Hello Hello...
Here i am again, bored, estranged, depressed, and delightfully supressed.
How are you my avid reader, what could have you done to bring yourself into such a depressing blog.
i mean, i dont even understand the concept of blogging. OK, u tell me that its to record your daily events matched with clourful and bright pictures. But how sure are you people in this world are actually interested if not bothered to know( of course a part from your hypocrital friends who pretend to be interested and happy with all your current achievements, if you had any to begin with.)
secondly, if you could answer my question you are probably the guy SEVENTEEN is looking for;
Which came first, lip gloss or lipstick???
If you are a member of the comman-men society, you might "google" it up or search this in WIKIPEDIA. I mean, Google??? Its so blant and tasteless. Monochrome and cliche. I prefer Yahoo for some rather sentimental reasons.
Again, i end my blog without achieving my innitial goal which was to analyse the beautiful and erotic topic of sex and how it has gained populariy despite hushing taboos and gushing religious tornados of our blessed biggot country.
Tuesday, September 16, 2008
Sunday, September 14, 2008
If U Think YOUR life is messed up, READ THIS
Well...hello. The possibilty of some homesapien reading this post is nearing zero. just to update u with myself..i m still alive. Quite healthy, most probably straight( this rather shocking thought coz i havent surfed porn in quite a while)... i mean, the porn stars need to find a way to spice things up. Blow Job...Doggy...ect ect tats all they knw. i mean...the WHOLE INDUSTRY in build in the thought of entertaining sexually challenged and yawning young men. I think they should foster Innovation or face the risk of loosing its audience to American Soap Opera. ALL HAIL HEROES AND PUSHING DAISIES.
Nowdays, i can feel this pitch black mist hovering over my balding head..(not BALD but BALDING) constantly clouding my mind from any positive thoughts, if i had any to begin with.
My Guitar tutor said this is due to raghu bagavan who is apparently the Lord of the Failed Plans and Abusive thoughts. It seems all the planets/grahams are starting a new club. "Lets make yugendra the biggest loser in the southern hemisphere,and beyond" is Lord Buthan or Mercury's choice, Shani being the rude sarcastic one decided to name the club "Yugendra: The Arse Fucking Idiot who is STILL a Virgin" I mean... i have to agree with both of them. A Good choice of words Saturn,keep up the good work.
I love to write but it seems the disease that often plagues writers....fondly known as a "Writer's Block" decided to "suffocate" me from the start.
Bla Bla Bla bla....tats all i m hearing myself say now. I have this impeccable tendency to talk crap to myself and pull down my optimism...like a gay man doing doggy-style with his over weight wife. I dont knw how this gay man is related to story but thats how i feel now. NOT GAY, but Out of place. Dispropotionate. Unworthy. Virgin.
Doggy-style-----------Virgin? how are they related?? Narayanaaaaaa....where are u when i need u??
Well, dont ask me....ask the guy inside my head talking now.
i named the "guy" Galileo...he is actually a nice guy. He lives in my head. He likes green tea. He doesnt eat much and likes to talk with a posh english accent. Gopal is my new friend. Imaginative BUT insightful. WEIRD but worthy.
Say Hello Galileo.......
=.=
i m so gonna end up in an asylum.
Saturday, June 28, 2008
Jerusalem: Conclusion
Dear Readers, read this Jerusalem BOTTOM UP.
Due to a Minor mistake, i have mixed them up. I m truly sorry for the in convenience :(
The stars are out now as the Veil of Night slowly unfolds upon the skies of the Holy Land. The pearls of the sky have not reached their full glory as the crimson stain of the slowly fading sun is still viible in the western end. Deep crisp air blows like a mystical madrigal, flowing through the rustic winding pavements, mixing together with the city's ancient air. Groups of women, cladded in fairly thick clothes hustle silently to their respective houses of worship. The poorly lit streets seem to be well alive at night, whispering untold stories of unsung heroes, undefined and unbearable to ears of the unworthy. The Maghrib azan has now commenced.Flocks of doves flap their wings as they fly across the sapphire sky, hushing the people of Jerusalem so that the clarity of the azan will not be blemished. It seems after all the gruesome murder and political unrest stretching across more than five centuries, Jerusalem has never lost its unshaken glory as the Promised land
Due to a Minor mistake, i have mixed them up. I m truly sorry for the in convenience :(
The stars are out now as the Veil of Night slowly unfolds upon the skies of the Holy Land. The pearls of the sky have not reached their full glory as the crimson stain of the slowly fading sun is still viible in the western end. Deep crisp air blows like a mystical madrigal, flowing through the rustic winding pavements, mixing together with the city's ancient air. Groups of women, cladded in fairly thick clothes hustle silently to their respective houses of worship. The poorly lit streets seem to be well alive at night, whispering untold stories of unsung heroes, undefined and unbearable to ears of the unworthy. The Maghrib azan has now commenced.Flocks of doves flap their wings as they fly across the sapphire sky, hushing the people of Jerusalem so that the clarity of the azan will not be blemished. It seems after all the gruesome murder and political unrest stretching across more than five centuries, Jerusalem has never lost its unshaken glory as the Promised land
PaRT 3: The FootPrints of Crusade
Millions of people have been slain WITHOUT A SINGLE DROP OF MERCY and countless attacks to capture this land could never meet or match the damages done by the Crusade. Derived from the Latin word "crux" or cross, this was a war against the Turkish control which spanned over five hundred years with nine military expeditions. Namely the Peasant's Crusade, The Crusade of Princes and last, which is probably the most tragic one, The Children's Crusade that was led by a young visionary who claimed if the expedition was fought by children and the poor, God will be on their side. Ironically, many died even before reaching the Hold Land and of course, they lost battle ending the control of the Christians over the western region. This war campaign was catalysed by the ulcerous greed and ugly manipulation by the papal authorities.
The Holy Bible has mentioned this land in its pages for over 600 times, probably due to the immense importance it holds as the place Jesus Christ was crucified and later resurrected. Church of the Holy Sepulchre is a structure that has been built to remind the future generation that veneration and reverence is a must in the place. The church was built by the Helena, the mother of Constantine, in 330 A.D. in order to commemorate the traditional site of Christ's crucifixion and burial.
The Sepulchre or "tomb" was ironically was built by a wealthy Jew Joseph of Arimathea as his final resting place. Little did he know, the tomb would "temporarily" accommodate one of the greatest icon of the millennium. Even the steps of Christ as he carried the cross has been immortalized and Christians from all over the earth to retrace the steps taken which is known as Vio Dolorosa or the "Way of Sorrow". The churchwas said to be a colossal and the most grandiose church ever to grace the earth at that time. Queen was actually persuaded by the Jerusalem patriarch, Bishop Macarius during the ecumenical council to take the Christians in Jerusalem under her wings a year earlier.
However the dark and gloomy sanctuary we see now today is the remainder of the original structure which was repeatedly ravaged and repaired over the next 400 years, initiated by the Persians on 614. It never reclaimed or returned to its former unshaken legacy. The Crusaders however resolved this unending turmoil by uniting all the smaller chapels and shrines under one roof though in a less elaborate manner which too 50 years to complete.
PaRT 3: The Wailing Wall
As we flip a few chapters back into history, this city once was ruled by a man with the name Sulaiman the Magnificent. It is believed he travelled past the quarters of the underprivileged citizens one day and realised a woman of no royal eloquance, with one strong jerk forced out all the rubbish she had brought upon a upon a wall. The Sultan asked with a stern authorative tone " Why do u come so far to dispose your rubbish?". "Oh the Magnificent one, it is a common practice to throw our rubbish on this wall it is said was once a Jewish structure and we shall be blessed with a place in heaven". Curious, the sultan ask his men to clear the piles of rubbish and discovered the Western Wall of the Second Temple. He was determined to bring peace to his land and was said to have bathed the slightly blemished wall with rose water. And till today,ironically with the help of a Muslim, the Jew now at least have a spot to mourn and "wail" the vanished Temple.
Jewish sages state that anyone who prays in the Temple of Jerussalam "it is as if he has prayed before the throne of glory because the gate of heaven is situated there and it is open to hear prayer". This single piece of wall which stands over 50m is the only know remant from the Second Temple conscreted by King David thus thus stands next to the Temple Mount in its importance to the Jewish community.
The Western Wall (Hebrew: HaKotel HaMa'aravi), or simply The Kotel, is a retaining wall in Jerusalem that dates from the time of the Jewish Second Temple (516 BCE - 70 CE). The Western Wall is part of the bigger religious site in the Old City of Jerusalem called Har ha-Bayit (the Temple Mount) to Jews and Christians, or Al-Haram al-Qudsi al-Sharif (the Noble Sanctuary) to Muslims. Portions of the wall date to Herodian times, some even a bit earlier. It enclosed a platform for the temple which was approximately 35-40 acres in size--the largest platform for a single religious building in the world The Western Wall is revered for its proximity to the sacred Holy of Holies on the Temple Mount, which is the Most Holy Place in Judaism.
PArt 2: The Muslim Legacy
In Surah Al Isra, a humble man with his mighty horse was said to have ascended upon the Seventh Heaven. In the very spot where the man stood before he was taken literally into the arms of God is where the al-Aqsa Mosque stands. This is a shrine in what Muslims call the Noble Sanctuary (al-Haram al-Qudsi al-Sharif) or the Temple Mount — it remains one of the best known landmarks of Jerusalem.
It was built between 687 and 691 by the 9th Caliph, Abd al-Malik, making it the oldest and the one of the most flamboyant Islamic structure.
With full splendour, its magnificent golden dome seems to have defied the laws of nature by shining day and night unlike the sun that retreats at dusk. It seems the builders were keen in reassuring their superiority and the status of Islam by building its dome a few times bigger that the dome adorning the Church of the Holy Sepulchre.The peaceful vicinity of the Mosque despite the routine call for prayers itself is literally magical.
The rock in the center of the dome is the spot from which, according to the Islamic tradition, Muhammad ascended for a night-long journey to Heaven in AD 621, accompanied by the angel Gabriel. There he met many yesteryear prophets like Abraham and Moses and was given the Islamic prayers or "solat" before descending back to Earth. The day the prophet was given the prayers is celebrated as the Isra Mi'raj. A Quranic verse tells us that Muhammad took an instantaneous night journey to al-Masjid al-Aqsa or "the farthest mosque", interpreted as being in Jerusalem.
This dome, in Jewish tradition is the site where Abraham fulfilled God's test to see if he would be willing to sacrifice his son Isaac according to Genesis 22:1. Muslims have a contradicting believe that this event involved Abraham's other son Ishmael and occurred in the desert of Mina where millions of Muslims offer pilgrimage every year.The "il mabka" or the Wailing Wall stands mightily, unshaken by the corrosive and unforgiving effects of time is just a stone throw away from this mosque, literally
.
JERUSALEM: Introduction
The Arcadian hailed it as the "Urušali" and the Arabs called with the name "Urshalim-Al-Qudsand". The "hospitable" Hebrews hailed it as "Yerussaliyam" and still do. It’s a piece of land in the Judean Mountains, humbly placed near the mighty amethyst Mediterranean. However the journey that it has come through standing next to the remarkable religious importance has done nothing but fortified its infamous legacy as the melting "ark" of all three Abrahamic religions. The very name of this city both lightens the hearts of the faithful ones and even acts as a key to a rich ancient history which unfolds like a meticulously woven tapestry. Its rustic velvet shine is nothing but the stain of streams of blood which once gushed out through every crack and narrow gaps in its Herculean walls. Its grand gold finishing, shining faintly tells us stories of magnificent miracles and riveting stories done to keep them alive. Let us now behold : Jerusalem.
Wednesday, June 18, 2008
Honour Killing....
The mighty Sun was slowly rising up to its eastern Gates as it shed its unblemished rays of pure sunlight into the dusty village near Karachi. The murky streets were filled with an unearthly hollowness that was able to scare unsuspecting newcomers.
A few donkeys with bushy brown fur strolled in a mysterious pace,known only to its clansmen.
The box-like houses were in full action by now. Women of all ages were now up hustling busily around the house to prepare breakfast.
In one of the houses with a weathered layer of paint lived Fathima. Fathima felt feverish and was sweating profusely.
Her mother started shaking Fathima’s shoulders again, asking join her in the dingy kitchen.
‘Fathima, wake up my dear,’ she said softly as the uncomfortable shaking suddenly halted. What happened to Fathima yesterday was beyond comprehension of normal mortals.
Unforgiving visions of yesterday started flashing instantaneously in her feverish mind.
Her sister, Asmah was as beautiful as a freshly bloomed rose and tales of her mesmerising elegance travelled like the fragrance of perfume, intoxicating men around the sleepy village.
The door now knocked hard and firm. It was her father! Fathima forced herself up before her father could enter. The beastly voice of middle aged man echoed throughout the room creating an eerie aura."Get up you lazy cow! Do you want to end up like your shameless sister!" he said as he slammed the door open. The rusty hinges shrieked as the man entered. His face was filled with overgrown graying beard with a pair devilish eyes that pierced right trough Fathimah’s feeble soul. Fathima tried her best to push herself up but the her scalded palms up but last week’s beatings decided to work against her will.
Her eyes swelled with tears and suddenly, she felt a strong punch on her stomach. Her long black hair was twisted and pulled so hard,she let go a cry. A fatal mistake.
The beast kicked her stomach savagely until she started coughing up blood She closed her eyes tightly,trying her best to keep quiet.
" Dad, i am sorry" she said as she gasped deeply for air as his venomous hands choked her throat . Her hands moved frantically trying to free herself from the unkindly treatment. A murky shadow was seen floating near the door. She knew it was her mother waiting patiently behind the wooden door.e same happened to Asmah yesterday but it had a horrific twist. He brought in a hunting gun with him instead when he entered the room. Her mother and Fathima cried and banged the wooden door determined to stop the man from hurting Asmah. Pitiful cries were heard inside the room as he kicked and punched Asmah’s body. " Dad, please stop ! I beg you, i am innocent. Please show me some mercy" and the wailing continued.
‘Never! You have brought shame to our family by sleeping with that man!" he said as he loaded his gun. " Khairil was lying. I was not sleeping with him. He was the one who spoke to me but i walked away. I swear upon the Mighty Allah that not a single word was uttered. Trust me father, please i am innocent!" The mother and Fathima continued forcing the door open as the voice of her father thundered across the room.
" My dear, please open this door. Spare my child and kill me instead...." said the wailing mother. The old door was unable to stand the force of these women and flung opened at last. But it was barely enough to save Asmah.
Fathima managed to see Asmah’s teary eyes for the last time befor he shot her. The sound of the shot was heard across the quiet village as neighbours rushed out and looked around. They somewhat predicted what had just happen as this was not the first time such ‘noices’ were heard in the rural village.
The poor mother fainted in an instant. Fathima cried like a mad woman. She wailed and shook Asmah’s dead body calling out her name. She felt an unseen rage building up in her because she knew Asmah was innocent. " Asmah,Asmah,wake up dear sister!"
Fathima stood up and cried to her father, " She is not guilty. Khairil kept on forcing her to marry him but she refused because she knew you will not agree. Khairil is the that should die. Oh no, not him but you. Dear Father you deserve to die!" The man who was still holding his Afgan gun marched wildly towards Fathima and slapped her so hard that she fell back on Asmah’s body.
She cried silently on Asmah’s lifeless body as heat slowly dissipated away from it.
And there she was the next day. The body was gone. Only vague stains of blood were left behind on the brick wall. She slowly forced all the might she had left and walked out of the room.
Her mother looked at her and turned back. It seemed her other siblings did not bother to ask what had happened as they savoured the dry tasteless chapati with some boiled potatoes.
Fathimah’s mind was blurred . Her vision was nearly white. She tried to cry but she could not. Her body felt so numb and she walked around the house like a soulless puppet.
An unseen determination soon swelled. She heard her father talking to her uncle about an Parkistani-american activist. He came back to his homeland to stop the butchering of women of all ages in the name of honour. He was staying temporarily a few blocks away near the village well. If she was able to convince him, she would be able to avenge Asmah's death.
" Mother," Farthima said and she looked at Fathima at once.
"Yes my dear, what is the matter?" she said,swallowing an invisible lump in her throat. "Let me go and fetch you some water" she said as her scarred hands slowly reached the earthen pot.
Seeing her daughter so eager to fufill the task,she agreed after a long pause. Fathima carefully picked up all the might she had left and used the back passage. There was a rarely used path behind which connects all the houses in the narrow street. Her eyes looked around wildly as her feet slowly took charge.
She reached the old brush house where the man was staying. Carefully she placed her pot down on a small patch of dried grass. She knocked the window as hard as she could. The bruises on her palms stopped her for gripping them any further. The windows flung open and a handsome young lad with an even tan was standing right in front of her. "Please sir do not make any noise. O kind sir,please help me to punish my father! He killed my own flesh and blood!" and as streams of tears started flowing, she told the man everything that happened to Asmah. "Sir, you are well educated so please help me to stop this! Women are not machines but are normal souls which must be treated with respect," she said as she wiped her tears. He smiled and answered "the Mighty Allah has fulfilled my prayers. I am actually here for another reason. Please return to your home at once." Fathima was left in schock felt hopeless and she carried the pot towards the well. " What a beautiful young lady.... and spirit to match it" said the lawyer.
As she walked back carrying the pot on her head, she saw the young lad again,waiting for her outside his brush house. He gave her a sincere smile and greeted her. Fathima fearing her father might see her turned back and glided straight into her house.
That night the local imam came with the a stranger. Fathima was folding clothes in the room when she heard mysterious voices in the living room. She spied through the narrow gap in the door and saw the young man. She was worried he might be another ‘animal’ like Khairil and prayed hard. When she saw a vague silloutte walking towards the door she gave way.
" Fathima!" said her mother and she hugged her daughter. " The man wants to marry you my daughter!" and teard began to flow in their eyes.
At last,she now know she will be able to avenge the death of Asmah and bring a better future for young women in Karachi.
A few donkeys with bushy brown fur strolled in a mysterious pace,known only to its clansmen.
The box-like houses were in full action by now. Women of all ages were now up hustling busily around the house to prepare breakfast.
In one of the houses with a weathered layer of paint lived Fathima. Fathima felt feverish and was sweating profusely.
Her mother started shaking Fathima’s shoulders again, asking join her in the dingy kitchen.
‘Fathima, wake up my dear,’ she said softly as the uncomfortable shaking suddenly halted. What happened to Fathima yesterday was beyond comprehension of normal mortals.
Unforgiving visions of yesterday started flashing instantaneously in her feverish mind.
Her sister, Asmah was as beautiful as a freshly bloomed rose and tales of her mesmerising elegance travelled like the fragrance of perfume, intoxicating men around the sleepy village.
The door now knocked hard and firm. It was her father! Fathima forced herself up before her father could enter. The beastly voice of middle aged man echoed throughout the room creating an eerie aura."Get up you lazy cow! Do you want to end up like your shameless sister!" he said as he slammed the door open. The rusty hinges shrieked as the man entered. His face was filled with overgrown graying beard with a pair devilish eyes that pierced right trough Fathimah’s feeble soul. Fathima tried her best to push herself up but the her scalded palms up but last week’s beatings decided to work against her will.
Her eyes swelled with tears and suddenly, she felt a strong punch on her stomach. Her long black hair was twisted and pulled so hard,she let go a cry. A fatal mistake.
The beast kicked her stomach savagely until she started coughing up blood She closed her eyes tightly,trying her best to keep quiet.
" Dad, i am sorry" she said as she gasped deeply for air as his venomous hands choked her throat . Her hands moved frantically trying to free herself from the unkindly treatment. A murky shadow was seen floating near the door. She knew it was her mother waiting patiently behind the wooden door.e same happened to Asmah yesterday but it had a horrific twist. He brought in a hunting gun with him instead when he entered the room. Her mother and Fathima cried and banged the wooden door determined to stop the man from hurting Asmah. Pitiful cries were heard inside the room as he kicked and punched Asmah’s body. " Dad, please stop ! I beg you, i am innocent. Please show me some mercy" and the wailing continued.
‘Never! You have brought shame to our family by sleeping with that man!" he said as he loaded his gun. " Khairil was lying. I was not sleeping with him. He was the one who spoke to me but i walked away. I swear upon the Mighty Allah that not a single word was uttered. Trust me father, please i am innocent!" The mother and Fathima continued forcing the door open as the voice of her father thundered across the room.
" My dear, please open this door. Spare my child and kill me instead...." said the wailing mother. The old door was unable to stand the force of these women and flung opened at last. But it was barely enough to save Asmah.
Fathima managed to see Asmah’s teary eyes for the last time befor he shot her. The sound of the shot was heard across the quiet village as neighbours rushed out and looked around. They somewhat predicted what had just happen as this was not the first time such ‘noices’ were heard in the rural village.
The poor mother fainted in an instant. Fathima cried like a mad woman. She wailed and shook Asmah’s dead body calling out her name. She felt an unseen rage building up in her because she knew Asmah was innocent. " Asmah,Asmah,wake up dear sister!"
Fathima stood up and cried to her father, " She is not guilty. Khairil kept on forcing her to marry him but she refused because she knew you will not agree. Khairil is the that should die. Oh no, not him but you. Dear Father you deserve to die!" The man who was still holding his Afgan gun marched wildly towards Fathima and slapped her so hard that she fell back on Asmah’s body.
She cried silently on Asmah’s lifeless body as heat slowly dissipated away from it.
And there she was the next day. The body was gone. Only vague stains of blood were left behind on the brick wall. She slowly forced all the might she had left and walked out of the room.
Her mother looked at her and turned back. It seemed her other siblings did not bother to ask what had happened as they savoured the dry tasteless chapati with some boiled potatoes.
Fathimah’s mind was blurred . Her vision was nearly white. She tried to cry but she could not. Her body felt so numb and she walked around the house like a soulless puppet.
An unseen determination soon swelled. She heard her father talking to her uncle about an Parkistani-american activist. He came back to his homeland to stop the butchering of women of all ages in the name of honour. He was staying temporarily a few blocks away near the village well. If she was able to convince him, she would be able to avenge Asmah's death.
" Mother," Farthima said and she looked at Fathima at once.
"Yes my dear, what is the matter?" she said,swallowing an invisible lump in her throat. "Let me go and fetch you some water" she said as her scarred hands slowly reached the earthen pot.
Seeing her daughter so eager to fufill the task,she agreed after a long pause. Fathima carefully picked up all the might she had left and used the back passage. There was a rarely used path behind which connects all the houses in the narrow street. Her eyes looked around wildly as her feet slowly took charge.
She reached the old brush house where the man was staying. Carefully she placed her pot down on a small patch of dried grass. She knocked the window as hard as she could. The bruises on her palms stopped her for gripping them any further. The windows flung open and a handsome young lad with an even tan was standing right in front of her. "Please sir do not make any noise. O kind sir,please help me to punish my father! He killed my own flesh and blood!" and as streams of tears started flowing, she told the man everything that happened to Asmah. "Sir, you are well educated so please help me to stop this! Women are not machines but are normal souls which must be treated with respect," she said as she wiped her tears. He smiled and answered "the Mighty Allah has fulfilled my prayers. I am actually here for another reason. Please return to your home at once." Fathima was left in schock felt hopeless and she carried the pot towards the well. " What a beautiful young lady.... and spirit to match it" said the lawyer.
As she walked back carrying the pot on her head, she saw the young lad again,waiting for her outside his brush house. He gave her a sincere smile and greeted her. Fathima fearing her father might see her turned back and glided straight into her house.
That night the local imam came with the a stranger. Fathima was folding clothes in the room when she heard mysterious voices in the living room. She spied through the narrow gap in the door and saw the young man. She was worried he might be another ‘animal’ like Khairil and prayed hard. When she saw a vague silloutte walking towards the door she gave way.
" Fathima!" said her mother and she hugged her daughter. " The man wants to marry you my daughter!" and teard began to flow in their eyes.
At last,she now know she will be able to avenge the death of Asmah and bring a better future for young women in Karachi.
Wednesday, March 26, 2008
Honda Collection
Honda City
Honda HSC
Honda HSC
Honda Ridgeline
Honda S 2000
Honda S 2000
Honda Pilot
Honda Odyssey
Honda Fit
Honda CRV
Honda Civic
Honda Accord
Honda Accord
Thanks for reading
Friday, March 14, 2008
The Day before i got my Results
Today was the day. Out of all the 4 months given to savour my last seconds of teenhood,today is the scariest day. Why u may ask, must a grown man like me be afraid? The results that i will be getting tomorrow is the ultimate judge of my one decade in school. The past memories of yesteryears friends, teachers and school subjects bloats my unsuspecting mind which has been rather idle for the past 4 months. Just like an ordinary man, i stumbled upon friendship,love and have sadly
lost a few in the battle.
I survived countless bullets and swords cast upon me,often by my own friends. Throughout these years, the friends whom i thought would aid and sheild me from preying enemies were the ones that had cast the sharpest of all swords.
The betrayal of a friend is far more excruciating and painful than a swearword from an unwelcoming enemy.
I have to say, eventhough i have offered the forgiveness yet my mind still urges me to not forget their betrayal. Why i often ask,shouldnt i forgive my friends? Isnt forgiveness the best gift than can only be given by the bravest soul?
" My silly Yugendra, forget not the fallen scares as these past wounds will not cease to hurt u in future. The best weapon than i can offer u is wisdom and there is,i afraid no better teacher than past mistakes."
"Why,they have uttered the words i wanted to hear,that they should have trusted my integrity since the dawn of the problem".
" Yes, my favourable one, i am the voice in your heart and i was given to u by God. Remember Yugendra, as your age begins to mature and as you grow into new soils, so does your path of life. Tell me my silly Yugendra, can u ever walk without tripping on a smooth path? These bloody wounds and immortal scars shall offer you friction as your feet trot futher .....until the final dawn arrives. Do not forget that only the bravest and kindest shall have the heart to Forgive.
"But beware young boy, offering forgiveness doesnt not require you to forget. "
Thats about it :) THX
lost a few in the battle.
I survived countless bullets and swords cast upon me,often by my own friends. Throughout these years, the friends whom i thought would aid and sheild me from preying enemies were the ones that had cast the sharpest of all swords.
The betrayal of a friend is far more excruciating and painful than a swearword from an unwelcoming enemy.
I have to say, eventhough i have offered the forgiveness yet my mind still urges me to not forget their betrayal. Why i often ask,shouldnt i forgive my friends? Isnt forgiveness the best gift than can only be given by the bravest soul?
" My silly Yugendra, forget not the fallen scares as these past wounds will not cease to hurt u in future. The best weapon than i can offer u is wisdom and there is,i afraid no better teacher than past mistakes."
"Why,they have uttered the words i wanted to hear,that they should have trusted my integrity since the dawn of the problem".
" Yes, my favourable one, i am the voice in your heart and i was given to u by God. Remember Yugendra, as your age begins to mature and as you grow into new soils, so does your path of life. Tell me my silly Yugendra, can u ever walk without tripping on a smooth path? These bloody wounds and immortal scars shall offer you friction as your feet trot futher .....until the final dawn arrives. Do not forget that only the bravest and kindest shall have the heart to Forgive.
"But beware young boy, offering forgiveness doesnt not require you to forget. "
Thats about it :) THX
Sunday, February 24, 2008
WILLIAM WILBERFORCE:
The True Hero
When we talk about heroes, we often think of great warriors like Alexander the Great or Napoleon Bonaparte.
Yet William Wilberforce became a hero too,without spilling a single drop of blood. And he managed to touch the hearts of millions along his journey.
Yet William Wilberforce became a hero too,without spilling a single drop of blood. And he managed to touch the hearts of millions along his journey.
In September 1780, at the age of twenty-one and still a student at Cambridge, he was elected Member of Parliament (MP) for Kingston upon Hull.
In 1783 Wilberforce, while dining with his old friend, Gerard Edwards, at his home in Curzon Street, had met the former ship’s surgeon Rev. James Ramsay, who had become a clergyman on the island of St Christopher and medical supervisor of the plantations there.
What he had witnessed of the conditions of the slaves both at sea and on the plantations horrified him and then began William Wilberforce's battle.
William Wiberforce also started talking to his childhood pastor, John Newton as he was once a Captain of a slave ship.
Inspired by his renewed faith, Wilberforce was showing an increasing interest in humanitarian reform.
In November 1786 Wilberforce received a letter from Sir Charles Middleton which was to re-ignite his interest in the subject of the slave trade.
Wilberforce fought 45 years of tedious battle to abolish the ulcureous slave trade..
Many considered the slave trade to be the back bone of the Great Empire thus abolishing it might destroy the whole nation.
Petiton after petition was brought to the Parliment but they failed to convince them
Wilberforce had shown little interest in women but, in his late thirties, twenty-year-old Barbara Ann Spooner (1777–1847) was recommended as a potential bride.
He met her two days after, on 15 April 1797, was immediately smitten, and following a whirlwind of romance, he later proposed to her in 8 days ! They were devoted to each other and had 6 children together.
The Diagram was drawn and used by William Wilberforce in order to show the MPs the poor conditions faced by the slaves in the ship.
His battle continued after that and eventually, managed to convince the that the slave trade is nothing but a shame to such a mighty Empire!!!!!!
*Extra Info
John Newton is famous icon as he was the one who wrote the AMAZING GRACE hymn some time after converting to Christianity. The lyrics are based on his reflections on an Old Testament , adding his perspective about his own conversion while on his slave ship.
Amazing Grace :)
Amazing grace, how sweet the sound
That sav’d a wretch like me!
I once was lost, but now am found,
Was blind, but now I see.
’Twas grace that taught my heart to fear,
’Twas grace that taught my heart to fear,
And grace my fears reliev’d;
How precious did that grace appear,
The hour I first believ’d!
Thro’ many dangers, toils and snares,I have already come;
Thro’ many dangers, toils and snares,I have already come;
Tis grace has brought me safe thus far,
And grace will lead me home.
The Lord has promis’d good to me,
The Lord has promis’d good to me,
His word my hope secures;
He will my shield and portion be,
As long as life endures.
Yes, when this flesh and heart shall fail,
Yes, when this flesh and heart shall fail,
And mortal life shall cease;
I shall possess,
within the veil,
A life of joy and peace.
The earth shall soon dissolve like snow,
The earth shall soon dissolve like snow,
The sun forbear to shine;
But God, who call’d me here below,
Will be forever mine.
John Newton, Olney Hymns (London: W. Oliver, 1779)
His story taught me that no matter how many times you fail, you must NEVER give up. SOunds fammiliar? Well, this man fought 45 years in the Britrish Parliment, fighting nearly ALL the MPs in the HOuse of Commans.
And he won :)
Thank u for spending your valuble time here . Vanakam
Friday, February 22, 2008
A Nice Poem by Saint Arunagiri Nathar
Kinkini thith thimi, thith thith
The anklets on the dancing feet jingled,
A sound that to other sounds Closed my hearing.
The Kadamba garland that He wore Suffused me with its cloying fragrance,
And my breath was held.
His moon-like countenance and tender smile Caused such cheer and ecstasy
That my mind was lost.
For a moment He looked at me,
A cool liquid light poured out From His long lotus eyes.
It filled my heart tasting like nectar
And I was lost to Him forever.
Teppa Thiruvilah
22 Feb 2008
Sri SinggaMukha Kaliamman
The festival was held in Teluk Bahang, Penang.
The special element of this particular Thiruvilah is that the Kali Amman will be taken around the gulf using a water chariot.
This Festival is the only festival in Malaysia where such a disticntive practice is seen.
The Water Chariot
The Kali Amman Temple
The Goddess is being taken out of the temple
On Her way to the Teluk Bahang shores
Om Shakti!
Goddess Kali Amman will begin her journey....
Devotees light their lamps and let it float away into the South China Sea.
The Chariot slowly leaves the shore....
Welcome back!!!!!! :)
The Chariot was pulled up because of the Tsunami Alert ..the waves were getting very 'excited' hehe....nothing happened though
Om Sakti!
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