This happened back when I was in the 11th grade. It was the first day of my maths class. The rain was pouring heavily and I had been to the class a tad early. There was no one at the class except the teacher and another student, a girl. The teacher was busy and the girl, beautiful. So very nonchalantly, I went over to her desk and introduced myself. Playing with her fairly wet hair, she looked up at me with a spark in her eyes and at that moment, I knew I was in love.
The reason I’m writing this isn’t because it’s our relationship’s 5th anniversary or anything as stupid as that. Oh, just for the record, since I know you represent a common human being immensely interested in other people’s lives and you want to know what happened after I saw that spark in her eyes, let me tell you that I dated her and we broke up after what can roughly be called a year. No fairy-tale love story at all. I have been ‘in love’ thrice after that – was cheated on once, left for ex-boyfriend once and left-without-a-clue once. That sums up my adventures on the quest of love and longing. Bottom line, never ask me again. Yeah so back to where I was, the reason I’m writing this, or it would sound more appropriate to say ‘I wrote the first paragraph’ since I’m done writing it and it’s not present tense, but what the hell, you aren’t a grammar nazi so lets not ponder over the tenses. The reason I wrote the first paragraph is because the monsoon has just passed by and regardless of whether you wanted it or not, you have fallen madly, hopelessly in love with someone. And there are chances that you are looking forward to carry on with this relationship for the rest of your life. In some rare cases, as rare as a woman driving a car with skills and perfection, it is possible that you’d get married, have kids, and one day they would kill me for writing this article and apparently trying to keep you from creating them. But in all the other cases, I’d strongly recommend you to not dream of anything like that because here’s the deal: monsoon is an opportunist bastard and you’re an asshole. No one falls in love just because it’s raining. This isn’t a movie and you aren’t a teenager to believe in all the romantic ideas. Retrospect on your high-school years, come forward to this date in a chronological order and see for yourself how many times has the monsoon fooled you into believing that you finally found love. My suggestions aren’t sweet but what do you want sweet or safe? Grow up, or rather break up and face the reality. You didn’t fall in love last monsoon.
And yes, if you happen to be the one with the rare case, raise your kids nicely, never mention them anything about this article and everyone gets to stay happy. Okay?
I just thought of writing this down. But first allow a whimsical man that I am to warn you of what this is not about.This post isn’t anything that you can call amazing or outstanding. It is in fact just a small writing goal that I wish to attain. Can you find out what is so unusual about this post? I think writing this is tough and if you look at this standing in my boots, you might nod at my thought. ‘Boots’ should throw you a hint and in fact it has. It is all about if you can catch it or not.
You can rack your brains but until you finally jump in joy cracking this, what am I going to do? If I wish forward towards having a satisfactorily good way of comforting my mind, I think I’d go for music. But look at you! I cannot, in any of my worst imaginations, think of abandoning you in such a bad situation. But you too, in any of your imaginations – good, bad or ugly, cannot possibly know how tough it is to jot down this thing. I was sitting in my room without anything to do and a funny thought of writing this post sprang from a crazy part of my mind. I’m not patting my back but look, if you ask any random thirty-two guys to do what I’m doing right now, I don’t think all of your thirty-two smarty-pants can carry it this far. ‘Thirty-two’ is again a hint. I’m strongly having a notion that this might turn out as a gross but still a brilliant post. But wait, I shouldn’t boast. It sounds bad and stupid right? But that’s not important right now. If anything is, it is your brain. Work on it! If I’m writing this without much difficulty, going through it without much difficulty, going through it with two hints to find a tiny solution shouldn’t look so tough.
Is this boring you? I thought so. I won’t play such silly ‘rack your brains’ with you again but for now, will you quickly say ‘I quit’ so that I can, with utmost joy of winning, stop irritating you and finish this?
Okay, this post, as far as this point ‘.’ has been written without using the most commonly used English letter ‘e’ and the most commonly used word ‘the’.
Anything you whisper in their left ear. If you began reading this post just for the sake of knowing the answer to the question in the title, while reading this line you’re technically just employing your retina to a useless job because I already delivered your answer in the first sentence, but you being such a leech won’t stop reading even if I call you a leech and I just proved that. But let’s not embarrass you, we’ll just talk about what girls like okay?
Long ago, don’t ask me how long because I say long ago only when I don’t remember how long, guess the mad cow disease is building up. So long ago, I had read this answer to ‘what do girls like?’ in a local newspaper that has devoted one of it’s pages to news reports like Five-legged Buffalo Found in East Africa’ or ‘Black Couple Gives Birth to White Child in Norway!’, so basically bizarre news from all over the world. Some university in America had researched thoroughly and then tested 138 girls to conclude that girls like anything you whisper in their left ear.
Aditya, one of my friends, has tried saying things to girls using this principle many times. Always failed. Whenever he moves closer to the left ear of the unknown girl he wants to talk to, he either gets slapped or cursed. He doesn’t however seem to withdraw his trust from what the research says. I’ve been seeing him do this for over a year now. Every time we’re in a disc or some place like that he makes this signature move of his and ends up making an embarrassed face.I actually know why it happens but I’ve never told him because he never asked me why it happens. However when this same exact thing happened again last week, I decided that it was time to help him. But telling him this thing in person won’t suit the glorious prick that I am so I thought I’ll first embarrass him publicly writing this post and then tell him publicly why it happens which is going to make him look like a yet bigger fool.
The research conclusion is actually a double-standard statement. Here’s the thing: When a girl lets you get close to her at a whispering distance, it is only when she likes you. And then by default, she also likes whatever you whisper no matter which ear you’re meddling with. As for what do girls like? I don’t know because you know what? Some questions can never be answered by anyone. Not even an American university that claims to know the answer.
She wept over the mass of dead flesh that lied in front of her.
She couldn’t bear to look at it and in fact no one did, but she was sure that it was visible to people who were trying to board a train or get off one. The whole railway station was in a hurry like it would be on any other day, but today, one particular spot was arresting everyone’s attention – one helpless old woman crying over the dead body of a small baby. It couldn’t even be called a body for it had been mashed and it looked more like a large ball of flesh and blood with a few bones poking out here and there.
“Poor thing! Must have got beneath a train”, a young lady shrieked.
The old woman looked at her and cried,”What should I do? What was my grandson’s mistake? Why is God so cruel?! He killed the boy as if our penniless misery wasn’t enough for him to laugh at!! How will I cremate this boy now?”
Moved, the young lady placed some money in the old woman’s hand. And soon, just to show others that they were concerned about the old woman, to show that they were ‘humans’ all the people around began giving her whatever amount of money they could, but no one wanted to look at the corpse. She sat there for a long time, staring helplessly in some distant vacancy, unaware about what was happening around her.
Long after the hustle and bustle of the place rested down to mere voices of hawkers and stray dogs and beggars – that is to say, of all the insignificant mortals, she tied all the money in a knot at the end of he saree, carried the blood soaked boy in her arms, and crying like a child, she walked away, far away from the railway station. As she neared a garbage heap, she wiped her tears, looked around and seeing no one, hurled the fleshy mass towards the stray dogs that wandered for food in the garbage dump.
Counting the money, she wondered about tomorrow, which railway station? And whose baby?
In this post, I have, in my own ways, tried to light up on the methods and results of giving tips in restaurant – how they affect the working potential of the waiter and what should be the right amount of tip to ensure that giving it away won’t affect the waiter in an adverse manner, and in doing so, I have to the best of my limits, tried to balance a customer’s morals as a human and a waiter’s work ethics in a situation of giving and receiving tips. However, the peculiarity of the subject – the innumerable debates and conflicting public opinions I got acquainted with while researching through interactions with people of related subject, has made the writing of this post a tad difficult. The gigantic lacuna of the subject I’m about to expound is this very conflicting public opinion which, on both of it’s sides holds some very strong points which therefore make one quite unsure about what can possibly be the balancing factor to end the debate. And further the strength of the debate lies in the fact that it leaves a person of some wit and humane approach at the behest of it’s result which needless to say can be called a draw. In my attempts to elucidate the righteous answers, I could not resist my temptation to cite as examples my own encounters with such situations, that is situations of giving tips after a meal and my conversations with the persons involved in the act at those instances. I can therefore only hope that the temerity I have shown in writing this article of some controversy won’t in any manner be found unnecessary or otherwise excessive by the fine judge that you are and further that the lucidity of the subject will let you indulge in it and help you draw a conclusion in a satisfactory manner.
Now since I have fulfilled my wish of using this kind of language to sound like a genius, let me finish the article by answering the question in the title: give a tip if you wish to and don’t give if you don’t wish to. It’s your fucking money after all.
PS: no, not I love you. PS: if you read the first paragraph again (I know you won’t), you’ll see that I only meant that I don’t know the answer to the question in the title. Be a smart reader, asshole. 🙂
The garbage heap was surrounded with the odor of rotten flesh. The bitch lied there, dead and stinking. All her life she had scavenged for food in this garbage dump and had fed her litter.
Her little puppy wandered through the garbage, clueless about how to find food. It had been hungry since a day and had made several attempts to wake it’s mother up. She had fed the puppy since it was born, she had always been it’s breadwinner.
The ants and fleas had already started to decay the dead bitch bit by bit. The little puppy tried playing with the ants, killing them for sport but it soon got bored and turned to the garbage dump to look for food.
As time passed by, rats also joined in to reduce the corpse of the bitch. The puppy chased a rat away and turned towards it’s mother’s corpse. It had been torn in the stomach and produced a smell that was familiar to the puppy. It was the smell of blood. It was a peculiar smell that reminded the puppy of the food it’s mother used to bring sometimes.
This is food, it thought and dug in it’s mother’s stomach. She had been it’s breadwinner.
In the last post, I taught you how to become a photographer, and like a good student, if you have followed the two golden rules to become a photographer and have become a photographer, let’s take your education to an entirely new level. Clicking photos is not an easy task. At least not as easy as becoming a photographer.
Step 1: Decide your area of expertise. What would you like to be known as? One girl from my school who couldn’t tell a cow from a buffalo calls herself a wildlife photographer today. She posts photos of ducks on facebook and her photos have helped to understand a lot of things about ducks such as ducks always stand in the same position whenever she clicks their photos, and all ducks look very similar to each other. This is very useful information to know ducks better and I thank her for enlightening me through her photos. Her sudden transformation from a poor animal observer to a wildlife photographer specialized in clicking photos of ducks is a story of inspiration for all you wannabe photographers. And yet, wildlife photography isn’t the only alluring branch of photography. You can also choose to click photos of your friends and edit them to the point where one cannot tell if they’re good or bad and ends up appreciating what you have done using photoshop 7. This requires more efforts than just clicking photos but you can gain quick recognition with this and ugly girls are likely to be your friend because of this incredible ability of yours.
Step 2: After you have decided what kind of photographer you want to be, begin clicking photos of your subject in different angles. The more they’re implausible, the more people will appreciate you. Here I would again put forth the example f the girl who clicks photos of ducks. One of her duck-photo is so bizarre that it looks like a torn pillow with yellow sticks plunged in it, but she says it’s her vision of a duck and that’s what you need to be a good photographer, a different vision.
Step 3: It is said that a photo should speak a thousand words, but one of my friends who is a photographer of sunsets or sunrises (I’m not sure which because they all look the same) always believes that his photos speak only 996 words and so he always fills the 4 more words in the caption as: #awesomeclick #myphotography. Moral to the story is always put captions for your photos. Even if others don’t call it awesome you should.
And that’s all about photography. Don’t waste this knowledge. Go, click photos.