Home

A little girl asked

“Auntie, how do we make a home?”

Auntie answered

“Using clay, bricks and stone”

And she went to her chores

But I wondered.

Is it the clay, brick or stone

Which makes a home?

Or something more than stones

A man,

A woman,

Some children,

And some family,

Bound together

in the bonding of love.

It may not be of clay.

Leave alone gold and stray.

Leave away the iron mikes.

But must compose of love,

For love, which bonds together.

For love, powerful than iron mikes.

For love, which makes a straw,

worthier than glittering gold.

Makes a home sweet home.

© Tarun Mitra

January 31, 2006

Back Again

Writing after really long time, it has being more than two months. But why it is still hard for me to write. Why there is no inspiration in spite of full of seasons. I don’t know but in this one I will share few things that have held me for last few days.

It has been really long, for the first time since I have started regular blogging that a month has gone without a post. The story is same for my both blogs. So what is it that held me, lethargy, laziness, work or anxiety, or probably mixture of all?

Before I began, I give my sincerest apologies to those fellow bloggers whom I have not read during this period. I am sorry, but I cannot help and those I have read, thank you for reminding me that I have to post.

What is blogging? Well, when this concept was invented this was supposed to be some sort of online diary, before it evolved into some powerful medium. Blog was primarily meant to be a diary, so it first comes to diary.

Diary keeping, a habit to keep records of daily happenings of our lives, so that one day we could read them and try to evaluate and relive those days. I started maintaining diary possibly after my 12^th, though not regular, but still they are able to provide me the insights of my mind during that period. Many of my poems that you have read here were the pieces from those papers. But I must again admit that I was never regular.

I have started blogging out of curiosity of sharing. I was exposed to this tool from the newspapers and faint articles of the revolutions that it was brining. It was supposedly a cyclone at Orissa which bought this technology to my consciousness. It was an enduring picture of a person with Ham radio and another person with laptop trying to trace relatives of the victims that has being etched in my mind. If this tool was such powerful, then what good that it can do to me? I thought and started my first blog.

My first blog was a disaster, it never got any reader. The reason may be because I never knew the tricks of getting readers or increasing hits. I kept posting, without even having a reader for it. Eventually, my old e-mail account to which the blog was linked got hacked in July 2008 thus ending my first tete-a-tete with blogging. Although, I made myself available a new e-mail account within few days, but it wasn’t till 2^nd October 2008 that I started this blog and rest is history.

But today, as I write down this, after more than two months, it’s not the history that has prompted me, but the retrospective vision of my past in concurrence with my present. Life, it is said that evolves continuously and during one such transition I caught myself during last few days making me difficult for me to pen down something, and there were other reasons directly connected to my situation present.

Today, as I post this draft, am a qualified Company Secretary, and it has being a journey of almost seven years and innumerable examinations, long hours of arduous study and patience. It’s been almost a month since my results were declared but alas as I said, my present also has a dubious role to play for not updating you on this.

Now, it would not be coincidence that I started keeping diary when I passed out my higher secondary examination, a same period when I joined this course. Going through the course of my life, I have found numerous instances where I have been alone, dejected, lonely and defeated but I survived. There has being instances where I have seen (and still seeing) my peers leaving me behind and I trudging along on the same broken path, but I have survived. I have seen time when everyone I knew was having a cool time, partying and I was peering over books. I have seen times when people who studied with me in the same course passed out and qualified, and I failed to make a mark. Gosh! I have seen a lot, and still I survived and today when I have passed I can at least safely say I have failed, but I was never a failure.

Now, please don’t ask about what Company Secretaryship is all about, kindly google it. It is professional degree at par with Chartered Accountancy and Cost Accountancy and is managed by an Act of Parliament. It is the actual Corporate Governance course available. However, very few people may know that. But for me it has been a journey of sorts with more than its fair shares of ups and downs. And on retrospective I might say c’est vie.

After reading these lines, you all might be angry, and may ask “Why the hell now, after a month?” For this I would simply say, and as I have said, my present. Its push, pulls and pressures has its own role to play for stopping me from not writing. But now as I have written, I will try to be more regular.

After my result last month (it was 25^th Day of August) I wanted to write a post, about my journey till now. But not anymore, goal should always be at front of you and not backwards.

Now before I conclude this long write-up, which started from my brief history of diary keeping and blogging and to my present qualification. I must say, they both were intertwined. They both started at a period when I was at the edge, they both helped when I was falling down from the edge. They both challenged me and kept me going. It has being a long journey, I retrospectively sometimes I feel I should have finished it long ago, but alas! Now as I have, I am going for another one. Goal should always in front.

© Tarun Mitra

Death in Installments

This one has its inspiration from a news item I was forced to watch on India TV. Hopefully I have done justice to the emotions

Death in Installments

A boy jumps into a river

“Wait for the moment” the presenter says

The river was raging

10 seconds – will he live

15 seconds – will her survive

20 seconds – will he die

25 seconds – looks at his friends

They’re petrified

30 seconds – he is struggling

Or is he tired?

Or the river got better of him?

32 seconds – he disappeared

35 seconds – he reappears

Is this a miracle?

40 seconds – no one in sight

1 minute – whether he is dead or alive?

Where the current have taken him?

What can we do anyway?

It was death

Presented to you

In installments

© Tarun Mitra

Written on June 28^th, 2010

Beast of Burden

Beast of Burden

I carry

On my desiccated back

The loads

Of people-over the mountains

Over the hills

Through the valleys

For a living

I am not tired

I am not retired

I am not old

Age cannot bar me

How can it?

If load ensures

My kin’s daily meal

How can it?

If load ensures

My mere survival

How can it?

If load became

An inseparable part of my life

Remove it

And my breaths collapse

Remove it

And my bones crack

Remove it

And my blood drain

I am a Beast of Burden

For ages I am there

For ages I will be

I am a beast, not a human

I am not a beggar

I’ll never be.

© Tarun Mitra

This is my first posting for the month of June 2010 and one after a long long time. Indeed there was some slackness on my part but also it would be pertinent to mention that I was busy with my life. I was following only few blogs (apologies to others), but Delhi heat and power situation can be unforgiving.

The picture was taken by me on my trip to Mussoorie. It was taken on 11th June, 2010 and now it seems a long time ago.

Award for me

Well I must confess it is my third/ fourth award. But honestly I don't remember when I was awarded the earlier one. Secondly I was blissfully unaware of rules therefore I just said thanks to the person who awarded me. My awards were given by Megha and Nalini, both wonderful bloggers.

My this award is given by Karan, who happened to drop in my lonely blog and regularly shared his view. Thanks a lot buddy.

Now as rule of accepting the award I must forward it to my other fellow bloggers, I would like to give this "Cool Award" to

Megha for great stories and great photos

Nalini for great poetry and great photos

Tavish great blog mate and too regular

Gyanban needs no introduction

Anulal for heart rendering poetry

Mridula for encouraging me into blogging

Thanks again Karan, because it is for you now that I am posted again.

Death of Emotion

For the last few days its being easier for me to write poetry (though sporadically) than articles. Lets see whats next in store.

Death of Emotion

His heart clenched

When he saw her on board

A wishful prayer

Of God bought forth

She walked inside

Took a seat facing his back

He kept turning

To figure her outta pack

It’s being few months since

He’d last had a glimpse

The place was same

But the time different

But this time

T’was a long haul

He kept turning

As history strolled

They’d talked once

He’d always remember

Days of adolescence

Were full of adventure

They’d walked together

Talking ‘bout world

As one’s fancies flew

One’s was unruffled

He confided his love

As his nature was so

He paid a price

She forget him soon

They met twice again

But she didn’t ‘cognize

As his heart clenched

Her beat fine

Today when she board

His emotions soared

And gave a shriek

Of an animal getting caught

It’s being long time

He consoled himself

The death of emotion

is consolation.

© Tarun Mitra

April 16^th, 2010

Web of Life

Web of Life

Those who spin the web of life

May have never thought about strife

That exists between man and man

When every man gives the best he can

Little knots of this web

Loosened by the lessee itself

Who has never pondered himself

The shelter service the web provides

And yet he is hell bent

On destroying the creation

Of owner of heaven

Those who spin the web of life

© Tarun Mitra

May 6, 2005

For the one last time

It have being callous not to write about it. But what to write about, Dantewada represented all what is wrong with India's security apparatus. The 'MASSACRE' of 76 Jawans is the grim reminder of fact that the nation is still not united and there is still a fire in the belly. But I am more or less appalled with the general reaction of blogging community, who failed to mention it. When bomb exploded at the Bangalore stadium, we sprang into action writing pieces, when Pune happened we where shattered, but why on earth our reaction is so different when it comes to massacre in Dantewada, Silda or Orissa. Why are we such callous about maoist violence. Just because it doesn't affects us directly or it is just not glamorous. In this incident of Dantewada I have seen many news pieces but not a good reaction of city slickers. We are too busy with IPL tamasha.

Now, after this short but true lecture, I present the poem I wrote about the slain Jawans, not the only ones who died at Dantewada, but the one at Silda, Orissa, J&K and any other part of the country fighting the insurgents. It is the least I can do.

For the one last time

For the one last time

Her cell-phone rang

“Take care of kids” he said

And the line went dead.

For the one last time

He unlocked his gun

Aiming for the target

Bullets have him overrun

For the one last time

He prayed to god

He thought of his loved one’s

Till a bullet stuck his jaw

For the one last time

He took a deep breath

Taking cover under a tree

Landmine tore his leg

For the one last time

He took an aim

Killing a few

Then he was slain

For the one last time

He hurled the grenade

The usual thud

Then he found six coming

For the one last time

He took her picture out

Holding it to his heart

Falling! His hand held it tight

For the one last time

He feared for his life

Firing at all direction

One got is balls out

For the one last time

His life went through his eyes

Childhood, youth, manhood

Laid there, in blood

For the one last time

He wished to live

Amongst the dead

He gathered his ‘tines

For the one last time

He gathered his dreams

He wanted to be an artist

Battlefield became his sheet

For the one last time

He wept to live

The battlefield’s sympathy

Bullet through his brain

For the one last time

He waited for death

Miles away from home

His brothers made him bled

For the one last time

He saw his blood

Nothing was different

Between their flag and his blood

For the one last time

He blew the whistle

The final attack

Bayonets on barrel

For the one last time

They called for help

And nobody came

Laying their bodies to rest

For the one last time

The class war claim

The lives of poor

Whom the class represents

For the one last time

They came back home

Draped in flag, packed in coffin

The dead were somber

For the one last time

Their widows cried

The future was bleak

The promises hollow

For the one last time

They were criticized

For their tactics and strategy

Their sacrifice unnoticed

For the one last time

The Nation outrage

The dust settled

On wilderness came IPL

For the one last time

They turned in grave

Asking for the vengeance

Crying on decadence.

© Tarun Mitra

Legal Tangle

While waiting at a government office for getting the work done I wrote these few lines just for passing my time. The work was not done and the lines are before you.

Legal Tangle

It is something called legal tangle

Size more confusing than woman’s bangle

If the problem is countered at wrong angle

It becomes difficult to untangle the tangle

It’s much easier to break the bangle

© Tarun Mitra

Inner Strength

Another old one from me, can't help. Sunday is the only holiday. This one was written way back in 2007. Hopefully by next week will be able to add something new.

Inner Strength

My eyes look tired

My face look wrinkled

It gives an older than age looks

However my determination is not broken

Nor did my inner strength

© Tarun Mitra

Yet another week..

It is Thursday night 2330hrs, tomorrow is few minutes away, and I sit here, with drowsy eyes and drained out mind trying to write something, or least of it meaningful, to keep my this blog atleast alive. Indeed it is difficult.

Is it poverty of thoughts? Or drought of ideas? Or, is it just another plain laziness which had plagued me earlier? No, neither of them, I am just tired. After spending close to 10 hours at the office and 3 hours in commuting and that to by using public transport (even it is Delhi Metro) what is left of a poor soul of 24 year old. And to add a cherry to this cake I don't have Saturday off, with Sunday comes and goes life seems to be struck a High Tension wire.

Enough of whining, I chose it, or it was a hobsons choice. Whatever it was, decision is entirely mine. Anyhow coming to penning my thoughts, I think I have already explained why the idea don't get converted, not an excuse, but try walking in my shoes.

Be careful what you wish for, because some where in past I might have prayed for this and the Higher Power seems to be using LIFO in granting wishes. Anyhow, coming to the point.

But what point, this point has no point at all, just varied coordinates which I joining with my eyes closed. So excuse me if you had gone through this torture, Good bye for now, and hopefully we will see you on Sunday

Divided they Stand

Life is like million loose blocks

Divided they stand, united they fall

So don’t make your life with loose blocks

Cement it with good cement stock

© Tarun Mitra

This piece was originally written on November 9th, 2004. Do share your views. The picture you see was Clicked by me January 5th, 2010.

One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest: Book Review

On the very onset I must admit I am not a great reviewer of books, or any other thing for that matter. As I do believe since no five fingers are same, things are different from other. However, I also believe that nothing is always or never, hence this article.

I should say I have being forced to write this article by two compulsions, first is the compulsion of writing and of not posting for a considerable part of time and second one is the compulsion book itself. Many of you might be aware about the movie with the same name “One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest” starring Jack Nicholson, which won him his first Oscar. The movie was based upon this book by the same name written by Ken Kesey.

A little googling and you will easily find the story and other detailed research about this book and the movie also. But as I said, I am not a reviewer, I can only try to make you see but made me pick up this book and ultimately read it.

Picking up this book was not easy, with few bucks to spare, I was thinking about the return which I should expect. It was book fair, and as I had already explained in previous article I was not in a great mood to roam around. I decided to stick it out within few stalls, and for this one it was Penguin. This book, along with few others was under an offer, and as far as I can remember it was under Rs.200, a tempting offer for something which is marked £9.65. And secondly, the words “anti-establishment” commented in the back of the book. I gave it a second minute thought and decided to go ahead and make the last purchase for the day.

Something which attracted me towards this book was not the cover but the halo surrounding the story which was actually established by the movie itself. Though I haven’t seen the movie, but the reviews I read, and the other such supporting proofs made my mind tick that there must be something about it. And when I saw the book and corroborated the facts I knew, it seemed to be prudent enough to give it a try.

Who is insane? Who is mad? Who decides the conduct in the society and conduct of the society? Is it you, me or the society? What type of conduct is actually thought to be desirable in fitting into the society? There are no straightforward answers to these questions. This book does not provide those answers; this book only reinforces those questions. It puts those questions in a manner that either you will put the book down in disgust or you will be compelled to ask your own conscience these questions. And the answers are not easy.

This book in a manner ask those questions, not through the tongues of the persons whom we called ‘sane’ or ‘good’ but through the mouths of ‘insane’ and ‘criminal’. It asks question about the value of laughter in the gloomiest of the situation. It asks question of being free from any type of bondage. It asks question about being different. It asks question of being free and being non-submissive. It asks question of masquerading autocracy in the veil of participation. And finally it asks the question of the price one has to pay for being different.

This book is narrated by a person who has being displaced by the state, from his traditional and ancestral living, for some hydroelectric project, this person has gone through the trauma of seeing his tribe and family disintegrating and the tragedies of second world war as a conscript in Europe, and finally ending up in asylum. The repeated use of shock treatment and other such method makes his speech and views confined to him.

But this book is not about the narrator. It is about a criminal, who wishes to seek change for others. Because what he sees and feels is wrong. This book is about a nurse, which rules her ward with a toffee enameled iron-fist. It is about humiliation in public which she dishes out by just mere use of words in order to correct the patients. It is about her who feels an asylum is institution for insane.

Finally, this book is not about the asylum itself. Only through the context of place, it raises questions about what I called is ‘hound mentality’

I am a no great reviewer. But I must recommend giving this book atleast one shot. This book is written by Ken Kesey.

© Tarun Mitra

100th Post

So therefore at last.

Shrugging of my laziness

Resting my logic

Breaking my promise not to babble online

Ultimately I am writing my 100th post under a spell of painful swollen left leg which I have endowed for 3 days now and finally have decided to get to doctor morrow.

I thought a hell lotta things to write in this one, Rave, Rants, poems, views, diatribe but lastly settling for nothing..

Don't ask me how it happen (my leg if you care) coz I just don't know, one evening while getting printouts I began to hurt and on reaching home it was swollen and painful. And today I limped my way back home and morrow I have to limped my way to office. Anyhow.

So what have changed in its world. Nothing really! People are still fool, government is still screwing people, IPL tamasha have two more actors (i support Delhi though), world is going x yz, Google showed middle finger to the middle kingdom, and March is terribly hotter in Delhi than ever, and my indiranking plummeted to 69 on account of non posting.

Ufff...so much tension...smile and relax..U are still living

It has being a great journey till now. For all of those you out there who actually read before comment, thank you..you made me write better..and those who think I write shit, well my friend sometime mirror shows our own image and we fail to recognize it (no offence though).

This is my 100th Post see some different in 101

Why should I write?

I don't clearly remember why'd I began writing. Probably to diffuse tension which kept brewing in my brain, and by writing I mean writing not only blogging. I am quite unaware when this habit caught me and challenged me to give my best. But as time passed, and life grew, today I am compelled to ask myself "Why should I write at all?"

It is not that I accidentally stumbled upon writing. I used to write some parody, some speeches in my school days but they were few and far between. I graduated to diary writing during my first and second year. But discontinued regular writing soon, though I still keep a folder and use to pen my thoughts there often, but that too have reduced a lot after I started blogging.

Now coming to blogging, I must say I'd some good and some bad experiences. There were few good experience like some of my mediocre stuff got more attention and some bad experience like some of my better researched stuff suffered badly. Part of life I can say to myself. But...

Why should I write? it is the question I am asking myself, It is not about the readers only. But can it bring about any change. Will it affect the world even by an iota. Will it effect anyone's thinking by a tiniest bit. Will anyone disagree and lead to an healthy argument to keep me engage. Or will anyone even care.

It is my 99th post, and I don't know what I will post for my 100th.

Death wish

Again a poetry of mine. For last many days I am not feeling to write anything, though there are many things to write upon. But call it my sheer laziness or just chance. Hopefully by next week there would be some article or short story. For now enjoy (if it is) my poetry which I actually wrote on April 22, 2006.

Death wish

After my death

Don’t take chances

Burn the body

Bury the ashes

As poet in me

May rise again from the grave

Or walk away from the funeral pyre

But even though

I still may live

In the lines of my poems

In the music of my songs

Running through my paragraphs

With every set of human emotions

Hunger, happiness, rage, anger

I may live

I the morning breeze

In the drops of dew

In the rays of sun

In prit-prat of rain

In silence of night

In twinkles of star

In the shine of moon

Or I may live

In your hearts

Yours minds might forget me

But they’ll be a permanent address

I may not be there

But they’ll be the address

You may come as you like

And float through my lovely lines

And remember the man with whom

You took no chances

So after my death

Don’t take chances

Burn the body

Bury the ashes

© Tarun Mitra

Happy Holi

My Self Potrait (cropped for privacy) during last holi

Wishing you all a Happy Safe and Prosperous Holi

Drink but please do not drive after that

Flirt but do it within a limit of decency

And enjoy the festival of colors with full gaiety

No Candles for Sitting Ducks

The outrage is apparent, so is outpouring of grief and gush of anger in its various forms like poems, articles, condolence messages, debates and criticism. Those who perished in Pune were not at any fault. They had only gone there, unsuspectingly, to enjoy their meal and have a great time. It was Saturday night, a valentine weekend, and enough reasons to celebrate. But little did they know that their lives would come to such abrupt ending, a single fulmination and all their dreams lay splattered on the ground, with its color changed to red. And never in their wildest dreams would they have wondered that so many people would remember them and light candles in their grief and in protest of what grievers dub as complicity of government.

Two days later, in quaint little town of Silda 170 KM from Kolkata and barely 11 KM from Jharkhand border, 40 maoist armed with automatic weapons and driving in motorcycles and cars invaded police camp massacring 25 unsuspecting, unprepared and untrained policemen. This entire orgy lasted only for 15 minutes, within which the camp was set on fire and weapons were looted. The ferocity of this attack was such that only skeletal remains of camp and bed remained, many were roasted alive. The Camp was middle of a crowed town, it was unprotected and aptly one newspaper described the situation of the policemen as ‘Sitting Ducks’, the one waiting for the crocodiles to come. Policemen had the modern weapons, but were not trained. When the lightning stuck, they were not ever in their uniforms. Yet not a drop of tear was shed for them, not candle was kindled for those ‘Sitting Ducks’.

When the tragedy at Pune stuck, within few hours the blogosphere was up with news. After one day, poems, articles and condolences flowed in. But here where 25 people were killed even after 3 days, not a single piece of news, not even a single sling of emotion.

Josef Stalin had once said “Death of a person is tragedy, death of many is statistics”, it seems for the nation it was a tragedy at Pune and it was mere statistics at Silda. As a nation has our callousness escalated to such levels that we easily differentiate between terrorism. If it happens to us or of our ilk then it is a tragedy, an apparent failure of government machinery. And when it happens to those who fight for us, nothing, just because they are expendable or it is just that they belong to different strata of society or they just added to the statistics.

The incident of Pune can easily be attributed to the sources across the border. Protest meets, peace marches can easily be organized against a known enemy, bashing him up would be easy, and to much extent have became our favorite pass time with both public and media regularly taking a jibe. But the massacre of Silda is an act of an enemy within, why no protest against it, why no peace marches asking them to give up weapons. This enemy is more dangerous than one across the border. This enemy is fed on the hunger, desperation of people. This enemy has raised its ugly head to tell us that since we don’t care they’ll end us. This enemy talks about revolution, which can be simply stated as power to the holder of guns. This enemy only believes in democracy of terror and has pact within each separatist organization whose motives are to rip apart the country into various fragments, to deny the idea of India. And this is the enemy we are complicit of ignoring.

The members of Eastern Frontier Rifles came from poor families, the one who cannot afford to send their children to fancy engineering, management or medical colleges. In stark contrast with those who perished at Pune, many of whom were planning to visit abroad. The families of EFR men cannot afford media, unlike those of Pune who can raise their voices through various forums. Does it make the lives of those who protect us expendable?

Our Home Minister Mr. P. Chidambaram while inaugurating Chief Minister’s Conference on New Delhi on August 17, 2009 said, “….Let us take the average constable. He is perhaps the most used, misused and abused person ever to wear a uniform. He works, on an average, 12-14 hours a day; generally seven days a week, often throughout the year. Since he is drawn from the common stock of people, his behavior and attitude reflect that stock; only feeble attempt is made to improve his behavior or change his attitude….He is perhaps the most reviled public servant in India. From a violator of traffic laws to a rich man whose family member has run over several hapless persons sleeping on the pavement, everyone assumes that the average policeman can be cajoled, bribed, bought over, threatened or bullied into submission. The people’s estimate of the average policeman is low; the self-esteem of the average policeman is even lower. It is this police that is our frontline force to provide internal security; and it is this police force that we have to work with” True words isn’t it. And it has being made truer by our own acts. It is very easy to salute those Jawans who are awarded at Republic Day, but it is very difficult to understand the situation of those policemen who beat our streets daily. And when they are massacred we just don’t care.

If our attitude continues like this, when we are choosy to grieve for our brethren, especially those who protect us, rest assure that one day we will end up as ‘Sitting Ducks’. Don’t say what they do? Because it is such field where failures are noted and successes are only part of duty. Today when you will grieve for the departed souls of Pune blast, just a simple request shed a tear or two for those Silda policemen and all those dead whose voices fail to reach us through popular media. They are not just statistics, they are not ducks.

© Tarun Mitra

I am Distressed

I hate censors and believe people have right to know and right to say. But sometimes power corrupts and that is what I am seeing in my blog for last few weeks.

I love comments, whether they contradict my stand or they support my stand. I always enjoy a good debate, a good discussion, because ideas flow when we discuss and contradict. Therefore living up to that principle I had disabled word verification and enable anonymous commenting in my blog. However the response I got from few rotten one's has left me distressed and angry.

Being in Delhi, or India or any part of the world for that matter, we use slangs in our every day communication. Slangs are a part of culture, a manner by which we fume out anger or even shower love or crack a joke. It is good if it is used within limits and within a specific circle of people. However, it loses its taste when it misused, i.e., used in public forum where things are being discussed between people who have never met each other. This writer also have many juiciest of slangs up in his tongue but he seldom used them while discussing some important or not so important things with some unknown. This applies to blogs also.

As a blogger reading others blog I strive to keep my comments withing the limits of decency, and I also expect that people should follow the same while commenting here in my blogs. Even if I use an abuse I never direct it towards a particular person, it just forms part of a general statement, but as far as possible I try to avoid the language which I used amongst my friends.

But for the last few days I am getting dose of the medicine which I didn't applied to anyone. I was getting Anonymous comments on many of my articles, but the one I got on my post related to Tiger Conservation has crossed all the limits of decency and has forced me to enable moderation.

The person in question (I can safely assume he is not a gentleman) firstly posts, as anonymous, comment "NICE" for which he gets my response "Thanks but please give me your name". A good conversation always warrants knowledge of name. And In response I get a good dose of Delhi's Slang which then is followed by a slang-fest. I have to bring his family in the question.

This person without any shred of doubt is a coward, he was first using an Airtel Connection of Delhi and when I point out the same this smartass began using proxy server to post comments and asking me which country he is from, as if he thinks he is the only intelligent person remained in this world.

It seems that he has taken a good record of me and has put me in his reading and is having a real sick fun of abusing me in this public forum. Now he is using the name of 'Dick' to comment since I have disabled the anonymous commenting. His comment on last post has being deleted, it seems that he wishes me to get me to his rotten level. I will not oblige him.

Now for the records, if there is tiniest possibility that I know this guy/gal in person then he/she can safely presume goodbye to our friendship is there was any.

I follow net-etiquettes and I also presume others to follow the same while commenting. Slang is good, but it is a double edged sword, be careful while using it in public forum.

"REPUTATION" might be a 10 letter word but it takes life time to earn it, and just a spur of a moment to lose it.

Thanks

Tarun

Tagged so here I am

I was tagged by Sanand and here we go with some fun questions:

1. What is your current obsession?
Getting myself training

2. What are you wearing today?

Pajamas and T shirt…the usual for me

3. What's for dinner today?
Only My Mom knows
.

4. What's the last thing you bought?
Bananas

5. What are you listening to right now?
The Fan of my CPU

6. What do you think about the person who tagged you?
I think he is a fantastic blogger and lawyer

7. If you could have a house totally paid for, fully furnished anywhere in the world, where would you like it to be?
I always wish for a home, not a house. And wherever I find love that in my home.

8. What are your must-have pieces for summer?
T-shirts, cargoes, jeans, a bottle of water and electricity

9. If you could go anywhere in the world for the next hour, where would you go?
Anywhere where I could have good picture.

10. Which language do you want to learn?
Every single one….why put myself under any limits

11. What’s your favourite quote?
There are many, so single favorites. But this one, from Kaminey, might not suite your palette, I am using this one quite often these days “yeh kutti duniya badi haramzadi hai aur yahan ke log bade kaminey hai”

12. Who do you want to meet right now?
No one in particular.

13. What is your favourite colour?
Blue.

14. Give us 3 styling tips that work for you.
Nothing has worked for me yet, and if I put in honesty, it has only kicked my butt. But can’t help being good.

15. What is your dream job?

Army man or a warrior

16. What’s your favorite magazine?
No favorites, I read whatever I like

17. If you had $100 now, what would you spend it on?

That makes 5000 buck (INR) hmm…a good hard disk

18. What do you consider a fashion faux pas?

Anything which I don’t like :P

19. Who according to you is the most over-rated style icon?
Every high class darjis having their stores at swish street of every Indian city

20. What kind of haircut do you prefer?
Well I am balding, so, that makes thing up. But when I was not I loved military cut, real short.

.

21. What are you going to do after this?
Read about Intellectual Property Rights

22. What are your favorite movies?
There are many, not a freak, but list is long, like The Bridge over River Kwai, many in various languages..

23. What inspires you?
When someone tells me it cannot be done and I know I can do it

24. What do your friends call you most commonly?
Tarun or Kaminey :P

25. Would you prefer coffee or tea?
Black tea.

26. What do you do when you are feeling low or terribly depressed?

I go silent and breathe.

27. What makes you go wild?
Backstabbers, liars, pompous know-it-alls, those who take credit of someone else’s work and people who try to cut you down

28. Which other blogs do you love visiting?

Many blogs, can't think of just one.

29. Favorite Dessert/Sweet?
Chocolate, sweets…name them and I’ll have it

30. How many tabs are turned on in ur browser right now?

None, drafting this one on word now

31. Favorite Season?

All of them, every season is special

32. If I come to your house now, what would u cook for me?

Depends upon what you Eat J

33. What is the right way to avoid people who purposefully hurt you?

Let them have their pleasure, and smile, because deep inside you, you know they are stupid

34. What are you afraid of the most?
My anger.

35. When you looked at yourself in the mirror today, what was the first thing you thought?

I need a shave

36. What brings a smile on your face instantly?

A piece of Honesty and good humor

37. A word that you say a lot?
What the f***

38. When was the last time you did something nice?
I am a nice fellow J

39. What would you do if you were made President of India for one day?
Stay at Rasthrapati Bhavan, because Prez is only titular head of state. And click few images

40. Do you Know who Master SHIFU is?
No idea! But if I break the words it makes Shit+F*** :P

I would like to thank Sanand for tagging me. I wish to tag the following bloggers with the same questions:

Gagandeep New kid in blogosphere

Shivani New kid in blogosphere

Mridula

Megha

PS: I was first tagged by Megha...but at that time I still cannot figure out what the tagging is all about...leave our comments here..:D