<?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'><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7465815</id><updated>2009-11-06T14:23:12.346+05:30</updated><title type='text'>The bwas and whees of Life</title><subtitle type='html'></subtitle><link rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#feed' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://argentyne.blogspot.com/feeds/posts/default'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7465815/posts/default'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://argentyne.blogspot.com/'/><link rel='hub' href='http://pubsubhubbub.appspot.com/'/><link rel='next' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7465815/posts/default?start-index=26&amp;max-results=25'/><author><name>Argentyne</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15380914569182985269</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email></author><generator version='7.00' uri='http://www.blogger.com'>Blogger</generator><openSearch:totalResults>363</openSearch:totalResults><openSearch:startIndex>1</openSearch:startIndex><openSearch:itemsPerPage>25</openSearch:itemsPerPage><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7465815.post-8891829475468850185</id><published>2009-11-05T19:47:00.000+05:30</published><updated>2009-11-05T19:49:18.452+05:30</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='NaBloPoMo'/><title type='text'>Day 5</title><content type='html'>So I came home early last night and realized that I was missing Ammy, so I called up the blister and said ‘Fontin yaad aara’ (long story) and then the ammy and I began a long nonsensical conversation. Most of it was her telling me a long story in her own version of English. It sounds a lot like English - the tone, the words, it even has some whathappeneds and yous in between - but it almost entirely gibberish. I think it was a rather long story about a cat and there were many miaows that sounded like the cat who was going through a bad break-up. So of course, when I just happened to ask ‘What happened to the doggie?’, a number of painful bhowbhows were also added to the mix. Too bad I can’t tell what the story was.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Before the story began however, I told her that ‘nanima’ (i.e. her par-nanima) was missing her and she immediately said, ‘Zara do phone unko, hum baat karte’. To which I said, ‘Pehle mere se baat karo na?’ and she said in a very grown-up, slightly exasperated way, (like one might talk to their child), ‘Aap se karte hum baat inshaallah, pehle nanima se baat karte. Phir baad mein aap se call karke baat karte, theek hai?’ And I couldn’t stop laughing. She’s barely three and she sounds like sixty. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I learned about Simpu Singh only the day before yesterday. And now I’m so taken by the videos that all I can think of is ‘What’s the zok?” and ‘Ask the Pankazz’ and ‘Khade ho jao, bhai khade ho jao’. If you don’t know what I’m talking about (and there’s little chance of that happening) google the ‘simpu singh’ on the youtube.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Oh and there’s apparently still some chance of going to Yurap. Apparently, just June is not good enough. The July possibility should also exist. Sigh.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;What else? I can’t think of anything else to add. Oh yeah, the grandmother is completely hooked to serials on Colors – Uttaran and Is Desh Mein Na Aana Meri Laado. Is it Laado or Laddo? Laddo, I believe. Why didn’t they extend it to ‘Is Desh Mein Na Aana Meri Laddo, Yahan Sirf Dukh Aur Drama hai. Phir Bhi Agar Aana Chahti Ho Toh Mere Liye Thodi Chai Zaroor Le Aana’. (Okay, forgive me). So every night when I get home, there are a bunch of people enjoying watching this extremely over-dramatic drama on the nyu 46” LCD TV. So over time, I learned that there’s a good girl (the servant’s daughter) and a bad girl (the daughter of the house) who are good friends and who both apparently love the same guy. The night when good girl is to get married to her lau, badgirl slashes her wrists so goodgirl decides to sacrifice herself and badgirl becomes the bride. And of course nobody comes to know because of the ghunghat. Duh! And it took three real days for the groom to discover that the girl he’s married is badgirl and not goodgirl. And then a whole week went by in the real world, but the bride was still in her bridal clothes! And when the groom came to the goodgirl-badgirl’s house, they spent 15 minutes just showing the goodgirl come down the steps. Some of the older characters are so Machiavellian that I really do not want my grandmazzar watching this stuff!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Okay, I’m done. Is there anyone who wants to hear anything specific from me? I’m running out of ideas :&lt; How am I ever going to reach day 30? :|&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7465815-8891829475468850185?l=argentyne.blogspot.com'/&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://argentyne.blogspot.com/feeds/8891829475468850185/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='https://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7465815&amp;postID=8891829475468850185&amp;isPopup=true' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7465815/posts/default/8891829475468850185'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7465815/posts/default/8891829475468850185'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://argentyne.blogspot.com/2009/11/day-5.html' title='Day 5'/><author><name>Argentyne</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15380914569182985269</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:extendedProperty xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' name='OpenSocialUserId' value='07543193997420710684'/></author><thr:total xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7465815.post-487968320501751734</id><published>2009-11-04T23:20:00.000+05:30</published><updated>2009-11-04T23:14:52.553+05:30</updated><title type='text'>Day 4</title><content type='html'>&lt;SPAN style='FONT-SIZE: 10pt; FONT-FAMILY: Arial; FONT-WEIGHT:Normal;'&gt;Did almost no work today thanks to long meetings and happy birthdays. &lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;Brain is so empty that writing any further would be an insult to you, dear reader. Will catch up with you and my former self soon. Hopefully tomorrow. See ya o &lt;/SPAN&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7465815-487968320501751734?l=argentyne.blogspot.com'/&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://argentyne.blogspot.com/feeds/487968320501751734/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='https://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7465815&amp;postID=487968320501751734&amp;isPopup=true' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7465815/posts/default/487968320501751734'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7465815/posts/default/487968320501751734'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://argentyne.blogspot.com/2009/11/day-4.html' title='Day 4'/><author><name>Argentyne</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15380914569182985269</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:extendedProperty xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' name='OpenSocialUserId' value='07543193997420710684'/></author><thr:total xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7465815.post-811587590078750337</id><published>2009-11-04T10:19:00.000+05:30</published><updated>2009-11-04T10:20:05.767+05:30</updated><title type='text'>Day 3</title><content type='html'>Today in brief:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;1. Work work work&lt;br /&gt;2. Team lead shouting at teammate. Glad to not be in his place.&lt;br /&gt;3. More work&lt;br /&gt;4. Could not have cookie crunch icecream because the freezer isn't working&lt;br /&gt;4. Call that involved getting more work&lt;br /&gt;(This was supposed to be posted yesterday. I even made another post from my phone but that seems to have disappeared. Sigh. See you soon.)&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7465815-811587590078750337?l=argentyne.blogspot.com'/&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://argentyne.blogspot.com/feeds/811587590078750337/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='https://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7465815&amp;postID=811587590078750337&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7465815/posts/default/811587590078750337'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7465815/posts/default/811587590078750337'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://argentyne.blogspot.com/2009/11/day-3.html' title='Day 3'/><author><name>Argentyne</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15380914569182985269</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:extendedProperty xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' name='OpenSocialUserId' value='07543193997420710684'/></author><thr:total xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7465815.post-7759608187072152969</id><published>2009-11-02T21:09:00.003+05:30</published><updated>2009-11-02T21:27:58.436+05:30</updated><title type='text'>Day 2</title><content type='html'>I'm back! But I would've forgotten if I hadn't noticed the dodo's and shub's comments on the previous post.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The day began well in spite of last night being terrible. I lay awake in my grandmom's room looking at the window, the curtains were drawn to a side and daylight was barely streaming it, thanks to it being winter and 7 AM in the morning. On a usual day, whenever I wake up the room is in almost complete darkness because the curtains are drawn. I made note of this important point and fell asleep again only to feel a blanket go thump on me and when I opened my eyes, the room was in darkness again and my dear grandmom had covered me up with another blanket. So suwweeet.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I thought I would talk about my U.S. trip, I thought I would write about all the other posts that I've been mentally writing and I also intended to change things on my blog, but it looks like that isn't going to happen. I am being bombarded with work and mid-year review deadlines! Noooooooo!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And I just sent a very, very important email to very, very important people without a subject! Gah. Outlook should have a check like Gmail (which actually irritates me :|). From now on I should always send important emails to myself first! Stoopid garal.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Much joy there was this morning. I hope it lasts.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Among other things, a friend loaned me some Britney Spears Fantasy lotion cause my skin looked dry. Now I smell like fruity candy. I must really be losing it, because I just noticed I had spelt fantasy as fantaCy. WHAT?!!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I also just realized that I've missed blogging. Muah muah to you bloggie. You're very old, you know. If you were a person, you would probably be running around pulling girl's ponytails or playing teacher-teacher/house-house (if you were boy or girl respectively). (I've just realized that I don't know much about what 5 year old boys or girls do all day. What do they do?)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Little Aroush smiled at me today. It was so, so precious! I can't wait for her to grow up. It will apparently take her another 2-3 months to grab things from people's hands. I'm sure her mom is tired of people impatiently ranting about such thinguz.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Ammy of course is talking like an 80 year old. Last week, she apparently told my mom, 'Agar ho sake toh maaf kar do mamma'. That just left me speechless.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Okay, I be goes to behome.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Bee you tomorrow!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7465815-7759608187072152969?l=argentyne.blogspot.com'/&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://argentyne.blogspot.com/feeds/7759608187072152969/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='https://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7465815&amp;postID=7759608187072152969&amp;isPopup=true' title='5 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7465815/posts/default/7759608187072152969'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7465815/posts/default/7759608187072152969'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://argentyne.blogspot.com/2009/11/day-2.html' title='Day 2'/><author><name>Argentyne</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15380914569182985269</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:extendedProperty xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' name='OpenSocialUserId' value='07543193997420710684'/></author><thr:total xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'>5</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7465815.post-3504904461967630726</id><published>2009-11-01T12:10:00.000+05:30</published><updated>2009-11-01T12:04:24.026+05:30</updated><title type='text'>Day 1</title><content type='html'>&lt;SPAN style='FONT-SIZE: 10pt; FONT-FAMILY: Arial; FONT-WEIGHT:Normal;'&gt;Assalamualaikum and good morning everybody! :D NaBloPoMo is here and this blogger plans to have something new for you everyday! &lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;Okay, I don't sound like myself. I was woken up by a colleague who wanted to add more work woes to my weekend. I must say though, the past couple of weekends, I voluntarily took work home! Does that sound like me? Sigh. the downsides of being responsible, proactive, fruity - blah!&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;Last weekend involved two visits to the shiniest mall in the city and it reminded me of malls in the gelf. I liked. The Sudha was also with me and much silly fun was had. The second visit was a mall-seeing visit for the grandmom who complained that so-and-so malls have been open for so long and nobody's taken me! That was good too. Aldo has such undeniably attractive shoes! replete of course, with not-so-attractive prices. &lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;Yesterday we went to the old school road. We weren't very awara because immu's mother was with us, but it was good to have (meethi) pani puri and ganne ka ras (my phone's predictive output had just turned that into ganne ka rascals :D) after so long.&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;Okay, I should get started on work. also, need to pin on the NaBloPoMo badge and some more changes!&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;See you tomorrow! &lt;/SPAN&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7465815-3504904461967630726?l=argentyne.blogspot.com'/&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://argentyne.blogspot.com/feeds/3504904461967630726/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='https://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7465815&amp;postID=3504904461967630726&amp;isPopup=true' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7465815/posts/default/3504904461967630726'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7465815/posts/default/3504904461967630726'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://argentyne.blogspot.com/2009/11/day-1.html' title='Day 1'/><author><name>Argentyne</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15380914569182985269</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:extendedProperty xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' name='OpenSocialUserId' value='07543193997420710684'/></author><thr:total xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7465815.post-7114901720940519504</id><published>2009-10-22T13:46:00.002+05:30</published><updated>2009-10-22T14:11:58.242+05:30</updated><title type='text'>I swear I'll get back to work after this</title><content type='html'>I forgot what I wanted to write about :| And now I have a bad, bad headache. Haven't slept much in the last few days. But it's nice not to have daily and almost 8-hourly deadlines. I need to get back to work. I miss my headphones so badly :(&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I shall bulletthepoint stuff I wanted to write about (what I can recall now):&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;1. A long conversation during which I alternated between gritting my teeth and laughing out loud. #happiness&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;2. Mulling over New York. I should really write about it during nablopomo or I'm going to forget everything.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;3. Recent happenings that require that I hold a long conversation with the parents. I know already that nothing's going to come out of it, but it's something I *HAVE* to share. #giddiness&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;4. Crossing that fine line between colleagueship and friendship and related dilemmas&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;5. Death and old age. A lot of people recommended 'Love In The Time Of Cholera', and I finally read it. At the end of it, I was left plagued by the difficulties of old age old age than pondering over the definitions of love. I admit that some of the writing is pithy, but seriously, what is so great about the book? Also, did anyone notice that a couple of sentences are repeated verbatim elsewhere in the book? That was so weird!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;6. Putting little Aroush to bed. Babies are so gobble-able.I don't think I will ever be able to figure out people not wanting to have kids.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;7. Ammy, Ammy, Ammy. I miss you.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;8. Luck by chance. It's true, one must always carpe diem.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;9. Transitioning. For the better insha allah.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;10. Spent almost half of Monday shopping. Didn't buy anything I didn't need. The shopping urge remains unsated.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;11. I'm happy. #alhamdulillah&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7465815-7114901720940519504?l=argentyne.blogspot.com'/&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://argentyne.blogspot.com/feeds/7114901720940519504/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='https://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7465815&amp;postID=7114901720940519504&amp;isPopup=true' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7465815/posts/default/7114901720940519504'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7465815/posts/default/7114901720940519504'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://argentyne.blogspot.com/2009/10/i-swear-ill-get-back-to-work-after-this.html' title='I swear I&apos;ll get back to work after this'/><author><name>Argentyne</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15380914569182985269</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:extendedProperty xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' name='OpenSocialUserId' value='07543193997420710684'/></author><thr:total xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7465815.post-7293199663158376442</id><published>2009-10-20T00:47:00.000+05:30</published><updated>2009-10-20T00:52:41.318+05:30</updated><title type='text'>goodnayit</title><content type='html'>i don't know how well this is going to work. this is my first bedpost :D  I had a good day today alhamdulillah, spoke to door after a long, long time. and pitti too. It was so nice to catch up. All of us seem to be getting wiser and nostalgic too. it's almost entirely a leisure-less life. I was telling p that I was thinking that a lower paying job but one that allowed you that beautiful thing called a weekend should be better in order to really have any sort of a 'life'... The year's gone so fast, soon we'll be in 2010 inshaallah, and what will I have to show for 2009? Not much, really. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Ok, time to switch off the brain and go to sleep. peace.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7465815-7293199663158376442?l=argentyne.blogspot.com'/&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://argentyne.blogspot.com/feeds/7293199663158376442/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='https://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7465815&amp;postID=7293199663158376442&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7465815/posts/default/7293199663158376442'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7465815/posts/default/7293199663158376442'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://argentyne.blogspot.com/2009/10/goodnayit.html' title='goodnayit'/><author><name>Argentyne</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15380914569182985269</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:extendedProperty xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' name='OpenSocialUserId' value='07543193997420710684'/></author><thr:total xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7465815.post-2089681660383707741</id><published>2009-09-29T13:50:00.001+05:30</published><updated>2009-09-29T13:50:15.762+05:30</updated><title type='text'>Snarl</title><content type='html'>Thought I&amp;#39;d vent in the middle of the day. A little pissed off. Sure, it&amp;#39;s probably rightly deserved, but it&amp;#39;s irritating me... How much can you try to change what happened in the past? And if you don&amp;#39;t feel motivated enough to take care of your future... I think that&amp;#39;s the whole point, not motivated enough. Should do something about that, SOON. &lt;div&gt; &lt;br&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Had an amazing day yesterday though :)&lt;/div&gt; &lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7465815-2089681660383707741?l=argentyne.blogspot.com'/&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://argentyne.blogspot.com/feeds/2089681660383707741/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='https://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7465815&amp;postID=2089681660383707741&amp;isPopup=true' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7465815/posts/default/2089681660383707741'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7465815/posts/default/2089681660383707741'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://argentyne.blogspot.com/2009/09/snarl.html' title='Snarl'/><author><name>Argentyne</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15380914569182985269</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:extendedProperty xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' name='OpenSocialUserId' value='07543193997420710684'/></author><thr:total xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7465815.post-3525977649469341006</id><published>2009-09-13T09:00:00.002+05:30</published><updated>2009-09-13T09:55:18.525+05:30</updated><title type='text'>Bwakh</title><content type='html'>I'm tired and I have a headache. Ramadhan, work and this stupid contest is a bad combination. I shouldn't say stupid though, we won the last round and got ourselves a Dell netbook each (yes, showing off) but on weekends when all I want to do is rest, it really gets on my nerves. And then the other teammates give me the impression that they live on steroids. Don't they need sleep? I am &lt;span style="font-style:italic;"&gt;so&lt;/span&gt; not the energizer bunny. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I really don't have the energy or patience to write this out, but I miss my blog. Funny how much time we used to have back in college, so much in fact, that it got nauseating. Recently met a classmate from school in the office cab. (Both of us kept waiting and wondering if the other person was really who we thought she was, until I opened my big mouth and asked. And she said, "Really? You? But you were such a brilliant student, what are you doing here?" I didn't know whether to be offended or pleased.) Her team's also in this contest and we've been commuting together to the village office block. One day we went all nostalgic remembering our 'Moorkhas!' Hindi teacher and other namooney. Sigh, school life was so much more... full of life. It wasn't without its complications of course, the quarrels, the breakups between friends, gang politics, but it was still, living. This week at office passed by so quickly, that I found myself questioning Friday's arrival multiple times over Thursday night. Where does all the time go? Of course I know, I fill my timesheet every Monday, (creatively, as they label all sidey things in office).  If there was a lifesheet to fill every week, it would definitely be depressingly blank. (My productivitywhee brain is now getting a trifle hyper with a 'make a lifesheet!' idea). Sigh.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;You know who's definitely getting some fun out of her life? Ammy. But like everyone else around her, she's cramming so much more in so little time. She likes talking in gibberish that sounds like English. She apparently told Baba yesterday to 'Baba, aap english mein baat karo'. Is also suna-ing kahanis that go like, '&lt;span style="font-style:italic;"&gt;Ek ghar mein na ek mouse tha. Mouse na doctor ke paas gaya, aur Owwwwww bola. Doctor usko 'tain!' karey&lt;/span&gt; (tain is her word for injection). &lt;span style="font-style:italic;"&gt;Khatm hogayi kahani!&lt;/span&gt;' &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Yesterday, I decided to tell her a &lt;span style="font-style:italic;"&gt;kahani&lt;/span&gt;, very much like hers (equally abrupt and silly too). And when I finshed, she said, '&lt;span style="font-style:italic;"&gt;Aur ek kahani bolo&lt;/span&gt;'. So I said the same &lt;span style="font-style:italic;"&gt;kahani&lt;/span&gt; only substituting Ammaarah and the billi instead of the billi and the mouse. And she gleefully said,&lt;span style="font-style:italic;"&gt; 'Aur ek kahani bolo'&lt;/span&gt;. And then I decided to get back to my wonderful life and said, &lt;span style="font-style:italic;"&gt;'Ab kal. Roz sirf do kahaniyaan, theek hai?&lt;/span&gt;' And she obediently agreed, poor thing.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Oh, and this conversation took place a coupla days ago:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I was talking in a particular tone with the lady and she was imitating me perfectly. So well, that I was awed and said:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style:italic;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-style:italic;"&gt;Ammaaraaaaah, you're too much, Ammaarah! Toooooo muchhhh hain tum!&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And she very sweetly, in a sing-song voice said, &lt;span style="font-style:italic;"&gt;'Jazakallah, Peemmi'&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Too shocked to believe that this little mite had not only understood that it was a compliment but had thanked me for it, I said, &lt;span style="font-style:italic;"&gt;'Kya? Kyun Jazakallah?'&lt;/span&gt; And her mom said, 'Well, you complimented her, she thanked you!'&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I said, 'Ammaaraaah, you're my staar! &lt;span style="font-style:italic;"&gt;Tum mere star hain&lt;/span&gt;'&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;and she said, 'Hum star nai, Ammaarah hai'&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Ammy, if you were on orkut, I'd add my name to your list of fans. And that IS an honour! &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;There is something about her voice that gives me an instant happiness &lt;span style="font-style:italic;"&gt;tain&lt;/span&gt;. It amazes me that she not only understands what we say so well, but is intelligent enough to mimic us exactly, and tease us even though she's so little. Makes me slightly nervous to think how she's going to be when she grows up!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I bought an English translation of the Quran last week, and I think it's the best ninety rupees I've ever spent. There are some verses in the Quran that leave you speechless with their wisdom and beauty. And yest. when KF aunty was over, my heart was brimming over with contentment, thought that's not the word I'm looking for. It was more like quiet joy. I think people like her have a quality that only someone with a genuinely caring heart can have. Other people only try, but in her case you can feel a strong connection and makes you wish you could imbibe the same qualities. Remember reading somewhere, on Muslimmatters I guess, that people who remind the others of their creator will be blessed. I'm sure she must be one of them. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Spoke to N during the week. Her to-be sister-in-law had a baby girl and N was completely overwhelmed by the whole experience. "Such tiny little hands, such tiny feet and to imagine a whole person living inside someone else... it was just so..." and she trailed off. And I smiled to myself and wondered how people fail to see it for the miracle it is. Everything about the new born baby, from the unfused-skull bones to the un-fused vertebrae at the neck, all scream that they're &lt;span style="font-style:italic;"&gt;designed&lt;/span&gt; so that the baby can be squeezed out without being hurt. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Why aren't there two month vacations at work? Maybe I should find myself a job like that. I wonder why we worry so much about validation. There are so many people I envy who do what they want to and aren't troubled by the Log-kya-kahenge syndrome. I don't want to cut myself off from civilization and run &lt;span style="font-style:italic;"&gt;Into the Wild&lt;/span&gt;. But just a little more freedom, fewer conversations, fewer timesheets and other mind-numbing 'trackers', some unfettered living, is that too much to ask for? (Reminds me that a certain somebody thinks I am wild. Hee haa. That made me grin so much. Until I began comparing my life with some of my friends and thought, 'Me, wild?!' Naaaaah. But I like to think so, and like it that you think so too! :D)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;On that temporary high note, we shall stop rambling. Maybe sleep a little.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7465815-3525977649469341006?l=argentyne.blogspot.com'/&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://argentyne.blogspot.com/feeds/3525977649469341006/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='https://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7465815&amp;postID=3525977649469341006&amp;isPopup=true' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7465815/posts/default/3525977649469341006'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7465815/posts/default/3525977649469341006'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://argentyne.blogspot.com/2009/09/bwakh.html' title='Bwakh'/><author><name>Argentyne</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15380914569182985269</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:extendedProperty xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' name='OpenSocialUserId' value='07543193997420710684'/></author><thr:total xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7465815.post-8795972908417520134</id><published>2009-08-14T22:40:00.002+05:30</published><updated>2009-08-14T23:08:39.835+05:30</updated><title type='text'>24 - Where we ramble on and on</title><content type='html'>:) I had a wunnnerful birthday! You know how it's like most times... it's a month before your b'day and you're thinking, just a month away, then just twenty days away, just a week, just two days, wow, it's MY BIRTHDAAYYY! And then your birthday just smacks you in the face and says, "So, what?" You know when you were younger, it was such a big deal, I remember writing in my diary that on my 8th class birthday, I got 9 birthday cards and 10 gifts (or something to that effect), and it always mattered that more and more people call you, and that the number (and value of course) of your gifts should increase, because, come on, you're older! You have more friends!... &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But this time, bleah. For one, I was too busy to keep track of my birthday and there was like, nil, excitement. No, not because I wasn't expecting much, okay yeah, I was (but I'll come to that in a little bit) but mostly because I was so busy with my life that it didn't matter. At work I'm busy being oh-miss-proactive-who-doesn't-know-why-she's-doing-this-job-but-wants-to-do-a-good-job-at-it and at home, well, when am I at home, anyway? And there was a certain huge crisis that I blew up in my face, but well, that got taken care of, beautifully. (alhamdulillah). So I was too busy to notice, plus when I even thought about it, I idly realized that I don't 'maintain' my friends (to use Immu's words). The number of 'best friends' or 'friends in the gang' has been dropping consistently ever since college. There are so many friends that I keep thinking I have to call and it just never happens. I think there are three people right now that I would count among my 'closest friends' and when I come to think of it, I hardly spoke to them on my birthday. One of them clean forgot, until I missed her and called her myself (but she didn't pick up, stupid thing). Another I could hardly speak to cause we were both so busy. The funny thing is I don't hold the 'she didn't call me hawww' against anyone anymore. Of course, I bugged some people for presents (such as my parents who only gave me a Rs. 500 note, ha!) but that was all. I think the whole 'ego' thing about birthdays is long gone. She has grown up, after all!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So on the day of my birthday, we had to attend a professional video shoot. Why, you ask? You see, my team is now a finalist in some Apprentice-type contest being conducted company-wide. So, 4 hours of a precious workday were wasted, no, wait, not wasted. We had fun. We're all supposed to be 'misfits' (and really, with my latest costume upgrade, do I even need to spell it out? But let's not get ahead of oneself) so I projected myself as the nerdy, more friends on orkut and facebook than in real life person and pronounced myself as an internet addict (Why did I look sad about it though? I should have been grinning. Felt sad about leaving out twitter and google reader though). We had a good time shooting that video and today when the contest launched, our video did get some real good applause! (only a couple of my 'colleagues' came to cheer me though, the rest are sore losers, man!). &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So yeah, I got back from the video shoot, and decided, no more timewasting, let's get back to work - NOW! So I rolled up my sleeves (metaphorically) and then the phone rang. Oh my god, I was surprised at how many calls I got! Considering I'm me, lost in my own sweet world! It was uppu, a call not to be denied. So I called back and we chatted while I sat at my desk. I noticed people beginning to move behind me and heard a 'Chal, iska bday hai, cake kaatne chalte hain', so I thought 'Okay, the usual cake kaating is going to happen' but continued talking on the phone. And then? And then I noticed that the people who sit in front of me had stood up and were staring at me. I had hung up by then, so I turned around and noticed that the rest of my team members had also moved closer and were staring at me. I was flustered, and said, 'Umm, I feel like I'm an animal at the zoo' and they just continued staring at me! So I stood up at my place and then one of them clicked on something and oooooold hindi music started to play. Everyone started laughing and I was like 'Whaaa?' and then the song began, "tum jiyo hazaaro saal saal... happy birthday to you!" and God, how everyone laughed. Cause you see, this was on the office floor, so it's not only our team but all teams nearby (some 80 odd people) who could hear the loud music, and then they made me stand on my chair! (Reminded me of an earlier birthday at Pizza Hut, sigh, it was nice :) ) Man, it was so embarrassing and so much fun at the same time! I thought the forbidden that day - 'I love my team!' (But yeah, that wasn't supposed to last anyway).&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I did get some really nice gifts. Two books, one in the mail that I didn't expect at all. Chips, pepsi :D And one awesome mug whose picture I shall post some day. And my two office 'friends' gave me two different mask like thingies. If some message was intended, I'm not getting it. One of them is a ceramic mask, like you should wear at a masqued ball! And an e-card from Ammy :) (whose crazy stories I must post!) Oh and in the blog world, Shub smsed me, so I called her back and Ishywishy emailed me! :)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Then I went home where there was a dawat (graduation dawat for cousins, coincided with my bday) so there was cake to be cut, food to be had, (not to mention all the cleaning up that had to be done post that). And then we fell asleep, blabbering.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It was a beautiful day, alhamdulillah. Sniff, sniff. Lau you all.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Ghood nayits.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7465815-8795972908417520134?l=argentyne.blogspot.com'/&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://argentyne.blogspot.com/feeds/8795972908417520134/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='https://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7465815&amp;postID=8795972908417520134&amp;isPopup=true' title='6 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7465815/posts/default/8795972908417520134'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7465815/posts/default/8795972908417520134'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://argentyne.blogspot.com/2009/08/24-where-we-ramble-on-and-on.html' title='24 - Where we ramble on and on'/><author><name>Argentyne</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15380914569182985269</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:extendedProperty xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' name='OpenSocialUserId' value='07543193997420710684'/></author><thr:total xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'>6</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7465815.post-2461613469324851777</id><published>2009-06-28T14:25:00.012+05:30</published><updated>2009-06-28T15:06:55.373+05:30</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='travel'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='vacation'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='adventure'/><title type='text'>Vacation diary - 1</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_glUnbywXUS8/SkczX4A6jjI/AAAAAAAAAQo/zmVii0Q0swo/s1600-h/IMAGE_081.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_glUnbywXUS8/SkczX4A6jjI/AAAAAAAAAQo/zmVii0Q0swo/s320/IMAGE_081.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5352303167419354674" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Had a good trip until we reached JFK. Qatar Airways is amazing, more so for the inflight entertainment. I could choose from so many awesome movies, plus pause/start/stop whenever I wanted to, quite unlike Emirates' inflight stuff. Watched movies after a long time and that too back-to-back! Watched Confessions of A Shopaholic (nice, could've been better) and then Bride Wars. Yes, chickflicks. And accompanied with chocolate icecream. Definitely felt like a vacation :)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Reached JFK and had a really tough time waiting to clear immigration. Ended up in a weird warehouse like room where there were 90 percent people were either Muslim or South American. At least 50 percent of the names called out had 'Mohammad' in them. And the whole process was so inefficient! Was so frustrated by the time we came out (3 hours after we landed) that I told mom, "Let's just go back." Apparently all first time visitors go through this. But I saw only a handful of white faces and too many abayas, hijabs, beards. Really sad.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_glUnbywXUS8/Skc0SGE8FGI/AAAAAAAAAQw/snKIis1vId4/s1600-h/IMAGE_098.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_glUnbywXUS8/Skc0SGE8FGI/AAAAAAAAAQw/snKIis1vId4/s320/IMAGE_098.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5352304167626740834" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The first thing I told ze mama when we met was 'I hate your country'. But I hadn't seen New York until then. We left for New Jersey then, a long, long ride it was. But oh-so-scenic! Initially, the roads just seemed like slight variations of Dammam roads, but when we reached the city and then George Washington drive, oh-my-god. It was amazing, the New York skyline on one end, and cliff-faces on the other, and of course, the Hudson. So beautiful. Was completely overawed. I really didn't expect New York, almost a world capital, to be so green and so at one with nature. I'm already dying to start walking the streets. The 'awara' in me (as mom would put it) is dying to be left alone, to walk and to discover. I don't know how much of that will happen though.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;(Some random pictures - a rainbow, sad pictures of the Hudson cause a railing was blocking the view, and the uncle's house. Better pictures next time insha allah)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_glUnbywXUS8/Skc0cYyRrCI/AAAAAAAAAQ4/Y03qVDFtwb8/s1600-h/IMAGE_105.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_glUnbywXUS8/Skc0cYyRrCI/AAAAAAAAAQ4/Y03qVDFtwb8/s320/IMAGE_105.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5352304344447429666" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_glUnbywXUS8/Skc0nGKllrI/AAAAAAAAARA/epsI7JvBRhw/s1600-h/IMAGE_106.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_glUnbywXUS8/Skc0nGKllrI/AAAAAAAAARA/epsI7JvBRhw/s320/IMAGE_106.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5352304528427685554" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_glUnbywXUS8/Skc1BCPOccI/AAAAAAAAARI/fjKUahcxKvQ/s1600-h/IMAGE_114.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_glUnbywXUS8/Skc1BCPOccI/AAAAAAAAARI/fjKUahcxKvQ/s320/IMAGE_114.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5352304974049997250" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_glUnbywXUS8/Skc1VUbojjI/AAAAAAAAARQ/PM7rgrwm-_c/s1600-h/IMAGE_120.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_glUnbywXUS8/Skc1VUbojjI/AAAAAAAAARQ/PM7rgrwm-_c/s320/IMAGE_120.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5352305322531262002" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_glUnbywXUS8/Skc1cVWcd1I/AAAAAAAAARY/4OmRRsjA3i4/s1600-h/IMAGE_121.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_glUnbywXUS8/Skc1cVWcd1I/AAAAAAAAARY/4OmRRsjA3i4/s320/IMAGE_121.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5352305443037017938" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_glUnbywXUS8/Skc1j6yS5nI/AAAAAAAAARg/dZZxiTpd0BY/s1600-h/IMAGE_122.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_glUnbywXUS8/Skc1j6yS5nI/AAAAAAAAARg/dZZxiTpd0BY/s320/IMAGE_122.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5352305573345027698" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_glUnbywXUS8/Skc1y_g4vMI/AAAAAAAAARo/5FhkcmUSkqE/s1600-h/IMAGE_125.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_glUnbywXUS8/Skc1y_g4vMI/AAAAAAAAARo/5FhkcmUSkqE/s320/IMAGE_125.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5352305832312224962" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7465815-2461613469324851777?l=argentyne.blogspot.com'/&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://argentyne.blogspot.com/feeds/2461613469324851777/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='https://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7465815&amp;postID=2461613469324851777&amp;isPopup=true' title='4 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7465815/posts/default/2461613469324851777'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7465815/posts/default/2461613469324851777'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://argentyne.blogspot.com/2009/06/vacation-diary-1.html' title='Vacation diary - 1'/><author><name>Argentyne</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15380914569182985269</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:extendedProperty xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' name='OpenSocialUserId' value='07543193997420710684'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_glUnbywXUS8/SkczX4A6jjI/AAAAAAAAAQo/zmVii0Q0swo/s72-c/IMAGE_081.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'>4</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7465815.post-918017694198943730</id><published>2009-05-30T17:15:00.001+05:30</published><updated>2009-05-30T17:15:31.508+05:30</updated><title type='text'>Notes to myself</title><content type='html'>&lt;SPAN style='FONT-SIZE: 10pt; FONT-FAMILY: Arial; FONT-WEIGHT:Normal;'&gt;I've finished and put away my copy of Curfewed Night. And my mind is clouded with the number of questions it provoked. Alhamdulillah, there has been little pain or grief in my life. The kind of pain when something or someone is irrevocably lost. The closest I came to it was about a year ago and even though it was-to a large extent- vicarious, it was... Too difficult to handle. Too difficult to think about, even. &lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;Basharat Peer writes about how his grandmother once said, 'when the blood of an innocent man is spilled, the sky turns red' and talks about how at least one innocent man has died in Kashmir since 1990. I cannot imagine what that must be like. He talks about militants, soldiers, counter-insurgents and the absurdity of so many lives being lost in vain. &lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;PB refused to read it saying he knew enough stories of army--men who were stationed in Kashmir and their shocking tales about those across the border. I wonder why we forget our common humanity and succumb instead to borders, castes and creed. What remains is either apathy or greed, and in the worst case, both - a most destructive combination.&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;We need more books like these.&lt;br&gt;&lt;/SPAN&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7465815-918017694198943730?l=argentyne.blogspot.com'/&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://argentyne.blogspot.com/feeds/918017694198943730/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='https://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7465815&amp;postID=918017694198943730&amp;isPopup=true' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7465815/posts/default/918017694198943730'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7465815/posts/default/918017694198943730'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://argentyne.blogspot.com/2009/05/notes-to-myself_30.html' title='Notes to myself'/><author><name>Argentyne</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15380914569182985269</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:extendedProperty xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' name='OpenSocialUserId' value='07543193997420710684'/></author><thr:total xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7465815.post-3215617639177350775</id><published>2009-05-28T20:19:00.001+05:30</published><updated>2009-05-28T20:19:03.647+05:30</updated><title type='text'>The Quiet World</title><content type='html'>&lt;div class="gmail_quote"&gt;&lt;br&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Georgia;color:rgb(51, 51, 51);line-height:20px"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;The Quiet World&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;In an effort to get people to look&lt;br&gt;into each other&amp;#39;s eyes more,&lt;br&gt;the government has decided to allot&lt;br&gt;  each person exactly one hundred&lt;br&gt;and sixty-seven words, per day.&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;When the phone rings, I put it&lt;br&gt;to my ear without saying hello.&lt;br&gt;In the restaurant I point&lt;br&gt;at chicken noodle soup. I am&lt;br&gt;adjusting well to the new way.&lt;br&gt;  &lt;br&gt;Late at night, I call my long&lt;br&gt;distance lover and proudly say&lt;br&gt;I only used fifty-nine today.&lt;br&gt;I saved the rest for you.&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;When she doesn&amp;#39;t respond, I know&lt;br&gt;she&amp;#39;s used up all her words&lt;br&gt;so I slowly whisper I love you,&lt;br&gt;  thirty-two and a third times.&lt;br&gt;After that, we just sit on the line&lt;br&gt;and listen to each other breathe.&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;&lt;em&gt;-- Jeffrey McDaniel&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/span&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;br&gt; &lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7465815-3215617639177350775?l=argentyne.blogspot.com'/&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://argentyne.blogspot.com/feeds/3215617639177350775/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='https://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7465815&amp;postID=3215617639177350775&amp;isPopup=true' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7465815/posts/default/3215617639177350775'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7465815/posts/default/3215617639177350775'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://argentyne.blogspot.com/2009/05/quiet-world.html' title='The Quiet World'/><author><name>Argentyne</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15380914569182985269</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:extendedProperty xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' name='OpenSocialUserId' value='07543193997420710684'/></author><thr:total xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7465815.post-6313728399602668940</id><published>2009-05-26T19:50:00.001+05:30</published><updated>2009-05-26T19:50:09.576+05:30</updated><title type='text'>SNARL</title><content type='html'>I CANNOT BELIEVE THIS. I want to go home. Have been wanting to since the past two hours. Have not got any work done. I want to GO HOME. I WANT TO SHOP FIRST. BUT MY MANAGER WILL NOT STOP YAKKING ON THE PHONE IN HIS HORRIBLY FAKE PUT-ON AMERICAN ACCENT! &lt;div&gt; &lt;br&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;REVIEW MY REPORT ALREADY! &lt;/div&gt; &lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7465815-6313728399602668940?l=argentyne.blogspot.com'/&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://argentyne.blogspot.com/feeds/6313728399602668940/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='https://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7465815&amp;postID=6313728399602668940&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7465815/posts/default/6313728399602668940'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7465815/posts/default/6313728399602668940'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://argentyne.blogspot.com/2009/05/snarl.html' title='SNARL'/><author><name>Argentyne</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15380914569182985269</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:extendedProperty xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' name='OpenSocialUserId' value='07543193997420710684'/></author><thr:total xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7465815.post-3574153784728070328</id><published>2009-05-24T14:11:00.005+05:30</published><updated>2009-05-24T14:42:30.963+05:30</updated><title type='text'>Pichle saat dinon mein maine khoya...</title><content type='html'>This is the second weekend that actually seems like a real weekend. With the year-end review coming up, and with the new work-me (one who's trying to inculcate some of that much-lauded quality called proactiveness (and suffering because of it)), the last few weeks have been quite stressful. Not that the weeks before that weren't. The 'busy season' runs all year round! Well, the good thing is that there isn't much client work right now, so the deadlines are a little more flexible and my brain isn't stuffed with a zillion to-dos. I've learned the hard way that I can very easily forget something that I was told to do a minute before, so I'm writing everything down. While that does seem to take some of the stress away, looking at that loo-hooong list can be quite stressful in itself. Well, we live and we learn. At any rate, we live. (Where are these lines from? Googled - some quote).&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Last week was even more frustrating cause I kept losing things. I did find some things, alhamdulillah. I think I badly needed that lesson. Sometimes you're so caught up in your own world that you completely forget to count your blessings. I kept losing things - first it was small things that I just overlooked, and then it got bigger and bigger until I was completely distraught. I repeated to myself, the prayer for lost things and reminded myself of the many things that I was dependent on Allah for. And the point was driven home when I read Premchand's words to the effect - 'And we make such plans when we don't even know if we'll draw in the next breath'. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;A horrible skin infection taught me some other things too. Most important lesson? TAKE ANTIHISTAMINES! I don't know why I avoided them for so long. I'm pretty sure I'm sleeping a sounder sleep now that I'm taking them. Oh and you'll realize that the face you've scoffed at in the mirror is now much more appealing to you cause that nasty boil isn't there anymore!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;What else? Eight of us (cousins, aunt and uncle) played Life yesterday and I was pretty much the laggard in 'life'. I was the last person to finish, having gone over the same stretch four times thanks to a stupid yellow space called 'Go back 15 spaces'. I was a journalist btw, with twin boys and a salary of $24,000 per year. Sounds like a nice life, no? In the end, when the money was counted, aunt who was a doctor with four boys ended up last though and I ended up second last. Much like the running races I used to take part in school. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Vacation plans seem to be shelved currently. So das. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Oh, last weekend we splurged at Odyssey buying all the kids summer timepass stuff (that's where the Life game came from). Was very disappointed that Odyssey didn't have classic bestsellers like Catcher in the Rye or Love in the Time of Cholera. Three kids still await their turn. Last weekend I also had an extremely unforgettable conversation with N. Gawd, my friends!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style:italic;"&gt;It's time to go home now. &lt;/span&gt; I have broasted chicken to make. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Fare ye well.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;(Kabhi khud pe hansa main, kabhi khud pe roya! Ugh! I hate Farhan Akhtar's non-singing voice. Sat did a good imitation. Also the hilarious Black 'hwaatah'. :D)&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7465815-3574153784728070328?l=argentyne.blogspot.com'/&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://argentyne.blogspot.com/feeds/3574153784728070328/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='https://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7465815&amp;postID=3574153784728070328&amp;isPopup=true' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7465815/posts/default/3574153784728070328'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7465815/posts/default/3574153784728070328'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://argentyne.blogspot.com/2009/05/pichle-saat-dinon-mein-maine-khoya.html' title='Pichle saat dinon mein maine khoya...'/><author><name>Argentyne</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15380914569182985269</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:extendedProperty xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' name='OpenSocialUserId' value='07543193997420710684'/></author><thr:total xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7465815.post-6028289486023565605</id><published>2009-05-11T00:39:00.000+05:30</published><updated>2009-05-11T00:35:16.396+05:30</updated><title type='text'>Hee hee</title><content type='html'>&lt;SPAN style='FONT-SIZE: 10pt; FONT-FAMILY: Arial; FONT-WEIGHT:Normal;'&gt;Hellooooo :D&lt;/SPAN&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7465815-6028289486023565605?l=argentyne.blogspot.com'/&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://argentyne.blogspot.com/feeds/6028289486023565605/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='https://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7465815&amp;postID=6028289486023565605&amp;isPopup=true' title='7 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7465815/posts/default/6028289486023565605'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7465815/posts/default/6028289486023565605'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://argentyne.blogspot.com/2009/05/hee-hee.html' title='Hee hee'/><author><name>Argentyne</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15380914569182985269</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:extendedProperty xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' name='OpenSocialUserId' value='07543193997420710684'/></author><thr:total xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'>7</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7465815.post-1436137175050203943</id><published>2009-05-01T15:31:00.001+05:30</published><updated>2009-05-01T15:31:47.030+05:30</updated><title type='text'>Notes to myself</title><content type='html'>&lt;br&gt;It&amp;#39;s another one of those days. Long, interminable. How long am I going to feel like this? Yes, probably until I finish all my scorecards. And when will I do that? Now that&amp;#39;s a question without an answer. You know how they show days passing by in the movies? Clouds rushing away, in the daytime, over and over again? I feel like that. All my days seem the same. Sure, there are days when the bwas outnumber the whees or the other way round, but mostly, they&amp;#39;re just empty days. Empty, I wish, would translate into having nothing to do. I do, &amp;#39;do stuff&amp;#39; but it seems like nothing in the end. &lt;div&gt; &lt;br&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Yesterday seemed like one of the &amp;#39;gooder&amp;#39; days. There&amp;#39;s a new project, at least worth talking about. Yes, there&amp;#39;s a lot of statistics involved and that scares me, but still, it&amp;#39;s new. Then the parents alaafed the girl to go buy herself a new cell. Which was worth wheeing about for at least a few hours. And I did. Opened up lots of tabs with mobile phone reviews only to hastily minimize them when someone scary showed up. Last week could have been called &amp;#39;feedback&amp;#39; week. Ugh. I wonder why I&amp;#39;m not allergic to that word yet. Oh and a job offer popped in my inbox. But I don&amp;#39;t think I&amp;#39;m interested. The only reason why I considered it was because it would be something new. But there&amp;#39;s no point in moving onto something else just cause it&amp;#39;s new, right? It&amp;#39;s funny how I always used to think that the pay would be the least important criterion when it came to finding the &amp;#39;right&amp;#39; job. And now, it keeps me stuck, the fear, the insecurity. How sad. &lt;/div&gt; &lt;div&gt;&lt;br&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Pfft. It&amp;#39;s time I get back to my &amp;#39;model recreation&amp;#39;. If only it was really recreation. My shopping-craving self has been complaining of neglect. Oh which reminds me that I spent quite some time going over Macy&amp;#39;s and other American department stores&amp;#39; websites last week. I even went to Google Maps and looked up the road that Macy&amp;#39;s was on. (Yes, we can add a few lines to the &amp;#39;Confessions of A Shopaholic&amp;#39; script). How I heart Google Streetview. Blister was telling me you can clearly see New York uncle&amp;#39;s house on the map. I really loves. I kept wishing that I could somehow get a &amp;#39;Streetview&amp;#39; into Macy&amp;#39;s itself, walk in, wander the aisles, and buy something if I liked it! That&amp;#39;s how they should make shopping websites :D. Sigh. MUSTGOSHOPPINGSOON. The new, big, shiny mall opens today. &lt;/div&gt; &lt;div&gt;&lt;br&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Sniff. I wants out. I wants freedom. I wants job I be at least marginally passionate about. Only wants, nothing does. Stoopid girl. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Now back to the model recreation. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt; &lt;br&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Oh and Ammy said, &amp;#39;I eat juice&amp;#39;. :D &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/7465815-1436137175050203943?l=argentyne.blogspot.com'/&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://argentyne.blogspot.com/feeds/1436137175050203943/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='https://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7465815&amp;postID=1436137175050203943&amp;isPopup=true' title='7 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7465815/posts/default/1436137175050203943'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7465815/posts/default/1436137175050203943'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://argentyne.blogspot.com/2009/05/notes-to-myself.html' title='Notes to myself'/><author><name>Argentyne</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15380914569182985269</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:extendedProperty xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' name='OpenSocialUserId' value='07543193997420710684'/></author><thr:total xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'>7</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7465815.post-2461390379574547505</id><published>2009-04-19T23:25:00.003+05:30</published><updated>2009-04-20T10:32:40.748+05:30</updated><title type='text'>Addiction</title><content type='html'>Blogger says I last blogged on March 22nd. Wow, so close to making it a whole month! But well, my conscience was bugging me and Blister was bugging me more, so, here we go:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;1. April 2nd. W.H.O.A.&lt;br /&gt;2. Desperately want to start afresh workwise. Still wondering how to get about doing that.&lt;br /&gt;3. Ammy's growing up into a Hyderabadi buddi says her mom. Couldn't agree more. Somebody should slow down these kids. &lt;br /&gt;4. 5 of us cousins watched '13B' last night, huddled in a corner with the volume on the speakers turned up and the lights off. Turned my back to the laptop and missed a reel life meets real life scary moment and three of the girls screamed. Why do I torture myself with horror movies, anyway? Immu was her irritating, brave tomboy self and did not bat a lid as she watched the movie all the while scoffing at us poor scared mortals.&lt;br /&gt;5. Too many break-ups. Too many relationships not working out. We need more happy stories.&lt;br /&gt;6. First sustained attempt at reading non-fiction, Basharat Peer's 'Curfewed Night'. Haunting.&lt;br /&gt;7. Had an amazing two days attending a Corporate Etiquette class. I still don't have answers to his questions 'What do you really want to do?' and 'What's stopping you?'&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;In office now. Yayyy! :|&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7465815-2461390379574547505?l=argentyne.blogspot.com'/&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://argentyne.blogspot.com/feeds/2461390379574547505/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='https://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7465815&amp;postID=2461390379574547505&amp;isPopup=true' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7465815/posts/default/2461390379574547505'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7465815/posts/default/2461390379574547505'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://argentyne.blogspot.com/2009/04/addiction.html' title='Addiction'/><author><name>Argentyne</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15380914569182985269</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:extendedProperty xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' name='OpenSocialUserId' value='07543193997420710684'/></author><thr:total xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7465815.post-2907659703902451864</id><published>2009-03-22T23:09:00.003+05:30</published><updated>2009-03-22T23:23:39.178+05:30</updated><title type='text'>Bwa</title><content type='html'>Sometimes you just get tired of having the same conversations over and over again with the same people. Maybe you should put a compulsory break in between so that the next time you talk, you have something new to share, and it's not the same dos and don'ts repeated again, the same dry conversation and a feeling of being irritated and relieved when it's over instead of feeling at peace. Reminds me of how I told mom one day that I couldn't bear to meet a certain colleague on a weekend cause it was bad enough to bear with them during the week, and how I thought to myself after that whether the same thing didn't apply to family members. Hmm. Right now though, Baba's telling me a joke and I'm all ears :D Or eyes.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;This time is usually depressing, with the tubelight on and darkness outside. Life's become a sticky rut. The &lt;span style="font-style:italic;"&gt;zing&lt;/span&gt; is missing. &lt;br /&gt;I realize that I'm still not doing a thing with my life and I &lt;span style="font-style:italic;"&gt;still&lt;/span&gt; am too deeply ingrained into my routine to do anything about it. Phah. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;:| What to do? I've even given up on reading Zen Habits :| I need a push, a shove. Push me off, someone. Deep dive? Come up with a pearl? &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Argh. The only thing I'm going to feel good about tonight is that I'm going to sleep earlier than usual. Yes, at least one thing. I hope that it somehow guarantees that this week will be better than the previous ones. GIVE ME THE FREE SEASON, ALREADY! &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'm jaded, grounded. Arrrrrrrrrr.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7465815-2907659703902451864?l=argentyne.blogspot.com'/&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://argentyne.blogspot.com/feeds/2907659703902451864/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='https://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7465815&amp;postID=2907659703902451864&amp;isPopup=true' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7465815/posts/default/2907659703902451864'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7465815/posts/default/2907659703902451864'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://argentyne.blogspot.com/2009/03/bwa.html' title='Bwa'/><author><name>Argentyne</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15380914569182985269</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:extendedProperty xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' name='OpenSocialUserId' value='07543193997420710684'/></author><thr:total xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7465815.post-6735322787791332386</id><published>2009-03-04T16:25:00.001+05:30</published><updated>2009-03-04T16:25:03.902+05:30</updated><title type='text'>To the moon and back</title><content type='html'> I am sleepy in office again. It&amp;#39;s not new anymore. Yesterday night was spent mostly cursing work and office. And of course the fussy, confused, self-sacrificing colleague I&amp;#39;ve been working with. I need a break like a certain colleague who suddenly decided to take a week off smack in the middle of the busy season (also quit a coupla weeks later). (People refuse to believe that a financial firm could have a busy season. It does, believe me. There are &lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;"&gt;many&lt;/span&gt; kinds of financial firms.) I woke up and began to cry. Like a 6 year old who does not want to go to school. There has to be a limit to how much you can drain people. I feel like my brain&amp;#39;s running a permanent leak. Immu said yesterday, after I saw her overslept-face, &amp;#39;Don&amp;#39;t you feel jealous that I sleep so much and you don&amp;#39;t?&amp;#39; And for a second I couldn&amp;#39;t think of anything to say. I&amp;#39;ve been out of that mode for so long that it feels like I was never there.&lt;div&gt; &lt;br&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Had a nice PAX weekend. Despite work, there are things to be happy about. Shiny, glowy, light-your-face-up-in-the-dark type things. Am I making sense? I&amp;#39;m not trying too hard. I feel like I&amp;#39;m jumping from one end of a see-saw to another. One side where I&amp;#39;m raging, face scrunched up and going &amp;#39;WHAT!&amp;#39; and another where I can scarcely get the &amp;#39;Whaaaat&amp;#39; it out of my mouth because my lower jaw&amp;#39;s trailing the floor. &lt;/div&gt; &lt;div&gt;&lt;br&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I think I&amp;#39;ll leave it at that. &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/7465815-6735322787791332386?l=argentyne.blogspot.com'/&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://argentyne.blogspot.com/feeds/6735322787791332386/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='https://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7465815&amp;postID=6735322787791332386&amp;isPopup=true' title='4 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7465815/posts/default/6735322787791332386'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7465815/posts/default/6735322787791332386'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://argentyne.blogspot.com/2009/03/to-moon-and-back.html' title='To the moon and back'/><author><name>Argentyne</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15380914569182985269</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:extendedProperty xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' name='OpenSocialUserId' value='07543193997420710684'/></author><thr:total xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'>4</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7465815.post-3011836441826712150</id><published>2009-02-22T00:48:00.001+05:30</published><updated>2009-02-22T00:48:11.585+05:30</updated><title type='text'>And a prayer...</title><content type='html'>And when I thought things over, I realized I spent one day in prostration, tears mingling with the threads on the prayer mat, wondering why things had turned out the way they had. And another day was spent gazing skywards, tears mingling with the stars in my eyes and wondering what brought such goodness. Ya Allah, bring us peace. &lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7465815-3011836441826712150?l=argentyne.blogspot.com'/&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://argentyne.blogspot.com/feeds/3011836441826712150/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='https://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7465815&amp;postID=3011836441826712150&amp;isPopup=true' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7465815/posts/default/3011836441826712150'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7465815/posts/default/3011836441826712150'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://argentyne.blogspot.com/2009/02/and-prayer.html' title='And a prayer...'/><author><name>Argentyne</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15380914569182985269</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:extendedProperty xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' name='OpenSocialUserId' value='07543193997420710684'/></author><thr:total xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7465815.post-7989074361289736949</id><published>2009-02-21T23:51:00.002+05:30</published><updated>2009-02-22T00:23:59.153+05:30</updated><title type='text'>You do, do you?</title><content type='html'>In the past few days, life's taken huge bwa and whee dips. While the whee portion's dominant, the bwaness brings me down once in a while. Reminds me of a play we had in our Hindi Sanchay Ekanki whose main theme was that sometimes you're forced to accept the very things you always thought you would never agree to. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I still need to keep a record though for later, so in no particular order:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt; - Attended RG and J's wedding today. J looked breathtakingly lovely in a beautiful white gown. The wedding was at my old school's church and I'd last visited it for our baccalaureate. It had seemed so beautiful then, today it seemed in want of tender care. Went with Immu and kept thinking that I should now come up with a theory (self-fulfilling prophecy is more like it) that every cousin I take to a friend's wedding gets married soon after :D. Or will, insha allah. Twas nice, congratulations and congratulations... and then headscarves as usual brought some weird attention.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;- Attended another friend's wedding last week. There was RG's hilarious imitation of punjabi accented English and met a coupla people from K I thought I would never meet again. Felt nice somehow.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;- How much importance can a bottle of water hold? You never know.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;- Old memories mixed with new ones make for a memorable present. Mwahaha.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;- Mom's gone back again so I'm back at kpuri. Sharing a room with Immu this time, tis nice. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;- Had a rough week at office with frequent headaches and was quite surprised that when I took a day off, I was encouraged to take the next day off too. Nice way to scare people, made sure I came into office right on time the next day!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;- Yesterday or rather Friday was some day! Spent a lot of time on the phone, spoke to a lot of people I hadn't talked to in ages. Twas supernice.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;- I miss N. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;- She's very grateful and hopeful that bwaness will fade away gradually, if not soon. Duas are always welcome.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;- I realize this is an extremely disjointed post. Quite in keeping with the day.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Lerve. Lots.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7465815-7989074361289736949?l=argentyne.blogspot.com'/&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://argentyne.blogspot.com/feeds/7989074361289736949/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='https://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7465815&amp;postID=7989074361289736949&amp;isPopup=true' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7465815/posts/default/7989074361289736949'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7465815/posts/default/7989074361289736949'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://argentyne.blogspot.com/2009/02/you-do-do-you.html' title='You do, do you?'/><author><name>Argentyne</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15380914569182985269</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:extendedProperty xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' name='OpenSocialUserId' value='07543193997420710684'/></author><thr:total xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7465815.post-6471648124175448025</id><published>2009-02-12T15:07:00.001+05:30</published><updated>2009-02-12T15:07:28.047+05:30</updated><title type='text'>We'll blame it on the lack of sleep, okay?</title><content type='html'>I just wrote to a friend (yes, I have friends in office, can you believe that?! And I believe for the first time in my life, I did not actively seek friends, they found me!) saying &amp;#39;My head is as heavy as an elephant&amp;#39;. Yes, I&amp;#39;m that brain dead. I feel like I&amp;#39;m in massive sleep debt. And this is after leaving on time for the past two days. Of course, I slept at around midnight anyway, but still. Much better than reaching home at midnight, no? And on top of it, we apparently have a &amp;#39;Women&amp;#39;s Initiative&amp;#39; meeting. Like I was telling my mom, I&amp;#39;m very sure that this was a concept started by the men at office to keep their women colleagues&amp;#39; productivity down. Instead of doing something good for us, we only spend more time at useless meetings. And it&amp;#39;s always the same thing, there&amp;#39;s a discussion on why we have this initiative and then lots of crap. I believe in the last to last session, the name of a book came up, &amp;#39;Climbing the Corporate Ladder in Stilettos&amp;#39;. I&amp;#39;m sure the lady who wrote it meant it in the whole empowering women way, but seriously, who climbs a ladder in stilettos?! Doesn&amp;#39;t the idea itself sound so ludicrous?! Bah.&amp;nbsp;&lt;div&gt; &lt;br&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Yesterday, colleague sent a mail saying &amp;#39;Stationary keys are missing&amp;#39;. He&amp;#39;s in charge of making sure that the stationery cupboard is always well-stocked. Now tell me, how do stationary keys go missing? We could have a study in physics on the phenomenon behind such a missing-ness. Then someone sent a mail saying &amp;#39;Keys to the stationary cupboard...&amp;#39; Because otherwise, cupboards just move around. You want stationery? Beckon to the cupboard, come ye! and cupboard approaches obediently. Much like &amp;#39;If Mahomet does not go to the mountain...&amp;#39;. Yes, my sense of humour is _that_ good. Call it the office effect. Drains all your energy and everything.&lt;/div&gt; &lt;div&gt;&lt;br&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Snobby girl said, &amp;#39;Do you always make such &amp;#39;clownie&amp;#39; noises?&amp;#39; I said, &amp;#39;Umm, yeah&amp;#39;. I wanted to say, &amp;#39;Why? Do you have a problem with that?&amp;#39; but I didn&amp;#39;t. My tongue is usually running away as it is.&amp;nbsp;&lt;/div&gt; &lt;div&gt;&lt;br&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I AM PISSED. No, I&amp;#39;m sleepy. Cranky&amp;#39;s the word I guess. Benazir&amp;#39;s leaving office. Humph. I wouldve also scot off (what&amp;#39;s the past tense of scoot? Scooted?). Grah. I want to sleeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeep. :(&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/7465815-6471648124175448025?l=argentyne.blogspot.com'/&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://argentyne.blogspot.com/feeds/6471648124175448025/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='https://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7465815&amp;postID=6471648124175448025&amp;isPopup=true' title='8 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7465815/posts/default/6471648124175448025'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7465815/posts/default/6471648124175448025'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://argentyne.blogspot.com/2009/02/well-blame-it-on-lack-of-sleep-okay.html' title='We&apos;ll blame it on the lack of sleep, okay?'/><author><name>Argentyne</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15380914569182985269</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:extendedProperty xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' name='OpenSocialUserId' value='07543193997420710684'/></author><thr:total xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'>8</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7465815.post-3358156677583321445</id><published>2009-02-05T11:12:00.001+05:30</published><updated>2009-02-05T11:12:45.949+05:30</updated><title type='text'>Hmmf</title><content type='html'>&lt;p class="mobile-photo"&gt;&lt;a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_glUnbywXUS8/SYp8Vq6QupI/AAAAAAAAAM8/DBj1X0RRiUI/s1600-h/Mobo000-765951.jpg"&gt;&lt;img src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_glUnbywXUS8/SYp8Vq6QupI/AAAAAAAAAM8/DBj1X0RRiUI/s320/Mobo000-765951.jpg"  border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5299184623292562066" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;br&gt;&lt;div class="gmail_quote"&gt;&lt;div&gt;If it&amp;#39;s not enough that this cab is coursing its way through narrow gullies, cab driver is playing on repeat &amp;#39;chal chal e dil... Kar kisi ka intezar&amp;#39; on repeat. She s apparently waiting for god in the disguise of a man to show up on the other side of the lake :| and why should this song hold such a strong appeal, I wonder. Does he fancy being the pardesi who comes into the soona desh and changes her life into a sundar sapnon ka sansaar? Someone should wake up this lady. Reminded of the &amp;#39;agar tum mil jao, nahana chod denge hum&amp;#39; song. Another really dumb song. I just realized that my phone doesnt seem to have an enter key, so no newlines for ya! Anyway, expect more posts like this from now on,  now that I shall be staring at a screen all the minutes I&amp;#39;m awake. Also, to further test the functionality I shell attach a picture and we shall see.  &lt;/div&gt;   &lt;/div&gt;&lt;br&gt; &lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7465815-3358156677583321445?l=argentyne.blogspot.com'/&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://argentyne.blogspot.com/feeds/3358156677583321445/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='https://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7465815&amp;postID=3358156677583321445&amp;isPopup=true' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7465815/posts/default/3358156677583321445'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7465815/posts/default/3358156677583321445'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://argentyne.blogspot.com/2009/02/hmmf.html' title='Hmmf'/><author><name>Argentyne</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15380914569182985269</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:extendedProperty xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' name='OpenSocialUserId' value='07543193997420710684'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_glUnbywXUS8/SYp8Vq6QupI/AAAAAAAAAM8/DBj1X0RRiUI/s72-c/Mobo000-765951.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7465815.post-3586620562430308839</id><published>2009-02-04T17:14:00.001+05:30</published><updated>2009-02-04T17:14:21.402+05:30</updated><title type='text'>Test post</title><content type='html'>Can she?&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7465815-3586620562430308839?l=argentyne.blogspot.com'/&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://argentyne.blogspot.com/feeds/3586620562430308839/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='https://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7465815&amp;postID=3586620562430308839&amp;isPopup=true' title='4 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7465815/posts/default/3586620562430308839'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7465815/posts/default/3586620562430308839'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://argentyne.blogspot.com/2009/02/test-post.html' title='Test post'/><author><name>Argentyne</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15380914569182985269</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:extendedProperty xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' name='OpenSocialUserId' value='07543193997420710684'/></author><thr:total xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'>4</thr:total></entry></feed>