Rediscovering Joy: Unearthing Old Memories

In the fast-paced hustle and bustle of today's modern life, it's easy to get caught up in the relentless flow of time, often leaving cherished memories buried beneath the weight of responsibilities and daily demands. However, every now and then, life has a delightful way of surprising us—much like finding forgotten treasures in the pockets of childhood clothes. The happiness derived from rediscovering old memories is a timeless joy that resonates deeply in our hearts. In the midst of our busy lives, where deadlines and commitments dominate our thoughts, stumbling upon fragments of the past can be a heartwarming experience. It's like unearthing a box of forgotten treasures, each item holding the power to transport us back to a simpler, more carefree time. These nostalgic encounters act as a gentle reminder that, despite the chaos of the present, there exists a serene and joyful realm within the recesses of our memories. Much like finding pennies in the pockets of childhood clothes, the discovery of old memories brings with it a sense of unexpected delight. These moments, often hidden in the corners of our minds, have the power to evoke smiles and laughter, acting as a soothing balm for the soul. They are the pennies of our past, small and seemingly insignificant, yet possessing an immeasurable value in the currency of happiness. The beauty of these rediscovered memories lies in their ability to bridge the gap between generations. Whether it's stumbling upon a faded photograph, a handwritten note, or a childhood toy tucked away in the attic, these artifacts carry the essence of a bygone era. They provide a tangible link to our roots, connecting us with the people and places that have shaped our journey. In a world dominated by the rapid advancement of technology and the constant pursuit of the next big thing, the simple act of finding old memories serves as a poignant reminder to slow down and appreciate the beauty of the present moment. It encourages us to pause, reflect, and savor the richness of our personal history—a history that is often overshadowed by the relentless march of time. As we navigate the complexities of the modern world, the happiness derived from unearthing old memories becomes a source of resilience. It serves as a beacon of light, reminding us that, amidst the chaos, there is a treasure trove of joy waiting to be rediscovered. So, the next time you find yourself caught in the whirlwind of daily life, take a moment to explore the pockets of your memories—you might just find a few pennies from the past that brighten your day and add a touch of magic to your journey. I used to write blogs 10 years back, and as I got busy with life, I forgot about it. And as luck would have it I just came about this blog of mine.. and I am loving it.. this blog took me back to my days of innocence..

Book Review – Private India - Ashwin Sanghi

I got this book through Blogadda which was delivered pretty fast, though I am writing this review a bit late but its worth the read, no not just the review but also the book. ;) Ashwin Sanghi has teamed up with James Patterson to indigenize this series. Private India is a classic thriller. cut to the chase With the usual Mumbai bhais (Don) a Pakistan’s ISI makes an appearance. It is a mix of mysteries. Good enough to make the plot worth it. Private India is India’s best detective agency,run by Mr. Jack Morgan. Santosh Wagh heads Private India. When visiting Thai surgeon Kanya Jaiyen is killed in mysterious circumstances at the Marine Bay Plaza. The police let Private India get on with it. thoough unable to stop serial murders to happen the Private India pulls it off solving all the mysteries like straight from the books. The first murder is followed by many more. Reporter Bhavna Choksi becomes the second victim. Then Elima Xavier, Anjana Lal, Ragini Sharma, and others follow. Each murder victim is found strangled with a yellow scarf and surrounded by antique artifacts, guess found on Pawnstars @ history. Private India makes the plot long enough to cover the topic and to the point enough to keep the interest going. It is a 450+ pages book which is read with much ease given the smooth and grasping plot. The Indian mujahideen angle gives you the relation to reality and things dont seem odd afterall, unlike other thrillers where it is the pyschopath neighbor or ex girlfriend. that was good enough to keep this detective story easy to digest. Though i read a lot of mystery novels but this being plot in India gives you the feel of Desi, the feel of finally a good desi mystery novel. I wont be surprised if it transforms into a good movie soon. All in all this books keeps you hooked in and you dont regret going through those 450 pages.

Ring the Bell..!!

I read somewhere, “India is not a developing nation, but a highly developed one which is in its initial stage of decline” and when I read it again and strained my prudence I realized how apt this was. We Indians take utmost pride while saying that we are the sons and daughters of Mother India. A nation where the number of female gods worshipped is far greater than their male counterparts. We boast about unity in diversity, different cultures, varied rituals and different languages. But whom are we fooling? No doubt that once India was the Golden Bird, but today it’s a caged ailing fowl; caged in its own false prejudices, ridiculous hypocrisy, and baseless division in the name of caste, creed and sex. Its high time to do some serious introspection. Until and unless We change, nothing is gonna change. If we start tolerating crime against women just because it happened to someone not related to me... It wont be late that it actually happens to someone you know... Lets pledge to intervene and stop every injustice and degradation being done to women around us. and not be a mere spectator. We have to educate our younger generation to respect the fairer sex like they same way THEY want to be respected by them. And therefore I believe our education system has to be revamped to inculcate and environment which fosters equality, honor and respect.

WeChat with Anyone, Anywhere

Voice messages have always intrigued me since the answering machine days. When I started using mobile phone, I always felt the need of a similar application for my mobile. Today I have BBM and Whatsapp but still I feel the void of voice messages. Thanks to We Chat, Voice Messages are a reality now. If given a chance to add 5 or more people on we chat I would like to add the following people in my group. 1) My Mom. Usually I am busy attending meetings and I am unable to take her calls, messaging is a big headache for her… so I will give her We chat so that I can receive her voice messages after work hours. 2) My GF. Sending late night voice messages. Nothing beats that. 3) My friend is a very good singer and she loves dedicating songs to me. She will send me songs on We chat and I could listen to her songs later. 4) We all love cursing friends, Voice messages will be the perfect way to tell them how much I love those buggers. 5) Then I will add Mr. Amitabh Bachchan. He is one of the best orator and I would love to chat with him on We chat. \m/

Chennai through my eyes...

I like these posters, they never fail to bring a smile on your face..

I hate you so much, that I love you...

Madras. Chennai. My Bitch. I curse it, I hate it, I blame it, but I can’t leave it. Coming here was my choice, living here was my decision, working here at the company's head office, was my dream. Yet, every day I spend in this city of paradoxes, I resent it almost in every breath I take. I remember the day when the campus interviewer asked this serious question, “Why do you wish to work in Chennai?” “Sir, it’s been 24 years I have spent in Dehradun, I want to live alone, on my own.” I said brimming with confidence and a charming smile. “He wants to run away from his parents…Hahaha!” said the interviewer, laughing out so loudly that it did scare me for a second. But he was right; I wish I never said that, I wish I had asked for some other place anywhere across the length and breadth of the nation. I wish... Since I have lived in this land of utterly baseless conservationism, I have tried my best to accept it, as it is. And I guess it were these efforts which I was putting in to be a part of this cultural, traditional and superior race, that hurt me the most. Maybe I was trying too hard to fit in a place where I didn’t belong. Maybe I should have realized this in the initial days of training that “Beta, mujhse na ho payega…” I have made fun of everything in Chennai, the dressing sense, the sense of humor, the banal monotonous food, the paramount simplicity, the outmoded, dull grey buildings, the ugly localities, the tongue twister language, the depressing lifestyle,the larger than life superstars, the stupid preference of outings or fun and the naïveté women. I have ridiculed everything that I came across. I have fought with nearly everyone, the Autowalas, Policewalas, taxiwalas, hotelwalas, Conductors, bike parking managers, colleagues, boss and super boss. I have abused them all. I have been to the beaches in the mornings and abused the fishermen for answering the natures call on the shore, spoiling the heavenly morning beauty, I have cursed the temple pundits for looting money for no reasons, and I have called names to the actors whom our late Mukesh Harane could put to shame. Yes I have done it all. I have done it for six months, One year, Two year, Three years and now it is my fourth, and I still do it. I did it then and I do it now. But the difference is, initially I used to do it all the times, at office, at home, in bus, in train, in boat, in plane, in Delhi, in Dehradun. I cursed Chennai for not being my dream city, a city to spend the crazy youth, a place to experiment with everything possible. But today I do it very rarely, i.e. as long as I am not with my friends. There is a huge difference between then and now. But you might say I still curse it, what’s the deal? The deal is, when I am late at night in Delhi, I take an auto and the autowala speaks words as sweet as honey and promises to take the minimum charge for getting me the last bus to Dehradun, but actually dumps me 5 minutes further with a bus ticket which is 5 times the actual cost and demands commission from me as well as the bus owner, apart from the regular fare, then I don’t curse Chennai. When the last bus to Dehradun turns out to be a private bus which has charged me the most expensive ticket amongst the passengers and the quality is nowhere close to the one I travel in during my Chennai- Bangalore trips, then I miss Chennai. When the bus stops at the restaurant midway and the only thing that can be consumed while travelling is masala daal, paneer masala, bhindi masala, an oily bread pakoda, which will definitely kill me of acidity during the other half of the journey, then I think of Idly dosa sambhar cocnut chutneys. After changing the bus at Roorkee early in the morning when I finally reached Dehradun… [To be continued…]