<?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'><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10675961</id><updated>2009-09-26T16:10:39.524+05:30</updated><title type='text'>Dolce Vita</title><subtitle type='html'></subtitle><link rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#feed' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://poozamishra.blogspot.com/feeds/posts/default'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/10675961/posts/default'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://poozamishra.blogspot.com/'/><link rel='hub' href='http://pubsubhubbub.appspot.com/'/><link rel='next' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/10675961/posts/default?start-index=26&amp;max-results=25'/><author><name>Pooza mishra</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02245079359806005641</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email></author><generator version='7.00' uri='http://www.blogger.com'>Blogger</generator><openSearch:totalResults>67</openSearch:totalResults><openSearch:startIndex>1</openSearch:startIndex><openSearch:itemsPerPage>25</openSearch:itemsPerPage><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10675961.post-113982667829723224</id><published>2006-02-13T14:51:00.000+05:30</published><updated>2006-02-13T16:01:18.296+05:30</updated><title type='text'>Zindagi :)</title><content type='html'>Life is so beautiful but it can get ugly at times. Heres something I made recently. Hope you like it :)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Heres the link  ----------&gt;    &lt;a href="http://www.chaundhoop.blogspot.com/"&gt;Chaundhoop&lt;/a&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/10675961-113982667829723224?l=poozamishra.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://poozamishra.blogspot.com/feeds/113982667829723224/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='https://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=10675961&amp;postID=113982667829723224&amp;isPopup=true' title='19 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/10675961/posts/default/113982667829723224'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/10675961/posts/default/113982667829723224'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://poozamishra.blogspot.com/2006/02/zindagi.html' title='Zindagi :)'/><author><name>Pooza mishra</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02245079359806005641</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:extendedProperty xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' name='OpenSocialUserId' value='11459865561691724663'/></author><thr:total xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'>19</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10675961.post-113819247254321104</id><published>2006-01-25T17:53:00.000+05:30</published><updated>2006-01-25T21:01:47.993+05:30</updated><title type='text'>A fresh start</title><content type='html'>&lt;p align="left"&gt;&lt;img height="345" alt="fresh start" src="http://static.flickr.com/24/91008099_32c36e3967.jpg" width="420" /&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;blockquote&gt;&lt;span style="color:#333399;"&gt;"We should be taught not to wait for inspiration to start a thing. Action always generates inspiration. Inspiration seldom generates action."&lt;br /&gt;- Frank Tibolt, author&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/blockquote&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I just rcvd a poem from a friend, though had read it earlier but I understand it so much better now. Its truely amazing. Would love to put it here for us :)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;IF&lt;br /&gt;by Rudyard Kipling&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#990000;"&gt;If you can keep your head when all about you Are losing theirs and blaming it on you;&lt;br /&gt;If you can trust yourself when all men doubt you, But make allowance for their doubting too;&lt;br /&gt;If you can wait and not be tired of waiting,&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="color:#993399;"&gt;Or, being lied about, don't deal in lies,&lt;br /&gt;Or being hated don't give way to hating,&lt;br /&gt;And yet don't look too good, nor talk too wise;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;If you can dream - and not make dreams your master;&lt;br /&gt;If you can think - and not make thoughts your aim;&lt;br /&gt;If you can meet with Triumph and Disaster And treat those two imposters just the same;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="color:#996633;"&gt;If you can bear to hear the truth you've spoken Twisted by knaves to make a trap for fools,&lt;br /&gt;Or watch the things you gave your life to, broken, And stoop and build 'em up with worn-out tools;&lt;br /&gt;If you can make one heap of all your winnings&lt;br /&gt;And risk it on one turn of pitch-and-toss, And lose, and start again at your beginnings&lt;br /&gt;And never breathe a word about your loss;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;If you can force your heart and nerve and sinew To serve your turn long after they are gone,&lt;br /&gt;And so hold on when there is nothing in you Except the Will which says to them: "Hold On!"&lt;br /&gt;If you can talk with crowds and keep your virtue, Or walk with kings - nor lose the common touch;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="color:#990000;"&gt;If neither foes nor loving friends can hurt you;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="color:#993399;"&gt;If all men count with you, but none too much;&lt;br /&gt;If you can fill the unforgiving minute With sixty seconds' worth of distance run,&lt;br /&gt;Yours is the Earth and everything that's in it, And - which is more - you'll be a Man, my son! &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;span style="color:#993399;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;span style="color:#993399;"&gt;&lt;blockquote&gt;&lt;span style="color:#333399;"&gt;"And let us not be weary in well doing: for in due&lt;br /&gt;season we shall reap, if we faint not""&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/blockquote&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;p align="center"&gt;&lt;img alt="Image hosted by Photobucket.com" src="http://i7.photobucket.com/albums/y254/Emma_L/th6917fec2.gif" /&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/10675961-113819247254321104?l=poozamishra.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://poozamishra.blogspot.com/feeds/113819247254321104/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='https://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=10675961&amp;postID=113819247254321104&amp;isPopup=true' title='35 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/10675961/posts/default/113819247254321104'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/10675961/posts/default/113819247254321104'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://poozamishra.blogspot.com/2006/01/fresh-start.html' title='A fresh start'/><author><name>Pooza mishra</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02245079359806005641</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:extendedProperty xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' name='OpenSocialUserId' value='11459865561691724663'/></author><thr:total xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'>35</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10675961.post-111832725410022262</id><published>2005-06-09T19:39:00.000+05:30</published><updated>2005-06-09T20:54:10.943+05:30</updated><title type='text'>Lonely</title><content type='html'>&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;img height="360" alt="move on" src="http://photos12.flickr.com/18320007_bf5e38e99f.jpg" width="425" /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;p align="center"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color:#663366;"&gt;Alone in a desolate world&lt;br /&gt;I walked through lonely roads and saw&lt;br /&gt;A pretty lass crying&lt;br /&gt;Whispering her lovers name, calling him back&lt;br /&gt;He is no where to be found…&lt;br /&gt;I ensconced near her&lt;br /&gt;“I attended his wedding today” she murmured and sighed&lt;br /&gt;I gave her a hug&lt;br /&gt;and walked again…&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color:#660000;"&gt;Saw an old man couched&lt;br /&gt;I sat near him …he rumbled&lt;br /&gt;“Searching the star my son today is,&lt;br /&gt;he left me alone, alone in this lonely world”&lt;br /&gt;“I buried him today”&lt;br /&gt;I couldn’t stop my tears&lt;br /&gt;Made a short prayer and left&lt;br /&gt;Walked through those lonely roads, those lonely roads once again…&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color:#336666;"&gt;I met a young lad&lt;br /&gt;shouting and cursing.&lt;br /&gt;I stopped and looked at him&lt;br /&gt;What’s wrong?&lt;br /&gt;“She ditched me, left me for someone else”&lt;br /&gt;You will find someone better&lt;br /&gt;“I want no one else”&lt;br /&gt;Keep the faith I said and walked&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color:#996633;"&gt;I walk through those lonely roads again and wonder&lt;br /&gt;Where has smile disappeared?&lt;br /&gt;Where have promises vanished?&lt;br /&gt;Why has truth disappeared?&lt;br /&gt;Where has love evanished?&lt;br /&gt;With so many people around,&lt;br /&gt;Why are we sad and solitary&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="color:#996633;"&gt;…&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p align="center"&gt;&lt;img alt="Image hosted by Photobucket.com" src="http://i7.photobucket.com/albums/y254/Emma_L/th6917fec2.gif" /&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p align="center"&gt; &lt;/p&gt;&lt;p align="center"&gt;&lt;marquee&gt;&lt;img src="http://i7.photobucket.com/albums/y282/LunaticJohn/Random/icon_smile.gif" alt="Image hosted by Photobucket.com" /&gt;All the poems, stories etc here are written by me. &lt;img src="http://i7.photobucket.com/albums/y282/LunaticJohn/Random/icon_smile.gif" alt="Image hosted by Photobucket.com" /&gt;Whenever it is taken from any other source it is clearly mentioned. Enjoy your stay&lt;img src="http://i7.photobucket.com/albums/y282/LunaticJohn/Random/icon_smile.gif" alt="Image hosted by Photobucket.com" /&gt;&lt;/marquee&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p align="center"&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p align="left"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;marquee&gt;&lt;/marquee&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/10675961-111832725410022262?l=poozamishra.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://poozamishra.blogspot.com/feeds/111832725410022262/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='https://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=10675961&amp;postID=111832725410022262&amp;isPopup=true' title='60 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/10675961/posts/default/111832725410022262'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/10675961/posts/default/111832725410022262'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://poozamishra.blogspot.com/2005/06/lonely.html' title='Lonely'/><author><name>Pooza mishra</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02245079359806005641</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:extendedProperty xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' name='OpenSocialUserId' value='11459865561691724663'/></author><thr:total xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'>60</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10675961.post-111763452765019725</id><published>2005-06-01T19:28:00.000+05:30</published><updated>2005-06-01T23:12:12.236+05:30</updated><title type='text'>Love</title><content type='html'>&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color:#663366;"&gt;&lt;img height="175" alt="Goa" src="http://photos14.flickr.com/16888190_9d9705d773_m.jpg" width="223" /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color:#663366;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color:#663366;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color:#663366;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color:#663366;"&gt;Sameer was so happy, all free and ready to explore the new world, new things that life had to offer him. His 5-year course in Architectural engineering was finally over and he had got a decent job offer. Decent would be a very trivial term for the fantabulous offer that he had got. He and his friends decided to go to Goa for a 10 days trip and enjoy the beach. They were all so excited about the entire thing. After reaching Mumbai they decide to go to Goa by road. They hired a car and set out. All way they were singing and yelling and cracking jokes at one another. Completely unaware of what the future had in store for them.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;On reaching Goa, Manisha, a very close friend of Sameer had to leave because she got a call from her home and there was some urgent personal problem that she had to attend to. Rajveer also left with her. Sameer and two of his friends were already totally bored. Their plans were shattered. But still high on enthusiasm they decided to enjoy the trip as much as they could.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color:#663366;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color:#663366;"&gt;&lt;img height="135" alt="Goa" src="http://photos10.flickr.com/16888189_71d69f3098_m.jpg" width="206" /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;One night while returning from the beach they met with an accident. Sameer had absolutely no idea what happened to him and what exactly went wrong. The next day when Sameer opened his eyes he was at the hospital. Drunk like anything he had hit a speeding car. The two friends of his had died on the spot and he had somehow survived. The man had brought him to the hospital in time, was the doctor himself. The treatment was on. He was feeling so guilty and had never bothered to talk to anyone, never bothered to say a word. This went on for days. A young girl would get juice and some food for him everyday. He never cared to look at her but yes the only thing that had locked his eyes on her were the beautiful eyes she had. Deep, innocent, mesmerizing and lovely. Sameer was taken to the doctor’s place after some days. He would simply not tell anyone who he is, where he is from. And because of the accident, he was so badly hurt, the doctor insisted that absolutely no mental pressure be put on him.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The girl looked after him, after all his small needs and demands. Shaina who had completed her graduation at Mumbai and had come to Goa to spend the vacation with her father. A very simple girl, beautiful but she hardly spoke. Like a keen observer she would simply watch her father and Sameer talk and would never care to say a word herself. There was something in her that had impressed Sameer a lot but he would hesitate and ignore these thoughts. Sameer loved painting and once when he found a paper and pencil he started doing some sketches… and he was doing it subconsciously. He was shocked himself when he saw that what he had sketched were those beautiful eyes of Shaina. Instead of tearing the paper and throwing it away (which he was initially tempted to) he folded it and kept it in his trouser pockets.&lt;/span&gt; &lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;img height="120" alt="eyes" src="http://photos9.flickr.com/16841818_45eee8caff.jpg" width="397" /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#336666;"&gt;One evening he was very depressed and sad. He had shut his eyes and was thinking about the accident. He didn’t know that tears had started making their way out of his eyes. He suddenly opened his eyes and saw Shaina was standing in front of him with a glass of juice in her hand. She kept it near him and looked at him for sometime. Sameer desperately wanted her to leave. He wasn’t feeling quite normal at that time. He wanted to be left alone, completely alone. He was too depressed to tolerate company. But Shaina wouldn’t move. She told him after a long silence, “It wasn’t your mistake, an accident is an accident. Not your fault at all. It was but destined to happen and we cant fight with destiny” Those words sounded so sweet. Sameer smiled and said thanks. Shaina was about to leave when Sameer asked her, “Its strange, you have been so good to me, done so much for me, but I don’t even know your name”, and she replied, “I don’t know yours”. “I am Sameer”. “Shaina”…and suddenly Sameer said, “Angel” Shaina turned back and stared at him. He told her, “You are an angel, If you don’t mind that’s what I would like to call you” Sameer and Shaina became very good friends. When she got to know that Sameer loved painting n sketching, she got some sheets for him, some crayons, pencils etc. Sameer would paint something and show it to her and they would discuss his paintings for a long time. Sameer would be low then she would tell him lovely inspiring things.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;One evening Sameer decided to go out. He called his dad and told him he is still at Goa and would be coming back in a few days. The depression once more got over him and he went to the beach and sat there gazing at the sea. Shaina joined him, she was quite aware that he would be there. The quietest beach area. And for the first time Sameer told her about himself, small and minute details about himself. Shaina mostly kept quiet. After a long silence he asked her why she was usually so quiet, any specific reason? Shaina didn’t reply and just kept quiet.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;In the last 10 days they had come close. Shaina could see that she had started feeling for him and she hated this. She started avoiding him as much as she probably could. Now she stopped accompanying Sameer to the beaches in the evening. She would send his meals etc through someone else. These things didn’t help, didn’t help at all. Sameer gave her the space she needed completely. Things were getting more and more difficult for her. Once when she too was terribly bored she decided to join Sameer in his evening walks. He stopped to make a call. Shaina waited outside. She just casually asked him whom he had called. He replied, “Nisha, my fiancée” and she was completely shocked. She felt so pathetic at that moment when she knew she shouldn’t feel so, at least not she. Sameer added, ”We were supposed to get married soon, we will actually after I join my Job, not a long time left for the same. She is the girl I have been madly in love with for the last 4 years. She was in my college.“ Sameer didn’t quite mark the silence, as it is Shaina used to keep quiet. He turned and looked at her and said, “Angel thanks for everything.” Shaina blurted out, “Dare not say thanks Sameer. You better not. So you are leaving? “ He said, “Ya, how did you know? I was about to say that. I am leaving in a day or two, most probably tomorrow evening. “ And for the first time he saw Shaina smiled but something made Sameer feel that it was such a faked one. But she had already started walking ahead and Sameer joined her. They walked back completely quiet. None of them spoke a word. The next day Sameer packed his bags (his luggage was checked out from the hotel, where he was staying with his friends, long back). He hugged Shaina, gave her his address and contact information and left. Shaina stood there waving goodbye to him, wishing him luck and smiling.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#996633;"&gt;Sameer reached Bangalore and was so relieved. He was happy to see his family, his friends…..Nisha. He got to know that Nisha had to leave for a few months because of the work she had at Delhi. They would get married after 8 months. He was so completely engrossed in his life that he didn’t get the time to think about Goa, think about Shaina. He had forgotten to unpack even. The bag was tugged in some corner and he never cared to open it. One day he needed some document, which he thought might be there in that bag and thus took everything out. He saw the sketch he had made, with “Angel’s eyes” written on it. He thought about Shaina and all that she had done for him, thought about her eyes, those long curls, those sweet words. It was 4 months already and he had not cared to call her even. And all these days, every morning Shaina would get up wishing and praying that Sameer would call her up. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="color:#996633;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="color:#996633;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="color:#996633;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&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;img height="380" alt="LONELY" src="http://photos13.flickr.com/16869423_accc0e36ad.jpg" width="304" /&gt;&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;strong&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&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;/strong&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;He called her up. The familiar voice on the other side made him feel so good. They talked for a long time. He told her how hectic his life had become, about his job, about his wedding. He asked about her, her father. He suddenly asked, “Angel why didn’t you join any college?” Or did you join any at Goa which I feel you didn’t, wont you read anymore????” Shaina didn’t reply, she just giggled it away. And the topic was changed. They started talking more regularly. Every alternate day he would call her up and they would talk for a long time. Then he had to go to Kolkata for some meeting and couldn’t get the time to call her up for almost 15 days. He was missing her all through but didn’t want to call her up just for a minute and hung up and didn’t have the time to talk for a long time. He decided to call her once he would reach Bangalore. After returning to Bangalore, when he called her up there was no reply. No body picked up the phone. He got worried. He kept trying the number for 3 days at a stretch. Whenever he would get the time he would try her number. No reply. He started missing her like anything and was so terribly worried. The next day he got a letter in a beautiful baby pink colored envelope and written “from your angel” clearly on it. He was so excited but worried at the same time. He opened it in a hurry. In beautiful little letters was written:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#660000;"&gt;“Love is like sunshine,&lt;br /&gt;strong and true,&lt;br /&gt;Love is all that&lt;br /&gt;I feel so deeply for you”&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The thought that you will remember me, as a friend, as someone you knew would make me feel grateful to God and feel life wasn’t that bad.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Bye&lt;br /&gt;Love&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;Angel&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#000066;"&gt;Sameer was completely shocked. He tried her number again, but no reply. He immediately left for Goa. Angel’s home was locked. He asked the neighbors about her. An old lady came out and said, “Don’t you know? The poor little girl passed away 10 days back. May God bless her soul. A brave little girl she was. She fought with the disease, with death so bravely. But as she always said, we cant fight with our destiny. And her poor father left this place. I heard he went to Delhi to stay with his sister. “ Sameer was shocked and he immediately left that place. He went to the same beach they used to go to. Sat there and cried and cried for hours still holding the sketch of her eyes. And he felt as if she was there with him, sitting near him, encouraging him, and trying her best to make him feel better. He could feel her in the silence………….all his life. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color:#000066;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color:#000066;"&gt;&lt;img height="316" alt="alone" src="http://photos11.flickr.com/16887321_2980ef3c8c.jpg" width="380" /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/10675961-111763452765019725?l=poozamishra.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://poozamishra.blogspot.com/feeds/111763452765019725/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='https://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=10675961&amp;postID=111763452765019725&amp;isPopup=true' title='44 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/10675961/posts/default/111763452765019725'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/10675961/posts/default/111763452765019725'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://poozamishra.blogspot.com/2005/06/love_01.html' title='Love'/><author><name>Pooza mishra</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02245079359806005641</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:extendedProperty xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' name='OpenSocialUserId' value='11459865561691724663'/></author><thr:total xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'>44</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10675961.post-111666777574530253</id><published>2005-05-21T14:52:00.000+05:30</published><updated>2005-05-25T15:35:45.153+05:30</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color:#660000;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color:#660000;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color:#660000;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color:#666666;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color:#666666;"&gt;&lt;img height="200" alt="doli" src="http://photos11.flickr.com/14803839_734e693391_m.jpg" width="200" /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color:#666666;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color:#666666;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Last nite the restaurant where we had been to have dinner, the lady singer in the music band was singing this song. I have been humming the song all day. I must have heard the song so many times now.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color:#666666;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color:#660000;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color:#660000;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color:#660000;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color:#660000;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Sab ki baaraatein aayi doli tu bhi laana&lt;br /&gt;Dulhan banaake humko rajaji le jaana&lt;br /&gt;Sab ki baaraatein aayi&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#996633;"&gt;Chaaha tha maine, socha tha maine&lt;br /&gt;Kya kya the armaan dil nadaan ke&lt;br /&gt;Aankhon mein aansu aaye&lt;br /&gt;Ho, aankhon mein aansu aaye par koi na aaya&lt;br /&gt;Ab to kisi ko bhi apna ke hai bulaana&lt;br /&gt;Sab ki baaraatein aayi&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#666600;"&gt;In aankhon mein thi ek raat saji&lt;br /&gt;Haathon mein kabhi choodi si baji&lt;br /&gt;Par aankh khuli to aaya nazar na raat saji na choodi baji&lt;br /&gt;Mera toota tha dil, uski jhankar thi&lt;br /&gt;Saara voh rang tha mere khoone dil ka&lt;br /&gt;Yeh to hai rona dil ka&lt;br /&gt;Haan, yeh to hai rona dil ka kaahe ka taraana&lt;br /&gt;Ab to kisi ko bhi apna ke hai bulaana&lt;br /&gt;Sab ki baaraatein aayi doli tu bhi laana&lt;br /&gt;Dulhan banaake humko rajaji le jaana&lt;br /&gt;Sab ki baaraatein aayi&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#993300;"&gt;Chalo jo bhi hua, voh khoob hua&lt;br /&gt;Ab har koi mehboob hua&lt;br /&gt;Hai sab ke liye yeh raat meri ab to hai yehi aukaat meri&lt;br /&gt;Haske bheege palak chamkaana hai&lt;br /&gt;Sooni baahein ada se laheraana hai&lt;br /&gt;Gham khaake aansu peeke&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color:#993300;"&gt;gham khaake aansu peeke mehfil mein gaana&lt;br /&gt;Ab to kisi ko bhi apna ke hai bulaana&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#666666;"&gt;Sab ki baaraatein aayi doli tu bhi laana&lt;br /&gt;Dulhan banaake humko rajaji le jaana&lt;br /&gt;Sab ki baaraatein aayi&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;span style="color:#666666;"&gt;&lt;span style="color:#996633;"&gt;You can hear the song here ----------&gt; &lt;/span&gt;&lt;a href="http://www.raaga.com/channels/hindi/searchresults.asp"&gt;&lt;span style="color:#996633;"&gt;Song&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span style="color:#996633;"&gt; &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/10675961-111666777574530253?l=poozamishra.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://poozamishra.blogspot.com/feeds/111666777574530253/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='https://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=10675961&amp;postID=111666777574530253&amp;isPopup=true' title='7 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/10675961/posts/default/111666777574530253'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/10675961/posts/default/111666777574530253'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://poozamishra.blogspot.com/2005/05/last-nite-restaurant-where-we-had-been.html' title=''/><author><name>Pooza mishra</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02245079359806005641</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:extendedProperty xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' name='OpenSocialUserId' value='11459865561691724663'/></author><thr:total xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'>7</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10675961.post-111659842172565812</id><published>2005-05-20T19:35:00.000+05:30</published><updated>2005-05-20T23:27:13.536+05:30</updated><title type='text'>I wonder</title><content type='html'>&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;I wonder :&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;img height="200" alt="wonder" src="http://photos14.flickr.com/14778894_28878d9c1f_m.jpg" width="174" /&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#660000;"&gt;1.Why is it that we understand the value of life when we fear of loosing it? The real value of life can be seen in the eyes of a dying man. The only thing we take for granted everyday when we wake up is that we have got one more to live, to dream, to laugh, to cry….&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color:#666600;"&gt;2.Why is it that even if we know that our mom loves us the most, her love for is truly unconditional and passionate… She tops the list of people we neglect the most. We take her love for us, would rather say we take her for granted. Those long nights she has spent sleepless for our health, our exams, we never even thank her for it. Why do we take her love for us for granted?&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color:#996633;"&gt;3.Why is it that the real value of love can be seen in the hearts of people who have lost someone they loved passionately? Why is love just some trivial game for people who get it without working hard?&lt;/span&gt; &lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color:#336666;"&gt;4.Why is it that we remember someone the most after he dies? How often our hearts choke when we think of those sad memories when someone very close to our heart died…But when the same person is alive, we seldom think of them and meeting them or talking to them is even rarer…&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color:#663366;"&gt;5.Why is it that the closest friends we have ever had are the ones we have rarely cared for? They are the ones who would be there to wipe our tears, to share our smiles, our partners in the naughtiest things we do….and yet we so often take their friendship for granted….&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color:#000066;"&gt;6.Why is it that the most beautiful things on this earth come free and we spend our entire life running after things that cost us a fortune? Love, friendship, care, concern, the morning rays of the sun, the beautiful colors of the flowers, the song of birds, the beauty of butterflies, the pleasure of a walk bare feet on wet sand, the beautiful night sky, the air we breathe, smile on the face of the one we love the most, the touch of a baby, mom’s hugs they all come free and we seldom notice them….&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color:#000066;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;img height="200" alt="LONELY" src="http://photos12.flickr.com/14775947_640c2a624a_m.jpg" width="200" /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color:#000066;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color:#006600;"&gt;7.Why is it that we are scared of ghosts, scared of thieves and never scared of the thought that maybe we have hurt someone terribly, that maybe one of the closest one will not be there with us tomorrow, that maybe we broke someone’s trust &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color:#996633;"&gt;8.Why is it that we run after people who wouldn’t care to appreciate us or care for us and never appreciate people who appreciate us? We even watch movies on similar themes like Jo jeeta wahi sikander and like them, yet when it comes to our own lives we would rather go all out to woo the other girl than reciprocate feelings of the ones who love us &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color:#003300;"&gt;9.Why we long to grow up when we are kids, and once we are grown up we miss those childhood days and spend our entire life with those sweet memories which we had never ever been grateful of as kids?&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color:#663333;"&gt;10.Why is it that a sailor longs to get into the sea when in shore and longs to get back to the shore when in sea?&lt;/span&gt; &lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color:#666600;"&gt;11.Why is it that we take so many things in life for granted? Emotions of people who love us for granted? In fact people who love us for granted&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color:#666600;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;img height="500" alt="sad" src="http://photos3.flickr.com/14775724_b801838cfb.jpg" width="362" /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color:#996633;"&gt;12. Why is it that we never understand how much we care for people till they leave us.... and why is it that once they actualy leave us and we realise things, they hardly come back ?&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;This probably proves how foolish we all really are or does it prove how mean the force that is controlling every movement on this earth actually is? Is it destiny or our own negligence? As a child I had heard so many stories where the ending was always happy, where people got what they deserved, where there was love and victory of truth. Where the princess always had her prince ride a white horse and come to her, where the King always defeated the evil powers. Were they just to fool us? Or just to keep our childhood sans reality, reality that is so bitter? I still wonder &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/10675961-111659842172565812?l=poozamishra.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://poozamishra.blogspot.com/feeds/111659842172565812/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='https://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=10675961&amp;postID=111659842172565812&amp;isPopup=true' title='13 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/10675961/posts/default/111659842172565812'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/10675961/posts/default/111659842172565812'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://poozamishra.blogspot.com/2005/05/i-wonder.html' title='I wonder'/><author><name>Pooza mishra</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02245079359806005641</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:extendedProperty xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' name='OpenSocialUserId' value='11459865561691724663'/></author><thr:total xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'>13</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10675961.post-111653183350635358</id><published>2005-05-19T23:30:00.000+05:30</published><updated>2005-05-20T23:45:53.216+05:30</updated><title type='text'>Birthday</title><content type='html'>&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;img height="100" alt="its my birthday" src="http://photos13.flickr.com/14611795_097d31bf64_t.jpg" width="100" /&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;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;My birthday, this year has been one of the most memorable days of my life. I never ever had imagined that it will actualy be such a wonderful day this year. I will post whatever happened, the first thing tomorrow. &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;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;Edited to add :&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color:#cc6600;"&gt;Last nite sharp at 12, my lil brother Viki ran to me, hugged me and wished me “happy birthday”, and then my mom…and immediately then I got an sms from a friend and the words used were real cute.Just then one of my best friends, sweet cute SOUP (that’s wat I call her ;) ) called me up.We both simply pull each others leg, she asked me “well is it time?” :D and I said, “Well I think so” :D and she wished me happy birthday and we both were giggling :P immediately then my cell rang, and there was actually a sweet lil surprise, a very very sweet friend of mine from Delhi ( we had not been in touch for sometime now) had called and she so cutely whispered “happy bday”.It was one real surprise. I had never thought she remembered my bday. Then a sweet friend of mine called me up and wished me. It was the first time we were talking, though we have been friends for months now. A friend I got through blogging, And the friend actually made a lovely e-card and sent it to me with a lovely poem. And then many old friends called me up, my cousins called me up. I got sms from some friends and at 1 am, I got a sweet call from a very sweet friend, who actually sang the bday song to me :P and I got a gift from the friend today :) which is so cute. Thanx :)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#666600;"&gt;Today morning when I got up dad was here. He had actually taken a leave of 2 days and come here. It was the loveliest surprise and I found on my bed birthday card and gifts like every year. My mom would make sure when I get up I get to see the gifts first. Mom gifts me one soft toy every year. Its like a must and then any other gift. I had only girl soft toys in my room, this year for the first time mom gifted me Pinnochio. And every year dad would definitely gift me a book and my favorite chocolates and then anything else. Apart from these gifts I was also given a gold chain, a cute pendant and a 1000 bucks :P I got some lovely sms wishes and some friends called up and wished me today.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#660000;"&gt;We ( me and some very close friends of mine) had decided to go to Cafe coffee day on my birthday. This plan is almost 12-13 days old. Initialy it was the last place I ever wanted to go to on my birthday. But then I thought why not. My cousin who is doing her MBBS at Vizag also joined us. She knows my friends very well, so for her such get togethers are fun. My friend Niks had to come to my place and we were to leave together. And as she is miss late latif, when she had to reach at 10, she reached at 11 :D. We picked up my cousin too and reached CCD at around 11:15. We met two very very sweet friends and that too for the first time. Both of them were so sweet and interesting. We had some iced eskimos and Instant nirvanas there. We talked for sometime and then these 2 friends had to leave. We wished we could have spent some more time together but they werent late latifs like ...... and had been there from 10 itself. After they left we all decided to eat more. We ate pizzas, burgers, and then even butter masala dosa. We asked this guy at CCD to pack two more pizzas and were eating dosa in the south indian restaurant which happens to be in the same building, just next to CCD. That guy came there to tell us that the pizzas were packed and he couldn’t stop staring at what we were eating and am sure he couldn’t believe we actually could eat so much( he didn’t know how much of sharing was going on actually). We don’t look like we can actually eat so much :D and he smiled and left. Uski halat dekh ke my friends and I just couldn’t stop laughing. We then had a coke and returned home. We parked the car near my home and kept talking. Entered home at around 2:30 and then mom was there with lunch for us. We couldnt tell her no :D :D :D :D and actualy had lunch :P :P &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color:#660000;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color:#660000;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color:#996633;"&gt;After talking for some more time, they left and I had to clean my room. This time around my room was literaly cluttered with news papers. I came online for sometime and saw those lovely wishes on the forum. I felt so good after reading them. I was still getting sms and calls from friends. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color:#996633;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color:#666600;"&gt;And then in the evening we had a small party at home. All my relatives and cousins had turned up. All my cousins are here. Most of them reached here on 18th and some have already left now( i.e at this time ). We enjoyed so much and need I add ATE so much. 10-15 bottles of real fruit juice and other snacks were jsut appetisers :D :D and then cake and then dinner. We were just yelling shouting singing and well making and were enjoying so much that some cousins who called up to say that they are going to reach lil late actualy would leave the important work and reach in 5 mins. The party actualy continued till 2:30 am. And coz my pc is on 24X7 I at times just logged in and posted something. At 2:30 I was so tired, didnt take me a minute to fall asleep and in days I had a very calm, pleasant sleep. God knows when I would have got up, thanks to a friend who called me up and I woke up :D :D and the cutest gift was from a cute lil cousin who gifted me a huge ( read that real HUGE) TEDDY :p :p Cute na? :D :D &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color:#666600;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color:#666600;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color:#666600;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color:#660000;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color:#660000;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color:#660000;"&gt;Some cards that I got yesterday :&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color:#660000;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color:#660000;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color:#660000;"&gt;&lt;img height="240" alt="card3" src="http://photos10.flickr.com/14755106_8d8c040699_m.jpg" width="152" /&gt; &lt;img height="240" alt="card01" src="http://photos9.flickr.com/14753929_43174a4ba8_m.jpg" width="151" /&gt; &lt;img height="240" alt="card 2" src="http://photos14.flickr.com/14753262_467edbdda1_m.jpg" width="163" /&gt; &lt;img height="240" alt="card 1" src="http://photos10.flickr.com/14752986_499b44167c_m.jpg" width="160" /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color:#660000;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color:#660000;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color:#660000;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color:#660000;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color:#660000;"&gt;And some of the lovely e-cards I got :&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color:#660000;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;img height="171" alt="card" src="http://photos10.flickr.com/14804745_7212b7c250_m.jpg" width="240" /&gt; &lt;img height="191" alt="pooza" src="http://photos11.flickr.com/14758081_59bd485bcf_m.jpg" width="240" /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;Cant get the other ones coz they are flash files &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/10675961-111653183350635358?l=poozamishra.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://poozamishra.blogspot.com/feeds/111653183350635358/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='https://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=10675961&amp;postID=111653183350635358&amp;isPopup=true' title='17 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/10675961/posts/default/111653183350635358'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/10675961/posts/default/111653183350635358'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://poozamishra.blogspot.com/2005/05/birthday.html' title='Birthday'/><author><name>Pooza mishra</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02245079359806005641</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:extendedProperty xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' name='OpenSocialUserId' value='11459865561691724663'/></author><thr:total xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'>17</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10675961.post-111641223466103122</id><published>2005-05-18T15:52:00.000+05:30</published><updated>2005-05-18T16:11:40.813+05:30</updated><title type='text'>Dil to kehta hai....</title><content type='html'>&lt;p align="center"&gt;&lt;img height="500" alt="Pooza" src="http://photos11.flickr.com/14462530_b9db030bf2.jpg" width="356" /&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color:#333300;"&gt;Dil to kehta hai Woh apne hai&lt;br /&gt;Apne hi hai&lt;br /&gt;Dil to kehta hai woh apne hai&lt;br /&gt;apne hi hai&lt;br /&gt;Jinki jaanib se Halka sa ishara bhi nahi&lt;br /&gt;Koi awaaz to ayi hai kahin se lekin&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#663366;"&gt;Usne ab tak to bhule se pukara bhi nahi&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Dil to kehta hai woh apne hai&lt;br /&gt;Apne hi hai&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Kya khata ki jiski humko to khabar hi na hui&lt;br /&gt;Jaane kyun humse khafa hai yeh zamane wale&lt;br /&gt;Kya khata ki jiski humko to khabar hi na hui&lt;br /&gt;Jaane kyun humse khafa hai yeh zamane wale&lt;br /&gt;Humko apnale&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#663366;"&gt;Humko apnale yeh unko to gawara bhi nahi&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;Dil to kehta hai woh apne hai&lt;br /&gt;Apne hi hai&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#660000;"&gt;Tum hamein chaho na chaho yeh tumhara dil hai&lt;br /&gt;Hum tumhein paake rahenge yeh hamara dil hai&lt;br /&gt;Tum hamein chaho na chaho yeh tumhara dil hai&lt;br /&gt;Hum tumhe paake rahenge yeh hamara dil hai&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;Meri umeed...&lt;br /&gt;meri umeed koi tuta sitara bhi nahi&lt;br /&gt;Dil to kehta hai woh apne hai&lt;br /&gt;apne hi hai&lt;br /&gt;jinki jaanib se halka sa ishara bhi nahi&lt;br /&gt;koi awaz to ayi hai kahin se lekin&lt;br /&gt;usne ab tak to bhule se pukara bhi nahi&lt;br /&gt;Dil to kehta woh apne hai&lt;br /&gt;apne hi hai.....&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I have heard this song so many times now. I like this song a lot&lt;br /&gt;You can hear the song here -------&gt; &lt;a href="http://www.raaga.com/channels/hindi/lyrics/5024.html"&gt;song &lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/10675961-111641223466103122?l=poozamishra.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://poozamishra.blogspot.com/feeds/111641223466103122/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='https://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=10675961&amp;postID=111641223466103122&amp;isPopup=true' title='17 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/10675961/posts/default/111641223466103122'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/10675961/posts/default/111641223466103122'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://poozamishra.blogspot.com/2005/05/dil-to-kehta-hai.html' title='Dil to kehta hai....'/><author><name>Pooza mishra</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02245079359806005641</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:extendedProperty xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' name='OpenSocialUserId' value='11459865561691724663'/></author><thr:total xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'>17</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10675961.post-111627423462651894</id><published>2005-05-17T01:37:00.000+05:30</published><updated>2005-05-17T01:42:53.430+05:30</updated><title type='text'>And Forgive Me!</title><content type='html'>Found it on the Da forum and I found it so cute&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Here is the weblink&lt;br /&gt;click here --------&gt; &lt;a href="http://photos9.flickr.com/14202069_f2222190b5_o.jpg"&gt;And forgive me &lt;/a&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/10675961-111627423462651894?l=poozamishra.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://poozamishra.blogspot.com/feeds/111627423462651894/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='https://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=10675961&amp;postID=111627423462651894&amp;isPopup=true' title='9 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/10675961/posts/default/111627423462651894'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/10675961/posts/default/111627423462651894'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://poozamishra.blogspot.com/2005/05/and-forgive-me.html' title='And Forgive Me!'/><author><name>Pooza mishra</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02245079359806005641</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:extendedProperty xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' name='OpenSocialUserId' value='11459865561691724663'/></author><thr:total xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'>9</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10675961.post-111571719961761829</id><published>2005-05-10T14:55:00.000+05:30</published><updated>2005-08-06T12:41:02.850+05:30</updated><title type='text'>je suis très belle :D</title><content type='html'>A sketch I made. Comments most welcome :)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;img height="550" alt="Pooza" src="http://photos11.flickr.com/13247201_2aed92fbc4.jpg" width="400" /&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/10675961-111571719961761829?l=poozamishra.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://poozamishra.blogspot.com/feeds/111571719961761829/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='https://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=10675961&amp;postID=111571719961761829&amp;isPopup=true' title='49 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/10675961/posts/default/111571719961761829'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/10675961/posts/default/111571719961761829'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://poozamishra.blogspot.com/2005/05/je-suis-trs-belle-d.html' title='je suis très belle :D'/><author><name>Pooza mishra</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02245079359806005641</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:extendedProperty xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' name='OpenSocialUserId' value='11459865561691724663'/></author><thr:total xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'>49</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10675961.post-111538037432442030</id><published>2005-05-06T17:20:00.000+05:30</published><updated>2005-05-06T17:28:38.403+05:30</updated><title type='text'>Love Story</title><content type='html'>&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color:#666600;"&gt;A forward I received in my mail box :D&lt;/span&gt; &lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color:#660000;"&gt;Love Story ..Must Read&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Read this if u believe in love,but if u don't believe in love then too&lt;br /&gt;read&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;this ........ might change ur perspective !!!! Must Read ... Dedicated&lt;br /&gt;to&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;all those who made Spiderman and Titanic a (success!) A true, touching&lt;br /&gt;love&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;story that happened in the NWFP(border) areas.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The headman of a big tribe had a beautiful daughter, who fell in love&lt;br /&gt;with&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;a boy who was an ordinary poor person. When the people of the tribe came&lt;br /&gt;to&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;know about their love, they did not like it at all, and so began to&lt;br /&gt;protest&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;about it.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Now it happened that the two lovers left their homes for a happy future.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The people of the tribe started searching for the(two) lovers but they&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;could not find them.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;At last, they accepted their love and asked them in a newspaper to come&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;back. The people said that if u both come back we will marry u, we&lt;br /&gt;accept&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;that u lo! ved each other truly.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So in this way their love won and the age old attitide of the tribe took&lt;br /&gt;a&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;beating. The couple went to the city for shopping for the wedding. He&lt;br /&gt;was&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;wearing a white traditional dress, and was crossing the road when a car&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;came and hit him and he ! died on the spot.The girl lost her senses.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;After a long time she recovered and accepted that her love has died. One&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;night she was sleeping in her home with her family.Her(mother) had dream&lt;br /&gt;in&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;which she saw a fairy.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;That fairy asked her mother to wash the blood spots of the guy from her&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;daughter's clothes as soon as possible. But her mother ignored the&lt;br /&gt;dream.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Next night the father saw the same dream, he also ignored it.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Then when the girl had the same dream the next night, she woke up and&lt;br /&gt;told&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;her mother about the dream. Her mother asked her to wash the clothes on&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;which there were blood spots. She washed the spots but! some remained.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Next night she again had the same dream she again washed the spots but&lt;br /&gt;some&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;still remained. Next night she again had the same dream and this time&lt;br /&gt;that&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;fairy gave her last warning to wash the blood spots, elsesomething&lt;br /&gt;terrible&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;will happen.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;This time the girl tried her best to wash the spots, the clothes tore,&lt;br /&gt;but&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;some spots still r! emained. In the evening on same day when she was&lt;br /&gt;alone,&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;someone knocked the door, when she opened the door she saw the fairy at&lt;br /&gt;the&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;door.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;She got very scared and fainted. The fairy woke her up..., and gave her&lt;br /&gt;an&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;object. That awe-struck girl asked "what is this..?,to which the(fairy)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;replied......."kaise bhi daag ho, jaise bhi daag ho............. surf&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;excel... hai na..." I know what u are feeling now... But don't look for&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;me... I'msearching for the person who mailed this to me..."&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;strong&gt; &lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/84002245@N00/7370197/" title="Photo Sharing"&gt;&lt;img src="http://photos8.flickr.com/7370197_a7fe6fa3a5_t.jpg" width="68" height="80" alt="avatar475_0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/10675961-111538037432442030?l=poozamishra.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://poozamishra.blogspot.com/feeds/111538037432442030/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='https://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=10675961&amp;postID=111538037432442030&amp;isPopup=true' title='11 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/10675961/posts/default/111538037432442030'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/10675961/posts/default/111538037432442030'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://poozamishra.blogspot.com/2005/05/love-story.html' title='Love Story'/><author><name>Pooza mishra</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02245079359806005641</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:extendedProperty xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' name='OpenSocialUserId' value='11459865561691724663'/></author><thr:total xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'>11</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10675961.post-111450627766908626</id><published>2005-04-26T14:33:00.000+05:30</published><updated>2005-04-26T14:39:48.100+05:30</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;p id="powered-by"&gt;&lt;a title="Photo Sharing" href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/84002245@N00/10617628/"&gt;&lt;img height="157" alt="lcrwiz050418" src="http://photos5.flickr.com/10617628_0ecab63d91.jpg" width="425" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/10675961-111450627766908626?l=poozamishra.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://poozamishra.blogspot.com/feeds/111450627766908626/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='https://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=10675961&amp;postID=111450627766908626&amp;isPopup=true' title='4 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/10675961/posts/default/111450627766908626'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/10675961/posts/default/111450627766908626'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://poozamishra.blogspot.com/2005/04/photo-sharing_26.html' title=''/><author><name>Pooza mishra</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02245079359806005641</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:extendedProperty xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' name='OpenSocialUserId' value='11459865561691724663'/></author><thr:total xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'>4</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10675961.post-111383696937383500</id><published>2005-04-18T20:27:00.000+05:30</published><updated>2005-04-18T20:39:29.373+05:30</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color:#660000;"&gt;I came across an interesting love story while browsing for "Dolce Vita"... Here it goes :&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;Click here ----  &lt;a href="http://www.lovefatedestiny.com/lovestories6.htm"&gt;Dolce Vita&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:100%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/10675961-111383696937383500?l=poozamishra.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://poozamishra.blogspot.com/feeds/111383696937383500/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='https://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=10675961&amp;postID=111383696937383500&amp;isPopup=true' title='15 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/10675961/posts/default/111383696937383500'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/10675961/posts/default/111383696937383500'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://poozamishra.blogspot.com/2005/04/i-came-across-interesting-love-story.html' title=''/><author><name>Pooza mishra</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02245079359806005641</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:extendedProperty xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' name='OpenSocialUserId' value='11459865561691724663'/></author><thr:total xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'>15</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10675961.post-111356566885700896</id><published>2005-04-15T11:17:00.000+05:30</published><updated>2005-04-15T17:27:21.080+05:30</updated><title type='text'>comic strip</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/84002245@N00/9469697/" title="Photo Sharing"&gt;&lt;img src="http://photos8.flickr.com/9469697_2561e7dfc4_o.gif" width="400" height="175" alt="comic strip" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/10675961-111356566885700896?l=poozamishra.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://poozamishra.blogspot.com/feeds/111356566885700896/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='https://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=10675961&amp;postID=111356566885700896&amp;isPopup=true' title='4 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/10675961/posts/default/111356566885700896'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/10675961/posts/default/111356566885700896'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://poozamishra.blogspot.com/2005/04/comic-strip_15.html' title='comic strip'/><author><name>Pooza mishra</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02245079359806005641</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:extendedProperty xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' name='OpenSocialUserId' value='11459865561691724663'/></author><thr:total xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'>4</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10675961.post-111338192263235242</id><published>2005-04-13T14:14:00.000+05:30</published><updated>2005-04-15T17:07:36.290+05:30</updated><title type='text'>Friends</title><content type='html'>&lt;p align="center"&gt;&lt;img height="300" alt="ShowLetter" src="http://photos5.flickr.com/9293457_c5e14d85fe.jpg" width="400" /&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;color:#6600cc;"&gt;Some quotes on friendship :&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#660000;"&gt;"A true friend walks in when the whole world walks out."&lt;/span&gt; &lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color:#663366;"&gt;"Though miles may lie between us, we're never far apart, for friendship doesn't count the miles, it's measured by the heart."&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color:#993399;"&gt;"Stars are like friends; there's always some around, you just need to find your favorite one."&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color:#999900;"&gt;"Money and power only last the hour, but friendship and love withstand the sky above."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#9999ff;"&gt;"A special friend is a blessing that you should treasure with all your heart."&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color:#663366;"&gt;"You have done it Without a touch, without a word, Without a sign.You have done it By being yourself.Perhaps that is what Being a friend means After all."&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color:#993300;"&gt;"The best friend you can have is one you can sit on the porch with and not say a word, then get up and feel like that was the best conversation you've ever had."&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color:#666600;"&gt;"I found a friend who made me smile. We fell in love, it's quite worthwhile! For he is mine forvermore; a friend, a lover, mi amor!"&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color:#336666;"&gt;"In the cookies of life, your friends are the chocolate chips."&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color:#666666;"&gt;"It's a long road when you face the world alone, when no one reaches out a hand for you to hold. You can find love if you search within your soul, and the emptiness you felt will disappear."&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color:#663366;"&gt;"I asked God for a flower, and He gave me a garden. I asked Him for a tree amd He gave me a forest. I asked Him for a river and He gave me an ocean. I asked God for a friend and He gave me...YOU."&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt; &lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;color:#990000;"&gt;Few more added :&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt; &lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color:#336666;"&gt;"The relationship in friendship is like the one between hand and eye; when the hand gets hurt eye cries and when the eye cries hand wipes the tears."&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color:#666600;"&gt;One fine day love and friendship met.Love asked "why do you exist if i already exist?"friendship replied "To put a smile where you leave tears"&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color:#666600;"&gt;&lt;span style="color:#663366;"&gt;(Thanks anand for sharing these two lovely quotes in my comment box... they are simply lovely...)&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;img height="80" alt="avatar475_0" src="http://photos8.flickr.com/7370197_a7fe6fa3a5_t.jpg" width="68" /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/10675961-111338192263235242?l=poozamishra.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://poozamishra.blogspot.com/feeds/111338192263235242/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='https://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=10675961&amp;postID=111338192263235242&amp;isPopup=true' title='11 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/10675961/posts/default/111338192263235242'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/10675961/posts/default/111338192263235242'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://poozamishra.blogspot.com/2005/04/friends.html' title='Friends'/><author><name>Pooza mishra</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02245079359806005641</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:extendedProperty xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' name='OpenSocialUserId' value='11459865561691724663'/></author><thr:total xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'>11</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10675961.post-111297038196883766</id><published>2005-04-08T18:58:00.000+05:30</published><updated>2005-04-09T00:19:31.363+05:30</updated><title type='text'>True love?</title><content type='html'>&lt;p align="justify"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;I haven’t blogged for a long time now. One new story to share…&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Palampur&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;20 years back:&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p align="center"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;img height="149" alt="palampur" src="http://photos7.flickr.com/8798924_94183fcc16.jpg" width="275" /&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;p align="justify"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#996633;"&gt;Rajeev, a young 24 years old guy, full of life, dreams, hopes, the urge.. the hidden interest to make it big in life visits Palampur, a small Hill Station set on the rising slopes of Kangra Valley before they merge with the Dauladhar ranges, in Himachal Pradesh. His interest in photography pulled him to that place. He was too tired, working, slogging and wanted a break from everything. He had booked for himself a room in one of the best hotels there. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p align="justify"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color:#336666;"&gt;He would simply walk through the lovely tea gardens.. click pictures of local people there.. enjoy a cup of tea in a local tea workers house.. and again just keep walking… His interest in Palampur grew with every passing day. He wanted to know more and more about the place.. its history etc. He heard of a family .. the oldest in Palampur and decided to visit them. The next day he got up early and went to meet them . &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p align="center"&gt;&lt;img height="189" alt="palampurtea2" src="http://photos6.flickr.com/8798925_d358f75998.jpg" width="251" /&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p align="justify"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color:#663366;"&gt;He was greeted by a young little girl, very charming, very cute who took him inside. A old man came after almost 15 mins. Everyone addressed him as “babuji” in the family. Rajeev bowed and he too called him babuji. While he was talking to him, a girl came out and sat there with them . She seemed to know much more about Palampur, more than even babuji, though she must have been hardy 20-21 years old. Rajeev was impressed. She told him it was her interest in Palampur coz of which she knows so much about the place. She was a simple looking, tradition girl, who was updated about the modern living style as well, but her values deep rooted. Her name was Malvika. They became good friends. Malvika showed him a number of beautiful places in Palampur in the next couple of days. Places like “Al-hilal”, “Andretta”, “temple of Baijnath”, “Bir and Billing”, “Neughal Khad”,”tea factory”, “Temple of Bundelmata”. Rajeev took many pics of Malvika. Malvika’s simple, innocent attitude, her innocent beauty, her intelligence impressed him a lot. For Malvika it’s a unique experience. She had never been this close to any guy, she felt so attached to him .She actually fell in love with him. She would take Rajeev’s flirtatious compliments too seriously. One day as she waits for Rajeev, he doesn’t come … She waits for hours.. for days but Rajeev never comes back. Finally one day she decides to go to Rajeev’s place in Delhi. There she gets to know that Rajeev is out of country for some course. She is shattered, shocked and very angry. She is angry on herself for waiting for him. She is angry on herself for feeling for him. From a simple innocent girl, a girl who so easily expressed her emotions she turns into a stone when it comes to emotions. Any emotional display would be a faked one. She opened a small bookshop in Palampur and spent her time reading books.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;&lt;span style="color:#660000;"&gt;15 years back:&lt;/span&gt; &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p align="center"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;&lt;a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/84002245@N00/8800856/" title="Photo Sharing"&gt;&lt;img src="http://photos6.flickr.com/8800856_3ec75f4feb_m.jpg" width="280" height="170" alt="autumnsolitude" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p align="justify"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="color:#336666;"&gt;She had been to Delhi to get some new books for her shop. As she was idly going through some stalls she came across Rajeev. She had never expected it. She had thought Delhi is too big to come across him and moreover believed that he was abroad. Rajeev smiled when he saw her and came and talked to her so casually. Malvika simply could not believe it. She tried to be quiet. As quiet as she possibly could. She was supposed to marry a guy her parents had chosen for her in a month. Rajeev didn’t mention even once about his sudden disappearance. Neither did she. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p align="justify"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color:#006600;"&gt;She just bid him bye and left. Once as she was sitting in her stall she saw a car stop outside her stall. It was Rajeev and with him a lovely lady. His wife. They were so happy. So engrossed in each other. Rajeev didn’t know it was Malvika’s shop. He just told her hi and introduced her to his wife. Malvika smiled. She just tried to behave as normal as she could. As soon as they left she cried…cried and cried for hours. And then she decided something. She told her family she wont marry. She simply can’t trust anyone, anyone in her life. Her family objected but she was so determined they could do nothing. She also left India. Went abroad for higher studies. She led a beautifully lonely life. She and her books. She loved painting but now she couldn’t. She felt as if there were no colors left in her life.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;color:#660000;"&gt;A year back:&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#663333;"&gt;Malvika was here in India, in Palampur. A man delivered her a letter. It was from Rajeev. He wanted to meet her. She simply didn’t feel like meeting him. All those days, those memories flashed across her eyes. The memories, which had never evaded her thoughts even once. She didn’t feel like meeting him. The next day at 10 when he had asked her to meet him she was still confused, slightly restless. She couldn’t stop herself and went to meet him. He looked fatigued. He felt she still looked so sweet, so charming. They both sat there talking nothing, she wasn’t even looking at him. She regretted the decision of meeting him. She just told him, “Rajeev I have to leave. I have some work. Will talk to you some other day. Take care” He said, “Sure. Just wanted to know how you are. How is your family? Your husband?” “All are fine” is all she said and left. He just smiled back and she left. She didn’t care to look back at him but he was looking at her only till she was out of sight.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;2 months back:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#993399;"&gt;She was leaving for her college abroad. She was a professor. She had to go to Delhi first. She was tempted to visit him just once before leaving. When she passed by his house, she just stopped and went in. It was a sudden visit. His housekeeper told her that he is in the garden and led her to the garden. He was sitting in the chair and having his tea. It was early morning. She just told him hi and exchanged a few words. Then she told him that she was leaving the same day. She wanted to meet his wife. He said his wife isn’t there at home so she can’t meet. They talked for sometime. Then she got up to leave. She went a few steps and then came back and said, “Rajeev you wont come to leave me till your gate?” He said, “Hmm don’t worry she will leave you. Goodbye”. She left. But she could feel something somewhere was wrong. She didn’t even have the time to know what it was. She had her flight in another 30 minutes. She had got her luggage checked and cleared when she suddenly felt like going back. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p align="justify"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color:#996633;"&gt;And she went back. She entered his house without knocking. She was shocked to see Rajeev’s wife’s huge photograph in the main room with garland on it. She was dead. She was shocked to see that Rajeev was going from the table to the other room in his wheel chair. She was shocked. She called out his name. He was shocked. He was so angry. He never ever wanted her to know this. One tragic incident had changed their lives. He was happy that Malvika is happy. He never bothered her with his sad stories.&lt;/span&gt; &lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p align="justify"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Malvika went near him and said, “ Rajeev please let me be with you. Don’t send me away when I want &lt;/strong&gt;&lt;strong&gt;to share your pains… Share your tears. Please” &lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p align="justify"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color:#006600;"&gt;He sighed and said, “No Malvika. You should leave. You have your own life. These are my own pains. I have to live with them. And please don’t meet me again. Don’t bother me by coming here. I am happy with my life. I am absolutely fine. There is no tear to be shared. Leave please. Leave now. I have alot of work to do” &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p align="justify"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color:#663366;"&gt;Malvika was crying though she hated the tears rolling down from her eyes. The Ice melting, faked emotions being replaced by true, honest, deep emotions.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p align="justify"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color:#996633;"&gt;She said, “Rajeev I don’t have a family to go back to. I never married. I couldn’t. To be honest it wasn’t that I was waiting for you. I knew you would never come back, you were never mine. It’s just that I was so deeply hurt that I felt I couldn’t trust anyone else. Please let me be with you.” &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p align="justify"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Rajeev was staring at her. [He was hurt. Deeply hurt now. He was happy that at least Malvika was happy. When he had met Malvika years back in Delhi, he knew he loved her. He never told her. He was going to get married in a few more days and heard that even she was getting married. And he felt that she didn’t love him. So he never told her about his feelings. He had left Palampur because he was feeling chained to Malvika. Something, which was a strange thing for him. He wanted to be free and this deep feeling of being chained, bonded, and committed… he hated it. Now when they had met and he got to know that Malvika’s life was sailing smooth he was so happy.] &lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p align="justify"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color:#996633;"&gt;He kept staring at her, his eyes full of regret now. And Malvika sat in front of him, her hands on his legs, which had now lost sensation completely. She didn’t say a word… just kept looking into his eyes… till Rajeev actually calmed down. His eyes became tenderer… his facial expression more relaxed… more soothed. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p align="justify"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color:#336666;"&gt;He sighed and then looked at her, smiled and said, “Malvika why did all this happen? Why did I run away from you? Our lives could have been so completely different.” She just smiled and said, “That’s life. Our lives are going to be different from today onwards, right from this moment.” They stayed together ever after. Laughed, cried, enjoyed, shared pain together but in Scotland where Malvika was a professor in a University. They started their life afresh.&lt;/span&gt; &lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p align="center"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color:#663366;"&gt;Need I write? “And they lived happily ever after. ”&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;img height="80" alt="avatar475_0" src="http://photos8.flickr.com/7370197_a7fe6fa3a5_t.jpg" width="68" /&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/10675961-111297038196883766?l=poozamishra.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://poozamishra.blogspot.com/feeds/111297038196883766/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='https://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=10675961&amp;postID=111297038196883766&amp;isPopup=true' title='15 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/10675961/posts/default/111297038196883766'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/10675961/posts/default/111297038196883766'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://poozamishra.blogspot.com/2005/04/true-love.html' title='True love?'/><author><name>Pooza mishra</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02245079359806005641</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:extendedProperty xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' name='OpenSocialUserId' value='11459865561691724663'/></author><thr:total xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'>15</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10675961.post-111230345285099285</id><published>2005-04-01T01:50:00.000+05:30</published><updated>2005-04-01T02:40:52.860+05:30</updated><title type='text'>Power Of Love</title><content type='html'>&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;p id="powered-by"&gt;&lt;a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/84002245@N00/8014089/" title="Photo Sharing"&gt;&lt;img src="http://photos8.flickr.com/8014089_c9debe0129.jpg" width="350" height="300" alt="power of love" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color:#660000;"&gt;This is a true story:&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color:#996633;"&gt;&lt;span style="color:#000000;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:180%;"&gt;"&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;There is a lovely couple living near my house. They have a lovely, cute little son. He is 7 years old. Bhaiya very smart, good looking , very compassionate, working in a big reputed company in a very high post. Bhabhi very pretty, gorgeous, sweet. She is also working in a big reputed company in a high post. Both of them come from rich, respected, noble families. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color:#996633;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color:#996633;"&gt;There's is a lovely, happy family. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color:#660000;"&gt;8 years back they went for a love marriage. Bhabhi's family had objected and she went against her family and married him. Her family had objected because bhaiya is aheart patient. The worst part is just before his marriage he had some major health problems. Doctors everywhere said he would live for max a year or two. Not more than that. Simply not possible considering the condition of his heart. And nothing could be done anymore. Bhabhi insisted that they marry soon. Though bhaiya didnt want to .....she convinced him. And now here they are having spent 8 beautiful years together and I pray they spend many many more years together. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color:#663366;"&gt;Once there was some problem with my car and i simply could not start it. And bhaiya was passing by in his car. He parked his car and tried to see what the problem was. And then he actualy started pushing it. I felt so bad particularly because of his health problems. But it wouldnt stop him. Small gestures at times speak volumes about a person's character.  &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color:#663366;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color:#336666;"&gt;Their's is a love story one would seriously feel like respecting. Pure, sacred love and maybe this is has made even God proud of them .May God bless them! &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color:#666600;"&gt;When you love someone, you should love them so much that no matter what goes wrong, you stick to each other. I guess only then it can be called &lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;"&lt;span style="color:#cc0000;"&gt;Love&lt;/span&gt;".  &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:180%;color:#333333;"&gt;"&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:180%;color:#333333;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color:#993300;"&gt;Thought:&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color:#993300;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color:#663366;"&gt;"They do not love that do not show their love. The course of true love never did run smooth. Love is a familiar. Love is a devil. There is no evil angel but Love."~ William Shakespeare&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color:#333333;"&gt;&lt;p id="powered-by"&gt;&lt;a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/84002245@N00/7370197/" title="Photo Sharing"&gt;&lt;img src="http://photos8.flickr.com/7370197_a7fe6fa3a5_t.jpg" width="68" height="80" alt="pooza" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&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/10675961-111230345285099285?l=poozamishra.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://poozamishra.blogspot.com/feeds/111230345285099285/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='https://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=10675961&amp;postID=111230345285099285&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/10675961/posts/default/111230345285099285'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/10675961/posts/default/111230345285099285'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://poozamishra.blogspot.com/2005/04/power-of-love.html' title='Power Of Love'/><author><name>Pooza mishra</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02245079359806005641</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:extendedProperty xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' name='OpenSocialUserId' value='11459865561691724663'/></author><thr:total xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10675961.post-111228441592507280</id><published>2005-03-31T21:30:00.000+05:30</published><updated>2005-04-01T00:16:22.336+05:30</updated><title type='text'>Silence</title><content type='html'>&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color:#663333;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color:#663333;"&gt;&lt;p id="powered-by"&gt;&lt;img height="180" alt="silence" src="http://photos4.flickr.com/7995105_902479c59d_m.jpg" width="240" /&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color:#663333;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color:#663333;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color:#663333;"&gt;Sherlock Holmes once solved a murder mystery based not on what happened but on what didnt happen. Holmes remarked to his assistant, Dr Watson, about "the curious incident of the dog in the nighttime". Watson, surprised, responds, "But the dog did nothing in the nighttime". To which Holmes replied,"That was the curious incident."Holmes concluded the crime had to be committed by someone with whom the dog was familiar because the watchdog didnt bark.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color:#663366;"&gt;The dog didnt bark in the night is often used as a metaphor for an event that is significant by reason of its absence. That story is also an excellent illustration of the importance of silence in communication.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&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:#666600;"&gt;Silence-defined here as an absence of speech or noise-has been generally ignored as a form of communication beacuse it represents inaction or nonbehavour.But its not necessarily inaction. Nor is silence, as many believe, a failure to communicate. It can, in fact, be a powerful form of communication.It can mean someone is thinking or contemplating a response to a question. It can mean a person is anxious and fearful of speaking. It can signal agreement, dissent, frustration, or anger.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;p align="justify"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color:#336666;"&gt;Failing to pay closeattention to the silent portion of a conversation can result in missinga vital part of the message. Astute communicators watch for gaps, pause, and hesitations.They hear and interprete silence. They treat pauses for instance, as analogous to a flashing yellow light at an intersection - they pay attention to what comes next. Is the person thinking, deciding how to frame an answer? Is the person suffering from communication apprehension? Sometimes the real message in a communication is burried in the silence. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color:#336666;"&gt;&lt;span style="color:#cc9933;"&gt;Todays thought :&lt;/span&gt; &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color:#990000;"&gt;"I love it when I am sad..it hepls me value happiness&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color:#990000;"&gt;I love it when I am lonely..it helps me value company"&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p align="center"&gt;&lt;p align="center"&gt;&lt;img height="80" alt="avatar475_0" src="http://photos8.flickr.com/7370197_a7fe6fa3a5_t.jpg" width="68" /&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/10675961-111228441592507280?l=poozamishra.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://poozamishra.blogspot.com/feeds/111228441592507280/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='https://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=10675961&amp;postID=111228441592507280&amp;isPopup=true' title='5 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/10675961/posts/default/111228441592507280'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/10675961/posts/default/111228441592507280'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://poozamishra.blogspot.com/2005/03/silence.html' title='Silence'/><author><name>Pooza mishra</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02245079359806005641</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:extendedProperty xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' name='OpenSocialUserId' value='11459865561691724663'/></author><thr:total xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'>5</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10675961.post-111190548329603182</id><published>2005-03-27T00:15:00.001+05:30</published><updated>2005-03-28T07:24:46.403+05:30</updated><title type='text'>Love Incomplete</title><content type='html'>&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;p id="powered-by"&gt;&lt;img height="180" alt="hearts" src="http://photos4.flickr.com/7373882_f7e1c80cb0_m.jpg" width="240" /&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;p id="powered-by"&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p align="justify"&gt;Raj and Neha were best friends. Their friendship developed in fifth standard in school when Neha moved to Shimla with her parents. Raj and his family were one very popular family there. He was a intelligent, smart and handsome boy. Neha was very intelligent, smart, beautiful and a very practical girl. They had a lovely friendship. Neha understood Raj more than anyone else and Raj could sacrifice anything for Neha. They fought, they argued but at the same time liked each other a lot. With time, their friendship grew stronger and stronger. In the last year of their school, their relationship took a new turn. They felt it was not just friendship. It was more than that. It was love. Then they both went to different colleges but spent most of the time with each other. There was no doubt or confusion regarding the depth of their love for each other. Raj was mentally convinced that Neha should be his life partner, that he madly loved her. Neha too had similar feelings.Their love was very special to Raj. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color:#666600;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color:#003300;"&gt;A new girl was admitted to his college. This girl was junior to him. A young, vibrant and lovely girl Shaina. She was a girl who lived in her own dreams. A girl who believed in spreading love. She believed in enjoying each and every moment of life. She was very innocent. She had faith in God. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color:#000066;"&gt;It was the first day of her college. She was very nervous. Raj and his friends were ragging freshers. Raj for some reasons didn't feel like ragging her. She was allowed to go. That day changed Shaina's life. There was something in him that she liked a lot. She was unaware of Raj's feelings for Neha. They too became friends. Raj liked Shaina as a friend. But, it was not the same with her. She started loving him.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color:#336666;"&gt;She told about her feelings for Raj to her dad, her mom had died when she was just 1 year old, in an accident. Her dad asked her to take it easy, to take time before deciding anything. Once Raj and she had been to a friend's party. In a very weak moment, she confessed her love to him. Initially he didn't react. He took it very lightly but then he told her about Neha. He was too engrossed in loving Neha, he could not feel the intensity of love or the feelings of Shaina. He ignored her. But, then he started accusing Shaina. He cursed her. All this shattered her. She had realized long before that Raj was someone else's love. So, she had set him free. She had not bothered him. What exactly made Raj angry and upset..even she could not understand. Shaina felt her life, her joys were over. She couldn't come out of it. Her dad and friends gave her the support, the encouragement to live, to enjoy life.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color:#663333;"&gt;She studied hard. Then after completing her studies she went to Mumbai for a job. By that time, Raj and Neha had completed their studies and had started working (Delhi ). Raj felt that it was the perfect time for them to get married. To give the most beautiful ending to their love. Neha went home and discussed the matter with her parents. Her parents told her about Rajeev. He was a business tycoon. He had met Neha in some party and was impressed. He knew her family distantly and thus had sent his proposal to marry her. She was a very practical girl. She also felt that her family didn't quite appreciate Raj. Apart from all these reasons when she gave a very serious thought about Raj she realized that he was a wonderful friend, a best friend. They had misinterpreted their friendship as love and then had never given a second thought to it. She told all this to Raj and married Rajeev.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color:#663366;"&gt;Raj was shocked and devastated. For some months, he just could not concentrate on anything. Often he would meet Neha and Rajeev accidentaly.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color:#663366;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#663366;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;One day he decided that he should settle down too.When he thought of whom he loved or cared for the only &lt;/strong&gt;&lt;strong&gt;girl he could think of was Shaina&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color:#663366;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color:#666666;"&gt;He realized that it was his liking and love for her, which had confused him at that time. That is why he had treated her so badly. Because he didn't like even the thought of loving someone other than Neha.He decided to talk to Shaina about his feelings. He rushed to her place. Now only her dad lived there. She was in Mumbai.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt; &lt;/p&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color:#660000;"&gt;When her dad heard about it, he was excited. Because he knew it very well that his daughter had loved only this man and no one else. That she still loved him. That is why she had refused to marry any of the guys she had come across or her dad had selected for her. He immediately called up Shaina.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color:#663366;"&gt;Raj asked him not to tell her the reason, as it would be a surprise. He asked him just to call her back saying that some urgent need had cropped up. Her dad did exactly that. Sheimmedietely left for Shimla after receiving that call from her dad.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color:#336666;"&gt;Her dad and Raj were eagerly waiting for her. Then they got the news that the train in which she was coming had met with an accident. They rushed to the spot. They found Shaina but she was dead. She was dead before coming to know that the love of her life was also in love with her. She died before Raj could tell her sorry for hurting her so much. She died before Raj could apologize for having played with her feelings. She died before Raj could tell her that he wanted to spend his entire life with her, that he had loved only her all these years.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color:#336666;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color:#666600;"&gt;Today Raj is in his late forties, working in a huge firm, his own firm. He is single. He couldn't think of marrying anyone other than Shaina. He has no bitter feelings for Neha anymore. Now they are good friends. He is very fond of Shaina, the 7-year-old daughter of Neha and Rajeev.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;p id="powered-by"&gt;&lt;img height="80" alt="avatar475_0" src="http://photos8.flickr.com/7370197_a7fe6fa3a5_t.jpg" width="68" /&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/10675961-111190548329603182?l=poozamishra.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://poozamishra.blogspot.com/feeds/111190548329603182/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='https://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=10675961&amp;postID=111190548329603182&amp;isPopup=true' title='22 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/10675961/posts/default/111190548329603182'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/10675961/posts/default/111190548329603182'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://poozamishra.blogspot.com/2005/03/love-incomplete_27.html' title='Love Incomplete'/><author><name>Pooza mishra</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02245079359806005641</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:extendedProperty xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' name='OpenSocialUserId' value='11459865561691724663'/></author><thr:total xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'>22</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10675961.post-111211955546561511</id><published>2005-03-26T23:32:00.000+05:30</published><updated>2005-06-03T20:03:37.586+05:30</updated><title type='text'>Sunscreen Speech Song</title><content type='html'>&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color:#666600;"&gt;&lt;p id="powered-by"&gt;&lt;img height="240" alt="bazluhrmannbuy" src="http://photos6.flickr.com/7805724_02462bd1f8_m.jpg" width="240" /&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color:#666600;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color:#666600;"&gt;Ladies and Gentlemen of the class of '99: Wear sunscreen.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color:#663366;"&gt;If I could offer you only one tip for the future, sunscreen would be it. The long term benefits of sunscreen have been proved by scientists, whereas the rest of my advice has no basis more reliable than my own meandering experience. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color:#663366;"&gt;I will dispense this advice now.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color:#663366;"&gt;Enjoy the power and beauty of your youth; oh never mind; you will not understand the power and beauty of your youth until they've faded. But trust me, in 20 years you’ll look back at photos of yourself and recall in a way you can’t grasp now how much possibility lay before you and how fabulous you really looked. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color:#666600;"&gt;You’re not as fat as you imagine.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color:#666600;"&gt;Don’t worry about the future; or worry, but know that worrying is as effective as trying to solve an algebra equation by chewing bubblegum. The real troubles in your life are apt to be things that never crossed your worried mind; the kind that blindside you at 4pm on some idle Tuesday.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color:#666600;"&gt;Do one thing everyday that scares you.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color:#666600;"&gt;Sing.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color:#666600;"&gt;Don’t be reckless with other people’s hearts; don’t put up with people who are reckless with yours.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color:#666600;"&gt;Floss.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color:#666600;"&gt;Don’t waste your time on jealousy; sometimes you’re ahead; sometimes you’re behind; the race is long, and in the end it’s only with yourself.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color:#666600;"&gt;Remember the compliments you receive; forget the insults. If you succeed in doing this, tell me how.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color:#666600;"&gt;Keep your old love letters; throw away your old bank statements.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color:#666600;"&gt;Stretch. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color:#666600;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color:#666600;"&gt;Don’t feel guilty if you don’t know what to do with your life; the most interesting people I know didn’t know at 22 what they wanted to do with their lives; some of the most interesting 40 year olds I know still don’t.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color:#336666;"&gt;Get plenty of calcium.&lt;br /&gt;Be kind to your knees; you’ll miss them when they’re gone.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color:#336666;"&gt;Maybe you’ll marry -- maybe you won’t. Maybe you’ll have children -- maybe you won’t. Maybe you’ll divorce at 40 -- maybe you’ll dance the funky chicken on your 75th wedding anniversary. Whatever you do, don’t congratulate yourself too much or berate yourself either -- your choices are half chance; so are everybody else’s.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color:#336666;"&gt;Enjoy your body; use it every way you can. Don’t be afraid of it, or what other people think of it. It’s the greatest instrument you’ll ever own.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color:#336666;"&gt;Dance -- even if you have nowhere to do it but in your own living room.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color:#336666;"&gt;Read the directions, even if you don’t follow them.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color:#666600;"&gt;&lt;span style="color:#336666;"&gt;Do NOT read beauty magazines; they will only make you feel ugly.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;*****************************************************************&lt;br /&gt;Get to know your parents; you’ll never know when they’ll be gone for good. Be nice to your siblings; they are the best link to your past and the people most likely to stick with you in the future.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color:#666600;"&gt;Understand that friends come and go, but for the precious few you should hold on. Work hard to bridge the gaps in geography, in lifestyle, because the older you get the more you need the people you knew when you were young.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color:#666600;"&gt;Live in New York City once, but leave before it makes you hard; &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color:#666600;"&gt;live in Northern California once, but leave before it makes you soft.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color:#666600;"&gt;Travel.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color:#666600;"&gt;Accept certain inalienable truths: price will rise; politicians will philander; you too will get old, and when you do you’ll fantasize that when you were young prices were reasonable, politicians were noble, and children respected their elders.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color:#666600;"&gt;Respect your elders.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color:#660000;"&gt;Don’t expect anyone else to support you. Maybe you have a trust fund; maybe you have a wealthy spouse; but you never know when either one might run out.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color:#666600;"&gt;Don’t mess too much with your hair, or by the time you're 40, it will look 85.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color:#666600;"&gt;Be careful who advice you buy, but be patient with those who supply it. Advice is a form of nostalgia: dispensing it is a way of fishing the past from the disposal, wiping it off, painting over the ugly parts, and recycling it for more than it’s worth.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color:#666600;"&gt;But trust me on the sunscreen.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color:#666600;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color:#666600;"&gt;Listen to it ------&gt; &lt;a href="http://www.americanrhetoric.com/speeches/bazluhrmannsunscreen.htm"&gt;HERE&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color:#666600;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;p id="powered-by"&gt;&lt;a title="Photo Sharing" href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/84002245@N00/7370197/"&gt;&lt;img height="80" alt="avatar475_0" src="http://photos8.flickr.com/7370197_a7fe6fa3a5_t.jpg" width="68" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/10675961-111211955546561511?l=poozamishra.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://poozamishra.blogspot.com/feeds/111211955546561511/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='https://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=10675961&amp;postID=111211955546561511&amp;isPopup=true' title='5 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/10675961/posts/default/111211955546561511'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/10675961/posts/default/111211955546561511'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://poozamishra.blogspot.com/2005/03/sunscreen-speech-song.html' title='Sunscreen Speech Song'/><author><name>Pooza mishra</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02245079359806005641</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:extendedProperty xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' name='OpenSocialUserId' value='11459865561691724663'/></author><thr:total xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'>5</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10675961.post-111237491496324205</id><published>2005-03-26T22:30:00.000+05:30</published><updated>2005-06-03T20:12:14.703+05:30</updated><title type='text'>Love you</title><content type='html'>&lt;p id="powered-by"&gt;&lt;a title="Photo Sharing" href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/84002245@N00/8101456/"&gt;&lt;img height="450" alt="Love you always" src="http://photos7.flickr.com/8101456_f5a921e2bb.jpg" width="400" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/10675961-111237491496324205?l=poozamishra.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://poozamishra.blogspot.com/feeds/111237491496324205/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='https://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=10675961&amp;postID=111237491496324205&amp;isPopup=true' title='4 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/10675961/posts/default/111237491496324205'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/10675961/posts/default/111237491496324205'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://poozamishra.blogspot.com/2005/03/love-you.html' title='Love you'/><author><name>Pooza mishra</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02245079359806005641</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:extendedProperty xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' name='OpenSocialUserId' value='11459865561691724663'/></author><thr:total xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'>4</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10675961.post-111470184322784705</id><published>2005-03-26T20:49:00.000+05:30</published><updated>2005-06-03T20:24:02.660+05:30</updated><title type='text'>Faith</title><content type='html'>&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color:#663333;"&gt;A forward I received in my mail box&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;p id="powered by"&gt;&lt;img height="700" alt="Faith" src="http://photos7.flickr.com/11337677_534da22765.jpg" width="400" /&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p align="center"&gt;&lt;a title="Photo Sharing" href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/84002245@N00/7370197/"&gt;&lt;img height="80" alt="Pooza" src="http://photos8.flickr.com/7370197_a7fe6fa3a5_t.jpg" width="68" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/10675961-111470184322784705?l=poozamishra.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://poozamishra.blogspot.com/feeds/111470184322784705/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='https://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=10675961&amp;postID=111470184322784705&amp;isPopup=true' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/10675961/posts/default/111470184322784705'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/10675961/posts/default/111470184322784705'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://poozamishra.blogspot.com/2005/03/faith.html' title='Faith'/><author><name>Pooza mishra</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02245079359806005641</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:extendedProperty xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' name='OpenSocialUserId' value='11459865561691724663'/></author><thr:total xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10675961.post-111208827508966746</id><published>2005-03-26T14:26:00.000+05:30</published><updated>2005-06-03T20:09:18.073+05:30</updated><title type='text'>Kal Ho Na Ho</title><content type='html'>&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color:#666600;"&gt;&lt;img height="360" alt="gallery10b" src="http://photos5.flickr.com/7771462_8d0439672c.jpg" width="360" /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color:#666600;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color:#666600;"&gt;"Aaj...aaj ek haseen aur bantlun&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color:#666600;"&gt;aaj ek dua aur maanglun&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color:#666600;"&gt;aaj ek ansoon aur pilun&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color:#666600;"&gt;aaj ek zindagi aur jilun&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color:#666600;"&gt;aaj ek sapna aur dekhlun&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color:#666600;"&gt;Aaj....&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color:#666600;"&gt;Kya patha kal ho na ho !"&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color:#666600;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color:#666666;"&gt;I wonder if there is anyone who hasnt seen the movie. Still here is a synopsis of the movie :&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color:#666600;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color:#666600;"&gt;"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="color:#660000;"&gt;New York. April 2003. The late winter continues... &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color:#666600;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color:#336666;"&gt;For Naina Catherine Kapur (Preity Zinta), life is cold grey and dull - as it has been ever since a family tragedy shook her world. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color:#336666;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color:#336666;"&gt;Between the constant bickering in her half Punjabi half Catholic household, her grandmother's temper's, looking after her little sister and brother and helping her mother (Jaya Bachchan) deal with the family's financial troubles - Naina has no time for things like parties, fun or herself... &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color:#666600;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#336666;"&gt;She's twenty-three going on fifty. She is serious. She is boring. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#336666;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#336666;"&gt;Enter Aman Mathur (Shah Rukh Khan). Like a whiff of fresh air, he moves into their tiny Indian neighborhood to take it over. Helping others resolve their problems, face life's little challenges - Aman has all the answers. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#336666;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#336666;"&gt;Much to Naina's irritation, he insists on interfering in her life too... &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#336666;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#336666;"&gt;Aman pushes Naina into doing things she would never dream of doing. He nags her till she learns to smile. He conspires with friend Rohit (Saif Ali Khan), an eligible Manhattan bachelor to help find her happiness. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#663366;"&gt;Kal Ho Naa Ho is the story of Aman, Rohit and Naina's journey together - how they discover themselves, find the courage to love and come together to celebrate life.&lt;/span&gt; "&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I liked the movie a lot. There were a few scenes, a few words said in the movie that realy made me think. For instance, there is a scene in which Aman asks Naina to smile. He tries to teach her to smile. And he tells her something like....Whatever we have, there are many in this world who dont even have that much, they pray God to have them..But we never value what we have.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;If you have a life to live, you have a lot. You always have the chance to get what you didnt get. You always have the chance to try once more. Value life !&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The movie was full of people sacrificing a lot. Sacrificing love, peace, their own image just to see people around them happy. Dont know how viable it is in real life..but still the movie has a lot to offer. I have seen very few movies in the last 3-4 years. This is one which i realy liked a lot.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#996633;"&gt;"Chaahe Jo Tumhe Poore Dil Se&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#996633;"&gt;Milta Hai Woh Mushkil Se&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#996633;"&gt;Aisa Jo Koi Kahin Hai &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#996633;"&gt;Bas Vahi Sabse Hasin Hai&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#996633;"&gt;Us Haath Ko Tum Thaam Lo&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="color:#996633;"&gt;Woh Meherbaan Kal Ho Na Ho"&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="color:#996633;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#663366;"&gt;I was amazed when I heard these lines in the title song. Something a very close friend of mine always believed in. She is in Calcutta now. "Love someone who loves you and your life will be heaven" &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#663366;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;p id="powered-by" align="center"&gt;&lt;p align="center"&gt;&lt;img height="80" alt="avatar475_0" src="http://photos8.flickr.com/7370197_a7fe6fa3a5_t.jpg" width="68" /&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/10675961-111208827508966746?l=poozamishra.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://poozamishra.blogspot.com/feeds/111208827508966746/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='https://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=10675961&amp;postID=111208827508966746&amp;isPopup=true' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/10675961/posts/default/111208827508966746'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/10675961/posts/default/111208827508966746'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://poozamishra.blogspot.com/2005/03/kal-ho-na-ho.html' title='Kal Ho Na Ho'/><author><name>Pooza mishra</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02245079359806005641</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:extendedProperty xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' name='OpenSocialUserId' value='11459865561691724663'/></author><thr:total xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10675961.post-111178659154796474</id><published>2005-03-26T03:02:00.000+05:30</published><updated>2005-03-26T23:13:42.563+05:30</updated><title type='text'>Happy Holi</title><content type='html'>&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;img height="175" alt="Happy Holi from Pooza" src="http://www.dgreetings.com/newimages/holicute/holiani6.gif" width="250" /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color:#666600;"&gt;HAPPY &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="color:#990000;"&gt;HOLI!!!&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color:#660000;"&gt;May&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="color:#663300;"&gt; &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="color:#cc6600;"&gt;this&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="color:#336666;"&gt; holi &lt;span style="color:#663366;"&gt;fill&lt;/span&gt; &lt;span style="color:#666666;"&gt;life&lt;/span&gt; &lt;span style="color:#000066;"&gt;with&lt;/span&gt; &lt;span style="color:#999900;"&gt;colours&lt;/span&gt;..&lt;span style="color:#990000;"&gt;colours&lt;/span&gt; &lt;span style="color:#6600cc;"&gt;of&lt;/span&gt; &lt;span style="color:#003333;"&gt;joy &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="color:#663333;"&gt;and&lt;/span&gt; &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="color:#006600;"&gt;happiness.&lt;/span&gt; &lt;span style="color:#666666;"&gt;Laugh,&lt;/span&gt; &lt;span style="color:#ff6666;"&gt;enjoy,&lt;/span&gt; &lt;span style="color:#663366;"&gt;spread love...&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color:#336666;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color:#336666;"&gt;HAD A BLAST TODAY:&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color:#660000;"&gt;This year Holi was so much fun. My day began with a lovely “Happy holi”  sms  from a friend at around  6 in the morning :D&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#003300;"&gt;I could manage sleeping till 7 and then till 7:30 was just replying back all those happy holi wishes.&lt;br /&gt;I wanted to do something different this year. Why should it be that every year my friends come to my place to play Holi with me.Today I picked up my friend and we both went to meet other friends. It was a lovely sight to see, safe from inside your car (dare not go outside :D), people playing holi on the streets. My friend had such loud music playing. Could hardly hear anything :D&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="color:#663366;"&gt;We were humming the songs for hours:&lt;br /&gt;“phir wahi raat hai&lt;br /&gt;phir wahi……..”&lt;br /&gt;“roz roz”&lt;br /&gt;and back street boys&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#666600;"&gt;I loved the “surprised smile” in the face of my friends. One thing for sure is they never ever expected it especially coz my exams are on. : D…. but then holi comes just once in a year. We both were laughing so much today that I actualy had to park the car coz wasnt able to drive it laughing. She is too good at cracking jokes.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="color:#996633;"&gt;And at around 1:00 got a call that we needed to go to my mamaji’s place and had to return home. Such a lovely party was arranged. I just loved it. My cousins had reached Bhubaneswar last nite and we all had such great fun today. Colors being splashed, and then suddenly you would have ice cold water being splashed from somewhere, those crazy little things falling on you…everybody dancing, singing, shouting. Then we started "antakshari", all ladies one group and all gents the other which ended up being youngsters one group and all uncles the other. It was so much fun. We would be secretly helping uncles, prompting them with songs and all. And as we all know when uncles sing  90 percent of it is “la la la la …”…lol&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#663333;"&gt;The party seemed never ending. None of us wanted to return …… It ended with lunch (at 4) and some of us singing songs. I also happened to meet some new people, some old friends. We sang songs..songs like…”maine payal hai chhankayi”,”ajeeb daastan”, ”bahon mein chale aao” :D&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="color:#666600;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="color:#666600;"&gt;Those lines still ringing..&lt;br /&gt; "Chale Hi Jaana Hai, Nazar Churake Yu &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color:#666600;"&gt;Phir Thaami Thi Saajan Tumne Meri Kalayi Kyu &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color:#666600;"&gt;Kisi Ko Apna Banake Chod De, Aisa Koi Nahin Karta&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color:#666600;"&gt;Sh, sh, sh, sh, sh, sh "&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;(everybody saying sh sh sh sh together)&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color:#003300;"&gt;Because of my exams I cant even spend much time with my cousins and most of them will be leaving tomorrow. They were here just for two days.  :(&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color:#663366;"&gt;I am going to remember this day for a long long time. Feeling so rejuvenated so happy :) &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color:#663366;"&gt;Realy had a blast today :)&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;p align="center"&gt;&lt;a title="Photo Sharing" href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/84002245@N00/7370197/"&gt;&lt;img height="80" alt="avatar475_0" src="http://photos8.flickr.com/7370197_a7fe6fa3a5_o.jpg" width="68" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/10675961-111178659154796474?l=poozamishra.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://poozamishra.blogspot.com/feeds/111178659154796474/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='https://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=10675961&amp;postID=111178659154796474&amp;isPopup=true' title='13 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/10675961/posts/default/111178659154796474'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/10675961/posts/default/111178659154796474'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://poozamishra.blogspot.com/2005/03/happy-holi.html' title='Happy Holi'/><author><name>Pooza mishra</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02245079359806005641</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:extendedProperty xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' name='OpenSocialUserId' value='11459865561691724663'/></author><thr:total xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'>13</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10675961.post-111172869798401146</id><published>2005-03-25T10:43:00.000+05:30</published><updated>2005-03-25T15:11:06.306+05:30</updated><title type='text'>WHY LOVE?</title><content type='html'>&lt;p id="powered-by"&gt;&lt;a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/84002245@N00/7365114/" title="Photo Sharing"&gt;&lt;img src="http://photos8.flickr.com/7365114_c7236d6eae.jpg" width="327" height="449" alt="couple2" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color:#663366;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color:#663366;"&gt;Lady : Why do you like me..? Why do you love me?&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color:#996633;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color:#996633;"&gt;Man : I can't tell the reason.. but I really like you..&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color:#663366;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color:#663366;"&gt;Lady : You can't even tell me the reason... how can you say you like me? How can you say you love me?&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color:#996633;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color:#996633;"&gt;Man : I really don't know the reason, but I can prove that I love you.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color:#663366;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color:#663366;"&gt;Lady : Proof? No! I want you to tell me the reason. My friend's boyfriend can tell her why he loves her but not you!&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color:#996633;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color:#996633;"&gt;Man : Ok..ok!!! &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color:#996633;"&gt;Erm... because you are beautiful, &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color:#996633;"&gt;because your voice is sweet, &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color:#996633;"&gt;because you are caring, &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color:#996633;"&gt;because you are loving, &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color:#996633;"&gt;because you are thoughtful, &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color:#996633;"&gt;because of your smile, &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color:#996633;"&gt;because of your every movement.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color:#336666;"&gt;The lady felt very satisfied with the man's answer. Unfortunately, a few days later, the Lady met with an accident and became comma. The Guy then placed a letter by her side, and here is the content:&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color:#996633;"&gt;Darling,&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color:#996633;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color:#996633;"&gt;Because of your sweet voice that I love you...&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color:#996633;"&gt;Now can you talk? No! Therefore I cannot love you.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color:#996633;"&gt;Because of your care and concern that I like you...&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color:#996633;"&gt;Now that you cannot show them, therefore I cannot love you.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color:#996633;"&gt;Because of your smile, because of your every movements that I love you.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color:#996633;"&gt;Now can you smile? Now can you move? No, therefore I cannot love you...&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color:#996633;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color:#996633;"&gt;If love needs a reason, like now, there is no reason for me to love you anymore.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color:#996633;"&gt;Does love need a reason? NO!&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color:#660000;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;Therefore, I still love you... And love doesn't need a reason&lt;/span&gt;" &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color:#336666;"&gt;Sometimes the best and the most beautiful things in the world cannot be seen, cannot be touched, but can be felt in the heart "&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;p id="powered-by"&gt;&lt;a title="Photo Sharing" href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/84002245@N00/7370197/"&gt;&lt;img height="80" alt="avatar475_0" src="http://photos8.flickr.com/7370197_a7fe6fa3a5_o.jpg" width="68" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/10675961-111172869798401146?l=poozamishra.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://poozamishra.blogspot.com/feeds/111172869798401146/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='https://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=10675961&amp;postID=111172869798401146&amp;isPopup=true' title='6 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/10675961/posts/default/111172869798401146'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/10675961/posts/default/111172869798401146'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://poozamishra.blogspot.com/2005/03/why-love.html' title='WHY LOVE?'/><author><name>Pooza mishra</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02245079359806005641</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:extendedProperty xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' name='OpenSocialUserId' value='11459865561691724663'/></author><thr:total xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'>6</thr:total></entry></feed>