<?xml version='1.0' encoding='UTF-8'?><?xml-stylesheet href="http://www.blogger.com/styles/atom.css" type="text/css"?><feed xmlns='http://www.w3.org/2005/Atom' xmlns:openSearch='http://a9.com/-/spec/opensearchrss/1.0/' xmlns:georss='http://www.georss.org/georss' xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4293216337763526174</id><updated>2011-07-08T12:10:46.680+05:30</updated><category term='Lights..'/><category term='stuff i like'/><category term='news-inspired'/><title type='text'>Rambles</title><subtitle type='html'>Digressions, objections, delight in mockery, carefree mistrust are signs of health; everything unconditional belongs in pathology. 
Friedrich Nietzsche, Beyond Good and Evil</subtitle><link rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#feed' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dtrambles.blogspot.com/feeds/posts/default'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4293216337763526174/posts/default?max-results=100'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dtrambles.blogspot.com/'/><link rel='hub' href='http://pubsubhubbub.appspot.com/'/><author><name>dt</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15802681397211781909</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><generator version='7.00' uri='http://www.blogger.com'>Blogger</generator><openSearch:totalResults>15</openSearch:totalResults><openSearch:startIndex>1</openSearch:startIndex><openSearch:itemsPerPage>100</openSearch:itemsPerPage><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4293216337763526174.post-7089940052689489020</id><published>2010-09-02T14:49:00.002+05:30</published><updated>2010-09-02T14:52:24.858+05:30</updated><title type='text'>Happy Birthday Bal Gopal</title><content type='html'>&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_dcvGSMz3BjM/TH9sbjTBfqI/AAAAAAAADyg/snRzhwCfCAk/s1600/happy+birthday.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 238px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_dcvGSMz3BjM/TH9sbjTBfqI/AAAAAAAADyg/snRzhwCfCAk/s320/happy+birthday.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5512243689512074914" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;Cute, aren't they? (Pic courtesy: HT)&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Just yesterday I was discussing with my colleague how while I was on my  way to work I saw these tiny tots dressed as Bal Gopal (complete with  peacock feathered headgear and flute in hand) on their way to school, looking totally lost  but oh-so-bite-ably adorable :) Then I was also boasting to her about  how Janmashtami is celebrated like this and like that (I often take on  the role of a knowledgeable local before the self confessed 'touristy'  colleague since she's only moved to the city a few months ago). In my  head I imagined those awesome aerial shots or pics of an entire human  pyramid coming crashing down, taken by some very good photographers and  published on the front page of newspapers without a doubt the next  morning, and smiled.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;This morning, a friend complained about all roads to his house being  blocked by the Gopalkala groups. In turn, I sighed that in my area it  barely felt as though it was a festive day. Another ex-colleague tweeted  some sarcastic words abt being stuck in traffic before wishing everyone  a Happy Janmashtami and I smiled, knowingly, but refused to stop  romanticising.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Eventually I stepped out of home to head to work. There was no rickshaw  in sight (Chhuti hai, itte asani se thodi hi milega rick) so I decided  to walk towards the main road, earphones stuck in place, first song on  the playlist blaring. Perhaps that's why I did not notice the rickshaw  that came dangerously close, almost about to ram into me, as it's  inhabitants hooted away to glory. One among the boys was practically  swaying outside the rick, a cheap beer bottle in hand, making lewd  gestures. In that one moment, all that built-up romanticism turned into  disgust. But that rick fled, looking for other hapless victims, who  might have dared to step out of home.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It's truly sad that our festivals have become an excuse for hooliganism  and goondagardi. Sorry Bal Gopal, you might have respected the women in  your life but those celebrating your birthday just can't. Pity.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4293216337763526174-7089940052689489020?l=dtrambles.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dtrambles.blogspot.com/feeds/7089940052689489020/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4293216337763526174&amp;postID=7089940052689489020&amp;isPopup=true' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4293216337763526174/posts/default/7089940052689489020'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4293216337763526174/posts/default/7089940052689489020'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dtrambles.blogspot.com/2010/09/happy-birthday-bal-gopal.html' title='Happy Birthday Bal Gopal'/><author><name>dt</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15802681397211781909</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_dcvGSMz3BjM/TH9sbjTBfqI/AAAAAAAADyg/snRzhwCfCAk/s72-c/happy+birthday.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4293216337763526174.post-8867864549857902295</id><published>2010-08-11T21:56:00.004+05:30</published><updated>2010-08-12T17:14:45.260+05:30</updated><title type='text'>As long as there are dreams, there is hope of a better reality...</title><content type='html'>&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_dcvGSMz3BjM/TGOjRFuw-OI/AAAAAAAADx0/SRuKObJrD1U/s1600/udaan-7.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_dcvGSMz3BjM/TGOjRFuw-OI/AAAAAAAADx0/SRuKObJrD1U/s320/udaan-7.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5504422683568306402" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;जेबों&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt; &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;में&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt; &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;हम&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt; &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;रातें&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt; &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;लिए&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt; &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;घूमा&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt; &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;करें&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;...&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Isn't it something that for an industry that boasts of qualified engineers, doctors and architects making it big as singers, actors and music composers, it has taken a movie like Udaan so long to make it to theatres. The story of Rohan Singh, the protagonist of the film, is a story that plays out in practically every family in the country (although not in such a gruesome manner). Don't we all know enough friends who grudgingly went to their technical colleges and not a fashion designing or music or art institute?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Luckily, I was spared the ordeal - probably because my more studious elder sister had taken up the family tradition and followed in papa's footsteps to become an engineer in a godforsaken college in a town better known for its ganesh idols than its engineering college; or because I had made it expressly clear, after seeing my sister study all the time, that 'studying' was not my deal (even so, mum insisted I take up Economics as one of my BA subjects and was a little disappointed when I announced that I'd major in Eng Lit); and finally, perhaps, because my younger brother too took up engg in a college full of sadistic profs (the highlight of my brother's college years, for me, was that he'd wear a tee shirt that said 'I'm bad with names. Can I call you a Jerk?' to college so often :)). That Engg Drawing lecture that plays in the background in one of the scenes of the movie is something my sis and bro will definitely smile about (you will know what hating something from the bottom of one's heart really means when they talk of this subject!)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;To me, Udaan, more than Inception, is about dreams... because I connect to the dream that Rohan has. His story is the story of our generation. A generation that has spent evening after evening fighting with folks, sometimes even extended family, trying to assert our opinion. Ours is a generation that has finally managed to break the shackles of the doctor-engineer trap (we still sport the bruises though). I belong to the generation that's so much more sure of itself, one that has managed to make the bizarre-est of professions sound like a cool option. And lord knows its not been easy... Even when folks would agree to let us pursue the dream, there would be one condition - 'complete your education first.' It was a reasonable demand and most of us accepted it.  Every one of us has a personal rebellion story - it wasn't easy breaking mom and dad's heart..but it wasn't easy living a choked life too, hai na?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;That's where Udaan touches a chord. At the end when Rohan and Arjun set out on their own, we don't know what will happen to them. But we hope for the best. After all, things turned out pretty decent for us, na :)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Rider: Please note, Di insists she wasn't following 'family tradition' and pursuing engineering wasn't as bad as I make it sound.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4293216337763526174-8867864549857902295?l=dtrambles.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dtrambles.blogspot.com/feeds/8867864549857902295/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4293216337763526174&amp;postID=8867864549857902295&amp;isPopup=true' title='5 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4293216337763526174/posts/default/8867864549857902295'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4293216337763526174/posts/default/8867864549857902295'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dtrambles.blogspot.com/2010/08/as-long-as-there-are-dreams-there-is.html' title='As long as there are dreams, there is hope of a better reality...'/><author><name>dt</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15802681397211781909</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_dcvGSMz3BjM/TGOjRFuw-OI/AAAAAAAADx0/SRuKObJrD1U/s72-c/udaan-7.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>5</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4293216337763526174.post-464953612958420294</id><published>2010-05-18T20:44:00.004+05:30</published><updated>2010-05-18T21:22:34.670+05:30</updated><title type='text'>I know what my Mom's gonna say on my birthday...</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_dcvGSMz3BjM/S_K2hBCYXeI/AAAAAAAADto/6tRZg08sA7E/s1600/silly_28th_birthday_present_tshirt-.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 320px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_dcvGSMz3BjM/S_K2hBCYXeI/AAAAAAAADto/6tRZg08sA7E/s320/silly_28th_birthday_present_tshirt-.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5472637175538933218" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The moment the cake is brought out and set on the centre table, and I'm all set to chop through it so that the eager kid cousin can go ahead and skip lunch, much to his mom's angst, someone will bring up the question: 'So how old are you today?' presumptuously to make sure they don't mess up the ensuing Happy Birthday song. And after the quick mental math (2010-1982 = 28) the age will be declared amidst surprised oooohs and aaaahs  (I refuse  to believe that those who do let out those ooohs and aaahs do so genuinely... of course you know how old I am... you guys were around when I was born, weren't you???) And then Mommy-dearest will say: Tu kitti badi ho gayi hai! (hahahahaha...she says that every, single year and it has nothing to do with the increasing complaints of the weighing machine (but I think I've started paying more attention only after I turned 25, do not ask why...I know not myself)).&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;For once, I guess I'll be (semi) agreeing with Mom . At least two more people have recently said things indicating a similar meaning. A former colleague mentioned how my GTalk status message -- reminder to self: being enthusiastic about work ALWAYS misfires!-- which more or less always is a clear indicator of the current state of mind, is "sooooooo true." She also added that I'm "soooooo cute" ... I'd be a blatant liar if I didn't agree :P. Anyway, the fact that a respected former colleague thinks that I've finally figured out a basic rule of making it through as a journalist is quite a compliment! I'd like to take it as an indication of the Main kitti badi ho gayi hoon phenomenon :)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And then yesterday, after several frustrating minutes spent trying to make a story, that was increasingly turning supremely superficial (despite my best efforts, I swear), acquire some sense of &lt;span class="ResultBody"&gt;scrupulousness, while trying to maintain my cool (believe me I congratulated myself on making it without loosing it inappropriately), another much-respected mentor said "you've grown up" (No, he does not make fun of my weight either :P). That was pretty direct, much like Mom.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So, two days before my birthday (which might yet again be spent at a friend's wedding, twice in a row that is now!) I've good reason to believe that I'm not gonna make a very bad 28-year old.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;PS: The above-mentioned guys, of course, have no clue about my secret fantasy  of turning into a Rockstar and sharing stage with Steve Tyler singing Craaaaaaaaaaaazy!!!  &lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4293216337763526174-464953612958420294?l=dtrambles.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dtrambles.blogspot.com/feeds/464953612958420294/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4293216337763526174&amp;postID=464953612958420294&amp;isPopup=true' title='5 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4293216337763526174/posts/default/464953612958420294'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4293216337763526174/posts/default/464953612958420294'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dtrambles.blogspot.com/2010/05/i-know-what-my-moms-gonna-say-on-my.html' title='I know what my Mom&apos;s gonna say on my birthday...'/><author><name>dt</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15802681397211781909</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_dcvGSMz3BjM/S_K2hBCYXeI/AAAAAAAADto/6tRZg08sA7E/s72-c/silly_28th_birthday_present_tshirt-.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>5</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4293216337763526174.post-2170818777364645089</id><published>2009-03-20T16:52:00.009+05:30</published><updated>2009-03-20T17:22:35.091+05:30</updated><title type='text'>It's about time I learned to drive!</title><content type='html'>&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_dcvGSMz3BjM/ScODOcEy9sI/AAAAAAAAAPA/oB6xZIJmTws/s1600-h/DSCN0991.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_dcvGSMz3BjM/ScODOcEy9sI/AAAAAAAAAPA/oB6xZIJmTws/s320/DSCN0991.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5315236269305034434" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;Joe (left) and Tim (right) with the Amphibious&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It must be co-incidence that I meet Timothy every time Nano news is about to hound media... the first time I met him was over a year ago when the 'junta' car was unveiled and people were going insanely beserk to take a look at it. And I met him again last week for a story on his ATVs and modified bikes. Both times he was chilling in his taar-patra covered, garage- shed. Only difference being that his blood-sugar level has shot up drastically in the last one year.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The first time I met him was for this amphibious car that he'd built (along with his brother Joe)...because he was genuinely concerned of the terrible state of the city on July 26, 2005. The car runs on road and in water and has a whole lot of to-be-patented features that can make it an ideal rescue vehicle. It was ready on August 15, 2007. But it has still not been tested officially, let alone get used during a disaster.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Officials are not allowing it permission to be tested - either on road or, most importantly, in water. He's met all kinds of bureaucrats and politicians to try and get the right kind of permissions but nothing's working. Shubha Raul, the mayor of Mumbai, has allegedly said that BMC will get in touch with Tim as and when they require the services of his car/boat. After all floods don't occur every day! But if you don't even let him test it how will he keep the car ready to rescue Damsel Mayor when disaster strikes!!!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Necessity was the mother of my invention, which still remains a dream because of rampant red-tapism."  That's not something Tim said...he's written it down on a small piece of paper lying among the tools on his work-desk. It must be frustrating being him...having a life-saving car standing in your garage, while you watch helpless rescue-workers drown under toppled boats as the raging Kosi wiped out village after village in Bihar last year.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;He's not giving up though...he's taking our advice on lowering the sugar levels, building a dune buggy that the Mumbai police could use to patrol our sea-fronts and he's promised me that I'll test drive his newest creation this June/July... ... ...thenga :D&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4293216337763526174-2170818777364645089?l=dtrambles.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dtrambles.blogspot.com/feeds/2170818777364645089/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4293216337763526174&amp;postID=2170818777364645089&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4293216337763526174/posts/default/2170818777364645089'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4293216337763526174/posts/default/2170818777364645089'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dtrambles.blogspot.com/2009/03/its-about-time-i-learned-to-drive.html' title='It&apos;s about time I learned to drive!'/><author><name>dt</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15802681397211781909</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_dcvGSMz3BjM/ScODOcEy9sI/AAAAAAAAAPA/oB6xZIJmTws/s72-c/DSCN0991.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4293216337763526174.post-2879424256803580747</id><published>2008-06-08T11:29:00.002+05:30</published><updated>2008-12-10T14:30:59.072+05:30</updated><title type='text'>Thinking about IPL... in captivity...</title><content type='html'>&lt;div align="center"&gt; &lt;a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_dcvGSMz3BjM/SEt2ITPZOTI/AAAAAAAAACU/oufYLMozSEY/s1600-h/2008051961460101.jpg"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5209387278959982898" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_dcvGSMz3BjM/SEt2ITPZOTI/AAAAAAAAACU/oufYLMozSEY/s320/2008051961460101.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;strong&gt; Naeem with his colleague after returning safely to camp&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;/strong&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;Naeem Sarang was kidnapped by Afghani 'terrorists' on April 21 while he was on his way back from to his company base camp in Herat. You can read about his stay with the terrorists and blah blah if u simply run a search on google news... But this is part of what he told me when we went to meet him after his return...he was just so genuine when he asked about what he was going through during his ordeal...first few days were terrible he said especially after a close encounter in a village they were passing by where they were shot at...but after a while he got used to things...and thought abt IPL!!!&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;"कभी कभी मैं सोचता था की घर पर क्या चल रहा होगा...घरवाले क्रिकेट देख रहे होंगे या नही...फिर मुझे याद आया की वो मेरे लिए दुआ कर रहे होंगे और टेंशन में होंगे...IPL देखने का समय किसके पास होगा...मुझे बहुत बुरा लगा की मेरी वजह से सबको क्रिकेट मिस करना पड़ा...जब मैं कैंप वापिस आया सबसे  पहले मैंने यही पूछा की बंगलोर की टीम का क्या हुआ...पर पता लगा की वो सबसे आखरी नम्बर पर थे..."&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;Maybe if Dravid knew that somewhere in the deep jungles of Afghanistan an ardent fan was hoping for his team to perform the Bangalore team would've played bettter ;)&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4293216337763526174-2879424256803580747?l=dtrambles.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dtrambles.blogspot.com/feeds/2879424256803580747/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4293216337763526174&amp;postID=2879424256803580747&amp;isPopup=true' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4293216337763526174/posts/default/2879424256803580747'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4293216337763526174/posts/default/2879424256803580747'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dtrambles.blogspot.com/2008/06/thinking-about-ipl-in-captivity.html' title='Thinking about IPL... in captivity...'/><author><name>dt</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15802681397211781909</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_dcvGSMz3BjM/SEt2ITPZOTI/AAAAAAAAACU/oufYLMozSEY/s72-c/2008051961460101.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4293216337763526174.post-2825854048963406996</id><published>2007-12-28T17:07:00.000+05:30</published><updated>2008-12-10T14:30:59.377+05:30</updated><title type='text'>By and large, the more famous you are, the less of a journalist you are</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_dcvGSMz3BjM/R3eDY54jdrI/AAAAAAAAACM/p8_uq4WeVq8/s1600-h/24halberstam-395c.jpg"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5149729162799576754" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_dcvGSMz3BjM/R3eDY54jdrI/AAAAAAAAACM/p8_uq4WeVq8/s320/24halberstam-395c.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;blockquote&gt;&lt;p&gt;It was a bad time in Vietnam, not as bad as it was eventually to become, but it was, in addition to all the danger and hardship, an oddly exhilarating time for me, at least in the beginning. There is in here a contradiction that every journalist should ponder; and I reflect on it still: What of us as human beings, if we are at our best in times of such misery?&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;strong&gt;David Halberstam, A Letter To My Daughter, 1982&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;/blockquote&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4293216337763526174-2825854048963406996?l=dtrambles.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dtrambles.blogspot.com/feeds/2825854048963406996/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4293216337763526174&amp;postID=2825854048963406996&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4293216337763526174/posts/default/2825854048963406996'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4293216337763526174/posts/default/2825854048963406996'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dtrambles.blogspot.com/2007/12/by-and-large-more-famous-you-are-less_30.html' title='By and large, the more famous you are, the less of a journalist you are'/><author><name>dt</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15802681397211781909</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_dcvGSMz3BjM/R3eDY54jdrI/AAAAAAAAACM/p8_uq4WeVq8/s72-c/24halberstam-395c.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4293216337763526174.post-7191258083824243596</id><published>2007-12-23T19:51:00.000+05:30</published><updated>2008-12-10T14:30:59.704+05:30</updated><title type='text'>hum bhi agar bacche hote...</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_dcvGSMz3BjM/R25wE54jdnI/AAAAAAAAABs/537-XJKBLIo/s1600-h/taa12e.jpg"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5147174653690869362" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_dcvGSMz3BjM/R25wE54jdnI/AAAAAAAAABs/537-XJKBLIo/s320/taa12e.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;saw TZP...remembered forgotten dreams..wonder if they'll ever be realised...&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;The AC is droning in my barely 150 sq ft office...sparsely populated today because it happens to be a sunday which is good because i get to take over a computer without the guilt pangs or someone annoyingly peeping over my shoulder...and the three television sets are set onto three of the supposedly best hindi news channels in the country right now...nope mine isnt one of them...just sometime back one had a repoter from gujarat screeching about modi's win over the celebratory music in modinagar/ahmedabad...another flashed news about shahrukh khan getting a haircut so that his famous (???) ponytail is no more with us...and a third ran a half hour special on rakhi sawant's nakhre (theres no word in english that describes what she does) after losing nach baliye...i dont even wanna think abt what my channel is playing...why doesnt the government just pass that damned bill so all of us can rest in peace...its abt time we have gag orders in place so we dont climb 10 feet walls to get the bachchan family reaction on vivek oberoi making it to teji bachchan's funeral...the dead woman is being creamated goddamit and delhi wants us to ask yash chopra and ramesh sippy 'aapko kaisa lag raha hai'...and if we got amitabh or abhishek's byte i'd even bag a raise...&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;and tomorrow i'm going to either speak to friends of a young girl who died while she was on a trek or work on christmas special stories...and to think of it somebody told me journalism was a noble profession...&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4293216337763526174-7191258083824243596?l=dtrambles.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dtrambles.blogspot.com/feeds/7191258083824243596/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4293216337763526174&amp;postID=7191258083824243596&amp;isPopup=true' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4293216337763526174/posts/default/7191258083824243596'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4293216337763526174/posts/default/7191258083824243596'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dtrambles.blogspot.com/2007/12/hum-bhi-agar-bacche-hote.html' title='hum bhi agar bacche hote...'/><author><name>dt</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15802681397211781909</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_dcvGSMz3BjM/R25wE54jdnI/AAAAAAAAABs/537-XJKBLIo/s72-c/taa12e.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4293216337763526174.post-5464978290903238654</id><published>2007-07-26T01:29:00.000+05:30</published><updated>2008-12-10T14:30:59.903+05:30</updated><title type='text'>not all ways wrong...because i have an opinion too :)</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_dcvGSMz3BjM/RqexWDBtWJI/AAAAAAAAABE/XAuX-U5YnpQ/s1600-h/poojachauhan.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_dcvGSMz3BjM/RqexWDBtWJI/AAAAAAAAABE/XAuX-U5YnpQ/s320/poojachauhan.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5091232896093345938" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I actually wanted to write this a very long time back..actually around the time i read this edit about how the Indian media is stooping to pathetic lows...blah blah blah...&lt;br /&gt;now the example our man writer chose to elucidate his point was to do with how a journalist egged on a certain Ms Chauhan in small town somewhere in Rajasthan (I'm not gonna bother with details most of us know abt the story anyways) so that he could get exclusive pics of the woman parading in her underclothes...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;a lot of ppl slammed the media on manipulating the power of the camera/press but i don't see anything wrong in what happened. Nobody was concerned about what was happening with chauhan until she decided to take the step that she did and seriously she wasn't even looking vulgar for god sake...i mean most models wear bras skimpier than that and chauhan's probably not even heard of the concept of low waist undies...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;that does not mean a mediaperson can tell her what to do??? Why not, i ask? Why the hell not because we are the ones who deal with the scum of the world and we know how bloody manipulative the police can get if they have to. we know the loopholes in the system that will get the accused a bail or custody. and if the police can use the very same loopholes to make money at least few of us do it for the better of the genuine complainant...yes screaming out loud helps, yes walking around almost naked helps...because that is the only way people stop and take notice...the only way ppl care to listen. We know the power of the press and day in and day out we help ppl discover the very same power too.  And we see the helpless smile!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So my question is wat is wrong if the reporter helped chauhan walk the line...should he have instead backed off and let her suffer her  'fate'...oh puhlease don't even think of saying yes...just because it was a set-up the seriousness of chauhan's probs don't reduce...but aren't political speeches pre-planned too? don't they stage manage crowds at those ridiculously fake large rallies? then why pick on this woman or the journalist...frankly i think he did a great job...congratulations!!!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4293216337763526174-5464978290903238654?l=dtrambles.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dtrambles.blogspot.com/feeds/5464978290903238654/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4293216337763526174&amp;postID=5464978290903238654&amp;isPopup=true' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4293216337763526174/posts/default/5464978290903238654'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4293216337763526174/posts/default/5464978290903238654'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dtrambles.blogspot.com/2007/07/not-all-ways-wrongbecause-i-have.html' title='not all ways wrong...because i have an opinion too :)'/><author><name>dt</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15802681397211781909</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_dcvGSMz3BjM/RqexWDBtWJI/AAAAAAAAABE/XAuX-U5YnpQ/s72-c/poojachauhan.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4293216337763526174.post-7172855688083378843</id><published>2007-07-13T15:22:00.000+05:30</published><updated>2008-12-10T14:31:00.327+05:30</updated><title type='text'>Where is the damned manager!!!</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_dcvGSMz3BjM/RpdMtfGeLcI/AAAAAAAAAA8/KHYpya8dwsI/s1600-h/50rsranbajirecamp.jpg"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5086618648464731586" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_dcvGSMz3BjM/RpdMtfGeLcI/AAAAAAAAAA8/KHYpya8dwsI/s320/50rsranbajirecamp.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span style="color:#000000;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span style="color:#000000;"&gt;In &lt;/span&gt;&lt;a title="Repetition (Kierkegaard)" href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Repetition_(Kierkegaard)"&gt;&lt;span style="color:#000000;"&gt;Repetition&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span style="color:#000000;"&gt;, &lt;/span&gt;&lt;a title="Kierkegaard" href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Kierkegaard"&gt;&lt;span style="color:#000000;"&gt;Kierkegaard&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span style="color:#000000;"&gt;'s literary character Young Man laments...&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span style="color:#000000;"&gt;&lt;em&gt;I get into the world? Why was I not asked about it and why was I not informed of the rules and regulations but just thrust into the ranks as if I had been bought by a peddling shanghaier of human beings? How did I get involved in this big enterprise called actuality? Why should I be involved? Isn't it a matter of choice? And if I am compelled to be involved, where is the manager—I have something to say about this. Is there no manager? To whom shall I make my complaint?&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;/em&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;strong&gt;shanghaier&lt;/strong&gt; - a kidnapper who drugs men and takes them for compulsory service aboard a ship&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4293216337763526174-7172855688083378843?l=dtrambles.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dtrambles.blogspot.com/feeds/7172855688083378843/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4293216337763526174&amp;postID=7172855688083378843&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4293216337763526174/posts/default/7172855688083378843'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4293216337763526174/posts/default/7172855688083378843'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dtrambles.blogspot.com/2007/07/where-is-damned-manager.html' title='Where is the damned manager!!!'/><author><name>dt</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15802681397211781909</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_dcvGSMz3BjM/RpdMtfGeLcI/AAAAAAAAAA8/KHYpya8dwsI/s72-c/50rsranbajirecamp.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4293216337763526174.post-2234630457188633181</id><published>2007-06-21T16:22:00.000+05:30</published><updated>2007-06-21T17:03:34.487+05:30</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='news-inspired'/><title type='text'>Guilty because the police think so...</title><content type='html'>In the first week of May, Arun Ferreira was arrested in Nagpur on the charge that he handled the communications of Naxal groups in the state. The torture that he and others who were arrested along with him has left him physically debilitated. Apparently, Murali, one of the men arrested along with Arun was  bleeding from the anus for days because the police forcefully ingested petrol into his system.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Ferreira is an educated man living in Bandra who has been involved in social activities for some time now. That doesn't mean that he is not guilty...BUT THAT DOES NOT PROVE HIS GUILT EITHER!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It's hard to trust that Ferriera would've been so deeply involved in Naxal activities as the police would like us to believe. And this is not because I'm generally against everything the 'corrupt system' does or because the newspaper reports about him being a family man are very convincing.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The reason is this:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;In September last year, a hindi play Cotton 56 Polyester 84, written by Ramu Ramanathan, translated by Chetan Datar and directed by Sunil Shanbagh, all known names in the Mumbai theatre circle, was denied permission for performance at Nagpur because the police officials believed that the play propogated Naxal-agenda. Now I've seen one of the first performances of this play in Mumbai. I can't say I liked it much but yes I can vouch for the fact that there is nothing even remotely Naxalite in the play. As far as I can summarise it's about the transition that the Girni Kamgaars went through after the textile mills were shut down and Bhiwandi's powerlooms became textile hubs rather than the dadar-parel stretch. There's even a reference to the rise of underworld as one of the fallouts..etc etc..&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;There were about four performances scheduled in Nagpur and a small town nearby. Only the first performance took place at the small town where according to the director plainclothes policemen were part of the audience judging whether the play had any Naxalite undertones. Well, they must've seen something i didn't because the next day there were a truckload of police officials surrounding the Nagpur auditorium where the rest of the performances were to take place. The show was cancelled because the commissioner of police refused to meet the organisers to grant them permission and instead sent out a letter saying permission was not being granted.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;A few days after this incident a book exhibition in Chandrapur was vandalised by police officials because the books were seen propogating, u guessed it, Naxalite agenda. The exhibition was organised by a delhi-based publishing house on the occassion of Ambedkar Jayanti and had nothing to do with Naxalites...considering that Ambedkar was apparently anti-communism!!!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Fact is these incidents, put together with Ferreira's arrest, only make it obvious that the police officials in 'Naxal-affected' areas are trying everything they can to suppress the freedom of expression...and unfortunately, despite efforts by a few media houses, to present the other side of the picture, the police is succeeding in squashing every voice of protest...&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4293216337763526174-2234630457188633181?l=dtrambles.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='related' href='http://www.geocities.com/qtpthescript/nov06.html#4_Corners' title='Guilty because the police think so...'/><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dtrambles.blogspot.com/feeds/2234630457188633181/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4293216337763526174&amp;postID=2234630457188633181&amp;isPopup=true' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4293216337763526174/posts/default/2234630457188633181'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4293216337763526174/posts/default/2234630457188633181'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dtrambles.blogspot.com/2007/06/guilty-because-police-think-so.html' title='Guilty because the police think so...'/><author><name>dt</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15802681397211781909</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4293216337763526174.post-1850663337283840472</id><published>2007-06-19T17:15:00.000+05:30</published><updated>2008-12-10T14:31:00.562+05:30</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_dcvGSMz3BjM/RnfCkZDphJI/AAAAAAAAAAo/dufjOh7LHKg/s1600-h/goddamn+good.bmp"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5077741035340792978" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_dcvGSMz3BjM/RnfCkZDphJI/AAAAAAAAAAo/dufjOh7LHKg/s320/goddamn+good.bmp" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4293216337763526174-1850663337283840472?l=dtrambles.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dtrambles.blogspot.com/feeds/1850663337283840472/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4293216337763526174&amp;postID=1850663337283840472&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4293216337763526174/posts/default/1850663337283840472'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4293216337763526174/posts/default/1850663337283840472'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dtrambles.blogspot.com/2007/06/blog-post.html' title=''/><author><name>dt</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15802681397211781909</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_dcvGSMz3BjM/RnfCkZDphJI/AAAAAAAAAAo/dufjOh7LHKg/s72-c/goddamn+good.bmp' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4293216337763526174.post-5185334263899562731</id><published>2007-06-03T20:56:00.000+05:30</published><updated>2007-06-03T20:59:17.287+05:30</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='stuff i like'/><title type='text'>From the Lord of the Rings...</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="color:#000000;"&gt;"I can't do this Sam."; &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#000000;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#000000;"&gt;I know. It's all wrong. By rights we shouldn't even be here. But we are. It's like in the great stories, Mr. Frodo. The ones that really mattered. Full of darkness and danger, they were. And sometimes you didn't want to know the end. Because how could the end be happy? How could the world go back to the way it was when so much bad had happened? But in the end, it's only a passing thing, this shadow. Even darkness must pass. A new day will come. And when the sun shines it will shine out the clearer. Those were the stories that stayed with you. That meant something, even if you were too small to understand why. But I think, Mr. Frodo, I do understand. I know now. Folk in those stories had lots of chances of turning back, only they didn't. They kept going. Because they were holding on to something."; &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#000000;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#000000;"&gt;What are we holding on to Sam?"; &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#000000;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#000000;"&gt;That there's some good in this world, Mr. Frodo... and it's worth fighting for." &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#000000;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;- Sam to Frodo, at Osgiliath&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;(I think this is from the movie the conversation in the book happens in the chapter the stairs of cirith ungol...the words here are a bit twisted but mean more or less the same...)&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4293216337763526174-5185334263899562731?l=dtrambles.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dtrambles.blogspot.com/feeds/5185334263899562731/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4293216337763526174&amp;postID=5185334263899562731&amp;isPopup=true' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4293216337763526174/posts/default/5185334263899562731'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4293216337763526174/posts/default/5185334263899562731'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dtrambles.blogspot.com/2007/06/from-lord-of-rings.html' title='From the Lord of the Rings...'/><author><name>dt</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15802681397211781909</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4293216337763526174.post-3140892692918910156</id><published>2007-05-30T13:44:00.000+05:30</published><updated>2007-06-21T15:32:53.459+05:30</updated><title type='text'>Time to learn to swim?</title><content type='html'>Sometime (shud there be a space between some and time) back India Today carried a cover page graphic of the Gateway of India half submerged in the sea declaring doomsday by 2020. Maybe other publications, esp all the environmental ones have been harping on the topic for a while but i don't read them so too bad. And everybody, including the rather well-spoken (by that i mean speaking grammatical English) former mayor of Pune, has seen The Inconvenient Truth and is now all scared about the future.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;About time we started worrying about the future but wierdly enough everybody still thinks its someone else's problem...the government does not seem to be in any mood to make any drastic changes in the way we live...lets face it we don't make changes for good unless somebody forces us to... so the government might as well do something. I've been trying not to litter, scraps of paper and plastic are proudly tucked away, into several pockets of numerous handbags, to be thrown into bins later. It's another matter that the 'later' happens a very long time after that but at least i make sure the scraps go into the bin after all. but I've been thinking about getting my kinetic honda to live with me so that i could have a much more convenient life. hitch is every time i think of riding the scooter i think of the gateway pic...and i wonder if getting a sailing boat would be a better investment...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Another thing...if all of Mumbai is going to be underwater in the next 13 years why are property prices still rising...&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4293216337763526174-3140892692918910156?l=dtrambles.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dtrambles.blogspot.com/feeds/3140892692918910156/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4293216337763526174&amp;postID=3140892692918910156&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4293216337763526174/posts/default/3140892692918910156'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4293216337763526174/posts/default/3140892692918910156'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dtrambles.blogspot.com/2007/05/time-to-learn-to-swim.html' title='Time to learn to swim?'/><author><name>dt</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15802681397211781909</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4293216337763526174.post-9046975423712399899</id><published>2007-05-29T15:25:00.000+05:30</published><updated>2007-05-30T13:42:10.467+05:30</updated><title type='text'>importance of a flush...</title><content type='html'>i've turned into a nomad because of a non functional flush...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;never did realise how important the flush is...its quite an integral part of the loo setup but for some god forsaken reason the new house that i'm supposed to have moved into does not have one!! it has a loo...not a flush :) its not like there never was a flush in this house...just that there are only a few remnants of the contraption that stare at you insisting on making u feel so foolish that i did not check whether the pipe led to a tank at all!!! no there is no tank in the entire house that leads to the pipe...i've checked, the broker has checked and so has the plumber...mr plumber finally declared our worst fears last night.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;so currently my life revolves around coaxing/threatening my broker to talk to the owner to get the damned thing repaired. the broker ofcourse care two hoots about my problem and the situation that i am in he knows my threats are as empty as a used plastic bottle flinged away into the sea bobbing to reach the shore but going further away from it all the time...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;the rest of the house is awesome tho...come over sometime...do call to check if the flush has been replaced :)&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4293216337763526174-9046975423712399899?l=dtrambles.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dtrambles.blogspot.com/feeds/9046975423712399899/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4293216337763526174&amp;postID=9046975423712399899&amp;isPopup=true' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4293216337763526174/posts/default/9046975423712399899'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4293216337763526174/posts/default/9046975423712399899'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dtrambles.blogspot.com/2007/05/importance-of-flush.html' title='importance of a flush...'/><author><name>dt</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15802681397211781909</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4293216337763526174.post-2083804040881226000</id><published>2007-01-13T05:39:00.000+05:30</published><updated>2007-01-13T05:42:41.029+05:30</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Lights..'/><title type='text'>At the beginning...</title><content type='html'>I am just &lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;starting this off all part of the new year jingoism (and because i am on night and i don't yet have a story to file). I've no idea what this blog is going to be like or where it is headed but i do intend to let it grow naturally...so join the ride :)&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4293216337763526174-2083804040881226000?l=dtrambles.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4293216337763526174/posts/default/2083804040881226000'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4293216337763526174/posts/default/2083804040881226000'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dtrambles.blogspot.com/2007/01/at-beginning.html' title='At the beginning...'/><author><name>dt</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15802681397211781909</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry></feed>
