thisisme

Years are just numbers; birthday is just another day when sun rises in the east as always and sets in the west. In the panorama of the universe, I am not even a speck of microscopic dust. Yet, I am the centre of my own universe. I act as I am designed to think by my DNA, as I am modulated by my surroundings and as I am destined to behave by my fate. I don't celebrate my birthday, but the people who love me, do. For me, it is a day to enjoy interacting with friends and answering pleasant but rare phone calls.  At the time where yesterday and today meet according to our English calender, I had a dream.Dreams are supposed to be the reflection of our deep subconsciousness or cryptic fore-tellers of future. In my dream, three of my friends had separately and personally come down to wish me for my birthday. I was extremely happy to be seeing them. In reality I decipher that I enjoy talking to them, but they call only on my birthdays. I miss them on all other days of the year. My mom...

 It was a movie marathon of Harry Potter series. I was and am deeply impressed by the extreme imaginative power and creativity of the great J K Rowling. So many characters, beautiful plots, plot twists, realistic character development and best of all, the ',MAGIC''. I was engrossed in the enchanting story all throughout that week, some funny names like Mundungus Fletcher and Seamus Finnigan had caught up as earworms, I was silently blabbering some charms in my dreams and was totally lost in the mesmerizing world of magic. Outwardly, as of my physical being, I was cooking breakfast when my thoughts were interrupted by my husband who came to cut pineapple in the kitchen. He casually told me that one of his friends' had suggested that four eggs per day must be too much for our golden retriever- pea-brain Georgie.  True, mind is the fastest in the universe. Mine is no exception. The matter of ''Four eggs for Georgie' has been discussed several times. I vouched f...

Norwegian woods-   Wrong choice of book for my age.  No,  but the author has published it in his 38th year which makes it ok for my age.  Its basically a love story written according to the author's whims and fancies.  Perverse,  embarassingly explicit potraying physical infidelity and mental commitment(according to me,  this concept of emotional commitment with physical promisciuty is false justification to one's conscience).  With most of the characters showing nervous breakdowns and commiting suicides,  I strongly doubt the sanity of the author, as  it is my habit to elucidate the mental status of the author at the time of writing a book, I tried to guess Haruki Murakami's state of mind too. But somehow,  doesn't seem to match.  All authors work on their own single theme.  Whatever may be the story,  the author reveals himself in it. This author is still a tough one to diagnose.  Need few more readings of his ...