30 July, 2009


As one may have noticed that the blog frequency has been going down this month. Well, this is partly my fault and partly ( a major part ) the college’s fault. It’s been over a week that I have gone through the day with a total of 4 hour of sleep, which has been staggered through the day. And as always, all this insomnia is thanks to a whole bunch of presentations which personally are getting plain boring to do. Like they say, too much of a good thing isn’t good.

All this lack of sleep had to pay dividends (aha…he is studying finance) somewhere down the line and it did…this morning in class. I must have had the best 20 minute nap ever. With full marks to the prof, who is one of the best in the world, I still slept. Sorry Prof! I was just plain tired. The last time I slept so well in class was way back in the third semester of Engineering. This is where I learnt the ancient Ninja Dark Art of sleeping while writing. Yup! You got it….I learnt to sleep quite fit-fully and yet manage to have enough drivel on my paper to convince the lecturer that I was physically and mentally absent….sorry….I mean present. But in this case, not only was the subject a royal pain, the lecturer was like nice smooth spoon of benydryl cough syrup.

Apparently, when such talent is ingrained in your blood, 6 years down the line, you are still good at it. The prof started explaining something on pricing and before I knew it, I was staring at my notebook, started drifting in and out of sleep and finally dozed off. It must have been a good twenty minutes before I woke up. And I have no clue where the entire lecture on ‘pricing’ went. But to my surprise, my dark art from engineering had me scribble a lot of words onto my note book. Random in nature though, words like ‘ fixed costs’ ‘ target’ ‘marketing mix’ ‘cost plus mark up’ and tons of other stuff which some how entered my head and translated itself into actual words on the paper. Looks like I still got the talent. However, since I had not actually listened to a single word in class, looks like I have to spend one night translating this code into actual substance.

That is probably going to snowball into me sleeping in some other class. Well, at least I’ll have notes. Kind of like in ‘The Hangover’…you have proof that you were there and that you did it, but have no memory of it whatsoever.

On a completely unrelated note, Schumi is coming out of retirement....GO FERRARI !!!!

28 July, 2009

Say what you need to say

A few things I’ve had on my mind:

1) This is the face I have got. I did not have much say in the matter. While distributing awesomeness, this is what the good lord believed I deserve. My parents are not super-models. Quite the contrary in fact. Being in this bloodline comes with an over-dose of ‘plump’ and ‘short’. So for heavens sake, stop making fun of the way I look. If you have an issue with it, take it up with the big guy in the sky. He must have given my face to Brad Pitt. This is the best my parents could do with available genes. While this mug isn’t making it to the cover of GQ magazine or anything of the sort, it is still fairly pleasant.

2) Yes. I am fat. I know it. So please, stop being Captain Obvious and pointing it out to me. All us, heavier people know we are fat. None of us are fooled into thinking we are fit to be either Gladrags models or in the Pirelli calendar. Some of us just have really messed up hormones, so not our fault. There are some like yours truly who are fat plainly because we enjoy food. But, even when I was at my lowest recorded weight and waist size, I was still larger than most people. So, for heavens sake, please stop pointing out the fact that we are fat and that we should eat less and exercise more. Thanks but no thanks. You stupid thin people can go burn in hell, at least we ‘fat’ people would roast evenly. So stop telling me how much I ought to eat, or what I ought not to eat. When I start paying you to be my dietician, then you can give me advice.

3) There is nothing wrong with being a guy and owning ‘hair-loss’ therapy oil. Yes, I am unfortunately aging and my long locks seem to abandoning me. I guess it is a trade off for wisdom in old age. What remains is starting to grey, and not in the sense that it would make me look like George Clooney. I am doing what it takes to hang on to what remains of my gorgeous hair. So thanks for the optimism when telling me that the therapy won’t work. Am sure you went out and bought a bottle yourself and are using it in a terribly clandestine fashion. So, please. Spare me the whole ‘I will have awesome hair forever’ charade.

4) I do suffer from OCD and I do enjoy living in a clean and organized room. There is nothing gay about it. Beats living in a darn pig-sty. There is something pleasing about walking into a well-organized room that is clean, bed made up, clothes put away and everything in place. And there is no such thing as – only girls must have clean rooms. Please excuse the fact that I have evolved from my natural barbarian caveman tendencies, but I just can’t live in a dirty room. Besides, I am sure if my mom took a look, she’d find a hundred things that were dirty about my room, and would probably weep all night if she saw your room. (PS: My mom does not have OCD but believes in living in a tidy world….my house always smells nice). Kindly refer to point 2 before calling me a faggot...I can sit on your head and make your cranium implode.

26 July, 2009


You know you’re either terribly sleep deprived or terribly bored with life when you spend a good 5 minutes at 4 AM staring at the bulldozer in the construction yard and hoping that it becomes an Autobot. Yup, you heard me right. It was around 4 AM in the morning, yours truly had just spent the last 2 hours reading up on how people making babies affects the economy (and will now consider the economic implications when bringing a child into the world….already, thanks to finance management, I have been able to predict that I cannot afford to pay for the kids education). Another sign that you need sleep – It’s almost 5 AM and I am contemplating the financial future of children I don’t have. Sheesh!!!

Anyway, the previous evening was spent so dejected with status quo that I watched Transformers 2: Revenge of the Fallen. Being a major transformers fan from way back in the early 90’s, kind of funny when you call it that, I owned a ton of transformer toys. I still remember the purple Porsche that converted into a robot. As always, I left it lying around the house. Dad thought the parts were broken and quite happily glued them all with super-glue, leaving a nice chubby boy fairly miffed and spending most of the afternoon alternating between sobs and ‘how can you do this to meeeeeeeeeee? Don’t you love me anymore????????’

You would have noticed from the fact that I seem to be shooting off into more tangents than a geometry problem, that I am fairly woozy right now. Coming back to the point, again, I spent the evening watching Transformers 2. After a quick nap for a couple of hours after midnight, I resumed my Economics paper which quite frankly, is going no where. As you may have read previously, parts of the new campus at college are still under construction. The site for a new hostel block happens to be just behind where I stay. At around 4 AM, I groggily walk to the washroom to just wash my face, so that I can go a few more hours without crashing (quite literally). And there it was, in the dead of the night, the bulldozer digging away, clearing earth for the foundation.

Combine sleep deprivation, lack of life and a terribly ‘motivating’ economics assignment and you get delirious me…more delirious than usual. I stood in the verandah space for a good 5 minutes staring at the bulldozer going about its business and wondered in my little cranium as to how fast it could turn into an autobot. I kid you not… for a brief moment in time, I saw it actually transform a little bit and then go back to its original state as it was getting paid by the hour…. Normally, someone in my state would have delusions of maybe Megan Fox walking up to them and making out…but nooooooo! Yours truly sees autobots !!!! Watte geek !!!!

20 July, 2009


Context: Talking about people who've wasted their careers.

" My friend, she was so wasted...."

Me" Wasted eh? Cool....We may get along....Her number please?"

I have been deemed a horrible sick human being for this joke. Go figure.....

19 July, 2009

The ‘Make Out’ Chronicle

I notice this very peculiar thing about most Indians – It is the tendency to leave English sentences incomplete, generally leaving users, especially the ones with twisted minds like mine, either fairly amused or confused. And through all this stands the use of the word ‘make out’.

To most of the world, the word ‘make out’ is generally used when two people either in a loving relationship (or terribly high on tequila) get together, snog and play a game of baseball. ( For those who don’t get the baseball joke…I am referring to first base, second base….so on and so forth). However, the phrase is used very inappropriately by most people. Many of us tend to use the term to signify if we want to know if someone can comprehend ones hand-writing, or if they can comprehend the answer. Normally, the sentence would be, “ Can you make-out what is written on the board?” or “can you make-out what he is trying to say?” We, however, tend to forget the context and plainly say, “Can you make out?” My response, (in my head obviously) “ Yeah, want me to prove it?” by my real response, “ Sigh! Yes! I can make out !” Well, I apologize for the twisted subliminal connotation of the word, but then it is quite hilarious.

This inappropriate use gave me my best (and only) pick-up line which nearly got me punched in the teeth. I remember sometime last term, the prof completed explaining some concept, I am not too sure which class it was, I was generally phased out; anyway, he completed teaching and says, “ Now you all can make out !” I slyly turn to the girl next to me and say, “Shall we?”. Bless my stars, she didn’t hear what I said properly, or else she would have thought I actually meant it and was not being the normal jacka** I normally am and well….let’s say I would have quite a few teeth missing. And this was sometime during the first week of classes. I didn’t even know her name. Who knows, knowing my luck, she would turn out to be a black belt judo champion who was a former Ninja body-guard, but had to give up her post as the recession took its toll.

Even now, I have people walking up to me, women with husbands, grown men with wives, and enquiring if I can make out? Sure I can. Not only am I an expert at it (cough cough cough cough cough….puke!!!) I can also see and understand what is written on the blackboard. 2 for the price of one. Killer Deal !!!

On a mildly related note, when the new library block opened up, a few of us went to check it out and the only response from one of the guys was, “Dude !!!! The first floor has so many awesome places to make out with dames yaar!!!” I sincerely hope he was not talking about ‘understanding hand-writing’.

In case you were wondering what I was doing in a library, I went to check out all the books. Its true…You’ve got to believe me. I am a changed man.

Feedback is a b*tch

There is something about feedback and the human psyche that puzzles me. Consider a motley bunch of people, pretty much the same age and same educational qualification, but very different upbringing. And if one does an appropriate analysis, each person would respond differently to the kind of feedback they get. When I talk about the kind of feedback, I am not referring to the good or bad aspect, but rather to the honesty of the feedback.

I’d like to talk about myself ( like I have been doing all these years) when it comes to feedback. I am no expert, but when asked for feedback, I believe the best way to give it is to be open and honest, lay the cards on the table and call a spade a spade. This may be a habit I’ve developed from the sort of background and upbringing I’ve had, where openness was the order of the day. If I am no good, I would be told so. Hence, even if I do a good job, and someone compliments me, I don’t take them seriously. Unfortunately, this trickles over into the way I give feedback.

All though some people say I am quite the wizard when it comes to words, there is something about feedback that prevents me from sugar-coating and mincing stuff. Now, don’t go about thinking I’m the prissy moron who will only talk about the faults or shortcomings, for I am no expert myself, but then that part of the feedback will be as it is. In my mind, it is disrespectful if you can’t be honest with a person when they ask you about feedback. I don’t think I have come across any Narcissists who want feedback and want only the good stuff. That isn’t voluntary feedback. If you were good, people will automatically come up to you and tell you that you were good. It is that simple.

Why this comes out of the blue is, one of the classmates had overheard me giving feedback to another friend and thought I was very blunt and rude and has warned me that one day I am going to get beaten up for giving feedback the way I did. Obviously, they don’t know me too well. I do the beating up when required. ( Don’t worry….belligerence has been left back in class 8) Anyway, I have been told to sugar-coat feedback and drive home the point. If it is driving home the point that is the objective, why not call a spade a spade. Nothing drives home the point better than the truth. I know, the truth is a total bitch and it sucks hearing it. But then, it is far better than sugar coating it and presenting it. I’d rather go, “ Dude, I felt you didn’t do this well enough. You need to work on it this way”. Rather than say stuff like” Dude! Good job, very well done, definite scope for improvement.” A major problem with this approach is that, there are people who don’t understand sarcasm or the subliminal meaning when you sugar-coat stuff, and that is doing them a great disservice as they may misinterpret your feedback thinking they were good. Just for the record, I got yelled at once in an open feedback session by a poor disgruntled ex-general manager. Needless to say, I keep sufficient distance, lest he use the Joker’s technique and make ‘a pencil disappear’.

Come to think of it, would you rather be told here at b-school that you’re not up to the mark, or would you go out there into the big bad world, all gung-ho armed with false impressions about yourself and lose out on a sales pitch of your company? I’d rather take the harder more painful route of the truth.

18 July, 2009

And there remained Frodo and Sam

The fellowship is broken up. Every hero has gone their own way on their own quest. And the quests see the heroes go to foreign lands far away. And leaving Frodo and Sam here to fend for themselves.

Last night I bid adieu to the gang. Yes, the infamous gang you have read about in the blogs. No matter how many new friends you make along the way, the guys you grow up with will always have an irreplaceable place in your heart and an importance that no other can take. We’ve all grown up together. We’ve been through each others joys and triumphs, shared each others pain and sorrow. And when you’ve been through all that we’ve been through, there just ain’t anyway someone else can replace that void.

I know that the internet is there and that puts us virtually in the same room, but then what about when it comes to real life. When I get back to Bangalore, TGIF and Purple Haze just ain’t going to be the same. Who am I going to yell at for being perpetually late for everything? Who am I going to depend on for sound advice on the essentials? Who am I going to depend on for picking up my tab when I’m broke? They’ve all gone, and I know its all for the best. But it sucks to be the only two really left back. Alright, we have one more left, but then she’s married and I don’t think she’d want to go headbanging at Haze or drinking in TGIF. I know, you must think that all these really fond memories seem alcohol related…..but the truth remains, there are only few people in the world you can get drunk with. And today I bid farewell to my comrades in arms. And it sucks. It’ll just be the two of us, and that ain’t fun at all. You need the entire team to be present to have great times.

I know, technically, I left before all of them. But then I’m just a few hours away. They’re all just like all over the fricking globe…and the globe is so big. And chances are that they won’t return for sometime. Empirical proof. We all had grand plans of living the world together…all of us. Only the future knows how much of it will happen. Tonight, I drink to their health and safety.

Cheers you dogs! Better get your butts back here! Frodo and Sam ultimately need the entire fellowship. Cheers guys ! Carpe Diem !!!! I can't right much....this is way to emotional for me.


17 July, 2009

The Real Hero

We’re all done watching the sixth installment of the Harry Potter series and as always, the movies are a major disappointment when compared to the books. Even as movies, they aren’t special as such. Well, the guys did enjoy the fact that Emma Watson is finally 18 and is looking quite nice. At the dinner table, two girls and I were discussing about how movies never live up to the books they are made from and yours truly says that the one movie that stayed almost quite true to the book was ‘The Lord of the Rings’ ( I bow and worship Peter Jackson)

Enter ‘Blasphemy’…stage right! One of the girls has not seen a single installment of the great trilogy and the other saw the first one and thought it was a total bore. Why? Well, it was quite simple. The hero ( aka Frodo Baggins) was not cute at all! And she called him Frido.

Anyone picturing all the alarm bells going crazy in my head. Must control urge to tie girl to chair and force to watch LOTR for a full 9 hours.

First and foremost, she calls him by the wrong name and to top it all, she deems the great trilogy a bore simply because the hero was this short guy who wasn’t cute at all. I some how needed to point out that in the real world, heroes are not cute guys. It is guys like Frodo Baggins who are shorter than everyone else, running around bare feet who are true heroes. Heroes are short, almost balding, quite chubby yet trying to lose weight, oddly dressed people….hey wait; that was just describing me. In the real world, and in Middle Earth, heroes were not your typical Shah Rukh Kahn. Pretty boys like that would be too scared to get their hair messed up that they’d rather let the world go to the dogs than bother walking up Mount Doom to save it. Even the eye-candy ‘Legolas’ didn’t get his hands as dirty as poor old Frodo.

Think about James Bond. In the real world, a spy so obvious and so marketable would be shot in an instant by the KGB or Mossad or some equally potent group. Spies in the real world are not Daniel Craigs or Brad Pitts but terribly unassuming unnoticeable people like me. The world’s greatest spies would be a motley collection of not so good looking, pot-bellied, balding, uncouth men and women and not the typical pretty boy.

Sheesh!!!! It’s bad enough you didn’t watch the movie, its worse that you insult it by saying that it is boring because the hero isn’t cute. Lord! What has becometh of the world? Heroes need to hit beauty salons and look good while saving the world in their Armani suits. Whatever happened to Quasimodo saving Esmeralda???? Isn’t that worth anything these days? What about Shrek ? Am sure we all loved the short-tempered, ill-mannered green giant. True heroes in the world are your Frodo’s and Shrek’s.

P.S: For fear of any threats against my life, I must point out that this incident is limited to only lack of knowledge of the awesomeness that is 'The Lord of the Rings' and not to general conversation I have with the two girls.

P.P.S: I have been threatened against my will to append this statement. Whatever happened to Journalstic freedom of expression?

15 July, 2009

Love is expensive….No wonder I can’t afford it.

Yes. You heard me loud and clear. I have finally discovered the reason why I’m still single, and to all my friends (and Oprah) who say that relationships are built on trust, love is blind and all that jazz, here is empirical proof that it is expensive, and thanks to the recession, my contribution to life-insurance and my paltry salary, I honestly can’t afford love. So here is additional motivation to make a lot of money. Check this link out.

P.S: Eligible bachelorettes, please note, this hunk is still up for grabs.

P.P.S: Will update more material later, been a little busy with the course here coupled with a hint of 'unwellness'.

11 July, 2009

No travel…sniff sniff !!!

Excuse me while I wallow in self-pity for the next few minutes. I am distraught….worse than what I normally am. No, I mean it. This time it is serious. It isn’t one of those, ‘ My football team lost hence I want to die’ moments. This is a moment of true angst, pain and suffering.

Our college is organizing an international study tour for an entire week to Singapore and Malaysia, some time September. And if you have not guessed by the preceding sentence, I am not going!!! Sniff sniff. Well, the reasons are two fold. First and foremost, my passport expired this July and I have not got the chance to renew the darn thing. The next problem which is the major pain is that I have absolutely no money. I am as clean as a whistle. The entire trip is expected to cost anything between 40 to a 50 grand and yours truly is near broke and is waiting for the provident fund to kick in. (He is yet to even apply for it) . This is probably the one place I really get mad at my old organization. While they gave me awesome work and stuff, why couldn’t they complete the package by paying me more?

There are folks here at my college who have been blessed enough to get timely financial breaks and have been able to fund the entire course on cash. Unlike yours truly who has been running around to get an education loan, which was finally approved last month. Cheers to me! Now, one might argue that I should have saved a lot and then gone on the trip. But then, my salary was so low, that even when I didn’t spend a penny during the great ‘CAT depression’, I still managed only a couple of grand savings. Truth remains that a major chunk has gone into Life insurance savings. Money for the generation that would follow. And believe me; they ain’t getting a cent….not even over my dead body. I intend to milk that life insurance account and go traveling with the to-be missus, who ever she is and not give a cent to the bloodline. Why must they reap the benefits while I sit here in college and suffer?

I am burning with jealousy right now. And am hoping that I win the lottery or something. It has been ages since my feet have seen foreign shores and looks like they might have to wait a little longer. Am hoping it isn’t too long though, or else I’m going to go really nuts. By the way, request everyone to start pooling in funds so that I may be able to go abroad for a week. I know everyone is going to have an awesome time there, while I’d probably be sitting at home in Bangalore sulking away to glory. And almost all the gang would be leaving for further studies to foreign lands, so not only can I not sulk over a nice long Island Ice Tea….I have to sit at home and sulk over a mug of hot chocolate. Score !!!! My life keeps getting better.

Pallin for President

Am I the only one who thinks that if Sarah Pallin becomes president, it is tantamount to giving Nuclear Arms to King Julian ( Of Madagascar fame). She’ll probably look at it and go, “What eeeez it?”. Or she could be a lot like Didi from Dexter series prancing around the nuclear bunker singing, “ ooooh ooooh oooooh….what does this button do?”.

I am back to being petrified after watching ‘The Obama Deception’ documentary, I’m even more scared if Pallin follows. I honestly do not believe that she still has great faith in the people of America. I am sure even her own Republican team-mates are perplexed by her sudden decision to quit the governor’s post. But then again, since when has anything that Sarah Pallin has done made any sense. Am sure even she is as clueless as the rest of us. But full marks for optimism. Cent Percent. Maybe I can learn a thing or two about optimism in the face of utter incompetence from her. Must apply learnings to help pick up chicks….alas….even Pallin’s optimism can’t help change reality.

I am trying to figure out what Pallin was thinking when she decided to give it all up and start her campaign for President a little too early. I still don’t think she’s getting anything. I vote for MJ’s chimpanzee Bubbles to represent the Republican Party. Chances are he might win owing to all the sentiment from MJ’s funeral that would linger on for quite a while. What would be absolute killer is if the Republican party put Pallin up for president and her running mate would be none other than the great governor of California – Arnold Schwarzenegger. That would be an absolute laugh riot of a campaign which I am sure to follow every step of the way. End of the world – here we come.

09 July, 2009

Idiots on a train

I noticed this peculiar phenomenon the last few times when I’ve traveled by train back home. For some completely unexplainable reason, the guy who can’t read his ticket properly always ends up being a total unapologetic obnoxious jackass. And this isn’t gender specific, even women who misinterpret their tickets are also absolute morons. Such people are always very adamant and will even resort to foul language to prove they are right. This happened on 3 separate occasions, one of it to me. Like this time around, I got on the train, dumped my luggage below the berth assingned to me and headed out of the compartment to enjoy the absolutely gorgeous weather of Bangalore.

I had got the upper berth on the train. When I got back on after bidding adieu to the parental unit, I return to my seat to find this weirdo with tons of gold chains around his neck, well oiled hair (excessively well oiled) and a shirt worthy of the best film hero in all of south India, sitting at my seat profusely sweating. I decided not to get bugged by this and occupied the adjacent seat. I plug in the ipod and look up to find that my top berth has 3 huge suitcases on it. Wait…don’t beat me to the end of the story. As you may have guessed, the ‘superstar’ had put all his bags there. Alright, enough of me being Mr.Tolerable. I asked for his ticket.

Well, our hero obviously thought it was unnecessary to share anything with an urchin like myself and he merely grunted, “seat 56”. That was my seat. Alright, I’m slowly turning green, muscles ripping through my clothes….oh wait….sorry ….wrong story. ( I am getting very easily distracted these days….attention span of a 6 year old) I told him it was my seat and even showed him my ticket, to which genius replies, “ I put my luggage there, it is my seat!” And then it became all clear, this is exactly how Edmund felt on the top of Mt.Everest…..planted the flag and yelled, “My Mountain…I put the flag here!”. I am quite irked and told him that it was impossible and perhaps he’s in the wrong coach and that I had a confirmed ticket from 3 weeks ago, and that just because he dumped his luggage there, did not make it ‘his’ seat. Hero replies, in a terrible regional English, “ Aye…. Don’t talking man…. We wait for checker…he confirming that is my seat…okayvaa?” One part of my brain urges me to open a can of whoop-ass on this jackass, but the other part of my brain just finds this joker absolutely amusing.

So we wait for the checker (ticket-checker….just in case you were expecting a board game piece to show up) and check the tickets. Needless to say, yours truly was correct (as always) the seat was mine. Not only was the genius in the wrong coach, his seat was on RAC and was not even a confirmed berth. So much for “my luggage….by seat”. Well, I have learnt the best response in such a situation is to merely smile. Smiling over the spoils of war over the vanquished is perhaps far more effective than being juvenile and pointing and laughing. I was grinning from ear to ear. Superstar here was busy lugging his suitcases to the next coach. And since the train had already rolled out the station, chances are that he isn’t going to find a vacant seat to dump his luggage and yell, ‘ My seat….finders keepers, losers weepers!’

05 July, 2009

Eaten yet?

I’m over 2 months into the drudgery of MBA and I can say it has been fun. But the most fun part about the whole experience was getting to meet new people. And integral part of meeting people is their opinion about you. As you might have read from previous blogs, one of the craziest opinions was when one of the girls though I was 31 years old for some absolutely illogical reasons. Since day one, I’ve been through a ton of character analysis and have discovered all of them are no where close to the real me. (Will the real slim shady please stand up?)

Here are a couple of examples people have thought me out to be which I am absolutely not. The first thing was that most of the guys who are from Tamil Nadu assumed I wasn’t a Tamilian for two simple reasons, one - I’m hardly ever seen speaking Tamil and two – For a south Indian, my hindi is quite good…at least the pronunciation. Well, we all know I am a Tam….but apparently I don’t fit the stereo-type…if there is such a thing. There was another bunch that thought I was a Bengali. Now, there might be an element of truth in that argument….I was born in the ‘city of dreams’. But then, I am not part of the ‘Sourav Ganguly must come out of retirement’ fan club. (Lol…just kidding). One girl even came up to me and said that she read my blog and thought I was mental. I believe that is the most accurate description till date.

There is this other friend, for some completely unexplainable reason, anytime he bumps into me, irrespective of the time ask me if I’ve eaten? I am not kidding…even if it is at 2 AM….first question…’have you eaten?’. There are a hundred questions you can ask me…dude, why so glum? Dude, done your pre-reads? Dude, why still single?...but no….Have you eaten yet? While I am happy that he is concerned about my health and ensures that I don’t miss the care otherwise extended to me by mom with regard to whether I’ve eaten or not, but come on….Have you eaten yet? All the time.

I know I am fat. I do. I get the message. Alright. Fat isn’t the ‘politically correct’ word. I know that I am ‘horizontally challenge’. But then, I know it. I am well aware of the grotesque figure that I lug around, but we all can’t be representations of the statue of David. So, for heavens sake…stop asking me if I’ve eaten yet.

02 July, 2009

Getting back up...

Please watch this video of Nick Vujicic.

Really inspiring stuff! I strongly believe there is a lot one can take-back from this, and if you aren't shedding a tear at the end....I think, you've not seen how sucky life can really get !!!