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Thoughts: Love Means Always Having To Say You Are Sorry

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Thoughts Love Means Always Having To Say You Are Sorry

“What can you say about a twenty-five year-old girl who died?

That she was beautiful. And brilliant. That she loved Mozart and Bach. And the Beatles. And me.”

I don’t have the slightest idea as to why I am writing on this topic, given that I have as many as ten incomplete blog posts on far more interesting topics, waiting to be completed and posted. Also what shocks me is the fact that I am not even a big fan of Love Story by Erich Segal (from where the above lines have been taken) or love stories in general. Still, these lines seem to have a great deal of effect on me. They are simplistic; yet so non-naive.  It’s hard to decide whether I like these lines more or do not like the whole book more. But I think I shall settle with the former. I am totally in awe with the lines. I felt that it was the perfect opening lines for the (not-so-perfect) book.

A short take on the book (read: on love stories) – The book’s short note on the back cover reads, “Love means never having to say you’re sorry…” Ah, the usual idealistic stuff. One of my friends (Rudrath Kaul 🙂 ) retorted with “Love means always having to say you’re sorry…” I must say, he is quite practical. I guess, true love is the perfect oxymoron. No, am not prejudiced, and neither do I have some bitter experience in love that makes me think so. It’s just that the over-hype that usually follows love everywhere, in every corner of the world, makes me hysterical. Frenzied, to put in colloquial terms. And love stories have only added to the over-the-top expectations from relationships. Why can’t something so pure and pristine (I like it to associate love with the Divine) be just left to be felt and experienced by themselves by the individuals. Why is there any need to read love stories and just further complicate the already obscure and incomprehensible relations?

Only God knows. Or the readers. Or the writers perhaps. Atleast I hope they do. I wouldn’t deny the fact that I was one of those who were caught in the false shine that this genre of books carries with themselves. Having already hated (or disliked; hate is too strong a word to use) the Twilight movies, I still bought the so-called classic love story. Alas, having had my share of reading it, in a way I know better now; to stay away from these kind of novels-just unrealistic, superficial and impractical in their approach. The real world where we live is a mean place to eat, pray and live love. Atleast that is what I think or rather, feel. Maybe I am being raw. I do not know. I do not speak or think ill of love. Just the extraneous importance that it carries, making people neglect their work is what I disapprove of. Love should let it follow its own course; take its own time; shape in its own way. As the saying goes, while we are here, we can love along the way. Not the other way round.

Short Story About A Sixteen Year Old Girl: Deafening Silence

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Short Story About A Sixteen Year Old Girl Deafening Silence

A sixteen year old girl sits besides the window of her room, staring at the raindrops falling upon the sill; her long flowing brown hair covering her blue shiny eyes clouded by thick drops of endless tears. Her pretty pink lips, totally in contrast with the pale face that has lost its usual rosiness, are crying out the word “Please..”  into her mobile phone. The voice at the other end felt to be rather cruel, or so she felt at that instant, almost unaffected by the glaring pain that this girl’s heart was so full of. The boy hung up. With trembling hands, she put down the phone, still not being able to take what the caller had just said. His words had been too much for her to bear, for she loved the boy selflessly. And to part with him was to lose a part of her own self.

She was all alone. Not that she didn’t have any friends- her contact list was three hundred and fifty nine contacts strong- just that she couldn’t muster the courage to speak, so in shock she was.

Her heart was pounding, her hands were sweaty, and her face wet. She looked around the room, and she saw his bright picture on the open laptop in the otherwise dark ambience, smiling at her. It was taken at a time when all had been well. At a time when she felt she was complete. When she was loved. When the guy’s heart had none other’s but her name emblazoned on it. When the world seemed a better place to live. When the fragrance of the flowers outside her window filled her mind with blissful joy. When the rain was just another occasion to rejoice.  Not anymore.

All had been lost. All at once. Her heart pleaded. And screamed. She collected all her courage and questioned him, asked him why she had been subjected to this unfairness. All she got back was silence. A silence that cut through her very ribs.  The pain that made her numb for a split second; that second when everything inside her became calm and quiet. A moment of utter clarity. A second of self judgment. She had been wronged. She did not deserve that. She had been a faithful lover. An obedient daughter. A loving friend. A caring sibling. A hard working student. She had been too good all through to deserve it. She wanted an answer. She needed an answer. All she received was silence. And a barely audible note of apology.

Love is time, love is understanding, love is connection. She was told. Now he had this comfort with some other friend, this deepness he shared with some other girl. Love is about evolving. And letting go. Love is making the other person smile. She understood love. She appreciated love. She decided to let go. It was the pain that she couldn’t part with. It was the hollowness, the emptiness that had crawled inside her that refused to go even after years. She believed that you can love once, and she had had her share. She treasured and cherished the loving moments they had shared, the sweet words they had spoken, the occasional glances at school that they had exchanged. She held them close to her heart.

People survive. So will she. You never can let go off the pain. Only one day you learn to carry that pain along effortlessly.

Short Story About Friendship With A Girl: Sunshine’s Her Name

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Short Story About Friendship With A Girl Sunshine’s Her Name

It was the Year of Buttercups for Kiah and I. Walking the playground on the cool Autumn morning at school, our hands intertwined, Kiah was telling me the story of Buttercups in The Princess Bride, about her trepidations and her trials in love. Kiah was excited and as she would read more, she’ll come and narrate it to me… and we would be lost in the world of Buttercups, feeling her pain, living her love-sickness, hoping and wishing that she finds her love in the end. There would be a catch in Kiah’s voice as she told me about Westley whom Buttercups loved, and how he would always respond to Buttercups with an ‘As-You-Wish’!

It had been a full year since Kiah joined my school in fifth grade. Ours was a girl’s convent of the catholic order. Kiah had just returned from Ireland, where her parents had worked for some time. She was fair as snow, had big dark eyes and straight black hair. She was bright and intelligent, honest and fair and she never spent her time deriding other people! I took to her instantly. I mean I would feel special n all if she’d drop by and say hello… my day would be all made! It was a beautiful delicate feeling of commonality and bonding, of friendship, of cherishing special moments together!

I wanted to sit with her, talk to her, go to her home, invite her over, study with her, play chains with her, read novels together, act in plays together… in short pretty much, I wanted to share my life with her… wanted her to become my best friend! In the endless essays we had to write in school, I always wrote on ‘My Best Friend’ and I always wrote on Kiah! Just the feeling of being together was so special for me… to have lunch together under that Peepal tree… to hold hands and walk together to the school water tank after lunch every day to wash hands… or to sit on the same bench in class… or to wait for her birthday and present her with a handmade card or to wait the whole year round to gift her sweetmeats on my birthday! Her friendship gave me confidence and security, her love was simple and unconditional… The purpose of life became to lend a smile to each other’s face just by being together!

We would talk endlessly about the things we read. Reading was a shared passion… it connected us. And therefore, that Autumn, Buttercups managed to turn our world upside down! She provided the potion which sparked off our imagination… A thing called Love was being unfolded to us, in its full grandeur… with all its beauty and pitfalls… and like any growing up girl, not even registering the perils, we saw only the glory and the wonder of love! We marveled at the feelings it ignited, getting revealed to us through the medium of literature, as we gradually moved from childhood to teenage.

We graduated to the next year in school.

“The wind was a torrent of darkness upon the gusty trees,
The moon was a ghostly galleon tossed upon cloudy seas,
The road was a ribbon of moonlight looping the purple moor,
And the highwayman came riding—
Riding–riding–
The highwayman came riding, up to the old inn door.”

We were sitting in the English class on a cool April morning. Today, our lovely English teacher was going to teach Alfred Noyes’s poem – the Highwayman! Kiah and I had read that poem millions of times by now, and each time had been a teary event! We were disturbed by the poem. Distracted by love, we were devastated to see the tragic ending… and we were not the only ones; there were quite a few girls in the class who’d be devastated as the session progressed! We wondered and shared the pathos of Bess’s tragedy, reliving her trauma, feeling the palpable loss of her lover almost like a physical stab…

Kiah and I identified with Bess, her life obviously became ours in no time, as we romanced her tragedy… floating around life in a forlorn, love-sick manner… waiting for our Highwayman and the imminent tragedy to befall!

“One kiss, my bonny sweetheart; I’m after a prize tonight,
But I shall be back with the yellow gold before the morning light.
Yet if they press me sharply, and harry me through the day,
Then look for me by moonlight,
Watch for me by moonlight,
I’ll come to thee by moonlight, though hell should bar the way.”

In time, we created and perfected the art of classroom recitals and on those special days when we could stay back after school waiting for our Dads, we would entertain each other (and a host of other students!) enacting our favourite dialogues and poems. It was a highpoint in our lives those days. This was Kiah’s idea and we had loads of fun doing this. We would stand on the classroom dias and just transform into a Buttercups or a Bess or a Juliet! It was the kind of drama we loved to love!

O Romeo, Romeo! Wherefore art thou Romeo?
Deny thy father and refuse thy name;
Or, if thou wilt not, be but sworn my love,
And I’ll no longer be a Capulet.

Kiah and I were growing up. It felt beautiful to dream and live on them. The line separating the real world and the dream world became thinner and thinner. Dreams became reality, and all reality shaped around dreams. Love had hit us like a sharp blue comet coming from the outer space and our souls began to search for that one brief moment in time when we would experience love! Totally enamoured, we wanted to find our love and fall for him… Once I saw (I actually did!) two lovers standing and embracing each other atop the golden rim of the sun during sunset and it was the most fantastic image I had ever seen… a sort of dream in waking life… On sharing this with Kiah, we were both filled with wonder, and belief in our special existence was reinforced… our man was just round the corner… this had to be a vision!!

Someone inside me smiles even today at those memories etched in time… The joy of my growing up would never have been the same without Kiah’s sunshine presence. Days passed and years passed… Kiah and I grew up and as we pursued our destinies, we remained secure in the knowledge that no matter what happens, in this world of continuously dissipating relationships, we had an eternal friend in each other. Someone who we could call up in the middle of the night to share the slightest of things and finish the call with I Love You!

Melancholy and Crying: Why do women cry and worry so much?

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Melancholy and Crying: Why do women cry and worry so much

Why is it that it needs to be the beauty in pain to show it at least when tears are epitome of the sorrow one bores inside. Has anyone ever focused in the line of thought to why does eyes have to bear the innocence of every melancholy. Melancholy one`s heart can sometimes never expatiate the intensity of fabrication with life and people we love or may be we don`t. Cording to me,Eyes are chosen for such an expression just because they are best expression revealing bounty of god.

REASONS- We are not talking of the happiness tears.For a baby.who has no sense to what`s happening to it,crying exhibits that it needs something,may be food,milk,fresh air,hot environment ,a diaper change or just mere attention. We grow to be Lil kids,we still cry,with great glaring eyes full of different colours of life and then we still have tears for may be momma wasn`t fair or the kid fought with some other Lil kid and then came crying with seeking attention. Such a small self expression of tears.We walk to maturity stairs and we cry,`cause we failed somewhere. We failed in love, career or some idea. We failed to trust,failed to built that trust,failed in proving our self,failed in the thought to prove. We become matures,as we say,don`t wanna seek attention any more,may be sometimes,but we prefer being a loner,crying with every bit of us disparaged by self.Sands of time making our grief intense,since we have learned to pile up.As we were children, we used to forget. The cerebellum for a grown up seems to be a foe connecting to past,definitions of our failures and fear of repeating them. Definition of LACHRIMATION changes with age.It becomes proportional to age,not intensity of tears but the intensity of grief and pain we bore. Since childhood is not a time we repent on our decisions or cry for failed results but adulthood is.

As i infer,crying is a great phenomenon to drain out through lachrymal,the intense agony of heart ,not always really accepted truth we bore, some mistakes we make,some which others do,some repentance, some remembrance,some happiness,some affection,some hope,some love, some vengeance,some hatred,some shame,some loneliness but as all it`s important to be touched by your soul, this makes you actually know yourself better.About your yearns,your desires,the things you hate,the people who can hurt you, the people you can never let you hurt you,the people who are meant to be with you,people who support you,people who care as a whole the mandate which governs your life and the things that really can shake up there presence with you.

THIS IS HOW LIFE HAS TO GO.IT MAKES YOU FEEL LIKE AN ASSET,UNDERSTAND YOU,LOVE YOU AND BE MORE OF YOU!!!!

Cobbled Stones And Streets: Emotions And Thoughts Of A Woman

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Cobbled Stones And Streets Emotions And Thoughts Of A Woman

Cobbled streets ignite extreme interest in my head. Interest that is a direct reflection of how they are. Cobbled. It’s funny, how disparate sections of usually igneous material are laid down in a jagged manner to arrive at something that is smooth. Smooth for us to walk on. Very similar to our personalities; as jagged as they might be, someone still walks all over it. And then comes the cold. The chill that runs down your spine when you step on these stones barefooted. It’s like it torments you. Laughs at you. And all you can do is tip toe. Try to avoid touching your entire sole on it. The same stones. The ones that you “walk on” – now numb you. But you still walk on it, don’t you? Donning your soft and padded shoes, you set out. The stones are now quiet. It’s in your hands. The game. Or so you think.

You use objects to keep the cold stone from touching your feet. Objects that represent pretention. Faux. Phony. Inorganic. Much like our emotions. In times of testing. How we pretend to smile. Pretend to not care. Pretend that everything is going to be all right. Pretend. Pretend. Pretend. But will it really?

Cobbled stones. They bear so much. Yet with each bearing they strain unto themselves, they only become smoother. Less jagged. More rounded. But ladies and gentlemen. We think we’ve cornered them. Won our battles. Alas, we forget what they now become. They fight their battles with wit. With a naive sophistication. A frowning smile. Next time we step on them. No, they’re not jagged. We, have made them smooth. Alas! Too smooth for our liking. We slip. We fall to the ground. This time the cold hits, not only our bare soles but also our hands, our body, our face. They laugh again. Immortal they might be. They are much more potent. Stationary – yet brimming with such mobility. And we question our own potential. Or blame the faux shoes. For the manufacturer of their sole needs to relook his materials. And we continue to walk our way. On the cold cobbled street. Till we arrive at the lamppost. That gleams yellow in our eyes but fails to intensify the dark cobbled stones. The sharp light that blinds us; shatters and dissolves when it hits the ground. That’s how potent cobbled stones are. They suck even the light. So we breathe. In the cold air we let out momentary wasps of vapor. Momentary. Just like us. Just like everything we do. Transient.

So we cross the road on the green signal. Like a herd of sheep being hit on their loins. We walk mechanized. Toddling on the black and white stripes. With chunks of metal flashing yellow into our faces from either sides. Momentary isn’t it? What would happen if we just stand there in the middle? Suspended like a pendulum that’s caught in its oscillation. On one side is the cobbled ground. On the other side, the cemented road that leads us to our destination. Below are the two colors that provide a hue unmatched. All around us light. The light for us now turns red. And thus rises searing din – of honks and abuses caught in their own symphony. Yet you stand there. With the cobbled street on your left. On your right your kin are waiting for you. Transfixed. Looking at you with a de-cyrptive glance. Not understanding why you’re there. But the cobbled stones know. And so you turn around and go back to them. Walking all over them. But this time you laugh with them. Because in that one moment of transience. In that one moment of rooting yourself to the ground. – you become what they have been for the past many years. Jagged. Walked on. Unimportant.

Or so you always believed …

Love Notes, Paragraphs: Most Romantic Love Letters For Her

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Love Notes, Paragraphs: Most Romantic Love Letters For Her

He wouldn’t look at me. The vestige of the body he found so alluring, once, has become a grody apparition-dreaded and vapid. So like a crumb of bread, jilted and forgotten for weeks on end, beneath the table. I move and stand behind him, sometimes beside him and then stymed and frantic, in front-in his ambit of vision. He turns away ,and quite suddenly finds a divination in the astral heavens, the leaves start metamorphosing for his sole revelry ,apparently  thriving on his very  attention. My heart begins filling with despair, my mind with impudence and flout. Nobody dares ignore “Tanmayee”. The beauty, he had me believe in, is. The eyes that idolized him are the same, adulation and all. Even the mind filled with the same rubble of ruminations and quaint ideas, which were so enthralling to him, time was.

I stand there, stock-still, benumbed into inertia, anguished into silence. The will to accost or beckon him, seeping out of me costively. I feel like a balloon languidly deflating into nothingness, into zilch or a timber slowly dwindling into ashes-to be blown about  wantonly  by the wind. Mind insensate, tongue obtund, i watch him swagger about, rosy and complacent, in the comfort of his sphere. I whirl about and retrace my steps back to my house, and well-nigh collapse on finding myself standing before his door. I bolt from there, scorched. All the memories of love-soused moments, cascading behind my eyes, drenching my face wet. I wish I could wipe away, with a brush of my hand all the recalls, dreams ,hopes and expectations-both tangible and conjured; wipe away the slate of my heart clean and start over, but if only life were that facile!

The night that followed was squandered jactating, like ever so many of its predecessors. Peace was elusive, repose even more so. Sleep fickle.

Rays of hope filtered through my window next morn, as I catch a glimpse of his blinds pulled back, but an epoch later, all is sable in my heart again. I see him not.

I see him not for days on end. Emotions of any kind appear extraneous to me. I drift through life, like an automaton, drowned in perennial silent despair. Lost. A quarter of a month passed, and fate was  up to its snares again. As i stand in my balcony, staring into oblivion, I hear a cadence of resonant laughter – familiar in ring, enchanting in content. My hopes revive. I skirt to the door and on opening it espy a woman, beautiful, wispy and effervescent walking away with her arms entwined with….with…..

Threshold of my grit had been breached. I stand rooted, mind screeching denial, consciousness hounded, pressured, conniving for escape. I slid back mutely, lay down, mind still incessantly darting about, looking for a route of extrication.. Aeons seems to have passed, cosmos work around the clock, without halt, uncaring. The twin cycle of night and day, day and night over and over again, right before my unblinking eyes. The being inside my body convulsed, as it reached finally, for a sterile ‘strip’ of atonement and sleep. The pills felt ligneous in my parched, “famined” mouth…..
The doorbell seemed to cry out, ever and anon and soon it thundered with stoic determination. So much chaos, too much bedlam inside my head. I lug my body to the door to put an end to the deafening din and through the clink see him standing, gazing at me with a soft inquisitiveness, then fluster, then horror. Soon after I get an impression of being cosseted rather avidly and i double as waves of nausea wash over me, ending eventually in churning out little pebbles of arid achromic affliction. I feel myself being held, winnowed and hoisted inside as a voice as honeyed as church carillons pour into my ears and my eyes find their salvation in his tears.

A gossamer smile is born to our lips. All is whole again, in this part of the world!

Representation Of Voices: Thoughts On Love, Life And Karma

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Representation Of Voices Thoughts On Love, Life And Karma

When do we start valuing things? Only when they’re gone? But, what if, they aren’t supposed to not be there? How do we then realize their value? Or do we realize it at all?

When do we start realizing things? When we come across their existence too many times? Or too little? Do we need a catalyst for the thinking process to tick off? Or should there be absolutely nothing in the head for us to think things through?

When do we start having a clear head? Is it when we have nothing to do? Or when we have so much on our minds that a deliberate effort needs to be made to wipe the slate clean?

Has your heart ever raced so fast that your breath stops? Have your insides shivered so much that you lose all sense of speech? Has your head swirled so dangerously that you fall to the floor? Has your mouth been so dry that your throat begins to ache? Have your eyes cried themselves dry?

What spawns such supernatural (for lack of a better word) bodily responses? Is it us or is it the situations we are merely a character of? Who designs these situations? Our own actions or the actions of others? Do we even have a role to play in our own life? I am of the school of thought that says we are not. That even an attempt to break away from what one may ascribe as destiny, to me, is an orchestrated attempt of destiny itself.

I am destined to fall in love. So I shan’t come close to a soul. But what if I am destined to not come close to a soul? Am I then delivering the steps of my destiny or breaking from its shackles?

But what might be bounding for me – might be liberating for someone else. Then, why is it binding for me at all? Why can I not be the boss of what happens in my life? It is MY life after all. Or is it?

I can sit and ponder over how I will take charge of my life – and take it to a direction “I” want it to go. But, will it really? Where will I muster enough courage to pull it off. Black. Black. Black. It all looks so dark.

Friends. The thought itself brings such a warm feeling to the fore. But, why no face? I have plenty of friends. Ones that you meet at parties, to those whom you organize parties with, to those whom you meet day in and day out to those whose voices you listen to before turning in to those who know you like no one else ever can. But still no face. What does that mean? Are they mere phases? Mere bursts in my life? Then why do I attribute such great value to them currently?

And there I mentioned value. What a freaking carousel this is! Do I in actuality value them? Or am I that parasite who values the exchange from the host more than the host itself? Can I derive what I currently do from a separate set of people? Will it be wrong? Not morally. I couldn’t give a damn about morality. But, spiritually. Will I be able to sleep peacefully knowing I might’ve wronged. But is it really wrong?

You are born into this world alone. You are buried alone. Then what is the essence of having so many relationships in the middle? Why can we not be self-reliant? Is being anti-social actually a bad thing? Or is it a virtue above any other. The fact that one is better of by himself/herself. How many people can do that? Can even come close!? Does that mean, that the one with more friends is actually a weak person? Because, he/she is not satiated by just himself/herself. Or is the anti-social one depraved? For he writhes in such selfishness!

Often I hear self determined individuals say, “I decide what happens in my life. I may chose X today and do Y tomorrow. And, I will be happy with that!”

And then there’s this other set that apparently ‘lives for today!’ But does one really?! How many times have we not succumbed to temptation KNOWING it’s future ramifications? Is that really living in the present? What palpable measure constricts time? Who assumed such responsibility to define time to begin with? We might notionally regard time to be of cardinal importance. But, is this importance ascribed because it needs to be, or because we, in all measures realize its importance?

Self. Self. Self. That’s all that matters really. Others are just means to an end. An end none of us can see right now. Because, either we are the ones prescribing ourselves myopic vision correction to facilitate living in the present or the ones who are too busy in the future to realize what is going down right now! In this moment.

What must an engine go through a second after a burnout? Is it gloating in self-pride of pulling such magnificence off? Or is it impoverished to the core for having spent it all – in one go?

The metal is shivering. The wind is blowing cold. The grass cuts through. The sand smells foul. The sky eats everything in its reach. BLACK BLACK BLACK.

There is nothing around. We seek warmth from ourselves. Oh what a beautiful being. We rub our palms and experience comfort like no other. Blow into our cupped arms. And breathe a sigh of relief. We are so alone.

I need food. I need water. I need love. I need friendship. I need belongingness. I need a title. I need praise. I need a roof. I need my parents. I need slippers. I need a warm jacket. I need coffee. I need brownies. I need the television. I need ESPN. I need my iPod. I need confidence. I need something to stand by. I need someone to stand by me. I need maple syrup. I need butter chicken. I need books. I need movies. I need sad stories. I need peace. I need war. I need banners. I need art. I need order. I need anarchy. I need myself. I need skin. I need a neck. I need a touch. I need to be embraced. I need to be kissed. I need to be bitten. I need money. I need cigars. I need my Vodka.

Representational of so many voices. Not just mine. Yet there will be proud hands going up owing to the fact that they need coffee. That they need art. That they need butter chicken. That they need cigars. That they need peace. And there will be the nervous ones going up on the need for touch. The need for skin.

Just like you need your chocolate. Or your favorite boxers. Or your favorite lip balm. Or your favorite heels. Or your favorite beer.

As humans, we like to box things. Categorize them. Organize them in our head. Clinically speaking, stereotype them. But we fall prey to the demon of all demons; groupthink. The act of making decisions in such a way that individual creativity and individual responsibility is thwarted. When was the last time you took responsibility for something that went wrong? (Take your time!)

I say sorry to escape things – not to resolve them. I say sorry to avoid things. To continue with what was operating before. It’s safe you know. Saves me from the yelling. The arguing. Saves what existed before. Ah! What magic this world entails. 5 random letters stringed together to arrive at a concept more sacred than the bond of maternity itself. But, it’s interesting to think about it slightly. When I say sorry, I submit to the other person and/or the situation. In other words, I subordinate myself. Not too many people like subordination. They like to be on top. At their job. At home. In relationships. In fights. While making decisions. Everywhere. So, the one who gladly accepts the “lower position” is seen as the one who gave up. But is it really him who is the loser? Or is it the one who doesn’t have the ability to lower himself the real sucker? The one who cannot yield his pedestal because he is impotent, in that regard? The one who hath not muster enough courage, for he lacks it to begin with!

Which brings me to the last musing. Karma. But that needs some thought. I believe in Karma very strongly, but my faith in it has started to flounder. I guess everyone goes through this phase when their life seems to suck ass. I’d like to believe I am not there (yet!) – but where does karma fit into all of this? Are my actions of today in cognizance of what I might receive in future? Are my acts of charity and nobility in lieu for something supremely awesome in future? Do they then hold validity at all? Because their very purpose is defeated. They reek of selfishness through and through.

But then again, isn’t this life just about me? Who will die with me? I have to depart alone. So why think of anyone else? Fact is there isn’t anyone by your side. They’re by their own sides. Seeking some utility of you. Sick jerks. Not that you’re an angel. You’re caught in the ugly rat race yourself.

Welcome to Life!

Neuro-Linguistic Programming: Best Training For NLP Online

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Neuro-Linguistic Programming Best Training For NLP Online

Neuro Linguistic Programming is a science used by neuro-scientists to provide a better life style for the patients. It is usually used to cure phobias, unusual habits and other such disorders which doesn’t involves any medicines as such. The process is implemented by observing people and making statistics on what could help to cure them. The method involves the observation of behaviors of the patients. The behaviors of the subjects are closely monitored and then plotted to find a common pattern which is then used for the cure of the disorder.

If you are looking for NLP training then there’s a great online training center known as iNLP center. When you join the NLP training over here you will get to know many people as Neuro-Linguistic Programming is all about meeting people and observing their behavioral patterns. The best way to get in touch with people nowadays is to meet them online. It’s more convenient and you don’t have to fix schedules and travel and stuffs like that. The best part is that you can apply these skills to yourself.

That means you can develop your own skills by taking this training. They have been in the industry for almost 25 years. In other words you are getting the top notch Neuro-Linguistic Programming training services. There are many institutes out there who teach Neuro-Linguistic Programming, but this one stands out from the crowd. It is because of their experience in the field. They know what they are doing and it’s a tried and tested method in Neuro-Linguistic Programming. They also go beyond the regular Neuro-Linguistic Programming techniques. That means you will not only understand the subject but will also be able to learn new concepts about Personal development. They are many institutes out there who advertise the idea that they will teach you Neuro-Linguistic Programming very fast.

Actually, there is no swift way to learn Neuro-Linguistic Programming. The iNLP center gives you the exact step by step way to learn Neuro-Linguistic Programming, and that’s the best way to learn the subject. Other institues just have tutorials and ebooks to read. At iNLP center they have a nice way to learn the Neuro-Linguistic Programming techniques by interaction, feedback and discussions. You can ask them any doubts you have and they will assist you in a very swift way. That’s the way to learn NLP. There are many institutes out there who claim  to be some sort of magic or a miracle. Actually, it’s not, it’s Science. When you follow sets of instructions you get the desired results.

At iNLP center they make sure that you learn Neuro-Linguistic Programming in a way that is correct. They don’t make any false claims or miracles, they just rely on their study and knowledge. You can pick your NLP course form a wide variety of courses they offer. You can pick your NLP certification there as per your requirements.

The institute is fully legitimate and is renowned training institute in Neuro-Linguistic Programming. The institute is founded by Mike Bundrant, who is a renowned NLP expert. You can contact him if you need any suggestions or if you have any questions.

Information About Animals: Earthworms, Dogs, Lizards

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Information About Animals Earthworms, Dogs, Lizards

How earthworms enhance crop fertility?

What else do you know about earthworms, beside this that they can be found during rainy season?

Actually we all know very less about earthworms. Most of us won’t know the second name of earthworm, which is more popularly known as “farmer’s friend”. A big reason lies behind this name.

Earthworm plays a major role in increasing the crop fertility. They form compost, called Vermicompost, which is very useful for the growth of plants and also is eco-friendly, unlike the modern day chemical fertilizers and pesticides. These are derived from organic wastes etc. These can be used minimize the indiscriminate use of chemical fertilizers. Large amount of wastes are being generated every moment. The earthworms utilize those wastes and convert them to manure, which is harmless, can be used again and again. It also prevents other harmful microorganisms to invade the soil and harm the crops. Nowadays this method of crop production improvement is being employed at large scale and even as commercialized business.

Richest dogs of the world

Have you even thought of the world’s richest dogs? Don’t be amazed….though it’s really amazing, but it’s true! Here are the few of the dogs who are the owner of millions and millions of dollars. Let’s get familiar with few of them:

GUNTHER IV – A German Shepherd, who inherited $372 million from his father Gunther III, is now the world’s richest dogs. His father got moolah after his owner Karlotta Libenstein of Germany passed away. He also owns a house, a BMW roadster, a driver, a chef and several servants.

TOBY RIMES – He is the owner of worth $92 million. Toby inherited his fortune from a long line of pooches.

TROUBLE HELMSLEY – This dog is the owner of $2 million. Earlier she went to be the owner of $12 million but due to some internal issues, she finally became the owner of $2 million.

FLOSSIE – This is a unique dog and deserves what he got. He actually saved the life of a celebrity Drew Barrymore, who later on adopted the dog and according to her will, after her death the Flossie will be the owner of her $3 million estate.

Lizards: One of the most intelligent reptiles

Recently an experiments had shown that reptiles as lizards are one of the most intelligent organisms. We, the human being have never thought that even the lizards can have the capability to think and pursue things.

The tropical lizard, Anolis evermanni, was able to fight back and cross the obstacle which was put in front of it. In an experiment, a concealed worm was kept underneath a disc, to find out whether the lizards were able to recognize it. If yes, how come it is going to take it? For this six different lizards were used. Anolis evermanni was able to detect the hidden organism underneath the disc.

Beside, the researchers also tried to get a pattern of color selection by the lizards. For this they had kept the same colored disc as above (means the one with the worm) along with the two other differently colored discs. The lizards were able to recognize the same color of the disc as the one associated with the worm. Even when they swapped the discs, they were able to recognize the correct one.

These results were published in Royal Society journal Biology Letters.

Jeju (Cheju) Island in South Korea: The Volcano Land

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Jeju (Cheju) Island in South Korea The Volcano Land

Travelling can be made an enjoyable experience if one keeps certain things in mind. Travelling is done for different purposes. Depending on the destination and purpose, one must ensure to keep certain things handy. While travelling abroad, one needs to do some home work as to what would be the things required to be carried, how much luggage is allowed to be carried among other things depending on the country one intends to travel.

Rather than making last minute preparations and standing in for a surprise, it always helps to stay organized. Jotting down the list of things required will help avoid last minute miss outs. Know what is allowed to carry and what not. Carrying essential things will help travel light. However, if you go slightly overboard, make sure to balance by reducing other non-essential things. Always avoid ad hoc travelling.

Another important thing that could make the whole experience of travelling a pleasant one is getting to know the culture of the country one wishes to travel. Every country is known for its unique culture. Understanding the culture of the country that one is heading towards, can help understand what one can expect and also make the whole experience an enjoyable one. Doing so may also help strike the right chord among the strangers and avoid cultural surprise.

Jeju Island is also called “the island of God”. It is oval shaped island located in South Korea. The most striking feature of this island is its volcanoes. According to geologists, the islands itself have been formed about 12 million years ago due to a volcanic eruption. It has about 368 volcanoes over its surface (few of them are dormant, while some being active). It also has about 160 volcanic caves beneath its earth’s surface. The biggest mountain belonging to this island is Hallasion Mountain, which is 1950 meters above the sea level.

It’s not only a place for visiting and outing, but it also has a very vast biological diversity. For this diversity, it is also called “The Living Ecological Park”. There are different classes of plants and animals, which are yet to be explored. It has world’s smallest plant “Smooth Lip Symbodium”, which is only 2 centimeters long.

The island is full of pleasure. It is unique in itself in terms of natural beauty, pleasant weather, high water falls, and unseen volcanoes. Jeju Island has been given a place in UNESCO – World’s natural beauty heritage list.