tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-60250436168633101222024-02-07T07:43:34.537+05:30Wandering Wows! Whispers of a Vagabond MindDashyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12350406405959699889noreply@blogger.comBlogger140125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6025043616863310122.post-85373323048843620622023-12-29T10:00:00.007+05:302023-12-29T17:32:01.352+05:30Just Another Speck in the Cosmos<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhl-fuOiWHZT47Vj-Zp7jF9d_87MXXljxrVKcTJw1DmTtP9QBDBax23aUTDSXPmtJkq_CKV7x5JIVXCGkohzBGK2Xcg59pu7txZEtiWddznfABfhRXCFVYCWoHFyA3VmbO7x0vqr7kQ1gvgq_PdiZEkW85hTL98t8WdeVHygKeCCdEeXarurbVfjILyE__W/s1280/fantasy-4063619_1280.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1280" data-original-width="1280" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhl-fuOiWHZT47Vj-Zp7jF9d_87MXXljxrVKcTJw1DmTtP9QBDBax23aUTDSXPmtJkq_CKV7x5JIVXCGkohzBGK2Xcg59pu7txZEtiWddznfABfhRXCFVYCWoHFyA3VmbO7x0vqr7kQ1gvgq_PdiZEkW85hTL98t8WdeVHygKeCCdEeXarurbVfjILyE__W/w400-h400/fantasy-4063619_1280.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">src: <a href="https://pixabay.com/" target="_blank">pixabay</a></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p><br /></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Hey you,<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">This may have been the quickest year we’ve had yet. It feels
like only yesterday when I packed a year’s worth of life into five cartons and
moved to a new city. It’s hard to believe that was twelve months ago. Moving
places is always a romantic affair, don’t you think? The idea of leaving
something behind and exploring something anew. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">I’m not so sure what I’ve left behind. Maybe the crowd and
the frenzy that came with it. Maybe even a bit of loneliness and hurt from my
circle back there. But I do know what I’ve gained. A sense of calm. It’s only
when the water is still that you get to see clearly.<span></span></p><a name='more'></a> <o:p></o:p><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">In the calm that came with this year, I’ve been able to
indulge more consciously in the things I’ve taken for granted. Having the
freedom and choice to move cities on my own accord, for one. Having the time, and
energy to travel to places. Having the flexibility at work to fly home to my
parents any time I’m needed. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">I’ve made notable strides this year. Climbed the
professional ladder, albeit a little late, made a big personal purchase,
traveled abroad, signed up for an anthology publication, and even added more
plates to the barbell at the gym. Yes, the plates count.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">But when I reminisce about the bygone year, it is not these
strides that I think about. Of course, in their absence, I would be lamenting
their lack of it. So let me correct myself, for I want to be clear that I am
not taking these accomplishments for granted. While these strides are dear to
me, I have learned to value something else a lot more, the people closest to
me.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">I have come across many people over the year, a sea of faces
that came and went, some that were a powerhouse of talent, some that were kind,
some that were outrageous, and some that were overly pretentious. It was for the first time I realized that
finding people of your own wavelength is not an easy task, especially for an
introvert. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">I cannot stress enough the comfort of having my partner by
my side. To have someone to think aloud with, be silly with, giggle with. To
have someone pick up the things you’ve dropped, be it your keys or your
confidence. To have someone to unload to, to complement to.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">I cannot appreciate enough the hours-long conversations I
have with my family. Be it individually over the phone, or our weekly video
calls, or the dinner conversations at home. From the updates of the drama at
work, to the books or movies we’ve lately consumed, to politics or even
celebrity gossip, we cover a wide range of topics.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">And I cannot cherish enough my girl gang from college. Not
so much a gang but the two friends who have been a support system to me. We’ve
been actively exchanging compliments on each other’s outfits and keeping up
with each other’s miseries.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">In the past few years, I’ve been struggling with a declining
slope of confidence since my days at school. At school, I was part of the
limelight in that little universe, so I did not take mediocrity very well when
I got out. I wanted to feel important again, and when it did not come easily, I
put myself down for it. If nothing else, my experiences have been quite
humbling. The world is too large and I’m just another speck in the cosmos.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Rather than trying to feel important among others, I’ve been
trying to understand my worth myself. I remember a scene from the movie <i>Margarita
with a Straw</i>, where the protagonist Laila goes on a solo date. The idea
stuck with me, but I didn’t think I’d be comfortable doing that myself. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">When last year, it so happened that I had the whole day to
myself on my birthday, I decided to dress up and go for a walk. What was
intended to be a half-hour business ended up being a whole day’s affair. I went
shopping in the mall, had my favourite food for lunch, and sat in a café with a
journal and wrote a long entry. It’s surprising how comfortable you can be with
yourself when you’re not worried about what others think.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">I decided to make solo dates a birthday ritual. This year
the experience was as rewarding as the last. So, I’d like to appreciate this
part of me that prioritizes myself, because sometimes you need to remind
yourself to do that. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">I may be just another speck in the universe. But if you look
close enough, a speck could be a vibrantly burning star. It’s just that only
the ones in its orbit would appreciate its light.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">So, I’m here today appreciating my orbit. I’m here
appreciating my light and that of the others. I’m here reminding myself of my
blessings.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">I’m here pushing you to keep going. Onwards and upwards.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Love and hugs,<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Me<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal">This post is part of <b>The Year & You </b>blog hop hosted by
<a href="https://theblissfulstoryteller.com/" target="_blank"><b><span style="color: #2b00fe;">Swarnali Nath</span></b></a>.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>Dashyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12350406405959699889noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6025043616863310122.post-90295121935061284392023-03-08T00:51:00.002+05:302023-03-08T00:52:11.391+05:30Fainting into a Consciousness<p><br /></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhb_EhjT8S6D7zjbj3oIRca5uz5lN31bqbympzTHzE_PAad1FTOvJrTWAjGZ-dGmib0M-frRMWRRW_jUFukrA9IavSTRVEV80vH6zwCi9G7kAadrXG_xhinl1ld5vg_UrpoVeYC2fcO8yR1adI-fHh9GvWxP50nH1KkAbrCA6zMG4xQgFyokhC1ZD8j7A/s1920/child-g5956c3027_1920.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1920" data-original-width="1920" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhb_EhjT8S6D7zjbj3oIRca5uz5lN31bqbympzTHzE_PAad1FTOvJrTWAjGZ-dGmib0M-frRMWRRW_jUFukrA9IavSTRVEV80vH6zwCi9G7kAadrXG_xhinl1ld5vg_UrpoVeYC2fcO8yR1adI-fHh9GvWxP50nH1KkAbrCA6zMG4xQgFyokhC1ZD8j7A/w400-h400/child-g5956c3027_1920.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Src: <a href="https://pixabay.com/illustrations/child-mother-daughter-parent-3297554/" target="_blank">pixabay</a></td></tr></tbody></table><p>Everything is blurry. There's a bright point of light in front of me. I stare at it blankly for a while, unable to form a coherent thought. There are drops of water sprinkled on my face, but I don't question it. It doesn't seem odd. Nothing seems odd, not even the dark blobs popping into my view, blocking the harsh rays of light. Blobs that look like heads. Like faces.</p><p><span></span></p><a name='more'></a><p></p><p>I feel a tinge of curiosity building in my mind, but I'm still unable to frame it into a question. And then I see her. A face wrought with worry and terrible fear. All barriers inside my head break loose in a moment, and I understand what I need to do. I need to console her, tell her not to worry, tell her that everything is okay even though I don't yet know what is wrong. </p><p>It takes a few more seconds to realize that it was me she was worried about. As my senses return, I feel a sharp pain at the back of my head. I look around and see that I'm on the floor. She is holding me tightly, as if I'd fall back into the dark the moment she lets go. Ignoring the pain in my head, I reassure her, "I'm okay, mom. I'm okay."</p><p>It was the first time I had fainted, that too in a dramatic fashion by hitting my head on the floor. It was also the first time I had seen my mom so afraid, and the first time I felt the intensity of my own worry for her. In the days to come, I found myself being more conscious of her. Our morning walks by the beach and our conversations from the bedroom became all the more cherished. It was ironic, as it was me who had fallen and given her a shock. </p><p>Thirty years apart, I feel amazed at how well we get along. She is my favourite person to talk to. Even though we have beliefs that are polar opposites, we'd listen to each other and understand. We'd elaborate our thoughts, let each other in on our separate, personal lives. What makes it so special is the reciprocation I get in this relationship, with no drama, no ill will, no insecurities. It is the simplest and purest of bonds I find so rare out there. I cannot imagine losing this one day, cannot imagine a life without it. </p><p>She is the reason I want to be a mother myself. I want to have this relationship with my own children some day. But every time I give her a call and listen to her words that make everything feel alright, I wonder if I could ever reach up to that. I wonder if I could ever have that kind of effect on someone else. I can only hope.</p><p>I want to talk about her more. I want the world to know about this beautiful soul, her interesting life as she grappled through jobs from various places, how she continues to explore her interests today, welcoming opportunities on the way, making me believe in how exciting life could be if you choose so. On that note, it would be unfair of me not to mention my dad, who too is tirelessly churning his mind exploring passions of his own well past retirement. But that is a story for another day. </p><p>Today, as the world celebrates women's day, I want to celebrate my mother. I want to celebrate her for the person that she is, and for what she means to me. I want to celebrate the bond that we've nurtured, the inspiration she is to all the lives she has touched, and the woman she has made of me. </p><p>And I want to celebrate myself, for growing into who I am today, and all that I am going to be in the years to come. A big part of which, I will owe to her. </p><p>Here's to you, ma. </p><p>Happy women's day.</p><p>.</p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><i>This blog post is part of the Women's Day Blog Hop, themed on <b>She: A Tribute to Her</b>, hosted by <a href="https://theblissfulstoryteller.com/" target="_blank">Swarnali Nath</a></i><br /></p>Dashyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12350406405959699889noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6025043616863310122.post-69000502419321908362022-12-28T14:21:00.000+05:302022-12-28T14:21:01.462+05:30On a Curtained Balcony<p> </p><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1vR--5svuyD3Tu58T5pJz4ikz03VYgPjBfrQd6N87JzZFn9ibURyI9JDZjvbtDBEEH10oFGJxr706AdMpzAvOdmryCU2V80UGoItWNWz3Ykmt2k-gsAJsCMhoMDhBiUF0m-E8Y6iqqyKs4fqn4M-euDcGDAaBVDjxNEslkBHfjkmyktXGUb5Cvp3_zw/s2000/%E2%80%94Pngtree%E2%80%94hand-painted%20character%20on%20the%20balcony_4029632.png" imageanchor="1"><img border="0" data-original-height="2000" data-original-width="2000" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1vR--5svuyD3Tu58T5pJz4ikz03VYgPjBfrQd6N87JzZFn9ibURyI9JDZjvbtDBEEH10oFGJxr706AdMpzAvOdmryCU2V80UGoItWNWz3Ykmt2k-gsAJsCMhoMDhBiUF0m-E8Y6iqqyKs4fqn4M-euDcGDAaBVDjxNEslkBHfjkmyktXGUb5Cvp3_zw/s320/%E2%80%94Pngtree%E2%80%94hand-painted%20character%20on%20the%20balcony_4029632.png" width="320" /></a></div><br /><p></p><p class="MsoNormal">Hey you,<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal">It’s been almost a year since we moved away from home.
Almost a year since I put up those red curtains for my balcony doors. That was
all the decoration I could manage for my room, except for the aloe vera sulking
at me from my table. I know I forget about its existence most of the time, but
it pretty much takes care of itself. That was why I agreed to bring it over in
the first place, mom was adamant.<span></span></p><a name='more'></a><o:p></o:p><p></p><p class="MsoNormal">I figured that my balcony would be my escape from routine
and monotony, like my terrace used to be back home. I pictured myself leaning
on the railing with a warm cup of tea, watching the orange sky and smiling to
myself. Unfortunately, this image never materialized. Instead, my balcony’s
been gathering dust and pigeon feathers. <o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal">I wish I could say that this was a good thing, that it was
because the routine hasn’t been monotonous at all. But the truth is that the
routine has been colonizing my mind, leaving little to no space for guilt-free
leisure thoughts. Emphasis on the ‘guilt-free’. In the middle of the hustle, I
would instead find comfort in the closed curtains, knowing that the escape was
right there if I needed it, but not allowing myself to peek, lest I get drawn
to it and end up staying for too long.<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal">It’s funny how until a year ago, I prided myself in not
being affected by the rat race, in believing that I could be different, content
with what I have. But I understand now that I am a part of the race whether I
like it or not. Refusing to see that only makes me incompetent in a society
that I am dependent on. Today I find myself yearning for more, feeling
disheartened for not keeping up, beating myself up for being idle, for enjoying
life rather than working determinedly towards a goal. Today it is not enough to
merely live, I need to achieve, I need to conquer. <o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal">This goes against my previous outlook of living with the
pleasures of little things. I understand now that the satisfaction I used to
feel earlier came from a place of privilege, where everything I wanted fit into
its respective places without much hassle. Now that I need to lift a finger to
get something I want, I suddenly feel like nothing is working out. I’m
impatient and dissatisfied. It took a while to realize that these feelings were
a byproduct of a newly sown seed of ambition. <o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal">I’ve often associated ambition with unhappiness. You either
get there or you don’t. When you don’t, you’re unhappy. When you do, the
feeling is transient and leaves you with an emptiness afterward. Psychology
even has a term for it – arrival fallacy. Ambition to me was an addiction that keeps
us stuck in the race.<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal">I’m learning to see it differently now. Ambition gives a
purpose to our existence, however transient. But we must learn to dissociate it
from the idea that we cannot be happy until we achieve it. I’ve been
struggling to do that, however. As the year comes to a close, I’m grasping at
straws to feel accomplished. I have no feathers to add to my cap. But it is not
enough to merely live, right? I need to achieve; I need to conquer. <o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal">While I’ve been happy this year, I haven’t been satisfied. I’ve
been trying to fit everything into my schedule. To work out as often as
possible, to cook healthy meals, to meet professional deadlines, to keep the
house clean, to write, to read, to take that online course I’ve always wanted
to, to make time for my loved ones, to socialize, in fact, to simply live an
average normal life. Why does something that is supposed to be natural feel a
little overwhelming? Maybe because I feel like I’m not doing any of it well
enough. <o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal">I am in awe of all those who have learned to prioritize and
organize their routine. I am in awe of all the artists who stay in touch with
their art while having a separate full-time job. And I am blown away by those
holding together a family as well. <o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal">As for me, I think about this year and I remember all the
times I’ve pampered myself. The wardrobe upgrades, the salon visits, the
weekend getaways…it’s been a great year. Given another chance, I would do it
all again. But without an accomplishment, it just doesn’t feel enough. <o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal">I was starting to consider the year unproductive as a whole.
But then, I would be invalidating how I learned to handle a home and develop
healthy habits, how my introverted self decided to explore spoken word poetry,
and how I’ve grown as a person through my relationship with my partner. <o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal">I can’t help feeling a little proud after all. Progress, no
matter how small, is still progress.<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal">I was finally in my balcony today, although without the cup
of tea. The sky wasn’t orange, it was grey. And the wind blew blaring horns and
revs from the main road towards me. Not the ideal escape I was looking for. <o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal">So I turn around and walk towards the hall, where my
partner is setting up the table. I settle down and take in the view in front
of me. A home-cooked meal after an hour of workout, a clean kitchen, and my favourite
person sitting across from me. I’d call today a win.
<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal">Sometimes, all we can and need to do is put one foot in
front of the other. I hope you remember that.<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal">Wishing you a kinder and more fulfilling year ahead.</p><p class="MsoNormal">Your dearest,<o:p></o:p></p><p>
</p><p class="MsoNormal">Me<o:p></o:p></p><p>.</p><p><br /></p><p><i><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></i></p><p><i><span style="font-family: inherit;">This blog post is part of the <b>Let's Say Hello 2023</b> Blogging Activity hosted by<a href="https://theblissfulstoryteller.com/" target="_blank"> Swarnali Nath</a>. </span></i></p><p><i><span style="font-family: inherit;">Image courtesy: hand painted PNG Designed By 千图网 from <a href="https://pngtree.com/freepng/hand-painted-character-on-the-balcony-looking-at-night-view-of-curly-girl-can-be-commercial-elements_4029632.html?sol=downref&id=bef ">pngtree.com</a></span></i></p><p></p>Dashyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12350406405959699889noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6025043616863310122.post-35221660837045040302022-01-10T23:11:00.000+05:302022-01-10T23:11:55.051+05:30Cherished and Forgotten<p><br /></p><p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEg0YxWel3nIalIudyOM99d-qnPXdRT3adme9_RbUzbJOduYqp7E5YQwX7Z0pD4HHNoL-vHT13aDv1tRBvtTjMFrHiupfzkKQ4DYBcQYOrte6Ld66H85H1xlHkja-It1VXktE2wVPWboBiPfbjqvUaWq1ps3_fZFMAa6nIYG_-bBJOOyu0YXPJHsfBjSZA=s1920" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="girl hugging heart" border="0" data-original-height="1920" data-original-width="1440" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEg0YxWel3nIalIudyOM99d-qnPXdRT3adme9_RbUzbJOduYqp7E5YQwX7Z0pD4HHNoL-vHT13aDv1tRBvtTjMFrHiupfzkKQ4DYBcQYOrte6Ld66H85H1xlHkja-It1VXktE2wVPWboBiPfbjqvUaWq1ps3_fZFMAa6nIYG_-bBJOOyu0YXPJHsfBjSZA=w300-h400" width="300" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><p><span style="font-size: x-small;">Source: <a href="https://pixabay.com/illustrations/woman-a-heart-love-feelings-girl-6485065/" target="_blank">pixabay.com</a></span></p></td></tr></tbody></table><br />Vemödalen. </p><p>The fear that everything has already been done. </p><p>When I first came across this word I nodded it off, not giving it a second thought. Today it tails every thought in my mind, pulling back each one that wishes to break through and live a life of its own. It crushes them half-baked before I can put a sense to them, before I can give them space to grow into themselves. It mocks every feeble effort of theirs to be unique, to simply be their own self. It sniggers enough to deafen the little voice in them, wishing meekly to be heard.</p><p><span></span></p><a name='more'></a>Words. <p></p><p>I have been in love with them for as long as I can remember and yet I push them away too often. To me, they are a treasure trove I have been lucky to discover. I do not want to lose the magic in them, the fulfillment that gushes through me when I indulge in them, the zone I slip into as it happens...no, I want to cherish it. But I'm afraid of losing their meaning, of having them thrown about in abundance with no essence, like a body without a soul, existing but not quite, just in forgotten fleeting moments. </p><p>So I put them aside with a promise to return the next time the winds brushed past me, luring me back into the place I love most, deep inside my own mind. My safe space where I am loved, appreciated, and forgiven for all that I am not but perhaps should have been. A space where I feel beautiful inside out, even if transient. </p><p>In their presence, I am still special, unlike the outer world where we all are but a speck of dust in the cosmos. In that mighty universe, what could this little conscious mind create that hasn't already been done? What point does it serve? What meaning will it bring? Why step out and be another drop in the ocean when I can be a fountain in here, magnificent in my own little universe.</p><p>Vemödalen.</p><p>What an oddly beautiful word, to be able to capture a feeling so widely shared. Maybe it is true, that there is nothing novel left to be done in this world. Or maybe there is and we're just made to believe otherwise. It is so often that we think of our worth with respect to the world. If we were to put the world's eye out of the equation, we'd be left with our own choices, what we gain from our actions, and what our individual journey turns out to be. Perhaps it is a selfish way of looking at things, but there is a fine line between selfishness and self-love, one that I draw and re-draw. I am still learning. This is a part of my experience no one can have a hold over. </p><p>This is my journey. It doesn't matter if something I do has already been done. What matters is that <i>I</i> haven't, that I'm doing it now and reveling in the novelty it gives me. </p><p>I revel in the joy that words give me. </p><p>Words.</p><p>Such is the power that they impart. They shape for me a meaning to my existence. They give me life. They calm me. And they remind me of all that is worth living for.</p><p>Here's hoping I hold on to them more this year.</p><p>Here's hoping you hold on to yours too, the cherished yet forgotten.</p><p>Happy 2022, folks.</p><p>...</p><p><br /></p>Dashyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12350406405959699889noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6025043616863310122.post-44148524599440026142021-06-06T16:40:00.003+05:302022-01-10T23:25:46.940+05:30A Mountain's Call<p> </p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEicxz-u3dtLdPPAMHTJCIC4L8xw4HrKVy4t3Chs8KvHKXv7mqPn_4Y30J7-K2Q18zZCQqMf1a31cP8-IVFY3cdynxijqu3VhyphenhyphenE7gat47X9iI3jK7eW24FsDmRhELW66I6arppymTuFyssGO/" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="" data-original-height="711" data-original-width="1025" height="278" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEicxz-u3dtLdPPAMHTJCIC4L8xw4HrKVy4t3Chs8KvHKXv7mqPn_4Y30J7-K2Q18zZCQqMf1a31cP8-IVFY3cdynxijqu3VhyphenhyphenE7gat47X9iI3jK7eW24FsDmRhELW66I6arppymTuFyssGO/w400-h278/NicePng_moutain-png_8123191.png" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">src: <a href="https://www.nicepng.com/us/" target="_blank">nicepng</a></td></tr></tbody></table><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><p></p><p class="MsoNormal">On a freezing night, 6000 ft above the sea, our flashlights
moved haphazardly from the tent. My numb fingers fumbled for the sleeping bag,
craving its promised warmth. My tent-mate’s uneven breathing alternated
with my own. For a moment her headlamp flashed on my face. I winced.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“Why are we doing this again?” she asks.<span></span></p><a name='more'></a><o:p></o:p><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">I laugh, thinking of the answer that mankind has been
giving for ages.<i> Because we can. </i>We were scaling up a 12000 ft peak for the
hell of it. But of course, there was more to it than that. Or so I hoped as I tried to
stop my teeth from chattering.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">It was day two of our first Himalayan trek. We anticipated
rain in the coming days. That meant an additional concern of tripping over my
overly large raincoat. Also, the slippery trail. Not to mention the possibly
reduced visibility from the fog. Yet we hoped for rain. Because you see, rain
meant possible snow, and snow was all the motivation we needed to overcome all
else.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">So we were off, dressed in ponchos and holding our trek
poles, looking like a bunch of cloaked wizards. With our poles digging into wet
mud, we marched ahead in the rain the next day. We were deep in the woods when something sharp
landed on my hand. A stone, perhaps. But then came another. And another. Pretty
soon there were hard stones falling all over us. A hailstorm. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">I could hear our trek leader shouting from a distance. The
cloaked wizards picked up his holler and chorused along – ‘Heads down!’. And
there we were in a long line in the middle of the forest, heads resting on our
poles while the hailstorm attacked us from behind. In my mind at the moment, there was nothing but plain excitement. The adrenaline. That’s when I knew; this was what we'd signed up for.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">In the next two days my feet faltered, weighing in the
unaccustomed long walks. But in these days I’d breathed in the view of a lake
trapped in a meadow under a dusky sky, I’d drank water from a cold and
crystalline stream head-first, and I’d sat on the edge of a cliff arm in arm
with the sky. On the last day as I caught the first glimpses of snow, it was all
my body needed to revitalize. I was up on my feet, ready for more.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">The fatigue forgotten, I wanted to hop and prance. I often found
myself tossing small balls of snow into the air. The higher we climbed, the
softer the snow became. And the more the snow around us, the happier I was. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">While we inched towards the summit, a snowstorm was brewing.
Light snow had begun to fall. Everything from the sky to the trees to our
very own feet was covered in white. Entirely white and incredibly beautiful. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">When finally up on the summit, I wanted to scream out loud like
I’d always imagined in my head. But my throat didn't agree so
I gave up. And as if to make up for it, we had our trek leader screaming on top
of his voice. Only that it was to urge us to descend immediately. The snowstorm
had arrived.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Thus began the last and the best part of the trek.
The descent. In a hurry to beat the storm, we ran and tumbled down the slope.
Legs and poles sunk into the snow to form trenches. Winds slapped snow onto our faces. The
strands of hair escaping our hoods got frozen. So did our eyelashes. Even the furry
black-turned-snow-white dogs who’d been with us shared our panic as they ran
along.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">It felt like we were running for our lives. And I was absolutely loving
it! As crazy as it sounds I was laughing as we made our way to an even ground.
On finally reaching a shelter we huddled up. We were grinning and heaving, our
collective thrill floating in the circle. This was when our leader stepped
aside and asked us a question, his face flushed with passion,<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“Do you feel alive?!”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">His energy was infectious. Yes. That was exactly
how we felt. Alive. I couldn’t remember the last time I felt this way. I felt like I had rewarded myself, like I’d given my body what it was missing for long. I felt like I wanted more of this. I felt incredibly happy.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">And with such an overwhelming feeling, it came to a close. The feeling now lingers at the back of my head, slowly slipping into dormancy. It waits to be rekindled some day when the now-dominant virus is put to sleep instead. </p><p class="MsoNormal">But until then, we reminisce and hold on. </p>
<div style="text-indent: -48px;">To</div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3eNV9uf2vf4-T3kNfvF1VDEQ0RukBaicMnFO_BAfk4wbqf465CCa8U7ABj4eAD1qZjkAblzo7UnfOcneGvY0tNndIG8cm0QmRFf-1bUIEMzlK5LKtD8MU4WDdd6xUZ5vr1nBb3X6wce6M/s2642/20210423_100551.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><i><img border="0" data-original-height="1190" data-original-width="2642" height="326" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3eNV9uf2vf4-T3kNfvF1VDEQ0RukBaicMnFO_BAfk4wbqf465CCa8U7ABj4eAD1qZjkAblzo7UnfOcneGvY0tNndIG8cm0QmRFf-1bUIEMzlK5LKtD8MU4WDdd6xUZ5vr1nBb3X6wce6M/w724-h326/20210423_100551.jpg" width="724" /></i></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">...</p><p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal"><i>P.S - The trek referred to is the Deoriatal - Chandrashila trek in Uttarakhand. Here's a shoutout to <a href="https://indiahikes.com/deoriatal-chandrashila-trek/#gref" target="_blank"><b>Indiahikes </b></a>Trekking Organization for giving us such an amazing experience.</i></p>Dashyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12350406405959699889noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6025043616863310122.post-34630984049946758712021-02-09T00:00:00.003+05:302022-01-10T23:13:37.815+05:30To Love<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJ-ev1M9EHdYL8dC8s7W8X3P4tAF4U_nsDNyvv8CYMPK_cX4V05CqzPGlmKTE_0C31eca2HtnCwTFrT831_xG9TGYUFKf5gmJBvlSuG2-CbYc3AWMtiViF1ZK0FCZM9ZQzUSJ7nKTn2aI1/s1667/favpng_eiffel-tower-le-relais-gascon-valentines-day-clip-art.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1327" data-original-width="1667" height="319" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJ-ev1M9EHdYL8dC8s7W8X3P4tAF4U_nsDNyvv8CYMPK_cX4V05CqzPGlmKTE_0C31eca2HtnCwTFrT831_xG9TGYUFKf5gmJBvlSuG2-CbYc3AWMtiViF1ZK0FCZM9ZQzUSJ7nKTn2aI1/w400-h319/favpng_eiffel-tower-le-relais-gascon-valentines-day-clip-art.png" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">src: <a href="http://favpng.com">favpng.com</a></td></tr></tbody></table><p><br />"So?" </p><p>I ask him, feigning impatience. Inside me is a racing heart ready to burst at any moment. I wonder if it's my excitement or just the fear of getting caught by the PT teacher.</p><p>"You know what I'm going to say." he says. I almost roll my eyes. </p><p>"Are you going to say something or not?" </p><p>He shuffles his feet awkwardly, unsure what to do in this situation. We're at the corner of the playground, trying to be discreet in the middle of noise and hustle. </p><p>"Okay." he says, breaking into a grin. "I love you."<span></span></p><a name='more'></a><p></p><p>I grin back at him, matching his level of awkwardness. What now? Do I say it back right away? Well, fortunately at the moment (or not?), the bell rings. We dash back to our classrooms with stupid grins on our faces. </p><p>Love. That was back when we easily tossed the word back and forth having barely understood it. We knew what it was to us. That excitement you had for that someone. That tingling feeling you get when you're near them. The giggles you can't stifle when you think of it all. That was love. And it was good. It was fun. It was a happy time.</p><p>Years later, I find myself sitting in a dark corridor hugging my knees. My sensitive self giving me just another tough time. I feel weak and silly for being irrationally emotional. But I can't help it. I can't gulp back the lump in my throat. My hand is then held by another. Firm on my tender palm, as if the mere grip would keep me from falling into the abyss of diffidence. And it did. It kept me from falling. It brought me back to the surface. That very moment to me, that was love. To make an effort for someone. To see them, value them, and be there for them.</p><p>Over time I let the walls around me fall, having saved up enough of trust. Love walked in and made itself at home, and I snuggled in happy as can be. They'd warned that love would make you blind. But for me, it only helped me see more. I could see more of myself, the good and the bad. I swaggered and faltered alike. I doubted sometimes and believed at other times. I put myself first, and sometimes second, and wondered which times were supposed to be which. This was love. Complicated once you dive in a little deep.</p><p>And in this complicated whirlpool came times when the demons were let loose, when the worst side of me breathed into life and left behind a wreck. It's scary to get back in there. It's scary to face that side of you. But for what it's worth, you do all that you can to confront it and put an end to it anyway. For, that is love. To be willing to work on your flaws for it, to strip ourselves of our ego.</p><p>And yet, on a casual day when I'm doing the most mundane things with the partner, I find myself in love. Simply to be blissfully free, to not have to hold myself back, to feel comfortable with myself. This too is love. To be able to be yourself with them. To find happiness in their presence.</p><p>Love is a myriad of things; a journey, a revelation, a source of immense energy. It is bliss and it is pain. It is sacrifice with much to gain. It is all of these and more that I am yet to learn.</p><p>This is love. </p><p>And I wouldn't trade it for anything in the world.</p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">.</div><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1127" data-original-width="1920" height="376" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNDv8cT0-9e4_iFAcUKM19am_8GtbTWDrOlsu-PQsgre1rMyR9arZbMNTwhyphenhyphenlPW3DpCxOo0xfICJopoj9d6lkdsmIiUBByEMGx67Vcmoji5gLxJjuKPVG_XCHegSSlK5G8zRctds4CpUwd/w640-h376/img_20210201_122142.png" width="640" /></div><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="background-color: white; box-sizing: border-box; font-family: Merriweather, serif; font-size: 15px; font-weight: 700; text-align: justify;">This blog post is a part of the Petals of Love Blog Hop hosted by<a href="https://thesaffronstoryteller.com/2021/01/31/petals-of-love-blog-hop-rules-and-guidelines-for-bloggers/" target="_blank"> Swarnali Nath</a></span></p>Dashyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12350406405959699889noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6025043616863310122.post-85764815481265472102021-01-05T00:00:00.037+05:302021-01-05T00:00:00.826+05:30The Time of Confrontation<p></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjn40ds5JKbCdo13CtuxsD0iShKWo_qSDt62iHbkCjQ5fRHpjr9R0Xu9kQ5nVD1mvZpd_VGbiQESZNHWw2V7KYcHaEBMr5aHs1uow_f13oVDEuPeELr5xa9mOyzoGn3A8aIA5BzXislE5BL/" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1600" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjn40ds5JKbCdo13CtuxsD0iShKWo_qSDt62iHbkCjQ5fRHpjr9R0Xu9kQ5nVD1mvZpd_VGbiQESZNHWw2V7KYcHaEBMr5aHs1uow_f13oVDEuPeELr5xa9mOyzoGn3A8aIA5BzXislE5BL/w400-h400/8eec6ef84c187a32af133c1e525aed8a.png" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">src: <a href="https://freeimagesandillustrations.blogspot.com/2020/01/woman-looking-to-mirror-silhouette.html?spref=pi" target="_blank">freeimagesandillustrations</a></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p></p><p>It had been too long since the indoors took over. There was no point in waiting anymore, it being well established that the normal we had known wouldn't be restored for quite some time. And so, coupled with the inefficient handling of semester finals and hurried online evaluations came the inadequate goodbyes of my final year. <span></span></p><a name='more'></a><p></p><p>But here I was secretly thrilled for not having to attend courtesy farewell parties. Sitting through video calls wouldn't be half as bad now, would it? I was wrong. What was meant to be a time to reminisce over the good times turned out to be a reminder of all things unaccomplished. What was meant to evoke fond memories instead evoked the dreaded ones. I found myself cutting off midway from the call and letting my self-imposed disappointment sink in. Until I decided to pick up my phone and text a friend.</p><p>"Hi. I'm feeling sad."</p><p>And there began the confrontation. Admitting to the pretense of fitting in. To not being the person I thought I should be. Accepting what I hadn't achieved, but also what I had, and understanding what really mattered.</p><p>Endings tend to do that to you. It makes you introspect. Like the end of every year when you look back and assess the have-beens and plan the is-to-be's. It's when you finally confront what you may have been dodging from until then. But 2020 gave us enough time to introspect much before it reached its end. </p><p>And so, I spent ample time doing the same over the last year - evaluating how far I'd come, where I stood at the moment, and where I'd wanted to be. Not that I found all the answers, but a few pieces did fall into place in the end.</p><p>My personal milestone of the year was my e-book <span style="color: #800180;">'<b><a href="https://www.amazon.in/dp/B08CDWGHJG">An Ode to the Self</a></b>'.</span> It was not so much about having written a book than it was about confronting my deepest fears in it. I cannot say that writing them down transformed me. But I can say that it has sowed a seed in me. It has given me perspective, thoughtful conversations with people I care about, and it has led to positive consequences.</p><p>I have learned, for instance, that the ones who I believed to be far different from the way I am, think the same thoughts that I think. I have learned that it is possible for both ends of an argument to be correct if only either side were willing to listen. And I have learned that it is extremely difficult, albeit rewarding, to be able to accept the shortcomings of one's own and work on them, especially when pointed out by another.</p><p>I have walked away from what were called 'opportunities' over the years. But I've learned how only I know best which opportunities of the kind do me good and which ones don't. It is liberating to know what is best suited for you, to be able to discern what you do or do not need. I am learning to trust myself a little more. </p><p>The last year has given us an excuse to slow down and take a breath. With the fast-paced world being forced into a staggering halt, and now slowly gaining back its momentum, many of us have been privileged to stay afloat or even fare well. So for all that I have today, I am grateful. 2020 may have been a frustrating year, but I believe we have all learned to appreciate what we have a little more.</p><p>Although we've entered a new year, I have no new resolutions in mind. 2020 has already put me on track. It has brought me face to face with several truths that I'd previously dismissed. I'm working on myself. I'm telling myself that I'm doing enough. I have a long way to go, yes. But I am happy with where I am right now and the pace at which I'm going. To me, that is more than enough.</p><p>What has your year-end confrontation been like?</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEglFuV65IfhieS5_bUJJueQ5E19tKuW0OVANwpTK4zTYl7IwbUhBjxUW84M1Uxi4WugsxMPwnLGr-Vay8bS-egF-q9xgfIaVj_PxqAuz0opjatmHvt-xt7IxxXm8SWXPhTK8Z5jXH6pbtxo/s1920/20201222_000112_0000.png" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1080" data-original-width="1920" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEglFuV65IfhieS5_bUJJueQ5E19tKuW0OVANwpTK4zTYl7IwbUhBjxUW84M1Uxi4WugsxMPwnLGr-Vay8bS-egF-q9xgfIaVj_PxqAuz0opjatmHvt-xt7IxxXm8SWXPhTK8Z5jXH6pbtxo/w640-h360/20201222_000112_0000.png" width="640" /></a></div><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="background-color: white; box-sizing: border-box; font-family: Merriweather, serif; font-size: 15px; font-weight: 700; text-align: justify;">This blog post is a part of the Welcome 2021 Blog Hop hosted by <a href="https://thesaffronstoryteller.com/2020/12/23/welcome-2021-blog-hop-rules-and-guidelines-for-bloggers/" target="_blank"><span style="color: #800180;">Swarnali Nath.</span></a></span></p>Dashyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12350406405959699889noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6025043616863310122.post-4106251516222950902020-12-11T20:29:00.001+05:302020-12-11T20:29:37.233+05:30Living in Limbo<div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhNELUMciML9ceOjqbBXb1igQvhZI19kbADH-LYT4KemDLHvVKmo5PR37WtIfQxUt1SY27w8uWJ5jOWrGrAHx7t4Kpoy-WZFERUYGQVzAIQRNufWqQPS6K6c9dsyjZ37Q0m36n-HjqJfv4q/" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="" data-original-height="721" data-original-width="731" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhNELUMciML9ceOjqbBXb1igQvhZI19kbADH-LYT4KemDLHvVKmo5PR37WtIfQxUt1SY27w8uWJ5jOWrGrAHx7t4Kpoy-WZFERUYGQVzAIQRNufWqQPS6K6c9dsyjZ37Q0m36n-HjqJfv4q/" width="243" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Source: <a href="https://www.hiclipart.com/search?clipart=cartoon+Calendar" target="_blank">hiclipart</a></td></tr></tbody></table><br /></div></div><div>Do you ever feel stuck in time? On a routine that goes on in a loop with no change whatsoever? You have these things you want to do but you put them off for later. You don't really do anything to get there at present. Or maybe you do and the routine is a part of it. Either way, you're waiting. Waiting to get there. Somewhere. </div><div><br /></div><span><a name='more'></a></span><div>Is it weird to find comfort in a routine only because of the ability to break it? How would you appreciate the weekend if you weren't working 5 days a week? </div><div><br /></div><div>I longed for a break to figure things out. To maybe sit and mull over the grand plan I was going to devise that would get me where I wanted to be. And when the time finally fell into my arms I had no clue what to do next. Oh, I did mull and muse and meander in my mind. But funnily enough, the only thing I figured out was that I wanted to get back into the routine. </div><div><br /></div><div>I feel blank. No, confused. And even guilty because I have no particular reason to feel so. I guess I'm enjoying the little pleasures, watching a bit of entertainment, spending time with friends, reading when possible. Life is good. But I've always been looking for a meaning. I have a feeling that it is inching away from me, and I'm not sure if that is a good thing. I'm not sure if I want to give in to the smaller things if it means I wouldn't look ahead. For someone who has always hated monotony, I'm surprisingly finding comfort in work and chores today. Is this what adulthood does to us?</div><div><br /></div><div>I feel happy and satisfied for now, I think. I know that I want to do more but just not yet, you know? I'm waiting again. Like I waited for the free time that came and passed. Now waiting for the pandemic to pass as well. Convenient excuses to put me at ease, to not get up and hustle just yet. But on days like this when I mull and muse again, I wonder what it is that I'm really waiting for. I cannot put a finger on it. I don't understand it. </div><div><br /></div><div>I don't know what I want. I don't know what I'm looking for, it's silly really. On most days when I'm occupied the mind doesn't get enough room to think about this aimless search of mine. It isn't a botheration in general. But I always manage to come back to it some day, to trouble my thoughts with this eternal waiting I've signed up for. </div><div><br /></div><div>Perhaps this is the feeling of the endless wants our human nature is born with. That feeling that nothing is ever enough as we keep striving for more. </div><div><br /></div><div>Maybe one of these days I'll figure out what it is. </div><div>But until then, I'll be living in limbo. Floating in my happy bubble while I wait.</div><div><br /></div>Dashyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12350406405959699889noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6025043616863310122.post-82892971334822896392020-07-27T13:15:00.000+05:302020-07-27T13:15:27.115+05:30Abstraction<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZG6Lv6cvJh14xp5D5EgSmAD5iEYJAovt6_xLpjYw2KILoYfz2oUn39GySJD4id4seKfpZ8Uqzckj0DnHPv7IVQx4goZaKtojtrvHrq8Ylo6lPlHLFOnX8GjiSQpYYH8vmwMMkdWbijTY4/s800/abstract.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="800" data-original-width="800" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZG6Lv6cvJh14xp5D5EgSmAD5iEYJAovt6_xLpjYw2KILoYfz2oUn39GySJD4id4seKfpZ8Uqzckj0DnHPv7IVQx4goZaKtojtrvHrq8Ylo6lPlHLFOnX8GjiSQpYYH8vmwMMkdWbijTY4/s320/abstract.jpg" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">src: dreamstine</td></tr></tbody></table><div><br /><br /></div><div>It's a brand new day with no agenda. Chores, reading, chores, a movie, and more chores. Not that there are that many of them, but they tend to be the highlight of an otherwise sedentary lifestyle. I browse the internet and find this rotating cube at the bottom of news websites. Flashing numbers. Numbers that represent confirmed cases and deaths. But mere numbers all the same. 10 million. 15 million...a sigh of despair. Almost forced at this point. </div><span><a name='more'></a></span><div><br /></div><div>Abstraction. That is how we deal with others' suffering. Imagine if we were to feel the pain of every tragedy we come across. We'd be crumbled to dust with the weight of negativity in our minds. But we don't. We stay emotionally detached unless the suffering comes knocking on our own doors. </div><div><br /></div><div>Four months of indoors. Not that I minded much. The only longing was to meet the one who wasn't with me. A day came when I could, but for a short time. There came the rush of joy in reunion, leaving behind the want for more. It was a rekindling of the longing that I hadn't realized had subsided over the months. The longer the wait, the more abstract the longing becomes. One gets used to the routine with time. One gets used to the change. No wonder they say that time heals. </div><div><br /></div><div>Abstraction. It explains how doctors deal with suffering day after day. Or people of any profession that requires them to. But one can only apply it so much with the physical presence right before their eyes all the time. Unlike for me where deaths are mere numbers flashing on my phone screen. Of course, it's a grim feeling to see the numbers rise, but it doesn't trigger a shock anymore. It worries me and yet it really doesn't. Does this detachment make us inhuman? </div><div><br /></div><div>Maybe it is a part of being human. Necessary, even, to help us move on. Another day ends and I lay sleepless late in the night. Funny how sleep hangs heavy on my eyelids only to evade me the moment I hit the bed. I shift my position and end up staring at my mom sleeping next to me. She twitches in her sleep. I become a little worried. I hope she's okay. An overwhelming feeling of love engulfs me all of a sudden. I want to hug her, but that would probably startle her. </div><div><br /></div><div>A whole day of being around her at home and it is only at night that this feeling overcomes me. Is this also abstraction? Taking someone or something for granted? To know and understand what we have but not appreciate it enough? </div><div><br /></div><div>Our pandemic is still running amock on the streets. Having finished <b><a href="https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/11989.The_Plague" target="_blank">The Plague</a></b> by Albert Camus, I am left with a feeling of melancholy. The town of Oran has overcome their plague, we are still stuck with ours. We too will survive by trying to stay emotionally detached. For some of us, it's easier than others. Wherever we may stand, however, there's no choice but to hold on. </div><div><br /></div><div>We'll get through.</div><div><br /></div>Dashyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12350406405959699889noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6025043616863310122.post-69795988541738052502020-07-16T12:09:00.001+05:302020-07-16T12:09:36.898+05:30From a Virtual Recluse<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhISGru1_Ow7GfGdWb527vDqQrvJxarGt7PvqmJah_VZbMGws2pDwMXbhz2Ql1CZ8A9xs5_iH_iJEqWq7BPsmDjjDP5soVahjB8nP-nh0nrCMwhllXGeqKyvuHqT9fl0hIIguIc1FihQM9K/s399/girl-thinking-about-social-media-technology-vector.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="344" data-original-width="399" height="345" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhISGru1_Ow7GfGdWb527vDqQrvJxarGt7PvqmJah_VZbMGws2pDwMXbhz2Ql1CZ8A9xs5_iH_iJEqWq7BPsmDjjDP5soVahjB8nP-nh0nrCMwhllXGeqKyvuHqT9fl0hIIguIc1FihQM9K/w400-h345/girl-thinking-about-social-media-technology-vector.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">src: <a href="https://www.vecteezy.com/vector-art/436547-girl-thinking-about-social-media-technology" target="_blank">vecteezy</a></td></tr></tbody></table><div><br /><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>Dear Social Media,</div><div><br /></div><div>I got to know about you at a pretty young age. I'd sit next to my sister and read her chats in Yahoo Messenger. It was entertaining even though I didn't always understand her conversations. I was ten when she made an account for me on Orkut. I don't remember if I was particularly excited about it; none of my friends really knew about Orkut then. But I would still log into my account and embellish my profile occasionally. </div><div><br /></div><span><a name='more'></a></span><div>Of course, my scrapbook (the then-inbox), friend-requests, and testimonials were monitored by my sister. Which was fair, considering how my friends-list was mostly her own classmates. It took me two years to finally have a 'friend' of my own age. After that, there was no stopping me. The daily chat sessions evolved from there to Google Buzz, to G-Talk, and further on to Facebook. Oh, those were the days. </div><div><br /></div><div>I changed my profile picture whenever someone took a decent photo of me, which wasn't often, by the way. I posted plenty of pictures after each trip. I'd watch the count of likes and compare them with my friends'. According to my scale, below a hundred for a profile pic was embarrassing. Thankfully, I managed to cross that mark most of the time. </div><div><br /></div><div>Each of those likes and comments gave me a special sense of validation. I'd know it was time to post something new when the numbers begin to fall. And the circle continues.</div><div><br /></div><div>But I wasn't out there as much as I wished to be. I wanted to be active in your space, to post witty remarks about my daily activities, or more of the photos that were rotting away in my desktop folders. But I couldn't. I told myself that I'd start once I reached college. Surely, I would have a lot of things happening at the time, and I'd be prompted to make my online presence known.</div><div><br /></div><div>So college came by, and your new popular space turned out to be Instagram. I joined it. And guess what? I did have things to post about, but once again, I stopped myself. And I couldn't tell why. Maybe I could but I didn't want to admit it. That maybe you intimidated me? You'd make me realize that no one really cared about my presence at your place? That I'd look like an uninvited guest that made no difference?</div><div><br /></div><div>I used to enjoy being with you, back when the fun conversations I had with my friends was all you were about. When did you start poking at my self worth? When did my image in your world start to matter? Or was it the other way round? That you mattered so little to me that I refused to give you any importance? I'd like to believe the latter. </div><div><br /></div><div>I remember waking up to a flood of notifications from you and feeling elated. You'd give me something to look forward to. You'd give me something to obsess over and spend hours on. I had my own territory in you but it never felt established enough. While I wanted to be present, I didn't want to share my life with you. Maybe I didn't need to fight that.</div><div><br /></div><div>I thought I became indifferent to you, but I was wrong. You did matter. I desperately needed you to keep my social circle alive. Just like in the real world, however, here too I remained reclusive and a silent spectator most of the time. It suits me well, I think. </div><div><br /></div><div>You may mean different things to different people. But mostly, you'll remain the glue that keeps connections together. It's something I'm glad about. But I ask you this, to remind your tenants that you are not a ground to measure their worth with. </div><div><br /></div><div>I hope that clears the fog between us. I don't detest you. You bring the world together in one space and we need that now more than ever. Thanks for helping me keep up with the world.</div><div><br /></div><div>With a little love and a lot of gratitude,</div><div>A Virtual Recluse</div><div>.</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div>Dashyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12350406405959699889noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6025043616863310122.post-75070925436599595442020-07-02T17:02:00.001+05:302020-07-04T14:58:06.373+05:30The Day of the Lasts<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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It was the day of many lasts. I wanted it to be special, something for all of us to look back and smile about. I wanted us to give each other the tightest of hugs and take the best of photos. So when I went up to that podium to give my farewell speech, I was all set for the audience to start tearing up. I stood there before my batchmates in that moment, waiting for the commotion to die down. Waiting and waiting some more. Until it was awkward to wait any longer and I started speaking amidst the noise anyway.</div>
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There was the moment I was longing for, when it was finally supposed to sink in that school was over. The commotion never died down, my 'magical moment' was a flop. What followed was a couple more speeches, a video for the sake of nostalgia, and a little bit of this and that for entertainment. This day turned out to be just another occasion for dressing up and sticking to that friend with a camera.</div>
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But that day was the beginning of a turning point, one that I was really looking forward to. It was the beginning of adulthood. A fresh start away from home to start living a bit on my own terms. A fresh start to be taken seriously (finally!) and to holding responsibilities. A fresh start to figuring myself out a little more. </div>
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Four years down the lane as the college comes to a close, I find myself yet again at the same place. The next turning point. Only, this time, there was no farewell day to mark the turning. Our day of the lasts had gone by without our notice. Who would've thought that a pandemic would break loose and shut us in our homes? </div>
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At a certain point, the introvert in me was glad to avoid a farewell. There wouldn't be any obligations for pretence now. But I can't lie about wishing we still knew when our last days were. Maybe we would've done something special, after all. Maybe it would've been the best days of our lives.</div>
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But years ahead from now, we have much to look back and smile about still. We'll remember idling away in the mini canteen with a milkshake and a plate of noodles. We'll remember failing miserably in our attempts for a mass bunk. We'll remember being sprawled in the lobby introspecting over our lives during fests. We'll remember the numerous impromptu trips to the nearest restaurants. And we'll remember huddling in a hostel room to laugh away at nothings.</div>
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College didn't turn out as I'd expected it to. Maybe I was expecting a bit too much. I'd imagined emerging as a different person after these four years. A magical metamorphosis that my surroundings were supposed to handle. But I've realized that I haven't changed much, but only understood better what I've always been. I've also realized that I cannot expect the world to push me ahead. That the thrust has to come from me. </div>
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At this point, I feel much like I did four years ago. Once again excited and looking forward to the next phase of my life. But the time to come is more uncertain than ever before. It's nothing like we'd imagined it to be. But hey, once we get through it all, whenever that might be, we will pass on this story to the generations to come. We will remember the days we have lost and they will still be special. We will cherish them even more and be the reminder to the world that what we have right now is precious. For, we never know when the day of the lasts would be. </div>
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #303030; font-family: "open sans" , "tahoma" , "arial"; font-size: small;">Joining #<b>WordlessWednesday</b> hosted by </span><a href="https://mysoultalks.com/2020/06/30/the-view-atop-table-mountain-wordlesswednesday/" rel="noopener" style="background-color: white; box-sizing: inherit; color: #dd5533; font-family: "Open Sans", Tahoma, Arial; font-size: small;" target="_blank">Esha M Dutta</a><span style="background-color: white; color: #303030; font-family: "open sans" , "tahoma" , "arial"; font-size: small;"> and </span><a href="https://natashamusing.com/2020/06/mishka-laila-tails-wordlesswednesday/" rel="noopener" style="background-color: white; box-sizing: inherit; color: #dd5533; font-family: "Open Sans", Tahoma, Arial; font-size: small;" target="_blank">Natasha Sinha</a></div>
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Dashyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12350406405959699889noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6025043616863310122.post-36243457249658685112020-06-17T20:28:00.000+05:302020-06-17T20:28:11.624+05:30The Cheeseburst Arranged Marriage - A Review<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgIOMVWmMRpOv8tVc74S17VquBISbN9APaWh9co4VJ5s_z2E2AZDPpBxEwyOLNYWfb9GSdLb9CiiPbMt8O162vJHNPYPJmgeyKK7LViOI5wIRHOnh3tiloApTBTaaS75Mn9cFGValh53px7/s800/cover.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="The cheeseburst arranged marriage - cover" border="0" data-original-height="800" data-original-width="512" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgIOMVWmMRpOv8tVc74S17VquBISbN9APaWh9co4VJ5s_z2E2AZDPpBxEwyOLNYWfb9GSdLb9CiiPbMt8O162vJHNPYPJmgeyKK7LViOI5wIRHOnh3tiloApTBTaaS75Mn9cFGValh53px7/w256-h400/cover.png" width="256" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>Growing up, I always told myself that I wouldn't agree for an arranged marriage. The thought of spending your life with a complete stranger was simply revolting. But times have changed and today's manner of arranged marriage has become more acceptable to me now. Matrimonial sites are nothing but a family-approved-tinder, after all. So when I stumbled upon <b><a href="https://www.theblogchatter.com/download/the-cheeseburst-arranged-marriage-by-prisha-lalwani/" target="_blank">The Cheeseburst Arranged Marriage</a></b> in the Blogchatter E-Book <b><a href="https://www.theblogchatter.com/blogchatterebook-2020-library/" target="_blank">library</a></b>, I was drawn to it. </div><span><br /></span><div>This book is the story of 24-year-old Ira falling in love with the man she was arranged to marry. Right from the beginning when she nods her way nonchalantly into this life-long commitment, she doesn't realize what she's signing up for. </div><span><a name='more'></a></span><div><br /></div><div>It all begins with a hurried journey back home during Diwali. Ira had planned for a relaxing 3-day vacation at home. But what she hadn't planned for was to accept a marriage proposal and get engaged by the end of it. Following a flurry of three days, she returns to work with sweets and the announcement of her engagement. And then it sunk in. It was official. She had a fiance. What now?</div><div><br /></div><div>Ira narrates how she lets this stranger into her life who is supposed to be the most important person to her. It is no different from any blooming love story as the two of them take steady steps ahead in their relationship. Much as her fiance, Manav, seems confident and at ease with the whole situation, Ira struggles to find her space of comfort. Her mind battles between the rights and wrongs in this odd position, where you begin to date the person you've already agreed to marry. It is that awkward phase of in-between where you know the result but go through the steps anyway.</div><div><br /></div><div>But when was it okay to open up or let the guard down? What was the right time to make the first move? How long before they close the space between them? While these questions make their rounds in the couple's thoughts, their romance makes progress thanks to Manav's cheesy lines. Mr.Cheeseburst, as she christened him on their first meeting, made sure that Ira was showered with all the love she deserved. </div><div><br /></div><div>Pretty much in a filmy style, the story continues till the day of their wedding. The day when it is finalized and the happily-ever-after begins. To me, reading this story was like listening to an excited friend narrate their fond memories. I found myself reacting with oohs, aahs, and chuckles much like I would in a carefree conversation. The language is simple and pleasant while the narration has a good flow. I’d say this is perfect for a quick and fun read. </div><div><br /></div><div>So here’s a cute love story for you, of a couple posed with the challenge of discovering one another before starting their lives together. </div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgEdHzxjsgdPqLVutBYKbSQ3YvvTiu-JP2EWnGV4fcpGaTpaDwFpW2dCKiyYvA3Aia8DGaZeVRjzh2s-ij4RD3ocgOocOAy8l9D3CMRhbDaA7pyAfrNg7qh_gzp-ms1B9BZUp5Yrd_w_0ru/s337/pic.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="336" data-original-width="337" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgEdHzxjsgdPqLVutBYKbSQ3YvvTiu-JP2EWnGV4fcpGaTpaDwFpW2dCKiyYvA3Aia8DGaZeVRjzh2s-ij4RD3ocgOocOAy8l9D3CMRhbDaA7pyAfrNg7qh_gzp-ms1B9BZUp5Yrd_w_0ru/s320/pic.png" width="320" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><b><font color="#b51200">Book Author</font></b></div><div><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><font color="#b51200">Prisha Lalwani, also known by her online persona - "Mummasaurus", is a mother of #twinadoes - Chirag and Chitransh. Prisha is a former Counseling Psychologist & HR professional, and is a familiar name in the content and blogging world for about 6 years. She started her blog about 3.5 years ago and writes about Parenting, lifestyle and health, all with a dash of quirk and humour. She has recently co-authored two books and plans to continue venturing into writing books in the time to come.</font></div><div style="text-align: center;"><font color="#b51200"><br /></font></div><div style="text-align: center;"><font color="#b51200">Download <b><a href="https://www.theblogchatter.com/download/the-cheeseburst-arranged-marriage-by-prisha-lalwani/" target="_blank"><font color="#b51200">The Cheeseburst Arranged Marriage</font></a></b> by <a href="https://twitter.com/mummasauruss" target="_blank"><font color="#b51200">Prisha Lalwani</font></a></font></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">P.S - My ebook 'An Ode to the Self' is also available for free download <b><a href="https://www.theblogchatter.com/download/an-ode-to-the-self-by-darshana-suresh/" target="_blank">here</a></b></div>Dashyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12350406405959699889noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6025043616863310122.post-48494590926085426022020-06-10T19:30:00.004+05:302020-06-10T19:34:43.895+05:30My Favourite Feelings<br /><br /><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgqmBgrxwsoMB6TY9X7K0jmuy1sjmDhE8KwXEtPIQ6YKp0NFjkQoSheYgID_MjWXJayH7oPTnnWf5ouTxMwM9kJkHrqfB-ltARNXF-RyT1lFSLNDQxdqP8eJNnZExwzdMIKaq5tG1PJh_t0/s1360/Daco_2311798.png" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="freedom" border="0" data-original-height="659" data-original-width="1360" height="194" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgqmBgrxwsoMB6TY9X7K0jmuy1sjmDhE8KwXEtPIQ6YKp0NFjkQoSheYgID_MjWXJayH7oPTnnWf5ouTxMwM9kJkHrqfB-ltARNXF-RyT1lFSLNDQxdqP8eJNnZExwzdMIKaq5tG1PJh_t0/w400-h194/Daco_2311798.png" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">src: <a href="https://www.vhv.rs/viewpic/ibTJibT_transparent-drive-a-car-clipart-woman-car-clipart/" target="_blank">vhvrs</a></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><div><br /><br /></div><div>Have you ever wanted to get on a random train and go wherever it takes you? </div><div><br /></div><div>Sitting inside the car at the parking lot, I was playing with an idea in my head. Mom was going to take a while, and it wasn't everyday that I got the car for myself back then. Oh what the hell, this may be my only chance. So thinking, I pulled the car out of the parking space and drove away from the building. Out in the road, I took every turning that seemed to have lesser traffic, no destination in mind. With the music in high volume, I was singing with joy, speeding my way ahead. Over a bridge I rode, then another, and yet another one, all along with this new sense of power for being the one in control. This was what <b><font color="#b51200">freedom</font></b> felt like. This was pure bliss. Until a khaki-sleeved hand blocked the way a few metres before me...</div><span><a name='more'></a></span><div>...</div><div><br /></div><div>I was tagged recently by <b><a href="https://thesoulsearchersite.wordpress.com/2020/06/07/10-of-my-favourite-feelings-x-2/" target="_blank">Shweta</a></b> to write a post on my ten favourite feelings. So here we are, beginning with that feeling of freedom I get every time I'm out driving on my own. I discovered the love for it that day when I drove away instead of waiting for my mom at the parking lot. The plan to get back on time didn't work, sadly. Not to mention that I ended up getting a speeding ticket too. But that first free drive was amazing, and it will remain so. </div><div><br /></div><div>I've always wanted to be good at some sport. The closest I could get were my past karate tournaments. There's this incredible feeling you get when you taste <b><font color="#b51200">victory</font></b>. That time where you're in the fighting ring and you only need one more point to win. Your opponent is calculating the next move. You're focusing on defence, waiting for them to strike. And they do, and in a split second you counter strike and bring them down. The whistle blows and the referee pulls up your arm as you pant in complete exhaustion. Never mind that the bar in this match wasn't too high, it was a victory all the same. And it felt great.</div><div><br /></div><div>It is probably the same with any <b><font color="#b51200">accomplishment</font></b>. To wait nervously in your formals outside the interview room as they call out the names of the selected candidates. There's the moment when they call your very name and you feel the relief and happiness wash over you. And whether or not you make the cut, there's the <b><font color="#b51200">warmth of a hug</font></b> from a loved one that makes you feel better nevertheless.</div><div><br /></div><div>There are the <b><font color="#b51200">genuine compliments</font></b> that give you the validation you crave for, especially precious if they come from someone you look up to. And the times when someone approaches you in need, because it feels good <b><a href="https://dashyspeaks.blogspot.com/2020/04/n-for-needful-atozchallenge.html" target="_blank"><font color="#b51200">to be needed</font></a></b>. It gives you this feeling of purpose, an assurance that you are of use to someone out there.</div><div><br /></div><div>And then there're the times when you get to <b><font color="#b51200">happy dance</font></b>. That peculiar joy in loosening up and dancing to your heart's content, of your own free will, and away from the judgements for not knowing good moves. And of course, that feeling of peace when you <b><font color="#b51200">breathe in the petrichor </font></b>during the rains. Maybe even get drenched in the showers if your health allows it.</div><div><br /></div><div>And soon after,<b><font color="#b51200"> snuggle under the blanket</font></b> and fall asleep reading a book or watching a nice movie. The bed and pillows have a way of being extra comfy when the weather is just right. If not all of these feelings, there's the all-time favourite of <b><font color="#b51200">writing</font></b>, the bliss of putting thoughts into words, to embellish the mundane.</div><div><br /></div><div>There we have it, my ten favourite feelings that I could think of. Do you find yours among mine?</div><div style="text-align: left;">.</div><div style="text-align: left;">.</div><div style="text-align: left;">.</div><div><font size="2"><br /></font></div><div><font size="2"><br /></font></div><div><font size="2"><br /></font></div><div><font size="2">Read other <a href="https://dashyspeaks.blogspot.com/search/label/Tagged%20Posts" target="_blank"><b>Tagged Posts</b></a></font></div>Dashyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12350406405959699889noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6025043616863310122.post-33845413750463242262020-06-03T13:26:00.002+05:302020-06-03T13:38:05.598+05:30Heroes of Kindness - A Review<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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It's been a while since a virus has brought humankind to its knees. Our thoughts have evolved from concern and bewilderment to despair. And yet we've tried to look at the bright side and revel in nature's recovery. As for me, I revelled in finding <b><a href="https://dashyspeaks.blogspot.com/2020/05/corona-chronicles-face-of-humanity.html" target="_blank">uplifting news on acts of humanity</a></b> during these dire times. But the golden time was short-lived. The dark side of humans found its way back to the news pretty soon. And I found myself drowning in despair. </div>
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But here's someone set out to tell anyone who would listen that the world is not a bad place. How could it be, when he holds the proof to the immense kindness we humans are capable of? True, there may be enough of negativity out there to leave us with little hope, but there is also much positivity that goes unnoticed. </div>
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In his very own words, "Why hold onto burning coal when you have diamonds around you?"</div>
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<a name='more'></a><div>Presenting Dr.Roshan Radhakrishnan's book, <b><a href="https://www.theblogchatter.com/download/heroes-of-kindness-by-dr-roshan-radhakrishnan/" target="_blank">Heroes of Kindness</a></b>, a promising means to restore faith in humanity. Fifty stories of kind hearts and a blissful break later, here I am with a mind free from despair. Because this book is proof that we can make lives better for our fellow beings. It is proof that our race isn't entirely bad. It is proof of hope.</div>
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So, what does it take to be kind?</div>
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Back when I was going through something, I remember when someone came over and hugged me despite not knowing why I was upset. I had burst into tears the very moment. Sometimes all it takes is a small gesture to make a life better. So was the case when Howie Dittman went to the Pride Parade to offer free hugs, a gesture that prompted many a person from the LGBTQ community to open up to him. A gesture that prompted families to reassess their harsh reactions to their children for being different. </div>
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And so was the case with Glen Oliver when he unknowingly saved a man's life by buying him a cup of coffee. Or even with the women who delivered anonymous cakes to the ones who'd suffered a loss. It doesn't take much to be kind. Imagine the power you and I hold to change people's lives.</div>
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We'd think that we would help, after all, given a circumstance. But how many of us would go out of our way to simply bring a smile to a stranger's face? Like Aleem Choudhary did when he wrote replies to over 400 children's letters to Santa. Or when 18-year-old Dalton drove 360 km to a cancer patient to deliver his favourite pizza. Or when Kazi Mannan risked his business to feed the poor. It's amazing to see to what extent one can go simply to make lives easier for another.</div>
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What's even more heartwarming is to see ill deeds being reciprocated with kindness. A beggar thief being offered food instead of being turned in to the police, a politician helping out a man who racially targetted him, and so much more. </div>
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Coming back to the present time where we're kneeled down before a virus, there has been much suffering in the times of lockdown. But the kind hearts continue to reach out to the underprivileged. They continue to selflessly do what they can to help their fellow beings lead better lives. All of these heartening stories come together in Heroes of Kindness. There is much in these tales to leave us in awe, well up our eyes, and make us smile.</div>
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I've understood that most of our privileged lives have enough resources to make a difference, however small. Here's to all those heroes of kindness who keep humanity thriving. And here's to Dr.Roshan for telling us their stories in a beautiful way. Reading each one of them was an enriching experience. I must say, though, that towards the end the stories seem rushed when grouped together. I would've liked to read them one after the other slowly, the same way the previous ones were unravelled with a gripping narration. </div>
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But this compilation succeeds gloriously in sending out its message. So any time in the future when I too succeed in making a difference in someone's life, I will owe it to you, Dr.Roshan. I will owe it to this book that keeps me inspired.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg2HSeb0uKhksHMVxW0zBSoj9eJ37_KD6J7W_B8fZTbA50Rlrxodg26OYEQ_bYAMabQOkf1CWE0YnuQThUcoy9OGQP_wVnVQHm9pVPKGUONCHyno1H-DAaZgSbGlcKxG03VH2Qjc_Aohh3W/" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1630" data-original-width="1632" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg2HSeb0uKhksHMVxW0zBSoj9eJ37_KD6J7W_B8fZTbA50Rlrxodg26OYEQ_bYAMabQOkf1CWE0YnuQThUcoy9OGQP_wVnVQHm9pVPKGUONCHyno1H-DAaZgSbGlcKxG03VH2Qjc_Aohh3W/s320/rr.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<b><span style="color: #d52c1f;">Book Author</span></b></div>
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<span style="color: #d52c1f;">Doctor Roshan Radhakrishnan wears many masks to make people forget their worries. Professionally, he works as an anaesthesiologist in Kerala to relieve pain and suffering. As a blogger, he achieves the same with his words, replacing the mask of an anaesthesiologist with that of a writer. You can find him online on <b><a href="https://twitter.com/pythoroshan" target="_blank">Twitter</a></b>, <b><a href="https://www.instagram.com/pythoroshan/" target="_blank">Instagram</a></b>, <b><a href="https://www.facebook.com/pythoroshan" target="_blank">Facebook</a></b> or most likely, at his blog <b><a href="https://www.godyears.net/" target="_blank">Godyears</a></b>.</span></div>
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<span style="color: #d52c1f;">Download <b>Heroes of Kindness</b> by Dr.Roshan Radhakrishnan <b><a href="https://www.theblogchatter.com/download/heroes-of-kindness-by-dr-roshan-radhakrishnan/" target="_blank">here</a></b></span></div>
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P.S - My ebook 'An Ode to the Self' is also available for free download <b><a href="https://www.theblogchatter.com/download/an-ode-to-the-self-by-darshana-suresh/" target="_blank">here</a></b></div>
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Dashyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12350406405959699889noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6025043616863310122.post-88925427607528339682020-05-26T18:50:00.002+05:302020-05-26T20:18:20.559+05:30Musings from Autumn Shadows<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<div style="text-align: center;"><span style="text-align: left;"><i>"We want every action of ours to have a meaning and purpose. We want the universe to be meaningful to us. But the unmitigated truth is that there is no such meaning, no purpose in the universe." </i></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="text-align: left;"><i>- Tomichan Matheikal, Autumn Shadows: Memoir</i></span></div>
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Dreaming about what purpose I hold in this universe used to be a favourite pastime for me. I would imagine myself out there in action, doing my bit of duty to this world I was born into. Except that I didn't know what that duty was. I always assumed I'd know it when I grew up. But as years went by and thoughts were recycled, it only seemed clearer that everything around me was unclear. There weren't any 'signs' directing me to my roads of meant-to-be. Because there was no such thing.</div>
<a name='more'></a><div><br /></div><div>When Autumn Shadows presented those words to me, I fell in love with them. Wouldn't it seem like the world would lose its lustre once we know the truth? Once we know that it has no meaning? But wait, look at the beauty we create out of a meaningless existence. Look at the songs of love, the feelings of joy, the words of magic that make it all worth it. There is beauty in curiosity and the endless quest for the ultimate answer. There is beauty in mystery.</div>
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And maybe there is no such thing as destiny. It could be "nothing more than a human invention to justify personal weaknesses and failures", as the book said at a point. But don't we still like to romanticize our lives with it? Maybe deep down we all believe it's a sham. But it doesn't matter. What good will our lives be if we treat it with the insignificance it really stands for? </div>
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Walking through the author's life, I was eager to learn his life lessons. Feeling lost among the people in his reality, he often found himself in characters of books. For years, he'd lived on in a seminary without feeling connected to it. It took quite a while for him to realize that he couldn't bond with the almighty.</div>
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I think it draws a parallel with many of our lives today - of the race we're always running without a second thought. How many of us can connect to the things we do? How many of us blindly follow our duties without completely indulging in them? Not putting our heart and soul into it, like they say? </div>
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In his own career as a teacher, he had transitioned from being a listless professor to a favourite among the students with time. They were different environments to speak of, but I believe he found that connection eventually. </div>
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But of all the things that Autumn Shadows speaks of, what I could connect with the most was his outlook on God. I have often shied away from professing my lack of belief, for fear of not being accepted. But it is not the fact about being a non-believer that I related with. It is the urge to let others know that this fact does not change who we are.</div>
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He narrates his struggle with the family once he decides to part with the church. He puts his foot down on it, to not associate with matters of the divine. I admire that resolve. As the story progresses, you realize how he is much like any other person trying to reform themselves, but just not in the name of god.</div>
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If you're a believer and I am not, it doesn't make me arrogant or narrow-sighted. It doesn't mean that I have no conscience or no ability to be kind or forgiving or any of the good traits you can think of. You and I are not that different. We think the same thoughts, have the same hopes of a better world, and wish the same thing about fate being kind to us. What is prayer but an intense thought channelled towards a point? It's just that you believe that a supreme power may listen to your thoughts while we don't believe so.</div>
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If these thoughts seem shallow, that view is what I'm trying to change. Because it is possible to be spiritual without having a relationship with God or a religion. But then again, spirituality is not in question here. It is just to convey that God plays no role in our lives, and that doesn't make us a bad person. </div>
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As the story comes to a close, the author talks about his conversations with Jesus. This is where he admits to knowing that his 'Jesus' is nothing but his own self. It is interesting how he narrates it, sort of in a way that makes sense to anybody in the spectrum of belief. It is here where I saw that no matter where our beliefs stand, we're one and the same. It is all but a matter of perspective.</div>
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This has been one of those books that made me pause and ponder, as is the case with most of Tomichan Matheikal sir's <b><a href="https://matheikal.blogspot.com/" target="_blank">writings</a></b>. Any book we read reflects on us differently as we associate with it personally. And so, this is what Autumn Shadows has been to me. A thought-provoking read. </div>
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You can get the ebook <b><a href="https://www.amazon.in/Autumn-Shadows-Memoir-Tomichan-Matheikal-ebook/dp/B07RJGR2X6" target="_blank">here</a></b>.</div>
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P.S: My own E-Book '<b>An Ode to the Self</b>' is available for free download at Blogchatter's website <b><a href="https://www.theblogchatter.com/download/an-ode-to-the-self-by-darshana-suresh/" target="_blank">here</a></b>. </div>
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Dashyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12350406405959699889noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6025043616863310122.post-43087674603344622402020-05-16T20:13:00.000+05:302020-05-16T20:13:40.892+05:30Milestones that Matter<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgOpWMUlhQfj0R-pmvxTvVcc6151vHDYWR-5WVfCA1xfk1jIYCdPK9DJb9zfMnwJs6I0u0sHjk8_W6PFhU4c3qxEbyuOwQqRIyjsBPkPBuEobJYs_kYRsJLmAXp-N3weAAbC8J-1SL0HQ0j/" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="milestones that matter" border="0" data-original-height="1132" data-original-width="1235" height="366" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgOpWMUlhQfj0R-pmvxTvVcc6151vHDYWR-5WVfCA1xfk1jIYCdPK9DJb9zfMnwJs6I0u0sHjk8_W6PFhU4c3qxEbyuOwQqRIyjsBPkPBuEobJYs_kYRsJLmAXp-N3weAAbC8J-1SL0HQ0j/w400-h366/PinClipart.com_forensic-science-clip-art_1942772.png" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">src: <a href="https://www.pinclipart.com/pindetail/xiwTwo_milestones-thrust1-clipart/" target="_blank">pinclipart.com</a></td></tr></tbody></table><div><br /><br /></div><div>Hands joined and eyes closed, I stood nervously behind the podium. The crowd before me had parted from their seats respectfully. They stood waiting for a holy prayer to commence the auspicious ceremony. Poor them. They definitely weren't ready for the cacophony that was coming. My voice may just have sucked the auspiciousness out of the ceremony.</div><span><a name='more'></a></span><div><br /></div><div>Well, that is what happens when you force someone to do something they're not good at. From off stage, a singer-aunty who sat beside me told me that I sang well. I smiled, searching for the pity in her eyes. Oh, I knew she was trying to be kind. Maybe there was a small part of me wishing she were telling the truth. But that hope was crushed the very next day at school. As ill-luck would have it, someone from my class had been present at the function. I was greeted with a bout of mocking laughter as I entered the classroom. Darn it. I was counting on having only strangers hearing my discordant voice.</div><div><br /></div><div>Singing has never been my thing. Although, sure, I did put on a shawl on my head, pick up a shampoo bottle and have my own imaginary Hannah Montana concerts once. In fact, I've also performed planned and practised concerts with a bunch of my enthusiastic friends during the games period. We were eight, by the way. But even then, I knew that I had to be a background singer for our little concert to be presentable. </div><div><br /></div><div>So years later, after a painful last-minute prayer recitation in an office ceremony, I could tell that the aunty was lying to me. I could tell because I knew my limitations. But I wonder how many of the praises I've received till now were out of pity. How many of them were out of sheer courtesy? How many compliments were a cover to the bitter truth like that of the aunty's? It's difficult to tell the chaff from the grain. To tell the truth from the pretence.</div><div><br /></div><div>Over the years of my writing, I've had both the chaff and the grain showered on me. I've let my intuition decide which is which. It's possible that they weren't always right. But I've allowed myself to accept some of them with pride. Like when someone texts me about a writing of mine that has moved them. Like when my mom tells me that my style has improved. Like when I roll my way back to <b><a href="https://thefrangipanicreative.com/" target="_blank"><font color="#7b1fa2">Corinne's</font></a></b> community after a long blogging hiatus. I consider each of them a milestone. </div><div><br /></div><div>A week ago, this dear blog found its way to Feedspot's list of <b><a href="https://blog.feedspot.com/indian_lifestyle_blogs/" target="_blank"><font color="#7b1fa2">Top 100 Indian Lifestyle Blogs</font></a></b><font color="#b51200">.</font> <b><a href="https://dashyspeaks.blogspot.com/p/about-wow-blog.html" target="_blank">Wandering Wows</a></b> stands in glory at the 22nd position. Yet another milestone that had me dancing in my room for a few minutes. Thankyou for the lift, Feedspot. You gave me something to smile about. </div><div><br /></div><div>Today, though I pat myself on the back for the accolades, I still struggle to pick out the genuine comments. Constructive criticism is much needed but difficult to find. (Unless, of course, you're a celebrity in twitter.) You cannot grow with false praises. You cannot grow with the truth untold. Honesty is something every artist looks out for. It may be hard to take sometimes, but it is a must to be taken. </div><div><br /></div><div>I would never venture to sing on stage thanks to the friends who laughed at me that day. It was a confirmation to the truth that I already knew, that it wasn't my cup of tea. Though I admit that I haven't always taken criticism well, I know that they have helped me. And I know that I need them. Stay sceptical of the praises and pay attention to the critics, I'd say. </div><div><br /></div><div>But in the end, your best assessment is done by yourself. You can best know where you stand and what you need to do. All else are mere guidance you can choose to opt.</div><div><br /></div><div>So while I reach milestones in writing, I'm still going to pick that shampoo bottle up to sing away in my mono concert. My voice can survive in the privacy of my room if not the stage. I don't need to let it go. I'll instead use my awful singing to celebrate my writing. </div><div><br /></div><div>Now, there's an acknowledgement of two things in one go. I know where I stand. </div><div><br /></div><div>I know when I've reached a dead-end or a milestone that matters.</div><div>.</div><div>.</div>Dashyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12350406405959699889noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6025043616863310122.post-85043897574691444122020-05-10T15:17:00.003+05:302020-05-11T22:10:16.275+05:30On Mothers and Chores<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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It's close to midnight. My mom slumps down on the bed, visibly exhausted. I'm lying down next to her, massaging my eyes after having spent my whole day before the laptop. I'm still wide awake, sleep eluding me yet again. My mom is moments away from a deep slumber, but a few words escape her before she dozes off. Something about the lockdown making little difference to stay-at-home moms.</div>
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It has always been inside me, but I just chose to ignore it to suit my convenience. The guilt. The guilt of not doing enough. In the recent years, I was this 'hard-working student' who mostly had things to study and assignments to work on. My mom rarely called me for help when she found me working. She would peep into my room and then silently walk away to continue with the chores alone. And I would let it be. I would reason with my guilt, convince it that if it weren't for the workload, I would've joined her. I'd then satisfy myself with the occasional little errands I ran. </div>
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But then the college closed down, all work got suspended, and I became free. And yet again I found myself engaging in things of my own liking. I busied myself with activities of my own rather than resorting to doing chores. It was proof that it wasn't about the time I had with me, it was about the priorities. It always is, isn't it? So the guilt finally established its dominion and took my bum off the bed. I made sure never to refuse mom's calls no matter how important my work was.</div>
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But I knew that it still wasn't enough. My girl-friends and I had grown up vowing to only marry men who'd share the housework. So much for patriarchy. We'd be no less than hypocrites if we ourselves reclined in our beds while our moms toiled in the kitchen. It wasn't just about the men. Every able member of the family was responsible for their home and the work that came with it. </div>
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And so, the guilt-ridden mind had further forced me to wash dishes in the sink, fold piles of clothes, and sweep the dusty floor over and over. Sometimes mom thanks me but I know she really shouldn't. Running the house is a family's group project, we're in this together. It's just that since moms voluntarily take up the work, we free-riders choose to relax. It shouldn't be her job to ask for help, it should rather be our duty to contribute.</div>
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My dad and I are assigned tasks now and then. But our fulfilling the tasks with a guilty conscience isn't enough. My voluntary dish-washing routine isn't enough. None of what we do is enough to reach up to what the mothers do for us. Last mother's day I wanted to convey that <b><a href="https://dashyspeaks.blogspot.com/2019/08/more-than-just-mom.html" target="_blank">moms need to step out of their mother's shoes</a></b>. Their identity is more than being a mother. But how are they to do that when they continue to carry the weight of the home? </div>
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The other day, I'd read from a fellow blogger, <b><a href="https://trinalooksback.com/2020/05/05/maidless-india-corona-lockdown/" target="_blank">Balaka</a></b>, of how the lockdown is bringing division of labour to households. It shouldn't take a lockdown for that to happen. Here at home, I can claim that I try. But I still find more time in my hands than in mom's. I still feel my guilt crawling back. I don't know if it will ever be enough, but dear you, let's try and take up our responsibilities more. Let's please try and do our part in this family project and not let the burden fall on the mothers alone. </div>
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For, it really isn't <i>their</i> duty. It is <i>ours</i>.</div>
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Dashyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12350406405959699889noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6025043616863310122.post-15518623370525630622020-05-03T10:31:00.002+05:302020-05-11T22:12:30.491+05:30Corona Chronicles - The Face of Humanity <div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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The colleges are shut down. Families are locked in. Streets are swept free of traffic. Hugs are more threatening than soothing. Social media has more tasks than <i>Bigg Boss</i>. Patience is being tested in households rather than traffic jams. Sanitizers have become more valuable than oil.<br />
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<a name='more'></a>We're living in the pandemic phase. Controversies, misinformation, and fear are casually doing their rounds online. The 'new normal', we call it. Although coronavirus reigns over our lives and it has locked us in our homes, I sink into my bed in sheepish relief.<br />
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Somewhere amid the Whatsapp forwards, we've stumbled upon this period being labelled a 'necessary evil'. It having reduced the carbon footprint, brought in laws to improve hygiene, freed the wilderness from their hideouts, and even given a much-needed break to several busy bees from their hectic work-life.<br />
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But none of these was the reason behind the tinge of relief in my mind.<br />
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If you remember it, life wasn't all rainbows and unicorns before the nation went into lockdown. We lived in a calm amidst the chaos. Or maybe the calm was an illusion. For, the normal we knew had our phones flashing with grim stories every other day. Minors were raped, students were thrashed, minorities attacked and what not. 72 years had passed since Independence and partition. Yet, communal violence had found its way back to the country.<br />
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Over a span of four months, an outrageous act passed by the parliament had brought a significant population out on the streets. Protests, clashes, and lathi charges had become words of daily usage. The photos floated in media resembled nothing short of war-torn sites.<br />
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Gone were the days when our worry was merely circled around unemployment, recession, or women's safety. We worried now of a violent and barbaric society. Perhaps it is best not to delve deeper into the incidents bygone.<br />
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Today, that time feels like a trauma of the near past we got a temporary respite from. Our focus has shifted to dealing with a contagious virus by staying indoors. This new normal was manageable. It was much unlike the pre-pandemic days.<br />
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From the bread for the daily wagers to the transport of essentials, we listened to the help being given to the needy every day. We heard of heroes who went out of their way to offer a hand to the sick. We heard of donations offered by people from every walk of life. Even social media was circulating words of love and support.<br />
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It sort of felt unreal to not read about crimes and atrocities. But it was a welcome change. A small relief to the mind though in a time of illness. And so, in the comfort of my bed, things seemed better, ironical as that may sound given the circumstance. But alas, the respite was only short-lived.<br />
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For, soon enough, grim reports had made their comeback.<br />
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In this war against the virus, the soldiers in the forefront we owe our lives to, the very health workers, have been under attack. A religious gathering has caused communal hatred to return, with the victimized community even being denied treatment in certain hospitals. Further on, an incident of lynching has raised a political blame-game. And meanwhile, arrests relating to the pre-lockdown protests continue to take place, raising several questions.<br />
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I was wrong. A lockdown amid a pandemic was no reason for negativity to rest. Neither is it a time for us to keep our vigil down. It's funny how things are different now, and yet the same in many ways.<br />
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We may not be able to join forces against the evil in these times. But if nothing else, this time has revealed many faces of kindness. Much of which was clouded by the ill-willed thus far.<br />
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While we survive this pandemic, and before we return to that frenzy of a constant fight against the pitfalls of the system, I wish to laud and celebrate the goodwill that still lives.<br />
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This is to all the people who've stepped out to help and support their fellow beings, be it in the smallest of ways. We need you. We need you desperately in this world where hatred and vengeance are making a firm stance. We need you to join forces with the passion and outrage that drives us otherwise.<br />
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We need you because you are the only hope to a better world.<br />
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We're living in the pandemic phase. We cannot resort to the ways of the past immediately, neither can we continue in the present ways for long. We're in a state of limbo. So we wait.<br />
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And while we wait, let's keep a look out for humanity, lest it dies in negligence.<br />
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Dashyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12350406405959699889noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6025043616863310122.post-42852697520379223832020-04-30T00:00:00.006+05:302020-07-10T22:28:29.078+05:30Z for Zone #AtoZChallenge<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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You have a name. You have a designation. A resume with bullet points of your accomplishments. You have a visage. A skin of a certain colour. A body that may or may not be flattering. You have a past that people know about. A socio-economic background. A certain religion or caste, irrespective of your beliefs. You have all of these features and more that define you. You are to the world a combination of labels.<br />
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And then you have a mind, the home to your thoughts that not many may know of. A space you can choose to keep hidden. A space you are free from the labels. Here, you are what you choose to be. You are yourself, unjudged and unperturbed from all else on the outside. Here is your very own zone, impenetrable by the rest.<br />
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To all the ones I am anonymous to, my words here and my story begin from scratch. The thoughts poured out are pure to you, uncorrupted by my labels. Your version of me only begins to take shape, but it begins from my mind. Unlike in the real world where our versions are built from where we come from, what we do, and also what we look like. Our thoughts are only secondary out there.</div><div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><br /></div><div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><br /></div><div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><div style="text-align: center;"><font face="georgia"><b><a href="https://www.amazon.in/dp/B08CDWGHJG" target="_blank">READ THE REST FROM THE EBOOK</a></b></font></div><div style="text-align: center;"><font face="georgia"><b><a href="https://www.amazon.in/dp/B08CDWGHJG" target="_blank"> NOW AVAILABLE ON AMAZON!</a></b></font></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><span style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><a href="https://www.amazon.in/dp/B08CDWGHJG" target="_blank"><img border="0" data-original-height="2003" data-original-width="1410" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj25bD0oMD1gCzHO17dgwAdVI21Yb3lKiQ6z9oFLDV8vWgkgbSe3dJ0PyDZU8v8Z_u2utwhDo3TGuRRjSNxPnBqBfFegLXqNHqVzcmsO3ZEybUIaUHYrHeMDlnixX4kVoHPszbIuaOvAWYM/w281-h400/An+Ode+to+the+Self+COVER.png" title="Complete series available on Amazon!" width="281" /></a></span></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><font color="#7b1fa2"><a href="https://www.amazon.in/dp/B08CDWGHJG" target="_blank"><b>An Ode to the Self</b> by <b>Darshana Suresh</b></a></font></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><br />
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Linking with<span data-blogger-escaped-data-original-attrs="{"style":"color: #660000;"}" style="color: #660000;"> </span><b><a data-blogger-escaped-data-original-attrs="{"data-original-href":"https://www.theblogchatter.com/the-road-runner-challenge-blogchattera2z-is-here/"}" href="https://draft.blogger.com/blog/post/edit/6025043616863310122/4464796350847873240#"><span style="color: #660000;">#</span><span style="color: black;">BlogchatterA2ZChallenge</span></a><span data-blogger-escaped-data-original-attrs="{"style":"color: #660000;"}" style="color: #660000;"> </span></b>and <b><a data-blogger-escaped-data-original-attrs="{"data-original-href":"http://www.a-to-zchallenge.com/"}" href="https://draft.blogger.com/blog/post/edit/6025043616863310122/4464796350847873240#"><span style="color: black;">www.a-to-zchallenge.com</span></a></b></div>
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This is a part of the April A to Z challenge under the theme of 'My Inhibitions' or 'An Ode to Myself'. Read the other posts <a data-blogger-escaped-data-original-attrs="{"data-original-href":"https://dashyspeaks.blogspot.com/search/label/A%20to%20Z%20April%202020"}" href="https://draft.blogger.com/blog/post/edit/6025043616863310122/4464796350847873240#"><b><span style="color: #660000;">here</span></b></a>.</div>
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Theme Reveal - <b style="font-weight: 400;"><span style="color: #660000;"><a href="https://dashyspeaks.blogspot.com/2020/03/an-ode-to-myself-atozchallenge.html">An Ode to Myself</a> | </span></b>A for <b style="font-weight: 400;"><a href="https://dashyspeaks.blogspot.com/2020/04/a-for-awkwardness-atozchallenge.html">Awkwardness</a> | </b>B for <b style="font-weight: 400;"><a href="https://dashyspeaks.blogspot.com/2020/04/b-for-books-atozchallenge.html">Books</a> | </b>C for <b style="font-weight: 400;"><a href="https://dashyspeaks.blogspot.com/2020/04/c-for-connections-atozchallenge.html">Connections</a> | </b>D for<b style="font-weight: 400;"> <a href="https://dashyspeaks.blogspot.com/2020/04/d-for-decisions-atozchallenge.html">Decisions</a> | </b>E for <b style="font-weight: 400;"><a href="https://dashyspeaks.blogspot.com/2020/04/e-for-extempore-atozchallenge.html">Extempore</a> | </b>F for <b style="font-weight: 400;"><a href="https://dashyspeaks.blogspot.com/2020/04/f-for-failure-atozchallenge.html">Failure</a> </b><b style="font-weight: 400;">| </b>G for <b style="font-weight: 400;"><a href="https://dashyspeaks.blogspot.com/2020/04/g-for-gymming-atozchallenge.html">Gymming</a> </b><b style="font-weight: 400;">| </b>H for <b style="font-weight: 400;"><a href="https://dashyspeaks.blogspot.com/2020/04/h-for-hurt-atozchallenge.html">Hurt</a></b><b style="font-weight: 400;"> </b><b style="font-weight: 400;">| </b>I for <b style="font-weight: 400;"><a href="https://dashyspeaks.blogspot.com/2020/04/i-for-individuality-atozchallenge.html">Individuality</a></b><b style="font-weight: 400;"> </b><b style="font-weight: 400;">| </b>J for <b style="font-weight: 400;"><a href="https://dashyspeaks.blogspot.com/2020/04/j-for-judgements-atozchallenge.html">Judgements</a></b><b style="font-weight: 400;"> </b><b style="font-weight: 400;">| </b>K for <b style="font-weight: 400;"><a href="https://dashyspeaks.blogspot.com/2020/04/k-for-knowledge-atozchallenge.html">Knowledge</a></b><b style="font-weight: 400;"> </b><b style="font-weight: 400;">| </b>L for <b style="font-weight: 400;"><a href="https://dashyspeaks.blogspot.com/2020/04/l-for-left-out-atozchallenge.html">Left-Out</a></b><b style="font-weight: 400;"> </b><b style="font-weight: 400;">| </b>M for <b style="font-weight: 400;"><a href="https://dashyspeaks.blogspot.com/2018/09/on-being-mediocre.html">Mediocrity</a></b><b style="font-weight: 400;"> </b><b style="font-weight: 400;">| </b>N for <b style="font-weight: 400;"><a href="https://dashyspeaks.blogspot.com/2020/04/n-for-needful-atozchallenge.html">Needful</a></b><b style="font-weight: 400;"> </b><b style="font-weight: 400;">| </b>O for <b style="font-weight: 400;"><a href="https://dashyspeaks.blogspot.com/2020/04/o-for-overthinking-atozchallenge.html">Overthinking</a></b><b style="font-weight: 400;"> </b><b style="font-weight: 400;">| </b>P for <b 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style="font-weight: 400;">| </b>U for <b style="font-weight: 400;"><a href="https://dashyspeaks.blogspot.com/2020/04/u-for-usefulness-atozchallenge.html">Usefulness</a></b><b style="font-weight: 400;"> </b><b style="font-weight: 400;">| </b>V for <b style="font-weight: 400;"><a href="https://dashyspeaks.blogspot.com/2020/04/v-for-vexation-atozchallenge.html">Vexation</a></b><b style="font-weight: 400;"> </b><b style="font-weight: 400;">| </b>W for <b style="font-weight: 400;"><a href="https://dashyspeaks.blogspot.com/2020/04/w-for-writing-atozchallenge.html">Writing</a></b><b style="font-weight: 400;"> </b><b style="font-weight: 400;">| </b>X for <b style="font-weight: 400;"><a href="https://dashyspeaks.blogspot.com/2020/04/x-for-unknown-atozchallenge.html">The Unknown</a></b><b style="font-weight: 400;"> </b><b style="font-weight: 400;">| </b>Y for <b style="font-weight: 400;"><a href="https://dashyspeaks.blogspot.com/2020/04/y-for-yolo-atozchallenge.html">YOLO</a></b><b style="font-weight: 400;"> </b><b style="font-weight: 400;">| </b>Z for <a href="https://dashyspeaks.blogspot.com/2020/04/z-for-zone-atozchallenge.html" target="_blank">Zone</a></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div>
Dashyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12350406405959699889noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6025043616863310122.post-51420023876467887412020-04-29T00:00:00.003+05:302020-07-10T22:29:29.023+05:30Y for YOLO #AtoZChallenge<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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Today is just another day. </div>
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You may have your daily meals, do your daily chores, and while away the rest of time in store. </div>
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Today in the now, you alone stand for all that has happened to you before. </div>
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You are what became of all your days of the past, all your tears and laughs of what was. </div>
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But you are also what stands for the unknown ahead, the could-be's and maybes' of the morrow. </div>
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You are today the prologue to possibilities, </div>
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The hopes of a happier haven.</div>
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Today may be just another day. </div>
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But tomorrow is empty and waiting.<br />
It could be anything in the making.<br /><br />
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I have had dreams. They spoke of travelling the world, uncovering mysteries, making a difference, and doing something no one has ever done. My dreams have travelled far, haphazard as they might be. All I knew was that with the passage of time, they would become clearer. That over time, it would take a definite shape that I understand, and would explain to me what I always wanted. Because I needed to know it well. I needed to make the plan. One that was foolproof and impeccable. So that once I've reached my end, I'd know that I've made the best of it all. I'd be satisfied and content with my story and can float to the other side in peace. </div><div><br /></div>
<div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /><div><font face="georgia"><b><a href="https://www.amazon.in/dp/B08CDWGHJG" target="_blank">READ THE REST FROM THE EBOOK</a></b></font></div><div><font face="georgia"><b><a href="https://www.amazon.in/dp/B08CDWGHJG" target="_blank"> NOW AVAILABLE ON AMAZON!</a></b></font></div><div><br /></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><span style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><a href="https://www.amazon.in/dp/B08CDWGHJG" target="_blank"><img border="0" data-original-height="2003" data-original-width="1410" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj25bD0oMD1gCzHO17dgwAdVI21Yb3lKiQ6z9oFLDV8vWgkgbSe3dJ0PyDZU8v8Z_u2utwhDo3TGuRRjSNxPnBqBfFegLXqNHqVzcmsO3ZEybUIaUHYrHeMDlnixX4kVoHPszbIuaOvAWYM/w281-h400/An+Ode+to+the+Self+COVER.png" title="Complete series available on Amazon!" width="281" /></a></span></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><font color="#7b1fa2"><a href="https://www.amazon.in/dp/B08CDWGHJG" target="_blank"><b>An Ode to the Self</b> by <b>Darshana Suresh</b></a></font></td></tr></tbody></table><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"></td></tr><tr></tr></tbody></table></div></div>
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<div style="margin: 0px;"><div style="margin: 0px; text-align: center;">This is a part of the April A to Z challenge under the theme of 'My Inhibitions' or 'An Ode to Myself'. Read the other posts <a data-blogger-escaped-data-original-attrs="{"data-original-href":"https://dashyspeaks.blogspot.com/search/label/A%20to%20Z%20April%202020"}" href="https://draft.blogger.com/blog/post/edit/6025043616863310122/4464796350847873240#"><b><span style="color: #660000;">here</span></b></a>.</div><div data-blogger-escaped-data-original-attrs="{"style":"font-family: \"times new roman\";"}" style="font-family: "times new roman";"><div data-blogger-escaped-data-original-attrs="{"style":"margin: 0px;"}" style="margin: 0px;"><div style="margin: 0px; text-align: center;"><br /></div></div><div data-blogger-escaped-data-original-attrs="{"style":"margin: 0px;"}" style="margin: 0px;"><div data-blogger-escaped-data-original-attrs="{"style":"font-weight: 400;"}"><div style="margin: 0px;"><div data-blogger-escaped-data-original-attrs="{"style":"font-weight: 400;"}"><div style="margin: 0px;"><div data-blogger-escaped-data-original-attrs="{"style":"font-weight: 400;"}"><div style="margin: 0px;"><div><div data-blogger-escaped-data-original-attrs="{"style":"font-weight: 400;"}"><div style="margin: 0px;"><div data-blogger-escaped-data-original-attrs="{"style":"font-weight: 400;"}"><div style="margin: 0px;"><div data-blogger-escaped-data-original-attrs="{"style":"font-weight: 400;"}"><div style="margin: 0px;"><div><div style="text-align: center;">Theme Reveal - <span style="color: #660000;"><a href="https://dashyspeaks.blogspot.com/2020/03/an-ode-to-myself-atozchallenge.html">An Ode to Myself</a> | </span>A for <a href="https://dashyspeaks.blogspot.com/2020/04/a-for-awkwardness-atozchallenge.html">Awkwardness</a> | B for <a href="https://dashyspeaks.blogspot.com/2020/04/b-for-books-atozchallenge.html">Books</a> | C for <a href="https://dashyspeaks.blogspot.com/2020/04/c-for-connections-atozchallenge.html">Connections</a> | D for <a href="https://dashyspeaks.blogspot.com/2020/04/d-for-decisions-atozchallenge.html">Decisions</a> | E for <a href="https://dashyspeaks.blogspot.com/2020/04/e-for-extempore-atozchallenge.html">Extempore</a> | F for <a href="https://dashyspeaks.blogspot.com/2020/04/f-for-failure-atozchallenge.html">Failure</a> | G for <a href="https://dashyspeaks.blogspot.com/2020/04/g-for-gymming-atozchallenge.html">Gymming</a> | H for <a href="https://dashyspeaks.blogspot.com/2020/04/h-for-hurt-atozchallenge.html">Hurt</a> | I for <a href="https://dashyspeaks.blogspot.com/2020/04/i-for-individuality-atozchallenge.html">Individuality</a> | J for <a href="https://dashyspeaks.blogspot.com/2020/04/j-for-judgements-atozchallenge.html">Judgements</a> | K for <a href="https://dashyspeaks.blogspot.com/2020/04/k-for-knowledge-atozchallenge.html">Knowledge</a> | L for <a href="https://dashyspeaks.blogspot.com/2020/04/l-for-left-out-atozchallenge.html">Left-Out</a> | M for <a href="https://dashyspeaks.blogspot.com/2018/09/on-being-mediocre.html">Mediocrity</a> | N for <a href="https://dashyspeaks.blogspot.com/2020/04/n-for-needful-atozchallenge.html">Needful</a> | O for <a href="https://dashyspeaks.blogspot.com/2020/04/o-for-overthinking-atozchallenge.html">Overthinking</a> | P for <a href="https://dashyspeaks.blogspot.com/2020/04/p-for-paunch-atozchallenge.html">Paunch</a> | Q for <a href="https://dashyspeaks.blogspot.com/2020/04/q-for-quitter-atozchallenge.html">Quitting</a> | R for <a href="https://dashyspeaks.blogspot.com/2020/04/r-for-remembering-atozchallenge.html">Remembering</a> | S for <a href="https://dashyspeaks.blogspot.com/2020/04/s-for-sensitivity-atozchallenge.html">Sensitivity</a> | T for <a href="https://dashyspeaks.blogspot.com/2020/04/t-for-true-self-atozchallenge.html">True-Self</a> | U for <a href="https://dashyspeaks.blogspot.com/2020/04/u-for-usefulness-atozchallenge.html">Usefulness</a> | V for <a href="https://dashyspeaks.blogspot.com/2020/04/v-for-vexation-atozchallenge.html">Vexation</a> | W for <a href="https://dashyspeaks.blogspot.com/2020/04/w-for-writing-atozchallenge.html">Writing</a> | X for <a href="https://dashyspeaks.blogspot.com/2020/04/x-for-unknown-atozchallenge.html">The Unknown</a> | Y for <a href="https://dashyspeaks.blogspot.com/2020/04/y-for-yolo-atozchallenge.html">YOLO</a> | Z for <a href="https://dashyspeaks.blogspot.com/2020/04/z-for-zone-atozchallenge.html" target="_blank">Zone</a></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div><div data-blogger-escaped-data-original-attrs="{"style":"font-family: \"times new roman\";"}" style="font-family: "times new roman";"><div data-blogger-escaped-data-original-attrs="{"style":"margin: 0px;"}" style="margin: 0px;"><div data-blogger-escaped-data-original-attrs="{"style":"font-weight: 400;"}"><div style="margin: 0px;"><div data-blogger-escaped-data-original-attrs="{"style":"font-weight: 400;"}"><div style="margin: 0px;"><div data-blogger-escaped-data-original-attrs="{"style":"font-weight: 400;"}"><div style="margin: 0px;"><div style="font-weight: 400;"><div data-blogger-escaped-data-original-attrs="{"style":"font-family: \"Times New Roman\";"}"><div style="margin: 0px;">
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Dashyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12350406405959699889noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6025043616863310122.post-35076180314464579262020-04-28T00:00:00.003+05:302020-07-10T22:30:32.477+05:30X for the Unknown #AtoZChallenge<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<i>Two thousand years before this dawn</i></div>
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<i>The Arabs had the symbols drawn;</i></div>
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<i>Al-jabr, though the name had been,</i></div>
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<i>Algebra is the name we've seen. </i></div>
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<i>Equations of the mastermind</i></div>
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<i>Lacked a value yet to find.</i></div>
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<i>'Shay-un', though its name had been,</i></div>
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<i>X is all that we have seen. </i></div>
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The Arab mathematicians of the ancient times called the unknown of an equation '<i>Al-Shay-un</i>'. Or something very close to that. It is so said that the Spanish, unable to transliterate the word into their language, used the Greek symbol 'chi' <span style="color: #b45f06;"><span style="color: #4d5156;">(</span><span style="background-color: white; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; font-weight: bold;">χ)</span></span> instead. Over the years, Latin translations further used the letter X in its place, paving the way for it being the symbol for all things unknown.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><div style="text-align: center;"></div><div style="text-align: center;"><font face="georgia"><b><a href="https://www.amazon.in/dp/B08CDWGHJG" target="_blank">READ THE REST FROM THE EBOOK</a></b></font></div><div style="text-align: center;"><font face="georgia"><b><a href="https://www.amazon.in/dp/B08CDWGHJG" target="_blank"> NOW AVAILABLE ON AMAZON!</a></b></font></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><span style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><a href="https://www.amazon.in/dp/B08CDWGHJG" target="_blank"><img border="0" data-original-height="2003" data-original-width="1410" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj25bD0oMD1gCzHO17dgwAdVI21Yb3lKiQ6z9oFLDV8vWgkgbSe3dJ0PyDZU8v8Z_u2utwhDo3TGuRRjSNxPnBqBfFegLXqNHqVzcmsO3ZEybUIaUHYrHeMDlnixX4kVoHPszbIuaOvAWYM/w281-h400/An+Ode+to+the+Self+COVER.png" title="Complete series available on Amazon!" width="281" /></a></span></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><font color="#7b1fa2"><a href="https://www.amazon.in/dp/B08CDWGHJG" target="_blank"><b>An Ode to the Self</b> by <b>Darshana Suresh</b></a></font></td></tr></tbody></table><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><font color="#7b1fa2"><b><br /><br /></b></font></td></tr></tbody></table></div>
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<div style="margin: 0px;"><div style="margin: 0px; text-align: center;">This is a part of the April A to Z challenge under the theme of 'My Inhibitions' or 'An Ode to Myself'. Read the other posts <a data-blogger-escaped-data-original-attrs="{"data-original-href":"https://dashyspeaks.blogspot.com/search/label/A%20to%20Z%20April%202020"}" href="https://draft.blogger.com/blog/post/edit/6025043616863310122/4464796350847873240#"><b><span style="color: #660000;">here</span></b></a>.</div><div data-blogger-escaped-data-original-attrs="{"style":"font-family: \"times new roman\";"}" style="font-family: "times new roman";"><div data-blogger-escaped-data-original-attrs="{"style":"margin: 0px;"}" style="margin: 0px;"><div style="margin: 0px; text-align: center;"><br /></div></div><div data-blogger-escaped-data-original-attrs="{"style":"margin: 0px;"}" style="margin: 0px;"><div data-blogger-escaped-data-original-attrs="{"style":"font-weight: 400;"}"><div style="margin: 0px;"><div data-blogger-escaped-data-original-attrs="{"style":"font-weight: 400;"}"><div style="margin: 0px;"><div data-blogger-escaped-data-original-attrs="{"style":"font-weight: 400;"}"><div style="margin: 0px;"><div><div data-blogger-escaped-data-original-attrs="{"style":"font-weight: 400;"}"><div style="margin: 0px;"><div data-blogger-escaped-data-original-attrs="{"style":"font-weight: 400;"}"><div style="margin: 0px;"><div data-blogger-escaped-data-original-attrs="{"style":"font-weight: 400;"}"><div style="margin: 0px;"><div><div style="text-align: center;">Theme Reveal - <span style="color: #660000;"><a href="https://dashyspeaks.blogspot.com/2020/03/an-ode-to-myself-atozchallenge.html">An Ode to Myself</a> | </span>A for <a href="https://dashyspeaks.blogspot.com/2020/04/a-for-awkwardness-atozchallenge.html">Awkwardness</a> | B for <a href="https://dashyspeaks.blogspot.com/2020/04/b-for-books-atozchallenge.html">Books</a> | C for <a href="https://dashyspeaks.blogspot.com/2020/04/c-for-connections-atozchallenge.html">Connections</a> | D for <a href="https://dashyspeaks.blogspot.com/2020/04/d-for-decisions-atozchallenge.html">Decisions</a> | E for <a href="https://dashyspeaks.blogspot.com/2020/04/e-for-extempore-atozchallenge.html">Extempore</a> | F for <a href="https://dashyspeaks.blogspot.com/2020/04/f-for-failure-atozchallenge.html">Failure</a> | G for <a href="https://dashyspeaks.blogspot.com/2020/04/g-for-gymming-atozchallenge.html">Gymming</a> | H for <a href="https://dashyspeaks.blogspot.com/2020/04/h-for-hurt-atozchallenge.html">Hurt</a> | I for <a href="https://dashyspeaks.blogspot.com/2020/04/i-for-individuality-atozchallenge.html">Individuality</a> | J for <a href="https://dashyspeaks.blogspot.com/2020/04/j-for-judgements-atozchallenge.html">Judgements</a> | K for <a href="https://dashyspeaks.blogspot.com/2020/04/k-for-knowledge-atozchallenge.html">Knowledge</a> | L for <a href="https://dashyspeaks.blogspot.com/2020/04/l-for-left-out-atozchallenge.html">Left-Out</a> | M for <a href="https://dashyspeaks.blogspot.com/2018/09/on-being-mediocre.html">Mediocrity</a> | N for <a href="https://dashyspeaks.blogspot.com/2020/04/n-for-needful-atozchallenge.html">Needful</a> | O for <a href="https://dashyspeaks.blogspot.com/2020/04/o-for-overthinking-atozchallenge.html">Overthinking</a> | P for <a href="https://dashyspeaks.blogspot.com/2020/04/p-for-paunch-atozchallenge.html">Paunch</a> | Q for <a href="https://dashyspeaks.blogspot.com/2020/04/q-for-quitter-atozchallenge.html">Quitting</a> | R for <a href="https://dashyspeaks.blogspot.com/2020/04/r-for-remembering-atozchallenge.html">Remembering</a> | S for <a href="https://dashyspeaks.blogspot.com/2020/04/s-for-sensitivity-atozchallenge.html">Sensitivity</a> | T for <a href="https://dashyspeaks.blogspot.com/2020/04/t-for-true-self-atozchallenge.html">True-Self</a> | U for <a href="https://dashyspeaks.blogspot.com/2020/04/u-for-usefulness-atozchallenge.html">Usefulness</a> | V for <a href="https://dashyspeaks.blogspot.com/2020/04/v-for-vexation-atozchallenge.html">Vexation</a> | W for <a href="https://dashyspeaks.blogspot.com/2020/04/w-for-writing-atozchallenge.html">Writing</a> | X for <a href="https://dashyspeaks.blogspot.com/2020/04/x-for-unknown-atozchallenge.html">The Unknown</a> | Y for <a href="https://dashyspeaks.blogspot.com/2020/04/y-for-yolo-atozchallenge.html">YOLO</a> | Z for <a href="https://dashyspeaks.blogspot.com/2020/04/z-for-zone-atozchallenge.html" target="_blank">Zone</a></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div>
Dashyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12350406405959699889noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6025043616863310122.post-9159187586774345272020-04-27T00:00:00.003+05:302020-07-10T22:30:54.743+05:30W for Writing #AtoZChallenge<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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In the eighth grade classroom of a Central school, all hell had broken loose. It was a commotion so profound that calling it a fish market would be an understatement. In the midst of the futile screams of the class-monitor were flying cloth dusters, pencil pouches, and a black shoe. While some were seen hopping over the desks, others crawled underneath them for reasons unknown. Vigorous pen-fights and matches of odd-or-even were being played over multiple groups. A few were found asking around for completed notebooks, graph papers, rulers, and a missing shoe. You see, it was a free period.<br />
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My bestie and I had just finished inscribing customized quotes on our desk. With nothing better to do, I headed over to the last bench and flopped myself on the floor. From underneath the desk, I was perfectly hidden from the madding crowd. Nobody poked their noses here and asked me what I was writing. Because that was what I did from down there. Enter my zone of words. But mind you, I wasn't writing poetry or short stories. I was merely thinking through written words; pasting my musings to paper.</div><div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><div><font face="georgia"><b><a href="https://www.amazon.in/dp/B08CDWGHJG" target="_blank">READ THE REST FROM THE EBOOK</a></b></font></div><div><font face="georgia"><b><a href="https://www.amazon.in/dp/B08CDWGHJG" target="_blank"> NOW AVAILABLE ON AMAZON!</a></b></font></div><div><br /></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><span style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><a href="https://www.amazon.in/dp/B08CDWGHJG" target="_blank"><img border="0" data-original-height="2003" data-original-width="1410" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj25bD0oMD1gCzHO17dgwAdVI21Yb3lKiQ6z9oFLDV8vWgkgbSe3dJ0PyDZU8v8Z_u2utwhDo3TGuRRjSNxPnBqBfFegLXqNHqVzcmsO3ZEybUIaUHYrHeMDlnixX4kVoHPszbIuaOvAWYM/w281-h400/An+Ode+to+the+Self+COVER.png" title="Complete series available on Amazon!" width="281" /></a></span></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><font color="#7b1fa2"><a href="https://www.amazon.in/dp/B08CDWGHJG" target="_blank"><b>An Ode to the Self</b> by <b>Darshana Suresh</b></a></font></td></tr></tbody></table></div>.</div><div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><br /></div><div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><br />
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<div style="margin: 0px;"><div style="margin: 0px; text-align: center;">This is a part of the April A to Z challenge under the theme of 'My Inhibitions' or 'An Ode to Myself'. Read the other posts <a data-blogger-escaped-data-original-attrs="{"data-original-href":"https://dashyspeaks.blogspot.com/search/label/A%20to%20Z%20April%202020"}" href="https://draft.blogger.com/blog/post/edit/6025043616863310122/4464796350847873240#"><b><span style="color: #660000;">here</span></b></a>.</div><div data-blogger-escaped-data-original-attrs="{"style":"font-family: \"times new roman\";"}" style="font-family: "times new roman";"><div data-blogger-escaped-data-original-attrs="{"style":"margin: 0px;"}" style="margin: 0px;"><div style="margin: 0px; text-align: center;"><br /></div></div><div data-blogger-escaped-data-original-attrs="{"style":"margin: 0px;"}" style="margin: 0px;"><div data-blogger-escaped-data-original-attrs="{"style":"font-weight: 400;"}"><div style="margin: 0px;"><div data-blogger-escaped-data-original-attrs="{"style":"font-weight: 400;"}"><div style="margin: 0px;"><div data-blogger-escaped-data-original-attrs="{"style":"font-weight: 400;"}"><div style="margin: 0px;"><div><div data-blogger-escaped-data-original-attrs="{"style":"font-weight: 400;"}"><div style="margin: 0px;"><div data-blogger-escaped-data-original-attrs="{"style":"font-weight: 400;"}"><div style="margin: 0px;"><div data-blogger-escaped-data-original-attrs="{"style":"font-weight: 400;"}"><div style="margin: 0px;"><div><div style="text-align: center;">Theme Reveal - <span style="color: #660000;"><a href="https://dashyspeaks.blogspot.com/2020/03/an-ode-to-myself-atozchallenge.html">An Ode to Myself</a> | </span>A for <a href="https://dashyspeaks.blogspot.com/2020/04/a-for-awkwardness-atozchallenge.html">Awkwardness</a> | B for <a href="https://dashyspeaks.blogspot.com/2020/04/b-for-books-atozchallenge.html">Books</a> | C for <a href="https://dashyspeaks.blogspot.com/2020/04/c-for-connections-atozchallenge.html">Connections</a> | D for <a href="https://dashyspeaks.blogspot.com/2020/04/d-for-decisions-atozchallenge.html">Decisions</a> | E for <a href="https://dashyspeaks.blogspot.com/2020/04/e-for-extempore-atozchallenge.html">Extempore</a> | F for <a href="https://dashyspeaks.blogspot.com/2020/04/f-for-failure-atozchallenge.html">Failure</a> | G for <a href="https://dashyspeaks.blogspot.com/2020/04/g-for-gymming-atozchallenge.html">Gymming</a> | H for <a href="https://dashyspeaks.blogspot.com/2020/04/h-for-hurt-atozchallenge.html">Hurt</a> | I for <a href="https://dashyspeaks.blogspot.com/2020/04/i-for-individuality-atozchallenge.html">Individuality</a> | J for <a href="https://dashyspeaks.blogspot.com/2020/04/j-for-judgements-atozchallenge.html">Judgements</a> | K for <a href="https://dashyspeaks.blogspot.com/2020/04/k-for-knowledge-atozchallenge.html">Knowledge</a> | L for <a href="https://dashyspeaks.blogspot.com/2020/04/l-for-left-out-atozchallenge.html">Left-Out</a> | M for <a href="https://dashyspeaks.blogspot.com/2018/09/on-being-mediocre.html">Mediocrity</a> | N for <a href="https://dashyspeaks.blogspot.com/2020/04/n-for-needful-atozchallenge.html">Needful</a> | O for <a href="https://dashyspeaks.blogspot.com/2020/04/o-for-overthinking-atozchallenge.html">Overthinking</a> | P for <a href="https://dashyspeaks.blogspot.com/2020/04/p-for-paunch-atozchallenge.html">Paunch</a> | Q for <a href="https://dashyspeaks.blogspot.com/2020/04/q-for-quitter-atozchallenge.html">Quitting</a> | R for <a href="https://dashyspeaks.blogspot.com/2020/04/r-for-remembering-atozchallenge.html">Remembering</a> | S for <a href="https://dashyspeaks.blogspot.com/2020/04/s-for-sensitivity-atozchallenge.html">Sensitivity</a> | T for <a href="https://dashyspeaks.blogspot.com/2020/04/t-for-true-self-atozchallenge.html">True-Self</a> | U for <a href="https://dashyspeaks.blogspot.com/2020/04/u-for-usefulness-atozchallenge.html">Usefulness</a> | V for <a href="https://dashyspeaks.blogspot.com/2020/04/v-for-vexation-atozchallenge.html">Vexation</a> | W for <a href="https://dashyspeaks.blogspot.com/2020/04/w-for-writing-atozchallenge.html">Writing</a> | X for <a href="https://dashyspeaks.blogspot.com/2020/04/x-for-unknown-atozchallenge.html">The Unknown</a> | Y for <a href="https://dashyspeaks.blogspot.com/2020/04/y-for-yolo-atozchallenge.html">YOLO</a> | Z for <a href="https://dashyspeaks.blogspot.com/2020/04/z-for-zone-atozchallenge.html" target="_blank">Zone</a></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div><div data-blogger-escaped-data-original-attrs="{"style":"font-family: \"times new roman\";"}" style="font-family: "times new roman";"><div data-blogger-escaped-data-original-attrs="{"style":"margin: 0px;"}" style="margin: 0px;"><div data-blogger-escaped-data-original-attrs="{"style":"font-weight: 400;"}"><div style="margin: 0px;"><div data-blogger-escaped-data-original-attrs="{"style":"font-weight: 400;"}"><div style="margin: 0px;"><div data-blogger-escaped-data-original-attrs="{"style":"font-weight: 400;"}"><div style="margin: 0px;"><div style="font-weight: 400;">
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Dashyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12350406405959699889noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6025043616863310122.post-38448141040225864462020-04-25T00:00:00.003+05:302020-07-10T22:31:22.688+05:30V for Vexation #AtoZChallenge<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgl6CMiZ-UNMBRkqvNrK_i1VxAlaE_G0MKNPXUI09iz70gzkNqy2pO5M1F-ifj0r-Kz-AYeRqYLth_vytPbTESnFZlNLwMfUuGNdYoHJ-svnMpDSAFW0WTmamk29e29eTBPTem6xkMkC0Ty/s1600/v.jpeg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="612" data-original-width="612" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgl6CMiZ-UNMBRkqvNrK_i1VxAlaE_G0MKNPXUI09iz70gzkNqy2pO5M1F-ifj0r-Kz-AYeRqYLth_vytPbTESnFZlNLwMfUuGNdYoHJ-svnMpDSAFW0WTmamk29e29eTBPTem6xkMkC0Ty/s400/v.jpeg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Source: <a href="http://clipart.emailhttps//www.clipart.email/clipart/angry-female-clipart-442348.html">clipart.email</a></td></tr>
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In the past three years, it has religiously arrived every night. Just around the time the clock turned nine. It didn't matter what I was doing at the time. I could be studying, watching a movie, reading a book, or even rushing back to the hostel from the city or college. But it would come without fail. The vexation.<br />
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The vexation of having to stop whatever I was doing to submit to a discriminatory system. Of having to stand in a queue and wait to report my presence in the hostel. Of being controlled by the administration simply for being a girl.<br />
<br /><div style="text-align: center;"></div><div style="text-align: center;"><font face="georgia"><b><a href="https://www.amazon.in/dp/B08CDWGHJG" target="_blank">READ THE REST FROM THE EBOOK</a></b></font></div><div style="text-align: center;"><font face="georgia"><b><a href="https://www.amazon.in/dp/B08CDWGHJG" target="_blank"> NOW AVAILABLE ON AMAZON!</a></b></font></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><span style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><a href="https://www.amazon.in/dp/B08CDWGHJG" target="_blank"><img border="0" data-original-height="2003" data-original-width="1410" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj25bD0oMD1gCzHO17dgwAdVI21Yb3lKiQ6z9oFLDV8vWgkgbSe3dJ0PyDZU8v8Z_u2utwhDo3TGuRRjSNxPnBqBfFegLXqNHqVzcmsO3ZEybUIaUHYrHeMDlnixX4kVoHPszbIuaOvAWYM/w281-h400/An+Ode+to+the+Self+COVER.png" title="Complete series available on Amazon!" width="281" /></a></span></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><font color="#7b1fa2"><a href="https://www.amazon.in/dp/B08CDWGHJG" target="_blank"><b>An Ode to the Self</b> by <b>Darshana Suresh</b></a></font></td></tr></tbody></table><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><font color="#7b1fa2"><b><br /><br /></b></font></td></tr></tbody></table><br />
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<div style="text-align: center;"><div style="margin: 0px;">This is a part of the April A to Z challenge under the theme of 'My Inhibitions' or 'An Ode to Myself'. Read the other posts <a data-blogger-escaped-data-original-attrs="{"data-original-href":"https://dashyspeaks.blogspot.com/search/label/A%20to%20Z%20April%202020"}" href="https://draft.blogger.com/blog/post/edit/6025043616863310122/4464796350847873240#"><b><span style="color: #660000;">here</span></b></a>.</div><div data-blogger-escaped-data-original-attrs="{"style":"font-family: \"times new roman\";"}" style="font-family: "times new roman"; text-align: left;"><div data-blogger-escaped-data-original-attrs="{"style":"margin: 0px;"}" style="margin: 0px;"><div style="margin: 0px; text-align: center;"><br /></div></div><div data-blogger-escaped-data-original-attrs="{"style":"margin: 0px;"}" style="margin: 0px;"><div data-blogger-escaped-data-original-attrs="{"style":"font-weight: 400;"}"><div style="margin: 0px;"><div data-blogger-escaped-data-original-attrs="{"style":"font-weight: 400;"}"><div style="margin: 0px;"><div data-blogger-escaped-data-original-attrs="{"style":"font-weight: 400;"}"><div style="margin: 0px;"><div><div data-blogger-escaped-data-original-attrs="{"style":"font-weight: 400;"}"><div style="margin: 0px;"><div data-blogger-escaped-data-original-attrs="{"style":"font-weight: 400;"}"><div style="margin: 0px;"><div data-blogger-escaped-data-original-attrs="{"style":"font-weight: 400;"}"><div style="margin: 0px;"><div><div style="text-align: center;">Theme Reveal - <span style="color: #660000;"><a href="https://dashyspeaks.blogspot.com/2020/03/an-ode-to-myself-atozchallenge.html">An Ode to Myself</a> | </span>A for <a href="https://dashyspeaks.blogspot.com/2020/04/a-for-awkwardness-atozchallenge.html">Awkwardness</a> | B for <a href="https://dashyspeaks.blogspot.com/2020/04/b-for-books-atozchallenge.html">Books</a> | C for <a href="https://dashyspeaks.blogspot.com/2020/04/c-for-connections-atozchallenge.html">Connections</a> | D for <a href="https://dashyspeaks.blogspot.com/2020/04/d-for-decisions-atozchallenge.html">Decisions</a> | E for <a href="https://dashyspeaks.blogspot.com/2020/04/e-for-extempore-atozchallenge.html">Extempore</a> | F for <a href="https://dashyspeaks.blogspot.com/2020/04/f-for-failure-atozchallenge.html">Failure</a> | G for <a href="https://dashyspeaks.blogspot.com/2020/04/g-for-gymming-atozchallenge.html">Gymming</a> | H for <a href="https://dashyspeaks.blogspot.com/2020/04/h-for-hurt-atozchallenge.html">Hurt</a> | I for <a href="https://dashyspeaks.blogspot.com/2020/04/i-for-individuality-atozchallenge.html">Individuality</a> | J for <a href="https://dashyspeaks.blogspot.com/2020/04/j-for-judgements-atozchallenge.html">Judgements</a> | K for <a href="https://dashyspeaks.blogspot.com/2020/04/k-for-knowledge-atozchallenge.html">Knowledge</a> | L for <a href="https://dashyspeaks.blogspot.com/2020/04/l-for-left-out-atozchallenge.html">Left-Out</a> | M for <a href="https://dashyspeaks.blogspot.com/2018/09/on-being-mediocre.html">Mediocrity</a> | N for <a href="https://dashyspeaks.blogspot.com/2020/04/n-for-needful-atozchallenge.html">Needful</a> | O for <a href="https://dashyspeaks.blogspot.com/2020/04/o-for-overthinking-atozchallenge.html">Overthinking</a> | P for <a href="https://dashyspeaks.blogspot.com/2020/04/p-for-paunch-atozchallenge.html">Paunch</a> | Q for <a href="https://dashyspeaks.blogspot.com/2020/04/q-for-quitter-atozchallenge.html">Quitting</a> | R for <a href="https://dashyspeaks.blogspot.com/2020/04/r-for-remembering-atozchallenge.html">Remembering</a> | S for <a href="https://dashyspeaks.blogspot.com/2020/04/s-for-sensitivity-atozchallenge.html">Sensitivity</a> | T for <a href="https://dashyspeaks.blogspot.com/2020/04/t-for-true-self-atozchallenge.html">True-Self</a> | U for <a href="https://dashyspeaks.blogspot.com/2020/04/u-for-usefulness-atozchallenge.html">Usefulness</a> | V for <a href="https://dashyspeaks.blogspot.com/2020/04/v-for-vexation-atozchallenge.html">Vexation</a> | W for <a href="https://dashyspeaks.blogspot.com/2020/04/w-for-writing-atozchallenge.html">Writing</a> | X for <a href="https://dashyspeaks.blogspot.com/2020/04/x-for-unknown-atozchallenge.html">The Unknown</a> | Y for <a href="https://dashyspeaks.blogspot.com/2020/04/y-for-yolo-atozchallenge.html">YOLO</a> | Z for <a href="https://dashyspeaks.blogspot.com/2020/04/z-for-zone-atozchallenge.html" target="_blank">Zone</a></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div><div data-blogger-escaped-data-original-attrs="{"style":"font-family: \"times new roman\";"}" style="font-family: "times new roman";"><div data-blogger-escaped-data-original-attrs="{"style":"margin: 0px;"}" style="margin: 0px;"><div data-blogger-escaped-data-original-attrs="{"style":"font-weight: 400;"}"><div style="margin: 0px;"><div data-blogger-escaped-data-original-attrs="{"style":"font-weight: 400;"}"><div style="margin: 0px;"><div data-blogger-escaped-data-original-attrs="{"style":"font-weight: 400;"}"><div style="margin: 0px;"><div><div style="font-weight: 400;"><div data-blogger-escaped-data-original-attrs="{"style":"font-family: \"Times New Roman\";"}">
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Dashyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12350406405959699889noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6025043616863310122.post-77294133401144668652020-04-24T00:00:00.003+05:302020-07-10T22:31:47.287+05:30U for Usefulness #AtoZChallenge <div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjnF1BzvR5b4KYhxequ71aDPQg995qNXtgWOhyDYSqRFIX9KR_gSjTfGCn9V4sObYV55GbfrbO6aQkzXXDhKhgBS5qFkZv00DjfKj3x4Xx1cwg6Q23P2FOsVR9pTZ9pIHnhmLpTPzWZIBnt/s1600/u.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="993" data-original-width="847" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjnF1BzvR5b4KYhxequ71aDPQg995qNXtgWOhyDYSqRFIX9KR_gSjTfGCn9V4sObYV55GbfrbO6aQkzXXDhKhgBS5qFkZv00DjfKj3x4Xx1cwg6Q23P2FOsVR9pTZ9pIHnhmLpTPzWZIBnt/s400/u.jpg" width="340" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">source: <a href="https://www.vectorstock.com/royalty-free-vector/cartoon-sad-or-depressed-man-and-his-friend-vector-24855212">VectorStock</a></td></tr>
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Standing before you are two magnificent figures. The abyss of despair and the mountain of hope. We're playing the game of fate. You and your loved one are the players. Your role has the liberty of deciding how involved you can be in the game, for the fate is that of your loved one. Each time fate decides to deal against him, the abyss moves closer to where he stands. All you need to do is to guide him towards the mountain. Simple.<br />
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So the game begins, and fate isn't being very friendly. One blow after another, it chooses to go against his favour. You see the abyss approach but the mountain stands tall and powerful next to him. You aren't worried. You know that he sees it just as clearly as you do. But fate doesn't stop dealing, and the abyss gets closer and closer still. He soon gets distracted and looks away from hope. You remind him of the mountain time and again, you try to show it to him. But he doesn't seem to believe you anymore. His mind is fixed on the abyss and it chooses to see nothing else. You see it happening before your eyes, despair closing in on him.</div><div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><br /></div><div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><br /><div style="text-align: center;"></div><div style="text-align: center;"><font face="georgia"><b><a href="https://www.amazon.in/dp/B08CDWGHJG" target="_blank">READ THE REST FROM THE EBOOK</a></b></font></div><div style="text-align: center;"><font face="georgia"><b><a href="https://www.amazon.in/dp/B08CDWGHJG" target="_blank"> NOW AVAILABLE ON AMAZON!</a></b></font></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><span style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><a href="https://www.amazon.in/dp/B08CDWGHJG" target="_blank"><img border="0" data-original-height="2003" data-original-width="1410" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj25bD0oMD1gCzHO17dgwAdVI21Yb3lKiQ6z9oFLDV8vWgkgbSe3dJ0PyDZU8v8Z_u2utwhDo3TGuRRjSNxPnBqBfFegLXqNHqVzcmsO3ZEybUIaUHYrHeMDlnixX4kVoHPszbIuaOvAWYM/w281-h400/An+Ode+to+the+Self+COVER.png" title="Complete series available on Amazon!" width="281" /></a></span></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><font color="#7b1fa2"><a href="https://www.amazon.in/dp/B08CDWGHJG" target="_blank"><b>An Ode to the Self</b> by <b>Darshana Suresh</b></a></font></td></tr></tbody></table><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><font color="#7b1fa2"><b><br /><br /></b></font></td></tr></tbody></table>
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<div style="margin: 0px;"><div style="margin: 0px; text-align: center;">This is a part of the April A to Z challenge under the theme of 'My Inhibitions' or 'An Ode to Myself'. Read the other posts <a data-blogger-escaped-data-original-attrs="{"data-original-href":"https://dashyspeaks.blogspot.com/search/label/A%20to%20Z%20April%202020"}" href="https://draft.blogger.com/blog/post/edit/6025043616863310122/4464796350847873240#"><b><span style="color: #660000;">here</span></b></a>.</div><div data-blogger-escaped-data-original-attrs="{"style":"font-family: \"times new roman\";"}" style="font-family: "times new roman";"><div data-blogger-escaped-data-original-attrs="{"style":"margin: 0px;"}" style="margin: 0px;"><div style="margin: 0px; text-align: center;"><br /></div></div><div data-blogger-escaped-data-original-attrs="{"style":"margin: 0px;"}" style="margin: 0px;"><div data-blogger-escaped-data-original-attrs="{"style":"font-weight: 400;"}"><div style="margin: 0px;"><div data-blogger-escaped-data-original-attrs="{"style":"font-weight: 400;"}"><div style="margin: 0px;"><div data-blogger-escaped-data-original-attrs="{"style":"font-weight: 400;"}"><div style="margin: 0px;"><div><div data-blogger-escaped-data-original-attrs="{"style":"font-weight: 400;"}"><div style="margin: 0px;"><div data-blogger-escaped-data-original-attrs="{"style":"font-weight: 400;"}"><div style="margin: 0px;"><div data-blogger-escaped-data-original-attrs="{"style":"font-weight: 400;"}"><div style="margin: 0px;"><div><div style="text-align: center;">Theme Reveal - <span style="color: #660000;"><a href="https://dashyspeaks.blogspot.com/2020/03/an-ode-to-myself-atozchallenge.html">An Ode to Myself</a> | </span>A for <a href="https://dashyspeaks.blogspot.com/2020/04/a-for-awkwardness-atozchallenge.html">Awkwardness</a> | B for <a href="https://dashyspeaks.blogspot.com/2020/04/b-for-books-atozchallenge.html">Books</a> | C for <a href="https://dashyspeaks.blogspot.com/2020/04/c-for-connections-atozchallenge.html">Connections</a> | D for <a href="https://dashyspeaks.blogspot.com/2020/04/d-for-decisions-atozchallenge.html">Decisions</a> | E for <a href="https://dashyspeaks.blogspot.com/2020/04/e-for-extempore-atozchallenge.html">Extempore</a> | F for <a href="https://dashyspeaks.blogspot.com/2020/04/f-for-failure-atozchallenge.html">Failure</a> | G for <a href="https://dashyspeaks.blogspot.com/2020/04/g-for-gymming-atozchallenge.html">Gymming</a> | H for <a href="https://dashyspeaks.blogspot.com/2020/04/h-for-hurt-atozchallenge.html">Hurt</a> | I for <a href="https://dashyspeaks.blogspot.com/2020/04/i-for-individuality-atozchallenge.html">Individuality</a> | J for <a href="https://dashyspeaks.blogspot.com/2020/04/j-for-judgements-atozchallenge.html">Judgements</a> | K for <a href="https://dashyspeaks.blogspot.com/2020/04/k-for-knowledge-atozchallenge.html">Knowledge</a> | L for <a href="https://dashyspeaks.blogspot.com/2020/04/l-for-left-out-atozchallenge.html">Left-Out</a> | M for <a href="https://dashyspeaks.blogspot.com/2018/09/on-being-mediocre.html">Mediocrity</a> | N for <a href="https://dashyspeaks.blogspot.com/2020/04/n-for-needful-atozchallenge.html">Needful</a> | O for <a href="https://dashyspeaks.blogspot.com/2020/04/o-for-overthinking-atozchallenge.html">Overthinking</a> | P for <a href="https://dashyspeaks.blogspot.com/2020/04/p-for-paunch-atozchallenge.html">Paunch</a> | Q for <a href="https://dashyspeaks.blogspot.com/2020/04/q-for-quitter-atozchallenge.html">Quitting</a> | R for <a href="https://dashyspeaks.blogspot.com/2020/04/r-for-remembering-atozchallenge.html">Remembering</a> | S for <a href="https://dashyspeaks.blogspot.com/2020/04/s-for-sensitivity-atozchallenge.html">Sensitivity</a> | T for <a href="https://dashyspeaks.blogspot.com/2020/04/t-for-true-self-atozchallenge.html">True-Self</a> | U for <a href="https://dashyspeaks.blogspot.com/2020/04/u-for-usefulness-atozchallenge.html">Usefulness</a> | V for <a href="https://dashyspeaks.blogspot.com/2020/04/v-for-vexation-atozchallenge.html">Vexation</a> | W for <a href="https://dashyspeaks.blogspot.com/2020/04/w-for-writing-atozchallenge.html">Writing</a> | X for <a href="https://dashyspeaks.blogspot.com/2020/04/x-for-unknown-atozchallenge.html">The Unknown</a> | Y for <a href="https://dashyspeaks.blogspot.com/2020/04/y-for-yolo-atozchallenge.html">YOLO</a> | Z for <a href="https://dashyspeaks.blogspot.com/2020/04/z-for-zone-atozchallenge.html" target="_blank">Zone</a></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div><div data-blogger-escaped-data-original-attrs="{"style":"font-family: \"times new roman\";"}" style="font-family: "times new roman";"><div data-blogger-escaped-data-original-attrs="{"style":"margin: 0px;"}" style="margin: 0px;"><div data-blogger-escaped-data-original-attrs="{"style":"font-family: \"Times New Roman\";"}">
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Dashyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12350406405959699889noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6025043616863310122.post-2630432714752640472020-04-23T00:00:00.003+05:302020-07-10T22:32:04.946+05:30T for True-Self #AtoZChallenge<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Source: <a href="https://www.clipartkey.com/view/oTJiwx_goal-clipart-know-yourself-myself-clipart/">clipartkey</a></td></tr>
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<i><span style="color: #660000;">"He knows our true names, Eragon. We are his slaves forever." - Murtagh</span></i><br />
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<i><span style="color: #660000;">Excerpt from <b>Eldest</b>, the second book of <b>The Inheritance Cycle </b>by Christopher Paolini</span></i><br />
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My thirteen-year-old self had just finished reading Inheritance*. Eragon had finally discovered his true name. The true name of someone was a bunch of words in the Ancient language that defined the person as a whole. It summarised their existence, perhaps even their purpose, and gave them the complete knowledge of their own self. To have someone know your true name meant to have them see you naked. They would know every inch of your mind and soul, allowing them to have complete control over yourself.<br />
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I was fascinated by this concept. In our world without dragons, finding one's true name was called attaining enlightenment. The zenith of one's spiritual journey. One could become invincible by knowing their true self, I perceived. I wondered what it takes to get there. Meditating for ages in the Himalayas? Indulging in deep prayers to the almighty? Giving up all worldly pleasures like Sidhartha did?</div><div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><br /></div><div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><br /><div style="text-align: center;"></div><div style="text-align: center;"><font face="georgia"><b><a href="https://www.amazon.in/dp/B08CDWGHJG" target="_blank">READ THE REST FROM THE EBOOK</a></b></font></div><div style="text-align: center;"><font face="georgia"><b><a href="https://www.amazon.in/dp/B08CDWGHJG" target="_blank"> NOW AVAILABLE ON AMAZON!</a></b></font></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><span style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><a href="https://www.amazon.in/dp/B08CDWGHJG" target="_blank"><img border="0" data-original-height="2003" data-original-width="1410" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj25bD0oMD1gCzHO17dgwAdVI21Yb3lKiQ6z9oFLDV8vWgkgbSe3dJ0PyDZU8v8Z_u2utwhDo3TGuRRjSNxPnBqBfFegLXqNHqVzcmsO3ZEybUIaUHYrHeMDlnixX4kVoHPszbIuaOvAWYM/w281-h400/An+Ode+to+the+Self+COVER.png" title="Complete series available on Amazon!" width="281" /></a></span></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><font color="#7b1fa2"><a href="https://www.amazon.in/dp/B08CDWGHJG" target="_blank"><b>An Ode to the Self</b> by <b>Darshana Suresh</b></a></font></td></tr></tbody></table><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><font color="#7b1fa2"><b><br /><br /></b></font></td></tr></tbody></table>
<i>*Inheritance is the fourth and final book of The Inheritance Cycle series. </i><br />
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<div style="text-align: center;"><div style="margin: 0px;">This is a part of the April A to Z challenge under the theme of 'My Inhibitions' or 'An Ode to Myself'. Read the other posts <a data-blogger-escaped-data-original-attrs="{"data-original-href":"https://dashyspeaks.blogspot.com/search/label/A%20to%20Z%20April%202020"}" href="https://draft.blogger.com/blog/post/edit/6025043616863310122/4464796350847873240#"><b><span style="color: #660000;">here</span></b></a>.</div><div data-blogger-escaped-data-original-attrs="{"style":"font-family: \"times new roman\";"}" style="font-family: "times new roman"; text-align: left;"><div data-blogger-escaped-data-original-attrs="{"style":"margin: 0px;"}" style="margin: 0px;"><div style="margin: 0px; text-align: center;"><br /></div></div><div data-blogger-escaped-data-original-attrs="{"style":"margin: 0px;"}" style="margin: 0px;"><div data-blogger-escaped-data-original-attrs="{"style":"font-weight: 400;"}"><div style="margin: 0px;"><div data-blogger-escaped-data-original-attrs="{"style":"font-weight: 400;"}"><div style="margin: 0px;"><div data-blogger-escaped-data-original-attrs="{"style":"font-weight: 400;"}"><div style="margin: 0px;"><div><div data-blogger-escaped-data-original-attrs="{"style":"font-weight: 400;"}"><div style="margin: 0px;"><div data-blogger-escaped-data-original-attrs="{"style":"font-weight: 400;"}"><div style="margin: 0px;"><div data-blogger-escaped-data-original-attrs="{"style":"font-weight: 400;"}"><div style="margin: 0px;"><div><div style="text-align: center;">Theme Reveal - <span style="color: #660000;"><a href="https://dashyspeaks.blogspot.com/2020/03/an-ode-to-myself-atozchallenge.html">An Ode to Myself</a> | </span>A for <a href="https://dashyspeaks.blogspot.com/2020/04/a-for-awkwardness-atozchallenge.html">Awkwardness</a> | B for <a href="https://dashyspeaks.blogspot.com/2020/04/b-for-books-atozchallenge.html">Books</a> | C for <a href="https://dashyspeaks.blogspot.com/2020/04/c-for-connections-atozchallenge.html">Connections</a> | D for <a href="https://dashyspeaks.blogspot.com/2020/04/d-for-decisions-atozchallenge.html">Decisions</a> | E for <a href="https://dashyspeaks.blogspot.com/2020/04/e-for-extempore-atozchallenge.html">Extempore</a> | F for <a href="https://dashyspeaks.blogspot.com/2020/04/f-for-failure-atozchallenge.html">Failure</a> | G for <a href="https://dashyspeaks.blogspot.com/2020/04/g-for-gymming-atozchallenge.html">Gymming</a> | H for <a href="https://dashyspeaks.blogspot.com/2020/04/h-for-hurt-atozchallenge.html">Hurt</a> | I for <a href="https://dashyspeaks.blogspot.com/2020/04/i-for-individuality-atozchallenge.html">Individuality</a> | J for <a href="https://dashyspeaks.blogspot.com/2020/04/j-for-judgements-atozchallenge.html">Judgements</a> | K for <a href="https://dashyspeaks.blogspot.com/2020/04/k-for-knowledge-atozchallenge.html">Knowledge</a> | L for <a href="https://dashyspeaks.blogspot.com/2020/04/l-for-left-out-atozchallenge.html">Left-Out</a> | M for <a href="https://dashyspeaks.blogspot.com/2018/09/on-being-mediocre.html">Mediocrity</a> | N for <a href="https://dashyspeaks.blogspot.com/2020/04/n-for-needful-atozchallenge.html">Needful</a> | O for <a href="https://dashyspeaks.blogspot.com/2020/04/o-for-overthinking-atozchallenge.html">Overthinking</a> | P for <a href="https://dashyspeaks.blogspot.com/2020/04/p-for-paunch-atozchallenge.html">Paunch</a> | Q for <a href="https://dashyspeaks.blogspot.com/2020/04/q-for-quitter-atozchallenge.html">Quitting</a> | R for <a href="https://dashyspeaks.blogspot.com/2020/04/r-for-remembering-atozchallenge.html">Remembering</a> | S for <a href="https://dashyspeaks.blogspot.com/2020/04/s-for-sensitivity-atozchallenge.html">Sensitivity</a> | T for <a href="https://dashyspeaks.blogspot.com/2020/04/t-for-true-self-atozchallenge.html">True-Self</a> | U for <a href="https://dashyspeaks.blogspot.com/2020/04/u-for-usefulness-atozchallenge.html">Usefulness</a> | V for <a href="https://dashyspeaks.blogspot.com/2020/04/v-for-vexation-atozchallenge.html">Vexation</a> | W for <a href="https://dashyspeaks.blogspot.com/2020/04/w-for-writing-atozchallenge.html">Writing</a> | X for <a href="https://dashyspeaks.blogspot.com/2020/04/x-for-unknown-atozchallenge.html">The Unknown</a> | Y for <a href="https://dashyspeaks.blogspot.com/2020/04/y-for-yolo-atozchallenge.html">YOLO</a> | Z for <a href="https://dashyspeaks.blogspot.com/2020/04/z-for-zone-atozchallenge.html" target="_blank">Zone</a></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div><div data-blogger-escaped-data-original-attrs="{"style":"font-family: \"times new roman\";"}" style="font-family: "times new roman";"><div data-blogger-escaped-data-original-attrs="{"style":"margin: 0px;"}" style="margin: 0px;"><div data-blogger-escaped-data-original-attrs="{"style":"font-weight: 400;"}"><div style="margin: 0px;"><div data-blogger-escaped-data-original-attrs="{"style":"font-weight: 400;"}"><div style="margin: 0px;"><div data-blogger-escaped-data-original-attrs="{"style":"font-weight: 400;"}"><div style="margin: 0px;"><div><div style="font-weight: 400;"><div data-blogger-escaped-data-original-attrs="{"style":"font-family: \"Times New Roman\";"}">
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Dashyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12350406405959699889noreply@blogger.com0