<?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-8808724261315055536</id><updated>2012-01-03T12:45:31.136+05:30</updated><title type='text'>dot dot dot</title><subtitle type='html'></subtitle><link rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#feed' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://didudoit.blogspot.com/feeds/posts/default'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8808724261315055536/posts/default?max-results=100'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://didudoit.blogspot.com/'/><link rel='hub' href='http://pubsubhubbub.appspot.com/'/><author><name>Jeet</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01750683960679600776</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='21' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_8Kow3nv3vI4/St3K37JuiUI/AAAAAAAAAIk/yHDYDV3GrIg/S220/jeet.jpg'/></author><generator version='7.00' uri='http://www.blogger.com'>Blogger</generator><openSearch:totalResults>63</openSearch:totalResults><openSearch:startIndex>1</openSearch:startIndex><openSearch:itemsPerPage>100</openSearch:itemsPerPage><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8808724261315055536.post-3581937146802617674</id><published>2011-02-13T22:10:00.002+05:30</published><updated>2011-02-13T22:11:55.904+05:30</updated><title type='text'>Am I Getting Too Old ?</title><content type='html'>&lt;div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11px; line-height: 16px;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div style="font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11px; line-height: 1.5em; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; text-align: left;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #f3f3f3;"&gt;A big house, insane amounts of alcohol, loud music, hot women in high spirits, a big wet pool and of course, 2 big cakes! One to be enjoyed in the manner cakes are supposed to be enjoyed and the other….to be eaten of course! That’s what’s on the checklist for all birthday parties, right?&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11px; line-height: 1.5em; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; text-align: left;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #f3f3f3;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11px; line-height: 1.5em; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; text-align: left;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #f3f3f3;"&gt;Well…maybe not mine. You see, I have grown up now.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11px; line-height: 1.5em; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; text-align: left;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #f3f3f3;"&gt;On the eve of my birthday, you can be sure to find me and my friends, NOT sitting at a pub, NOT having kamikaze shots, while I DO NOT try to make a fun conversation with that girl&amp;nbsp;&lt;em&gt;(who is obviously so incredibly hot, that if she was a seat belt, she would make a great branding iron everytime you decide to wear her)&lt;/em&gt;. Instead we would in all probability be sitting with glasses of Pepsi and a big bowl of butter chicken, discussing services marketing and the different gaps between customer expectations and company production so that I have a one in a 12.4 billion chance that I get decent marks in my paper.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11px; line-height: 1.5em; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; text-align: left;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #f3f3f3;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11px; line-height: 1.5em; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; text-align: left;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #f3f3f3;"&gt;This is a conversation at a bar when I was young and 21 :&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11px; line-height: 1.5em; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; text-align: left;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11px; line-height: 1.5em; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; text-align: left;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: yellow;"&gt;Incredibly sexy me:&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333;"&gt;&amp;nbsp;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #f3f3f3;"&gt;Hey!&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11px; line-height: 1.5em; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; text-align: left;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: yellow;"&gt;Incredibly hot her&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333;"&gt;:&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333;"&gt;&amp;nbsp;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #f3f3f3;"&gt;Hey incredibly sexy and ruggedly handsome hunk!&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11px; line-height: 1.5em; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; text-align: left;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: yellow;"&gt;Incredibly sexy me&lt;/span&gt;&lt;em style="color: #333333;"&gt;:&lt;/em&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333;"&gt;&amp;nbsp;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #f3f3f3;"&gt;Would you like to have a drink with me?&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11px; line-height: 1.5em; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; text-align: left;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: yellow;"&gt;Incredibly hot her&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333;"&gt;:&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333;"&gt;&amp;nbsp;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #f3f3f3;"&gt;Yes! YES! YES!! YES!!! YESSS!!! In fact why don’t you let me buy you a drink and maybe we can both get drunk together and do some fun stuff in the night?? (&lt;em&gt;in the hottest voice ever&lt;/em&gt;)&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11px; line-height: 1.5em; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; text-align: left;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #f3f3f3;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11px; line-height: 1.5em; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; text-align: left;"&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #f3f3f3;"&gt;After a whole lot of drinking, we decided to spend the night at her place. Both of us got comfortable and cosy in her couch. We were a little worried that the neighbours might get disturbed due to the loud noises, but we continued nonetheless. Playing Super Mario while you're drunk is an unbelievably fun thing to do! Specially when you have a hot girl to play with!&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11px; line-height: 1.5em; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; text-align: left;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #f3f3f3;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11px; line-height: 1.5em; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; text-align: left;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #f3f3f3;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11px; line-height: 1.5em; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; text-align: left;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #f3f3f3;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11px; line-height: 1.5em; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; text-align: left;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #f3f3f3;"&gt;And this is a conversation just before I turn 22:&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11px; line-height: 1.5em; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; text-align: left;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11px; line-height: 1.5em; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; text-align: left;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: yellow;"&gt;My friend&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333;"&gt;:&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333;"&gt;&amp;nbsp;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #f3f3f3;"&gt;How do you think we can manage to eliminate the gap between what our customers expect from us and what we are actually able to deliver?&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11px; line-height: 1.5em; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; text-align: left;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: yellow;"&gt;Me&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333;"&gt;:&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333;"&gt;&amp;nbsp;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #f3f3f3;"&gt;I believe we should somehow do a better market research on the segmented markets and do a thorough analysis of the propositions of each segment and then try and deliver value for money products and services to each segment catering to all their individual needs as a group. What do you think?&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11px; line-height: 1.5em; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; text-align: left;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11px; line-height: 1.5em; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; text-align: left;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: yellow;"&gt;My friend&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333;"&gt;:&amp;nbsp;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #f3f3f3;"&gt;I totally agree with you.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11px; line-height: 1.5em; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; text-align: left;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #f3f3f3;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11px; line-height: 1.5em; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; text-align: left;"&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #f3f3f3;"&gt;I learnt that the ability to write good impressive answers is directly proportional to how well you can bullshit your way through them while at the same time throwing a lot of big words around so that your answer seems to be full of intellectual and knowledgeable data which would in turn, impress the readers. It seems simple and very easy....actually...it is.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11px; line-height: 1.5em; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; text-align: left;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #f3f3f3;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11px; line-height: 1.5em; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; text-align: left;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #f3f3f3;"&gt;And if all the excitement about writing a paper on my birthday wasn’t enough, I decided to get myself a tattoo too! Hehehehe…tattootoo!!….hehehe...I am so funny!&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11px; line-height: 1.5em; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; text-align: left;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #f3f3f3;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11px; line-height: 1.5em; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; text-align: left;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #f3f3f3;"&gt;Anywhicheverway, after procrastinating for more than 20 years, I finally grew the necessary parts to face the needle and get it done. It’s going to be a strategically placed tattoo just above my elbow. I am planning to hit a couple of kamikazes before getting it done. But honestly, I think I am getting too old to do that stuff anymore.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11px; line-height: 1.5em; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; text-align: left;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #f3f3f3;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11px; line-height: 1.5em; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; text-align: left;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #f3f3f3;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11px; line-height: 1.5em; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; text-align: left;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #f3f3f3;"&gt;(Source: The right side of my brain)&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&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/8808724261315055536-3581937146802617674?l=didudoit.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://didudoit.blogspot.com/feeds/3581937146802617674/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8808724261315055536&amp;postID=3581937146802617674' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8808724261315055536/posts/default/3581937146802617674'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8808724261315055536/posts/default/3581937146802617674'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://didudoit.blogspot.com/2011/02/am-i-getting-too-old.html' title='Am I Getting Too Old ?'/><author><name>Jeet</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01750683960679600776</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='21' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_8Kow3nv3vI4/St3K37JuiUI/AAAAAAAAAIk/yHDYDV3GrIg/S220/jeet.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8808724261315055536.post-3143314366009700497</id><published>2011-02-10T17:30:00.001+05:30</published><updated>2011-02-10T17:30:56.877+05:30</updated><title type='text'>Internet In Heaven</title><content type='html'>&lt;div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: #666666; font-family: &amp;quot;Calibri&amp;quot;,&amp;quot;sans-serif&amp;quot;; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;"&gt;So, it’s a lazy Thursday afternoon and there’s nothing like listening to some lazy country music while lazily lying on the bed and enjoying a big juicy green apple. Country music on a lazy afternoon is just as good as free high speed internet without cyberoam (which unfortunately wasn’t the case). This setting could well almost be a picture of heaven.&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: #666666; font-family: &amp;quot;Calibri&amp;quot;,&amp;quot;sans-serif&amp;quot;; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: #666666; font-family: &amp;quot;Calibri&amp;quot;,&amp;quot;sans-serif&amp;quot;; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;"&gt;Heaven.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: #666666; font-family: &amp;quot;Calibri&amp;quot;,&amp;quot;sans-serif&amp;quot;; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #666666; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif;"&gt;When I think of heaven, I just think of it as living, "the good life". A paradise where everyone you want to see, is hanging out with tall glasses of mojitos and longest island ice teas, where everyone is in a constant happy hour and obviously men don’t stutter while asking women out on a date and women don't say no. Considering that heaven has been around for a while, does it ever get updated as new people with new ideas start to roll in? Did Edison bring the light bulb? Did Gutenberg bring the printing press? And did Marconi bring the radio? If so, when I get there (being slightly optimistic), I hope there is internet.&amp;nbsp;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span id="cuttaganchor"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: #666666; font-family: &amp;quot;Calibri&amp;quot;,&amp;quot;sans-serif&amp;quot;; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: #666666; font-family: &amp;quot;Calibri&amp;quot;,&amp;quot;sans-serif&amp;quot;; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;"&gt;Imagine heaven with internet. You wake up one morning in your bed made of clouds and grab your iGod (the godly version of iPad). You check your Facebook feed and see that "Abe Lincoln is reallllllllllly tired after reading by the fire all night with #Aristotle!"&amp;nbsp;&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: #666666; font-family: &amp;quot;Calibri&amp;quot;,&amp;quot;sans-serif&amp;quot;; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;"&gt;Wouldn’t it be cool for people in heaven to enjoy the modern conveniences that we have on Earth?&amp;nbsp;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #666666; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif;"&gt;Wouldn't it be nice for Michael Jackson to tweet @Walt Disney, "I love your work, teach me your secrets"&amp;nbsp;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: #666666; font-family: &amp;quot;Calibri&amp;quot;,&amp;quot;sans-serif&amp;quot;; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;"&gt;Walt would probably respond, "@Michael Jackson - you're bad."&amp;nbsp;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: #666666; font-family: &amp;quot;Calibri&amp;quot;,&amp;quot;sans-serif&amp;quot;; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;"&gt;And Michael would say back, "@Walt Disney - I know I'm bad, I'm bad, really. Really bad."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But of course, some in heaven would be reluctant to hop on the internet train, as most ancient people are. Napoleon's “complex” would evolve to him writing in &lt;st1:stockticker w:st="on"&gt;ALL&lt;/st1:stockticker&gt; CAPS SO PEOPLE THOUGHT HE WAS TOUGH. Also, Ponce De Leon would probably not approve of the explicit sites that come up when he types, "Fountain of Youth" in a Google search. &lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: #666666; font-family: &amp;quot;Calibri&amp;quot;,&amp;quot;sans-serif&amp;quot;; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;"&gt;Now I am pretty sure some of you have already opened Google to see the results haven’t you?&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8808724261315055536-3143314366009700497?l=didudoit.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://didudoit.blogspot.com/feeds/3143314366009700497/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8808724261315055536&amp;postID=3143314366009700497' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8808724261315055536/posts/default/3143314366009700497'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8808724261315055536/posts/default/3143314366009700497'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://didudoit.blogspot.com/2011/02/internet-in-heaven.html' title='Internet In Heaven'/><author><name>Jeet</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01750683960679600776</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='21' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_8Kow3nv3vI4/St3K37JuiUI/AAAAAAAAAIk/yHDYDV3GrIg/S220/jeet.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8808724261315055536.post-419315368870691872</id><published>2010-09-24T15:50:00.003+05:30</published><updated>2010-09-24T15:58:17.311+05:30</updated><title type='text'>Say Goodbye</title><content type='html'>&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" &gt;&lt;u&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/u&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Its time to write another page&lt;div&gt;And let go of our yesterdays&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;We've had our fights&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;And we've shared our lives&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;We've all but said what was needed to be said&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;No one knows where next is gonna be &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;But we can see where we have been&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;With the late night talks&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;That made us feel on top&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Where some of us won and some of us lost&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Guess its time to say&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Say goodbye&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Say goodbye&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;We've had a love and hate&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;With everybody's fate&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;But its all good its all worth the wait&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;The judges frown&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;With their dirty little crowns&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;But the song of life&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;You keep writing it down&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;A pat on the back&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;And a feather to the hat&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Who cares about your dirty secrets&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;No one knows where next is gonna be &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;But we can see where we have been&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Guess its time to say&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Say goodbye&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Say goodbye&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_8Kow3nv3vI4/TJx9I974wLI/AAAAAAAAANw/aFpIdotMgTo/s1600/goodbye.jpg"&gt;&lt;img src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_8Kow3nv3vI4/TJx9I974wLI/AAAAAAAAANw/aFpIdotMgTo/s320/goodbye.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5520424836267557042" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 277px; height: 320px; " /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8808724261315055536-419315368870691872?l=didudoit.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://didudoit.blogspot.com/feeds/419315368870691872/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8808724261315055536&amp;postID=419315368870691872' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8808724261315055536/posts/default/419315368870691872'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8808724261315055536/posts/default/419315368870691872'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://didudoit.blogspot.com/2010/09/say-goodbye.html' title='Say Goodbye'/><author><name>Jeet</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01750683960679600776</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='21' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_8Kow3nv3vI4/St3K37JuiUI/AAAAAAAAAIk/yHDYDV3GrIg/S220/jeet.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_8Kow3nv3vI4/TJx9I974wLI/AAAAAAAAANw/aFpIdotMgTo/s72-c/goodbye.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8808724261315055536.post-1349898895101718021</id><published>2010-06-16T09:07:00.001+05:30</published><updated>2010-09-24T16:16:21.191+05:30</updated><title type='text'>A Very Different Day !</title><content type='html'>&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 100%;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 11px; line-height: 14px;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 100%;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 11px; line-height: 14px;"&gt;&lt;div class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #999999;"&gt;Yesterday we had an assignment where we had to reach Kothrud, and earn as much money as we could and return back to college. All this without spending any money, or using any form of personal conveyance.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #999999;"&gt; &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #999999;"&gt;Fun? Yes.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #999999;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt; &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #999999;"&gt;Easy? No.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #999999;"&gt; &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #999999;"&gt;After hitching a ride from 3 different people, we finally reached Kothrud. Palna and I started scouting around for jobs everywhere including a petrol pump, a Ford dealership, a couple of local shops and eating joints and even flower vendors before we finally managed to strike a deal with a restaurant called 4 Seasons. We had to help set up the morning tables, take orders from the customers and serve them. We worked for slightly longer than an hour and managed to earn Rs.100. In between we also had a brief stint at the kitchen where we had to chop vegetables and fruits to make a salad plate. That was the most fun thing I've done since I joined my college!&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #999999;"&gt; &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #999999;"&gt;At about 1430 we decided that we should venture out and try more stuff. But as luck would have it, everybody either had a Manager or a CEO, to whom we had to speak to first. We started feeling a little low as we had managed to make only Rs.100 and were still roaming around in search of a job. I was even thinking about offering my services to the local cops to fight crime, but Palna wasn't too happy with the idea.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #999999;"&gt; &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #999999;"&gt;So, yet again we hitched a ride, this time to this place called Null stop. We thought we would just roam around in search of some way to earn money. I met a friend of mine over there who incidentally had his guitar with him at that time. So the only natural thing we could think of doing was to start playing and start entertaining! We sat outside one of the coffee shops and started singing and playing! We realized we were quite good entertainers as more and more students dropped by and started to sing along! Some of them put cash. Some didn't. All in all it was good fun!&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #999999;"&gt; &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #999999;"&gt;In total, we managed to earn a mere Rs 250, but it was good fun and an incredible experience too. Something I would be more than happy to do again!&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8808724261315055536-1349898895101718021?l=didudoit.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://didudoit.blogspot.com/feeds/1349898895101718021/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8808724261315055536&amp;postID=1349898895101718021' title='29 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8808724261315055536/posts/default/1349898895101718021'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8808724261315055536/posts/default/1349898895101718021'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://didudoit.blogspot.com/2010/06/very-different-day.html' title='A Very Different Day !'/><author><name>Jeet</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01750683960679600776</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='21' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_8Kow3nv3vI4/St3K37JuiUI/AAAAAAAAAIk/yHDYDV3GrIg/S220/jeet.jpg'/></author><thr:total>29</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8808724261315055536.post-8273335009755688815</id><published>2010-05-23T00:25:00.003+05:30</published><updated>2010-05-23T13:46:40.389+05:30</updated><title type='text'>A Cute Epidemic?</title><content type='html'>&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11px; color: rgb(51, 51, 51); line-height: 14px; "&gt;So I sat down this afternoon prepared to write the greatest post of all time, you know, in that way I have, when all of a sudden I became extremely worried about the mental state of women everywhere.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;For the second time in two days, from two different countries, a woman told me I looked cute.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Cute.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I have never looked cute. Not even as a little boy did I look cute. Adorable , sure, in a ruggedly handsome little boy way, but never cute.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And while I may need a haircut in some people's opinion, my long thick, glossy flowing locks most certainly do not make me look cute.&lt;br /&gt;That is of course, unless you consider a pirate clinging to the crows nest in a hard wind to be cute.It most definitely would not be on my list of descriptive words though.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;No, obviously I have given this a lot of thought, you know, in that way I have, and I have come to what can only be the only conclusion...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;There is something seriously wrong with women in North America. I'm just afraid that this condition may go global. I have pondered this, you know, in that way I have, and I have been unable to determine if it is an eyesight problem, or perhaps the complete inability to select the proper adjective when needed.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Nor have I been able to ascertain how they both could have caught this scary disease, or condition.One is in California, the other in Canada, neither has been within a thousand miles of each other. I'm thinking, it must be airborne.Some germlike thing floating through the sky just looking for another female to attack. Seeking yet another female, to skewer her reality and make her think I look cute.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Either way, this is serious. Once again I am very very happy to be a male.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Even if I've never been a cute one.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8808724261315055536-8273335009755688815?l=didudoit.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://didudoit.blogspot.com/feeds/8273335009755688815/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8808724261315055536&amp;postID=8273335009755688815' title='6 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8808724261315055536/posts/default/8273335009755688815'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8808724261315055536/posts/default/8273335009755688815'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://didudoit.blogspot.com/2010/05/cute-epidemic.html' title='A Cute Epidemic?'/><author><name>Jeet</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01750683960679600776</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='21' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_8Kow3nv3vI4/St3K37JuiUI/AAAAAAAAAIk/yHDYDV3GrIg/S220/jeet.jpg'/></author><thr:total>6</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8808724261315055536.post-5252504010213433893</id><published>2010-02-07T23:37:00.015+05:30</published><updated>2010-02-07T23:57:56.438+05:30</updated><title type='text'>Photographs...</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_8Kow3nv3vI4/S28FqDYmlII/AAAAAAAAANc/H3KHq5ZUPhc/s1600-h/11.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 233px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_8Kow3nv3vI4/S28FqDYmlII/AAAAAAAAANc/H3KHq5ZUPhc/s320/11.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5435569495280620674" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_8Kow3nv3vI4/S28FUkFd72I/AAAAAAAAANM/_cYecVJPLSQ/s1600-h/9.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_8Kow3nv3vI4/S28FUkFd72I/AAAAAAAAANM/_cYecVJPLSQ/s320/9.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5435569126101610338" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_8Kow3nv3vI4/S28FNCYqyiI/AAAAAAAAANE/0lHkpheQNxw/s1600-h/10.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_8Kow3nv3vI4/S28FNCYqyiI/AAAAAAAAANE/0lHkpheQNxw/s320/10.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5435568996796254754" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_8Kow3nv3vI4/S28EUsqDULI/AAAAAAAAAMs/hHdv3rkr0nU/s1600-h/8.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 233px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_8Kow3nv3vI4/S28EUsqDULI/AAAAAAAAAMs/hHdv3rkr0nU/s320/8.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5435568028890910898" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_8Kow3nv3vI4/S28D8rfA4GI/AAAAAAAAAMk/p9kBQrUykeY/s1600-h/4.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_8Kow3nv3vI4/S28D8rfA4GI/AAAAAAAAAMk/p9kBQrUykeY/s320/4.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5435567616259317858" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_8Kow3nv3vI4/S28DIBMS7SI/AAAAAAAAAMc/PHEAP6_uDU0/s1600-h/5.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_8Kow3nv3vI4/S28DIBMS7SI/AAAAAAAAAMc/PHEAP6_uDU0/s320/5.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5435566711553322274" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_8Kow3nv3vI4/S28Cqj2IPeI/AAAAAAAAAMU/VWMeEcY369M/s1600-h/7.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_8Kow3nv3vI4/S28Cqj2IPeI/AAAAAAAAAMU/VWMeEcY369M/s320/7.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5435566205459512802" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_8Kow3nv3vI4/S28COX9ph6I/AAAAAAAAAMM/96p0eSrO-Xw/s1600-h/3.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_8Kow3nv3vI4/S28COX9ph6I/AAAAAAAAAMM/96p0eSrO-Xw/s320/3.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5435565721233491874" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_8Kow3nv3vI4/S28BqI93wqI/AAAAAAAAAME/dWBmO3D5SjE/s1600-h/2.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_8Kow3nv3vI4/S28BqI93wqI/AAAAAAAAAME/dWBmO3D5SjE/s320/2.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5435565098732602018" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_8Kow3nv3vI4/S28BkCJeAWI/AAAAAAAAAL8/eiaENcZVKiQ/s1600-h/1.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_8Kow3nv3vI4/S28BkCJeAWI/AAAAAAAAAL8/eiaENcZVKiQ/s320/1.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5435564993822982498" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_8Kow3nv3vI4/S28Ew-cuN9I/AAAAAAAAAM0/jT7d8dpVZUc/s1600-h/6.jpg"&gt;&lt;img src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_8Kow3nv3vI4/S28Ew-cuN9I/AAAAAAAAAM0/jT7d8dpVZUc/s320/6.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5435568514703177682" style="cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 214px; " /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8808724261315055536-5252504010213433893?l=didudoit.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://didudoit.blogspot.com/feeds/5252504010213433893/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8808724261315055536&amp;postID=5252504010213433893' title='15 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8808724261315055536/posts/default/5252504010213433893'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8808724261315055536/posts/default/5252504010213433893'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://didudoit.blogspot.com/2010/02/photographs.html' title='Photographs...'/><author><name>Jeet</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01750683960679600776</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='21' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_8Kow3nv3vI4/St3K37JuiUI/AAAAAAAAAIk/yHDYDV3GrIg/S220/jeet.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_8Kow3nv3vI4/S28FqDYmlII/AAAAAAAAANc/H3KHq5ZUPhc/s72-c/11.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>15</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8808724261315055536.post-6686734313897915021</id><published>2010-01-20T23:25:00.005+05:30</published><updated>2010-01-20T23:52:09.876+05:30</updated><title type='text'>Why I Think Women Rock</title><content type='html'>&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;After my long hiatus from the blog world, I have finally decided to write something substantial.This one is for all the ladies...and in a way, for the guys as well...&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"   style="  ;font-family:Tahoma, Geneva, sans-serif;font-size:13px;"&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;1. It's Biblical. Adam got sad and lonely and so God made him a partner, enter WOMAN!! She completed man and brought forth children onto the earth, which brings me to my next point...&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;2. Not a SINGLE ONE OF US would be here if it weren't for women. You don't even really need to have a man present to have a kid anymore. Science has given us the ability to replace that part of the equation, but they have yet to replace the best damned incubator on the face of the planet... &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;&lt;span id="cuttaganchor"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;3. Yes it's creepy, and gross, but they can bleed for a week and not die !!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;4. Women work more than men. Now before you guys raise your eyebrows, think about it. Who says yes to you when you propose, goes through all the paperwork to change her name on her drivers license, Passport etc. who has the kid, nurses it, weans it, feeds it (most of the time), cleans it (again, most of the time), clothes it, kisses its boo boos better, helps it get ready for prom/first date, and still finds time to cook, clean, love her husband and have a career (again, generalization)?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;5. Women have made more advances than men for their gender. They went from repressed, dominated weaklings, to burning bras, gaining the right to vote, fighting for and serving our country, and even running it! We have Women Chiefs of Police, Fire Marshals, Chief Justices, Presidents, Speakers for the House, Scientists, and in any other job you can imagine. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;6. They're pretty and boys like it. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;&lt;img src="http://s.xanga.com/images/winky.gif" alt="" style="border-top-width: 0pt; border-right-width: 0pt; border-bottom-width: 0pt; border-left-width: 0pt; border-top-style: none; border-right-style: none; border-bottom-style: none; border-left-style: none; border-color: initial; " /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;7. They are strong. I mean, have you ever messed with a kid in front of his mom? I did ONCE and I got chewed out, and when I got home, I got my butt whooped by my mom, and it hurt WAY worse than my dad's spankings.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;8. Women are also soft. They can be hard ass career minded kick ass bitches, but at the end of the day, they do like to cuddle and talk and ease their stress, and our stress...which again leads to ...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;9. They are loving. Every women, no matter how tough, has that one person that she loves more than anyone else and will sacrifice for even up to her life to make happy.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;10. Boobs. ( I know! Kinda mood killer after those last too paragraphs, but they don't look good on guys. Be proud of your racks ladies!)&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;Do you agree with this list? Why do you think women rock?&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;Ladies, why do YOU think YOU rock?&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-size:medium;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"   style="  ;font-family:Georgia, serif;font-size:16px;"&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_8Kow3nv3vI4/S1dIwyFnFjI/AAAAAAAAAL0/BUCm7alOBtg/s1600-h/Girls_Lady_in_pink_bra_011290_.jpg"&gt;&lt;img src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_8Kow3nv3vI4/S1dIwyFnFjI/AAAAAAAAAL0/BUCm7alOBtg/s320/Girls_Lady_in_pink_bra_011290_.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5428887878734648882" style="text-align: left;display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px; " /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8808724261315055536-6686734313897915021?l=didudoit.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://didudoit.blogspot.com/feeds/6686734313897915021/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8808724261315055536&amp;postID=6686734313897915021' title='6 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8808724261315055536/posts/default/6686734313897915021'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8808724261315055536/posts/default/6686734313897915021'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://didudoit.blogspot.com/2010/01/why-i-think-women-rock.html' title='Why I Think Women Rock'/><author><name>Jeet</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01750683960679600776</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='21' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_8Kow3nv3vI4/St3K37JuiUI/AAAAAAAAAIk/yHDYDV3GrIg/S220/jeet.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_8Kow3nv3vI4/S1dIwyFnFjI/AAAAAAAAAL0/BUCm7alOBtg/s72-c/Girls_Lady_in_pink_bra_011290_.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>6</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8808724261315055536.post-6953582982148794024</id><published>2009-12-27T00:24:00.001+05:30</published><updated>2009-12-27T00:24:43.625+05:30</updated><title type='text'>This Is The Title</title><content type='html'>And this is my post. Thanks for reading. (:&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8808724261315055536-6953582982148794024?l=didudoit.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://didudoit.blogspot.com/feeds/6953582982148794024/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8808724261315055536&amp;postID=6953582982148794024' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8808724261315055536/posts/default/6953582982148794024'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8808724261315055536/posts/default/6953582982148794024'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://didudoit.blogspot.com/2009/12/this-is-title.html' title='This Is The Title'/><author><name>Jeet</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01750683960679600776</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='21' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_8Kow3nv3vI4/St3K37JuiUI/AAAAAAAAAIk/yHDYDV3GrIg/S220/jeet.jpg'/></author><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8808724261315055536.post-1420725607708681371</id><published>2009-12-26T23:44:00.004+05:30</published><updated>2009-12-27T00:23:50.680+05:30</updated><title type='text'>Superhero</title><content type='html'>So, wouldn't it be great to have a few superheroes flying around today in our own confused and violent world ? When the world in comic books is in dire peril, ordinary people turn on the bat-signal or call out to Superman for help and hope his super hearing picks up the S.O.S. &lt;div&gt;Probably the reason we don't yet have our own Batman is because of the lack of parking space to park the Bat-mobile.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;div&gt;On a totally random note, I can't think of anything to write. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;GAAH!!&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Damn I need my personal superhero now! &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&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/8808724261315055536-1420725607708681371?l=didudoit.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://didudoit.blogspot.com/feeds/1420725607708681371/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8808724261315055536&amp;postID=1420725607708681371' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8808724261315055536/posts/default/1420725607708681371'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8808724261315055536/posts/default/1420725607708681371'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://didudoit.blogspot.com/2009/12/superhero.html' title='Superhero'/><author><name>Jeet</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01750683960679600776</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='21' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_8Kow3nv3vI4/St3K37JuiUI/AAAAAAAAAIk/yHDYDV3GrIg/S220/jeet.jpg'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8808724261315055536.post-8577010233798229128</id><published>2009-11-15T22:29:00.004+05:30</published><updated>2009-11-15T22:41:01.276+05:30</updated><title type='text'>English Language</title><content type='html'>&lt;div&gt;English is the most widely used language in the history of our planet. More than half of the world's books are in English. And of all the languages, it has the largest vocabulary - perhaps as many as 2 MILLION words. Nevertheless, I still think English is a crazy ass language. Lets take a look at a few examples - &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;There is no egg in eggplant nor ham in hamburger and neither apple nor pine in pineapple. English muffins weren't invented in England and neither were french fries in France. Sweetmeats are candies while sweetbreads (which aren't sweet at all), are meat. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;All of us take English for granted. But if we explore its paradoxes, we find that quicksand is something that works slowly, boxing rings are actually squares and a guinea pig is neither from Guinea nor is it a pig actually.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Isn't it a little crazy that you can make amends but not one single amend?&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;And isn't it a little weird that you can comb through annals of history but not a single annal? &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;What if you have a bunch of odds and ends and get rid of all but one of them, what do you call it?&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;And why is it that writers write but fingers don't fing? Shouldn't grocers groce and hammers ham? If the plural of tooth is teeth, why isn't the plural of booth beeth? One goose, 2 geese. So one moose, 2 meese? One index, 2 indices? How?&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;If you wrote a letter, perhaps you bote your tongue?&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;If teachers taught, why didn't preacher praught? If a vegetarian eats vegetables, then what does a humanitarian eat? &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Sometimes I think all the English speakers should be committed to an asylum for the verbally insane. In what language do people recite at a play and play at a recital? Ship by truck and send cargo by ship? Have noses that run and feet that smell?&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Isn't it a little weird that a slim chance and a fat chance are the same, while a wise man and wise guy are opposites? How can overlook and oversee be opposites, while quite a lot and quite a few are alike? How can the weather be hot as hell one day and cold as hell another?&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Also one of the other funny things about English is that we talk about certain things only when they are absent! Have you ever seen a horseful carriage or a strapful gown? Met a sung hero or experienced requited love? Have you ever run into someone who was combobulated, gruntled or ruly? And where are all those people who would ACTUALLY hurt a fly?&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;You have to marvel at the unique lunacy of a language in which your house can burn up as it burns down, in which you fill in a form by filling it out and in which an alarm clock goes off by going on.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;English was invented by people, not computers, and it reflects the creativity of the human race (which, of course, isn't a race at all). That is why, when the stars are out, they are visible, but when the lights are out, they are invisible. And why, when I wind up my watch, I start it, but when I wind up this essay, I end it.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8808724261315055536-8577010233798229128?l=didudoit.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://didudoit.blogspot.com/feeds/8577010233798229128/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8808724261315055536&amp;postID=8577010233798229128' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8808724261315055536/posts/default/8577010233798229128'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8808724261315055536/posts/default/8577010233798229128'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://didudoit.blogspot.com/2009/11/english-language.html' title='English Language'/><author><name>Jeet</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01750683960679600776</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='21' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_8Kow3nv3vI4/St3K37JuiUI/AAAAAAAAAIk/yHDYDV3GrIg/S220/jeet.jpg'/></author><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8808724261315055536.post-7911017547282337772</id><published>2009-11-02T21:21:00.002+05:30</published><updated>2009-11-02T21:26:55.238+05:30</updated><title type='text'>The Silent Halo</title><content type='html'>&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="color:#0000EE;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="text-decoration: underline;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;The new moon of no importance &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Lingers behind in the sky's ending dance.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;While the earth smokes a smoky blue&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;This time the moon's up and for full view.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Through the light of my window to see its blushes,&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Brings the fragrance of bliss and joy to my senses.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;This way and that way she peeks and she sees,&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Many silver fruits upon the many silver trees.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;For tonight the moon is undressed, &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Like a beautiful woman in her seducing idleness.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Her knowing hands they love to caress,&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;In its own whim, the curvature of her dainty breasts.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Her hair will be mist scented and her jade white,&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;With her arms chilled in her clear light.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;When the mood is ripe and on occasion,&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;She lets her passionate scent, fall from her bosom.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;The moon, standing tall and standing mellow,&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;To everyone it shall stay, forever the silent halo.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_8Kow3nv3vI4/Su8BNFf-XcI/AAAAAAAAAJ4/gh1LkEFbVvo/s1600-h/moon+halo.jpg"&gt;&lt;img src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_8Kow3nv3vI4/Su8BNFf-XcI/AAAAAAAAAJ4/gh1LkEFbVvo/s320/moon+halo.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5399535802566729154" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px; " /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8808724261315055536-7911017547282337772?l=didudoit.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://didudoit.blogspot.com/feeds/7911017547282337772/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8808724261315055536&amp;postID=7911017547282337772' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8808724261315055536/posts/default/7911017547282337772'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8808724261315055536/posts/default/7911017547282337772'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://didudoit.blogspot.com/2009/11/silent-halo.html' title='The Silent Halo'/><author><name>Jeet</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01750683960679600776</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='21' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_8Kow3nv3vI4/St3K37JuiUI/AAAAAAAAAIk/yHDYDV3GrIg/S220/jeet.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_8Kow3nv3vI4/Su8BNFf-XcI/AAAAAAAAAJ4/gh1LkEFbVvo/s72-c/moon+halo.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8808724261315055536.post-2688181023790882466</id><published>2009-10-26T00:07:00.002+05:30</published><updated>2009-10-26T00:09:47.850+05:30</updated><title type='text'>My Pictures</title><content type='html'>Here's a couple of pictures that I took.&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;a href="http://jeetbhuyan.carbonmade.com"&gt;http://jeetbhuyan.carbonmade.com&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Enjoy (:&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;And do comment (: (:&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8808724261315055536-2688181023790882466?l=didudoit.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://didudoit.blogspot.com/feeds/2688181023790882466/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8808724261315055536&amp;postID=2688181023790882466' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8808724261315055536/posts/default/2688181023790882466'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8808724261315055536/posts/default/2688181023790882466'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://didudoit.blogspot.com/2009/10/my-pictures.html' title='My Pictures'/><author><name>Jeet</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01750683960679600776</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='21' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_8Kow3nv3vI4/St3K37JuiUI/AAAAAAAAAIk/yHDYDV3GrIg/S220/jeet.jpg'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8808724261315055536.post-18128410112749893</id><published>2009-10-20T13:51:00.003+05:30</published><updated>2009-10-20T13:56:32.553+05:30</updated><title type='text'>A Month Overdue !</title><content type='html'>&lt;div&gt;I promise, this is just fictional. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Mr. Jeet B. comes home one night, and his loving wife throws her arms around his neck and says: “I have great news: I’m a month overdue. I think we’re going to have a baby! The doctor gave me a test today, but until we find out for sure, we can’t tell anybody.”&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;The next day, Mrs. B. receives a telephone call from Pune Electricity Board (PEB) because the electricity bill has not been paid.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;“Am I speaking to Mrs. B.?”&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;“Yes…… speaking”&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;PEB guy, “You’re a month overdue, you know!”&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;“How do YOU know?” stammers the young woman.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;“Well, ma’am, it’s in our files!” says the PEC guy .&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;“What are you saying? It’s in your files …… How?”&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;“Yes…………. We have a system of finding out who’s overdue.”&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;“God!…. this is too much……”&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;"Madam, I am sorry…I am following orders…I have to inform you are overdue.”&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;“I know that… let me talk to my husband about this tonight…he will speak to your company tomorrow.”&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;That night, she tells her husband about the visit, and he, mad as a bull, rushes to PEB office the next day morning.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;“What’s going on? You have it on file that my wife is a month overdue? What business is that of yours?” the husband shouts.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;“Just calm down,” says the lady at the reception at PEB, “it’s nothing serious. All you have to do is pay us.”&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;“Pay you? And if I refuse?”&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;“Well, in that case, sir, we’d have no option but to cut yours off!”&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8808724261315055536-18128410112749893?l=didudoit.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://didudoit.blogspot.com/feeds/18128410112749893/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8808724261315055536&amp;postID=18128410112749893' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8808724261315055536/posts/default/18128410112749893'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8808724261315055536/posts/default/18128410112749893'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://didudoit.blogspot.com/2009/10/month-overdue.html' title='A Month Overdue !'/><author><name>Jeet</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01750683960679600776</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='21' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_8Kow3nv3vI4/St3K37JuiUI/AAAAAAAAAIk/yHDYDV3GrIg/S220/jeet.jpg'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8808724261315055536.post-2267677756218808075</id><published>2009-10-04T21:28:00.003+05:30</published><updated>2009-10-04T21:56:17.473+05:30</updated><title type='text'>Masturbation</title><content type='html'>Here's a simple experiment, turn to the person next to you and say, "How often do you masturbate?" The reaction should be highly amusing.&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Masturbation is one of those things that almost everybody does, but nobody (outside of confidential polls) admits to. He does it. She does it! I do it! Its nature's rule. It &lt;b&gt;&lt;i&gt;has &lt;/i&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: normal;"&gt;to&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/b&gt; get out of your body somehow. &lt;b&gt;&lt;i&gt;Even&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/b&gt; porcupines masturbate! Meanwhile roughly 90% of all males and at least 70% of all females do masturbate. So why the big coverup? Hey, big deal, you say, I take a crap every day, but I don't go around bragging about that either.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Fair enough. But while a lot of people might decline to discuss their toileting habits, very few of these would go so far as to lie to you and claim they don't poop. And yet, pretty much every young man/woman will hurry to declare that they don't masturbate and that even if they "did that stuff when they were kids," it was just an embarrassing phase of curiosity that they have definitely outgrown.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Most people believe masturbation is wrong, evil and "anti-god" or even "anti-religion". In fact, its quite the contrary. Masturbation helps one learn about his or her own sexuality and prepares one for quality "couple's sex" down the road. Pro-masturbation educators claim that masturbating helps young people (and even adults) find realistic control over their sexual appetites, empowering them to make better choices about who they have sex with, when, and why. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;For all those religious fanatics who say that - "touching yourself" and masturbating is a sin and you shall go to hell if you do it, all I have to say is - It was God's plan to make everyone get horny at some point or the other. And God or Evolution, has seen it fit to equip the human form such that, our fingertips dangle enticingly at roughly the same height as our crotches. And hence, its very hard to resist the temptation to let their fingers stray toward the naughty bits.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;And if you can be as ignorant as to actually believe that masturbating will make someone pregnant, well I am sorry to say but it won't, no matter how hard you try. It's the safest way to fulfill your sexual desires as there is no partner involved (not talking about mutual masturbation here). No AIDS worry. And definitely no worry over infidelity issues.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;All that masturbation does, is help you relax, sleep better and give you immense pleasure! Now why would any one want to deprive themselves of something like that?  There's no reason to be ashamed of using your body the way you want to! Its the best instrument you've got and the best you'll ever get!&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&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/8808724261315055536-2267677756218808075?l=didudoit.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://didudoit.blogspot.com/feeds/2267677756218808075/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8808724261315055536&amp;postID=2267677756218808075' title='8 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8808724261315055536/posts/default/2267677756218808075'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8808724261315055536/posts/default/2267677756218808075'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://didudoit.blogspot.com/2009/10/masturbation.html' title='Masturbation'/><author><name>Jeet</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01750683960679600776</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='21' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_8Kow3nv3vI4/St3K37JuiUI/AAAAAAAAAIk/yHDYDV3GrIg/S220/jeet.jpg'/></author><thr:total>8</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8808724261315055536.post-1743672977684344268</id><published>2009-10-01T03:29:00.002+05:30</published><updated>2009-10-01T03:33:50.772+05:30</updated><title type='text'>The Single Question</title><content type='html'>&lt;div&gt;So earlier in the day I was hanging out with my friend. We are both currently single and have been single for over a year. We were talking about our most recent crushes, or lack thereof, and the kind of talk that involves a teenage boy mind mostly revolving around girls. Or the lack of them. There was a strain of thought that constantly ran through my mind - "&lt;i&gt;I just want someone to want me.&lt;/i&gt;" Sounds familiar? I guess it runs on almost every straight, single person's mind. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;It sounds pathetic doesn't it? It's not that I don't have any self-esteem. I am content with my looks, personality, intelligence, success, etc. yet when I'm alone in my own moments, I still long to go for quiet walks with that person, or share ice creams together, or have endless talks on the phone, or just to know that someone else out there is thinking of me before they go to sleep.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Why do you think it is that we feel the need to be needed by the opposite sex so badly? Do you think it is true that people in relationships are generally happier than single people because of this reason?&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8808724261315055536-1743672977684344268?l=didudoit.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://didudoit.blogspot.com/feeds/1743672977684344268/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8808724261315055536&amp;postID=1743672977684344268' title='6 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8808724261315055536/posts/default/1743672977684344268'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8808724261315055536/posts/default/1743672977684344268'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://didudoit.blogspot.com/2009/10/single-question.html' title='The Single Question'/><author><name>Jeet</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01750683960679600776</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='21' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_8Kow3nv3vI4/St3K37JuiUI/AAAAAAAAAIk/yHDYDV3GrIg/S220/jeet.jpg'/></author><thr:total>6</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8808724261315055536.post-8254782117008729637</id><published>2009-09-27T19:56:00.003+05:30</published><updated>2009-09-27T20:05:04.170+05:30</updated><title type='text'>Gratitude</title><content type='html'>&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;Rainbows are flying into my space&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I am happy and try not to go to waste&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;My ramblings quite seem mindless&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Yet tickles everyone's senses&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Well I guess it just suggests what happiness is...&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;The butterflies they flew away&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Like the fashion from yesterday&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Ice creams now taste so yum&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Love the story that I've now become&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;And its cool to be done than undone &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Just as long as you enjoy the fun...&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I've been eating my fruits and my greens&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;And there's no need no need for any medicines&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;To fly and to be naturally high&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;You first need to learn to flirt with the sky&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;And just try till it sides to shine the light on your mind &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Just be kind to let it find you....&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Thank you my little friend&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;You and I both know I'll never change&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I've been on a break to make my ways to mend&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;And thank you my little friend&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Thank you my dear friend&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_8Kow3nv3vI4/Sr93_QU-_SI/AAAAAAAAAIc/rAfdMSyvwcY/s1600-h/DSC00005.JPG"&gt;&lt;img src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_8Kow3nv3vI4/Sr93_QU-_SI/AAAAAAAAAIc/rAfdMSyvwcY/s200/DSC00005.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5386155607956847906" style="float: left; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 10px; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: 0px; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 150px; " /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8808724261315055536-8254782117008729637?l=didudoit.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://didudoit.blogspot.com/feeds/8254782117008729637/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8808724261315055536&amp;postID=8254782117008729637' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8808724261315055536/posts/default/8254782117008729637'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8808724261315055536/posts/default/8254782117008729637'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://didudoit.blogspot.com/2009/09/gratitude.html' title='Gratitude'/><author><name>Jeet</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01750683960679600776</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='21' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_8Kow3nv3vI4/St3K37JuiUI/AAAAAAAAAIk/yHDYDV3GrIg/S220/jeet.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_8Kow3nv3vI4/Sr93_QU-_SI/AAAAAAAAAIc/rAfdMSyvwcY/s72-c/DSC00005.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8808724261315055536.post-6280906988205254240</id><published>2009-09-23T21:24:00.002+05:30</published><updated>2009-11-09T22:19:51.794+05:30</updated><title type='text'>A Letter For A Difficult Friend</title><content type='html'>&lt;div&gt;Dearest friend,&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I know our relationship has been difficult and we haven't really spoken in a long time, but it's recently become clear that we'll be seeing a lot of each other in the next few months. The issues we've faced in the past are going to resurface and we really, really need to work this out now before it's too late.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I'll admit I've said some terrible things about you in the past. I apologize. You think of me as an unintelligent person for not understanding you, even after years of trying. That's not true. You're difficult, you know? I know I've given up on you in the past and even broke your trust by cheating, but never again. I'm not going to give up on you this time. I'm determined to understand. I'm determined to keep trying.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;That said, I hope things are easier this time around. I hope everything sinks in easier. I promise to keep trying despite how difficult you are. And you really are. Don't deny it and I'll try to keep my "hate" claims under wraps this semester.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Maths, I do want to be your friend. Really. Just help me understand you. Please.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Regards,&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Jeet&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8808724261315055536-6280906988205254240?l=didudoit.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://didudoit.blogspot.com/feeds/6280906988205254240/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8808724261315055536&amp;postID=6280906988205254240' title='6 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8808724261315055536/posts/default/6280906988205254240'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8808724261315055536/posts/default/6280906988205254240'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://didudoit.blogspot.com/2009/09/letter-for-difficult-friend.html' title='A Letter For A Difficult Friend'/><author><name>Jeet</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01750683960679600776</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='21' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_8Kow3nv3vI4/St3K37JuiUI/AAAAAAAAAIk/yHDYDV3GrIg/S220/jeet.jpg'/></author><thr:total>6</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8808724261315055536.post-8864218525353812887</id><published>2009-09-15T22:07:00.003+05:30</published><updated>2009-09-15T22:09:45.286+05:30</updated><title type='text'>Life Comes Around</title><content type='html'>&lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;Is it a chance to get lucky? Or is it lucky to get something by chance?&lt;span style="mso-spacerun:yes"&gt; &lt;/span&gt;What’s the difference, if at all there is any? To what extent is it really feasible, to let the universe take on the role of your personal manager and trust in its ability to get you what you want? Does it justify your wait, no matter how long it is?&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;I believe time is one big adventure. And a big misadventure too. For what may seem like the best option at one point of time, may not necessarily be the best at another. Or at least that’s what I think. Maybe, for time to work in favour of you, all you need to do is stop thinking! Let time take you through whichever route it wants to. But what if time is waiting for directions from you? Maybe it wants you to make your own course? Deceiving? A little maybe.&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;Time is a tricky little obsession! Everyone has it.&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;“Hari, submit your work on &lt;i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal"&gt;time&lt;/i&gt;!”&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;“Guys, it’s &lt;i style="mso-bidi-font-style:normal"&gt;time&lt;/i&gt; for dinner.”&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;Hell, even the next person we pass on the road will probably end up asking – “What is the &lt;i style="mso-bidi-font-style:normal"&gt;time&lt;/i&gt;?”&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;The thing is, I don’t know! It keeps on changing! What if it’s just a matter of convenience? An imaginary clog in the wheel, that keeps everything in momentum. &lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;Maybe life &lt;i style="mso-bidi-font-style:normal"&gt;is&lt;/i&gt; a wheel. It goes exploring new ideas and adventures and when it’s done a full circle, it shows us pretty much the same things it showed us earlier. Only this time, it’s got something else sticking to it. &lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;Guess life repeats itself. Just with different settings and characters.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8808724261315055536-8864218525353812887?l=didudoit.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://didudoit.blogspot.com/feeds/8864218525353812887/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8808724261315055536&amp;postID=8864218525353812887' title='4 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8808724261315055536/posts/default/8864218525353812887'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8808724261315055536/posts/default/8864218525353812887'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://didudoit.blogspot.com/2009/09/is-it-chance-to-get-lucky-or-is-it.html' title='Life Comes Around'/><author><name>Jeet</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01750683960679600776</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='21' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_8Kow3nv3vI4/St3K37JuiUI/AAAAAAAAAIk/yHDYDV3GrIg/S220/jeet.jpg'/></author><thr:total>4</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8808724261315055536.post-764084452699873792</id><published>2009-09-07T02:14:00.003+05:30</published><updated>2009-09-07T02:18:34.245+05:30</updated><title type='text'>Tin Tin Ti Din !</title><content type='html'>&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 14px; "&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="color:#FFFFFF;"&gt;Life takes place as we live it. Maybe that's why everyone's life is so unique and different. I am 20 and damn! This age is confusing! Sometimes, I am in a black and white and the next moment, I am in a thriller! And isnt it ironical that no matter where you are, you always want to be on the other side?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I think you grow when you learn to accept some things and believe in your decisions for the best. There will be moments when you get off on the wrong side of the bed, burn your toast, get stuck in traffic all day and get an F in your paper. But in the end, life's much bigger than that.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;When was the last time we simply forgot all our worries and had an awfull lot of pani puris and bhel puri instead? When was the last time we looked up at the sky. I mean REALLY look up at the sky. Not the oh-god!-why-does-it-always&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="color:#FFFFFF;"&gt;&lt;wbr&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span class="word_break" style="display: block; float: left; margin-left: -10px; padding-top: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; "&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="color:#FFFFFF;"&gt;-happen-to-me look up at the sky. I mean look up at the sky and be wondering how the clouds are however and whatever shape they are in? Who made those shapes? (I meant curves) When was the last time we let out our best carefree and satisfied burp?. Or quite simply - when was the last time we simply allowed everything else around us to slow down and give ourselves a much deserved moment?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Yes! We do have the power to slow down everything around us. And no. I dont mean using some molecular accelerator that increases your molecular activity. We can do all this using just our mind!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Sure! Who hasnt had their first awesome love experience? And again, who hasnt had their first awfull breakup? Who has not been embarassed by thier zips left open? Or their public farts? These things are bound to happen. They are all written in life's recipe. Instead of wondering what went wrong, just turn the page and voila! You have a new start! Its as simple as that! Maybe its also a little complicated. But its easy. Confused? Well I am. I guess blame it on the age.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I recently had a wonderful experience. And it will be one the best things I ever felt. I still feel it. And maybe sometimes you dont get the cherry. But you still have the cake! And sometimes, its the best thing that you ended up with just the cake!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Hmm...I have no idea what I wanted to say. Maybe I'll try out some new things tomorrow. Maybe I'll go bald! Or...umm...maybe I'll just wear a hat. Or learn to dance! Or find the solution to pi ! Or maybe I'll just get a breezer. After all - life tastes best when its chilled! &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8808724261315055536-764084452699873792?l=didudoit.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://didudoit.blogspot.com/feeds/764084452699873792/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8808724261315055536&amp;postID=764084452699873792' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8808724261315055536/posts/default/764084452699873792'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8808724261315055536/posts/default/764084452699873792'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://didudoit.blogspot.com/2009/09/tin-tin-ti-din.html' title='Tin Tin Ti Din !'/><author><name>Jeet</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01750683960679600776</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='21' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_8Kow3nv3vI4/St3K37JuiUI/AAAAAAAAAIk/yHDYDV3GrIg/S220/jeet.jpg'/></author><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8808724261315055536.post-830032502262418185</id><published>2009-08-27T00:19:00.002+05:30</published><updated>2009-08-27T00:20:03.504+05:30</updated><title type='text'>Innocence</title><content type='html'>Finally managed to upload another song I had composed. Let me know what you think :)&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;www.myspace.com/jeetspage&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8808724261315055536-830032502262418185?l=didudoit.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://didudoit.blogspot.com/feeds/830032502262418185/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8808724261315055536&amp;postID=830032502262418185' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8808724261315055536/posts/default/830032502262418185'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8808724261315055536/posts/default/830032502262418185'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://didudoit.blogspot.com/2009/08/innocence.html' title='Innocence'/><author><name>Jeet</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01750683960679600776</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='21' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_8Kow3nv3vI4/St3K37JuiUI/AAAAAAAAAIk/yHDYDV3GrIg/S220/jeet.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8808724261315055536.post-3742809127883209876</id><published>2009-08-22T02:14:00.001+05:30</published><updated>2009-08-22T02:17:03.874+05:30</updated><title type='text'>Favourtite White Tshirt</title><content type='html'>&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style=" ;font-family:'Times New Roman';"&gt;&lt;div style="border-top-width: 0px; border-right-width: 0px; border-bottom-width: 0px; border-left-width: 0px; border-style: initial; border-color: initial; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; padding-top: 3px; padding-right: 3px; padding-bottom: 3px; padding-left: 3px; width: auto; font: normal normal normal 100%/normal Georgia, serif; text-align: left; "&gt;One thing I absolutely &lt;i&gt;&lt;b&gt;love&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/i&gt; about the rains is having a steaming cup of tea, along with a platefull of the most &lt;b&gt;&lt;i&gt;delicious&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/b&gt; and the most&lt;b&gt; &lt;i&gt;unhealthy&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/b&gt; pakodas I can get my hands on (:&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;And one thing I absolutely &lt;b&gt;&lt;i&gt;hate&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/b&gt; about the rains, is the massive amount of mud sprays you get on yourself, while riding your bike. There's absolutely no way you can escape it. Trying to avoid it is like going to China and trying to avoid Chineese food (although the latter sometimes taste better than mud).&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I have noticed that this happens to me specially when I am wearing white. More so on the days, when I happen to leave behind my jacket at home.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;So, on a day like any other, I was on my way to college on my bike. The weather was pretty good.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;"Hmmm....thats weird.", I said to myself.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;"The weather is never &lt;i&gt;this &lt;/i&gt;good."&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;In fact, it was so good that it somehow didnt seem right to be so good in the middle of the rainy season! And sure enough! It starts to rain the &lt;i&gt;very&lt;/i&gt; next moment! And no! It wasnt the kind of rain that you would pass on for a tiny leak. No! The whole dam had collapsed!!! And it was coming down hard!&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I was wearing a newly washed white t-shirt, and quite obviously, I forgot my jacket at home. The vehicles on the road had no intention of sparing me or my newly washed white tshirt at all! One particular lady, who was driving her Honda, seemed to make it a point to splash water and mud on every rider she passed. She was &lt;b&gt;&lt;i&gt;too&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/b&gt; good at it.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;By the time I reached college, my t-shirt looked like it had been dipped in chocolate. I was even tempted to taste it. But thank goodness for self control!&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Fortunately my friend, my very good friend, Shane, happened to have an extra tshirt with him that day.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;i&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="color:#FFFF00;"&gt;Yay!!&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;It was white.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;i&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="color:#FFFF00;"&gt;Crap!&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;It was his &lt;b&gt;&lt;i&gt;favourite&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/b&gt; white tshirt.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;i&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="color:#FFFF00;"&gt;Crap!! Crap!!&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;i&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Somehow I managed to convince him that his &lt;b&gt;&lt;i&gt;favourite white tshirt&lt;/i&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: normal; "&gt; is absolutely safe with me and I wont let any mud sprays come on it.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;He agreed.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;He shouldnt have. Cause the &lt;i&gt;very&lt;/i&gt; next moment, and I mean in the &lt;i&gt;&lt;b&gt;very&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/i&gt; next couple of minutes we decided to go and have lunch. And of course! You are allowed to guess what happened next.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;The look that Shane had on his face, when he saw that his &lt;b&gt;&lt;i&gt;favourite white tshirt, &lt;/i&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: normal; "&gt;now had a patch of brown (thanks to chicken gravy and my clumsy hands) still gives me nightmares! It was the scariest look I ever got from him!&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Now this episode of my life has taught me one very valuable lesson.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Never borrow a white tshirt from your friend on a rainy day. Especially his &lt;b&gt;&lt;i&gt;favourite white tshirt. &lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; "&gt;Thankfully things are back to normal now. We greet each other. We talk about girls together. He acts gay with me. I play along. Yeah....pretty much the life of a normal 20 year old, sleeping in class NOT wearing a white tshirt. Anymore.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;b&gt;&lt;i&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; "&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;It still rains though.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8808724261315055536-3742809127883209876?l=didudoit.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://didudoit.blogspot.com/feeds/3742809127883209876/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8808724261315055536&amp;postID=3742809127883209876' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8808724261315055536/posts/default/3742809127883209876'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8808724261315055536/posts/default/3742809127883209876'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://didudoit.blogspot.com/2009/08/favourtite-white-tshirt.html' title='Favourtite White Tshirt'/><author><name>Jeet</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01750683960679600776</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='21' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_8Kow3nv3vI4/St3K37JuiUI/AAAAAAAAAIk/yHDYDV3GrIg/S220/jeet.jpg'/></author><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8808724261315055536.post-1624994822521583811</id><published>2009-08-12T12:53:00.004+05:30</published><updated>2009-08-12T12:58:17.788+05:30</updated><title type='text'>26 Letters</title><content type='html'>&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style=" ;font-family:'Times New Roman';"&gt;&lt;div style="border-top-width: 0px; border-right-width: 0px; border-bottom-width: 0px; border-left-width: 0px; border-style: initial; border-color: initial; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; padding-top: 3px; padding-right: 3px; padding-bottom: 3px; padding-left: 3px; width: auto; font: normal normal normal 100%/normal Georgia, serif; text-align: left; "&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="color:#FFCC00;"&gt;A&lt;/span&gt;nd lately I've been writing lines, sometimes hollow sometimes full&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="color:#FFCC00;"&gt;B&lt;/span&gt;ut mostly about you and I, the lovesick fool.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="color:#FFCC00;"&gt;C&lt;/span&gt;andid moments, of sound and sights&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="color:#FFCC00;"&gt;D&lt;/span&gt;inner and Jazz by the mystique seaside.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="color:#FFCC00;"&gt;E&lt;/span&gt;very little touch, and all your subtle moves,&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="color:#FFCC00;"&gt;F&lt;/span&gt;ind the right words, and I'll tell you when I do.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="color:#FFCC00;"&gt;G&lt;/span&gt;otta keep the distance though&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="color:#FFCC00;"&gt;H&lt;/span&gt;ow hard is it? I sure would know.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="color:#FFCC00;"&gt;I&lt;/span&gt;n the oceans I sailed, had no choice but to leave&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="color:#FFCC00;"&gt;J&lt;/span&gt;ust when I found that my love was just as deep.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="color:#FFCC00;"&gt;K&lt;/span&gt;issing you would be the deepest thing to do&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="color:#FFCC00;"&gt;L&lt;/span&gt;oving you was like cupid right on cue.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="color:#FFCC00;"&gt;M&lt;/span&gt;y head is in so many places, and so are you&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="color:#FFCC00;"&gt;N&lt;/span&gt;ow tell me, how do I settle this without you?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="color:#FFCC00;"&gt;O&lt;/span&gt;nly if instead of you, I could love someone else&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="color:#FFCC00;"&gt;P&lt;/span&gt;robably she'd be betrayed,cause I cant love anyone but yourself.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="color:#FFCC00;"&gt;Q&lt;/span&gt;uiet nights and sparky spring days&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="color:#FFCC00;"&gt;R&lt;/span&gt;eminiscent of the wastefull times, all so gone without a trace.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="color:#FFCC00;"&gt;S&lt;/span&gt;oul has a meaning of its own as long as it lasts&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="color:#FFCC00;"&gt;T&lt;/span&gt;hey had mine with you, no wonder I miss you the most.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="color:#FFCC00;"&gt;U&lt;/span&gt;seless questions sometimes scare me a little&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="color:#FFCC00;"&gt;V&lt;/span&gt;ow to you, if I could I would never leave you in the middle.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="color:#FFCC00;"&gt;W&lt;/span&gt;ords might be forgotten, and so i write this&lt;br /&gt;e&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="color:#FFCC00;"&gt;X&lt;/span&gt;aggerated it might sound, but you are the pages of my diaries.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="color:#FFCC00;"&gt;Y&lt;/span&gt;ou know I would do anything if I could get you, but like the&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="color:#FFCC00;"&gt;Z&lt;/span&gt;ephyr, I guess I'll move away, ever so gently from you.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8808724261315055536-1624994822521583811?l=didudoit.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://didudoit.blogspot.com/feeds/1624994822521583811/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8808724261315055536&amp;postID=1624994822521583811' title='9 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8808724261315055536/posts/default/1624994822521583811'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8808724261315055536/posts/default/1624994822521583811'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://didudoit.blogspot.com/2009/08/26-letters.html' title='26 Letters'/><author><name>Jeet</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01750683960679600776</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='21' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_8Kow3nv3vI4/St3K37JuiUI/AAAAAAAAAIk/yHDYDV3GrIg/S220/jeet.jpg'/></author><thr:total>9</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8808724261315055536.post-6276149709156968077</id><published>2009-08-06T21:41:00.010+05:30</published><updated>2009-08-07T15:01:12.439+05:30</updated><title type='text'>Bittersweet Symphony</title><content type='html'>&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;Who is a best friend? What is a best friend made of?&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;When I was young, a best friend for me was probably someone, who I was very fond of and would share his/her lunch with me at school. When I was &lt;i&gt;younger&lt;/i&gt;, my best friends were Captain Planet and Swat Kats. Maybe, it still holds true for some of us. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Throughout the year, loads of short messages do the rounds on our phones, highlighting some aspect of friendship or the other. Some are nice, some are flattering, some are naive and some are stupid and downright hilarious. They all seem to point out that friendship is the best thing going for the insecure psyche. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;However, a best friend is hard to find, difficult to identify and tough to hold on to. They cannot be pointed out. They are like the moonlight. They are there during the bright times, silent and diluted, but ever present with you, but also shining their light in the dark times. And no amount of analysis can help you ever comprehend, what a best friend really is, until you get one. They are someone who can do what others wont even dream of doing for you. If on one hand it means standing by you when the whole world has turned its back on you, on the other hand, it means forcing you to give up your bad ways even if he or she knows that you may not see reason in it and take it otherwise.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;One of the other things about best friends is, when they get hurt, whether it was because of you or someone/something else, you get hurt equally bad. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I think I was enormously stupid and unexplainably juvenile, to &lt;i&gt;&lt;b&gt;even &lt;/b&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: normal;"&gt;have second thoughts about the idea of my best friend doing something wrong to me, just because someone else told me so. I mean she was my &lt;b&gt;&lt;i&gt;first real&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/b&gt; best friend. She still is. It took me two and half years to finally meet her. It took her even lesser to change me into someone desirable and definitely a much better human. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;i&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: normal;"&gt;It hurt me a lot, to know that I was a part to the play that brought tears to her eyes. It was probably lesser than what she had to go through to wipe them. Especially for a person like her who has never cried before. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="color:#FF9900;"&gt;To her : &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="color:#FF9900;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="color:#FF9900;"&gt;There is no way I can explain to you how sorry I am about what happened. I really am out of words. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="color:#FF9900;"&gt;The fact is, every other person, &lt;/span&gt;&lt;b&gt;&lt;i&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="color:#FF9900;"&gt;hears&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/b&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="color:#FF9900;"&gt; what I have to say. My friends &lt;/span&gt;&lt;b&gt;&lt;i&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="color:#FF9900;"&gt;listen&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/i&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: normal;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="color:#FF9900;"&gt; to what I say. But &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;i&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: normal;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: normal;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="color:#FF9900;"&gt;you&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="color:#FF9900;"&gt;, know &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/i&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: normal;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="color:#FF9900;"&gt;what I &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;i&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="color:#FF9900;"&gt;dont even say.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/i&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: normal;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="color:#FF9900;"&gt; And for that and everything else, you &lt;/span&gt;&lt;i&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="color:#FF9900;"&gt;are &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/i&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="color:#FF9900;"&gt;my best friend in every sense of its own. I hope I can be one to you too. I know lost faith, even if it is little, is hard to get back, but I am truly sorry about everything. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="color:#FF9900;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;b&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: normal;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="color:#FF9900;"&gt;All I want you to know is that if ever you are stranded in the middle of a desert, you can call on me and be sure that I &lt;/span&gt;&lt;i&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="color:#FF9900;"&gt;&lt;b&gt;will&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/i&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="color:#FF9900;"&gt; come and pick you up. Everytime you need me to. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8808724261315055536-6276149709156968077?l=didudoit.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://didudoit.blogspot.com/feeds/6276149709156968077/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8808724261315055536&amp;postID=6276149709156968077' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8808724261315055536/posts/default/6276149709156968077'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8808724261315055536/posts/default/6276149709156968077'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://didudoit.blogspot.com/2009/08/who-is-best-friend-what-is-best-friend.html' title='Bittersweet Symphony'/><author><name>Jeet</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01750683960679600776</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='21' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_8Kow3nv3vI4/St3K37JuiUI/AAAAAAAAAIk/yHDYDV3GrIg/S220/jeet.jpg'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8808724261315055536.post-7557124509630805455</id><published>2009-08-01T00:12:00.004+05:30</published><updated>2009-08-03T16:57:34.140+05:30</updated><title type='text'>Long Distance Relationship</title><content type='html'>&lt;div&gt;Seven colours of the rainbow&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;A friend to every blind soul&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Brown trees outside of the window&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Dancing under the light's own shadow&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I have a secret but I wont surrender&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;To live out and to live in the wander&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Its both disturbing and relieving&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Like a word with a nasty double meaning&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Crisp as the throws of the morning&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I light my path and follow my own calling&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Set your foot on the unknown ground&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Distance doesnt tell the truth, I found&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Its a chance to share your dreams&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Chance the mirror and get real with your feelings&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Should the winter call where would you hide?&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Take a minute off time when you decide&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;P.S.: I have nothing against the idea of long distance. One of my friends had a break up because of the distance and so this poem is, in a way, just one of the many arguments that bothered my mind for a period.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8808724261315055536-7557124509630805455?l=didudoit.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://didudoit.blogspot.com/feeds/7557124509630805455/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8808724261315055536&amp;postID=7557124509630805455' title='4 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8808724261315055536/posts/default/7557124509630805455'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8808724261315055536/posts/default/7557124509630805455'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://didudoit.blogspot.com/2009/08/long-distance-relationship.html' title='Long Distance Relationship'/><author><name>Jeet</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01750683960679600776</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='21' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_8Kow3nv3vI4/St3K37JuiUI/AAAAAAAAAIk/yHDYDV3GrIg/S220/jeet.jpg'/></author><thr:total>4</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8808724261315055536.post-1459352341458331911</id><published>2009-07-18T00:34:00.005+05:30</published><updated>2009-07-20T23:44:46.095+05:30</updated><title type='text'>Uh Oh !</title><content type='html'>So I got tagged. And now, I have to list Seven Weird Facts about me. Bhaalu, if you're reading this, I am pret-ty sure you are getting a kick out of this, aren't you?&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Anyway...here goes...&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;1.    I rub my tummy whenever I talk. Or stand. Or sit. Pretty much anytime. (not in a sick way          though) &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;2.  Sometimes I prefer feminine stuff more than guy stuff. Guy stuff gets boring after a while.            No, I dont have a secret make-up kit in my cupboard. (anymore)&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;3.  I like bursting bubbles from bubble wrap. (:&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;4.  Sometimes, I like to scratch my back with a comb. It gives me great pleasure.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;5.  I am still the kid who wakes up in the middle of the night to grab his midnight snack. I love            midnight snacks !! They are awesome !! (:&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;6.  Only the original Sony Ericsson earphones fit into my ears. The others dont fit me. I                      have weird ears.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;7.  I can burp the alphabets. I am not too proud of it but its talent! &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;There you go! Seven of the weirdest about me! Hehe...&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Thanks Shweta! (:&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8808724261315055536-1459352341458331911?l=didudoit.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://didudoit.blogspot.com/feeds/1459352341458331911/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8808724261315055536&amp;postID=1459352341458331911' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8808724261315055536/posts/default/1459352341458331911'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8808724261315055536/posts/default/1459352341458331911'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://didudoit.blogspot.com/2009/07/uh-oh.html' title='Uh Oh !'/><author><name>Jeet</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01750683960679600776</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='21' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_8Kow3nv3vI4/St3K37JuiUI/AAAAAAAAAIk/yHDYDV3GrIg/S220/jeet.jpg'/></author><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8808724261315055536.post-3590400048415144539</id><published>2009-07-18T00:19:00.001+05:30</published><updated>2009-07-18T00:19:36.612+05:30</updated><title type='text'>On This Day</title><content type='html'>&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; "&gt;&lt;div style="border-top-width: 0px; border-right-width: 0px; border-bottom-width: 0px; border-left-width: 0px; border-style: initial; border-color: initial; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; padding-top: 3px; padding-right: 3px; padding-bottom: 3px; padding-left: 3px; width: auto; font: normal normal normal 100%/normal Georgia, serif; text-align: left; "&gt;3rd July 2009.&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;On this day I -&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;1. Woke up at 6 AM.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;2. Wore orange shorts with white coconut trees.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;3. Started recording one of the bands originals.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;4. Had a ton of cheese.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;5. Fell asleep while recording.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;6. Ordered two cheese burst pizzas from Domino's. They took more than 30 minutes. Got 300 bucks off. ((:&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;7. Went for a late night walk with Sunai at 1 30 in the morning. Not romantic.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;8. Got chased by dogs. Thrice.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;If you are wondering why I am posting the events of 3rd July today, on the 18th of July, its because I was quite busy with a lot of things that needed my immediate attention. Or I was just too lazy.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8808724261315055536-3590400048415144539?l=didudoit.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://didudoit.blogspot.com/feeds/3590400048415144539/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8808724261315055536&amp;postID=3590400048415144539' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8808724261315055536/posts/default/3590400048415144539'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8808724261315055536/posts/default/3590400048415144539'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://didudoit.blogspot.com/2009/07/on-this-day.html' title='On This Day'/><author><name>Jeet</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01750683960679600776</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='21' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_8Kow3nv3vI4/St3K37JuiUI/AAAAAAAAAIk/yHDYDV3GrIg/S220/jeet.jpg'/></author><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8808724261315055536.post-6787271777534347032</id><published>2009-07-13T22:16:00.003+05:30</published><updated>2009-07-13T22:23:44.071+05:30</updated><title type='text'>Coffee Shop Smile</title><content type='html'>&lt;div&gt;Coffee shops are great&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;On a sunny winter day.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;To read a book and smile&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;With the wind just as mild.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;The wooden shades talk&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Of birds of a flock.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;About the lonely sky&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;And the rainbows and butterfly.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;There are fish in the river&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Who talk about diamonds in the silver.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Like the way we show us love&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;They too believe in the white dove.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;There's always a reason to sing&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;When you least expect, it rings&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Maybe its a little out of place&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;But in the end its you and your days&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Maybe what we see are visions&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Rainbows too are just illusions.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;When you learn how to fly&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Remember, dont yet say a goodbye.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;A secret garden on the hill&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Gives you fruits but without the bill.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;But again secrets are for everyone&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Some have fun, and some decide to learn.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;They say love is a mystery&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Like an unfound cherry.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;You have to fall stumble and hurry &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;And then you find your chocolate bunny.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;There's always a reason to sing&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;When you least expect, it rings&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Maybe its a little out of place&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;But in the end its you and your days.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8808724261315055536-6787271777534347032?l=didudoit.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://didudoit.blogspot.com/feeds/6787271777534347032/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8808724261315055536&amp;postID=6787271777534347032' title='6 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8808724261315055536/posts/default/6787271777534347032'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8808724261315055536/posts/default/6787271777534347032'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://didudoit.blogspot.com/2009/07/coffee-shop-smile.html' title='Coffee Shop Smile'/><author><name>Jeet</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01750683960679600776</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='21' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_8Kow3nv3vI4/St3K37JuiUI/AAAAAAAAAIk/yHDYDV3GrIg/S220/jeet.jpg'/></author><thr:total>6</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8808724261315055536.post-2079250227140402975</id><published>2009-06-29T21:27:00.005+05:30</published><updated>2009-06-30T01:38:12.287+05:30</updated><title type='text'>Statutory Warning : Includes The Word "Fart"</title><content type='html'>&lt;div&gt;Let me tell you about a funny thing that happened to me yesterday. But in order to understand how humiliaitingly funny it was, you will need to know a couple of things. Read on.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Now I would like to believe there are two kinds of people in this world. One - People who dont really mind when someone farts in public. And two - the other kind who would take so much offense that if it was possible for them to go to a police station and file a complaint against that person, he/she would not only do &lt;i&gt;that&lt;/i&gt;, but also make sure they get the strictest punishment that one can get for farting in public. Like the warning to eat less spicy food wasnt enough.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Flatulence, (&lt;i&gt;the scientific word for fart&lt;/i&gt;) (&lt;i&gt;yes I looked it up&lt;/i&gt;) is the only natural way of releasing gases that are byproducts of the digestion process. In fact, times are so bad now for pro-public farters, that one man was actually accused for accidently farting when an officer pulled him over. Of course the charges were dropped after the judge said he was innocent and the fart was &lt;i&gt;only &lt;/i&gt;&lt;i&gt;accidental&lt;/i&gt;. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;But some people's farts are so precious, they even find their way to online super markets like ebay. Only a couple of days back, a "jar of fart" from a "hot girl" was on sale on ebay for $71. I think "cool guy" bought it.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;There have been quite a lot of inventions to silence the sound that comes along when one farts. Some genius guy called "Big chicken mushroom" from Wuhun, China, invented a device not so handy and completely impractical with a highly creative and original name, called the  "&lt;a href="http://www.weirdasianews.com/2008/12/29/ultimate-fart-silencer/"&gt;Fart Silencer&lt;/a&gt;". Genius I say. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I dont understand the big deal that some people associate with farts. Its a completely natural phenomena! After it has occured, it leaves one with a sense of lightedness and relief with a tone of satisfaction that is comparable to a good night of you know what I am talking about....&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;sex in case you cant figure it out. Now there are scientists who actually "grow diamonds" using methane and oxygen which is nothing more than crystallized farts! And they say diamonds are a girl's best friend eh?&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;So anyway I think its time for me to tell you the truth. Well nothing humiliatingly funny happened to me yesterday. Atleast nothing that I know of. I just wrote that so you would be interested and hence read the rest of the story. Haha. Gotcha!&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I should really get a life.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8808724261315055536-2079250227140402975?l=didudoit.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://didudoit.blogspot.com/feeds/2079250227140402975/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8808724261315055536&amp;postID=2079250227140402975' title='5 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8808724261315055536/posts/default/2079250227140402975'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8808724261315055536/posts/default/2079250227140402975'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://didudoit.blogspot.com/2009/06/let-me-tell-you-about-funny-thing-that.html' title='Statutory Warning : Includes The Word &quot;Fart&quot;'/><author><name>Jeet</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01750683960679600776</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='21' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_8Kow3nv3vI4/St3K37JuiUI/AAAAAAAAAIk/yHDYDV3GrIg/S220/jeet.jpg'/></author><thr:total>5</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8808724261315055536.post-7450625094423220816</id><published>2009-06-02T21:05:00.002+05:30</published><updated>2009-06-02T21:15:41.155+05:30</updated><title type='text'>My Second Instrumental song I composed</title><content type='html'>Its called Moonlight...please do comment...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7vrePIbfDEg&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8808724261315055536-7450625094423220816?l=didudoit.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://didudoit.blogspot.com/feeds/7450625094423220816/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8808724261315055536&amp;postID=7450625094423220816' title='5 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8808724261315055536/posts/default/7450625094423220816'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8808724261315055536/posts/default/7450625094423220816'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://didudoit.blogspot.com/2009/06/my-second-instrumental-song-i-composed.html' title='My Second Instrumental song I composed'/><author><name>Jeet</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01750683960679600776</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='21' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_8Kow3nv3vI4/St3K37JuiUI/AAAAAAAAAIk/yHDYDV3GrIg/S220/jeet.jpg'/></author><thr:total>5</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8808724261315055536.post-3548872616947582661</id><published>2009-05-07T00:17:00.004+05:30</published><updated>2009-05-07T01:26:54.919+05:30</updated><title type='text'>My Holidays. (Cheesy title. I know.)</title><content type='html'>Holidays! The sheer mention of it brings a smile, as broad as the equator! Doesn't it ?? They are the greatest thing since hoverboards. Oh Wait! They havent been invented yet. But they are great anyway.&lt;br /&gt;Everyone plans to do something unusual and exciting in their holidays. Some plan to go skiing. Some plan to go scuba diving. Some plan to learn cooking. And some of us, the highly motivated ones, learn the art of warming the couch and letting the mind wander away into a distant fantasy land, ruled by the likes of Tom Cruise and Jim Carrey and Jennifer Aniston and Tom and Jerry, while the remote takes control. Its almost like meditation I tell you. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I come from a college where 95 % of my friends are from out of town. So naturally they crave to go back home during the holidays and when they do go back home, I am left all alone. So all the guys, with whom I would normally do all the.......well...."normal" stuff, leave me at this time of the year and I have to do it all by myself. (Are you thinking what I think you are thinking? You perv!)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Anyway, this time, I have promised to not let these holidays go to waste and instead, make a detailed plan and sketch out &lt;span style="font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;"&gt;exactly&lt;/span&gt; what I will be doing during the holidays, and how I will be spending my time doing &lt;span style="font-weight: bold; font-style: italic;"&gt;more&lt;/span&gt; productive work and use my free time &lt;span style="font-weight: bold; font-style: italic;"&gt;more&lt;/span&gt; effectively and wisely.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Right. Its been 3 days and I havent even got a pen. (I prefer black.) (I don't know why I said that) (I think I am in love with the brackets "( )")  (Sorry)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But I plan to keep you updated everyday with all the new things that I (will hopefully) learn, all the new stuff that I (will hopefully) do, all the new books that I will (hopefully) read and all the new places that I (will hopefully) travel to, during my holidays. I will try and refrain from getting any fatter. I will try to move my legs and arms and use them to do something other than push buttons on the remote and walk from the couch to the fridge and back. Sleeping in the afternoon for 4 hours is a total waste of time and I will try to not do it. At least try to not do it with my mouth open. Hopefully, some hot girl will drive down to my place in her brand new BMW, just to keep me motivated enough to not do the above mentioned stuff. Why would she drive down to my place?? Just! And maybe if I manage to do it right, we can go all south....for a drive in her car of course! (Perv!)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So its 1:15 AM. I think I'll sign off. Got a big day tomorrow. (not really). Loads of stuff to do. (not really). Got to wake up early and go jogging. (not really). So cya!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;(really)&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8808724261315055536-3548872616947582661?l=didudoit.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://didudoit.blogspot.com/feeds/3548872616947582661/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8808724261315055536&amp;postID=3548872616947582661' title='9 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8808724261315055536/posts/default/3548872616947582661'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8808724261315055536/posts/default/3548872616947582661'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://didudoit.blogspot.com/2009/05/holidays-sheer-mention-of-it-brings.html' title='My Holidays. (Cheesy title. I know.)'/><author><name>Jeet</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01750683960679600776</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='21' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_8Kow3nv3vI4/St3K37JuiUI/AAAAAAAAAIk/yHDYDV3GrIg/S220/jeet.jpg'/></author><thr:total>9</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8808724261315055536.post-5244874523536894237</id><published>2009-04-24T17:21:00.003+05:30</published><updated>2009-04-24T17:35:40.667+05:30</updated><title type='text'>This Is Not A Poem</title><content type='html'>I did not do my laundry last week.&lt;br /&gt;I did not clean my bike yet.&lt;br /&gt;I havent fixed my guitar till now.&lt;br /&gt;I havent got a haircut either.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I havent paid my phone bills and I havent cleaned the dishes.&lt;br /&gt;I havent seen Lord of The Rings and&lt;br /&gt;I havent yet changed the month on the calendar.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I havent told my friend how much I love her.&lt;br /&gt;I havent paid attention in class either.&lt;br /&gt;I havent tried to try as yet.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I havent shaved lately.&lt;br /&gt;I havent studied much either.&lt;br /&gt;I havent stopped wasting too much time and&lt;br /&gt;I definitely havent started using all of it.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I didnt make my bed yesterday.&lt;br /&gt;I havent completely kept in touch with all my friends.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I didnt do this.&lt;br /&gt;I didnt do that.&lt;br /&gt;I havent come here and&lt;br /&gt;I havent gone there either.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But yesterday,&lt;br /&gt;I &lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;did&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt; vote.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And I am proud to &lt;span style="font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;"&gt;have&lt;/span&gt; done it.&lt;br /&gt;Have you ?&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8808724261315055536-5244874523536894237?l=didudoit.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://didudoit.blogspot.com/feeds/5244874523536894237/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8808724261315055536&amp;postID=5244874523536894237' title='4 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8808724261315055536/posts/default/5244874523536894237'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8808724261315055536/posts/default/5244874523536894237'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://didudoit.blogspot.com/2009/04/this-is-not-poem.html' title='This Is Not A Poem'/><author><name>Jeet</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01750683960679600776</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='21' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_8Kow3nv3vI4/St3K37JuiUI/AAAAAAAAAIk/yHDYDV3GrIg/S220/jeet.jpg'/></author><thr:total>4</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8808724261315055536.post-564567721636928253</id><published>2009-04-23T01:25:00.001+05:30</published><updated>2009-04-23T01:26:57.575+05:30</updated><title type='text'>Brain Flush #1</title><content type='html'>Strange.&lt;br /&gt;Sometimes you can't hold on only because you can't let go.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8808724261315055536-564567721636928253?l=didudoit.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://didudoit.blogspot.com/feeds/564567721636928253/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8808724261315055536&amp;postID=564567721636928253' title='4 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8808724261315055536/posts/default/564567721636928253'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8808724261315055536/posts/default/564567721636928253'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://didudoit.blogspot.com/2009/04/brain-flush-1.html' title='Brain Flush #1'/><author><name>Jeet</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01750683960679600776</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='21' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_8Kow3nv3vI4/St3K37JuiUI/AAAAAAAAAIk/yHDYDV3GrIg/S220/jeet.jpg'/></author><thr:total>4</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8808724261315055536.post-3480120251739447598</id><published>2009-04-12T19:04:00.005+05:30</published><updated>2009-04-12T21:05:03.440+05:30</updated><title type='text'>Tennis Vs Pacman</title><content type='html'>I am bored, jobless and my bank account balance is nearly zero. I dont even have the money to buy shaving cream. Therefore now, I have fur growing on my face. Also, my super detergent washing powder is over. Which means I am officially out of clean clothes to wear for another couple of days. I still have my guitar though. Oh wait! My strings broken. Gaah...!!&lt;br /&gt;Doesn't matter. I still have my orange juice.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So I was just browsing through the 2764757463547582576 different channels on my TV and I just came to know that world number two tennis player, Roger Federer, married his long term girlfriend, Mirka Vavrinec. Interesting eh? No? Okay.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Tennis is a funny game. It is unlike pacman you see. You cant play tennis while sitting on your couch. Or pause it to go and have a leak. Not real tennis anyway.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So I tried my hand at tennis a couple of days ago. Sure! You just have to hit the ball across the net and thats it, right? Well basically...yeah. But getting the ball across itself was a task as difficult as losing weight! For me anyway.&lt;br /&gt;Heck! They even have a proper technique to holding the tennis ball! You dont just hold the ball and the racquet like how you &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;think&lt;/span&gt; you would hold the ball and the racquet. Sometimes, if you are an absolute beginner and a person who absolutely loves to exaggerate things a lot, like me, there's a little rocket science involved too!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;This is how you do it. Hold the tennis ball with your non-dexterous hand. This will enable you to hold the racket in your dominant hand, and be ready to hit the ball to your opponent. Now, when the ball is coming towards you, watch the flight of the ball very carefully. Make a mental note of the angle and the speed of the ball and use your high school geometry and algebra and physics to calculate the position of the ball, as to where it will be, after it has bounced and after it has stopped rising. Accordingly move to that position. Reading the flight path of the ball is vital to move to the right place. Otherwise you will miss the shot.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;In Pacman, you just have to move the joystick in four different directions.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;After my hugely successful round of playing tennis against my friend, in a real court, using a real net, I was promoted to play against the wall.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Yes. The wall !!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_8Kow3nv3vI4/SeIJBeOMHQI/AAAAAAAAAGU/eRMv5GrI7ys/s1600-h/Schiller-Hit-Up-Wall.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 257px; height: 320px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_8Kow3nv3vI4/SeIJBeOMHQI/AAAAAAAAAGU/eRMv5GrI7ys/s320/Schiller-Hit-Up-Wall.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5323827630402444546" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;For those of you who don't know much about tennis, like me, the wall is a terrible opponent and let me tell you this - He is the best! No matter how good a player you are, he will always be better! I mean, he never gets tired. He will always return your shots. He is never at fault. He never talks. And he doesnt even get distracted by beautiful women. Or men. (I don't think he has feelings)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So naturally, I was a little frustrated with my friend for making me play against someone who doesnt even talk! I mean, who will I talk to in the middle of shots now? Instead, its just making me concentrate on my shots better! Its making me CONCENTRATE !!  I can't even distract "the wall" with my funny antics! It doesnt even give me chance to do that! The other day, I was telling him a knock knock joke and I didn't even get to tell him who was on the other side of the door! He just stared blankly!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But all said and done, I can't deny the fact that I somehow still like tennis. Some of the outfits for girls are really cute! I mean REALLY cute!!      :)&lt;br /&gt;Besides that I kinda like hitting the balls. Everytime I hit it, with my racket of course, I get this weird pleasure of having really accomplished something! You should try it out too! With a racket of course.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But I'd still prefer to sip on a glass of orange juice, while I settle down on the couch in my non-clean clothes and unshaven face to play the best game ever - Pacman.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_8Kow3nv3vI4/SeIJxA8U3UI/AAAAAAAAAGc/Vy8j9TcDCxA/s1600-h/PacMan300-3.gif"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 300px; height: 300px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_8Kow3nv3vI4/SeIJxA8U3UI/AAAAAAAAAGc/Vy8j9TcDCxA/s320/PacMan300-3.gif" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5323828447176613186" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Anyday.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8808724261315055536-3480120251739447598?l=didudoit.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://didudoit.blogspot.com/feeds/3480120251739447598/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8808724261315055536&amp;postID=3480120251739447598' title='5 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8808724261315055536/posts/default/3480120251739447598'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8808724261315055536/posts/default/3480120251739447598'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://didudoit.blogspot.com/2009/04/tennis-vs-pacman.html' title='Tennis Vs Pacman'/><author><name>Jeet</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01750683960679600776</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='21' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_8Kow3nv3vI4/St3K37JuiUI/AAAAAAAAAIk/yHDYDV3GrIg/S220/jeet.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_8Kow3nv3vI4/SeIJBeOMHQI/AAAAAAAAAGU/eRMv5GrI7ys/s72-c/Schiller-Hit-Up-Wall.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>5</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8808724261315055536.post-2781412194729062072</id><published>2009-04-02T02:11:00.004+05:30</published><updated>2009-04-02T09:07:29.527+05:30</updated><title type='text'>Improbable....But I Love Her Anyway</title><content type='html'>Ok. I know. Sometime back I must have said that I will never ever fall in love again and that no matter what, I will leave things to fate and destiny or something equally stupid like that. Well now, I would like to change my views a little.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Love is something that cannot be stopped at will. Or even be started at will. It doesn't have an on/off switch, which can be turned on/off at will. Scientifically, love is nothing but the chemical release of endorphines. But humanly, love is a tool......and more love is the end product.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I am still in love with her and more so than ever. She probably doesn't know this and maybe its better like that. Who knows? Who knows how she might react if I tell her that I love her so much that I would happily gift her my last chocolate? She obviously knows that chocolate to me, is what Adam is to Eve. Or worse still! How will she react when she comes to know that the more I see her, the more I feel like kissing that imperfectly cute nose of her's. The more I talk to her, the more I want to be lost with her. The more I look into her eyes, the harder it is for me to stop myself from kissing her, from not touching her lips. The harder it is for me to tell her just how much I love her.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;If I were him, I would begin by looking into your eyes as I gently brush away your hair with my fingertips. As I look deep into your heart, I would run my fingers down your cheek and bring my index finger to your lips. I would ask you to close your eyes and feel the summer breeze rushing upon your skin. I would kiss you as I lower my hands into yours and our fingers will interlock as the scattered noises of the crowd and the surroundings drown into this moment of us. Thats what I would have done anyway. But all I have is just a handful of words to let you know what you mean to me.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I have learnt, that loving her, is a journey of finding her heart through the simplest ways. Her eyes, her lips and her touch, they are all just extensions of her inner beauty. Usually, the way a woman desires for her man to change, is considered a flaw, since its always upto the man whether he wants to change or not and acceptance is a significant part of love. However, when you take the time to discover her for everything that she is and find her intentions, its about letting her change you into the man you were always meant to be and allowing yourself to need her in order to become more than who you are.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;You are someone with whom I can share all my deepest feelings and dreams with. It is my desire to make you laugh and cry and dream of many more beautiful things. You are the reason I find a new reason to redefine the redefinition of what it is to love.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Loving her has been a journey of realization. Realization of the many beautiful truths and candid moments, that would have otherwise gone unnoticed if it weren't for her. It is a journey of discovery. And finding beauty in her every movement. Like when she runs her fingertips along the empty walls of a lonely hallway. Or the time when she simply cups the palm of her small hands to cover her face as she sneezes. Or sometimes even when she is just sleeping. Doing nothing, yet simply doing everything. Her eyes closed, breathing gently, her soft cheeks resting without a doubt on her hands, while her playful mind wanders far far away, dreaming in another land.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But I have also learnt that sometimes the only thing that matters is just being there for her as best as you're able to, which is the reason why its the desire you have to build a connection with her and put yourself in her shoes. I want to make love with her. Not just to her. And there's a difference.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Loving you, as I discovered, is to give you the wings and still hope that you might stay. Loving you is to realize that your tears are not just tears, but beautiful heart cries instead. Loving you is to let you know that even though my eyes are closed and I am senseless to my surroundings, I am always awake for you. It is to let you know that I'll always wait for you.&lt;br /&gt;I still love you.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_8Kow3nv3vI4/SdQy4Drl6xI/AAAAAAAAAFs/YvHmDt2ZizM/s1600-h/sitting+alone.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 300px; height: 225px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_8Kow3nv3vI4/SdQy4Drl6xI/AAAAAAAAAFs/YvHmDt2ZizM/s320/sitting+alone.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5319932998473607954" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8808724261315055536-2781412194729062072?l=didudoit.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://didudoit.blogspot.com/feeds/2781412194729062072/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8808724261315055536&amp;postID=2781412194729062072' title='9 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8808724261315055536/posts/default/2781412194729062072'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8808724261315055536/posts/default/2781412194729062072'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://didudoit.blogspot.com/2009/04/improbablebut-i-love-her-anyway.html' title='Improbable....But I Love Her Anyway'/><author><name>Jeet</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01750683960679600776</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='21' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_8Kow3nv3vI4/St3K37JuiUI/AAAAAAAAAIk/yHDYDV3GrIg/S220/jeet.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_8Kow3nv3vI4/SdQy4Drl6xI/AAAAAAAAAFs/YvHmDt2ZizM/s72-c/sitting+alone.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>9</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8808724261315055536.post-5075080134140661966</id><published>2009-03-26T17:12:00.008+05:30</published><updated>2009-03-28T21:21:06.040+05:30</updated><title type='text'>Evening Tea</title><content type='html'>Took some space and I cleared my head&lt;br /&gt;Confused as I am I was told here to wait&lt;br /&gt;So I'll wait...for you,&lt;br /&gt;You know its true.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Straight as I may seem, but I am not&lt;br /&gt;Twisted you might think with the words I plot&lt;br /&gt;But I am just a plain boy&lt;br /&gt;I just want some simple joy.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Chocolate bunny its all planned and ready&lt;br /&gt;Take your time I want nothing too fancy&lt;br /&gt;Im a hollow cone I need some ice cream,&lt;br /&gt;Vanilla chocolate anything to share this dream&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Come to me dear girl, we'll let our stories be told&lt;br /&gt;If you lose your way I'll take you where you wanna go&lt;br /&gt;Cover me, love me and surround me&lt;br /&gt;Beautiful girl would you like to share my evening tea?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_8Kow3nv3vI4/Sc5E4ACdAiI/AAAAAAAAAFI/zx_rXeQQCzg/s1600-h/cup-of-coffee.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 213px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_8Kow3nv3vI4/Sc5E4ACdAiI/AAAAAAAAAFI/zx_rXeQQCzg/s320/cup-of-coffee.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5318263938844787234" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8808724261315055536-5075080134140661966?l=didudoit.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://didudoit.blogspot.com/feeds/5075080134140661966/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8808724261315055536&amp;postID=5075080134140661966' title='6 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8808724261315055536/posts/default/5075080134140661966'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8808724261315055536/posts/default/5075080134140661966'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://didudoit.blogspot.com/2009/03/evening-tea.html' title='Evening Tea'/><author><name>Jeet</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01750683960679600776</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='21' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_8Kow3nv3vI4/St3K37JuiUI/AAAAAAAAAIk/yHDYDV3GrIg/S220/jeet.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_8Kow3nv3vI4/Sc5E4ACdAiI/AAAAAAAAAFI/zx_rXeQQCzg/s72-c/cup-of-coffee.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>6</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8808724261315055536.post-6528237013689347917</id><published>2009-03-26T17:12:00.007+05:30</published><updated>2009-03-28T21:07:56.927+05:30</updated><title type='text'>Classroom Love</title><content type='html'>She is like the blue moon that once came into my life&lt;br /&gt;She stayed in my heart like the love in a mother's eyes&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;She's like the morning flower, smells so sweet and serene&lt;br /&gt;She's like the moonlight on the snow on a late late evening&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;She's the like the warm breeze that blows through the gentle leaves&lt;br /&gt;She is the goodnight kiss that puts the baby to sleep&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;She is the soft silk cushion that I can fall back on anytime&lt;br /&gt;She's the little drops of joy on a little glass of wine&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;She's the view from the mountains, makes you feel on top of the world&lt;br /&gt;She's the breath of fresh air that leaves you warm on a morning so cold&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;She's the silhouette couple on a sunset beach&lt;br /&gt;She's the romance in the light that I will always seek.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_8Kow3nv3vI4/Sc5D0Qtj7_I/AAAAAAAAAFA/32MM9v7fqS0/s1600-h/Silhouette_centered.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 256px; height: 320px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_8Kow3nv3vI4/Sc5D0Qtj7_I/AAAAAAAAAFA/32MM9v7fqS0/s320/Silhouette_centered.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5318262775089459186" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8808724261315055536-6528237013689347917?l=didudoit.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://didudoit.blogspot.com/feeds/6528237013689347917/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8808724261315055536&amp;postID=6528237013689347917' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8808724261315055536/posts/default/6528237013689347917'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8808724261315055536/posts/default/6528237013689347917'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://didudoit.blogspot.com/2009/03/classroom-love.html' title='Classroom Love'/><author><name>Jeet</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01750683960679600776</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='21' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_8Kow3nv3vI4/St3K37JuiUI/AAAAAAAAAIk/yHDYDV3GrIg/S220/jeet.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_8Kow3nv3vI4/Sc5D0Qtj7_I/AAAAAAAAAFA/32MM9v7fqS0/s72-c/Silhouette_centered.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8808724261315055536.post-1109108598657853927</id><published>2009-03-21T19:49:00.004+05:30</published><updated>2009-03-23T17:47:57.908+05:30</updated><title type='text'>Tea. A True Story.</title><content type='html'>So. You had a long day and you're tired and all you can think of doing is just going back home, throwing yourself into that great fluffy and comfy couch and sip a great cup of tea! But a man in the kitchen, by nature's law, is almost never going to produce something good. Or even edible for that matter. That's why God created pizza parlours and coke. Of course, exceptions are always there.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But lets take a look at the different scenarios, where a man tries to make himself a good cup of tea after the long day that he has had. Remember. We're talking about the male species here.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(255, 0, 0);"&gt;Scene 1&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;ol&gt;&lt;li&gt;Goes into the kitchen.&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;Gets dazed by all the different, weird shaped and shiny apparatuses, that is supposedly used to cook food. &lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;Gives up and then calls for pizza along with coke.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/li&gt;&lt;/ol&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(255, 0, 0);"&gt;Scene 2&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;ol&gt;&lt;li&gt;Somehow, manages to pick the right vessel.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;Pours the milk into it while spilling most of it all over.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;Puts the milk on stove to boil.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;Goes and watches a little TV while waiting for the milk to boil.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;Completely forgets about the milk while watching How I Met Your Mother.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;Realizes much much much much later, that burnt milk is of no use, even to the cat. So...&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;Gives up and then calls for pizza along with coke.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/li&gt;&lt;/ol&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(255, 0, 0);"&gt;Scene 3&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;ol&gt;&lt;li&gt;Puts milk in the vessel.&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;Puts eggs along with a little bit of oregano seasoning. Puts 3 teaspoons of tea powder and 2 teaspoons of salt. A pinch of sugar. A bowl of half ripe tomatoes cut into squares. Throws in last night's pizza topping. Removes the cheese though.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;Realizes he doesn't know what the hell he is cooking.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;Throws it away.&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;Calls for pizza along with coke. &lt;/li&gt;&lt;/ol&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(255, 0, 0);"&gt;Scene 4&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;ol&gt;&lt;li&gt;Calls his beloved mother on the phone to ask her how to make tea.&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;Realizes he has no balance on his phone.&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;Goes to the nearest pizza parlour and orders for a pizza along with coke.&lt;/li&gt;&lt;/ol&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(255, 0, 0);"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Scene 5&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;ol&gt;&lt;li&gt;Picks the right vessel.&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;Pours exactly the right amount of milk with the right amount of tea powder and sugar.&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;Waits for exactly 2 minutes before he gets the perfect brown colour that a perfect cup of tea is meant to have along with the perfect aroma.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;Decides he wants to have pizza and coke instead.&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;So he orders a pizza along with coke.&lt;/li&gt;&lt;/ol&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(255, 0, 0);"&gt;Scene 6&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;These are the exceptions that I mentioned before.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So, after thinking about it for a long time, I have decided that I will marry a beautiful wife, who, apart from listening to all my non-sense and putting up with all the "manly" stuff that I do, will also happily make me a cup of great tea at the end of the day! While I, continue to do what the male species is best suited to do - watch TV, throw smelly socks all over the couch, burp, refuse to take a bath, burp yet again and basically make the world a better and a happier place to live in.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8808724261315055536-1109108598657853927?l=didudoit.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://didudoit.blogspot.com/feeds/1109108598657853927/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8808724261315055536&amp;postID=1109108598657853927' title='6 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8808724261315055536/posts/default/1109108598657853927'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8808724261315055536/posts/default/1109108598657853927'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://didudoit.blogspot.com/2009/03/tea-true-story.html' title='Tea. A True Story.'/><author><name>Jeet</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01750683960679600776</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='21' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_8Kow3nv3vI4/St3K37JuiUI/AAAAAAAAAIk/yHDYDV3GrIg/S220/jeet.jpg'/></author><thr:total>6</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8808724261315055536.post-8194287706628076483</id><published>2009-03-17T20:08:00.001+05:30</published><updated>2009-03-17T20:14:27.332+05:30</updated><title type='text'>Exam Time !</title><content type='html'>Believe it or not, my favourite time of the college year is the exam time!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Yes. Call me a nerd, call me a geek, but I love the exam time.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;There is so much more to it than just trying to cover the humungous syllabus, and scoring some decent marks. It’s almost like a festival of its own kind. And whether you like it or not, you HAVE to be a part of the celebrations!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Apart from the usual ritual of last minute note-taking, there would be the calling up of all reliable “sources” to get enough study material, discovering new syllabus almost every hour, and the settling in of the kind of nervous excitement, that makes even the biggest couch potatoes (not me of course) rush to various study groups with big stacks of paper, carefully lodged in their hands. The usually empty canteen tables, would now be buzzing with students of all different shapes, sizes and hairstyles - thin, fat, round, square, hexagonal and even a few with wigs! The steel table that once lay naked, would now be covered with cups of hot chocolate and coffee, amidst countless sheets of paper, lying confused everywhere! It’s like a scene right out of an 80’s spy thriller where, a team of intelligence agents would be gathered around a table, racking their brains trying to break the code and eventually, solve the mystery. Well, in a way, studies are sort of a mystery. To me anyway.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The mighty stairs, that once used to bear the burden of a thousand feet, climbing up and down every day, now humbly serves as a seating arrangement for girls and boys, who could be found talking to each other with the sort of excited look on their faces, that you would usually expect to see when a wife tells her husband that he is going to become a father! There would be emotions ranging from being surprised to being anxious. Sometimes a sweet and wonderful discovery. And sometimes not such a pleasant one. And of course, nervousness. Oh you know the feeling...right? The one where the only string of expression running through your mind is like – “Holy shit! This much is left??” or “What do I do?? What do I do??” or something like - “WOW! I have no idea what I just read!!” This is usually accompanied by trembling legs, shaky hands, increased heart beats, sweaty foreheads and in some rare cases, uncontrollable release of gases due to nervous tension building inside. All this is a part of the celebrations you see.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The night before the exam is the most fun though. For once, you are allowed to lock yourself up in your room and not get disturbed at all! You can do anything inside!!! But, of course, its your exam the next day. So all you can really do, is study and revise, rather than do “other” stuff. But if you are like me, you would anyway continue to do all that “other” stuff. Calls to friends, just to check on how they are doing, are again a common practice. Its funny how these supposed to be short calls, sometimes, unexpectedly turn into surprisingly long conversations that have nothing to do with the following day’s exam! Which, in a way, I think, is wonderful! I mean, the peace and quiet of the night time, the topic of conversation, which is mostly irrelevant, but still interesting and the whole point of having it right before the exam sort of creates a fond memory, which when you recall later,  definitely puts a smile on your face! :-)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And of course! The best part!! Writing the exam itself! It’s really quite amazing how a simple piece of paper can bring about so many different expressions on so many different people. Some of us are excited. Some of us are nervous. But most of us are just plain confused and bewildered and really have no idea about absolutely anything! If you ask, this is what goes on in most of our minds when we go through the question paper –&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Q.1     Oh fork! I am screwed!&lt;br /&gt;Q.2     Shit! Shit! Shit! Shit!&lt;br /&gt;Q.3     Damn it! I know this!!&lt;br /&gt;Q.4     What the fork is this???&lt;br /&gt;Q.5     This doesn’t make any sense! Why am I even trying to answer this???&lt;br /&gt;Q.6     Hmmm...&lt;br /&gt;Q.7     Zzzzz....zzzzzzz...zzzzzz.....zzzzzz.....&lt;br /&gt;Q. 8    Zzzzzz....snorrr......zzzzz.....snorr......&lt;br /&gt;Q.9     Huh!? What?! Oh yeah...where was I??&lt;br /&gt;Q.10   La Di Dum Dum...Fala Di Doo Doo....Rum Pum Pum...(all this, while drawing cartoon figures on the question paper)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;After handing over the answer sheet to the invigilator, its a common practice for us to discuss each and every question with friends and unsurprisingly enough, we realize that each one of us have written answers that aren’t  even remotely close to the actual correct answer. Sometimes they don’t even belong to the same subject!&lt;br /&gt;After a quick analysis of the paper, what usually follows is the practice of most of us just lingering around talking about unimportant things, yet again, until later, when it would hit us that we had another paper to give next day. Yet another night of stupid talk on the phone follows. And the same routine would continue.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;You see, this is why I absolutely love the exam time. There is so much that keeps on happening everywhere around us. We see so many new things. We do so many new things. So much life in every character. There are moments, of course, when people would get fed of their studies and totally give up. And that is when the most mundane topics of discussion come up, which seem to make more sense than book studies. And that’s when we discover something absolutely ordinarily new about life. Sometimes it’s big. Sometimes it’s small. But as long as its you who discovered it, it makes you happy. And happy is all you can ever want to be, isn’t it?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I’d like to make two very important points now.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;1.    I like orange juice in the morning, and&lt;br /&gt;2.    I really don’t know how to end this topic.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8808724261315055536-8194287706628076483?l=didudoit.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://didudoit.blogspot.com/feeds/8194287706628076483/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8808724261315055536&amp;postID=8194287706628076483' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8808724261315055536/posts/default/8194287706628076483'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8808724261315055536/posts/default/8194287706628076483'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://didudoit.blogspot.com/2009/03/exam-time.html' title='Exam Time !'/><author><name>Jeet</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01750683960679600776</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='21' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_8Kow3nv3vI4/St3K37JuiUI/AAAAAAAAAIk/yHDYDV3GrIg/S220/jeet.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8808724261315055536.post-1681084003373203236</id><published>2009-02-12T21:30:00.005+05:30</published><updated>2009-02-14T10:46:21.506+05:30</updated><title type='text'>Judgement Day</title><content type='html'>Hey! Do you remember the times when you had this hollow feeling in your stomach, when your knees would go week, your palms and your face would become sweaty, and your heart would involuntarily start beating faster and faster in anticipation of something? Ya? Well...the most common scenario when this can happen to most of us is either when you are about to pop the question to your girlfriend, or when you are about to ask your dad for extra money. Or...isnt it exactly how you feel, just when you are about to throw up?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Well anyway, last week, I had the privilege of discovering a similar situation. Only this time my heart was &lt;span style="font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;"&gt;literally&lt;/span&gt; in my mouth (okay, maybe not literally) and every nerve in my body had gone haywire and made a major mess inside!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;If you happen to walk into the canteen on a typical day, you would be greeted with the sound of crunchy burgers, slurping colas and apart from people just lazing around you and usually having pointless conversations , you could see a huge line infront of the counter.&lt;br /&gt;But it wasn't a typical day. No no.&lt;br /&gt;My results were out! MY BLOODY RESULTS WERE OUT!!!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The air around was like a mixture of excitement, chaos, and lots and lots of talk! Every corner in the canteen was filled with people with all sorts of expressions on their faces. Some tiny guy with big glasses was particularly ecstatic! He got 97% and he had almost decided to give everyone in the canteen a treat! But alas! That never happened. Most were busy comforting their friends. Others, still had to get the news.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I sorta knew how my result would turn out this semester, but that still did not stop the sweaty hands and the shaky knees. I knew I had to go and collect my card. The universe wanted me to collect the card. There was no way I could avoid this!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;With all the courage in me (and my best friend for moral support) I slowly moved towards the office. Now, I dont know if this happens in particular to me or to everyone in general, but some professors seem to get some worldly pleasure when they hand over the marksheet to students who are...well...you know...the kind that you and I would usually hang out with...not the other kind. Their faces seem to curl up with this "Ha-Ha-You-got-a-D-minus-and-ha-ha-you-are-grounded" sort of evil grin that makes me even more nervous.&lt;br /&gt;As the number of poeple between my destiny (whether I would get dinner that night) and me decreased, the more I hoped for some miracle to happen and prayed that I pass in all my subjects!!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Finally. It was my turn. I stood in front of the professor.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Whats your PRN number?"&lt;br /&gt;"100", I replied.&lt;br /&gt;"Hmmm..."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I am so sure I heard the devil laugh somewhere as he looked up at me once again...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Mriganka Bhuyan?"&lt;br /&gt;"Yeah"&lt;br /&gt;"Here you go. Sign here please."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I signed wherever it was necessary and I grabbed the pink paper and just left the room.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Now, there are two ways to end this post. Either&lt;br /&gt;1. You will find out how much I got&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;                       OR&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;2. You wont&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Guess what happens?&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8808724261315055536-1681084003373203236?l=didudoit.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://didudoit.blogspot.com/feeds/1681084003373203236/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8808724261315055536&amp;postID=1681084003373203236' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8808724261315055536/posts/default/1681084003373203236'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8808724261315055536/posts/default/1681084003373203236'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://didudoit.blogspot.com/2009/02/hey-do-you-remember-times-when-you-had.html' title='Judgement Day'/><author><name>Jeet</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01750683960679600776</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='21' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_8Kow3nv3vI4/St3K37JuiUI/AAAAAAAAAIk/yHDYDV3GrIg/S220/jeet.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8808724261315055536.post-1588129714078391390</id><published>2009-02-10T20:20:00.003+05:30</published><updated>2009-02-10T20:28:11.655+05:30</updated><title type='text'>One Tree.    Not Two</title><content type='html'>" Love is a temporary madness. It erupts like an earthquake and then subsides. And when it subsides you have to make a decision. You have to work out whether your roots have become so entwined together that it is inconceivable that you should ever part. Because this is what love is. Love is not breathlessness, it is not excitement, it is not the promulgation of promises of eternal passion. That is just being "in love" which any of us can convince ourselves we are. Love itself is what is left over when being in love has burned away, and this is both an art and an accident. Your Mother and I had it, we had roots that grew towards each other underground, and when all pretty blossom had fallen from our branches we found that we were one tree, not two."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;- Captain Corelli's Mandolin&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8808724261315055536-1588129714078391390?l=didudoit.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://didudoit.blogspot.com/feeds/1588129714078391390/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8808724261315055536&amp;postID=1588129714078391390' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8808724261315055536/posts/default/1588129714078391390'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8808724261315055536/posts/default/1588129714078391390'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://didudoit.blogspot.com/2009/02/one-tree-not-two.html' title='One Tree.    Not Two'/><author><name>Jeet</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01750683960679600776</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='21' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_8Kow3nv3vI4/St3K37JuiUI/AAAAAAAAAIk/yHDYDV3GrIg/S220/jeet.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8808724261315055536.post-3542222578357421447</id><published>2009-02-02T23:51:00.003+05:30</published><updated>2009-02-03T00:29:06.754+05:30</updated><title type='text'>Logic vs Instinct</title><content type='html'>I found out that the toughest thing for me to do is to really trust my instinct, and go with that instinct.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;For instance -&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;One fine evening, after our jam session got over, I just felt like having an ice candy. I was just tired and a lil bit hungry. I took out my month's last 5 rupees from the pocket and handed it over to the guy at the shop and sat in the car all ready to go home. It was a nice ice candy. It was an orange ice candy.&lt;br /&gt;Now, I am a very careful and good driver. I always obey the traffic rules and signals, I keep within the speed limit, and I let old grannies cross the road in peace. Although occasionally, I do decide to have a good race with a passing bullock cart. Blame it on the raging hormones.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Anyway, this evening seemed particulary different.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;One. I seemed to get distracted by a lot of things, flashy signboards being one of those. I had "almost accidents" like a billion times on my way home.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And two. They were playing all my favourite songs on the radio.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;At a distance, I could see the green light turn into amber. I knew, there was no way I was going to make it across the signal on time. So I just put my car on neutral and left the rest of it to momentum. As my car finally came to a halt, a girl on her scooter stopped right next to me but a little ahead of my seat, such that I couldn't see her face. It was dark and half the street lights were out. As far as I could make out, she was wearing a black top and blue jeans and her scooter was black in colour.&lt;br /&gt;Now the funny thing is, my friend happened to be wearing the exact same thing that very same day. And she too had a black scooter! Why she even had the same length of hair, and her physique was really the same as this girl!! And even the initial two letters of the number plate were infact...did you guess it right? - the same!!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Now every bit of my &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;instinct&lt;/span&gt; told me that she could NOT be the same friend.&lt;br /&gt;But my great mind, seeing all the co-incidences, simply decides to logically deny the fact that there CAN be so many similarities and co-incidences, and instead, decides to give the "friend" a playful hit on the back, accompanied by the loudest "wassup??!!" ever said by me!!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;What happened next....is anyone's guess.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I got the weirdest and the most intimidating look of my life. And that too coming from a girl who due to no fault of mine, seemed to resemble my friend a lot! It was so embarassing, I felt like squeezing myself with a lemon sqeezer and just slipping down the seat to hide my face. Dont ask me why lemon sqeezers.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I had to literally beg for her to forgive me! Somehow, I was able to convince her with my part of the story. And since the light was just a few seconds away from turning green, she decided to NOT go to the police station and file a complaint against me for trying to sexually harass her by tapping her on the back and instead, thankfully just took off!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Here's what a conversation between my instinct and my brain would have sounded like...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(255, 204, 102); font-weight: bold;"&gt;BRAIN&lt;/span&gt;: Do you think thats my friend?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(51, 204, 255); font-weight: bold;"&gt;INSTINCT&lt;/span&gt;: No. I really dont think thats her.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(255, 204, 102); font-weight: bold;"&gt;BRAIN&lt;/span&gt;: But look at the number of co-incidences. Chubby girl. Black top. Blue jeans. Black scooter. Same number plate even! I mean what are the chances?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(51, 204, 255); font-weight: bold;"&gt;INSTINCT&lt;/span&gt;: Look! There can be so many co-incidences. Somehow I feel its not her.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(255, 204, 102); font-weight: bold;"&gt;BRAIN&lt;/span&gt;: Shut up! You are just confused! That IS her!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(51, 204, 255); font-weight: bold;"&gt;INSTINCT&lt;/span&gt;: Im telling you its not her!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(255, 204, 102); font-weight: bold;"&gt;BRAIN&lt;/span&gt;: Instinct! Shut the fork up and sit quitely!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(51, 204, 255); font-weight: bold;"&gt;INSTINCT&lt;/span&gt;: But but...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(255, 204, 102); font-weight: bold;"&gt;BRAIN&lt;/span&gt;: I am far superior to you! I have logic and you dont! So shut up!!!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(51, 204, 255); font-weight: bold;"&gt;INSTINCT&lt;/span&gt;: But but...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(255, 204, 102); font-weight: bold;"&gt;BRAIN&lt;/span&gt;: Here...I'll prove it to you that she is my friend! I'll just tap her on the back and...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(51, 204, 255); font-weight: bold;"&gt;INSTINCT&lt;/span&gt;: Nooooooooo.....!!!&lt;br /&gt;.&lt;br /&gt;.&lt;br /&gt;.&lt;br /&gt;.&lt;br /&gt;.&lt;br /&gt;.&lt;br /&gt;.&lt;br /&gt;.&lt;br /&gt;.&lt;br /&gt;.&lt;br /&gt;.&lt;br /&gt;.&lt;br /&gt;.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(255, 204, 102); font-weight: bold;"&gt;BRAIN&lt;/span&gt;: ____________________________&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;(Brain just had a brainfreeze. I think it was the ice candy.)&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8808724261315055536-3542222578357421447?l=didudoit.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://didudoit.blogspot.com/feeds/3542222578357421447/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8808724261315055536&amp;postID=3542222578357421447' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8808724261315055536/posts/default/3542222578357421447'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8808724261315055536/posts/default/3542222578357421447'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://didudoit.blogspot.com/2009/02/i-found-out-that-toughest-thing-for-me.html' title='Logic vs Instinct'/><author><name>Jeet</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01750683960679600776</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='21' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_8Kow3nv3vI4/St3K37JuiUI/AAAAAAAAAIk/yHDYDV3GrIg/S220/jeet.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8808724261315055536.post-3628914780127626395</id><published>2009-01-13T14:28:00.004+05:30</published><updated>2009-01-13T21:11:09.569+05:30</updated><title type='text'>First Feelings...</title><content type='html'>Why do they say that we can never forget our first love? Is it because they know that there's gonna be a second? Or a third? Or maybe even more?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I remember the feeling when I first fell in love. I would walk with a funny and mysterious grin on my face, which usually made people wonder what's wrong with me. I was insanely in love with colours and all coulourful stuff...chocolate ice-creams, polka dots, ribbons, pastries, fruits, etc. I would sometimes spend my afternoons lazing around eating apples and oranges, while ofcourse thinking about my first all the time. If I had a really nice late night conversation with my first, I would usually wake up next morning with a humungous smile on my face. Ofcourse, it would turn into shock and denial as my Mum would pour cold...COLD water on my face!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;These are some of the feelings I remember distinctly...and ofcourse there are more, but I don't remember them now...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Till then...I'll be in the canteen eating chips that don't belong to me...&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8808724261315055536-3628914780127626395?l=didudoit.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://didudoit.blogspot.com/feeds/3628914780127626395/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8808724261315055536&amp;postID=3628914780127626395' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8808724261315055536/posts/default/3628914780127626395'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8808724261315055536/posts/default/3628914780127626395'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://didudoit.blogspot.com/2009/01/why-do-they-say-that-we-can-never.html' title='First Feelings...'/><author><name>Jeet</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01750683960679600776</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='21' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_8Kow3nv3vI4/St3K37JuiUI/AAAAAAAAAIk/yHDYDV3GrIg/S220/jeet.jpg'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8808724261315055536.post-8797843271616350426</id><published>2009-01-12T20:15:00.018+05:30</published><updated>2009-02-11T21:34:50.071+05:30</updated><title type='text'>Happy Birthday Bhaaluu!!</title><content type='html'>Yesterday was my best friend's happy birthday!&lt;br /&gt;She turned 19. And boy! Was she happy!! She was like a radioactive person radiating happiness and joy all around wherever she went!  Even the grumpiest of people would find it really really hard, not to smile when she is around. She has a beautiful aura. Well...she &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;is&lt;/span&gt; a beautiful person. She just hates buying Toblerones.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Anyway... like all birthdays, this one too, started at midnight. She probably started getting a lot of phone calls, probably had to reply to a lot of messages, probably had to say thank you to a lot of people. As for me, I was fast asleep. And I would have continued doing so if it wasn't for her life threatening message that suddenly popped into my head.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"If you forget to wish me on my birthday, you wait and watch!! I'll get a nice big cactus plant and poke you left right and centre! Mercilessly!! "&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Now, cactus plants aren't exactly the softest things to get poked with. I would have much preferred cotton pillows filled with extra soft feather, but of course, that wouldnt happen.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So needless to say, I got up from my sleep at 3 in the morning and wished her happy birthday. We talked for a while and we made plans to meet up with the whole gang at around 3-330 in the afternoon. But again. When &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;do&lt;/span&gt; plans go accordingly?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;She made us wait for over an hour! Not that we were doing anything worthwhile. We were just a bunch of lazy people, with all the free time in the world. So we decided to use our free time productively.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;HAHA! That never happened.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So we were getting restless and started taking another friend's case. We went and had some tea. Discovered a hundred different ways to keep yourself entertained with a broomstick (jaaroo).  And we also learnt that, to pass 90 minutes of waiting time effortlessly, you either need to be born with the gift of being able to talk and talk and talk, or have a Nintendo with you. And we had neither.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Finally after the endless wait for the little tiny girl, Vaibhav's phone beeps. A new message - I've reached!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We all took our positions as she paid the rickshawala and made her way to the parking lot. Armed with our deadly gifts, we waited. We waited as she unsuspiciously came closer to us....closer....closer still....&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;She sat down. Put her bag next to her. As she calmly waited for us with no clue as to what's in store for her, we sneaked closer towards her.........and.............3...............2................1 !!! We all exploded!!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;HAPPY BIRTHDAY!!!!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And as we all expected, there was a biiiiiiiiiiiiiig snug smile spread across her face! Obviously, we also couldn't hide our happiness! We hugged her, we wished her, we gave her our gifts, which was followed by a lot of " thank you's "from her side, and the atmosphere, suddenly seemed to become so much lighter.&lt;br /&gt;Mission successful !!! ...well...somewhat...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Sadly, her hair was looking insanely beautiful, and her face was so bright, it seemed as if she had swallowed an extra helping of joy and now it was showing on her face. So that meant no bday cake on her face and hair. Sigh! Anyway...the guys gave her the gifts. I gave her my gift. A small photo session happened. In-between Consta ate the cake. And basically, we were all happy.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We decided to take her to this wonderful place called "The Riverview".&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;According to her, it was &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;the &lt;/span&gt;most perfect place. It was an open restaurant. The moon was out, busy playing hide and seek with the clouds and the trees. A slight evening breeze wafted across the table, blowing her hair, as gently as a soft tickle. The little candles, adding its dreamlike charm to the evening magic. And the city just magically transformed into floating lights, away into the night. That was all that she had asked for. Oh wait! She also asked for some chicken.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We laughed. We joked. We had experiments with camera phones and candles. It was nice. Soon the food came. And soon it got over. And finally the evening also had to end as she had to leave for her hostel. Sigh! It was such a beautiful evening with such wonderful people. What more could you &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;really &lt;/span&gt;ask for?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Bhaaluu!!! Thank you!!! For the lovely day and the most wonderful evening!!! Really can't wait for your next birthday!! Grow old fast!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_8Kow3nv3vI4/SWtsDjHo5pI/AAAAAAAAADw/D07V7CV_5Cs/s1600-h/DSC04833.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_8Kow3nv3vI4/SWtsDjHo5pI/AAAAAAAAADw/D07V7CV_5Cs/s320/DSC04833.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5290440995499468434" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8808724261315055536-8797843271616350426?l=didudoit.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://didudoit.blogspot.com/feeds/8797843271616350426/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8808724261315055536&amp;postID=8797843271616350426' title='4 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8808724261315055536/posts/default/8797843271616350426'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8808724261315055536/posts/default/8797843271616350426'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://didudoit.blogspot.com/2009/01/yesterday-was-my-best-friends-birthday.html' title='Happy Birthday Bhaaluu!!'/><author><name>Jeet</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01750683960679600776</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='21' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_8Kow3nv3vI4/St3K37JuiUI/AAAAAAAAAIk/yHDYDV3GrIg/S220/jeet.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_8Kow3nv3vI4/SWtsDjHo5pI/AAAAAAAAADw/D07V7CV_5Cs/s72-c/DSC04833.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>4</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8808724261315055536.post-2491332894348783864</id><published>2009-01-08T23:29:00.001+05:30</published><updated>2009-01-08T23:30:40.266+05:30</updated><title type='text'>Poop! Crap! Shit! Bingabingabingabinga!!</title><content type='html'>Ashes to ashes,dust to dust&lt;br /&gt;A man's got to go when he must.&lt;br /&gt;Out in the fields where there ain't no flush&lt;br /&gt;Drop your pants and try not to blush.&lt;br /&gt;Squat down,push hard,drop it like it's hot,&lt;br /&gt;Wipe off, get up, hope you haven't missed a spot.&lt;br /&gt;Zip up,look up, feel one with the stars miscellaneous&lt;br /&gt;After all you just got in touch with Uranus&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8808724261315055536-2491332894348783864?l=didudoit.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://didudoit.blogspot.com/feeds/2491332894348783864/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8808724261315055536&amp;postID=2491332894348783864' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8808724261315055536/posts/default/2491332894348783864'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8808724261315055536/posts/default/2491332894348783864'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://didudoit.blogspot.com/2009/01/poop-crap-shit-bingabingabingabinga.html' title='Poop! Crap! Shit! Bingabingabingabinga!!'/><author><name>Jeet</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01750683960679600776</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='21' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_8Kow3nv3vI4/St3K37JuiUI/AAAAAAAAAIk/yHDYDV3GrIg/S220/jeet.jpg'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8808724261315055536.post-2920372813495089982</id><published>2009-01-01T17:16:00.005+05:30</published><updated>2009-01-01T21:30:02.275+05:30</updated><title type='text'>Yappy Hew Near !!</title><content type='html'>It was that time of the year again!!&lt;br /&gt;Great discounts, awesome food, live music, colourful streets and of course, network issues! The chilly last night of December, always, seems to magically turn into a warm fairy tale, complete with fairies in their white dresses, free flowing champagne, confetti rising in the air, people dancing to great music and cakes, chocolates, pastries and beautiful women!! Its a merry time, as everyone plans to bid goodbye to the old year and welcome the new year! Couples want to make it a special occasion, friends want to have the best time together, children want to eat the ice cream and watch the fireworks, families go out and celebrate and have a great time together, and politicians......well I don't exactly know what they do. And to make this last day of the year special and eventful, everyone makes plans. Everyone, but a bunch of lazy friends, which umm...includes me as well.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Before I go ahead with the story it is better if you know a little bit about my friends.&lt;br /&gt;Shane is the guy who dresses up very nicely and is always in the mood to dance.&lt;br /&gt;Aalap is the guy mostly seen with torn jeans and a Rammstein t-shirt who thinks his almost 5 year old Maruti 800 is a beast capable of doing what, &lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;even&lt;/span&gt; a Lamborghini can't do.&lt;br /&gt;The guy with the long unkempt hair would be Vishal. A creative genius, he wears shorts in the cold.&lt;br /&gt;Karen and Sonali. Two best friends. They are both girls.&lt;br /&gt;And me. I am single.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So, the night starts. Shane and Aalap, both reach my place about 8 30 in the evening. I have a little food, put on a white tee and blue jeans (always works), bid goodbye to my parents and join them to have "fun" in the night. Basically have a blast! We hadn't really planned anything The best plans are the ones, that are never planned. Or so we thought.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We were quite wrong.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;A 5 minute drive later, we are at Vishal's place. We planned to meet up and then go and have dinner at some nice place, with maybe a little jazz playing in the background, if lucky maybe even ask a few girls out and then finally top it up with whiskey flavoured ice-cream.&lt;br /&gt;But when did plans ever work?&lt;br /&gt;Vishal was too lazy, moreover his money was stolen by his maid, Aalap was busy playing my guitar, Shane was busy lamenting the fact that he turned down the offer to go to an awesome party with Karen and Sonali, and instead, hang around with 2 decently dressed guys and a guy in shorts, and I...well I was searching for chocolates in the fridge. After a lot of arguments, discussions and 2 chocolates later, we finally decided on what to do for the night and how to celebrate, have a blast and generally have a good time!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We decided we would order pizzas. Yup! And oh yeah...Minute Maid Pulpy Orange and Mazaa too! Non-alcoholic. We also planned to watch a movie.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Now, deciding to have pizzas and watch a movie was a different thing. But deciding on &lt;span style="font-weight: bold; font-style: italic;"&gt;which&lt;/span&gt; pizzas to have and &lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;which&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt; movie to watch was a whole different battle altogether!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Spicy chicken?&lt;br /&gt;No!&lt;br /&gt;Why not?!&lt;br /&gt;Maybe, but not too much cheese!&lt;br /&gt;But they just started cheese burst!!&lt;br /&gt;How about Chicken Barbeque??&lt;br /&gt;Hmm...that sounds nice..!&lt;br /&gt;Where's the loo?&lt;br /&gt;Can we order veg too??&lt;br /&gt;Do they have discounts??&lt;br /&gt;Where's the loo???&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;After a zillion seconds of group discussions and rejections, finally we decided to have spicy chicken. Now the size.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Medium?&lt;br /&gt;But will it be sufficient for four?&lt;br /&gt;No medium is too small! Lets go for large!!&lt;br /&gt;Who's gonna have large??&lt;br /&gt;Medium is fine!&lt;br /&gt;How about extraaa large??&lt;br /&gt;Let's cook the food!&lt;br /&gt;How big is medium?&lt;br /&gt;Eh! I found an awesome tune!&lt;br /&gt;I think one large and one medium should be fine!&lt;br /&gt;How about 2 medium sized pizzas??!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It was worse than a parliamentary debate.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Finally we ordered one medium and one large pizaa. And some Minute Maid and Mazaa to accompany. Deciding the movie was much easier though. Only thing was the external hard disk started to act funny and refused to play us the movie. No matter how much we pleaded, begged, slapped, disconnected and reconnected it, it simply wouldn't play! Stupid hard disk!&lt;br /&gt;Fortunately Vishal had Russel Peter's on his laptop!! YAY!!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Thank God for Russel Peters! He saved the night!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Or so we thought...again...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Somewhere in the middle of Russel abusing the Arabs, and the Minute Maid almost getting over, Shane had this sudden urge of going and meeting someone...you know...&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;someone...&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;This someone stayed in a far far away land...and Aalap being the one who owns the Lamborghini...I mean Maruti 800, had to drop Shane there. Aalap forced me to go with him or else he would never pay me the cash he owed me. Vishal was...just lazy. So it was Aalap, Shane and me, once again, in the car, going to a far far away land, to meet Shane's someone.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It wasn't all that bad actually...we got to see a couple of drunken people abusing the lamp posts! Funny..hehe..&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We reached back after about an hour or so, and all of us were too sleepy to do anything. So we joined the beds, almost forgot to wish each other good night, did our thing at the loo, and somehow managed to go to sleep. The lights went off at about 1 a.m. in the morning.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Well...come to think about it, it wasn't all that bad. Sure, there was no great music, no awesome food, and definitely no cute girls, but somehow this will be a new year that, probably all of us will remember for quite a long time..&lt;br /&gt;Aalap, who had plans of getting drunk that night, did not have a single beer. Shane got dressed up for the guys. Vishal lost his money. And as for me... well...I am still single!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Oh! by the way...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_8Kow3nv3vI4/SVznsiqCB1I/AAAAAAAAADY/G0FAY-LxjlU/s1600-h/hny.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 236px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_8Kow3nv3vI4/SVznsiqCB1I/AAAAAAAAADY/G0FAY-LxjlU/s320/hny.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5286354815029479250" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8808724261315055536-2920372813495089982?l=didudoit.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://didudoit.blogspot.com/feeds/2920372813495089982/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8808724261315055536&amp;postID=2920372813495089982' title='4 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8808724261315055536/posts/default/2920372813495089982'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8808724261315055536/posts/default/2920372813495089982'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://didudoit.blogspot.com/2009/01/it-was-that-time-of-year-again-great.html' title='Yappy Hew Near !!'/><author><name>Jeet</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01750683960679600776</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='21' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_8Kow3nv3vI4/St3K37JuiUI/AAAAAAAAAIk/yHDYDV3GrIg/S220/jeet.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_8Kow3nv3vI4/SVznsiqCB1I/AAAAAAAAADY/G0FAY-LxjlU/s72-c/hny.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>4</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8808724261315055536.post-8295467128761273350</id><published>2008-12-31T12:26:00.004+05:30</published><updated>2008-12-31T12:37:47.771+05:30</updated><title type='text'>Hold Me Just A Little While</title><content type='html'>Empty skies why so high&lt;br /&gt;Stuff that I try always make me cry&lt;br /&gt;Took my chance when I had my place&lt;br /&gt;Darling why wont you give away&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;To touch your lips and to kiss your eyes&lt;br /&gt;Lord can I spend just one more time&lt;br /&gt;I'll hold you in my arms and i'll calm you down&lt;br /&gt;Queen of my heart I'll give you the crown&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Darling&lt;br /&gt;Hold me just a little while&lt;br /&gt;Hold me just a little&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Your lips dont say but your eyes do show&lt;br /&gt;Hollow hearts just rhym no more&lt;br /&gt;Love your skin and I love your smell&lt;br /&gt;But I gotta act like you cant tell&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'll wait for you till the grasses grow&lt;br /&gt;But promise me girl you wont say no&lt;br /&gt;I'll miss you i'll hold you&lt;br /&gt;But you wont even have a clue&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Darling&lt;br /&gt;Hold me just a little while&lt;br /&gt;Hold me just a little&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8808724261315055536-8295467128761273350?l=didudoit.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://didudoit.blogspot.com/feeds/8295467128761273350/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8808724261315055536&amp;postID=8295467128761273350' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8808724261315055536/posts/default/8295467128761273350'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8808724261315055536/posts/default/8295467128761273350'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://didudoit.blogspot.com/2008/12/hold-me-just-little-while.html' title='Hold Me Just A Little While'/><author><name>Jeet</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01750683960679600776</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='21' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_8Kow3nv3vI4/St3K37JuiUI/AAAAAAAAAIk/yHDYDV3GrIg/S220/jeet.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8808724261315055536.post-2468923555094103723</id><published>2008-12-27T23:12:00.004+05:30</published><updated>2008-12-28T01:00:55.336+05:30</updated><title type='text'>The Simplest Things</title><content type='html'>Most simple things in life are those, which we always seem to take for granted...and yet when we realize the value of the simple pleasure that these things give us, it feels out of this world.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;# Finding money in your old jeans pocket, right when you needed it.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;# Cooking for the first time and going horribly wrong!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;# Early in the cold morning when you see a couple of very old men, probably best friends in sweaters and jackets, slowly doing their morning walk.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;# The simple dots in the sky! The stars! When you start to wonder how there are so many and how they form infinite shapes, its pretty amazing!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;# When you are sitting in a garden after a fresh shower and you see butterflies flying about.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;# A cup of evening tea with nice jazz playing in the background, and instead of a rainy day outside, you see the sun setting behind the city skyline.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;# A day with your phone switched off. You get to hear so many different sounds instead of your annoying ring tune.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;# When was the last time you made paper boats and sailed them in the rain?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;# When you put pepsi in your ice tray and you had your own pepsi-pops!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;# A really really really REALLY peaceful afternoon under a tree.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;# When you had a bad emergency, and couldn't find a single empty toilet seat.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;# When you go in for an early morning shower, and how you conveniently stay 10 feet away from the cold COLD water!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8808724261315055536-2468923555094103723?l=didudoit.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://didudoit.blogspot.com/feeds/2468923555094103723/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8808724261315055536&amp;postID=2468923555094103723' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8808724261315055536/posts/default/2468923555094103723'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8808724261315055536/posts/default/2468923555094103723'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://didudoit.blogspot.com/2008/12/simplest-things.html' title='The Simplest Things'/><author><name>Jeet</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01750683960679600776</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='21' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_8Kow3nv3vI4/St3K37JuiUI/AAAAAAAAAIk/yHDYDV3GrIg/S220/jeet.jpg'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8808724261315055536.post-3724210522197500810</id><published>2008-12-26T16:03:00.001+05:30</published><updated>2008-12-26T16:10:22.095+05:30</updated><title type='text'>My Picture...</title><content type='html'>Times are a changing&lt;br /&gt;The waves are coming&lt;br /&gt;The wings are flying&lt;br /&gt;The leaves are rustling&lt;br /&gt;But I, am still waiting&lt;br /&gt;And I'll wait till my picture's done painting...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Shee...I get so senti sometimes...!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8808724261315055536-3724210522197500810?l=didudoit.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://didudoit.blogspot.com/feeds/3724210522197500810/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8808724261315055536&amp;postID=3724210522197500810' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8808724261315055536/posts/default/3724210522197500810'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8808724261315055536/posts/default/3724210522197500810'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://didudoit.blogspot.com/2008/12/times-are-changing-waves-are-coming.html' title='My Picture...'/><author><name>Jeet</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01750683960679600776</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='21' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_8Kow3nv3vI4/St3K37JuiUI/AAAAAAAAAIk/yHDYDV3GrIg/S220/jeet.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8808724261315055536.post-5314690950127571</id><published>2008-12-25T19:54:00.004+05:30</published><updated>2008-12-25T20:41:41.290+05:30</updated><title type='text'>Snip !</title><content type='html'>Why cant the hair cutters ever cut my hair like the way I want them to ??!!!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;What gives them the freedom to just cut it the way they feel like? I mean how hard is it to understand a few simple instructions? I probably would have been better off going bald! No mistakes, no unevenness, no fuss! Straight to nothing!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;There is quite a line in this one. I thought this would be a nice place, unlike the others. So I wait for 20 minutes in the line. I spend another 5 explaining to him what exactly I want, how I don't want to pay 500 bucks and get my hair straightened, and how long it should be towards the end.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Sure! I got it! ", says the guy dressed in white. With scissors in one hand and a green comb in the other, he seemed liked the hair terminator. He even had black glasses on.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I think to myself - "Maybe this time I'll finally get the exact style I want." For a moment I start to celebrate. But clear doubts enter my mind as I see the confused look on his face in the mirror. I ask him what happened? "Nothing.", he says nervously.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Of course something's wrong! Something's horribly wrong!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;He quickly begins to snip and snap on my other side, pulls my hair a bit, checks something, snips some more and asks me to take a look.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And this is how I look now.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_8Kow3nv3vI4/SVOer9Bk2VI/AAAAAAAAADI/1mXiJ9Go0x0/s1600-h/Funny_Pictures_26411.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 225px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_8Kow3nv3vI4/SVOer9Bk2VI/AAAAAAAAADI/1mXiJ9Go0x0/s320/Funny_Pictures_26411.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5283741265788459346" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;O.K. I am just kidding. It only looked a &lt;span style="font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;"&gt;little&lt;/span&gt; better than this.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Ok. It looked a lot better than this, but still not what I wanted...sigh!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8808724261315055536-5314690950127571?l=didudoit.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://didudoit.blogspot.com/feeds/5314690950127571/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8808724261315055536&amp;postID=5314690950127571' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8808724261315055536/posts/default/5314690950127571'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8808724261315055536/posts/default/5314690950127571'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://didudoit.blogspot.com/2008/12/snip.html' title='Snip !'/><author><name>Jeet</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01750683960679600776</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='21' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_8Kow3nv3vI4/St3K37JuiUI/AAAAAAAAAIk/yHDYDV3GrIg/S220/jeet.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_8Kow3nv3vI4/SVOer9Bk2VI/AAAAAAAAADI/1mXiJ9Go0x0/s72-c/Funny_Pictures_26411.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8808724261315055536.post-2509505746366238185</id><published>2008-12-19T21:37:00.005+05:30</published><updated>2008-12-19T23:21:53.361+05:30</updated><title type='text'>Love, Friendship or Ice Cream ??</title><content type='html'>If love is the best wine you've ever had, then friendship, is all those years that went into the making of the wine. Without friendship, there is hardly ever good wine. It is important to have a good friendship. Cause love grows out of friendship. Mostly. Lets not talk about the other rare lucky bastards.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So how do you define friendship?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Well...if you kick your best friend in the butt. That's friendship.&lt;br /&gt;You pull his/her hair. That's friendship.&lt;br /&gt;You make him/her do your homework, especially when he/she doesn't want to do it. And he/she ends up &lt;span style="font-weight: bold; font-style: italic;"&gt;not&lt;/span&gt; doing it. That's friendship.&lt;br /&gt;He/She promises to pick you up for a lecture in the morning. And he/she ends up getting lost on the way and finally asks you to go for the lecture alone. That's friendship.&lt;br /&gt;When he/she shamelessly asks you to buy food for him/her. And you do it. Cause you also do the same thing with him/her often. That's friendship.&lt;br /&gt;He/she makes you laugh and cry, makes you feel angry, makes you feel beautiful, all at the same time, will burp on your face (&lt;span style="font-style: italic; color: rgb(255, 204, 51);"&gt;not sure how many women do that&lt;/span&gt;), draw useless and the worst drawings you've ever seen, picks his/her nose (&lt;span style="font-style: italic; color: rgb(255, 204, 51);"&gt;again, not sure how many women do this either&lt;/span&gt;) in front of you, will eat more food than you and still insist that they split the bill 50-50...that's &lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;REAL&lt;/span&gt; friendship!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Now, lets be honest...when you are in love, you wouldn't exactly kick the other person in the butt, would you? You'll gladly do his/her homework, even if it means that you can't go to pick your Nobel Prize. After all, you LOVE him/her. And if you are in love with the other person, you would definitely DEFINITELY, make sure that you pick him/her up on time, ON TIME, and make sure he/she reaches for the lecture. If you're a guy, you would probably get your car so that her hair doesn't get messed up. If you're a girl, then why bother? You would always try to keep her happy...no matter what happens, you will never forget your manners and will not burp or pick your nose in front of him/her and generally annoy her, and of course you'll pay for almost every lunch and every dinner, even though you can't pay your own house rent!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But isnt it a bit...dead and done? I mean the whole picture seems so much more alive, and familiar with friendship. Sure! People do crazy things when they are in love. They bunk their lectures and together, hand in hand, read the latest edition of "Business News". On their birthdays, they buy big fancy cards from the store and wish them at exactly 12 in the midnight! WOW! I mean seriously! How many people &lt;span style="font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;"&gt;do&lt;/span&gt; that ?!&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But what you can do with friends is you can do absolutely "normal" stuff like go and spend 2 rupees on nimbu paani, or go to a big mall and play hide and seek, or spend an evening at a quiet corner in college and sing songs along with the guitar, have cups of coffee at the university, or plain have oranges and apples together, etc.....and yet, it seems crazy, &lt;span style="font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;"&gt;feels&lt;/span&gt; crazy! It feels &lt;span style="font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;"&gt;great&lt;/span&gt;!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I dont know why I wrote this, or why I even thought of this...but if I had to chose, any one, out of love, friendship and ice cream...I would definitely chose a lovely ice cream with my lovely friends!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;What about you?&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8808724261315055536-2509505746366238185?l=didudoit.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://didudoit.blogspot.com/feeds/2509505746366238185/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8808724261315055536&amp;postID=2509505746366238185' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8808724261315055536/posts/default/2509505746366238185'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8808724261315055536/posts/default/2509505746366238185'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://didudoit.blogspot.com/2008/12/if-love-is-best-wine-youve-ever-had.html' title='Love, Friendship or Ice Cream ??'/><author><name>Jeet</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01750683960679600776</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='21' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_8Kow3nv3vI4/St3K37JuiUI/AAAAAAAAAIk/yHDYDV3GrIg/S220/jeet.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8808724261315055536.post-5511465720624274149</id><published>2008-12-15T20:57:00.002+05:30</published><updated>2008-12-15T21:56:39.340+05:30</updated><title type='text'>Whats There To Lose?</title><content type='html'>I lost what I didnt wanna lose...&lt;br /&gt;So whats there to lose now?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I wish I could turn time back...&lt;br /&gt;Just so that I could know that I have nothing to regret...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I wish I had said a few things that I didnt..&lt;br /&gt;Probably then I wouldnt be living the way Im living...&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8808724261315055536-5511465720624274149?l=didudoit.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://didudoit.blogspot.com/feeds/5511465720624274149/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8808724261315055536&amp;postID=5511465720624274149' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8808724261315055536/posts/default/5511465720624274149'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8808724261315055536/posts/default/5511465720624274149'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://didudoit.blogspot.com/2008/12/whats-there-to-lose.html' title='Whats There To Lose?'/><author><name>Jeet</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01750683960679600776</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='21' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_8Kow3nv3vI4/St3K37JuiUI/AAAAAAAAAIk/yHDYDV3GrIg/S220/jeet.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8808724261315055536.post-542481134005796830</id><published>2008-12-14T12:25:00.001+05:30</published><updated>2008-12-14T12:25:46.727+05:30</updated><title type='text'>The Story Of The Bird And The Fan</title><content type='html'>Guess who visited me in the bedroom today?? Emma Watson!!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Nah..I am just messing with you. In fact my guest was tiny. She could almost snugly fit into your palm. She flew in freely, through the open window of my bedroom and settled herself on one wing of my rusty fan. Maybe she was searching for something. Maybe she was hungry. Or maybe she was checking out a small part of this big biiiigg world. As I was watching her with interest, for some unknown reason, I began to wish I was a free bird too!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I could fly anywhere I want to, anytime of anyday I want to. It could save me from huge traffic jams! Imagine all the cash I would be saving on fuel! I can pee and shit anywhere and on anyone I want to...see now, thats not something you or I could do otherwise. Although my sex life would be ruined...(not that I have a great one now). Apparently birds finish having sex in the blink of an eye. Kaching! But thats not that bad...considering they have sex VERY frequently!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Hmmm...I wonder what would happen if a cow walked into my bedroom tomorrow?&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8808724261315055536-542481134005796830?l=didudoit.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://didudoit.blogspot.com/feeds/542481134005796830/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8808724261315055536&amp;postID=542481134005796830' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8808724261315055536/posts/default/542481134005796830'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8808724261315055536/posts/default/542481134005796830'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://didudoit.blogspot.com/2008/12/story-of-bird-and-fan.html' title='The Story Of The Bird And The Fan'/><author><name>Jeet</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01750683960679600776</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='21' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_8Kow3nv3vI4/St3K37JuiUI/AAAAAAAAAIk/yHDYDV3GrIg/S220/jeet.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8808724261315055536.post-1404603784934793530</id><published>2008-12-09T20:10:00.001+05:30</published><updated>2008-12-09T20:22:16.581+05:30</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>Wow! The computer knows me well....&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;table align="center" border="0" cellpadding="2" cellspacing="0" width="350"&gt;&lt;tbody&gt;&lt;tr&gt;&lt;td align="center" bg style="color:#eeeeee;"&gt;&lt;span style="color: black; font-size: 14pt;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Your Personality Is Like Acid &lt;/strong&gt; &lt;/span&gt; &lt;/td&gt; &lt;/tr&gt; &lt;tr&gt; &lt;td bgcolor="#ffffff"&gt; &lt;center&gt; &lt;img src="http://blogthings.cachefly.net/whatdrugisyourpersonalitylikequiz/acid.gif" width="100" height="100" /&gt; &lt;/center&gt; &lt;span style="color:#000000;"&gt; A bit wacky, you're very difficult to predict.&lt;br /&gt;One moment you're in your own little happy universe...&lt;br /&gt;And the next, you're on a bad trip to your own personal hell!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;At your best: You understand the world completely, and every ordinary experience is sublime.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;What people like about being around you: You say and do the craziest things. You're very entertaining.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;What people dislike about being around you: You're unpredictable. Your mood swings are quite intense.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;How addicted people get to you: They pretty much don't get addicted to you. &lt;/span&gt; &lt;/td&gt; &lt;/tr&gt; &lt;/tbody&gt;&lt;/table&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;table align="center" border="0" cellpadding="2" cellspacing="0" width="350"&gt;&lt;tbody&gt;&lt;tr&gt;&lt;td align="center" bg style="color:#eeeeee;"&gt;&lt;span style="color: black; font-size: 14pt;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Your Career Personality: Idealistic, Service-Oriented, and Future-Oriented &lt;/strong&gt; &lt;/span&gt; &lt;/td&gt; &lt;/tr&gt; &lt;tr&gt; &lt;td bgcolor="#ffffff"&gt; &lt;center&gt; &lt;img src="http://blogthings.cachefly.net/quickanddirtycareertest/infj.jpg" width="100" height="100" /&gt; &lt;/center&gt; &lt;span style="color:#000000;"&gt; Your Ideal Careers:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Alternative health practitioner&lt;br /&gt;Architect&lt;br /&gt;Environmental lawyer&lt;br /&gt;Librarian&lt;br /&gt;Magazine editor&lt;br /&gt;Museum curator&lt;br /&gt;Novelist&lt;br /&gt;Nutritionist&lt;br /&gt;Photo journalist&lt;br /&gt;Playwright &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;/tr&gt;&lt;/tbody&gt;&lt;/table&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;table align="center" border="0" cellpadding="2" cellspacing="0" width="350"&gt;&lt;tbody&gt;&lt;tr&gt;&lt;td align="center" bg style="color:#eeeeee;"&gt;&lt;span style="color: black; font-size: 14pt;"&gt; &lt;strong&gt; What Your Dreams Mean... &lt;/strong&gt; &lt;/span&gt; &lt;/td&gt; &lt;/tr&gt; &lt;tr&gt; &lt;td bgcolor="#ffffff"&gt; &lt;center&gt; &lt;img src="http://blogthings.cachefly.net/whatdoyourdreamsmeanquiz/okay.jpg" width="100" height="100" /&gt; &lt;/center&gt; &lt;span style="color:#000000;"&gt; Your dreams seem to show that you're a bit disturbed... but nothing serious.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;You may have a problem you're trying to work out in your sleep.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Your dreams indicate that you have very conflicted feelings.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;You have a very vivid imagination and a rich creative mind. &lt;/span&gt; &lt;/td&gt; &lt;/tr&gt; &lt;/tbody&gt;&lt;/table&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8808724261315055536-1404603784934793530?l=didudoit.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://didudoit.blogspot.com/feeds/1404603784934793530/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8808724261315055536&amp;postID=1404603784934793530' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8808724261315055536/posts/default/1404603784934793530'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8808724261315055536/posts/default/1404603784934793530'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://didudoit.blogspot.com/2008/12/wow-computer-knows-me-well.html' title=''/><author><name>Jeet</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01750683960679600776</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='21' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_8Kow3nv3vI4/St3K37JuiUI/AAAAAAAAAIk/yHDYDV3GrIg/S220/jeet.jpg'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8808724261315055536.post-7757356825341631230</id><published>2008-12-07T02:46:00.005+05:30</published><updated>2008-12-07T22:48:46.976+05:30</updated><title type='text'>Candles and Human Scent</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_8Kow3nv3vI4/STwFEMCy3II/AAAAAAAAACg/Z9wKAT4D2gk/s1600-h/IMG_1914.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_8Kow3nv3vI4/STwFEMCy3II/AAAAAAAAACg/Z9wKAT4D2gk/s320/IMG_1914.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5277098432881941634" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Candles are beautiful. And Scary.&lt;br /&gt;They are present to celebrate happy birthdays as well as to mark the funeral of someone's loved ones. It is so dangerous, if it falls prey to wrong emotions, it can cause absolute devastation. Yet, at the hands of a thousand people who are gathered together to protest the wrong, it is that which gives meaning to the word "peace".&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_8Kow3nv3vI4/STwFTQHjmpI/AAAAAAAAACo/fv6VfEc0710/s1600-h/0321-03.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 222px; height: 320px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_8Kow3nv3vI4/STwFTQHjmpI/AAAAAAAAACo/fv6VfEc0710/s320/0321-03.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5277098691673692818" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Candles have so many purposes in their life...it's awesome! Be a photographer's experiment, be the evening light at a far away village where electricity is as rare as sugar in the sea, be an item to sell at a shop, be something that will spice up the romance, so many!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;They come in different sizes and shapes too! Fat, skinny, broad, big, XXL, square, round, oval, amoeboic and all the other shapes and sizes which you can possibly think of and a few which you probably can't too! They even come scented! Man! I wish humans would come scented too...&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8808724261315055536-7757356825341631230?l=didudoit.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://didudoit.blogspot.com/feeds/7757356825341631230/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8808724261315055536&amp;postID=7757356825341631230' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8808724261315055536/posts/default/7757356825341631230'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8808724261315055536/posts/default/7757356825341631230'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://didudoit.blogspot.com/2008/12/candles-and-human-scent.html' title='Candles and Human Scent'/><author><name>Jeet</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01750683960679600776</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='21' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_8Kow3nv3vI4/St3K37JuiUI/AAAAAAAAAIk/yHDYDV3GrIg/S220/jeet.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_8Kow3nv3vI4/STwFEMCy3II/AAAAAAAAACg/Z9wKAT4D2gk/s72-c/IMG_1914.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8808724261315055536.post-7145654689024768916</id><published>2008-12-05T13:26:00.007+05:30</published><updated>2008-12-05T13:48:51.455+05:30</updated><title type='text'>Overdose of Vacations</title><content type='html'>Vacations are nice.&lt;br /&gt;I've had almost a month of a vacation now...and its getting quite boring. None of my friends are around and the only few people I get to meet right now are my band mates. I can't wait to meet the parking guy who always keeps on asking for money. Or to eat the pricey chicken puffs. Or to wake up my friends early in the morning to attend lectures! The Mamas! The ever irritating Mamas!! Hell! I want to go to college and attend lectures! I want to get educated!!!...badly!!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="text-decoration: underline;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_8Kow3nv3vI4/STjhTNmrkLI/AAAAAAAAABE/vqoxQavD1T4/s1600-h/DSC01789.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_8Kow3nv3vI4/STjhTNmrkLI/AAAAAAAAABE/vqoxQavD1T4/s320/DSC01789.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5276214683650199730" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;                                                                &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_8Kow3nv3vI4/STjikrj5obI/AAAAAAAAABM/FWgYv_t8bDM/s1600-h/DSC01260.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_8Kow3nv3vI4/STjikrj5obI/AAAAAAAAABM/FWgYv_t8bDM/s320/DSC01260.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5276216083261006258" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8808724261315055536-7145654689024768916?l=didudoit.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://didudoit.blogspot.com/feeds/7145654689024768916/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8808724261315055536&amp;postID=7145654689024768916' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8808724261315055536/posts/default/7145654689024768916'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8808724261315055536/posts/default/7145654689024768916'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://didudoit.blogspot.com/2008/12/overdose-of-vacations.html' title='Overdose of Vacations'/><author><name>Jeet</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01750683960679600776</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='21' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_8Kow3nv3vI4/St3K37JuiUI/AAAAAAAAAIk/yHDYDV3GrIg/S220/jeet.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_8Kow3nv3vI4/STjhTNmrkLI/AAAAAAAAABE/vqoxQavD1T4/s72-c/DSC01789.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8808724261315055536.post-2824217422853481148</id><published>2008-10-07T16:09:00.002+05:30</published><updated>2008-10-07T16:49:10.240+05:30</updated><title type='text'>Rain, Emotions And a Tree</title><content type='html'>The Greeks believed that rain was a sign of anger towards them. They thought it symbolized drowning and frustration as it often disturbed what they were doing.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Scientists believe that rain is a type of precipitation, a product of the condensation of atmospheric water vapour that is deposited on the earth's surface through the clouds.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Die hard bollywood loyalists would probably like to link rain with beautiful women in a sari getting wet.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Today it rained. Surprisingly! It's not the rainy season anyway. But I liked it. It was kinda nice.&lt;br /&gt;Rains bring us a lot of emotions, that each one of us have different definitions of.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Sometimes, when I walk in the rain, I think of lonely moments of my life. And only the Tree knows the thoughts of raining moments of my life.&lt;br /&gt;But sometimes, rain looks like happiness. An open free shower for all to enjoy! Happy thirsty rice fields, sprouting seeds,  and dancing cows!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And then there is this another rain story. This one's more of a fantasy actually. I've always thought that it would be so cool, to actually meet my girl while waiting in the rain! Much more interesting than meeting her at a pub or a disc, or anywhere else for that matter!&lt;br /&gt;Its got something to do with the wet hair, the little drops on her face, running down her cheeks, and finally dissolving in her already rain kissed lips.&lt;br /&gt;The rainy smell of earth, does make a lot of difference.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Rain drops are like tear drops. But hey! We do cry sometimes when we are happy!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Taking a walk with your friends in the rain during college hours is a wonderfull thing to do. That's what I did with a couple of my friends today. But I think the ice cream is making me sick.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I've got a lecture now..&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8808724261315055536-2824217422853481148?l=didudoit.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://didudoit.blogspot.com/feeds/2824217422853481148/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8808724261315055536&amp;postID=2824217422853481148' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8808724261315055536/posts/default/2824217422853481148'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8808724261315055536/posts/default/2824217422853481148'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://didudoit.blogspot.com/2008/10/rain-emotions-and-tree.html' title='Rain, Emotions And a Tree'/><author><name>Jeet</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01750683960679600776</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='21' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_8Kow3nv3vI4/St3K37JuiUI/AAAAAAAAAIk/yHDYDV3GrIg/S220/jeet.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8808724261315055536.post-8471767070122418185</id><published>2008-09-26T17:05:00.005+05:30</published><updated>2008-09-26T18:16:36.122+05:30</updated><title type='text'>Mrs. Lazy Bum And Her Poetry</title><content type='html'>A friend of mine asked me in class today - " How do you write poetry? "&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Once you start writing poems, it catches on. Its quite addictive actually", I told my friend, but being the biggest and the laziest bum that she is, she doesnt even wanna try. After much pestering she wrote two lines.&lt;br /&gt;Of course it ended up with the teacher marking us absent coz I couldnt stop laughing and disturbing the class. A class, for which I came early in the morning at 8! It was quite hillarious, but it was nice. I dont have the permission from her to put up those lines but I'll try.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But I have been thinking about the question she asked me, for quite some time now and I think I have absolutely &lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;NO&lt;/span&gt; idea and I wont even try to answer that.&lt;br /&gt;How &lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;DO&lt;/span&gt; we write poetry?&lt;br /&gt;What &lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;IS&lt;/span&gt; poetry?&lt;br /&gt;Bunch of jumbled up words that sound nice? Inner thoughts? A song?&lt;br /&gt;If it was my friend, Mrs. lazy bum, she would probably ask - " Is it something to eat?"&lt;br /&gt;What is it?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Poetry is essentially the supreme music of the human mind. It reaches out to the widest breadths and the deepest depths of the mind.&lt;br /&gt;It is the act of establishing &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;by&lt;/span&gt; the word and &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;in&lt;/span&gt; the word.&lt;br /&gt;You may ask - &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;what&lt;/span&gt; is established? Well, actually it can range from anything profound, elusive and indefinable to sometimes, the very abstract and random thoughts of the human mind.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;You have no idea what random thoughts we think! Its just that most of us dont really pay attention to it quite often. But once we do notice the random and abstract things, you'll be quite surprised.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Probably anything and everything has some kind of poetry in it. The vibration of your cell phone. The way a girl's lips move when she's angry and shouting at her stupid boyfriend. Even the  scroll button you are using on your mouse to scroll through this blog. Probably.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Life in itself is a poem. Its just that you gotta make up the words. So make sure you get the right ones.&lt;br /&gt;Shit! Im hungry now.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8808724261315055536-8471767070122418185?l=didudoit.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://didudoit.blogspot.com/feeds/8471767070122418185/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8808724261315055536&amp;postID=8471767070122418185' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8808724261315055536/posts/default/8471767070122418185'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8808724261315055536/posts/default/8471767070122418185'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://didudoit.blogspot.com/2008/09/mrs-lazy-bum-and-her-poetry.html' title='Mrs. Lazy Bum And Her Poetry'/><author><name>Jeet</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01750683960679600776</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='21' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_8Kow3nv3vI4/St3K37JuiUI/AAAAAAAAAIk/yHDYDV3GrIg/S220/jeet.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8808724261315055536.post-9053427053780095116</id><published>2008-09-26T16:55:00.002+05:30</published><updated>2008-09-26T17:03:15.323+05:30</updated><title type='text'>The Simple Song</title><content type='html'>Feet down in the park, we've got the whole afternoon&lt;br /&gt;Playing the game of love and all the stuff that we do&lt;br /&gt;The purple sky now turning shy&lt;br /&gt;But hey! The blue grass says you are mine&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Your sweet lips and a bubble kiss&lt;br /&gt;A life with you God! I'd never miss&lt;br /&gt;Sometimes I donno I write crazy lines&lt;br /&gt;But that's okay, coz you know how to read my signs&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;All I want to do is&lt;br /&gt;Hold you in my arms and&lt;br /&gt;Sing all the simple tunes like&lt;br /&gt;Tada Dum Tada Dum&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;By the sea, writing love letters in the sand&lt;br /&gt;A song so simple, the waters also sang&lt;br /&gt;The sweet sky kissing an orange flare&lt;br /&gt;With the sodas and ice creams that we shared&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Late summer breeze blowing up a new story&lt;br /&gt;Your river brown curls trying to play naughty&lt;br /&gt;With a blanket to hold when the nights were cold&lt;br /&gt;Cuddled up in bed with hot chocolate and a roll&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;All I want to do is&lt;br /&gt;Hold you in my arms and&lt;br /&gt;Sing all the simple tunes like&lt;br /&gt;Tada Dum Tada Dum&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Tada Dum Tada Dum...&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8808724261315055536-9053427053780095116?l=didudoit.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://didudoit.blogspot.com/feeds/9053427053780095116/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8808724261315055536&amp;postID=9053427053780095116' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8808724261315055536/posts/default/9053427053780095116'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8808724261315055536/posts/default/9053427053780095116'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://didudoit.blogspot.com/2008/09/simple-song.html' title='The Simple Song'/><author><name>Jeet</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01750683960679600776</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='21' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_8Kow3nv3vI4/St3K37JuiUI/AAAAAAAAAIk/yHDYDV3GrIg/S220/jeet.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8808724261315055536.post-5481569966496025828</id><published>2008-09-08T16:10:00.004+05:30</published><updated>2008-09-26T18:19:02.677+05:30</updated><title type='text'>Discombobulation</title><content type='html'>Its 4:13 PM IST. Im in my college lab.&lt;br /&gt;My mind is in a horrible state of discombobulation. Discombobulate itself is a funny word. Not as funny as its meaning though. The last weekend, certain events occured in my life, that probably changed my entire mood. Bikes seem to going faster than usual, nights ending too fast, toasts getting ready in a jiffy, the bai coming on time...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;You should know that at this point, I am thoroughly bored coz we have our jam session in about an hour and im waiting patientlessly. Nothing much.&lt;br /&gt;Maybe I'll buy a cow now.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8808724261315055536-5481569966496025828?l=didudoit.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://didudoit.blogspot.com/feeds/5481569966496025828/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8808724261315055536&amp;postID=5481569966496025828' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8808724261315055536/posts/default/5481569966496025828'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8808724261315055536/posts/default/5481569966496025828'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://didudoit.blogspot.com/2008/09/discombobulation.html' title='Discombobulation'/><author><name>Jeet</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01750683960679600776</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='21' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_8Kow3nv3vI4/St3K37JuiUI/AAAAAAAAAIk/yHDYDV3GrIg/S220/jeet.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8808724261315055536.post-2387928531676650622</id><published>2008-08-30T12:01:00.005+05:30</published><updated>2008-09-08T16:42:09.397+05:30</updated><title type='text'>Big City Life</title><content type='html'>Pune city.&lt;br /&gt;Oxford by the day and Vegas by the night.&lt;br /&gt;Well…sort of.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;A pensioner’s paradise, and a doper’s funland. Past the night, brown curled girls walk to a hookah joint, their drinking lips shining under the red light, while a couple of guys trail behind and race with fast bikes and flying smoke on their skin. A cosmopolitan crowd. A &lt;em&gt;young&lt;/em&gt; cosmopolitan crowd.&lt;br /&gt;The weather is awesome here. Except when it starts to rain. When it rains, riding a bike becomes a pain in the rear. And when you cant ride your bike, the city stops. For you.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;You see, Pune has everything else. Big malls to keep you busy in the weekends. Gigs every month for you to mosh to. Discs every night to dance to. Abundant greenery and lakes to live sexy.&lt;br /&gt;But there’s just too much serenity and beauty to live alone. To live alone without sharing it with someone. What’s a walk down a green misty road on a spring morning, when there’s no soft hand to keep you warm by the side? What’s a long drive, without someone behind to hug you close? For some, all the picture perfect sunsets behind the mesmerizing mountains, with its subtle reflection falling on a beautiful lake is probably just that. To the others, it’s a small preview of probably what heaven has to offer. A timeless and priceless picture frozen.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It’s the girl that makes all the difference.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;If I were gay, I would have loved the sex ratio of our country. If the guy who said ‘there is someone for everyone’,  was an Indian, he probably did not mean it in the same terms as "there is a &lt;em&gt;&lt;strong&gt;girl&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/em&gt; for every &lt;em&gt;&lt;strong&gt;guy&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/em&gt;"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But I like girls. They are beautiful. In fact, I think I am in the very primitive stage of being in love with a girl. That, later.&lt;br /&gt;Now, lets talk about what I hate. I hate the population explosion! There’s just so much people around nowadays that you can’t even take a leak in peace! There’s not a single street in a single city that is &lt;em&gt;not&lt;/em&gt; buzzing with the sound of the excitement of the same boring people! I hate it!&lt;br /&gt;I hate it! I hate it! I hate it!&lt;br /&gt;But lets not blame ‘illiteracy’ anymore. Lets blame it on the cheap condoms. Stupid cheap condoms!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8808724261315055536-2387928531676650622?l=didudoit.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://didudoit.blogspot.com/feeds/2387928531676650622/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8808724261315055536&amp;postID=2387928531676650622' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8808724261315055536/posts/default/2387928531676650622'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8808724261315055536/posts/default/2387928531676650622'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://didudoit.blogspot.com/2008/08/big-city-life.html' title='Big City Life'/><author><name>Jeet</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01750683960679600776</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='21' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_8Kow3nv3vI4/St3K37JuiUI/AAAAAAAAAIk/yHDYDV3GrIg/S220/jeet.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8808724261315055536.post-7492783987330694374</id><published>2008-08-28T12:02:00.002+05:30</published><updated>2008-08-28T12:10:24.184+05:30</updated><title type='text'>Give me a sunshine</title><content type='html'>My mind's crazy and used like a one night stand&lt;br /&gt;Falling through the hole like alice in wonderland&lt;br /&gt;Curious enough to chase a rabbit up a tree&lt;br /&gt;Now dont you judge me by my insanity&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;What I am is not who I am&lt;br /&gt;Im like the skin right under your tan&lt;br /&gt;Got me cracked up and now Im fine to the core&lt;br /&gt;My kinda heaven's like hell's backdoor&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Too much of taste in this lighted rain&lt;br /&gt;Do take me away from too much fame&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I need a sunshine&lt;br /&gt;Give me a sunshine&lt;br /&gt;The day aint good&lt;br /&gt;But I like the so blue mood&lt;br /&gt;Give me a sunshine&lt;br /&gt;I need a sunshine&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I heard the roses talk about sometime last night&lt;br /&gt;About some Tom Dick and Harry and a guy called Mike&lt;br /&gt;Too much information bet I could sure get high&lt;br /&gt;Life's a breezer but dont you really wanna cry?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Called up my past and talked about the future&lt;br /&gt;Said she wont be coming and is quite unsure&lt;br /&gt;My eyes say the things like an open diary&lt;br /&gt;That everyone can read but my own queen fairy&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Send me through the backdoor of this commited time&lt;br /&gt;So tell me my fairy is it a love to crime?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I need a sunshine&lt;br /&gt;Give me a sunshine&lt;br /&gt;The day aint good&lt;br /&gt;But I like the so blue mood&lt;br /&gt;I need a sunshine&lt;br /&gt;Give me sunshine&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Give me a sunshine...&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8808724261315055536-7492783987330694374?l=didudoit.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://didudoit.blogspot.com/feeds/7492783987330694374/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8808724261315055536&amp;postID=7492783987330694374' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8808724261315055536/posts/default/7492783987330694374'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8808724261315055536/posts/default/7492783987330694374'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://didudoit.blogspot.com/2008/08/give-me-sunshine.html' title='Give me a sunshine'/><author><name>Jeet</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01750683960679600776</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='21' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_8Kow3nv3vI4/St3K37JuiUI/AAAAAAAAAIk/yHDYDV3GrIg/S220/jeet.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8808724261315055536.post-5520708460621391253</id><published>2008-08-28T11:53:00.002+05:30</published><updated>2008-08-28T11:57:39.620+05:30</updated><title type='text'>Magic Trick?</title><content type='html'>Love. They say it’s the most beautiful thing in the world. They say you can’t know what love is unless you love the same way you are loved. I should guess its true. I see couples fight (out of love of course) almost everyday. While these fights may be very tempting to stop, stare and watch, maybe even make good nighttime topics to chat for some, what we don’t see in this whole fight, is the love that these couples &lt;strong&gt;&lt;em&gt;still&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/strong&gt; share. It is invisible to you and me. Unless of course you and I are a couple and both of us are in love. I doubt that. It is that invisible thing that I wish to have in my life, which unfortunately I don’t.&lt;br /&gt;I am not a fool in love, darn no!&lt;br /&gt;I am a fool, deeply in love.&lt;br /&gt;Or I think so.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;For some of us lucky bastards, love happens at the first sight, and everything works out just fine. For the rest of us, it is as complex as trying to start a fire with just bare hands. Complications arise. Unwanted and illogical questions pop up. A lot of time is wasted. But you can’t help it.&lt;br /&gt;So I start to think. What do you do when the one person, who can make you happy beyond anything, and I mean anything, whom you &lt;strong&gt;&lt;em&gt;most&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/strong&gt; wanna tell how much you love them, is the &lt;strong&gt;&lt;em&gt;only&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/strong&gt; person you can’t? What do you do when the only person that can wipe away your tears, is the one who makes you cry? What do you do? What do you do??&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Well the honest answer is you can’t do anything. Maybe you’ll want to regret falling in love with that person, but I doubt anyone will fall for it.&lt;br /&gt;With all these random illogical things constantly occupying my mind, it wasn’t hard for me to come up with my own theory. Like all other theories this one too is very simple. And maybe stupid. But I’d like to share it with you anyway. Here it goes.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;“With every inch of love (if love could be measured lengthwise) comes 2 inches of pain.”&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Or maybe one and half (I am still working on it). The point is love and pain are inseparable.  Being loved is nice, but loving someone makes you feel insecure. Being missed is nice, but missing someone isn’t. Its weird.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Till date I’ve felt many different feelings. I’ve felt happy. Sad. Disgusted. Horny. Stupid. Warm, etc. But the worst feeling that I’ve ever had is that of pain. No I mean real pain! It’s as if someone just reached out for your heart, ripped it right off your chest and left you with a void. A gap. Black space full of empty feelings. It leaves you stunned. Its as if your body is moving but your mind refuses to move. It’s filled with confusion. A wet feeling in your eyes but no tears roll down. A black wall that you can’t touch, feel, hear or taste. Everything around you suddenly becomes blank. Like the television screen on a very bad rainy day. And if this happens when you are on a bike, riding at 70 kmph, you’d be very lucky to escape with just a minor accident and a bruised leg.&lt;br /&gt;I know I was.&lt;br /&gt;Twice.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Time changes things. And things suddenly change when you are in love.&lt;br /&gt;Or one way love.&lt;br /&gt;Fancy name huh? One way love. Twin brother of pain. One way love is just as bad. You know what’s worse? One way love with your friend. Sometimes you can’t even tell the other person how much you are in love with him/her, because it might just ruin your little friendship. And of course you don’t want that! It ain’t exactly a Rachel and Joey situation here you know. It’s your friend. Maybe your best friend. Or a close friend. Or maybe just a friend. But still a friend. You probably spend the whole day together. Maybe you go shopping together. Maybe share your lunch. Maybe even pretend to hate each other. Play pranks together. Throw water on each other during class. Get kicked out of the class for throwing water on each other during class. Maybe it’s all this and a tad bit more that made you fall for him/her.&lt;br /&gt;But when you can’t tell him/her the way you feel about him/her, it just kills you. You feel frustrated and angry. You feel like crying. You feel painfully stupid. Just a word of advice though: DO NOT RIDE OR DRIVE YOUR VEHICLE UNDER SUCH CIRCUMSTANCES.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;When it comes to love and relationships, I may not be the most wise person to comment anything on it, but what you are gonna read next comes straight from the inside.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;When you love a person &lt;strong&gt;&lt;em&gt;not&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/strong&gt; because of the way she looks, or for the way she dresses, you start to realize that for each moment that you have loved her she becomes more and more beautiful.&lt;br /&gt;Strange.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It’s like magic.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Hmmm…maybe that’s why they say love is magical.&lt;br /&gt;But isn’t magic just another illusion? A trick?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So is love an illusion too? Is it a magic trick?&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8808724261315055536-5520708460621391253?l=didudoit.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://didudoit.blogspot.com/feeds/5520708460621391253/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8808724261315055536&amp;postID=5520708460621391253' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8808724261315055536/posts/default/5520708460621391253'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8808724261315055536/posts/default/5520708460621391253'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://didudoit.blogspot.com/2008/08/magic-trick_28.html' title='Magic Trick?'/><author><name>Jeet</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01750683960679600776</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='21' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_8Kow3nv3vI4/St3K37JuiUI/AAAAAAAAAIk/yHDYDV3GrIg/S220/jeet.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8808724261315055536.post-1219922743871535906</id><published>2008-08-22T18:25:00.003+05:30</published><updated>2008-08-22T18:31:27.432+05:30</updated><title type='text'>Take Me To The Other Side</title><content type='html'>A stupid song that I wrote...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Dusty eyes and moody time&lt;br /&gt;Apple lips and hair so fine&lt;br /&gt;From a Sunday noon to the morning blue&lt;br /&gt;Silken skin of the softest hue&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;At a perfect time on a perfect day&lt;br /&gt;But imperfections my way&lt;br /&gt;With an on the spot life she gives&lt;br /&gt;Her free time to make my day&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Take me to the other side&lt;br /&gt;The other side of my mood&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;With a face that says of innocent joy&lt;br /&gt;A mind that wanders like a free toy&lt;br /&gt;Takes her time to say her thing&lt;br /&gt;Words that have no false meaning&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Took me to the places of the happiest side&lt;br /&gt;Tried to make my mind but could not decide&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Take me to the other side&lt;br /&gt;The other side of my mood&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Take me to the other side&lt;br /&gt;The other side of my mood&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8808724261315055536-1219922743871535906?l=didudoit.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://didudoit.blogspot.com/feeds/1219922743871535906/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8808724261315055536&amp;postID=1219922743871535906' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8808724261315055536/posts/default/1219922743871535906'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8808724261315055536/posts/default/1219922743871535906'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://didudoit.blogspot.com/2008/08/take-me-to-other-side.html' title='Take Me To The Other Side'/><author><name>Jeet</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01750683960679600776</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='21' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_8Kow3nv3vI4/St3K37JuiUI/AAAAAAAAAIk/yHDYDV3GrIg/S220/jeet.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry></feed>
