<?xml version='1.0' encoding='UTF-8'?><?xml-stylesheet href="http://www.blogger.com/styles/atom.css" type="text/css"?><feed xmlns='http://www.w3.org/2005/Atom' xmlns:openSearch='http://a9.com/-/spec/opensearchrss/1.0/' xmlns:georss='http://www.georss.org/georss' xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8829492</id><updated>2011-12-28T17:25:45.464+05:30</updated><title type='text'>Smile</title><subtitle type='html'>keep smiling....people will wonder what you are up to..:-)</subtitle><link rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#feed' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://indianclown.blogspot.com/feeds/posts/default'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8829492/posts/default?max-results=100'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://indianclown.blogspot.com/'/><link rel='hub' href='http://pubsubhubbub.appspot.com/'/><author><name>indian clown</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00227391757358474213</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='23' height='32' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_V9gkIVZD_rQ/SAXCWOoLqdI/AAAAAAAAACc/3ziEJx4JUJ4/S220/2008-03-18-1147-42.jpg'/></author><generator version='7.00' uri='http://www.blogger.com'>Blogger</generator><openSearch:totalResults>72</openSearch:totalResults><openSearch:startIndex>1</openSearch:startIndex><openSearch:itemsPerPage>100</openSearch:itemsPerPage><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8829492.post-9147223301392684221</id><published>2008-08-17T12:03:00.000+05:30</published><updated>2008-08-17T12:04:01.490+05:30</updated><title type='text'>:-)</title><content type='html'>this page will hopefully brighten up your day as you read it.......&lt;br /&gt;its going to have simple messages on life.....none of it original....:-)&lt;br /&gt;as and when i come across something interesting, i will post it here......it can be a poem, a photo, an sms message, just a joke someone said, something interesting on the net....&lt;br /&gt;anything i feel like sharing..&lt;br /&gt;enjoy...:-) :-)&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8829492-9147223301392684221?l=indianclown.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://indianclown.blogspot.com/feeds/9147223301392684221/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8829492&amp;postID=9147223301392684221' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8829492/posts/default/9147223301392684221'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8829492/posts/default/9147223301392684221'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://indianclown.blogspot.com/2008/08/blog-post_17.html' title=':-)'/><author><name>indian clown</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00227391757358474213</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='23' height='32' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_V9gkIVZD_rQ/SAXCWOoLqdI/AAAAAAAAACc/3ziEJx4JUJ4/S220/2008-03-18-1147-42.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8829492.post-5791551481973378141</id><published>2008-08-17T11:50:00.004+05:30</published><updated>2008-08-17T12:06:26.324+05:30</updated><title type='text'>a miracle</title><content type='html'>A little girl went to her bedroom and pulled a glass jelly jar from its hiding place in the closet.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;She poured the change out on the floor and counted it carefully.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Carefully placing the coins back in the jar and twisting on the cap, she slipped out the back door and made her way 6 blocks to Rexall's Drug Store with the big Red Indian Chief sign above the door.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;She waited patiently for the pharmacist to give her some attention, but he was too busy at this moment.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Tess twisted her feet to make a scuffing noise.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Nothing.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;She cleared her throat with the most disgusting sound she could muster.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;No good.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Finally she took a quarter from her jar and banged it on the glass counter.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;That did it!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;'And what do you want?' the pharmacist asked in an annoyed tone of voice. I'm talking to my brother from Chicago whom I haven't seen in ages,' he said without waiting for a reply to his question.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;'Well, I want to talk to you about my brother' Tess answered back in the same annoyed tone. 'He's really, really sick...and I want to buy a miracle..'&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;'I beg your pardon?' said the pharmacist.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;'His name is Andrew and he has something bad growing inside his head and my Daddy says only a miracle can save him now So how much does a miracle cost?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;''We don't sell miracles here, little girl. I'm sorry but I can't help you,' the pharmacist said, softening a little.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;'Listen, I have the money to pay for it. If it isn't enough, I will get the rest. Just tell me how much it costs.'&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The pharmacist's brother was a well dressed man. He stooped down and asked the little girl, 'What kind of a miracle does your brother need?''&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;'I don't know,' Tess replied with her eyes welling up. 'I just know he's really sick and Mommy says he needs an operation. But my Daddy can't pay for it, so I want to use my money.'&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;''How much do you have?' asked the man from Chicago'&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;'Forty seven dollars and eleven cents,' Tess answered barely audibly.'And it's all the money I have, but I can get some more if I need to.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;''Well, what a coincidence,' smiled the man. 'forty seven dollars and eleven cents---the exact price of a miracle for little brothers. '&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;He took her money in one hand and with the other hand he grasped her mitten and said 'Take me to where you live. I want to see your brother and meet your parents. Let's see if I have the miracle you need.'&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;That well dressed man was Dr. Carlton Armstrong, a surgeon, specializing in neuro-surgery. The operation was completed free of charge and it wasn't long until Andrew was home again and doing well.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Mom and Dad were happily talking about the chain of events that had led them to this place. 'That surgery,' her Mom whispered. 'was a real miracle. I wonder how much it would have cost? 'Tess smiled. She knew exactly how much a miracle cost..&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;forty seven dollars and eleven cents....plus the faith of a little child. &lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;In our lives, we never know how many miracles we will need.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;A miracle is not the suspension of natural law, but the operation of a higher law. . &lt;/strong&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8829492-5791551481973378141?l=indianclown.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://indianclown.blogspot.com/feeds/5791551481973378141/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8829492&amp;postID=5791551481973378141' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8829492/posts/default/5791551481973378141'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8829492/posts/default/5791551481973378141'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://indianclown.blogspot.com/2008/08/miracle.html' title='a miracle'/><author><name>indian clown</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00227391757358474213</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='23' height='32' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_V9gkIVZD_rQ/SAXCWOoLqdI/AAAAAAAAACc/3ziEJx4JUJ4/S220/2008-03-18-1147-42.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8829492.post-4229377588151474591</id><published>2008-08-01T11:45:00.003+05:30</published><updated>2008-08-01T11:54:54.405+05:30</updated><title type='text'>love</title><content type='html'>&lt;em&gt;It was a busy morning, about 8:30, when an elderly gentleman in his 80's arrived to have stitches removed from his thumb. He said he was in a hurry as he had an appointment at 9:00 am.&lt;br /&gt; &lt;br /&gt;I took his vital signs and had him take a seat, knowing it would be over an hour before someone would to able to see him. I saw him looking at his watch and decided, since I was not busy with another patient, I would evaluate his wound. On exam, it was well healed, so I talked to one of the doctors, got the needed supplies to remove his sutures and redress his wound.&lt;br /&gt; &lt;br /&gt;While taking care of his wound, I asked him if he had another doctor's appointment this morning, as he was in such a hurry. The gentleman told me no, that he needed to go to the nursing home to eat breakfast with his wife. I inquired as to her health.&lt;br /&gt; &lt;br /&gt;He told me that she had been there for a while and that she was a victim of Alzheimer's Disease.&lt;br /&gt; &lt;br /&gt;As we talked, I asked if she would be upset if he was a bit late.&lt;br /&gt; &lt;br /&gt;He replied that she no longer knew who he was, that she had not recognized him in five years now. I was surprised, and asked him, 'And you still go every morning,even though she doesn't know who you are?&lt;br /&gt; &lt;br /&gt;He smiled as he patted my hand and said,&lt;strong&gt;'She doesn't know me, but I still know who she is.'&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt; &lt;br /&gt;I had to hold back tears as he left, I had goose bumps on my arm, and thought,&lt;br /&gt; &lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;'That is the kind of love I want in my life.'&lt;/strong&gt; &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;True love is neither physical, nor romantic.&lt;br /&gt; &lt;br /&gt;True love is an acceptance of all that is, has been, will be, and will not be.&lt;br /&gt; &lt;br /&gt;The happiest people don't necessarily have the best of everything; they just make the best of everything they have.&lt;br /&gt; &lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;'Life isn't about how to survive the storm, but how to dance in the rain.'&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8829492-4229377588151474591?l=indianclown.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://indianclown.blogspot.com/feeds/4229377588151474591/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8829492&amp;postID=4229377588151474591' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8829492/posts/default/4229377588151474591'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8829492/posts/default/4229377588151474591'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://indianclown.blogspot.com/2008/08/love.html' title='love'/><author><name>indian clown</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00227391757358474213</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='23' height='32' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_V9gkIVZD_rQ/SAXCWOoLqdI/AAAAAAAAACc/3ziEJx4JUJ4/S220/2008-03-18-1147-42.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8829492.post-1485958310283974752</id><published>2008-07-21T15:14:00.002+05:30</published><updated>2008-07-21T15:21:10.537+05:30</updated><title type='text'>the brick...</title><content type='html'>A young and successful executive was traveling down a neighborhood street, going a bit too fast in his new Jaguar. He was watching for kids darting out from between parked cars and slowed down.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;When he thought he saw something. As his car passed, no children appeared. Instead, a brick smashed into the Jag's side door! He slammed on the brakes and backed the Jag back to the spot where the brick had been thrown. The angry driver jumped out of the car, grabbed the nearest kid and pushed him up against a parked car shouting, "What was that all about and who are you? Just what the heck are you doing? That's a new car and that brick you threw is going to cost a lot of money. Why did you do it?"  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The young boy was apologetic. "Please, mister...please, I'm sorry but I didn't know what else to do," He pleaded. "I threw the brick because no one else would stop..." With tears dripping down his face and off his chin, the youth pointed to a spot just around a parked car. "It's my brother, "he said "He rolled off the curb and fell out of his wheelchair and I can't lift him up." &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Now sobbing, the boy asked the stunned executive, "Would you please help me get him back into his wheelchair? He's hurt and he's too heavy for me." &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Moved beyond words, the driver tried to swallow the rapidly swelling lump in his throat. He hurriedly lifted the handicapped boy back into the wheelchair, then took out a linen handkerchief and dabbed at the fresh scrapes and cuts. A quick look told him everything was going to be okay.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Thank you and may God bless you," the grateful child told the stranger. Too shook up for words, the man simply watched the boy! Push his wheelchair-bound brother down the sidewalk toward their home.   &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It was a long, slow walk back to the Jaguar. The damage was very noticeable, but the driver never bothered to repair the dented side door.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;He kept the dent there to remind him of this message: &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;"Don't go through life so fast that someone has to throw a brick at you to get your attention!" &lt;/strong&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8829492-1485958310283974752?l=indianclown.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://indianclown.blogspot.com/feeds/1485958310283974752/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8829492&amp;postID=1485958310283974752' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8829492/posts/default/1485958310283974752'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8829492/posts/default/1485958310283974752'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://indianclown.blogspot.com/2008/07/brick.html' title='the brick...'/><author><name>indian clown</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00227391757358474213</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='23' height='32' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_V9gkIVZD_rQ/SAXCWOoLqdI/AAAAAAAAACc/3ziEJx4JUJ4/S220/2008-03-18-1147-42.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8829492.post-18252100857310753</id><published>2008-05-24T09:34:00.000+05:30</published><updated>2008-05-24T09:36:05.932+05:30</updated><title type='text'>life..:-)</title><content type='html'>From an Indian in Sweden :&lt;br /&gt;An interesting reflection. :             Slow Down Culture&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It's been 18 years since I joined Volvo, a Swedish company. Working for them has proven to be an interesting experience. &lt;br /&gt;Any project here takes 2 years to be finalized, even if the idea is simple and brilliant. It's a rule.&lt;br /&gt;Globalized processes have caused in us (all over the world) a general sense of searching for immediate results. &lt;br /&gt;Therefore, we have come to possess a need to see immediate results. This contrasts greatly with the slow  movements of the Swedish. They, on the other hand, debate, debate, debate, hold x quantity of meetings and work with a slowdown scheme. At the end,  this always yields better results.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Said in another words:&lt;br /&gt;  1. Sweden is about the size of San Pablo , a state in Brazil .&lt;br /&gt;  2. Sweden has 2 million inhabitants.&lt;br /&gt;  3. Stockholm , has 500,000 people.&lt;br /&gt;  4. Volvo, Escania, Ericsson, Electrolux, Nokia are some of its renowned companies. Volvo supplies the NASA.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The first time I was in Sweden , one of my colleagues picked me up at the  hotel every morning. It was September,     bit cold and snowy. We would arrive  early at the company and he would park far away from the entrance (2000  employees drive their car to work). The first day, I didn't say anything,  either the second or third. One morning I asked, 'Do you have a fixed  parking space? I've noticed we park far from the entrance even when there  are no other cars in the lot.' To which he replied, 'Since we're here early  we'll have time to walk, and whoever gets in late will be late and need a place closer to the door. Don't you think?.......................Imagine my face.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Nowadays, there's a movement in Europe name Slow Food. This movement establishes that people should eat and drink slowly, with enough time to  taste their food, spend time with the family, friends, without rushing.  Slow Food is against its counterpart: the spirit of Fast Food and what it  stands for as a lifestyle. Slow Food is the basis for a bigger movement  called Slow Europe, as mentioned by Business Week.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Basically, the movement questions the sense of 'hurry' and 'craziness' generated by globalization, fueled by the desire of 'having in quantity'(life status) versus 'having with quality', 'life quality' or the 'quality of being'. French people, even though they work 35 hours per week, are more  productive than Americans or British. Germans have established 28.8 hour  workweeks and have seen their productivity been driven up by 20%.This slow attitude has brought forth the US 's attention, pupils of the fast and the 'do it now!'&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;This no-rush attitude doesn't represent doing less or having a lower productivity. It means working and doing things with greater quality, productivity, perfection, with attention to detail and less stress. It means reestablishing family values, friends, free and leisure time. Taking the 'now', present and concrete, versus the 'global', undefined and  anonymous. It means taking humans' essential values, the simplicity of  living.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It stands for a less coercive work environment, more happy, lighter and  more productive where humans enjoy doing what they know best how to do. It's time to stop and think on how companies need to develop serious quality with no-rush that will increase productivity and the quality of  products and services, without losing the essence of spirit. In the movie, Scent of a Woman, there's a scene where the blind Al Pacino asks a girl to dance and she replies,  'I can't, my boyfriend will be here any minute now'.To which Al responds, 'A life is lived in an instant'.  Then they dance to a tango.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Many of us live our lives running behind time, but we only reach it when we  die of a heart attack or in a car accident rushing to be on time. Others  are so anxious of living the future that they forget to live the present,  which is the only time that truly exists. We all have equal time throughout  the world. No one has more or less. The difference lies in how each one of  us does with our time. We need to live each moment. &lt;br /&gt;As John Lennon said, '&lt;strong&gt;Life is what happens to you while you're busy making other plans'.&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8829492-18252100857310753?l=indianclown.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://indianclown.blogspot.com/feeds/18252100857310753/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8829492&amp;postID=18252100857310753' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8829492/posts/default/18252100857310753'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8829492/posts/default/18252100857310753'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://indianclown.blogspot.com/2008/05/life.html' title='life..:-)'/><author><name>indian clown</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00227391757358474213</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='23' height='32' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_V9gkIVZD_rQ/SAXCWOoLqdI/AAAAAAAAACc/3ziEJx4JUJ4/S220/2008-03-18-1147-42.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8829492.post-6928850176638409561</id><published>2008-04-11T13:53:00.000+05:30</published><updated>2008-04-11T13:55:33.972+05:30</updated><title type='text'>"Self Appraisal" </title><content type='html'>A little boy went into a drug store, reached for a soda carton and pulled it over to the telephone. He climbed onto the carton so that he could reach the buttons on the phone and proceeded to punch in seven digits (phone numbers).&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The store-owner observed and listened to the conversation:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Boy: "Lady, Can you give me the job of cutting your lawn? &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Woman: (at the other end of the phone line): "I already have someone to cut my lawn."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt; &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Boy: "Lady, I will cut your lawn for half the price of the person who cuts your lawn now." &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Woman: I'm very satisfied with the person who is presently cutting my lawn.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt; &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Boy: (with more perseverance) : "Lady, I'll even sweep&lt;br /&gt;your curb and your sidewalk, so on Sunday you will&lt;br /&gt;have the prettiest lawn in all of Palm beach , Florida." &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Woman: No, thank you.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt; &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;With a smile on his face, the little boy replaced the receiver. The store-owner, who was listening to all this, walked over to the boy.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Store Owner: "Son... I like your attitude; I like that positive spirit and would like to offer you a job." &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Boy: "No thanks,&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt; &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Store Owner: But you were really pleading for one. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Boy: No Sir, I was just checking my performance at the&lt;br /&gt;job I already have. I am the one who is working for that lady I was talking to!" &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;This is what we call "Self Appraisal"...:-0 :-)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8829492-6928850176638409561?l=indianclown.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://indianclown.blogspot.com/feeds/6928850176638409561/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8829492&amp;postID=6928850176638409561' title='4 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8829492/posts/default/6928850176638409561'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8829492/posts/default/6928850176638409561'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://indianclown.blogspot.com/2008/04/self-appraisal.html' title='&quot;Self Appraisal&quot; '/><author><name>indian clown</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00227391757358474213</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='23' height='32' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_V9gkIVZD_rQ/SAXCWOoLqdI/AAAAAAAAACc/3ziEJx4JUJ4/S220/2008-03-18-1147-42.jpg'/></author><thr:total>4</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8829492.post-86528034798942807</id><published>2008-04-11T13:45:00.003+05:30</published><updated>2008-04-16T14:44:26.310+05:30</updated><title type='text'>mother</title><content type='html'>EIGHT LIES OF A MOTHER&lt;br /&gt;This story begins when I was a child: I was born poor. Often we hadn't enough to eat. Whenever we had some food, Mother often gave me her portion of rice. While she was transferring her rice into my bowl, she would say "Eat this rice, son! I'm not hungry."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;This was Mother's First Lie.&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;As I grew, Mother gave up her spare time to fish in a river near our house; she hoped that from the fish she caught, she could give me a little bit more nutritious food for my growth. Once she had caught just two fish, she would make fish soup. While I was eating the soup, mother would sit beside me and eat what was still left on the bone of the fish I had eaten; My heart was touched when I saw it. Once I gave the other fish to her on my chopstick but she immediately refused it and said, "Eat this fish, son! I don't really like fish."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;This was Mother's Second Lie.&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Then, in order to fund my education, Mother went to a Match Factory to bring home some used matchboxes which she filled with fresh matchsticks. This helped her get some money to cover our needs. One wintry night I awoke to find Mother filling the matchboxes by candlelight. So I said, "Mother, go to sleep; it's late: you can continue working tomorrow morning." Mother smiled and said "Go to sleep, son! I'm not tired."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;This was Mother's Third Lie &lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;When I had to sit my Final Examination, Mother accompanied me. After dawn, Mother waited for me for hours in the heat of the sun. When the bell rang, I ran to meet her. Mother embraced me and poured me a glass of tea that she had prepared in a thermos. The tea was not as strong as my Mother's love, Seeing Mother covered with perspiration; I at once gave her my glass and asked her to drink too. Mother said "Drink, son! I'm not thirsty"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;This was Mother's Fourth Lie. &lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;After Father's death, Mother had to play the role of a single parent. She held on to her former job; she had to fund our needs alone. Our family's life was more complicated. We suffered from starvation. Seeing our family's condition worsening, my kind Uncle who lived near my house came to help us solve our problems big and small. Our other neighbors saw that we were poverty stricken so they often advised my mother to marry again. But Mother refused to remarry saying "I don't need love."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;This was Mother's Fifth Lie. &lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;After I had finished my studies and gotten a job, it was time for my old Mother to retire but she carried on going to the market every morning just to sell a few vegetables. I kept sending her money but she was steadfast and even sent the money back to me. She said, "I have enough money."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;That was Mother's Sixth Lie.&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I continued my part-time studies for my Master's Degree. Funded by the American Corporation for which I worked, I succeeded in my studies. With a big jump in my salary, I decided to bring Mother to enjoy life in America but Mother didn't want to bother her son; she said to me "I'm not used to high living."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;That was Mother's Seventh Lie&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;In her old age, Mother was attacked by cancer and had to be hospitalized. Now living far across the ocean, I went home to visit Mother who was bedridden after an operation. Mother tried to smile but I was heartbroken because she was so thin and feeble but Mother said, "Don't cry, son! I'm not in pain."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;That was Mother's Eighth Lie.&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Telling me this, her eighth lie, she died.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;YES, MOTHER WAS AN ANGEL!&lt;br /&gt;M - O - T - H - E - R&lt;br /&gt;"M" is for the Million things she gave me, "O" means Only that she's growing old, "T" is for the Tears she shed to save me, "H" is for her Heart of gold, "E" is for her Eyes with love-light shining in them, "R" means Right, and right she'll always be...&lt;br /&gt;Put them all together, they spell "MOTHER" a word that means the world to me. For those of you who are lucky to be still blessed with your Mom's presence on Earth, this story is beautiful. For those who aren't so blessed, this is even more beautiful.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8829492-86528034798942807?l=indianclown.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://indianclown.blogspot.com/feeds/86528034798942807/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8829492&amp;postID=86528034798942807' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8829492/posts/default/86528034798942807'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8829492/posts/default/86528034798942807'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://indianclown.blogspot.com/2008/04/mother.html' title='mother'/><author><name>indian clown</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00227391757358474213</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='23' height='32' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_V9gkIVZD_rQ/SAXCWOoLqdI/AAAAAAAAACc/3ziEJx4JUJ4/S220/2008-03-18-1147-42.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8829492.post-1620508782790399326</id><published>2008-04-07T12:35:00.002+05:30</published><updated>2008-04-07T12:39:33.734+05:30</updated><title type='text'>lessons from a donkey..:-)</title><content type='html'>&lt;p&gt;One day a farmer's donkey fell down into a well. &lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;The animal cried piteously for hours as the farmer tried to figure out what to do. Finally, he decided the animal was old, and the well needed to be covered up anyway; it just wasn't worth it to retrieve the donkey. &lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;He invited all his neighbours to come over and help him. They all grabbed a shovel and began to shovel dirt into the well. At first, the donkey realized what was happening and cried horribly. &lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;Then, to &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;everyone's&lt;/span&gt; amazement he quieted down. A few shovel loads later, the farmer finally looked down the well. He was astonished at what he saw. With each shovel of dirt that hit his back, the donkey was doing something amazing. He would shake it off and take a step up.. As the farmer's neighbours continued to shovel dirt on top of the animal, he would shake it off and take a step up. Pretty soon, everyone was amazed as the donkey stepped up over the edge of the well and happily trotted off....:-)&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Life is going to shovel dirt on you, all kinds of dirt. &lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;strong&gt;The trick to getting out of the well is to shake it off and take a step up. &lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Each of our troubles is a stepping stone. &lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;strong&gt;We can get out of the deepest wells just by not stopping, never giving up! &lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Shake it off and take a step up. . .:-)&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8829492-1620508782790399326?l=indianclown.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://indianclown.blogspot.com/feeds/1620508782790399326/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8829492&amp;postID=1620508782790399326' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8829492/posts/default/1620508782790399326'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8829492/posts/default/1620508782790399326'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://indianclown.blogspot.com/2008/04/lessons-from-donkey.html' title='lessons from a donkey..:-)'/><author><name>indian clown</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00227391757358474213</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='23' height='32' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_V9gkIVZD_rQ/SAXCWOoLqdI/AAAAAAAAACc/3ziEJx4JUJ4/S220/2008-03-18-1147-42.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8829492.post-2228016477685378308</id><published>2007-12-24T19:05:00.000+05:30</published><updated>2007-12-24T19:09:31.305+05:30</updated><title type='text'>my home...:-)</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_V9gkIVZD_rQ/R2-2VmkRe_I/AAAAAAAAACQ/sXXHA_BQqkY/s1600-h/house+boat+dec+%2707.jpg"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5147533381353962482" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 533px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 383px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" height="300" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_V9gkIVZD_rQ/R2-2VmkRe_I/AAAAAAAAACQ/sXXHA_BQqkY/s400/house+boat+dec+%2707.jpg" width="533" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8829492-2228016477685378308?l=indianclown.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://indianclown.blogspot.com/feeds/2228016477685378308/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8829492&amp;postID=2228016477685378308' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8829492/posts/default/2228016477685378308'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8829492/posts/default/2228016477685378308'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://indianclown.blogspot.com/2007/12/blog-post.html' title='my home...:-)'/><author><name>indian clown</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00227391757358474213</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='23' height='32' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_V9gkIVZD_rQ/SAXCWOoLqdI/AAAAAAAAACc/3ziEJx4JUJ4/S220/2008-03-18-1147-42.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_V9gkIVZD_rQ/R2-2VmkRe_I/AAAAAAAAACQ/sXXHA_BQqkY/s72-c/house+boat+dec+%2707.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8829492.post-785880562352949313</id><published>2007-11-25T10:38:00.000+05:30</published><updated>2007-11-25T11:02:56.231+05:30</updated><title type='text'>Life...</title><content type='html'>&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Ready or not,&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;someday it will all come to an end...&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;There will be no more sunrises,&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;no minutes,hours or days...&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;All the things you collected,&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;whether treasured or forgotten,&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;will pass to someone else...&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;Your wealth,&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;fame and temporal power&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;will shrivel to irrelevence...&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;It will not matter what you owned&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;or what you owed...&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;Your grudges,resentments,frustrations&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;and jealousies will finally disappear...&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;So too,your hopes,ambitions,plans&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;and to-do lists will expire...&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;The winning and losing&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;that once seemed so important&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;will fade away...&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;It won't matter where you came from,&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;or on what side of the track you lived,&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;at the end...&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;It won't matter if you were beautiful or brilliant...&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Even you gender and skin colour will be irrelevent...&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;...    &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;So what will matter ?&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;how will the value of your days be measured ?&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;It will not matter what you bought,&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;but what you built...&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;not what you got,&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;but what you gave...&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;What will matter is not your success,&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;but your significance...&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;What will matter is not what you learned,&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;but what you taught...&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;What will matter is every act of integrity,&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;compassion,&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;courage or sacrificed that enriched,&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;empowered or encouraged others&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;to emulate your example...&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;What will matter is not your competence,&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;but your character...&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;What will matter is not how many people you knew,&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;but how many will feel a lasting loss when you are gone...&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;What will matter is not your memories,&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;but the memories of those who loved you...&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;What will matter is not how long you will be remembered,&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;but by whom and for what...&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Living a life that matters doesn't happen by accident,&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Its a matter of choice...&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;...&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color:#000099;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color:#000099;"&gt;Choose to live a life that matters...:-)&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8829492-785880562352949313?l=indianclown.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://indianclown.blogspot.com/feeds/785880562352949313/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8829492&amp;postID=785880562352949313' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8829492/posts/default/785880562352949313'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8829492/posts/default/785880562352949313'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://indianclown.blogspot.com/2007/11/life.html' title='Life...'/><author><name>indian clown</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00227391757358474213</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='23' height='32' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_V9gkIVZD_rQ/SAXCWOoLqdI/AAAAAAAAACc/3ziEJx4JUJ4/S220/2008-03-18-1147-42.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8829492.post-2992786457917676358</id><published>2007-10-02T08:43:00.000+05:30</published><updated>2007-10-02T08:57:16.317+05:30</updated><title type='text'>Think Positive !!</title><content type='html'>Find positive in every negative - which we don't always manage to do...  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;I am thankful... &lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;1. For the husband who snores all night, because he is at home asleep with me and not with someone else.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;2. For my teenage daughter who is complaining about doing dishes, because that means she is at home &amp;amp; not on the streets.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;3. For the taxes that I pay because it means that I am employed.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;4. For the mess to clean after a party because it means that I have been surrounded by friends. &lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;5. For the clothes that fit a little too snug because it means I have enough to eat.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;6. For my shadow that watches me work because it means I am out in the sunshine. &lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;7. For a floor that needs mopping, and windows that need cleaning because it means I have a home.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;8. For all the complaining I hear about the government because it means that we have freedom of speech.&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;9. For the parking spot I find at the far end of the parking lot because it means I am capable of walking and that I have been blessed with transportation.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;10. For the noise I have to bear from my neighbours because it means that I can hear.&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;11. For the pile of laundry and ironing because it means I have clothes to wear.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;12. For weariness and aching muscles at the end of the day because it means I have been capable of working hard. &lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;13. For the alarm that goes off in the early morning hours because it means that I am still alive...:-)&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8829492-2992786457917676358?l=indianclown.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://indianclown.blogspot.com/feeds/2992786457917676358/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8829492&amp;postID=2992786457917676358' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8829492/posts/default/2992786457917676358'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8829492/posts/default/2992786457917676358'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://indianclown.blogspot.com/2007/10/think-positive.html' title='Think Positive !!'/><author><name>indian clown</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00227391757358474213</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='23' height='32' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_V9gkIVZD_rQ/SAXCWOoLqdI/AAAAAAAAACc/3ziEJx4JUJ4/S220/2008-03-18-1147-42.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8829492.post-8570686105963626554</id><published>2007-08-31T12:19:00.000+05:30</published><updated>2007-11-24T09:57:08.166+05:30</updated><title type='text'>illusion 4</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_V9gkIVZD_rQ/Rte6UTiCEYI/AAAAAAAAAB4/Gu0jMbdpGnU/s1600-h/illusion+5.JPG"&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;color:#000000;"&gt;Take a look at the following picture ,  .... it is not animated. Your eyes are making it move. To test this, stare at one spot for a couple seconds and everything will stop moving. Or look at the black center of each circle and it will stop moving. But move your eyes to the next black center and the previous will move after you take your eyes away from it...:-) &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5104753560650912130" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 577px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 347px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" height="289" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_V9gkIVZD_rQ/Rte6UTiCEYI/AAAAAAAAAB4/Gu0jMbdpGnU/s400/illusion+5.JPG" width="400" border="0" /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8829492-8570686105963626554?l=indianclown.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://indianclown.blogspot.com/feeds/8570686105963626554/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8829492&amp;postID=8570686105963626554' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8829492/posts/default/8570686105963626554'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8829492/posts/default/8570686105963626554'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://indianclown.blogspot.com/2007/08/illusion-4.html' title='illusion 4'/><author><name>indian clown</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00227391757358474213</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='23' height='32' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_V9gkIVZD_rQ/SAXCWOoLqdI/AAAAAAAAACc/3ziEJx4JUJ4/S220/2008-03-18-1147-42.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_V9gkIVZD_rQ/Rte6UTiCEYI/AAAAAAAAAB4/Gu0jMbdpGnU/s72-c/illusion+5.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8829492.post-6352684442519558507</id><published>2007-08-31T12:16:00.000+05:30</published><updated>2007-11-24T09:59:24.019+05:30</updated><title type='text'>illusion 3</title><content type='html'>do you see the greys between the squares???&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;where did they come from...:-)&lt;a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_V9gkIVZD_rQ/Rte5mDiCEXI/AAAAAAAAABw/H3uwXZw3Rr0/s1600-h/illusion+4.JPG"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5104752766081962354" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 599px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 280px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" height="224" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_V9gkIVZD_rQ/Rte5mDiCEXI/AAAAAAAAABw/H3uwXZw3Rr0/s400/illusion+4.JPG" width="530" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8829492-6352684442519558507?l=indianclown.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://indianclown.blogspot.com/feeds/6352684442519558507/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8829492&amp;postID=6352684442519558507' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8829492/posts/default/6352684442519558507'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8829492/posts/default/6352684442519558507'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://indianclown.blogspot.com/2007/08/illusion-3.html' title='illusion 3'/><author><name>indian clown</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00227391757358474213</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='23' height='32' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_V9gkIVZD_rQ/SAXCWOoLqdI/AAAAAAAAACc/3ziEJx4JUJ4/S220/2008-03-18-1147-42.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_V9gkIVZD_rQ/Rte5mDiCEXI/AAAAAAAAABw/H3uwXZw3Rr0/s72-c/illusion+4.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8829492.post-7593809283298428119</id><published>2007-08-31T12:12:00.000+05:30</published><updated>2007-11-24T10:00:31.233+05:30</updated><title type='text'>illusion 2</title><content type='html'>focus on the dot in the centre and move your head forward and backwards...:-)&lt;a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_V9gkIVZD_rQ/Rte4kDiCEVI/AAAAAAAAABg/tnEzg-QjgMM/s1600-h/illusion+2.JPG"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5104751632210596178" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 599px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 328px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" height="224" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_V9gkIVZD_rQ/Rte4kDiCEVI/AAAAAAAAABg/tnEzg-QjgMM/s400/illusion+2.JPG" width="528" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8829492-7593809283298428119?l=indianclown.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://indianclown.blogspot.com/feeds/7593809283298428119/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8829492&amp;postID=7593809283298428119' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8829492/posts/default/7593809283298428119'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8829492/posts/default/7593809283298428119'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://indianclown.blogspot.com/2007/08/illusion-2.html' title='illusion 2'/><author><name>indian clown</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00227391757358474213</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='23' height='32' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_V9gkIVZD_rQ/SAXCWOoLqdI/AAAAAAAAACc/3ziEJx4JUJ4/S220/2008-03-18-1147-42.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_V9gkIVZD_rQ/Rte4kDiCEVI/AAAAAAAAABg/tnEzg-QjgMM/s72-c/illusion+2.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8829492.post-5463572462331639800</id><published>2007-08-31T12:05:00.000+05:30</published><updated>2007-08-31T12:25:03.229+05:30</updated><title type='text'>illusion 1</title><content type='html'>some interesting illusions......&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;is this possible...:-)&lt;a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_V9gkIVZD_rQ/Rte35ziCEUI/AAAAAAAAABY/w7MQ8x_8j5g/s1600-h/illusion+1.JPG"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5104750906361123138" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_V9gkIVZD_rQ/Rte35ziCEUI/AAAAAAAAABY/w7MQ8x_8j5g/s400/illusion+1.JPG" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8829492-5463572462331639800?l=indianclown.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://indianclown.blogspot.com/feeds/5463572462331639800/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8829492&amp;postID=5463572462331639800' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8829492/posts/default/5463572462331639800'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8829492/posts/default/5463572462331639800'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://indianclown.blogspot.com/2007/08/illusion-1.html' title='illusion 1'/><author><name>indian clown</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00227391757358474213</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='23' height='32' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_V9gkIVZD_rQ/SAXCWOoLqdI/AAAAAAAAACc/3ziEJx4JUJ4/S220/2008-03-18-1147-42.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_V9gkIVZD_rQ/Rte35ziCEUI/AAAAAAAAABY/w7MQ8x_8j5g/s72-c/illusion+1.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8829492.post-7994583854515021801</id><published>2007-08-31T11:51:00.000+05:30</published><updated>2007-10-05T09:47:25.847+05:30</updated><title type='text'>interesting photos...</title><content type='html'>found some interesting photos of what seems the next generation of tyres for our cars...:-)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_V9gkIVZD_rQ/Rte0CDiCETI/AAAAAAAAABQ/7nXHhJLwOD0/s1600-h/tyre+3.JPG"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5104746650048532786" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 522px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 253px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" height="253" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_V9gkIVZD_rQ/Rte0CDiCETI/AAAAAAAAABQ/7nXHhJLwOD0/s400/tyre+3.JPG" width="400" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_V9gkIVZD_rQ/Rtez7jiCESI/AAAAAAAAABI/_r9RHjd3XKw/s1600-h/tyre+2.JPG"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5104746538379383074" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_V9gkIVZD_rQ/Rtez7jiCESI/AAAAAAAAABI/_r9RHjd3XKw/s400/tyre+2.JPG" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_V9gkIVZD_rQ/Rtez1ziCERI/AAAAAAAAABA/tXCTTnM8ECw/s1600-h/tyre+1.JPG"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5104746439595135250" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_V9gkIVZD_rQ/Rtez1ziCERI/AAAAAAAAABA/tXCTTnM8ECw/s400/tyre+1.JPG" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8829492-7994583854515021801?l=indianclown.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://indianclown.blogspot.com/feeds/7994583854515021801/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8829492&amp;postID=7994583854515021801' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8829492/posts/default/7994583854515021801'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8829492/posts/default/7994583854515021801'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://indianclown.blogspot.com/2007/08/interesting-photos.html' title='interesting photos...'/><author><name>indian clown</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00227391757358474213</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='23' height='32' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_V9gkIVZD_rQ/SAXCWOoLqdI/AAAAAAAAACc/3ziEJx4JUJ4/S220/2008-03-18-1147-42.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_V9gkIVZD_rQ/Rte0CDiCETI/AAAAAAAAABQ/7nXHhJLwOD0/s72-c/tyre+3.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8829492.post-8226310265052816979</id><published>2007-08-24T15:20:00.000+05:30</published><updated>2007-08-24T15:29:21.719+05:30</updated><title type='text'>someone somewhere....</title><content type='html'>Right now at this very minute...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;someone is very proud of you..&lt;br /&gt;someone is thinking of you..&lt;br /&gt;someone cares about you..&lt;br /&gt;someone misses you..&lt;br /&gt;someone wants to talk to you..&lt;br /&gt;someone wants to be with you..&lt;br /&gt;someone wants to hold your hand..&lt;br /&gt;someone wants you to be happy..&lt;br /&gt;someone wants you to find them..&lt;br /&gt;someone is celebrating your successes..&lt;br /&gt;someone wants to give you a gift..&lt;br /&gt;someone thinks you ARE a gift..&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;someone wants to hug you..&lt;br /&gt;someone loves you..&lt;br /&gt;someone wants to lavish you with small gifts..&lt;br /&gt;someone admires your strength..&lt;br /&gt;someone is thinking of you and smiling..&lt;br /&gt;someone wants your shoulder to cry on..&lt;br /&gt;someone wants to go out with you and have a lot of fun..&lt;br /&gt;someone thinks the world of you..&lt;br /&gt;someone wants to protect you..&lt;br /&gt;someone would do anything for you..&lt;br /&gt;someone wants to be forgiven..&lt;br /&gt;someone is grateful for your forgiveness..&lt;br /&gt;someone wants to laugh with you about old times..&lt;br /&gt;someone remembers you and wishes you were there..&lt;br /&gt;somebody values your advice..&lt;br /&gt;someone wants to tell you how much they care..&lt;br /&gt;someone wants to stay up watching old movies with you..&lt;br /&gt;someone wants to share their dreams with you..&lt;br /&gt;someone wants to hold you in their arms..&lt;br /&gt;someone wants YOU to hold them in your arms..&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;someone treasures your spirit..&lt;br /&gt;someone wishes they could STOP time because of you..&lt;br /&gt;someone can't wait to see you..&lt;br /&gt;someone wishes that things didn't have to change..&lt;br /&gt;someone loves you for who you are..&lt;br /&gt;someone loves the way you make them feel..&lt;br /&gt;someone wants to be with you..&lt;br /&gt;someone is hoping they can grow old with you..&lt;br /&gt;someone hears a song that reminds them of you..&lt;br /&gt;someone wants you to know they are there for you..&lt;br /&gt;someone is glad that you're their friend..&lt;br /&gt;someone wants to be your friend..&lt;br /&gt;someone stayed up all night thinking about you..&lt;br /&gt;someone is alive because of you..&lt;br /&gt;someone is remorseful after losing your friendship..&lt;br /&gt;someone is wishing that you would notice them..&lt;br /&gt;someone wants to get to know you better..&lt;br /&gt;someone believes that you are their soul mate..&lt;br /&gt;someone wants to be near you..&lt;br /&gt;someone misses your guidance and advice..&lt;br /&gt;someone values your guidance and advice..&lt;br /&gt;someone has faith in you..&lt;br /&gt;someone trusts you..&lt;br /&gt;someone needs you to send them this letter..&lt;br /&gt;someone needs your support..&lt;br /&gt;someone needs you to have faith in them..&lt;br /&gt;someone needs you to let them be your friend..&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;and someone will cry when they read this...:-)&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;nice few lines....when each one of us read these lines,there will be someone who comes to mind..:-)&lt;br /&gt;a moment to remember the special people in one's life...&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8829492-8226310265052816979?l=indianclown.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://indianclown.blogspot.com/feeds/8226310265052816979/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8829492&amp;postID=8226310265052816979' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8829492/posts/default/8226310265052816979'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8829492/posts/default/8226310265052816979'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://indianclown.blogspot.com/2007/08/someone-somewhere.html' title='someone somewhere....'/><author><name>indian clown</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00227391757358474213</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='23' height='32' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_V9gkIVZD_rQ/SAXCWOoLqdI/AAAAAAAAACc/3ziEJx4JUJ4/S220/2008-03-18-1147-42.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8829492.post-7162755799739049106</id><published>2007-08-18T22:59:00.000+05:30</published><updated>2007-08-18T23:02:59.738+05:30</updated><title type='text'>The Wise Old Man</title><content type='html'>A man of 92 years, short, very well-presented, who takes great care in his appearance, is moving into an old people’s home today. &lt;br /&gt;After waiting several hours in the retirement home lobby, he gently smiles as he is told that his room is ready.  &lt;br /&gt;His wife of 70 has recently died, and he is obliged to leave his home. &lt;br /&gt;As he slowly walks to the elevator, using his cane, I describe his small room to him, including the sheet hung at the window which serves as a curtain.  &lt;br /&gt;"I like it very much", he says, with the enthusiasm of an 8 year old boy who has just been given a new puppy. &lt;br /&gt;"M. Gagné, you haven’t even seen the room yet, hang on a moment, we are almost there. "   &lt;br /&gt;" That has nothing to do with it ", he replies.  &lt;br /&gt;" It is already decided in my mind that I like my room.  It is a decision I take every morning when I wake up. "     &lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;" Happiness is something I choose in advance. Whether or not I like the room does not depend on the furniture, or the decor, rather it depends on how I decide to see it. "   &lt;br /&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;" I can choose." &lt;br /&gt;"I can spend my day in bed enumerating all the difficulties that I have with the parts of my body that no longer work very well, or I can get up and give thanks to heaven for those parts that are still in working order. "  &lt;br /&gt; &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;" Every day is a gift, and as long as I can open my eyes, I will focus on the new day, and all the happy memories that I have built up during my life. "  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;" Old age is like a bank account. You withdraw in later life what you have deposited along the way. "  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So, my advice to you is to deposit all the happiness you can in your bank account of memories...&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8829492-7162755799739049106?l=indianclown.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://indianclown.blogspot.com/feeds/7162755799739049106/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8829492&amp;postID=7162755799739049106' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8829492/posts/default/7162755799739049106'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8829492/posts/default/7162755799739049106'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://indianclown.blogspot.com/2007/08/wise-old-man.html' title='The Wise Old Man'/><author><name>indian clown</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00227391757358474213</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='23' height='32' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_V9gkIVZD_rQ/SAXCWOoLqdI/AAAAAAAAACc/3ziEJx4JUJ4/S220/2008-03-18-1147-42.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8829492.post-899669206394892153</id><published>2007-08-17T18:46:00.000+05:30</published><updated>2007-08-17T19:41:03.705+05:30</updated><title type='text'>How old is Grandma?</title><content type='html'>One evening a grandson was talking to his grandmother about current events...&lt;br /&gt;The grandson asked his grandmother what she thought about the shootings at schools,&lt;br /&gt;the computer age, and just things in general...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The Grandma replied, &lt;em&gt;"Well, let me think a minute, I was born before television, penicillin,     polio shots, frozen foods, Xerox, contact lenses and the pill... &lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;There was no radar, credit cards, laser beams or ball-point pens...  &lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;Man had not invented air conditioners, dishwashers, clothes dryers and man hadn't yet walked on the moon... &lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;Your Grandfather and I got married first and then lived together...  &lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;Every family had a father and a mother... &lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;Until I was 25, I called every man older than I, 'Sir'  and after I turned 25, I still called policemen and every man with a title, "Sir.' &lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;We were before gay rights, computer dating, dual careers, daycare centers, and group therapy. Our lives were governed by  good judgment and common sense...  &lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;We were taught to know the difference between right and wrong and to stand up and take responsibility for our actions... &lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;Serving your country was a privilege... &lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;Having a meaningful relationship meant getting along with your cousins...  &lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;Time sharing meant time the family spent together in the evenings and weekends,not purchasing condominiums. &lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;We never heard of FM radios, tape decks, CDs, electric typewriters or guys wearing earrings...  &lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;We listened to the Prime Minister's speeches on our radios...  &lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;If you saw anything with 'Made in Japan ' on it, it was junk.  &lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;The term 'making out' referred to how you did on your school exam...  &lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;Pizza Hut, McDonald's, and instant coffee were unheard of... &lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;Ice-cream cones, phone calls, rides on a tram and a coke were all less than 50 paisa... &lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;In my day"grass" was mowed, "coke" was a cold drink, "pot" was something your mother cooked in and "rock music" was your grandmother's lullaby. "Aids" were helpers in the Principal's office, " chip" meant a piece of wood, "hardware" was found in a hardware store and   "software" wasn't even a word. &lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;And we were the last generation to actually believe that a lady needed a husband to have a baby... &lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;No wonder people call us "old and confused" and say there is a generation gap... &lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;and how old do you think I am?&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I bet you have this old lady in mind...&lt;br /&gt;you are in for a shock!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;pretty scary if you think about it and pretty sad at the same time...    &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;This Grandma would be only 55 years old....:-)&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8829492-899669206394892153?l=indianclown.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://indianclown.blogspot.com/feeds/899669206394892153/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8829492&amp;postID=899669206394892153' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8829492/posts/default/899669206394892153'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8829492/posts/default/899669206394892153'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://indianclown.blogspot.com/2007/08/how-old-is-grandma.html' title='How old is Grandma?'/><author><name>indian clown</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00227391757358474213</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='23' height='32' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_V9gkIVZD_rQ/SAXCWOoLqdI/AAAAAAAAACc/3ziEJx4JUJ4/S220/2008-03-18-1147-42.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8829492.post-6851080696651493332</id><published>2007-08-16T12:22:00.000+05:30</published><updated>2007-08-16T12:26:25.790+05:30</updated><title type='text'>two days</title><content type='html'>There are two days about which we should not worry...two days which should be kept free from fear and apprehension...&lt;br /&gt;One of these days is Yesterday with all its mistakes and cares,its faults and blunders,its aches and pains.&lt;br /&gt;Yesterday has passed forever beyond our control...&lt;br /&gt;All the money in the world cannot bring back Yesterday...&lt;br /&gt;We cannot undo a single act we performed...we cannot erase a single word we said...&lt;br /&gt;Yesterday is gone forever...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The other day we should not worry about is Tomorrow with all its possible adversities,its burdens, its large promise and its poor performance...&lt;br /&gt;Tomorrow is also beyond our immediate control...&lt;br /&gt;Tomorrow's sun will rise,either in splendor or behind a mask of clouds,but it will rise...&lt;br /&gt;Until it does,we have no stake in Tomorrow,for it is yet to be born...&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8829492-6851080696651493332?l=indianclown.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://indianclown.blogspot.com/feeds/6851080696651493332/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8829492&amp;postID=6851080696651493332' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8829492/posts/default/6851080696651493332'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8829492/posts/default/6851080696651493332'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://indianclown.blogspot.com/2007/08/two-days.html' title='two days'/><author><name>indian clown</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00227391757358474213</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='23' height='32' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_V9gkIVZD_rQ/SAXCWOoLqdI/AAAAAAAAACc/3ziEJx4JUJ4/S220/2008-03-18-1147-42.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8829492.post-7419279400772540761</id><published>2007-08-16T12:00:00.000+05:30</published><updated>2007-08-16T12:04:40.746+05:30</updated><title type='text'>life..</title><content type='html'>There are moments in life when you miss someone so much that you just want to pick them from your dreams and hug them for real...&lt;br /&gt;dream of that special someone...&lt;br /&gt;do what you want to do...&lt;br /&gt;go where you want to go...&lt;br /&gt;be what you want to be...&lt;br /&gt;because you have only one life on this earth and one chance to do all the things you want to do...&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8829492-7419279400772540761?l=indianclown.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://indianclown.blogspot.com/feeds/7419279400772540761/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8829492&amp;postID=7419279400772540761' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8829492/posts/default/7419279400772540761'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8829492/posts/default/7419279400772540761'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://indianclown.blogspot.com/2007/08/life.html' title='life..'/><author><name>indian clown</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00227391757358474213</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='23' height='32' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_V9gkIVZD_rQ/SAXCWOoLqdI/AAAAAAAAACc/3ziEJx4JUJ4/S220/2008-03-18-1147-42.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8829492.post-8231901835958418063</id><published>2007-08-15T09:46:00.000+05:30</published><updated>2007-08-15T09:56:03.154+05:30</updated><title type='text'>time...</title><content type='html'>Son: "Daddy, may I ask you a question"&lt;br /&gt;Daddy: "Yeah sure, what it is?"&lt;br /&gt;Son: "Dad, how much do you make an hour?"&lt;br /&gt;Daddy: "That's none of your business. Why do you ask such a thing?"&lt;br /&gt;Son: "I just want to know. Please tell me, how much do you make an hour?"&lt;br /&gt;Daddy: "I make Rs. 500 an hour"&lt;br /&gt;"Oh", the little boy replied, with his head down.&lt;br /&gt;Looking up, he said, "Dad, may I please borrow Rs. 300?" &lt;br /&gt;The father was furious, "if the only reason you asked that is so you can borrow some money to buy a silly toy or other nonsense, then march yourself to your room and go to bed.&lt;br /&gt;The little boy quietly went to his room and shut the door.&lt;br /&gt;The man sat down and started to get even angrier about the little boy's questions.&lt;br /&gt;How dare he ask such questions only to get some money? After about an hour or so, the man had calmed down, and started to think:"May be there was something he really needed to buy with thatRs. 300 and he really didn't ask for money very often!"&lt;br /&gt;The man went to the door of little boy's room and opened the door."Are you asleep, son?" He asked.&lt;br /&gt;"No daddy, I'm awake," replied the boy.&lt;br /&gt;"I've been thinking, may be I was too hard on you earlier", said the man, "It's been a long day and I took out my aggravation on you.Here's the Rs.300 you asked for"&lt;br /&gt;The little boy sat straight up, smiling "oh thank you dad!" .Then, reaching under his pillow he pulled some crippled up notes. The man, seeing that the boy already had money, started to get angry again.&lt;br /&gt;The little boy slowly counted out his money, then looked up at his father.&lt;br /&gt;"Why do you want money if you already had some?" the father grumbled.&lt;br /&gt;"Because I didn't have enough, but now I do," the little boy replied.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;"Daddy I have Rs. 500 now. Can I buy an hour of your time?Please come home early tomorrow. I would like to have dinner with you" &lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;It's just a short reminder to all of you working so hard in life.&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;We should not let time slip through our fingers without having spent some time with those who really matter to us, those close to our hearts.&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;If we die tomorrow, the company that we are working for could easily replace us in a matter  of days.&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;But the family &amp;amp; friends we leave behind will feel the loss for the rest of their lives...&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;And come to think of it, we pour ourselves more into work than to our family...&lt;/em&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8829492-8231901835958418063?l=indianclown.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://indianclown.blogspot.com/feeds/8231901835958418063/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8829492&amp;postID=8231901835958418063' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8829492/posts/default/8231901835958418063'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8829492/posts/default/8231901835958418063'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://indianclown.blogspot.com/2007/08/time.html' title='time...'/><author><name>indian clown</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00227391757358474213</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='23' height='32' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_V9gkIVZD_rQ/SAXCWOoLqdI/AAAAAAAAACc/3ziEJx4JUJ4/S220/2008-03-18-1147-42.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8829492.post-1040604929299787247</id><published>2007-08-08T10:17:00.000+05:30</published><updated>2007-08-09T10:24:48.602+05:30</updated><title type='text'>i believe...</title><content type='html'>&lt;strong&gt;i believe . . . that we don't have to change friends if we &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;understand that&lt;/span&gt; friends change...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;i believe . . . that my best friend and i can do anything or nothing and either way have the best time...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;i believe . . . that two people can look at the exact same thing and see something totally different...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;i believe ...that no matter how good a friend is, they're going to hurt you every once in a while and you must forgive them for that...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;i believe . . . that sometimes when I'm angry I have the right to be angry, but that doesn't give me the right to be cruel...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;i believe . . . that even when you think you have no more to give, when a friend cries out to you , you will find the strength to help...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;i believe . . . that just because two people argue, it doesn't mean they don't love each other... and just because they don't argue, it doesn't mean they do...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;i believe . . . that true friendship continues to grow, even over the longest distance...same goes for true love...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;i believe . . . that you can do something in an instant that will give you heartache for life...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;i believe . . that it's taking me a long time to become the person I want to be...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;i believe . . . that you should always leave loved ones with loving words...it may be the last time you see them...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;i believe . . . that you can keep going long after you think you can't...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;i believe . . . that we are responsible for what we do, no matter how we feel...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;i believe . . . that either you control your attitude or it controls you...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;i believe . . . that heroes are the people who do what has to be done, when it needs to be done, regardless of the consequences...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;i believe . . . that money is a lousy way of keeping score...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;i believe . . . that sometimes the people you expect to kick you when you're down, will be the ones to help you get back up...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;i believe . . . that maturity has more to do with what types of experiences you've had and what you've learned from them and less to do with how many birthdays you've celebrated...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;i believe . . . that it isn't always enough to be forgiven by others...sometimes you have to learn to forgive yourself...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;i believe . . . that no matter how bad your heart is broken the world doesn't stop for your grief...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;i believe . . . that our background and circumstances may have influenced who we are, but we are responsible for who we become...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;i believe . . . that your life can be changed in a matter of hours by people who don't even know you...&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8829492-1040604929299787247?l=indianclown.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://indianclown.blogspot.com/feeds/1040604929299787247/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8829492&amp;postID=1040604929299787247' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8829492/posts/default/1040604929299787247'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8829492/posts/default/1040604929299787247'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://indianclown.blogspot.com/2007/08/i-believe.html' title='i believe...'/><author><name>indian clown</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00227391757358474213</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='23' height='32' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_V9gkIVZD_rQ/SAXCWOoLqdI/AAAAAAAAACc/3ziEJx4JUJ4/S220/2008-03-18-1147-42.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8829492.post-9203386518183037649</id><published>2007-08-06T13:35:00.000+05:30</published><updated>2007-08-06T13:41:16.619+05:30</updated><title type='text'>an amazing hug....:-)</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_V9gkIVZD_rQ/RrbXh6qhLgI/AAAAAAAAAAs/MGkKxdT2jpM/s1600-h/hug.jpg"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5095497006099541506" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_V9gkIVZD_rQ/RrbXh6qhLgI/AAAAAAAAAAs/MGkKxdT2jpM/s400/hug.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8829492-9203386518183037649?l=indianclown.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://indianclown.blogspot.com/feeds/9203386518183037649/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8829492&amp;postID=9203386518183037649' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8829492/posts/default/9203386518183037649'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8829492/posts/default/9203386518183037649'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://indianclown.blogspot.com/2007/08/amazing-hug.html' title='an amazing hug....:-)'/><author><name>indian clown</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00227391757358474213</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='23' height='32' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_V9gkIVZD_rQ/SAXCWOoLqdI/AAAAAAAAACc/3ziEJx4JUJ4/S220/2008-03-18-1147-42.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_V9gkIVZD_rQ/RrbXh6qhLgI/AAAAAAAAAAs/MGkKxdT2jpM/s72-c/hug.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8829492.post-6889365045683782270</id><published>2007-07-29T16:33:00.000+05:30</published><updated>2007-07-29T16:43:30.637+05:30</updated><title type='text'>the cab ride</title><content type='html'>Twenty years ago, I drove a cab for a living.&lt;br /&gt;When I arrived at 2:30 a.m., the building was dark except for a single light in a ground floor window.&lt;br /&gt;Under these circumstances, many drivers would just honk once or twice, wait a minute, then drive away.&lt;br /&gt;But, I had seen too many impoverished people who depended on taxis as their only means of transportation.&lt;br /&gt;Unless a situation smelled of danger, I always went to the door.&lt;br /&gt;This passenger might be someone who needs my assistance, I reasoned to myself.&lt;br /&gt;So I walked to the door and knocked. "Just a minute," answered a frail, elderly voice.&lt;br /&gt;I could hear something being dragged across the floor.&lt;br /&gt;After a long pause, the door opened.&lt;br /&gt;A small woman in her 80's stood before me. She was wearing a print dress and a pillbox hat with a veil pinned on it, like somebody out of a 1940s movie.&lt;br /&gt;By her side was a small nylon suitcase. The apartment looked as if no one had lived in it for years.&lt;br /&gt;All the furniture was covered with sheets.&lt;br /&gt;There were no clocks on the walls, no knickknacks or utensils on the counters.&lt;br /&gt;In the corner was a cardboard box filled with photos and glassware.&lt;br /&gt;"Would you carry my bag out to the car?" she said.&lt;br /&gt;I took the suitcase to the cab, then returned to assist the woman.&lt;br /&gt;She took my arm and we walked slowly toward the curb.&lt;br /&gt;She kept thanking me for my kindness.&lt;br /&gt;"It's nothing", I told her. "I just try to treat my passengers the way I would want my mother treated".&lt;br /&gt;"Oh, you're such a good boy", she said.&lt;br /&gt;When we got in the cab, she gave me an address, then asked, "Could you drive through downtown?"&lt;br /&gt;"It's not the shortest way," I answered quickly.&lt;br /&gt;"Oh, I don't mind," she said. "I'm in no hurry. I'm on my way to a hospice".&lt;br /&gt;I looked in the rear-view mirror. Her eyes were glistening.&lt;br /&gt;"I don't have any family left," she continued. "The doctor says I don't have very long."&lt;br /&gt;I quietly reached over and shut off the meter. "What route would you like me to take?" I asked.&lt;br /&gt;For the next two hours, we drove through the city.&lt;br /&gt;She showed me the building where she had once worked as an elevator operator.&lt;br /&gt;We drove through the neighborhood where she and her husband had lived when they were newlyweds.&lt;br /&gt;She had me pull up in front of a furniture warehouse that had once been a ballroom where she had gone dancing as a girl.&lt;br /&gt;Sometimes she'd ask me to slow in front of a particular building or corner and would sit staring into the darkness, saying nothing.&lt;br /&gt;As the first hint of sun was creasing the horizon, she suddenly said,"I'm tired. Let's go now."&lt;br /&gt;We drove in silence to the address she had given me.&lt;br /&gt;It was a low building, like a small convalescent home, with a driveway that passed under a portico.&lt;br /&gt;Two orderlies came out to the cab as soon as we pulled up.&lt;br /&gt;They were solicitous and intent, watching her every move. They must have been expecting her.&lt;br /&gt;I opened the trunk and took the small suitcase to the door.&lt;br /&gt;The woman was already seated in a wheelchair.&lt;br /&gt;"How much do I owe you?" she asked, reaching into her purse.&lt;br /&gt;"Nothing," I said.&lt;br /&gt;"You have to make a living," she answered.&lt;br /&gt;"There are other passengers," I responded.&lt;br /&gt;Almost without thinking, I bent and gave her a hug.&lt;br /&gt;She held onto me tightly.&lt;br /&gt;"You gave an old woman a little moment of joy," she said.&lt;br /&gt;"Thank you." I squeezed her hand, then walked into the dim morning light.&lt;br /&gt;Behind me, a door shut. It was the sound of the closing of a life.&lt;br /&gt;I didn't pick up any more passengers that shift. I drove aimlessly lost in thought.&lt;br /&gt;For the rest of that day, I could hardly talk.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;What if that woman had gotten an angry driver, or one who was impatient to end his shift?&lt;br /&gt;What if I had refused to take the run, or had honked once, then driven away?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;On a quick review, I don't think that I have done anything more important in my life.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We're conditioned to think that our lives revolve around great moments.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But great moments often catch us unaware-beautifully wrapped in what others may consider a small one.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;em&gt;PEOPLE MAY NOT REMEMBER EXACTLY WHAT YOU DID, OR WHAT YOU SAID, BUT THEY WILL ALWAYS REMEMBER HOW YOU MADE THEM FEEL.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Life may not be the party we hoped for, but while we are here we might as well dance.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Every morning when I open my eyes, I tell myself that it is special.&lt;br /&gt;Every day, every minute, every breath truly is a wonderful gift from life.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8829492-6889365045683782270?l=indianclown.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://indianclown.blogspot.com/feeds/6889365045683782270/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8829492&amp;postID=6889365045683782270' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8829492/posts/default/6889365045683782270'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8829492/posts/default/6889365045683782270'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://indianclown.blogspot.com/2007/07/cab-ride.html' title='the cab ride'/><author><name>indian clown</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00227391757358474213</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='23' height='32' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_V9gkIVZD_rQ/SAXCWOoLqdI/AAAAAAAAACc/3ziEJx4JUJ4/S220/2008-03-18-1147-42.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8829492.post-1310236380914338535</id><published>2007-07-29T16:23:00.000+05:30</published><updated>2007-07-29T16:28:16.803+05:30</updated><title type='text'>apples &amp; wine</title><content type='html'>Women are like apples on trees.&lt;br /&gt;The best ones are at the top of the tree.Most men don't want to reach for the good ones because they are afraid of falling and getting hurt. Instead, they just take the rotten apples from the ground that aren't as good, but easy......&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The apples at the top think something is wrong with them, when in reality,they're amazing.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;They just have to wait for the right man to come along,the one who's brave enough to climb all the way to the top of the tree.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Now Men....&lt;br /&gt;Men are like a fine wine. They begin as grapes, and it's up to women to stomp the crap out of them until they turn into something acceptable to have dinner with...:-)&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8829492-1310236380914338535?l=indianclown.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://indianclown.blogspot.com/feeds/1310236380914338535/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8829492&amp;postID=1310236380914338535' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8829492/posts/default/1310236380914338535'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8829492/posts/default/1310236380914338535'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://indianclown.blogspot.com/2007/07/apples-wine.html' title='apples &amp; wine'/><author><name>indian clown</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00227391757358474213</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='23' height='32' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_V9gkIVZD_rQ/SAXCWOoLqdI/AAAAAAAAACc/3ziEJx4JUJ4/S220/2008-03-18-1147-42.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8829492.post-6667396050818872571</id><published>2007-07-29T16:17:00.000+05:30</published><updated>2007-07-29T16:22:23.638+05:30</updated><title type='text'>woman</title><content type='html'>A little boy asked his mother, "Why are you crying?"&lt;br /&gt;"Because I'm a woman," she told him.&lt;br /&gt;"I don't understand," he said. His Mom just hugged him and said, "And  you never will."&lt;br /&gt;Later the little boy asked his father, "Why does mother seem to cry for no reason?"&lt;br /&gt;"All women cry for no reason," was all his dad could say.&lt;br /&gt;The little boy grew up and became a man, still wondering why women cry.&lt;br /&gt;Finally he put in a call to God. When God got on the phone, he asked, "God, why do women cry so easily?"&lt;br /&gt;God said:"When I made the woman she had to be special.I made her shoulders strong enough to carry the weight of the world,yet gentle enough to give comfort.&lt;br /&gt;I gave her an inner strength to endure childbirth and the rejection that many times comes from her children.&lt;br /&gt;I gave her a hardness that allows her to keep going when everyone else gives up, and take care of her family through sickness and fatigue without complaining.&lt;br /&gt;I gave her the sensitivity to love her children under any and all circumstances, even when her child has hurt her very badly.&lt;br /&gt;I gave her strength to carry her husband through his faults and fashioned her from his rib to protect his heart.&lt;br /&gt;I gave her wisdom to know that a good husband never hurts his wife, but sometimes tests her strengths and her resolve to stand beside him unfalteringly.&lt;br /&gt;And finally, I gave her a tear to shed. This is hers exclusively to use whenever it is needed."&lt;br /&gt;"You see my son," said God, "the beauty of a woman is not in the clothes she wears, the figure that she carries, or the way she combs her hair.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;The beauty of a woman must be seen in her eyes, because that is the doorway to her heart - the place where love resides." &lt;/strong&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8829492-6667396050818872571?l=indianclown.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://indianclown.blogspot.com/feeds/6667396050818872571/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8829492&amp;postID=6667396050818872571' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8829492/posts/default/6667396050818872571'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8829492/posts/default/6667396050818872571'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://indianclown.blogspot.com/2007/07/woman.html' title='woman'/><author><name>indian clown</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00227391757358474213</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='23' height='32' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_V9gkIVZD_rQ/SAXCWOoLqdI/AAAAAAAAACc/3ziEJx4JUJ4/S220/2008-03-18-1147-42.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8829492.post-2951128071997114896</id><published>2007-07-23T21:23:00.000+05:30</published><updated>2007-07-23T21:25:56.624+05:30</updated><title type='text'>coffee...:-)</title><content type='html'>A group of alumni, highly established in their careers, got together to visit their old university professor. &lt;br /&gt;The conversation soon turned into complaints about stress in work and life.&lt;br /&gt;Offering his guests coffee, the professor went to the kitchen and returned with a large pot of coffee and an assortment of cups - porcelain, plastic, glass, crystal, some expensive, some exquisite, and some plain-looking paper cups- telling them to help themselves to the coffee.      &lt;br /&gt;After all the students had a cup of coffee in hand, the professor said, "If you noticed, all the nice-looking, expensive cups were taken, leaving behind the plain and cheap ones.  While it is but normal for you to want only the best for yourselves, THAT is the SOURCE of YOUR problems and stress."&lt;br /&gt;"BE ASSURED that the cup itself adds NO QUALITY to the coffee.&lt;br /&gt;In most cases, it's just more expensive and in some cases even hides what we drink. What all of you  really wanted was coffee, not the cup, but you consciously went for the best cups and then began eyeing each other's cups."&lt;br /&gt; "Now  consider this:&lt;br /&gt;Life is the coffee. . .and the jobs, houses, cars, things, money  and position in society are the cups. They are just tools to hold and contain life, and the type of cup we have does not  define nor change the quality of life we live. Sometimes, by concentrating only on the cup, we fail to enjoy the coffee  provided for us.  We brew the coffee, not the cups.&lt;br /&gt;"Enjoy your coffee."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;"Being  happy doesn't mean everything is perfect;  &lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;It means you've decided to see beyond  the imperfections."       &lt;/strong&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8829492-2951128071997114896?l=indianclown.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://indianclown.blogspot.com/feeds/2951128071997114896/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8829492&amp;postID=2951128071997114896' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8829492/posts/default/2951128071997114896'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8829492/posts/default/2951128071997114896'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://indianclown.blogspot.com/2007/07/coffee.html' title='coffee...:-)'/><author><name>indian clown</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00227391757358474213</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='23' height='32' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_V9gkIVZD_rQ/SAXCWOoLqdI/AAAAAAAAACc/3ziEJx4JUJ4/S220/2008-03-18-1147-42.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8829492.post-8744026477856914587</id><published>2007-07-23T21:10:00.000+05:30</published><updated>2007-07-23T21:13:24.685+05:30</updated><title type='text'>india shining..:-)</title><content type='html'>An Indian man walks into a bank in New York City and asks for the loan officer. He tells the loan officer that he is going to India on business for two weeks and needs to borrow $5,000.&lt;br /&gt;The bank officer tells him that the bank will need some form of security for the loan, so the Indian man hands over the keys to a new Ferrari parked on the street in front of the bank. &lt;br /&gt;He produces the title and everything checks out.&lt;br /&gt;The loan officer agrees to accept the car as collateral for the loan.&lt;br /&gt;The bank's president and its officers all enjoy a good laugh at the Indian for using a $250,000 Ferrari as collateral against a $5,000 loan. An employee of the bank then drives the Ferrari into the bank's underground garage and parks it there.&lt;br /&gt;Two weeks later, the Indian returns, repays the $5,000 and the interest, which comes to $15.41.&lt;br /&gt;The loan officer says, "Sir, we are very happy to have had your business, and this transaction has worked out very nicely,but we are a little puzzled. While you were away, we checked you out and found that you are a multi millionaire. What puzzles us is, why would you bother to borrow "$5,000"&lt;br /&gt;The Indian replies: "Where else in New York City can I park my car for two weeks for only $15.41 and expect it to be there when I return'"&lt;br /&gt;The mind of the Indian...&lt;br /&gt;This is why India is shining ....:-)&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8829492-8744026477856914587?l=indianclown.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://indianclown.blogspot.com/feeds/8744026477856914587/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8829492&amp;postID=8744026477856914587' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8829492/posts/default/8744026477856914587'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8829492/posts/default/8744026477856914587'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://indianclown.blogspot.com/2007/07/india-shining.html' title='india shining..:-)'/><author><name>indian clown</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00227391757358474213</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='23' height='32' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_V9gkIVZD_rQ/SAXCWOoLqdI/AAAAAAAAACc/3ziEJx4JUJ4/S220/2008-03-18-1147-42.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8829492.post-6158927247411137373</id><published>2007-07-14T15:13:00.000+05:30</published><updated>2007-07-14T15:18:33.292+05:30</updated><title type='text'>if i knew...........</title><content type='html'>&lt;div align="center"&gt;IF I KNEW If I knew it would be the last time &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;That I'd see you fall asleep, &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;I would tuck you in more tightly and pray to the Lord, &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;your soul to keep. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;If I knew it would be the last time that I see you walk out the door, &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;I would give you a hug and kiss and call you back for one more. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;If I knew it would be the last time I'd hear your voice lifted up in praise, &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;I would video tape each action and word, &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;so I could play them back day after day. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;If I knew it would be the last time, &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;I could spare an extra minute to stop and say "I love you," &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;instead of assuming you would KNOW I do. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;If I knew it would be the last time I would be there to share your day, &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;Well I'm sure you'll have so many more, &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;so I can let just this one slip away. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;For surely there's always tomorrow to make up for an oversight, &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;and we always get a second chance to make everything just right. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;But just in case I might be wrong, &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;and today is all I get, &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;I'd like to say how much I love you and I hope we never forget. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;Tomorrow is not promised to anyone, young or old alike, &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;And today may be the last chance you get to hold your loved one tight. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;So if you're waiting for tomorrow, why not do it today? &lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;For if tomorrow never comes, you'll surely regret the day,&lt;/strong&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;That you didn't take that extra time for a smile, a hug, or a kiss &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;and you were too busy to grant someone, what turned out to be their one last wish. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;So hold your loved ones close today, &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;and whisper in their ear, &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;Tell them how much you love them and that you'll always hold them dear &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Take time to say "I'm sorry," "Please forgive me," "Thank you," or "It's okay." &lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;And if tomorrow never comes, you'll have no regrets about today.&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8829492-6158927247411137373?l=indianclown.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://indianclown.blogspot.com/feeds/6158927247411137373/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8829492&amp;postID=6158927247411137373' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8829492/posts/default/6158927247411137373'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8829492/posts/default/6158927247411137373'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://indianclown.blogspot.com/2007/07/if-i-knew.html' title='if i knew...........'/><author><name>indian clown</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00227391757358474213</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='23' height='32' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_V9gkIVZD_rQ/SAXCWOoLqdI/AAAAAAAAACc/3ziEJx4JUJ4/S220/2008-03-18-1147-42.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8829492.post-201768104445511918</id><published>2007-07-14T15:08:00.000+05:30</published><updated>2007-07-14T15:10:40.755+05:30</updated><title type='text'>oldies...:-)</title><content type='html'>A wealthy old lady decides to go on a photo safari in  Africa, taking her faithful aged poodle named Cuddles, along for the company.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;One day the poodle starts chasing butterflies and before long, Cuddles discovers that he's lost.. Wandering about, he notices a leopard heading rapidly in his direction with the intention of having lunch.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The old poodle thinks, "Oh, oh! I'm in deep doo-doo now!" Noticing somebones on the ground close by, he immediately settles down to chew on the bones with his back to the approaching cat. Just as the leopard is about to leap the old poodle exclaims loudly, "Boy, that was one delicious leopard! I wonder if there are any more around here?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Hearing this, the young leopard halts his attack in mid-strike, a look of terror comes over him and he slinks away into the trees. "Whew!", says the leopard, "That was close! That old poodle nearly had me!"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Meanwhile, a monkey who had been watching the whole scene from a nearbytree, figures he can put this knowledge to good use and trade it for protection from the leopard. So off he goes, but the old poodle sees him heading after the leopard with great speed, and figures that something must be up. The monkey soon catches up with the leopard, spills the beans and strikes a deal for himself with the leopard.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The young leopard is furious at being made a fool of and says, "Here,monkey, hop on my back and see what's going to happen to that conniving canine!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Now, the old poodle sees the leopard coming with the monkey on his back and thinks, "What am I going to do now?", but instead of running, the dog sits down with his back to his attackers, pretending he hasn't seen them yet, and just when they get close enough to hear, the old poodle says.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Where's that damn monkey? I sent him off an hour ago to bring me another leopard!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;  Moral of this story.... Don't mess with oldies ........&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt; Age and treachery will always overcome youth and skill!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt; Bullshit and brilliance only come with age and experience...:-)&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8829492-201768104445511918?l=indianclown.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://indianclown.blogspot.com/feeds/201768104445511918/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8829492&amp;postID=201768104445511918' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8829492/posts/default/201768104445511918'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8829492/posts/default/201768104445511918'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://indianclown.blogspot.com/2007/07/oldies.html' title='oldies...:-)'/><author><name>indian clown</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00227391757358474213</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='23' height='32' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_V9gkIVZD_rQ/SAXCWOoLqdI/AAAAAAAAACc/3ziEJx4JUJ4/S220/2008-03-18-1147-42.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8829492.post-2388079575900819851</id><published>2007-07-14T15:01:00.000+05:30</published><updated>2007-07-14T15:07:07.097+05:30</updated><title type='text'>For all Employees Who Work With Rude Customers</title><content type='html'>An award should go to the Virgin Airlines gate attendant in Sydney somemonths ago for being smart and funny, while making her point, when confronted with a passenger who probably deserved to fly as cargo.&lt;br /&gt;A crowded Virgin flight was cancelled after Virgin's 767s had been withdrawn from service. A single attendant was re-booking a long line of inconvenienced travellers.&lt;br /&gt;Suddenly an angry passenger pushed his way to the desk. He slapped his ticket down on the counter and said, "I HAVE to be on this flight and it HAS to be FIRST CLASS".&lt;br /&gt;The attendant replied, "I'm sorry, sir. I'll be happy to try to help you,but I've got to help these people first, and I'm sure we'll be able to work something out."&lt;br /&gt;The passenger was unimpressed. He asked loudly, so that the passengers behind him could hear, "DO YOU HAVE ANY IDEA WHO I AM?"&lt;br /&gt;Without hesitating, the attendant smiled and grabbed her public address microphone: "May I have your attention please, may I have your attention please," she began - her voice heard clearly throughout the terminal. "We have a passenger here at Gate 14 WHO DOES NOT KNOW WHO HE IS. If anyone can help him find his identity, please come to Gate 14."&lt;br /&gt;With the folks behind him in line laughing hysterically, the man glared at the Virgin attendant, gritted his teeth and said, "F... you!"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Without flinching, she smiled and said, "I'm sorry sir, but you'll have to fly QANTAS for that service."&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8829492-2388079575900819851?l=indianclown.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://indianclown.blogspot.com/feeds/2388079575900819851/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8829492&amp;postID=2388079575900819851' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8829492/posts/default/2388079575900819851'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8829492/posts/default/2388079575900819851'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://indianclown.blogspot.com/2007/07/for-all-employees-who-work-with-rude.html' title='For all Employees Who Work With Rude Customers'/><author><name>indian clown</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00227391757358474213</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='23' height='32' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_V9gkIVZD_rQ/SAXCWOoLqdI/AAAAAAAAACc/3ziEJx4JUJ4/S220/2008-03-18-1147-42.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8829492.post-6181544909696245475</id><published>2007-07-14T14:58:00.000+05:30</published><updated>2007-07-14T15:00:36.936+05:30</updated><title type='text'>from a cracked pot..:-)</title><content type='html'>from a cracked pot..:-)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;A water bearer in China had two large pots, each hung on the ends of a pole which he carried across his neck. One of the pots had a crack in it, while the other pot was perfect and alwaysdelivered a full portion of water. At the end of the long walk from the stream to the House, the cracked pot arrived only half full. For a full two years this went on daily, with the bearer delivering only one and a half pots full of water to his house.Of course, the perfect pot was proud of its accomplishments,perfect for which it was made. But the poor cracked pot wasashamed of it's own imperfection. And miserable that it was able to accomplish only half of what it had been made to do.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;After two years of what it perceived to be a bitter failure, it spoke to the water bearer one day by the stream. "I am ashamed of myself, and I want to apologize to you. I have been able todeliver only half my load because this crack in my side causeswater to leak out all the way back to your house. Because of myflaws, you have to do all of this work, and you don't get full value from your efforts," the pot said.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The bearer said to the pot, "Did you notice that there were flowers only on your side of the path, but not on the other pot's side? That's because I have always known about your flaw. So I planted flower seeds on your side of the path, and every day while we walk back, you've watered them. For two years I have been able to pick these beautiful flowers to decorate the table. Without you being just the way you are, there would not be this beauty to grace the house?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Moral: Each of us has our own unique flaws. We're all cracked pots. But it's the cracks and flaws we each have that make our lives together so very interesting and rewarding. You've just got to take each person for what they are, and look for the good in them. Blessed are the flexible, for they shall not be bent out of shape.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Remember to appreciate all the different people in your life.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8829492-6181544909696245475?l=indianclown.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://indianclown.blogspot.com/feeds/6181544909696245475/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8829492&amp;postID=6181544909696245475' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8829492/posts/default/6181544909696245475'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8829492/posts/default/6181544909696245475'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://indianclown.blogspot.com/2007/07/from-cracked-pot.html' title='from a cracked pot..:-)'/><author><name>indian clown</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00227391757358474213</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='23' height='32' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_V9gkIVZD_rQ/SAXCWOoLqdI/AAAAAAAAACc/3ziEJx4JUJ4/S220/2008-03-18-1147-42.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8829492.post-110948895352002497</id><published>2005-02-27T12:44:00.000+05:30</published><updated>2005-02-27T12:52:33.523+05:30</updated><title type='text'>A Thought</title><content type='html'>&lt;div align="justify"&gt;My husband is a Good man, I love him for his steady nature, and I love the warm feeling when I lean against his broad shoulders. Three years of courtship and now, two years into marriage, I  would have to admit, that I am getting tired of it. The reasons of me loving him before, has now transformed into the cause of all my restlessness.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I am a sentimental woman and extremely sensitive when it comes to a relationship and my feelings, I yearn for the romantic moments, like a little girl yearning for candy. My husband, is my complete opposite, his lack of sensitivity, and the inability of bringing romantic moments into our marriage has disheartened me about love.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;One day, I finally decided to tell him my decision, that I wanted a divorce.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;"Why?" he asked, shocked. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;"I am tired, there are no reasons for everything in the world!" I answered.&lt;br /&gt;He kept silent the whole night, seems to be in deep thought with a lighted cigarette at all times.&lt;br /&gt;My feeling of disappointment only increased....here was a man who can't even express his predicament, what else can I hope from him?&lt;br /&gt;And finally he asked me:" What can I do to change your mind?"&lt;br /&gt;Somebody said it right, it's hard to change a person's personality, and I guess, I have started losing faith in him.&lt;br /&gt;Looking deep into his eyes I slowly answered : "Here is the question, if you can answer and convince my heart, I will change my mind, Let's say, I want a flower located on the face of a mountain cliff, and we both are sure that picking the flower will cause your death, will you do it for me?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;He said :" I will give you your answer tomorrow...." &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;My hopes just sank by listening to his response.&lt;br /&gt;I woke up the next morning to find him gone, and saw a piece of paper with his scratchy handwriting, underneath a milk glass, on the dining table near the front door, that goes....&lt;br /&gt;My dear, "I would not pick that flower for you, but please allow me to explain the reasons further.."&lt;br /&gt;This first line was already breaking my heart. I continued reading.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"When you use the computer you always mess up the Software programs, and you cry in front of the screen, I have to save my fingers so that I can help to restore the programs.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;You always leave the house keys behind, thus I have to save my legs to rush home to open the door for you.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;You love traveling but always lose your way in a new city, I have to save my eyes to show you the way.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;You always have the cramps whenever your "good friend" approaches every month, I have to save my palms so that I can calm the cramps in your tummy.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;You like to stay indoors, and I worry that you will be infected by infantile autism. I have to save my mouth to tell you jokes and stories to cure your boredom.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;You always stare at the computer, and that will do nothing good for your eyes, I have to save my eyes so that when we grow old, I can help to clip your nails, and help to remove those annoying white hairs. So I can also hold your hand while strolling down the beach, as you enjoy the sunshine and the beautiful sand... and tell you the color of flowers, just like the color of the glow on your young face...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Thus, my dear, unless I am sure that there is someone who loves you more than I do... I could not pick that flower yet, and die.."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My tears fell on the letter, and blurred the ink of his handwriting... and as I continue on reading... ....&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Now, that you have finished reading my answer, if you are satisfied, please open the front door for I am standing outside bringing your favorite bread and fresh milk...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I rush to pull open the door, and saw his anxious face, clutching tightly with his hands, the milk bottle and loaf of bread....&lt;br /&gt;Now I am very sure that no one will ever love me as much as  he does, and I have decided to leave the flower alone...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;That's life, and love. When one is surrounded by love, the feeling of excitement fades away, and one tends to ignore the true love that lies in between the peace and dullness.&lt;/strong&gt;.flowers and romantic moments are only used and appear on the surface of the relationship.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Under all this, the pillar of true love stands... &lt;br /&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8829492-110948895352002497?l=indianclown.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://indianclown.blogspot.com/feeds/110948895352002497/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8829492&amp;postID=110948895352002497' title='5 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8829492/posts/default/110948895352002497'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8829492/posts/default/110948895352002497'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://indianclown.blogspot.com/2005/02/thought.html' title='A Thought'/><author><name>indian clown</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00227391757358474213</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='23' height='32' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_V9gkIVZD_rQ/SAXCWOoLqdI/AAAAAAAAACc/3ziEJx4JUJ4/S220/2008-03-18-1147-42.jpg'/></author><thr:total>5</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8829492.post-110568685138220149</id><published>2005-01-14T13:37:00.000+05:30</published><updated>2005-01-14T12:44:11.383+05:30</updated><title type='text'>Roses</title><content type='html'>&lt;div align="justify"&gt;Red roses were her favorites, &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;And every year her husband sent them, tied with pretty bows. The year he died, the roses were delivered to her door. The card said, "Be my Valentine," like all the years before. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;Each year he sent her roses, and the note would always say "I love you even more this year, than last year on this day. My love for you will always grow, with every passing year. She knew this was the last time that the roses would appear. She thought, he ordered roses in advance before this day. Her loving husband did not know, that he would pass away. He always liked to do things early, way before the time. Then, if he got too busy, everything would work out fine. She trimmed the stems, and placed them in a very special vase. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;Then, sat the vase beside the portrait of his smiling face. She would sit for hours, in her husband's favorite chair. While staring at his picture, and the roses sitting there, a year went by, and it was hard to live without her mate. With loneliness and solitude, that had become her fate. Then, the very hour, as on Valentines before, The doorbell rang, and there were roses, sitting by her door. She brought the roses in, and then just looked at them in shock. Then, went to get the telephone, to call the florist shop. The owner answered, and she asked him, if he would explain, Why would someone do this to her, causing her such pain? &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;"I know your husband passed away, more than a year ago," The owner said, "I knew you'd call, and you would want to know. The flowers you received today, were paid for in advance. Your husband always planned ahead, he left nothing to chance. There is a standing order, that I have on file down here, And he has paid, well in advance, you'll get them every year. There also is another thing, that I think you should know, he wrote a special little card...he did this years ago. Then, should ever I find out that he's no longer  here, That's the card...that should be sent, to you the following year." &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;She thanked him and hung up the phone, her tears now flowing hard. Her fingers shaking, as she slowly reached to get the card. Inside the card, she saw that he had written her a note. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;Then, as she stared in total silence, this is what he wrote... "Hello my love, I know it's been a year since I've been gone, I hope it hasn't been too hard for you to overcome. I know it must be lonely, and the pain is very real. For if it was the other way, I know how I would feel. The love we shared made everything so beautiful in life. I loved you more than words can say, you were the Perfect wife. You were my friend and lover, you fulfilled my every need. I know it's only been a year, but please try not to grieve. I want you to be happy, even when you shed your tears. That is why the roses will be sent to you for years. When you get these roses, think of all the happiness, that we had together, and how both of us were blessed. I have always loved you and know I always will. But, my love, you must go on, you have some living still. Please...try to find happiness, while living out your days. I know it is not easy, but I hope you find some ways. The roses will come every year, and they will only stop, when your door's not answered, when the florist stops to knock. He will come five times that day, in case you have gone out. But after his last visit, he will know without a doubt To take the roses to the place, where I've instructed him. And place the roses where we are, together once again. "&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;Sometimes in life, you find a special friend; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;Someone who changes your life just by being part of it. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;Someone who makes you smile until you can't stop; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;Someone who makes you believe that there really is good in the world. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;Someone who convinces you that there really is an unlocked door just waiting for you to open it. This is Forever Friendship. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;This is the sacred RED ROSE. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8829492-110568685138220149?l=indianclown.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://indianclown.blogspot.com/feeds/110568685138220149/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8829492&amp;postID=110568685138220149' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8829492/posts/default/110568685138220149'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8829492/posts/default/110568685138220149'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://indianclown.blogspot.com/2005/01/roses.html' title='Roses'/><author><name>indian clown</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00227391757358474213</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='23' height='32' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_V9gkIVZD_rQ/SAXCWOoLqdI/AAAAAAAAACc/3ziEJx4JUJ4/S220/2008-03-18-1147-42.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8829492.post-110318002567430131</id><published>2004-12-17T08:20:00.000+05:30</published><updated>2004-12-17T08:28:51.643+05:30</updated><title type='text'>Rich Poor</title><content type='html'>&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;One day a father of a very wealthy family took his son on a trip to the country with the firm purpose of showing his son how poor people can be. They spent a couple of days and nights on the farm of what would be considered a very poor family.&lt;br /&gt;On their return from their trip, the father asked his son, "How was the trip?" "It was great, Dad." "Did you see how poor people can be?" the father asked. "Oh Yeah" said the son. "So what did you learn from the trip?" asked the father.&lt;br /&gt;The son answered, "I saw that we have one dog and they had four. We have a pool that reaches to the middle of our garden and they have a creek that has no end. We have imported lanterns in our garden and they have the stars at night. Our patio reaches to the front yard and they have the whole horizon.&lt;br /&gt;We have a small piece of land to live on and they have fields that go beyond our sight. We have servants who serve us, but they serve others. We buy our food, but they grow theirs. We have walls around our property to protect us, they have friends to protect them."&lt;br /&gt;With this the boy's father was speechless. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Then his son added, "Thanks dad for showing me how poor we are."&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;Too many times we forget what we have and concentrate on what we don't have. What is one person's worthless object is another's prize possession. It is all based on one's perspective. Instead of worrying about wanting more, Take joy in all you have...... &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8829492-110318002567430131?l=indianclown.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://indianclown.blogspot.com/feeds/110318002567430131/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8829492&amp;postID=110318002567430131' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8829492/posts/default/110318002567430131'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8829492/posts/default/110318002567430131'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://indianclown.blogspot.com/2004/12/rich-poor.html' title='Rich Poor'/><author><name>indian clown</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00227391757358474213</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='23' height='32' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_V9gkIVZD_rQ/SAXCWOoLqdI/AAAAAAAAACc/3ziEJx4JUJ4/S220/2008-03-18-1147-42.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8829492.post-110317950488420964</id><published>2004-12-16T13:04:00.000+05:30</published><updated>2004-12-16T12:15:04.886+05:30</updated><title type='text'>Be Thankful</title><content type='html'>Be Thankful...You can walk.&lt;br /&gt;There are those who have never taken their first step.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Be Thankful...You can see the beauty all around you.&lt;br /&gt;There are those whose world is always dark.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Be Thankful...You can hear music playing.&lt;br /&gt;There are those who entire life has been spent in silence.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Be Thankful...Your heart can be broken.&lt;br /&gt;There are those who are so hardened they cannot be touched.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Be Thankful...You have been loved.&lt;br /&gt;There are those for whom no one has ever cared.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Many times in life, we forget about the simple things we should be thankful for...&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8829492-110317950488420964?l=indianclown.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://indianclown.blogspot.com/feeds/110317950488420964/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8829492&amp;postID=110317950488420964' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8829492/posts/default/110317950488420964'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8829492/posts/default/110317950488420964'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://indianclown.blogspot.com/2004/12/be-thankful.html' title='Be Thankful'/><author><name>indian clown</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00227391757358474213</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='23' height='32' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_V9gkIVZD_rQ/SAXCWOoLqdI/AAAAAAAAACc/3ziEJx4JUJ4/S220/2008-03-18-1147-42.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8829492.post-110249058069702929</id><published>2004-12-08T13:45:00.000+05:30</published><updated>2004-12-09T12:48:01.966+05:30</updated><title type='text'>A Winner</title><content type='html'>&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;A winner is NOT one who NEVER FAILS......but one who NEVER QUITS!!!&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;Officials rejected a candidate for a news broadcasters post since his voice was not fit for a news broadcaster.He was also told that with his obnoxiously long name, he would never be famous.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;He is AMITABH BACHCHAN.&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;A small boy--the fifth amongst seven siblings of a poor father, was selling newspapers in a small village to earn his living.He was not exceptionally smart at school but was fascinated by religion and rockets.The first rocket he built crashed.A missile that he built crashed multiple times and he was made a butt of ridicule.He is the person to have scripted the Space Odyssey of India single-handedly&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;He is Dr. APJ ABDUL KALAM.&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;In 1962, four nervous young musicians played their first record audition for the executives of the Decca Recording Company.The executives were not impressed.While turning down this group of musicians, one executive said, We don't like their sound. Groups of guitars are on the way out."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;The group was called THE BEATLES.&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;In 1944, Emmeline Snively, director of the Blue Book Modeling Agency told modeling hopeful Norma Jean Baker, "You'd better learn secretarial work or else get married".She went on and &lt;strong&gt;became MARILYN MONROE.&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;In 1954, Jimmy Denny, manager of the Grand Ole Opry, fired a singer after one performance.He told him, "You ain't goin' nowhere son. You ought to go back to drivin' a truck&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;He went on to become ELVIS PRESLEY.&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;When &lt;strong&gt;ALEXANDER GRAHAM BELL&lt;/strong&gt; invented the telephone in 1876, it did not ring off the hook with calls from potential backers.After making a demonstration call, President Rutherford Hayes said, "That's an amazing invention, but who would ever want to see one of them?"&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;When &lt;strong&gt;THOMAS EDISON&lt;/strong&gt; invented the light bulb, he tried over 2000 experiments before he got it to workA young reporter asked him how it felt to fail so many times.He said, "I never failed once. I invented the light bulb.It just happened to be a 2000-step process".&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;In the 1940s, another young inventor named Chester Carlson took his idea to 20 corporations, including some of the biggest in the country.They all turned him down. In 1947, after 7 long years of rejections, he finally got a tiny company in Rochester, NY, the Haloid Company, to purchase the rights to his invention--an electrostatic paper-copying process.&lt;br /&gt;Haloid became &lt;strong&gt;XEROX CORPORATION.&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;A little girl--the 20th of 22 children, was born prematurely and her survival was doubtful.When she was 4 years old, she contracted double pneumonia and scarlet fever, which left her with aparalyzed left leg.At age 9, she removed the metal leg brace she had been dependent on and began to walk without it.By 13 she had developed a rhythmic walk, which doctors said was a miracle. That same year she decided to become a runner...She entered a race and came in last.For the next few years doctors told her to quit, but she kept on running. every race she entered, she came in last.One day she actually won a race. And then another.. From then on she won every race she entered.&lt;br /&gt;Eventually this little girl - &lt;strong&gt;WILMA RUDOLPH&lt;/strong&gt;, went on to win three Olympic gold medals&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;A schoolteacher scolded a boy for not paying attention to his mathematics and for not being able to solve simple problems.She told him that you would not become anybody in life.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;The boy was ALBERT EINSTIEN...&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;add your name to this list...:-) :-)&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8829492-110249058069702929?l=indianclown.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://indianclown.blogspot.com/feeds/110249058069702929/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8829492&amp;postID=110249058069702929' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8829492/posts/default/110249058069702929'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8829492/posts/default/110249058069702929'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://indianclown.blogspot.com/2004/12/winner.html' title='A Winner'/><author><name>indian clown</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00227391757358474213</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='23' height='32' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_V9gkIVZD_rQ/SAXCWOoLqdI/AAAAAAAAACc/3ziEJx4JUJ4/S220/2008-03-18-1147-42.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8829492.post-110239773504764223</id><published>2004-12-07T00:05:00.000+05:30</published><updated>2004-12-07T11:56:17.883+05:30</updated><title type='text'>Our Parents</title><content type='html'>When you came into this world&lt;br /&gt;They held you in their arms&lt;br /&gt;You thanked them by wailing loudly...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;When you were 1 year old&lt;br /&gt;They fed you and bathed you&lt;br /&gt;You thanked them by&lt;br /&gt;Crying all night and keeping them awake...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;When you were 2 years old&lt;br /&gt;They taught you how to walk&lt;br /&gt;You thanked them by&lt;br /&gt;Running away when they called...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;When you were 3 years Old&lt;br /&gt;They taught you poems&lt;br /&gt;You thanked them by&lt;br /&gt;Not speaking a word at the school interview...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;When you were 4 years old&lt;br /&gt;They took you out for meals&lt;br /&gt;You thanked them by&lt;br /&gt;Tossing the plate on the floor...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;When you were 5 years old&lt;br /&gt;They bought you crayons&lt;br /&gt;You thanked them by&lt;br /&gt;Spoiling all the drawing room walls...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;When you were 6 years old&lt;br /&gt;They drove you to school bus&lt;br /&gt;You thanked them by crying loudly&lt;br /&gt;"I don't want to go"...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;When you were 7 years old&lt;br /&gt;They bought you the best toys they found&lt;br /&gt;You thanked them by saying&lt;br /&gt;"my friend has got better ones !"...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;When you were 8 years old&lt;br /&gt;They bought you a cricket bat&lt;br /&gt;You thanked them by smashing&lt;br /&gt;The neighbour's window pane...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;When you were 9 years old&lt;br /&gt;They drove you to your friend's B'day Party&lt;br /&gt;You thanked them by jumping out of the car&lt;br /&gt;And not looking back...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;When you were 10 years old&lt;br /&gt;They paid for your music classes&lt;br /&gt;You thanked them by&lt;br /&gt;Never bothering to practice...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;When you were 11 years old&lt;br /&gt;They took you to a Hill Station for vacation&lt;br /&gt;You thanked them by complaining&lt;br /&gt;That your friends go abroad...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;When you were 16 years old&lt;br /&gt;They invited your friends home on you B'day&lt;br /&gt;You thanked them by asking them&lt;br /&gt;To stay out and leave you and&lt;br /&gt;your friends alone in the room...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;When you were 17 years old&lt;br /&gt;They turned up for your School PTA meeting&lt;br /&gt;You thanked them by blaming them&lt;br /&gt;For embarrassing you in front of friends...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;When you were 18 years old&lt;br /&gt;They taught you how to drive&lt;br /&gt;You thanked them by taking the car&lt;br /&gt;At every possible opportunity and&lt;br /&gt;Making them wait up in worry...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;When you were 19 years old&lt;br /&gt;They were expecting important calls&lt;br /&gt;You thanked them by being on the&lt;br /&gt;Phone with friends for hours...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;When you were 20 years old&lt;br /&gt;They wanted to discuss your career with you&lt;br /&gt;You thanked them by saying that&lt;br /&gt;Your plans are different from theirs...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;When you were 23 years old&lt;br /&gt;They arranged for a job for you&lt;br /&gt;You thanked them by complaining all the time&lt;br /&gt;That its not 'your kind of work'...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;When you were 24 years old&lt;br /&gt;They were excited to find a life partner for you&lt;br /&gt;You thanked them by breaking the news&lt;br /&gt;That you already have someone in mind...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;When you were 25 years old&lt;br /&gt;They spent all their savings on your wedding&lt;br /&gt;You thanked them by&lt;br /&gt;Moving to a separate house with your spouse...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;When you were 30 years old&lt;br /&gt;They called up with some advice on your baby&lt;br /&gt;You thanked them by telling them&lt;br /&gt;That things are different from their time...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;When you were 35 years old&lt;br /&gt;They wished you on your wedding anniversary&lt;br /&gt;You thanked them by going our with your wife&lt;br /&gt;And leaving the kids behind for them to take care...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;When you were 45 years old&lt;br /&gt;They wished to come over and stay with you&lt;br /&gt;You thanked them by saying that your children&lt;br /&gt;Had trouble 'communicating' with them...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;When you were 50 years old&lt;br /&gt;They fell ill and needed your care&lt;br /&gt;You thanked them by making sure&lt;br /&gt;They had signed all 'property papers'...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;And then one day&lt;br /&gt;They quietly went away&lt;br /&gt;And everything you never did&lt;br /&gt;Come crashing down on your face...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We may find it childish and silly&lt;br /&gt;To tell our parents in word that we love them&lt;br /&gt;But can't we take our moments to make sure&lt;br /&gt;They know this someway ?????...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#000066;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;There is no substitute for them&lt;br /&gt;Cherish every single second spent in their care&lt;br /&gt;They may not be your best friends&lt;br /&gt;And you may not agree with everything they say&lt;br /&gt;But this is one place you can just close your eyes&lt;br /&gt;And trust blindly that whatever they are saying&lt;br /&gt;Is only for you good...&lt;br /&gt;Have different viewpoints from them&lt;br /&gt;But never let it overpower love and respect...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;THEY MADE YOU WHAT YOU ARE...&lt;br /&gt;THEY ARE NOT TO BE TAKEN FOR GRANTED...&lt;br /&gt;LOVE THEM MORE THAN YOU LOVE YOURSELF...&lt;br /&gt;AND SHOW IT TOO...&lt;br /&gt;LIFE IS MEANINGLESS WITHOUT THEM..&lt;br /&gt;OUR PARENTS !!!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8829492-110239773504764223?l=indianclown.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://indianclown.blogspot.com/feeds/110239773504764223/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8829492&amp;postID=110239773504764223' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8829492/posts/default/110239773504764223'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8829492/posts/default/110239773504764223'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://indianclown.blogspot.com/2004/12/our-parents.html' title='Our Parents'/><author><name>indian clown</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00227391757358474213</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='23' height='32' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_V9gkIVZD_rQ/SAXCWOoLqdI/AAAAAAAAACc/3ziEJx4JUJ4/S220/2008-03-18-1147-42.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8829492.post-110144697535538151</id><published>2004-11-26T10:50:00.000+05:30</published><updated>2004-11-26T11:01:29.263+05:30</updated><title type='text'>Love</title><content type='html'>&lt;div align="justify"&gt;"With love all things are possible. Love gives the heart, the mind, and soul wings to fly and believe in miracles. The inspiration and power to make those dreams come true."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;"Time is fleeting, yet when you are with someone you truly love, time does not matter."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;"To love is not to just look at one another, But also to look together in the same direction"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;"Saving your love never gains any interest"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;"When we feel love and kindness toward others, it not only makes others feel loved and cared for, but it helps us also to develop inner happiness and peace."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;"To love someone deeply gives you strength. Being loved by someone deeply gives you courage."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;"In dreams and in love there are no impossibilities."&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;"The best and most beautiful things in the world cannot be seen or even touched. They must be felt with the heart."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;"Love is when you look into someone's eyes and suddenly you see all inside their heart and soul and you both know it."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;"The moment you have in your heart this extraordinary thing called love and feel the depth, the delight, the ecstasy of it, you will discover that for you the world is transformed."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;"Love is a second life; it grows into the soul, warms every vein, and beats in every pulse."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;"Love cures people-both the ones who give it and the ones who receive it."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;"Love is the greatest refreshment in life"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;"Love is a force more formidable than any other. It is invisible -- it cannot be seen or measured, yet it is powerful enough to transform you in a moment, and offer you more joy than any material possession could." &lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8829492-110144697535538151?l=indianclown.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://indianclown.blogspot.com/feeds/110144697535538151/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8829492&amp;postID=110144697535538151' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8829492/posts/default/110144697535538151'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8829492/posts/default/110144697535538151'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://indianclown.blogspot.com/2004/11/love.html' title='Love'/><author><name>indian clown</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00227391757358474213</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='23' height='32' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_V9gkIVZD_rQ/SAXCWOoLqdI/AAAAAAAAACc/3ziEJx4JUJ4/S220/2008-03-18-1147-42.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8829492.post-110127546418818045</id><published>2004-11-24T11:21:00.000+05:30</published><updated>2004-11-24T11:21:04.186+05:30</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;a href='http://photos1.blogger.com/img/250/2136/1024/Untitled-17.jpg'&gt;&lt;img border='0' style='border:1px solid #000000; margin:2px' src='http://photos1.blogger.com/img/250/2136/400/Untitled-17.jpg'&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;*&amp;nbsp;&lt;a href='http://www.hello.com/' target='ext'&gt;&lt;img src='http://photos1.blogger.com/pbh.gif' alt='Posted by Hello' border='0' style='border:0px;padding:0px;background:transparent;' align='absmiddle'&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8829492-110127546418818045?l=indianclown.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://indianclown.blogspot.com/feeds/110127546418818045/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8829492&amp;postID=110127546418818045' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8829492/posts/default/110127546418818045'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8829492/posts/default/110127546418818045'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://indianclown.blogspot.com/2004/11/blog-post.html' title=''/><author><name>indian clown</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00227391757358474213</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='23' height='32' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_V9gkIVZD_rQ/SAXCWOoLqdI/AAAAAAAAACc/3ziEJx4JUJ4/S220/2008-03-18-1147-42.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8829492.post-110127511849121701</id><published>2004-11-24T11:15:00.000+05:30</published><updated>2004-11-24T11:15:18.490+05:30</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;a href='http://photos1.blogger.com/img/250/2136/1024/Untitled-1.jpg'&gt;&lt;img border='0' style='border:1px solid #000000; margin:2px' src='http://photos1.blogger.com/img/250/2136/400/Untitled-1.jpg'&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;off the chennai pondicherry road....alambara fort...a beautiful spot to see...&amp;nbsp;&lt;a href='http://www.hello.com/' target='ext'&gt;&lt;img src='http://photos1.blogger.com/pbh.gif' alt='Posted by Hello' border='0' style='border:0px;padding:0px;background:transparent;' align='absmiddle'&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8829492-110127511849121701?l=indianclown.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://indianclown.blogspot.com/feeds/110127511849121701/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8829492&amp;postID=110127511849121701' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8829492/posts/default/110127511849121701'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8829492/posts/default/110127511849121701'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://indianclown.blogspot.com/2004/11/off-chennai-pondicherry-road.html' title=''/><author><name>indian clown</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00227391757358474213</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='23' height='32' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_V9gkIVZD_rQ/SAXCWOoLqdI/AAAAAAAAACc/3ziEJx4JUJ4/S220/2008-03-18-1147-42.jpg'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8829492.post-110068319316591846</id><published>2004-11-19T13:15:00.000+05:30</published><updated>2004-11-19T13:07:20.526+05:30</updated><title type='text'>Your Smile</title><content type='html'>If at times you feel you want to cry&lt;br /&gt;And life seems such a trial&lt;br /&gt;Above the clouds there's a bright, blue sky&lt;br /&gt;So make your tears a smile&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;As you travel on life's way&lt;br /&gt;With its many ups and downs&lt;br /&gt;Remember its quite true to say&lt;br /&gt;One smile is worth a dozens frowns&lt;br /&gt;Among the world's expensive things&lt;br /&gt;A smile is very cheap&lt;br /&gt;And when you give a smile away&lt;br /&gt;You get one back to keep&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Happiness comes at times to all&lt;br /&gt;But sadness comes unbidden&lt;br /&gt;And sometimes a few tears must fall&lt;br /&gt;Among the laughter hidden&lt;br /&gt;So when friends have sadness on their face&lt;br /&gt;And troubles round them piled&lt;br /&gt;The world will seem a better place&lt;br /&gt;And all because you smiled.... ;-) :-)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8829492-110068319316591846?l=indianclown.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://indianclown.blogspot.com/feeds/110068319316591846/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8829492&amp;postID=110068319316591846' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8829492/posts/default/110068319316591846'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8829492/posts/default/110068319316591846'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://indianclown.blogspot.com/2004/11/your-smile.html' title='Your Smile'/><author><name>indian clown</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00227391757358474213</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='23' height='32' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_V9gkIVZD_rQ/SAXCWOoLqdI/AAAAAAAAACc/3ziEJx4JUJ4/S220/2008-03-18-1147-42.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8829492.post-110068306784727256</id><published>2004-11-17T14:47:00.000+05:30</published><updated>2004-11-18T13:25:10.676+05:30</updated><title type='text'>The Love of our Life</title><content type='html'>&lt;div align="left"&gt;Her tears &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;make you want to&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;change the world&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;so that it&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;doesn't hurt her anymore..... &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;Yet regardless if you love them, &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;hate them, &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;wish they would go away or &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;know that you would die without them ... &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;it matters not. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;Because once in your life, &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;whatever they were to the world &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;they become everything to you. &lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;When you look them in the eyes, &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;traveling to the depths of their souls&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;and you say a million things &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;without trace of a sound, &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;you know that your own life &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;is inevitably consumed within &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;the rhythmic beatings of her very heart. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;We love them for a million reasons, &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;No paper would do it justice. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;It is a thing not of the mind &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;but of the heart. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;A feeling. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Only felt...deep within. &lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8829492-110068306784727256?l=indianclown.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://indianclown.blogspot.com/feeds/110068306784727256/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8829492&amp;postID=110068306784727256' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8829492/posts/default/110068306784727256'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8829492/posts/default/110068306784727256'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://indianclown.blogspot.com/2004/11/love-of-our-life.html' title='The Love of our Life'/><author><name>indian clown</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00227391757358474213</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='23' height='32' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_V9gkIVZD_rQ/SAXCWOoLqdI/AAAAAAAAACc/3ziEJx4JUJ4/S220/2008-03-18-1147-42.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8829492.post-110068116183343196</id><published>2004-11-17T14:08:00.000+05:30</published><updated>2004-12-10T11:09:57.493+05:30</updated><title type='text'>If One Day</title><content type='html'>If one day you feel like crying.&lt;br /&gt;Call me...&lt;br /&gt;I don't promise you that I will make you laugh,&lt;br /&gt;But I can cry with you...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;If one day you want to run away&lt;br /&gt;Don't be afraid to call me...&lt;br /&gt;I don't promise that I can offer you the best solution,&lt;br /&gt;But I can run away with you...:-)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;If one day you hate the world &amp; don't want to listen to anybody,&lt;br /&gt;Call me...&lt;br /&gt;I promise to be very quiet &amp;amp; listen and be your punching bag...:-)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;If one day you call and there is no answer,&lt;br /&gt;Come fast to see me ...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Perhaps I need you...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8829492-110068116183343196?l=indianclown.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://indianclown.blogspot.com/feeds/110068116183343196/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8829492&amp;postID=110068116183343196' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8829492/posts/default/110068116183343196'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8829492/posts/default/110068116183343196'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://indianclown.blogspot.com/2004/11/if-one-day.html' title='If One Day'/><author><name>indian clown</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00227391757358474213</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='23' height='32' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_V9gkIVZD_rQ/SAXCWOoLqdI/AAAAAAAAACc/3ziEJx4JUJ4/S220/2008-03-18-1147-42.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8829492.post-110059079922652522</id><published>2004-11-16T14:30:00.000+05:30</published><updated>2004-11-16T14:48:34.596+05:30</updated><title type='text'>Beautiful Heart..</title><content type='html'>&lt;div align="justify"&gt;One day a young man was standing in the middle of the town proclaiming that he had the most beautiful heart in the whole world. A large crowd gathered and they all admired his heart for it was perfect. There was not a mark or a flaw in it. Yes, they all agreed it truly was the most beautiful heart they had ever seen. The young man was very proud and boasted more loudly about his beautiful heart. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;"Why your heart is not nearly as beautiful as mine." I said.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;The crowd and the young man looked at my heart. It was beating strongly, but full of scars, it had places where pieces had been removed and other pieces put in, but they didn't fit quite right and there were several jagged edges. In fact, in some places there were deep gouges where whole pieces were missing. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;The people stared -- how could i say my heart is more beautiful, they thought? &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;The young man looked at the my heart and saw its state and laughed. "You must be joking," he said. "Compare your heart with mine, mine is perfect and yours is a mess of scars and tears." &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;"Yes," I replied, "yours is perfect looking but I would never trade my heart with you. You see, &lt;strong&gt;every scar represents a person to whom I have given my love,my care,my affection,my friendship - I tear out a piece of my heart and give it to them&lt;/strong&gt;, and often they give me a piece of their heart which fits into the empty place in my heart, but because the pieces aren't exact, I have some rough edges, which I cherish, because they remind me of the love we shared. Sometimes I have given pieces of my heart away, and the other person hasn't returned a piece of thier heart to me. These are the empty gouges -- &lt;strong&gt;giving love is taking a chance...&lt;/strong&gt;. Although these gouges are painful, they stay open, reminding me of the love I have for these people still, and I hope someday they may return and fill the space I have waiting. " &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;[ as one gets older and we look back,it is these moments that we remember and cherish the most....the times we have loved and given, does not matter if we have recieved as much in return.....its those moments that have made life worth living]&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8829492-110059079922652522?l=indianclown.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://indianclown.blogspot.com/feeds/110059079922652522/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8829492&amp;postID=110059079922652522' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8829492/posts/default/110059079922652522'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8829492/posts/default/110059079922652522'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://indianclown.blogspot.com/2004/11/beautiful-heart.html' title='Beautiful Heart..'/><author><name>indian clown</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00227391757358474213</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='23' height='32' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_V9gkIVZD_rQ/SAXCWOoLqdI/AAAAAAAAACc/3ziEJx4JUJ4/S220/2008-03-18-1147-42.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8829492.post-110041331169926641</id><published>2004-11-14T17:42:00.000+05:30</published><updated>2006-08-07T09:34:25.076+05:30</updated><title type='text'>for you...my Friend :-)</title><content type='html'>You don't always show it,&lt;br /&gt;but I know that you care.&lt;br /&gt;If I'd ever need you,&lt;br /&gt;I know you'd be there.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;You...I'm glad you're my friend.&lt;br /&gt;Your smile makes me smile.&lt;br /&gt;Your pain makes me hurt.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I want you to know:&lt;br /&gt;If you need me...I'm there.&lt;br /&gt;to make you happy,&lt;br /&gt;to make you laugh.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;You My friend,&lt;br /&gt;Sometimes you make me mad,&lt;br /&gt;but I can't stay mad.&lt;br /&gt;Sometimes I want to get away from you.&lt;br /&gt;And sometimes there's nothing I want more than...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;to talk to you,&lt;br /&gt;to tell you about my day,&lt;br /&gt;to hear about yours,&lt;br /&gt;to laugh with you,&lt;br /&gt;to tease you,&lt;br /&gt;to share an inside joke,&lt;br /&gt;that no one else would get,&lt;br /&gt;to argue with you,&lt;br /&gt;but know we're just kidding...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Do you remember the time when...?&lt;br /&gt;There are so many times.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Don't ever lose the wonderful person you are.&lt;br /&gt;Stay happy.&lt;br /&gt;Stay healthy.&lt;br /&gt;Stay YOU.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'll never stop being your friend.&lt;br /&gt;Don't ever stop being mine.&lt;br /&gt;You My friend,&lt;br /&gt;Just wanted to tell you,&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;I care&lt;/strong&gt;.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;(i read these lines on the web....i am sure everyone reading this will immediately think of the one person they will associate these words with... :-)&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8829492-110041331169926641?l=indianclown.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://indianclown.blogspot.com/feeds/110041331169926641/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8829492&amp;postID=110041331169926641' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8829492/posts/default/110041331169926641'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8829492/posts/default/110041331169926641'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://indianclown.blogspot.com/2004/11/for-youmy-friend.html' title='for you...my Friend :-)'/><author><name>indian clown</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00227391757358474213</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='23' height='32' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_V9gkIVZD_rQ/SAXCWOoLqdI/AAAAAAAAACc/3ziEJx4JUJ4/S220/2008-03-18-1147-42.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8829492.post-110042849405280297</id><published>2004-11-14T16:04:00.000+05:30</published><updated>2004-11-14T16:04:54.053+05:30</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;a href='http://photos1.blogger.com/img/250/2136/1024/diwali%203.jpg'&gt;&lt;img border='0' style='border:1px solid #000000; margin:2px' src='http://photos1.blogger.com/img/250/2136/400/diwali%203.jpg'&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;deepavali view from my desk...&amp;nbsp;&lt;a href='http://www.hello.com/' target='ext'&gt;&lt;img src='http://photos1.blogger.com/pbh.gif' alt='Posted by Hello' border='0' style='border:0px;padding:0px;background:transparent;' align='absmiddle'&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8829492-110042849405280297?l=indianclown.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://indianclown.blogspot.com/feeds/110042849405280297/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8829492&amp;postID=110042849405280297' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8829492/posts/default/110042849405280297'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8829492/posts/default/110042849405280297'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://indianclown.blogspot.com/2004/11/deepavali-view-from-my-desk.html' title=''/><author><name>indian clown</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00227391757358474213</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='23' height='32' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_V9gkIVZD_rQ/SAXCWOoLqdI/AAAAAAAAACc/3ziEJx4JUJ4/S220/2008-03-18-1147-42.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8829492.post-110008981857467129</id><published>2004-11-10T18:00:00.000+05:30</published><updated>2004-11-10T18:00:18.573+05:30</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;a href='http://photos1.blogger.com/img/250/2136/640/r2.jpg'&gt;&lt;img border='0' style='border:1px solid #000000; margin:2px' src='http://photos1.blogger.com/img/250/2136/320/r2.jpg'&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;the rainbow across the adyar river this evening....&amp;nbsp;&lt;a href='http://www.hello.com/' target='ext'&gt;&lt;img src='http://photos1.blogger.com/pbh.gif' alt='Posted by Hello' border='0' style='border:0px;padding:0px;background:transparent;' align='absmiddle'&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8829492-110008981857467129?l=indianclown.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://indianclown.blogspot.com/feeds/110008981857467129/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8829492&amp;postID=110008981857467129' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8829492/posts/default/110008981857467129'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8829492/posts/default/110008981857467129'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://indianclown.blogspot.com/2004/11/rainbow-across-adyar-river-this.html' title=''/><author><name>indian clown</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00227391757358474213</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='23' height='32' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_V9gkIVZD_rQ/SAXCWOoLqdI/AAAAAAAAACc/3ziEJx4JUJ4/S220/2008-03-18-1147-42.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8829492.post-109997338240713452</id><published>2004-11-09T09:22:00.000+05:30</published><updated>2004-11-09T09:42:16.313+05:30</updated><title type='text'>Some Thoughts</title><content type='html'>Have you ever wondered which hurts the most?&lt;br /&gt;Saying something and wishing you hadn't?, or&lt;br /&gt;Saying nothing and wishing you had?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Don't be afraid to tell someone you love them. If you do, they might break your heart...if you don't, you might break theirs.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Your heart decides whom it likes and whom it doesn't. You can't tell your heart what to do. It does it on its own....when you least suspect it, or even when you don't want it to.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Have you ever wanted to love someone with everything you had, but that other person was too afraid to let you? Too many of us stay walled up because we are too afraid to care too much... for fear that the other person does not care as much, or even at all.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Have you ever denied your feelings for someone because your fear of rejection was too hard to handle?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;We tell lies when we are afraid. .. afraid of what we don't know, afraid of what others will think, afraid of what will be found out about us. But every time we tell a lie, the thing we fear grows stronger.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8829492-109997338240713452?l=indianclown.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://indianclown.blogspot.com/feeds/109997338240713452/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8829492&amp;postID=109997338240713452' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8829492/posts/default/109997338240713452'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8829492/posts/default/109997338240713452'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://indianclown.blogspot.com/2004/11/some-thoughts.html' title='Some Thoughts'/><author><name>indian clown</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00227391757358474213</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='23' height='32' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_V9gkIVZD_rQ/SAXCWOoLqdI/AAAAAAAAACc/3ziEJx4JUJ4/S220/2008-03-18-1147-42.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8829492.post-109991392493318634</id><published>2004-11-08T17:01:00.000+05:30</published><updated>2004-11-08T17:14:18.326+05:30</updated><title type='text'>Fate in our Hands</title><content type='html'>&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Many years ago, when a person who owed money could be thrown into jail, a merchant in London had the misfortune to owe a huge sum to a money-lender. The money-lender, who was old, ugly and wicked, fancied the merchant's beautiful teenage daughter. He proposed a bargain. He said he would cancel the merchant's debt if he could have the girl instead.Both the merchant and his daughter were horrified at the proposal. So the cunning money-lender proposed that they let Providence decide the matter. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;He told them that he would put a black pebble and a white pebble into an empty money-bag and then the girl would have to pick out one of the pebbles. If she chose the black pebble, she would become his wife and her father's debt would be cancelled. If she chose the white pebble she would stay with her father and the debt would still be cancelled. But if she refused to pick out a pebble,her father would be thrown into jail and she would starve.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;Reluctantly, the merchant agreed. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;They were standing on a pebble-strewn path in the merchant's garden as they talked and the money-lender stooped down to pick up the two pebbles. As he picked up the pebbles, the girl,sharp-eyed with fright, noticed that he picked up two black pebbles and put them into the money-bag. He then asked the girl to pick out the pebble that was to decide her fate and that of her father.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;Imagine that you are standing on the path in the merchant's garden. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;What would you have done if you had been the unfortunate girl? Refuse to take a pebble? Point out that there are two black pebbles in the bag and expose the money-lender as a cheat ? Take a black pebble and sacrifice yourself in order to save your father from prison?&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;None of the suggestions is very helpful, for if the girl does not take a pebble her father goes to prison, and if she does take a pebble, then she has to marry the money-lender.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;How Our Fate can be in our Hands.......&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;The girl in the pebble story put her hand into them oney-bag and drew out a pebble. Without looking at it, she fumbled and let it fall to the path, where it was immediately lost among all the others."Oh, how clumsy of me," she said, "but never mind - if you look into the bag you will be able to tell which pebble I took by the Colour of the one that is left."&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;Since the remaining pebble is of course black, it must be assumed that she had taken the white pebble, since the money-lender dare not admit his dishonesty. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;In this way, using lateral thinking, the girl changes what seems an impossible situation into an extremely advantageous one! &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8829492-109991392493318634?l=indianclown.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://indianclown.blogspot.com/feeds/109991392493318634/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8829492&amp;postID=109991392493318634' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8829492/posts/default/109991392493318634'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8829492/posts/default/109991392493318634'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://indianclown.blogspot.com/2004/11/fate-in-our-hands.html' title='Fate in our Hands'/><author><name>indian clown</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00227391757358474213</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='23' height='32' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_V9gkIVZD_rQ/SAXCWOoLqdI/AAAAAAAAACc/3ziEJx4JUJ4/S220/2008-03-18-1147-42.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8829492.post-109972157495156381</id><published>2004-11-06T12:32:00.000+05:30</published><updated>2004-11-07T12:34:17.376+05:30</updated><title type='text'>Movies</title><content type='html'>&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;being from the movie industry,sometimes we have to learn to point a finger at ourselves and laugh... :-) :-)&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;here are some movie MUSTs.....&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;At least one of a pair of identical twins is born evil. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;Should you decide to defuse a bomb, don't worry which wire to cut. You will always choose the right one. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;It does not matter if you are heavily outnumbered in a fight involving martial arts-your enemies will wait patiently to attack you one by one by dancing around in a threatening manner until you have knocked out their predecessors. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;When you turn out the light to go to bed, everything in your bedroom will still be clearly visible, just slightly bluish. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;If you are blonde and pretty, it is possible to become a world expert on nuclear fission at the age of 22. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;Rather than wasting bullets, megalomaniacs prefer to kill their archenemies using complicated machinery involving fuses, pulley systems, deadly gasses, lasers, and man-eating sharks, which will allow their captives at least 20 minutes to escape. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;Once applied, lipstick will never rub off-even while scuba diving. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;The Eiffel Tower can be seen from any window in Paris. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;A man will show no pain while taking the most ferocious beating but will wince when a woman tries to clean his wounds. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;If a large pane of glass is visible, someone will be thrown through it before long. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;All bombs are fitted with electronic timing devices with large red readouts so you know exactly when they're going to go off. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;If you decide to start dancing in the street, everyone you meet will know all the steps. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;Police departments give their officers personality tests to make sure they are deliberately assigned a partner who is their total opposite. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8829492-109972157495156381?l=indianclown.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://indianclown.blogspot.com/feeds/109972157495156381/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8829492&amp;postID=109972157495156381' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8829492/posts/default/109972157495156381'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8829492/posts/default/109972157495156381'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://indianclown.blogspot.com/2004/11/movies.html' title='Movies'/><author><name>indian clown</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00227391757358474213</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='23' height='32' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_V9gkIVZD_rQ/SAXCWOoLqdI/AAAAAAAAACc/3ziEJx4JUJ4/S220/2008-03-18-1147-42.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8829492.post-109964108248406748</id><published>2004-11-05T13:25:00.000+05:30</published><updated>2004-11-06T09:52:30.373+05:30</updated><title type='text'>True Love</title><content type='html'>&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It had been a year since Anjali, a once fiercely independent woman, became blind. She was suddenly thrown into a world of darkness, anger, frustration and self-pity. Now all she had to cling to was her husband Karan,an Army officer. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;Eventually, Anjali felt ready to return to her job, but how would she get there? She used to take the bus, but was now too frightened to get around the city by herself. Karan volunteered to drive her to work each day, even though they worked at opposite ends of the city. At first, this comforted Anjali and fulfilled Karan's need to protect his sightless wife who was so insecure about performing the slightest task.&lt;br /&gt;Soon, however Karan realized that this arrangement wasn't working - it was hectic, and costly. Anjali is going to have to start taking the bus again, he admitted to himself. But just the thought of mentioning it to her made him cringe. Just as Karan predicted, Anjali was horrified at the idea of taking the bus again. "I'm blind!" she responded bitterly. "How am I supposed to know where I'm going? I feel like you're abandoning me." &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;Karan's heart broke to hear these words, but he knew what had to be done. He promised Anjali that each morning and evening he would ride the bus with her, for as long as it took, until she got the hang of it. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;For two solid weeks, Karan, military uniform and all, accompanied Anjali to and from work each day and then took a cab back to his office. He taught her how to rely on her other senses, specifically her hearing, to determine where she was and how to adapt to her new environment. He helped her befriend the bus drivers who could watch out for her, and save her a seat. Although this routine was even more costly and time consuming than the previous, Karan knew it was only a matter of time before Anjali would be able to ride the bus on her own. He believed in her.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;Finally, Anjali decided that she was ready to try the trip on her own.&lt;br /&gt;Monday morning arrived, and before she left she threw her arms around Karan, her temporary bus riding companion, her husband, and her best friend. Her eyes filled with tears of gratitude for his loyalty, his patience, his love. She said good-bye, and for the first time, they went their separate ways. Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday ... Each day on her own went perfectly, and Anjali had never felt better. She was doing it! She was going to work all by herself! &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;On Friday morning, Anjali took the bus to work as usual. As she was paying for her fare to exit the bus, the driver said, "Boy, I sure envy you." Anjali wasn't sure if the driver was speaking to her or not. After all, who on earth would ever envy a blind woman who had struggled just to find the courage to live for the past year? &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;Curious, she asked the driver, "Why do you say that you envy me?" The driver responded, "It must feel so good to be taken care of and protected like you are." Anjali had no idea what the driver was talking about, and replied, "What do you mean?"&lt;br /&gt;The driver answered, "You know, every morning for the past week, a fine looking gentleman in a military uniform has been standing across the corner watching you when you get off the bus. He makes sure you cross the street safely and he watches you until you enter your office building. Then he blows you a kiss, gives you a little salute and walks away. You are one lucky lady." &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;Tears of happiness poured down Anjali's cheeks. For although she couldn't physically see him, she had always felt Karan's presence. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;He had given her a gift more powerful than sight, a gift she didn't need to see to believe - the gift of love that can bring light where there had been darkness.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Sometimes it's the unseen support that makes for the biggest gifts of joy...&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;[ i like this story so much because i think this is the way i would have reacted....made sure she was strong and independent but also safe and secure..:-) the unseen support...:-)  ]&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8829492-109964108248406748?l=indianclown.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://indianclown.blogspot.com/feeds/109964108248406748/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8829492&amp;postID=109964108248406748' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8829492/posts/default/109964108248406748'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8829492/posts/default/109964108248406748'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://indianclown.blogspot.com/2004/11/true-love.html' title='True Love'/><author><name>indian clown</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00227391757358474213</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='23' height='32' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_V9gkIVZD_rQ/SAXCWOoLqdI/AAAAAAAAACc/3ziEJx4JUJ4/S220/2008-03-18-1147-42.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8829492.post-109955890390178405</id><published>2004-11-04T14:28:00.000+05:30</published><updated>2004-11-04T14:31:43.900+05:30</updated><title type='text'>Troubles</title><content type='html'>&lt;div align="justify"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;The carpenter I hired to help me restore an old farmhouse had just finished a rough first day on the job. A flat tire made him lose an hour of work, his electric saw broke, and now his ancient pickup truck refused to start.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;While I drove him home, he sat in stony silence. On arriving, he invited me in to meet his family. As we walked toward the front door, he paused briefly at a small tree, touching the tips of the branches with both hands. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;When opening the door, he underwent an amazing transformation. His tanned face was wreathed in smiles and he hugged his two small children and gave his wife a kiss.&lt;br /&gt;Afterward he walked me to the car. We passed the tree and my curiosity got the better of me. I asked him about what I had seen him do earlier. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;"Oh, that's my trouble tree," he replied. "I know I can't help having troubles on the job, but one thing's for sure, troubles don't belong in the house with my wife and the children. So I just hang them up on the tree every night when I come home. Then in the morning I pick them up again."&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;"Funny thing is," he smiled, "when I come out in the morning to pick 'em up, there ain't nearly as many as I remember hanging up the night before." &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;:-)  :-)&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8829492-109955890390178405?l=indianclown.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://indianclown.blogspot.com/feeds/109955890390178405/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8829492&amp;postID=109955890390178405' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8829492/posts/default/109955890390178405'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8829492/posts/default/109955890390178405'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://indianclown.blogspot.com/2004/11/troubles.html' title='Troubles'/><author><name>indian clown</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00227391757358474213</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='23' height='32' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_V9gkIVZD_rQ/SAXCWOoLqdI/AAAAAAAAACc/3ziEJx4JUJ4/S220/2008-03-18-1147-42.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8829492.post-109949506378994388</id><published>2004-11-03T20:38:00.000+05:30</published><updated>2004-11-03T22:40:43.930+05:30</updated><title type='text'>Romance</title><content type='html'>&lt;div align="justify"&gt;Keeping Romance in Every Day Living&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Touch is a very important communicator. As you walk through a room, reach out and simply touch your partner. Simply brush your hand across a cheek, pause a moment with your hand on a shoulder, stroke their hair. Touch conveys warmth, caring and love without saying a word.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;SMILE a lot... &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;Little hand written notes left on the pillow, in a pocket, tucked in a lunch, placed in a drawer, even stuck to the steering wheel or mirror of the car telling your partner how special they are. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;Remember flirting? You flirted a little (okay so maybe you didn't) to capture their attention. Flirt with your partner on occasion. It's fun!&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;Hug your someone at least 6 times a day. Hugging lets them and you know someone is there, they care, life and moments are shared. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;Be spontaneous! Don't wait for an anniversary or special occasion....got an idea or inspiration for romance? Go with it!Take a walk together..just enjoy each other's company. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;Enjoy a slow dance in the living room or in the moonlight when all is quiet late at night.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;Make use of the internet and email. You can send just quick "thinking of you" emails or messages, a greeting card just because. Some of the most romantic and cherished "love letters" are emails from the one you love.&lt;br /&gt;Have an answering machine or voice mail? Leave short messages for your partner. Some voice mail boxes allow the set up of individual boxes. Set one up for each person, that way you can leave more personal messages without the kids or anyone else listening.&lt;br /&gt;With text mesaging now on cell phones....make use of it. A simple I love u....you look great...anything nice to remind them you are thinking of them....:-)&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/8829492-109949506378994388?l=indianclown.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://indianclown.blogspot.com/feeds/109949506378994388/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8829492&amp;postID=109949506378994388' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8829492/posts/default/109949506378994388'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8829492/posts/default/109949506378994388'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://indianclown.blogspot.com/2004/11/romance.html' title='Romance'/><author><name>indian clown</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00227391757358474213</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='23' height='32' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_V9gkIVZD_rQ/SAXCWOoLqdI/AAAAAAAAACc/3ziEJx4JUJ4/S220/2008-03-18-1147-42.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8829492.post-109937045220117486</id><published>2004-11-02T09:48:00.000+05:30</published><updated>2004-11-02T10:17:20.460+05:30</updated><title type='text'>A Love Story</title><content type='html'>&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;He met her at a party. She was young,charming and beautiful,with so many guys chasing after her, while he was so normal, nobody paid attention to him. At the end of the party, he invited her to have coffee with him, she was surprised, but being polite, she agreed.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;They sat in a nice coffee shop, he was too nervous to say anything, and she started feeling uncomfortable. She was hoping the meeting would finish soon.. suddenly he asked the waiter "would you please give me some salt?I'd like to put it in my coffee."&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;She stared at him in surprise. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;His face turned red, but he put the salt in his coffee and drank it. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;She asked him curiously "why do you drink coffee this way"&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;He replied: "when I was a little boy, I was living near the sea, I liked playing in the sea, I could feel the taste of the sea , just like the taste of the salty coffee. Now every time I have the salty coffee, I always think of my childhood, think of my hometown, I miss my hometown so much, I miss my parents who are still living there". &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;While saying this tears filled his eyes. She was deeply touched.That's his true feeling, from the bottom of his heart. A man who can talk about his homesickness, he must be a man who loves home, cares about home, has responsibility of a home.. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;Then she also started to speak...spoke about her faraway hometown, her childhood, her family. It was a long talk into the wee hours of the morning...&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;They continued to date. She found that actually he was a man who met all her demands; he had tolerance, was kind hearted, warm, caring...&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;He was such a good person but she had almost missed him! &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;Thanks to his salty coffee the love had blossomed....&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;Like every beautiful love story, the princess married the prince and they lived a happy life... And, every time she made coffee for him, she put some salt in the coffee, as she knew that's the way he liked it.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;After 40 years, he passed away, left her a letter which said: "My dearest, please forgive me, forgive my whole life lie. This was the only lie I have said to you---the salty coffee. Remember the first time we dated? I was so nervous at that time, actually I wanted some sugar, but I said salt. It was hard for me to change so I just went ahead. I never thought that could be the start of our communication! I tried to tell you the truth many times in my life, but I was too afraid to do that, as I had promised not to lie to you for anything.. Now I'm dying, I am afraid of nothing, so I am telling you the truth: I don't like the salty coffee, what a strange bad taste.But I have had the salty coffee for my whole life! Since I knew you, I have never feel sorry for anything I do for you.Having you with me is my biggest happiness in whole life. If I can live for the second time, I still want to know you and have you for my whole life, even though I have to drink the salty coffee again".&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;Her tears made the letter totally wet. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;Someone asked her "what's the taste of salty coffee?" &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;"It's sweet" She replied.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;love is not to forget but to forgive...&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;not to just see,but to understand....&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;not to just hear,but to listen...&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;not to let go but to hold on...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8829492-109937045220117486?l=indianclown.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://indianclown.blogspot.com/feeds/109937045220117486/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8829492&amp;postID=109937045220117486' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8829492/posts/default/109937045220117486'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8829492/posts/default/109937045220117486'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://indianclown.blogspot.com/2004/11/love-story.html' title='A Love Story'/><author><name>indian clown</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00227391757358474213</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='23' height='32' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_V9gkIVZD_rQ/SAXCWOoLqdI/AAAAAAAAACc/3ziEJx4JUJ4/S220/2008-03-18-1147-42.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8829492.post-109930094873918501</id><published>2004-11-01T14:52:00.000+05:30</published><updated>2004-11-01T17:14:03.266+05:30</updated><title type='text'>A Friend</title><content type='html'>&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;A friend is one who knows who you are, understands where you have been, accepts what you may become, and still gently invites you to grow...... &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;A friend is someone that won't begin to talk behind your back when you leave the room. &lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;A friend is someone who knows the song in your heart, and can sing it back to you when you have forgotten the words. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;A friend is someone who thinks you're a good egg even though you're slightly cracked. &lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Friends are like puzzle pieces. If one goes away, that special piece can never be replaced and that puzzle will never be whole again. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Friends are like stars. You may not always see them but you know they are always there.... &lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;Friendship is a building contract you sign with laughter and break with tears...... &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8829492-109930094873918501?l=indianclown.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://indianclown.blogspot.com/feeds/109930094873918501/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8829492&amp;postID=109930094873918501' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8829492/posts/default/109930094873918501'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8829492/posts/default/109930094873918501'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://indianclown.blogspot.com/2004/11/friend.html' title='A Friend'/><author><name>indian clown</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00227391757358474213</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='23' height='32' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_V9gkIVZD_rQ/SAXCWOoLqdI/AAAAAAAAACc/3ziEJx4JUJ4/S220/2008-03-18-1147-42.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8829492.post-109924245356672138</id><published>2004-10-31T22:30:00.000+05:30</published><updated>2004-11-01T13:25:22.886+05:30</updated><title type='text'>Courage</title><content type='html'>&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Horror gripped the heart of the Kargil soldier,as he saw his lifelong friend fall in battle.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;The soldier asked his Lieutenant if he could go out to bring his fallen comrade back. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;"You can go," said the Lieutenant, "but I don't think it will be worth it.Your friend is probably dead and you may throw your life away."&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;The Lieutenant's words didn't matter,and the soldier went anyway.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;Miraculously, he managed to reach his friend, hoisted him onto his shoulder and brought him back to their company's trench. The officer checked the wounded soldier , then looked kindly at his friend. " I told you it wouldn't be worth it," he said. "Your friend is dead and you are mortally wounded."&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;" It was worth it, Sir," said the soldier. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;"What do you mean by worth it?" responded the Lieutenant. "Your friend is dead."&lt;br /&gt;"Yes Sir," the soldier answered," but it was worth it because when I got to him, he was still alive and I had the satisfaction of hearing him say....&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;"My Friend...I knew you'd come........."&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;Many times in life, whether a thing is worth doing or not, really depends on how one looks at it....if he had not gone,imagine the soldier living his whole life not knowing whether he could have saved his friend's life.....&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Take up all your courage and do something your heart tells you to do so that you may not regret not doing it later in your life..&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8829492-109924245356672138?l=indianclown.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://indianclown.blogspot.com/feeds/109924245356672138/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8829492&amp;postID=109924245356672138' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8829492/posts/default/109924245356672138'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8829492/posts/default/109924245356672138'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://indianclown.blogspot.com/2004/10/courage.html' title='Courage'/><author><name>indian clown</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00227391757358474213</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='23' height='32' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_V9gkIVZD_rQ/SAXCWOoLqdI/AAAAAAAAACc/3ziEJx4JUJ4/S220/2008-03-18-1147-42.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8829492.post-109920199655127940</id><published>2004-10-31T11:25:00.000+05:30</published><updated>2004-11-01T13:11:53.990+05:30</updated><title type='text'>Parenting</title><content type='html'>&lt;div align="justify"&gt;Parents are so excited about the first steps and words of their children, but then they spend the next 17 years telling them to sit down and shut up....:-) &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;If you have trouble getting your children's attention, just sit down and look comfortable.&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;You can learn many things from children... like how much patience you have.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Summer vacation is a time when parents realize that teachers are grossly underpaid.&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;An unbreakable toy is useful for breaking other toys.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Kids need love the most when they're acting most unlovable.&lt;/strong&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;Little Johnny's new baby brother was crying and screaming up a storm. He asked his mom, "Where'd baby brother come from?"His mother replied, "Heaven, Johnny. He came from heaven."After listening to his baby brother's wailing for another few seconds Johnny shot back, "WOW! I can see why they threw him out" &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;The five-year-old daughter was asked by her teacher what her father does, and she replied, "Whatever my Mom tells him to." &lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color:#333399;"&gt;The best parents are those who work hard to give their children everything money could NOT buy....... &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8829492-109920199655127940?l=indianclown.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://indianclown.blogspot.com/feeds/109920199655127940/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8829492&amp;postID=109920199655127940' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8829492/posts/default/109920199655127940'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8829492/posts/default/109920199655127940'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://indianclown.blogspot.com/2004/10/parenting.html' title='Parenting'/><author><name>indian clown</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00227391757358474213</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='23' height='32' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_V9gkIVZD_rQ/SAXCWOoLqdI/AAAAAAAAACc/3ziEJx4JUJ4/S220/2008-03-18-1147-42.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8829492.post-109911394143826405</id><published>2004-10-30T10:55:00.000+05:30</published><updated>2004-10-30T12:00:57.140+05:30</updated><title type='text'>Perspectives</title><content type='html'>&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;A letter from a young girl to her mother&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;em&gt;Dear Mom,&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;em&gt;I know I haven't written for three months, but I have been very busy and I've been having a very exciting time. &lt;/em&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;em&gt;Actually, I'm just back from the hospital, where I had spent a fortnight about two months ago. It was nothing, really - just a concussion on the back of my head, a broken leg and a hairline fracture, that I got while jumping out of the second floor of my hostel when it caught fire. In fact, I can now stand all by myself without crutches, and can almost see everything perfectly, except for a slight blur.But don't worry. The doctor says there is a good chance of me walking on my own again. &lt;/em&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;em&gt;Actually, it could have been worse, if not for that nicechai-walla who saw me lying there in a dead faint and rushed me to hospital. He was very helpful, really, and came to see me everyday inthe hospital. Now that I am out of hospital, I had nowhere to go, as the hostel is still under construction. &lt;/em&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;em&gt;So when he suggested that I move in with him in his hut, I thought it was very kind of him, and agreed.We are very much in love now, and I am sure that you and Dad will surely like him and accept him in the family. I am sure the minor matter thathe is fourteen years older than me and that he is of a different caste and religion, will not matter at all to broad minded parents like you. He may be illiterate and poor, but he has a heart of gold - really, Mom,you should see how he cares for both of us - me and his first wife.She is quite sweet too, and so are her three children; so there is absolutely no problem. You must be wondering how you and Dad gotinformed so late. Don't get angry, Mom. We just didn't have the time. You see,we decided to get married only recently since we thought it would be unfair to let our baby into the world without a proper surname.&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;em&gt;Yes, Mom, you are going to be a grandmother! Congratulations! I am sure you and Dad are delighted, and will come to visit us in his village in Mizoram after we shift there next week.&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;em&gt;OK Mom. All this did not really happen. &lt;/em&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;em&gt;There was no fire, no fracture,no bigamous chai-walla and no illegitimate pregnancy.&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;em&gt;But I did flunk in my Mathematics exam, and I wanted you to view this problem in the right perspective......&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;em&gt;Your Darling Daughter&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;/em&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;/em&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;This is so true about any problem we face in life.........always look at it in perspective&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;It may seem like life is very unfair to us,but look at a lot of others and we realise how lucky we are to have so much in life....a good family,a good education, a roof over our heads,food on our table,great friends........&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;there are millions who don't have any of these....&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;the little boy down your street who scavanges the dustbins for a bit of food to eat...&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;the kids in iraq or afganistan who don't know where the next bomb is going to come from...&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;the twelve thirteen year old girls from nepal who are kidnapped and sold to the brothels in mumbai....&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;these people have a right to complain life is not fair.....not us.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;we make small problems into big issues and make life miserable for everyone around us..:-)&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;enjoy what we have been given and like the saying....&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;"live each day as if it were your last,but learn from each day as if you will live forever"&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8829492-109911394143826405?l=indianclown.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://indianclown.blogspot.com/feeds/109911394143826405/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8829492&amp;postID=109911394143826405' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8829492/posts/default/109911394143826405'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8829492/posts/default/109911394143826405'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://indianclown.blogspot.com/2004/10/perspectives.html' title='Perspectives'/><author><name>indian clown</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00227391757358474213</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='23' height='32' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_V9gkIVZD_rQ/SAXCWOoLqdI/AAAAAAAAACc/3ziEJx4JUJ4/S220/2008-03-18-1147-42.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8829492.post-109902140211090544</id><published>2004-10-29T09:15:00.000+05:30</published><updated>2004-10-29T09:16:03.393+05:30</updated><title type='text'>Life</title><content type='html'>some more one liners on life..:-)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Life itself cannot give you joy unless you really will it.&lt;br /&gt;Life just gives you time and space. Its up to you to fill it with happiness...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Life is really a bed of roses, the lucky ones are those who have great friends who help them pick the thorns off........&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Life is full of surprises.&lt;br /&gt;Just say "never" and you'll see...... :-)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Life is not fair, but life is not fair for everyone. That makes life fair.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;like the old saying....." i complained because i had no shoes....till i saw a man who had no feet"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8829492-109902140211090544?l=indianclown.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://indianclown.blogspot.com/feeds/109902140211090544/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8829492&amp;postID=109902140211090544' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8829492/posts/default/109902140211090544'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8829492/posts/default/109902140211090544'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://indianclown.blogspot.com/2004/10/life_29.html' title='Life'/><author><name>indian clown</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00227391757358474213</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='23' height='32' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_V9gkIVZD_rQ/SAXCWOoLqdI/AAAAAAAAACc/3ziEJx4JUJ4/S220/2008-03-18-1147-42.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8829492.post-109894186761162294</id><published>2004-10-28T11:10:00.000+05:30</published><updated>2004-10-28T11:07:47.610+05:30</updated><title type='text'>Self Worth</title><content type='html'>&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Do not undermine your worth&lt;/strong&gt;......By comparing yourself with others.It is because we are different that each of us is special.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Do not set your goals&lt;/strong&gt;......By what other people deem important.Only you know what is best for you.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Do not take for granted&lt;/strong&gt;......The things closest to your heart.Cling to them as you would your life.For without them, life is meaningless.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Do not let your life slip through your fingers&lt;/strong&gt;......By living in the past nor for the future.By living your life one day at a time,You live all the days of your life.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Do not give up&lt;/strong&gt;......When you still have something to give.Nothing is really over until the moment you stop trying.It is a fragile thread that binds us to each other.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Do not be afraid to encounter risks&lt;/strong&gt;...... It is by taking chances that we learn to be brave.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Do not shut love out of your life&lt;/strong&gt;......By saying it is impossible to find.The quickest way to receive love is to give love;The fastest way to lose love is to hold it too tightly. In addition,the best way to keep love is to give it wings.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Do not dismiss your dreams&lt;/strong&gt;......To be without dreams is to be without hope,to be without hope is to be without purpose.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Do not run through life&lt;/strong&gt;......So fast that you forget not only where you have been but also where you are going.Life is not a race but a journey to be savored each step of the way.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;So smile.... and let the sun shine through.&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;For there's someone,somewhere, watching over you.&lt;/strong&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8829492-109894186761162294?l=indianclown.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://indianclown.blogspot.com/feeds/109894186761162294/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8829492&amp;postID=109894186761162294' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8829492/posts/default/109894186761162294'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8829492/posts/default/109894186761162294'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://indianclown.blogspot.com/2004/10/self-worth.html' title='Self Worth'/><author><name>indian clown</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00227391757358474213</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='23' height='32' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_V9gkIVZD_rQ/SAXCWOoLqdI/AAAAAAAAACc/3ziEJx4JUJ4/S220/2008-03-18-1147-42.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8829492.post-109888091291622234</id><published>2004-10-27T18:00:00.000+05:30</published><updated>2004-10-28T14:44:41.026+05:30</updated><title type='text'>Decisions</title><content type='html'>&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;This one is quite interesting and really gives us an insight into DECISION MAKING.&lt;/strong&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;A group of children were playing near two railway tracks, one still in use and the other not in use and abandoned . &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;Only one child played on the unused track, the rest on the operational track. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;The train came, and you are just beside the track interchange. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;You can make the train change its course to the unused track and save most of the kids. However, that would also mean the lone child playing by the abandoned track would be killed. Will you let the train go on its way or switch its tracks?&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Let's take a pause to think what kind of decision we could make................ &lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Most of us might choose to divert the course of the train, and sacrifice only one child. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;You might think the same way, I guess.&lt;br /&gt;Exactly, I thought the same way initially because to save most of the children at the expense of only one child was rational decision most people would make, morally and emotionally. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;But, have you ever thought that the child choosing to play on the abandoned track had in fact made the right decision to play at a safe place?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;Nevertheless, he had to be sacrificed because of his ignorant friends who chose to play where the danger was. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;This kind of dilemma happens around us everyday. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;In the office, community, in politics and especially in a democratic society, the minority is often sacrificed for the interest of the majority, no matter how foolish or ignorant the majority are, and how farsighted and knowledgeable the minority are.&lt;br /&gt;The child who chose not to play with the rest on the operational track was sidelined. And in the case he was sacrificed, no one would shed a tear for him.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The friend who forwarded me the story said he would not try to change the course of the train because he believed that the kids playing on the operational track should have known very well that track was still in use, and that they should have run away if they heard the train's sirens. If the train was diverted, that lone child would definitely die because he never thought the train could come over to that track!&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Moreover, that track was not in use probably because it was not safe. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;If the train was diverted to the track, we could put the lives of all passengers on board at stake! &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;And in your attempt to save a few kids by sacrificing one child, you might end up sacrificing hundreds of people to save these few kids. While we are all aware that life is full of tough decisions that need to be made, we may not realize that hasty decisions may not always be the right one.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;"Remember that what's right isn't always popular... and what's popular isn't always right." &lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8829492-109888091291622234?l=indianclown.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://indianclown.blogspot.com/feeds/109888091291622234/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8829492&amp;postID=109888091291622234' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8829492/posts/default/109888091291622234'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8829492/posts/default/109888091291622234'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://indianclown.blogspot.com/2004/10/decisions.html' title='Decisions'/><author><name>indian clown</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00227391757358474213</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='23' height='32' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_V9gkIVZD_rQ/SAXCWOoLqdI/AAAAAAAAACc/3ziEJx4JUJ4/S220/2008-03-18-1147-42.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8829492.post-109885186407606050</id><published>2004-10-27T09:52:00.000+05:30</published><updated>2004-10-27T10:07:44.076+05:30</updated><title type='text'>Two Paths</title><content type='html'>everyday each one of us faces two paths in everything we do.....the easy and the difficult....&lt;br /&gt;the path we chose generally depends on the mood we are in and the urgency we are in...:-)&lt;br /&gt;here are a few situations looked at both ways....&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Easy is to get a place is someone's address book.&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Difficult is to get a place in someone's heart...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Easy is to judge the mistakes of others.&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Difficult is to recognize our own mistakes...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Easy is to talk without thinking.&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Difficult is to refrain the tongue...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Easy is to hurt someone who loves us.&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Difficult is to heal the wound...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Easy is to forgive others.&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Difficult is to ask for forgiveness...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Easy is to set rules.&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Difficult is to follow them...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Easy is to dream every night.&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Difficult is to fight for a dream...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Easy is to show victory.&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Difficult is to assume defeat with dignity...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Easy is to admire a full moon.&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Difficult to see the other side...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Easy is to stumble with a stone.&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Difficult is to get up...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Easy is to enjoy life every day.&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Difficult to give its real value...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Easy is to promise something to someone.&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Difficult is to fulfill that promise...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Easy is to say we love.&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Difficult is to show it every day...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Easy is to criticize others.&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Difficult is to improve oneself...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Easy is to make mistakes.&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Difficult is to learn from them...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Easy is to weep for a lost love.&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Difficult is to take care of it so not to lose it...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Easy is to think about improving.&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Difficult is to stop thinking it and put it into action...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Easy is to think bad of others.&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Difficult is to give them the benefit of the doubt...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Easy is to receive.&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Difficult is to give...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Easy to read this.&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Difficult to follow...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Easy is keep the friendship with words.&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Difficult is to keep it with meanings...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8829492-109885186407606050?l=indianclown.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://indianclown.blogspot.com/feeds/109885186407606050/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8829492&amp;postID=109885186407606050' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8829492/posts/default/109885186407606050'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8829492/posts/default/109885186407606050'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://indianclown.blogspot.com/2004/10/two-paths.html' title='Two Paths'/><author><name>indian clown</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00227391757358474213</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='23' height='32' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_V9gkIVZD_rQ/SAXCWOoLqdI/AAAAAAAAACc/3ziEJx4JUJ4/S220/2008-03-18-1147-42.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8829492.post-109878765206022604</id><published>2004-10-26T16:17:00.000+05:30</published><updated>2004-10-26T16:21:28.146+05:30</updated><title type='text'>The Three Magic Words</title><content type='html'>I asked a lot of people to tell me the first three words that come to mind to describe a relationship and almost all of them said the same thing..."I Love You"&lt;br /&gt;There is much more to relationships than that.....here are a few&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Three Words&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;1.Let me help&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Good friends see a need and then try to fill it. When they see a hurt they do what they can to heal it. Without being asked, they jump in and help out.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;2. I understand you.&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;People become closer and enjoy each other more when the other person accepts and understands them. Letting your spouse know - in so many little ways -that you understand them, is one of the most powerful tools for healing yourrelationship. And this can apply to any relationship.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;3. I respect you&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Respect is another way of showing love. Respect demonstrates that another person is a true equal. If you talk to your children as if they were adults you will strengthen the bonds and become closer friends. This applies to all interpersonal relationships.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;4. I miss you.&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Perhaps more marriages could be saved and strengthened if couples simply and sincerely said to each other "I miss you." This powerful affirmation tells partners they are wanted, needed, desired and loved. Consider how important you would feel, if you received an unexpected phone call from your spouse in the middle of your workday, just to say "I miss you."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;5. Maybe you're right.&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;This phrase is very effective in diffusing an argument. The implication when you say "maybe you're right" is the humility of admitting, "maybe I'm wrong". Let's face it. When you have an argument with someone, all you normally do is solidify the other person's point of view. They, or you, will not likely change their position and you run the risk of seriously damaging the relationship between you. Saying "maybe you're right" can open the door to explore the subject more. You may then have the opportunity to express your view in a way that is understandable to the other person.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;6. Please forgive me&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Many broken relationships could be restored and healed if people would admit their mistakes and ask for forgiveness. All of us are vulnerable to faults,follies and failures. A man should never be ashamed to own up that he has been in the wrong, which is saying, in other words, that he is wiser today than he was yesterday.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;7. I thank you.&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Gratitude is an exquisite form of courtesy. People who enjoy the companionship of good, close friends are those who don't take daily courtesies for granted. They are quick to thank their friends for their many expressions of kindness. On the other hand, people whose circle of friends is severely constricted often do not have the attitude of gratitude.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;8. Count on me&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;A friend is one who walks in when others walk out. Loyalty is an essential ingredient for true friendship. It is the emotional glue that bonds people.Those that are rich in their relationships tend to be steady and true friends. When troubles come, a good friend is there indicating "you can count on me."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;9. I'll be there&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;If you have ever had to call a friend in the middle of the night, to take a sick child to hospital, or when your car has broken down some miles from home, you will know how good it feels to hear the phrase "I'll be there."Being there for another person is the greatest gift we can give. When we are truly present for other people, important things happen to them and us. We are renewed in love and friendship. We are restored emotionally and spiritually. Being there is at the very core of civility.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;10. Go for it&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We are all unique individuals. Don't try to get your friends to conform to your ideals. Support them in pursuing their interests, no matter how farout they seem to you. God has given everyone dreams, dreams that are unique to that person only. Support and encourage your friends to follow their dreams. Tell them to "go for it."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;11. I love you&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Telling someone that you truly love them satisfies a person's deepest emotional needs. The need to belong, to feel appreciated and to be wanted. Your spouse, your children, your friends and you, all need to hear those three little words:"I love you."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8829492-109878765206022604?l=indianclown.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://indianclown.blogspot.com/feeds/109878765206022604/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8829492&amp;postID=109878765206022604' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8829492/posts/default/109878765206022604'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8829492/posts/default/109878765206022604'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://indianclown.blogspot.com/2004/10/three-magic-words.html' title='The Three Magic Words'/><author><name>indian clown</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00227391757358474213</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='23' height='32' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_V9gkIVZD_rQ/SAXCWOoLqdI/AAAAAAAAACc/3ziEJx4JUJ4/S220/2008-03-18-1147-42.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8829492.post-109877587374316333</id><published>2004-10-26T13:05:00.000+05:30</published><updated>2004-10-26T13:01:13.743+05:30</updated><title type='text'>Wisdom</title><content type='html'>&lt;strong&gt;Wisdom is a comb given to a man once he is bald.......&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Wisdom whispers - foolishness shouts...... &lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Wise men talk because they have something to say......Fools talk because they have to say something......&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;i do not talk less because i am wise.......for me the following saying is more apt...:-)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Its better to remain silent and be thought a fool rather than open my mouth and prove it.......&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;:-) :-)&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8829492-109877587374316333?l=indianclown.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://indianclown.blogspot.com/feeds/109877587374316333/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8829492&amp;postID=109877587374316333' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8829492/posts/default/109877587374316333'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8829492/posts/default/109877587374316333'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://indianclown.blogspot.com/2004/10/wisdom.html' title='Wisdom'/><author><name>indian clown</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00227391757358474213</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='23' height='32' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_V9gkIVZD_rQ/SAXCWOoLqdI/AAAAAAAAACc/3ziEJx4JUJ4/S220/2008-03-18-1147-42.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8829492.post-109869020963852293</id><published>2004-10-25T13:10:00.000+05:30</published><updated>2004-10-25T13:13:29.636+05:30</updated><title type='text'>Hugs</title><content type='html'>&lt;strong&gt;The Gift of a Hug...&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Hugging is the ideal gift. Great for any occasion, fun to give and receive, shows you care, comes with its own wrapping and, of course, fully returnable. Hugging is practically perfect. No batteries to wear out, inflation-proof, nonfattening, no monthly payments, theft-proof and nontaxable.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Hugs are Healthy...&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;Hugging is healthy. It helps the immune system, cures depression, reduces stress and induces sleep. It's invigorating, rejuvenating, and has no unpleasant side effects. Hugging is nothing less than a miracle drug. Hugging is all natural. It is organic, naturally sweet, no artificial ingredients, nonpolluting, environmentally friendly and 100 percent wholesome.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;The Magic of Hugging...&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Hugging is an underutilized resource with magical powers. When we open our hearts and arms, we encourage others to do the same. A good hug from someone you care about can make all the difference sometimes. It's perfect for sharing, you can give and receive. Hugging just makes you feel good!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8829492-109869020963852293?l=indianclown.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://indianclown.blogspot.com/feeds/109869020963852293/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8829492&amp;postID=109869020963852293' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8829492/posts/default/109869020963852293'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8829492/posts/default/109869020963852293'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://indianclown.blogspot.com/2004/10/hugs.html' title='Hugs'/><author><name>indian clown</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00227391757358474213</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='23' height='32' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_V9gkIVZD_rQ/SAXCWOoLqdI/AAAAAAAAACc/3ziEJx4JUJ4/S220/2008-03-18-1147-42.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8829492.post-109859267208321131</id><published>2004-10-24T22:40:00.000+05:30</published><updated>2004-10-24T10:07:52.083+05:30</updated><title type='text'>Life</title><content type='html'>here are some nice one liners on Life.. :-)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Life is like a box of chocolates; you never know when you'll find a nut like me...&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Life is a roller coaster.You can either scream every time you hit a bump or you can throw your hands up in the air, enjoy it and look ahead.....&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Life is not measured by the number of breaths we take, but by the moments that take our breath away...... &lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;the monsoons have hit Chennai......hopefully we will have a good one this year&lt;br /&gt;nothing as lovely as the first rains hitting the Indian soil....the thirsty earth drinking in its fill.... the earthy aroma,the greens starting to bloom.....&lt;br /&gt;hmmmmm&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8829492-109859267208321131?l=indianclown.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://indianclown.blogspot.com/feeds/109859267208321131/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8829492&amp;postID=109859267208321131' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8829492/posts/default/109859267208321131'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8829492/posts/default/109859267208321131'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://indianclown.blogspot.com/2004/10/life.html' title='Life'/><author><name>indian clown</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00227391757358474213</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='23' height='32' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_V9gkIVZD_rQ/SAXCWOoLqdI/AAAAAAAAACc/3ziEJx4JUJ4/S220/2008-03-18-1147-42.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8829492.post-109851379658013098</id><published>2004-10-24T00:42:00.000+05:30</published><updated>2004-10-23T12:13:16.580+05:30</updated><title type='text'>Smile</title><content type='html'>&lt;strong&gt;A smile is the lighting system of the face, the cooling system of the head and the heating system of the heart. &lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;its so true...:-)&lt;br /&gt;specially if it is the smile on the face of a loved one or even an unknown child....&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;A smile is the cheapest way to improve your looks, even if your teeth are crooked....&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8829492-109851379658013098?l=indianclown.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://indianclown.blogspot.com/feeds/109851379658013098/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8829492&amp;postID=109851379658013098' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8829492/posts/default/109851379658013098'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8829492/posts/default/109851379658013098'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://indianclown.blogspot.com/2004/10/smile.html' title='Smile'/><author><name>indian clown</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00227391757358474213</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='23' height='32' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_V9gkIVZD_rQ/SAXCWOoLqdI/AAAAAAAAACc/3ziEJx4JUJ4/S220/2008-03-18-1147-42.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8829492.post-109846676635473013</id><published>2004-10-23T11:40:00.000+05:30</published><updated>2004-10-22T23:12:58.126+05:30</updated><title type='text'>Friend</title><content type='html'>&lt;strong&gt;A friend is someone who dances with you in the sunlight and walks beside you in the shadows...&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;i think the most important part of friendship is being there......being there when your friend needs you...&lt;br /&gt;its very difficult in today's super speed world, but most tiffs and arguements in friendship are based on time management.....&lt;br /&gt;a friend who can manage his/her time so that none of the close friends are hurt has found the solution for half the problems in life... :-)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;A friend is someone who reaches for your hand and touches your heart.....&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8829492-109846676635473013?l=indianclown.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://indianclown.blogspot.com/feeds/109846676635473013/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8829492&amp;postID=109846676635473013' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8829492/posts/default/109846676635473013'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8829492/posts/default/109846676635473013'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://indianclown.blogspot.com/2004/10/friend.html' title='Friend'/><author><name>indian clown</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00227391757358474213</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='23' height='32' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_V9gkIVZD_rQ/SAXCWOoLqdI/AAAAAAAAACc/3ziEJx4JUJ4/S220/2008-03-18-1147-42.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8829492.post-109842369576695799</id><published>2004-10-22T23:42:00.000+05:30</published><updated>2004-10-22T11:11:35.766+05:30</updated><title type='text'>Friendship</title><content type='html'>A to Z of Friendship&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;A Friend....&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;(A)ccepts you as you are&lt;br /&gt;(B)elieves in you&lt;br /&gt;(C)alls you just to say HI&lt;br /&gt;(D)oesn't give up on you&lt;br /&gt;(E)njoys your company&lt;br /&gt;(F)orgives your mistakes&lt;br /&gt;(G)ives unconditionally&lt;br /&gt;(H)elps you&lt;br /&gt;(I)nvites you over for a meal&lt;br /&gt;(J)ust being with you makes them happy&lt;br /&gt;(K)eeps you close to thier heart&lt;br /&gt;(L)oves you for who you are&lt;br /&gt;(M)akes a difference in your life&lt;br /&gt;(N)ever Judges you&lt;br /&gt;(O)ffers support&lt;br /&gt;(P)icks you up when you fall&lt;br /&gt;(Q)uiets your fears&lt;br /&gt;(R)aises your spirits&lt;br /&gt;(S)ays nice things about you&lt;br /&gt;(T)ells you the truth when you need to hear it&lt;br /&gt;(U)nderstands you&lt;br /&gt;(V)alues you&lt;br /&gt;(W)alks beside you&lt;br /&gt;(X)-plains things you don't understand&lt;br /&gt;(Y)ells when you won't listen and&lt;br /&gt;(Z)aps you back to reality&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8829492-109842369576695799?l=indianclown.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://indianclown.blogspot.com/feeds/109842369576695799/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8829492&amp;postID=109842369576695799' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8829492/posts/default/109842369576695799'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8829492/posts/default/109842369576695799'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://indianclown.blogspot.com/2004/10/friendship.html' title='Friendship'/><author><name>indian clown</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00227391757358474213</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='23' height='32' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_V9gkIVZD_rQ/SAXCWOoLqdI/AAAAAAAAACc/3ziEJx4JUJ4/S220/2008-03-18-1147-42.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8829492.post-109842326864781187</id><published>2004-10-22T23:35:00.000+05:30</published><updated>2004-10-22T23:26:29.283+05:30</updated><title type='text'>Day 1</title><content type='html'>started blogging on a nice,bright sunny morning......&lt;br /&gt;its the puja season in India and everyone is in a holiday mood......&lt;br /&gt;this page will hopefully brighten up your day as you read.......&lt;br /&gt;its going to have simple messages on life..... and will try and update everyday&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;none of it original....:-)&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;as and when i come across something interesting, i will post it here......it can be a poem, an sms message, just a joke someone said, something interesting on the net....anything i feel like sharing.. &lt;br /&gt;enjoy...:-) :-) :-)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8829492-109842326864781187?l=indianclown.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://indianclown.blogspot.com/feeds/109842326864781187/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8829492&amp;postID=109842326864781187' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8829492/posts/default/109842326864781187'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8829492/posts/default/109842326864781187'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://indianclown.blogspot.com/2004/10/day-1.html' title='Day 1'/><author><name>indian clown</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00227391757358474213</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='23' height='32' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_V9gkIVZD_rQ/SAXCWOoLqdI/AAAAAAAAACc/3ziEJx4JUJ4/S220/2008-03-18-1147-42.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry></feed>
