Turning back the pages

I read this crucial line in one of my colleague's room, about three years back, and though i do not clearly remember it, the snapshot, or a screen print of that time got burned in my memory.It ran like..' what we are and eventually become is a ..function of what we think, what we believe is possible and how much of our loyalties are with our past present and future..' such a powerful thought !

by the way,as the years went by, i remembered and recollected my moments through images, and my life has become a collection of snapshots itched into my mind as the real, and practical environment changed often..i can run a video of course for my graduation period, its something i can do endlessly, over and over again.

Then comes the Gandhian quote..the future depends on what we do in the present.

A simple and important truth. But nothing more, as it does not tell you what you should do in your present. Any action in present would be preceded by thought, which is the soul of act ..to follow the ancient saying. So what should our thoughts be made up of, should our thoughts be inebriated by dreams ( that is, the future)? the risk here is we do not know if our achieved goal will be as per what we had wished . we could be chasing the wrong dreams. But then doesn't every big visionary only dream and then accomplish those in reality?

lets take present. We may not like our present at all ! our present cannot at all, shape what we do in our present actually. Only what we do in our present shapes our future. So present cannot be an answer.

Finally , the past. Many say its dangerous to live in past, to dwell upon past, or its complacent to cherish the past laurels and like.

So the crucial line i read clearly provides that our loyalties are indeed for all these three states of time. and its only right to recall your past, so that all the answers can be got .. no wonder it said everything in the first place.

सतपुड़ा के घने जंगल

Excuse my love for Hindi poems . But this one is of superlative degree when it comes to arbitrary writing . Realize how beautifully , a description builds an image in our minds . the last para tells you that it is not a non sense poem.

सतपुड़ा के घने जंगल।
नींद मे डूबे हुए से
ऊँघते अनमने जंगल।
झाड ऊँचे और नीचे,चुप खड़े हैं आँख मीचे,घास चुप है,
कास चुप हैमूक शाल, पलाश चुप है।
बन सके तो धँसो इनमें,धँस न पाती हवा जिनमें,
सतपुड़ा के घने जंगलऊँघते अनमने जंगल।

सड़े पत्ते, गले पत्ते, हरे पत्ते, जले पत्ते,
वन्य पथ को ढँक रहे-से पंक-दल मे पले पत्ते।
चलो इन पर चल सको तो, दलो इनको दल सको तो,
ये घिनोने, घने जंगल नींद मे डूबे हुए से ऊँघते अनमने जंगल।

अटपटी-उलझी लताऐं,डालियों को खींच खाऐं,
पैर को पकड़ें अचानक,प्राण को कस लें कपाऐं।
सांप सी काली लताऐंबला की पाली लताऐं
लताओं के बने जंगलनींद मे डूबे हुए सेऊँघते अनमने जंगल।
मकड़ियों के जाल मुँह पर, और सर के बाल मुँह पर
मच्छरों के दंश वाले,दाग काले-लाल मुँह पर,
वात- झन्झा वहन करते, चलो इतना सहन करते,
कष्ट से ये सने जंगल, नींद मे डूबे हुए से ऊँघते अनमने जंगलअजगरों से भरे जंगल।

अगम, गति से परे जंगलसात-सात पहाड़ वाले,
बड़े छोटे झाड़ वाले,शेर वाले बाघ वाले,गरज और दहाड़ वाले,
कम्प से कनकने जंगल, नींद मे डूबे हुए सेऊँघते अनमने जंगल।
इन वनों के खूब भीतर, चार मुर्गे, चार तीतर
पाल कर निश्चिन्त बैठे, विजनवन के बीच बैठे,
झोंपडी पर फ़ूंस डाले गोंड तगड़े और काले।
जब कि होली पास आती,सरसराती घास गाती,
और महुए से लपकती, मत्त करती बास आती,गूंज उठते ढोल इनके,
गीत इनके, बोल इनके सतपुड़ा के घने जंगल नींद मे डूबे हुए से उँघते अनमने जंगल।

जागते अँगड़ाइयों में,खोह-खड्डों खाइयों में,
घास पागल, कास पागल,शाल और पलाश पागल,
लता पागल, वात पागल,डाल पागल,
पात पागलमत्त मुर्गे और तीतर,इन वनों के खूब भीतर।
क्षितिज तक फ़ैला हुआ सा,मृत्यु तक मैला हुआ सा,
क्षुब्ध, काली लहर वालामथित,
उत्थित जहर वाला,मेरु वाला,
शेष वालाशम्भु और सुरेश वालाएक सागर जानते हो,
उसे कैसा मानते हो?ठीक वैसे घने जंगल,
नींद मे डूबे हुए सेऊँघते अनमने जंगल

धँसो इनमें डर नहीं है,मौत का यह घर नहीं है,
उतर कर बहते अनेकों,कल-कथा कहते अनेकों,
नदी, निर्झर और नाले,इन वनों ने गोद पाले।
लाख पंछी सौ हिरन-दल,चाँद के कितने किरन दल,
झूमते बन-फ़ूल, फ़लियाँ,खिल रहीं अज्ञात कलियाँ,
हरित दूर्वा, रक्त किसलय, पूत, पावन, पूर्ण रसमय
सतपुड़ा के घने जंगल,लताओं के बने जंगल।

- भवानी प्रसाद मिश्र

नहुष का पतन - Maithili Sharan Gupt

मत्त-सा नहुष चला बैठ ऋषियान में
व्याकुल से देव चले साथ में, विमान में
पिछड़े तो वाहक विशेषता से भार की
अरोही अधीर हुआ प्रेरणा से मार की

दिखता है मुझे तो कठिन मार्ग कटना
अगर ये बढ़ना है तो कहूँ मैं किसे हटना?
बस क्या यही है बस बैठ विधियाँ गढ़ो?
अश्व से अडो ना अरे, कुछ तो बढ़ो, कुछ तो बढ़ो

बार बार कन्धे फेरने को ऋषि अटके
आतुर हो राजा ने सरौष पैर पटके
क्षिप्त पद हाय! एक ऋषि को जा लगा
सातों ऋषियों में महा क्षोभानल आ जगा

भार बहे, बातें सुने, लातें भी सहे क्या हम
तु ही कह क्रूर, मौन अब भी रहें क्या हम
पैर था या सांप यह, डस गया संग ही
पमर पतित हो तु होकर भुंजग ही

राजा हतेज हुआ शाप सुनते ही काँप
मानो डस गया हो उसे जैसे पिना साँप
श्वास टुटने-सी मुख-मुद्रा हुई विकला
"हा ! ये हुआ क्या?" यही व्यग्र वाक्य निकला

जड़-सा सचिन्त वह नीचा सर करके
पालकी का नाल डूबते का तृण धरके
शून्य-पट-चित्र धुलता हुआ सा दृष्टि से
देखा फिर उसने समक्ष शून्य दृष्टि से

दीख पड़ा उसको न जाने क्या समीप सा
चौंका एक साथ वह बुझता प्रदीप-सा -
“संकट तो संकट, परन्तु यह भय क्या ?
दूसरा सृजन नहीं मेरा एक लय क्या ?”

सँभला अद्मय मानी वह खींचकर ढीले अंग -
“कुछ नहीं स्वप्न था सो हो गया भला ही भंग.
कठिन कठोर सत्य तो भी शिरोधार्य है
शांत हो महर्षि मुझे, सांप अंगीकार्य है"

दुख में भी राजा मुसकराया पूर्व दर्प से
मानते हो तुम अपने को डसा सर्प से
होते ही परन्तु पद स्पर्श भुल चुक से
मैं भी क्या डसा नहीं गया हुँ दन्डशूक से

मानता हुँ भुल हुई, खेद मुझे इसका
सौंपे वही कार्य, उसे धार्य हो जो जिसका
स्वर्ग से पतन, किन्तु गोत्रीणी की गोद में
और जिस जोन में जो, सो उसी में मोद में

काल गतिशील मुझे लेके नहीं बेठैगा
किन्तु उस जीवन में विष घुस पैठेगा
फिर भी खोजने का कुछ रास्ता तो उठायेगें
विष में भी अमर्त छुपा वे कृति पायेगें

मानता हुँ भुल गया नारद का कहना
दैत्यों से बचाये भोग धाम रहना
आप घुसा असुर हाय मेरे ही ह्रदय में
मानता हुँ आप लज्जा पाप अविनय में

मानता हुँ आड ही ली मेने स्वाधिकार की
मुल में तो प्रेरणा थी काम के विकार की
माँगता हुँ आज में शची से भी खुली क्षमा
विधि से बहिर्गता में भी साधवी वह ज्यों रमा

मानता हुँ और सब हार नहीं मानता
अपनी अगाति आज भी मैं जानता
आज मेरा भुकत्योजित हो गया है स्वर्ग भी
लेके दिखा दूँगा कल मैं ही अपवर्ग भी

तन जिसका हो मन और आत्मा मेरा है
चिन्ता नहीं बाहर उजेला या अँधेरा है
चलना मुझे है बस अंत तक चलना
गिरना ही मुख्य नहीं, मुख्य है सँभलना

गिरना क्या उसका उठा ही नहीं जो कभी
मैं ही तो उठा था आप गिरता हुँ जो अभी
फिर भी ऊठूँगा और बढ़के रहुँगा मैं
नर हूँ, पुरुष हूँ, चढ़ के रहुँगा मैं

चाहे जहाँ मेरे उठने के लिये ठौर है
किन्तु लिया भार आज मेने कुछ और है
उठना मुझे ही नहीं बस एक मात्र रीते हाथ
मेरा देवता भी और ऊंचा उठे मेरे साथ

Haar ki jeet.

This story now exists in the web space. I had been looking for it for a long time.I read this story in class 6 as part of Hindi subject course. Then this story was lost, but never could leave my mind.

The very title, the choice of words, the vivid description create an indelible impression at a tender age immediately.

हार की जीत (Victory in defeat)

सुदर्शन की कहानी

माँ को अपने बेटे और किसान को अपने लहलहाते खेत देखकर जो आनंद आता है, वही आनंद बाबा भारती को अपना घोड़ा देखकर आता था। भगवद्-भजन से जो समय बचता, वह घोड़े को अर्पण हो जाता। वह घोड़ा बड़ा सुंदर था, बड़ा बलवान। उसके जोड़ का घोड़ा सारे इलाके में न था। बाबा भारती उसे ‘सुल्तान’ कह कर पुकारते, अपने हाथ से खरहरा करते, खुद दाना खिलाते और देख-देखकर प्रसन्न होते थे। उन्होंने रूपया, माल, असबाब, ज़मीन आदि अपना सब-कुछ छोड़ दिया था, यहाँ तक कि उन्हें नगर के जीवन से भी घृणा थी। अब गाँव से बाहर एक छोटे-से मन्दिर में रहते और भगवान का भजन करते थे। “मैं सुलतान के बिना नहीं रह सकूँगा”, उन्हें ऐसी भ्रान्ति सी हो गई थी। वे उसकी चाल पर लट्टू थे। कहते, “ऐसे चलता है जैसे मोर घटा को देखकर नाच रहा हो।” जब तक संध्या समय सुलतान पर चढ़कर आठ-दस मील का चक्कर न लगा लेते, उन्हें चैन न आता।

खड़गसिंह उस इलाके का प्रसिद्ध डाकू था। लोग उसका नाम सुनकर काँपते थे। होते-होते सुल्तान की कीर्ति उसके कानों तक भी पहुँची। उसका हृदय उसे देखने के लिए अधीर हो उठा। वह एक दिन दोपहर के समय बाबा भारती के पास पहुँचा और नमस्कार करके बैठ गया। बाबा भारती ने पूछा, “खडगसिंह, क्या हाल है?”

खडगसिंह ने सिर झुकाकर उत्तर दिया, “आपकी दया है।”

“कहो, इधर कैसे आ गए?”

“सुलतान की चाह खींच लाई।”

“विचित्र जानवर है। देखोगे तो प्रसन्न हो जाओगे।”

“मैंने भी बड़ी प्रशंसा सुनी है।”

“उसकी चाल तुम्हारा मन मोह लेगी!”

“कहते हैं देखने में भी बहुत सुँदर है।”

“क्या कहना! जो उसे एक बार देख लेता है, उसके हृदय पर उसकी छवि अंकित हो जाती है।”

“बहुत दिनों से अभिलाषा थी, आज उपस्थित हो सका हूँ।”

बाबा भारती और खड़गसिंह अस्तबल में पहुँचे। बाबा ने घोड़ा दिखाया घमंड से, खड़गसिंह ने देखा आश्चर्य से। उसने सैंकड़ो घोड़े देखे थे, परन्तु ऐसा बाँका घोड़ा उसकी आँखों से कभी न गुजरा था। सोचने लगा, भाग्य की बात है। ऐसा घोड़ा खड़गसिंह के पास होना चाहिए था। इस साधु को ऐसी चीज़ों से क्या लाभ? कुछ देर तक आश्चर्य से चुपचाप खड़ा रहा। इसके पश्चात् उसके हृदय में हलचल होने लगी। बालकों की-सी अधीरता से बोला, “परंतु बाबाजी, इसकी चाल न देखी तो क्या?”

दूसरे के मुख से सुनने के लिए उनका हृदय अधीर हो गया। घोड़े को खोलकर बाहर गए। घोड़ा वायु-वेग से उडने लगा। उसकी चाल को देखकर खड़गसिंह के हृदय पर साँप लोट गया। वह डाकू था और जो वस्तु उसे पसंद आ जाए उस पर वह अपना अधिकार समझता था। उसके पास बाहुबल था और आदमी भी। जाते-जाते उसने कहा, “बाबाजी, मैं यह घोड़ा आपके पास न रहने दूँगा।”

बाबा भारती डर गए। अब उन्हें रात को नींद न आती। सारी रात अस्तबल की रखवाली में कटने लगी। प्रति क्षण खड़गसिंह का भय लगा रहता, परंतु कई मास बीत गए और वह न आया। यहाँ तक कि बाबा भारती कुछ असावधान हो गए और इस भय को स्वप्न के भय की नाईं मिथ्या समझने लगे। संध्या का समय था। बाबा भारती सुल्तान की पीठ पर सवार होकर घूमने जा रहे थे। इस समय उनकी आँखों में चमक थी, मुख पर प्रसन्नता। कभी घोड़े के शरीर को देखते, कभी उसके रंग को और मन में फूले न समाते थे। सहसा एक ओर से आवाज़ आई, “ओ बाबा, इस कंगले की सुनते जाना।”

आवाज़ में करूणा थी। बाबा ने घोड़े को रोक लिया। देखा, एक अपाहिज वृक्ष की छाया में पड़ा कराह रहा है। बोले, “क्यों तुम्हें क्या कष्ट है?”

अपाहिज ने हाथ जोड़कर कहा, “बाबा, मैं दुखियारा हूँ। मुझ पर दया करो। रामावाला यहाँ से तीन मील है, मुझे वहाँ जाना है। घोड़े पर चढ़ा लो, परमात्मा भला करेगा।”

“वहाँ तुम्हारा कौन है?”

“दुगार्दत्त वैद्य का नाम आपने सुना होगा। मैं उनका सौतेला भाई हूँ।”

बाबा भारती ने घोड़े से उतरकर अपाहिज को घोड़े पर सवार किया और स्वयं उसकी लगाम पकड़कर धीरे-धीरे चलने लगे। सहसा उन्हें एक झटका-सा लगा और लगाम हाथ से छूट गई। उनके आश्चर्य का ठिकाना न रहा, जब उन्होंने देखा कि अपाहिज घोड़े की पीठ पर तनकर बैठा है और घोड़े को दौड़ाए लिए जा रहा है। उनके मुख से भय, विस्मय और निराशा से मिली हुई चीख निकल गई। वह अपाहिज डाकू खड़गसिंह था।बाबा भारती कुछ देर तक चुप रहे और कुछ समय पश्चात् कुछ निश्चय करके पूरे बल से चिल्लाकर बोले, “ज़रा ठहर जाओ।”

खड़गसिंह ने यह आवाज़ सुनकर घोड़ा रोक लिया और उसकी गरदन पर प्यार से हाथ फेरते हुए कहा, “बाबाजी, यह घोड़ा अब न दूँगा।”

“परंतु एक बात सुनते जाओ।” खड़गसिंह ठहर गया।

बाबा भारती ने निकट जाकर उसकी ओर ऐसी आँखों से देखा जैसे बकरा कसाई की ओर देखता है और कहा, “यह घोड़ा तुम्हारा हो चुका है। मैं तुमसे इसे वापस करने के लिए न कहूँगा। परंतु खड़गसिंह, केवल एक प्रार्थना करता हूँ। इसे अस्वीकार न करना, नहीं तो मेरा दिल टूट जाएगा।”

“बाबाजी, आज्ञा कीजिए। मैं आपका दास हूँ, केवल घोड़ा न दूँगा।”

“अब घोड़े का नाम न लो। मैं तुमसे इस विषय में कुछ न कहूँगा। मेरी प्रार्थना केवल यह है कि इस घटना को किसी के सामने प्रकट न करना।”

खड़गसिंह का मुँह आश्चर्य से खुला रह गया। उसका विचार था कि उसे घोड़े को लेकर यहाँ से भागना पड़ेगा, परंतु बाबा भारती ने स्वयं उसे कहा कि इस घटना को किसी के सामने प्रकट न करना। इससे क्या प्रयोजन सिद्ध हो सकता है? खड़गसिंह ने बहुत सोचा, बहुत सिर मारा, परंतु कुछ समझ न सका। हारकर उसने अपनी आँखें बाबा भारती के मुख पर गड़ा दीं और पूछा, “बाबाजी इसमें आपको क्या डर है?”

सुनकर बाबा भारती ने उत्तर दिया, “लोगों को यदि इस घटना का पता चला तो वे दीन-दुखियों पर विश्वास न करेंगे।” यह कहते-कहते उन्होंने सुल्तान की ओर से इस तरह मुँह मोड़ लिया जैसे उनका उससे कभी कोई संबंध ही नहीं रहा हो।

बाबा भारती चले गए। परंतु उनके शब्द खड़गसिंह के कानों में उसी प्रकार गूँज रहे थे। सोचता था, कैसे ऊँचे विचार हैं, कैसा पवित्र भाव है! उन्हें इस घोड़े से प्रेम था, इसे देखकर उनका मुख फूल की नाईं खिल जाता था। कहते थे, “इसके बिना मैं रह न सकूँगा।” इसकी रखवाली में वे कई रात सोए नहीं। भजन-भक्ति न कर रखवाली करते रहे। परंतु आज उनके मुख पर दुख की रेखा तक दिखाई न पड़ती थी। उन्हें केवल यह ख्याल था कि कहीं लोग दीन-दुखियों पर विश्वास करना न छोड़ दे। ऐसा मनुष्य, मनुष्य नहीं देवता है।

रात्रि के अंधकार में खड़गसिंह बाबा भारती के मंदिर पहुँचा। चारों ओर सन्नाटा था। आकाश में तारे टिमटिमा रहे थे। थोड़ी दूर पर गाँवों के कुत्ते भौंक रहे थे। मंदिर के अंदर कोई शब्द सुनाई न देता था। खड़गसिंह सुल्तान की बाग पकड़े हुए था। वह धीरे-धीरे अस्तबल के फाटक पर पहुँचा। फाटक खुला पड़ा था। किसी समय वहाँ बाबा भारती स्वयं लाठी लेकर पहरा देते थे, परंतु आज उन्हें किसी चोरी, किसी डाके का भय न था। खड़गसिंह ने आगे बढ़कर सुलतान को उसके स्थान पर बाँध दिया और बाहर निकलकर सावधानी से फाटक बंद कर दिया। इस समय उसकी आँखों में नेकी के आँसू थे। रात्रि का तीसरा पहर बीत चुका था। चौथा पहर आरंभ होते ही बाबा भारती ने अपनी कुटिया से बाहर निकल ठंडे जल से स्नान किया। उसके पश्चात्, इस प्रकार जैसे कोई स्वप्न में चल रहा हो, उनके पाँव अस्तबल की ओर बढ़े। परंतु फाटक पर पहुँचकर उनको अपनी भूल प्रतीत हुई। साथ ही घोर निराशा ने पाँव को मन-मन भर का भारी बना दिया। वे वहीं रूक गए। घोड़े ने अपने स्वामी के पाँवों की चाप को पहचान लिया और ज़ोर से हिनहिनाया। अब बाबा भारती आश्चर्य और प्रसन्नता से दौड़ते हुए अंदर घुसे और अपने प्यारे घोड़े के गले से लिपटकर इस प्रकार रोने लगे मानो कोई पिता बहुत दिन से बिछड़े हुए पुत्र से मिल रहा हो। बार-बार उसकी पीठपर हाथ फेरते, बार-बार उसके मुँह पर थपकियाँ देते। फिर वे संतोष से बोले, “अब कोई दीन-दुखियों से मुँह न मोड़ेगा।”

what to write when you dont feel like writing

Should you do that? The author here has absolutely no intention to craft his message, there is not enough motivation to make his piece read or himself heard.

it is to be noted straightaway that the writer maintains all the discipline of treating people with respect and thus will nevertheless complete this one too, as he has to respect himself.

First things first. The first sentence is nothing but crap. There is no such meaning as 'should'. Secondly, the author like everyone else is not in a position to ask the question or tell its answer.

The truth is i am just beginning to write. But the problem is here you cannot post your innermost thoughts, you need to guise yourself well for a psychoanalyst can read your thoughts if u are not guarded enough, and I for sure wouldn't want to lose to someone, against my will,that is.( i know whatever is written is judged in this world, so is this one ! ).

Most write-ups express stories, opinions, frustrations, jubilations, comic situations, the list here is not exhaustive but then the point has been made.

Now when every opinion has been classified, what do you get? You get boredom. Now some reader may think, this poor writer needs to get a life, come out of his shell, and find happiness, and be cheerful, for life is meaningless if we don't live with hope, cheer etc.They are right to some extent.

Not that i am bored or lifeless !

but experiment has been a way of life, inductive reasoning has been though which man-kind has been able to increase his knowledge and intelligence.I sometimes would try to do something that which forces me to do another thing for which i wasn't prepared to think before.

bug u and myself with some other stray thoughts later!

10 tips for using Gmail at work - Official Gmail Blog

10 tips for using Gmail at work - Official Gmail Blog

Roots of a would-be bomber

JAMES BARRON AND MICHAELS. SCHMIDT

They took their places in the wood-panelled courtroom, 58 people from 32 countries. They listened as a federal magistrate banged the gavel and said it was “a wonderful day for the United States”— the day they would become Americans.

The magistrate talked about Thomas Jefferson and told the group that they could run for office — only the presidency and the vice-presidency were off limits, according to a tape recording of the proceedings in a Bridgeport, Connecticut, courtroom last year, on April 17. On her instructions, they raised their right hands and repeated the oath of citizenship.

One man in the group was the Pakistani-born Faisal Shahzad, whose father is a retired vice-air marshal, affording him a special status in Pakistan, where the military is the most powerful and influential institution.

On Saturday, authorities said, Shahzad drove a Nissan Pathfinder packed with explosives and detonators, leaving it in Times Square.

Shahzad was born in Pakistan in 1979, though there is some confusion over where.

Officials in Pakistan said it was in Nowshera, an area in northern Pakistan known for its Afghan refugee camps. But on a university application Shahzad had filled out and that was found in the maggotcovered garbage outside his former house in Connecticut on Tuesday, he listed Karachi.

Shahzad apparently went back and forth to Pakistan often, returning most recently

in February after what he said was five months visiting his family, prosecutors said. A Pakistani intelligence official said Shahzad had travelled with three passports, two from Pakistan and one from the US; he last secured a Pakistani passport in 2000, describing his nationality as “Kashmiri”.

A Pakistani official said Shahzad might have had affiliations with Ilyas Kashmiri, a militant linked to al Qaida who was formerly associated with Lashkar-e-Toiba, an antiIndia militant group once nurtured by the Pakistani state.

But friends said the family was well respected.

“Neither Faisal nor his family has ever had any links with any jihadist or religious organisation,” one friend said.

Another, a lawyer, said that “the family is in a state of shock,” adding that “they be

lieve that their son has been implicated in a fake case".

Shahzad's generation grew up in a Pakistan where alcohol had been banned and Islam had been forced into schools and communities as a doctrine and a national glue.

"It's not that they don't speak English or aren't skilled," a Pakistani official explained. "But in their hearts and in their minds they reject the West. They can't see a world where they live together; there's only one way, one right way ."

At 29, Faisal had spent a decade in the US, collecting a bachelor's degree and a master's degree and landing a job with a Connecticut financial marketing company .

He had obtained citizenship through marriage to a woman who was born in Colorado -the authorities say she and their two young children are still in Pakistan, where they believe he was trained in making bombs last year in Waziristan.

Shahzad fits the profile of many Pakistanis in the US: educated and with a higher income than the population as a whole, and often in professional or management jobs. His brother is a mechanical engineer in Canada.

Shahzad’s father, Bahar-ulHaq, hurriedly vacated the family home in Peshawar late on Tuesday to avoid attention, according to Pakistan’s The News newspaper. Witnesses said he packed some belongings in a vehicle and left with family members, it said.

Shahzad’s family is from the northwestern farming village of Mohib Banda, home to 5,000 people, in the Pabbi district. A tiny, dusty road from a

nearby highway named after a soldier who was killed in fighting against the Taliban in 2007 snakes through fields of wheat, maize and rice crops to the village.

Residents expressed disbelief on learning of Shahzad’s involvement in the bombing attempt. “This is our son,” retired school teacher Nazirullah Khan told Reuters by telephone. “I recognised him. Last time when I met him, he didn’t have a beard. I attended his wedding.” In nearly a dozen years in America, Shahzad had gone to school, held steady jobs, bought and sold real estate, and kept his immigration status in good order, giving no sign to those he interacted with that he would try to wreak havoc in one of the world’s most crowded places, Times Square.

His neighbours in Connecticut said the things neighbours always say about someone who suddenly turns up in the headlines — he was quiet, he was polite, he went jogging late at night.

Like so many others, he lost a house to foreclosure — a real estate broker who helped him buy the house, in Shelton, Connecticut, in 2004 remembered that Shahzad did not like President George W. Bush or the Iraq war.

“I didn’t take it for much,” said the broker, Igor Djuric, “because around that time not many people did.”

(abridged)

how to tell home address

today' s evening was booked for a promise, to attend the birthday of my youngest sister whose house is not very far away, although the traffic jam in the city road connecting made me wonder if i would ever reach her house.

there i was also expecting to meet my younger, actually youngest of brothers who gels well with the sister in limelight.

it was a yellow light of a candle with which we were greeted. but i chuckled it was better than darkness. we had no choice, the state electricity board has failed miserably. it has failed to provide darkness to every household in the city. some coal still finds way to power plants.. to keep some lanterns glowing.

And so the proceedings went the usual way, the way which would make children happier. I played chinese whispers , the robot i had brought was walking, the cake was cut, gobbled, metabolized, with help of one glass of rasna and while i might sound nonchalant, it was lovely to be in a birthday party after a long time! i asked my brother who's in class 4 that how can one reach his home. he told that for this i would have to stop after haldiram's outlet, enter phase 1, and there would be a long road ahead, as i would walk along, i would encounter a cut on left, a narrow lane, but this wasn't where i was supposed to go, so i should continue walking , take a right( he actually turned positions to make his description in sync and aligned with his body, soul and spirit) and reach a field. i interrupted to help him ( actually help myself, given his discourse) and asked him his house number. he replied it was 20D/8. but added, that there were two 20D's once i would reach the field, there would be a flag-pole no farther than our refrigerator is to the sofa on which we were sitting. from that point i was supposed to turn left, and there would be a building path to my left, and on the first floor, counted from the ground floor there would be flat number 8 . and then he yells,' so simple n easy'

but he continued that if i wanted a shortcut ( as if i was interested in knowing only the longest route) , i would have to stop before phase I, enter haldiram's , and get out of its back door and not make a silly mistake of entering the main door of food outlet. at the back door, we would be facing a pillar reading' Anupama apartments'. i should walk in, and take a left, then right and then again take a second left to reach the field.

then came a philosophical statement ... see there are two ways to reach the same place !

then he told there was another way to reach his home, the one thru gorabazaar, but that road had 50 lanes left and right, and so was complex..

( as if this wasnt enough :))

then i realized that he would grow up to be a true represntative and champion of all his senior brothers..

NOTEBOOK: by IAN JACK

Thanks to my children I’vebeen watching the latest British sensation on YouTube,which is a three minuteclip called “GapYah”. An upper middle-class student,Orlando, is talking on his mobile to his friend, Tarquin, in west London.Orlando is apparently in Burma, travellingthe world in his “gap yah” —gap year — which is what studentswith rich enough families tend to dobetween school and university. Youmight call it “poverty tourism”. Hetells his friend that in “Tanzanah”,meaning Tanzania, he met a woman who had “like, flies around her eyes”and who looked at him “with this vacantstare but with this sense of enduringhope, yah?” For a second herecognized her as a fellow humanbeing. And then, he tells Tarquin, he vomited all over her. That’s what Orlandodoes: he skips through poorcountries, has adolescent insightsinto their condition, drinks too much,throws up, and then chortles cheerfully at the mess. A hundred years ago asimilar young man might have had “Isay you fellows, what a lark!” as his verbal tick. Orlando’s equivalent is alazy way with vowels and consonants,so that ‘yah’ can mean ‘year’ or ‘yes’.Orlando is, of course, a parody. Ayoung actor and writer, Matt Lacey,created him to satirize, in Lacey’s words, “the great number of peoplewho seem to be leaving these shores tovomit all over the developing world”.In Britain, they’re known as ‘Rahs’and what they have in common is a private education and a place on offer at one of the older universities:Durham, St Andrews and Bristol are among the favourites, though Oxbridgecan never be ruled out. Their sense of entitlement often outweighstheir intelligence.None of this is new. You can catch glimpses of Orlando’s riotous ancestors in the memoirs of William Hickeywhich record with a fascinating detailand candour Hickey’s adventures in Calcutta in the late 18th century.Like many of his compatriots in Bengalat that time, Hickey drank astonishing quantities of claret and brandy (a detail I remember is his spewing from a carriage window, perhaps in Chowringhee) and persisted with a heavy English diet of roast beef and dumplings however hot and unhealthy the season. Diet alone should have secured him an early resting place in the Park Street cemetery,but he survived to live a long and happy retirement in London.The moralism of the Victorian empire put an end to this kind of public excess — the whoring and gamblingas well as the eating and drinking— though the English upper-class buffoon survived as a comic element in literature. In this way, you can see Orlando as a character updated from the novels of P.G.Wodehouse and Evelyn Waugh, as the latest twist in a long tradition.The surprising thing is that despite all that has happened to British behaviour in the years since— the changes, for example, produced by pop culture — the stereotype still endures. How many people are like Orlando? Quite a few, because my children recognized him as a type immediately and it’s the parody’s accuracy that has made it such a hit.And now a paradox:Orlando and his kind are the butt of popular comedy,and yet within a few weeks it seems likely that Britain will elect a new government that has at its heart a group of men who in their youth were just like Orlando. If all goes well for the Tories, the new primeminister will be David Cameron and his chancellor of the exchequer George Osborne.They and quite a few of their expensively educated colleagues share a common background:prosperous families, the very best schools and Oxford University. At Oxford,Cameron, Osborne and BorisJohnson (now the Tory mayor of London)were all members of the celebrated Bullingdon Club, a socially exclusive dining society the purpose of which, so far as any outsider can tell,is to trash restaurants in drunken sprees and then pay handsomely for the damage. Members dress up smartly in dinner jackets and waistcoats.History records quite a bit of throwing-up. The dry-cleaning bills must have been expensive.Today, nobody in the Tory party is keen to remember the BullingdonClub. Copies of official club photographsfrom the 1980s showing Cameron, Osborne and Johnson can still be found on the web, though theTory party is reported to have tried hard to have them withdrawn. Their membership is excused in terms of “ayouthful indiscretion”. Being an Orlando doesn’t win votes.How then not to be like Orlando?The answer is to sound more ordinary— no more yah-ing, chuckling and braying, no mention of previous pastimes such as hunting and shooting, a new emphasis on pop music and other demotic pleasures. Cameron now likes to be known as “Dave”, just as his political model, Blair, was known by all as “Tony”. Osborne is rumoured to have taken lessons todown-class his voice. The most notable example, however,comes with Cameron’s wife Samantha — “Sam-Cam” in the tabloids — who has an impeccable social lineage. Her father is a baronet and her mother by as econd marriage is Viscountess Astor.The family has large estates in atleast two English counties, and Samantha was educated at one of the best girls’ boardingschools. And how does Samantha sound now? He rvowels are those of a woman who grew up in a London suburb and attended her local stateschool. Orlando, we laugh at; Samantha,we like. If her husband wins, as he looks very likely to, he’ll know that he owes his victory at least partly to social disguise.

kumaon-2

we clicked our camera a few times in the temple area, and came back by SUV

to the main market. next we spent the noon and evening by walking 5 km to the golf course ( returned by a jeep), we were tired and then we wanted a lodge, a good one at reasonable price.so we heard we could get hotels at mall road, ranikhet. but whats this, when we reached mall road, we realised it was the worst mall road i have visited.one restaurant, two good lodges, and 3-4 other hotels. no shops, no people or hustle or bustle. infact it was so quiet that there could be a hissle or even bad, a rustle, given that there was no lighting in road.

so this small inn was where we took paranthas, and tea and rushed back to our den to end the day.

Ranikhet is a highly controlled area by army.army jeeps, vans carrying equipments, ammos, sign boards showing 'restricted entry' are a common sight. another thing common to this hill station is,

that army and other vehicle owners and other people know each other, and these people help each other and greet them on their way.

next morning afer our visit to apple garden, we ran into one such vehicle which dropped us to the bus stand.

a visit to kumaon- I

Jim Corbett wrote world's one of the most famous books ' the man-eaters of kumaon' and made himself immortal.the corbett national park was named in his honour in 1957.

( by the way i am talking of India)

a month ago i paid a visit to ranikhet and almora amidst a hectic schedule , which i suddenly renounced for greater and higher reasons. i managed to complete an assignment of treasury management and gave it for submission and left all other work to catch a train at midnight from ghaziabad station. thus its a personal account of how i felt and may not interest you at all.a more specific blog regarding the trip can be http://exploreindiaa.blogspot.com/2010/02/kumaon-explored.html. but i thought this was my blog so..

the month of February

February is a small month, it is also perceived shorter than the actual 28/29 days it has. and no great birthday or anything good happens in this month. not surprisingly , people show least liking to it and they are right.

except the fact that some people try to be crazy as the 14 th day of this month nears.. they call it rose day or valentine's day. its another matter that no love sick soul tries to browse and find out who valentine was.if they were so curious about that they wouldn't be celebrating valentine's day at all ( there are many possibilities..read the Wikipedia please ). i got a message today , i.e on 9th feb from a friend wishing me happy chocolate day !?..another futile effort to cheer up the damned month.the weather in India is undecided and deceptive. the winter returns after everybody is misled that summer has arrived..the author is one of the countless victims who got a sore throat, headache and fever and paid the price for being not clever and cautious. to add to the disgust is the downpour yesterday, the sort that could beat the best rainy day of the rainy season here in delhi ( the annual rainfall here is anyway a joke, 56cm just).No company is interested in preparing its final accounts , no individual wants to prepare his tax returns.march 31 is too far for this kind of job.the sales people are gasping for breath to complete their year end targets and curse the short duration of this month. the stock markets also do not find direction as does the wind in the doldrums.

Maha shivratri is the saving grace during this time, that too for hindus..

i am yet to find someone telling good things about this time of the year..

marginal utility of happiness and other things

in recent past, there has not been any issue which was significant enough to last my attention for more than one day. ephemeral. and mundane.ignore the grammar for some time please.
the stories of economic revival and RBI's exit policies and possible interest rate hikes..i thought i had some thing finally to avoid atrophy . it seemed to me as if i would do some research and come up with some magical relation between oil prices, inflation and interest rates and promisingly deliver the new whole sale price index ( WPI) as requested by Mr. Montek
but my interest got murdered.. u know the reason .. the media always overdoes it. day after day same opinion put in different words..garfield is wiser than us all.. the fat cat is lazy and indifferent by choice , not by nature.
overdoing is not only in media, but in every realm.. telecom got killed and Auto sector is too going the telecom way. poor suppliers are going to starve and those working in supply chain will become more inhuman in their negotiations with vendors
we also overdo happiness and other emotions. for example one day Ms Y ( 'Ms'-to maintain gender non-bias as taught in business communication classes in MBA and 'Y 'for Y chromosomes)goes out with friend watches a movie, eats,drinks etc.. now she feels she is happy. next day also she goes out to a different place. but third day is a quite day. She ignores it as some sort of aberration. But 4th day she feels she is not having fun, so she thinks more about having fun and in turn becomes more and more bored. Finally she decides she is not happy. the marginal utility theory. now i know i am completely lost at this point. not in life - only in this article.
ok. then if we apply marginal utility theory every emotion should work for us. Jealously, lust, hatred all are good for us till some point. and anger? its a god's gift really !! its my favorite.it works wonders only that overdoing anything is bad.