', Joy added.<br /><br />What's a kid? KC thought.<br /><br />School was over. They took only two lectures. Introduction and Timetable. KC dragged himself towards the bus-stop. <br /><br />A dog was barking ahead. There was a little girl behind him. She seemed scared of the dog. She looked at him. He shooed it away, and looked at her again. She smiled. He started walking again.<br /><br />Buses didn't come. It was recess time for them. It was humid, and skin felt oily, sticky. He was tired of waiting. It was a bad day after all, nothing good.<br />He didn't have the water bottle, and was thirsty. He looked around. There she was, relishing water from the crystal-clear bottle.<br /><br />Oh no.. she's looking at me!<br /><br />Soon, he was drinking water from her bottle. She was waiting for her dad who was supposed to pick her up after school. <br /><br />"I didn't know they'd leave us so early.." She said.<br /><br />"They always do on the first day."<br /><br />"I don't know... I'm new here..."<br /><br />"You mean, you are a new student?"<br /><br />"Yes... did you see me here last year?"<br /><br />"Not in my class..."<br /><br />She giggled. Girls laugh at weird times, he thought.<br /><br />Her name was Disha. She said, it meant direction in hindi. What a nice name! He thought.<br /><br />Soon a car stopped near them. She had called her dad from a PCO and he just came to pick her up. <br /><br />"Why don't you come with me? Dad will drop you at your place..."<br /><br />"No... my bus.. it will be coming..."<br /><br />"Oh come on... you'll wait in all this summer heat??"<br /><br />"Summer's gone... it rained yesterday..."<br /><br />"Yes, but it's still..." She argued. <br /><br />"Dad", she spoke aloud, "This is my new friend. We are in the same class. He's waiting for the bus since a while. Can we drop him at his place?"<br /><br />There was no reason for dad to say NO. He never saw her happier.<br /><br />------------------------------------------------------------------------------------<br /><br />Back in the dark room, KC wondered, Memories are wonderful. He didn't remember when his eyes closed and he got lost in the world he painted sometimes back. Life is a non-linear path passing through check-points of events.Kaushalhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06982339663108170938noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-35894460.post-72048681269200053582008-03-06T09:10:00.003+05:302008-03-06T10:36:26.380+05:30#6Monday.<br />The most despised day.<br /><br />Just because it follows Sunday, which is, at almost every place, a holiday.<br />We all love holidays, and the relaxation they give. <br /><br /> Kusum watched them depart, thinking that she would be alone all day, with no one to talk to, in the three storey bungalow. It was going to be tough for her, because it was the first Monday after the vacation. With a great effort she had been a bit closer to Disha, the girl who always was lost in the thoughts of her old mom.<br /><br />A tear crept out and slid down her cheeks to the chin, falling on the doormat. Disha held her papa's hand while he opened the car door for her. In seconds, they zoomed through the street. In minutes, he'd drop her by school, Kusum thought.<br /><br />She wanted to go with them. She wanted to see her entering the school with the new school uniform. Her class, her friends, and teachers were not going to be here: It was a new school. She would be alone. Will they talk to her? Will she talk to them?<br />I hope she does, thought Kusum, as she rested back, swtiching the TV on.<br /><br />A photoframe was eye catching. Inside the frame of brown-wood-with-golden-applique,<br />there was a happy couple looking at her. Their eyes spoke of a bright future together. <br /><br />Dipen.. <br /><br />It was a memorable time when they met first. Kusum would have hated remembering this part. It was a sunny afternoon and the Bus was speeding across the highway, the rubber tires rubbing themselves to the tar road produced unwanted noise and heat. <br />It was hot, and made her perspire, sweat tickled down her chest. The bus was crowded, and it moved past farms, hotels, and garages-cum-gas stations. A building painted in red and white, with patches of blue, caught her sight. Beyond that was a huge industry.<br /><br />The National Chemicals Ltd.<br /><br />It was there that she was supposed to work, got the new job just two days back. But unfortunately she couldn't create any first impression till then. <br />Yes. She couldn't go to the job, although she'd have happily gone. She wanted to stop the bus, and reach there rightaway. She began to ready herself. Suddenly, she stopped. She looked at her saree. It was in white, with a black floral border. She was in white. Her husband dies two days back, she remembered. <br /><br />Her sisters-in-law were staring at her. They all were returning from their native place, where they finished the last rites.<br />Someone had opened a window, and all sunlight was coming directly on her face, which was glowing like a moon, further enhanced by her white dress. They all looked at her, burning in jealousy, for she had it all- beauty and brain. She had managed to get a job with a salary almost twice than her husband.<br /><br />She didn't feel much bad about his death. She expected it. He was not more than a beast. She felt suffocated and exploited his presence. <br /><br />"What do I do?", She said to herself. <br /><br />They all were dozing. She didn't want to look at them. She was tired of the family.<br /><br />Across the seat, someone was staring at her. She looked at him, and the man in his early thirties loved moved his sight away. The hide-n-seek continued for a while. He was so different from the man she had seen, or rather, been with. Something produced butterflies into her stomach.<br /><br />"Shameless!", she teased herself, as she softly spoke:<br /><br />"What is the earliest bus on this route?"<br /><br />He was startled at the unexpected communication.<br /><br />"7:30.. in the morning..", he replied, looking at her, and her family members who were asleep. He then turned his face away.<br /><br />"Where does it start from?"<br /><br />"It starts from New Colony, and goes by the 100-feet road... and if you come by the Times bus stop, you'll find it half vacant... after which it gets overstuffed.."<br /><br />Someone sneezed. It was her sister-in-law. Kusum positioned herself. He looked out of the window. They were all now awake, looking like Medusa with their hair badly in in seperate coils.....<br /><br /><br /><br />Memories.. do wonders... the TV was on, and Kusum was lying on the couch... asleep..Kaushalhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06982339663108170938noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-35894460.post-61308773621893950852008-01-30T17:35:00.000+05:302008-01-30T19:12:42.654+05:30#5 What a name ?!?The birds were flying to gather food in v-shaped patterns; chirping, singing, diving in the golden sun. The sun was feeble today, and it's rays could not make an effect on the shivering earth. It had been less than ten degrees these days, giving just a reason to snuggle in the bed exceeding the sleeping time limits. Amidst all, there was this school, with pupils yawning in the first lecture, and the workers relishing hot tea. <br /><br /> A cold wave tore through the sweat shirt his mother knit for him as KC looked at Nick. Beside him was Joy. "I doubt if that keeps him warm for long...", he thought as he admired his thick fur jacket his dad sent from Canada. <br /><br /> They were, in all, four of them. Soon, they would be asked to remove their sweaters and then run all around the school at least five times. Then, they would have to empty the dustbins of every class into the main bin. By the time it would be over, it would be time for the first break, and their classmates would laugh at them when they see them holding the bins, and with white shirts bathing in dust, they would get a good spanking from mom while she will break her hands washing them. Their reason: <br /> THEY WERE LATE.<br /><br />Of course, KC was late. But he wasn't late. He went out of the house as soon as his mom packed his bag with the lunch box, which had hot chapattis and pickles in it. Exactly at 7:10 AM, he was at the bus -stop, waiting for the city bus.<br /><br />The road was empty; the only vehicles passing by were taxi cabs and buses with windows tightly shut. The air seemed ironically fresh as the cold wave was on... no normal mortal dared to face it. <br /><br />KC waited for the bus, it was almost time that it arrived. He went on counting cars as they passed by, looking in the faded lighting of their windows. "If I have a car..", he thought. "Dear, you must study first! Then you can buy your own car!", Dad spoke in his mind. Of course he was going to study, and one day grow so big that hw would have three cars. One for him , one for mom, and one for dad. <br /><br />(Day)dreams have have a bad habit of being broken when you actually start enjoying them. A bus whizzed past him. <br /><br />"Hey!!", he screamed. The bus went ahead on its path, its velocity unaffected by his call. The doors-windows were shut, and his voice was too weak to penetrate them.<br />One gone. Five minutes lost. Fifteen minutes to go. <br /><br />"Mom...!", he sighed. She wont be happy with this. He was getting late.<br /><br />Again the task began. Now he could spot some two-wheelers. The bus-stop was still empty, no one was walking, though. After seven cars passed by, a bus was seen. He raised his arm, whispering, "Stop right here!". It was still thirteen minutes to prayer, and he could be safely in school before that. He thanked God.<br /><br />He saw someone coming from the opposite direction. A man was walking to him, in a black jacket. He had a walking stick. It seemed like he, too, wanted to get the bus.<br />He waved his hand. But he was far away from KC where the bus screeched to a halt. He ran, and in the effort, stumbled over a brick, his walking stick thrown away from him.<br /><br />KC looked at him. He was trying to feel the land about him with his hands. He had dark spectacles. <br />HE WAS BLIND! <br />Still, he wanted to go by a bus! And he could never find one! There was no one to help him stand up, and he needed help!<br /> <br /> KC never knew he could think so quickly. But he let the bus go. He held the groping hand of the blind man, and made him stand. He picked up the fallen stick, and placed it in his grip. He dusted his black jacket which was dusty due to the fall. <br /><br />"Sir, Can I help you?", He asked.<br /><br />"Thank you, son.. ", he replied in a firm voice, "When can I get a bus number 133?"<br /><br />"Sir, this bus that left was bus number 133..."<br /><br />"Oh.. I missed it... sigh.."<br /><br />"Don't worry sir, another one will surely be on the way.."<br /><br />"Hope so.. please, can you do me a favour?"<br /><br />"Ah... yes, sir! So can I!"<br /><br />"Please remind me if my bus comes..."<br /><br />"Oh sure, sir! It is my bus, too!"<br /><br />"Aha... that means, it is OUR bus! Are you a student?"<br /><br />And the conversation continued till the bus reached their stop, and Joy commanded him to stop right there with him till the prayer was over. "We are late..", He said. He was scared.<br /><br />Now they were standing in the middle of the ground, while others looked at them from the balcony. Joy and Nick were discussing about the possible punishments. <br /><br />"I heard we have a new principal...", Nick whispered, "Hope he might leave us... it his his first day!"<br /><br />Joy laughed.... as the first boy was called into the office. The tension of the unknown outcome made these three classmates chill to their bone. On a while, the first boy returned. He hastily ran past them, without his sweater... and.. without his shoes...<br /><br />It was KC's turn..<br /><br />"If only... ", he thought as he walked to the principal office, "If I had climbed that bus..."<br /><br />It was no good repenting. He was in the office, the chair was empty. There was a dark-blue sweater hanging on the rod, and a pair white shoes lying below. Soon, they will be multiplied by two, he thought.<br /><br />The door creaked open, faltered steps.. accompanied by the tapping of a walking stick. An unknown excitement passed through KC. It was the blind man! He was the new principal!! No matter he didn't notice him walk to the school from the Bus-stop!<br /><br />"What is you name?"<br /><br />"Krishnacharan Sharma, sir..."<br /><br />"I think... I may call you Kaushal... is it OK with you?"<br /><br />-----------------------------------------------------------<br /><br />Nick and Joy saw KC running. But he was running with his sweater ON. Even his shoes weren't removed. KC quickly ran past them. But instead of circling the school, he went towards the classrooms. They scratched their heads.<br /><br />KC was happy. Mom always said, "One good turn deserves another...". She's so true! he thought as he entered the class, smiling as ever...Kaushalhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06982339663108170938noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-35894460.post-20092137169078819262008-01-27T16:18:00.000+05:302008-01-27T17:28:49.645+05:30#4 What a name?!?Where was the wind<br />When the sails were down?<br />And the sun on the horizon,<br />Like a divine crown;<br /><br />What I have come for?<br />I don't want any fame!<br />I just want a chance to,<br />Give a meaning to my name!<br /><br />"phat...!" Joy slapped the back of the KC, aka Krishnacharan.<br /><br />"Bholu.. where are you lost?" He said.<br /><br />KC was rubbing his eyes, as if woken from a deep dream. He looked at Joy in disbelief, rubbing the back of his neck, trying to sense the place where he had hit him.<br /><br />Joy: "Did you do the drawing home-work?" <br /><br />KC: "Yes.."<br /><br />"Show..."<br /><br />KC produced a sheet of paper from his back. It was painted in the shades of blue, red and yellow.<br /><br />"Aw.. what is this?" A thick voice came from behind. Soon, the sheet was ruthlessly snatched. <br /><br />"Hey!!" KC startled, "Nick! Give it back!"<br /><br />A well-built Nikhil Arora was all giggles when he heard KC plead like a baby.<br /><br />"What do you think you've drawn in this piece of shit?" Nick was demanding an answer.<br />Other classmates stood in a semicircle behind him, all of them looking at the picture. They murmured but didn't raise their voice. Joy stood by his side.<br /><br />KC was staring either at the crowd, his picture, or just plain air, probably thinking of what Nick would do to his piece of art. Finally he opened his mouth.<br /><br />"It's a Kite...."<br /><br />"Ha ha ha....!!" Nick laughed, "You call this a kite? A Kite is just a piece of paper.. just like this crap of yours is... and what is this? A kite with wings of a butterfly and a tail of a cheetah, and the colour of a ladybird! Have you ever flown a kite? Leave it; Have you even seen one?"<br /><br />They all laughed at him, and Nick threw his paper at him. Joy went over it, stepping twice, leaving the dusty marks of his expensive shoe sole. KC looked at the kite. It had beautiful red wings, beady eyes, and a flair tail, flying amongst white clouds. The sun was smiling at it. He put the sheet back in his bag.<br /><br />Back at his home, his mom was gone. He threw his bag, water bottle around, and rushed into the bedroom-cum-study room. He climbed over the table, opened the closet, and took out a reel of kite-flying thread. He reached even farther inside,and carefully pulled out a blue kite. <br /><br />"I'm going to fly this today.." He said, "At any cost..."<br /><br />A few minutes later, he was on the terrace, holding the thread, while the kite was black in the sun. He smiled at the sky, and laughed at Joy and Nick. <br /><br />"Kaush...!!" Mom shouted.<br /><br />Mom was back! He panicked. But it was no use. The kite was too high to leave the delight of flying it. <br /><br />"I'm on the terrace!!" He replied in an equally loud voice.<br /><br />"Which is your kite?" Mom inquired as she stood by him, "That black one?"<br /><br />"No... I mean yes... but it isn't black, it's blue!"<br /><br />Sarala looked at the kite that was trying to touch the sun. Her son just flew a kite for the first time! <br /><br />"How did you do it?" She wondered. Her child was gifted. Indeed, he was really Kaushal, a skilled person. Soon, he'll grow up, and end all her miseries, and she will have a big family which she will never let split.<br /><br />The sun set, and they were in the home. She was checking his notebooks. She looked at the Diary. KC was eating the pastry she had brought for him, when she pulled him by his cheek. Half of the piece that was in his mouth fell in the plate. <br /><br />"What on earth is this? Lazy bone! Why do you fly kites? Don't you understand that homework has to be finished?" She threw the Diary at him, and the open page had a sentence in big, red writing:<br /><br />DRAWING HOMEWORK NOT DONE.<br /><br />Sarala was weeping while cooking and KC staring out of the window at the bright star. <br /><br />"Is there any other place about the sun where humans live?" He wondered..Kaushalhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06982339663108170938noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-35894460.post-26311560522913664712008-01-26T19:02:00.001+05:302008-01-26T20:16:18.391+05:30#3 What a name?!?The afternoon was hot. It seemed like the sun was eternally thirsty, because the lips, throat turned dry as quickly as she drank. Periodically, a wave of warm breeze blew about her, which she felt like a boon of the wind god, for it made her clothes almost wet with perspiration cold. Her palms were perspiring, too, and the handle of the cloth bag was trying to slip from the grip, as it was heavy. It would seem like a curse, with the bulky bag and perspiring clothes, that one has to board a crowded public transport bus, where people stick so close to each other that lungs refuse to breathe.<br /><br />While she was wishing that all would end soon, and that finally she would be at her home, having a glass of water under the new fan, the woman left for home.<br /><br />"Sarala!?" came an anxious, familiar, tiny voice. She looked behind, amidst the mass of perspiring faces. From within the crowd, a fair face was on her toe-tips, eagerly looking at her.<br /><br />"Kusum! Hey.... how are you??" Sarala exclaimed. She almost ran to her until she remembered that ber bag was twice her thickness, and the bus was getting more and more crowded. "Come here!!" She notified.<br /><br />The short woman came to her, stepping over shoes of elder men, carefully holding the pallu of her saree in one hand. Her fair face seemed fairer than ever, for the smile lit it up like a lamp. <br /><br />"Hey... how are you??" Kusum asked, looking at her friend's face. She remembered the college days: Sarala and Kusum, the smartest women in their group. It wouldn't be an exaggeration to call them beauties with brains. But now things were different. Sarala's soft skin was now rough, like most of the working-women she had seen. Her eyes were still the same sharp, though.<br /><br />"What are you thinking? Where did you get lost?" Sarala took her out of it.<br /><br />"Nothing.." Kusum said, "I think we must step down for a coffee. This bus is crowded, and there's a coffe shop nearby."<br /><br />The coffee-shop was well-lit, well-cooled, and weel-equiped with all modes of entertainment, providing temporary relaxation from the killing heat, to those who could afford it. <br /><br />"So.. how're things going?" Kusum asked.<br /><br />"Nothing, you see, we moved out of the house... separated.."<br /><br />"You mean.. you walked out? Or did they tell you to?"<br /><br />"My in-laws are very nice. They would never let it happen. But it was their absence for a few days that made him take this step.. Bhabhi is a.. you know her..."<br /><br />"Ah yes, she's a mad woman. That day, I just dropped by your place... and you weren't home. She invited me, offered tea and snacks, and after i was about to leave, she asks, "Are you Sarala's cousin sister?"!! I just went home and told Dipen about this, and he laughed and laughed till we slept!"<br /><br />Both laughed for sometime. Women, like men, have weird reasons to laugh.<br /><br />"How's Disha?" Sarala asked. The smile on Kusum's face faded. She looked at the coffe on the table, and then stared at the table-calender.<br /><br />"Tomorrow is her birthday... and I am out for finding something to gift her."<br /><br />"How sweet! What will you give?"<br /><br />"Don't know... I visited many stores, but I didnt find what I was looking for..."<br /><br />"Oh, you could have told me... we'd have gone gift-shopping instead of spending a hundred bucks over this coffee! Let's go... I know some good places around here.."<br /><br />"Is there any place that will sell... love..?"<br /><br />"What??"<br /><br />"I want to gift her a mother's love....." Kusum spoke, while her lips shivered, along with her hand. She kept the cup back in the saucer, as she reached out for the tissue. A tear rolled from her cheek into the coffee cup, while she wiped her eyes... Sarala never saw her cry.. and she could never see her crying.. she pulled her chair close beside her, held her by the shoulder, and patted her back...she didn't ask anything. <br /><br />"Oh, Sarala.. what do I do? I have tried everything... but this girls does not just accept me! When I try to talk to her, she shuts herself in her room! When I make something for her, she refuses to eat and leaves the table! If I touch her toys, she screams at me, and throws whatever she has in her hands to me! <br /><br />In her room she never allows me, and while going to bed she talks to... her mother's.... photo! Seems like she will never accept me!<br /><br />What use is this money, fame, beauty, luxury... without her love? "<br /><br />Sarala was deep into thoughts. <br /><br />She could see that Kusum was passing through a bad time. She was a step-mother, and the girl never accepted her.<br /><br />"Dear.. she's still small... and sensitive... may be she is in the shock of her mother's death still, so she's behaving in such a manner.. once she grows up, she'll understand... keep patience.. keep trying ... and have faith in God.. things will change.."<br /><br />Sarala knew it was just a yet-another padding of consolation on Kusum's wounds. She felt pity on her. But she needed to go. Her part of the heart, her son, would be waiting for mummy to return....Kaushalhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06982339663108170938noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-35894460.post-80873185557711231732007-12-04T11:45:00.001+05:302007-12-04T11:45:17.779+05:30#1 Toxicity.When the thoughts go in circles, <br />but refrain coming out of the mouth, <br />when the desire to whisper is lost, <br />replaced by a scream and shout, <br />When the cause to survive life, <br />is itself bound in chains, <br />what can i do but lament, <br />over my self-imposed pain? <br />Questions are there but, <br />the answer is one, <br />Let time heal the wound, boy,<br />soon the pain will be gone!Kaushalhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06982339663108170938noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-35894460.post-89057930973155287592007-11-08T22:23:00.000+05:302007-11-08T23:13:53.206+05:30#2 What a name ?!?It was dark.... and moist...<br />The air was heavy.. and the lungs tried hard to breathe..<br />The heart was pounding in the rib-cage...<br />And in the stomach, there was fire...<br />It was not anger.<br />It was hunger.<br /><br />The man with the mic announced...<br /><br />"Now, ladies and gentlemen, I am going to introduce among you, our very own.. Shivcharan Sharma..."<br /><br />There was a thunderous applause.<br />Someone whistled.<br />It was darkness.<br />Dad could not see anything, either because of his hunger, or because it was too dark..<br /><br />Why was he there? He couldn't know...<br /><br />He looked around. His son was nowhere..<br /><br />"Mr. Sharma, all our audience out there wants to know how you attained such a success in your business.... could you oblige us by a few words.."?<br /><br />Dad looked at himself. His clothes were rags. His skin was dirty. His nails were uncut.<br />He didn't know what to say. Was it a joke? he thought.<br /><br />"Mr. Sharma.. your wife has been a vital support to you. She played an important role in your progress. Could we meet her?"<br /><br />"I think.. she isn't around.. ", dad replied... wiping his forehead with his dirty palm... he was persiring.<br /><br />"Sorry, people! Seems like Mrs. Sharma has gone for her job. May be they have bedwetting children at that place.."<br /><br />They laughed around him. Where is she? Where am I? What is this place? He kept questioning.<br />Some dustbin rattled somewhere around.<br /><br />"And here, Mr. Sharma!", the man with the mic said, "Is your son.. quite a discoverer he is, that he has been searching dustbins. May be he has adopted your strategy: WASTE TO BEST"<br /><br />They howled, cried, whistled, laughed.... in short, they disturbed.. his mental peace... but where was it ? His wife wasn't found anywhere, his son-his life was scraping dustbins, he himself was lying on the streets.. Madness....!<br /><br />He looked at his son. He wanted to shout, and stop him... but... he couldn't scream! His beloved son had a spade in the hand. He dug the soil.. deeper.. deeper..<br /><br />And then he stopped. He looked in the pit. He put his hand inside.<br /><br />'No son no... " dad muttered..<br /><br />He pulled out something sparkling in that dim yellow streetlight.. the man with the mic went by him... and said..<br />"Surely, folks.. this kid, as we thought, has found a treasure... I knew form the very beginning.. that this boy is.. extraordinary.. brilliant... impressive.."<br /><br />The darkness went.. the sun showed up.. the applauses came.. and lasted.. the focuse shifted on the boy.. and..<br /><br />Dad woke.<br /><br />His son was safe between him and mom, on the cozy bed... in the warmest blanket..<br />Dad looked at him.. he smiled in his sleep...<br /><br />"Don't worry, dad.." He seemed to say.. "I'll keep you name... however tough times we are in.."<br /><br />Dad slept, hoping that tonight's dream may never come true..Kaushalhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06982339663108170938noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-35894460.post-6541251057851310182007-11-01T11:50:00.001+05:302007-11-01T12:30:29.639+05:30What a name?!?It was cold, the sun risen,<br />Respectably high in the sky;<br />White clouds spread around,<br />And some late birds passing by;<br /><br />Carrying him in her arms;<br />There she was, on the bed;<br />She stared at him and then the dad,<br />What a nice gift they had had!<br /><br />His face was bright as the sun,<br />So sugar-sweet was his smile;<br />Starry bright were his eyes,<br />Happiness flowed like the Nile!<br /><br />At last, mom and dad looked at each other, and then their baby. "Wow..", dad whispered ".. now we are mummy and daddy.."<br />"Not just two of us, dear!" mom replied, plucking his nose "It's mummy, daddy, and our sweetu sweetu baby.."<br /><br />"Well.." dad wondered, "We can't call him a baby all the life..!"<br /><br />"????"<br /><br />"He must have a name...!"<br /><br />"He HAS a name... !"<br /><br />"Well, you didn't tell me..."<br /><br />"I did... remember the night at the riverside? That shooting star...??"<br /><br />"Yes, I remember.... it was a cool summer night.. and suddenly the shooting star was seen.. and then we made a wish.."<br /><br />"Oh honey.. I knew you remember it.."<br /><br />"We decided that... if we have a boy, we will name him... What was the name??"<br /><br />"Silly... forgot it? Now you'll have to learn to remember everything! Now you are a daddy.."<br /><br />"Ah, that I will try to... but.. what was the name?"<br /><br />"The name was...."<br /><br />Her speech broke. The room's door opened and a horde of people entered. The guests, their relatives carelessly took her baby from her arms into theirs, pinching his chubby cheeks with their rough fingers. The baby didn't cry; In fact it laughed more and more.<br /><br />Soon, the grandma anounced.. "Now... as Savita is the aunt of the baby boy, she will name.."<br /><br />A smiling Savita stood up. Her dimples went in deeper as she said, to the surpirse of mom and dad, "My golu-molu has the bestest name in the world... his name will be ... Krishnacharan..!"<br /><br />Immediately, sweets were distributed, hymns were sung, and after everything was over and all were gone, mummy looked at the piece of her heart. He giggled, saying wierd things, and to momma it sounded like.. "See mom.. one day I will grow soo biig that everyone will know my name..!"<br /><br />Mom wept. She knew, no one was going to know the name. It was dead before it could come to life. The name was KAUSHAL.Kaushalhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06982339663108170938noreply@blogger.com2